Sankofa. It means to go back.
To give thanks and praises to the Creator, regardless of the name in which we call Him/Her.
To remember our ancestors, we know not by name, and their ultimate sacrifice.
To remember our recent ancestors, and the wisdom their lives left behind.
To reflect on where we have been, to be clearer on where we are headed.
This is my personal diary of the last decade of experiences with attending Sankofa: The Caravan to the Ancestors, hosted by the Houston Chapter of the National Black United Front….and how these experiences changed my life.
The intent of this is not only to inspire all who have attended a Sankofa: Caravan to the Ancestors to share their their stories, but to bring an artistic and literary perspective to the history of this ceremony. The art of storytelling has long been a part of ancestral tradition.
2020’s diary gives my reflection of the year the entire world was in a masquerade…literally due to the pandemic. Oya and the Iyami needed a lot more alone time with me this year….
Hear the audio version of these diaries infused with old skool music and other mystic teachings on 222.9 The Mothership Internet Radio, and read the written part of this diary on www.poeticallymused.org/echoesoflegacy.
Pataki. Oni mi Ojo Abameta, Owara Metadilogun, Odun Egbawa Ogun
Meridilogun ojo Ogba Ooru.
Translate: Diary. Today is Saturday, October 17th, 2020, 16 days into Autumn Equinox.
The day vibrated on a 4, a day of setting new foundations.
The Moon was waxing in the 8th house of Scorpio.
It was a 4 year, ideal new foundations.
Pandemic. The pan-damnit as many people called it. Oya and Babaluaiye released something in the air that put the globe on lockdown. I called it “the plague” that created a worldwide masquerade, and this masquerade was creating a lot of new ancestors. Speaking of masquerades, such a word had a whole other meaning for me in terms of tradition. So this the caravan that I was the most concealed.
By now I was free from my first ile. My work there was done, and I’ll leave it at that. I still prepared my offerings and left before dawn with my big brother and writing mentor, Marcell. We reached the water right at dawn. Laid a blanket on the beach and made offering. It sure felt good to relax after this few months of turbulence, travel, and adjustments.
I’d prepared some beautiful melons and cakes filled with prayers for adimu, and plenty to feed the birds. The rising was overcast in the early part of the morning, then the sun came out later.
This year, it felt good to be alone with my brother, the birds, and the winds of the ancestors. The three of them spoke to me for hours, and it made sense to me. My energy was in a deep shift this year on an ancestral level, and I needed the solitude.
We must’ve been on Somewhere else and Seawall because we heard the drums from a distance. We thought the Caravan was late, but we were a ways down the beach from where the caravan was being held. Divinely, I still felt we were there on time. We came to greet the others as the ceremony was ending. Although the NBUF hosted part of the ceremony was over, a second mini ceremony begun. Many of us who lingered on the beach afterwards formed a circle and sang songs to the Egungun(collective spirit of the ancestors), snapped more photos, and headed out. Marcell had another engagement.
When I returned home, I changed clothes and headed over to the NBUF House for a gathering. There was a marketplace and second celebration of the ancestors. It was much needed, because twice as many ancestors needed veneration.
Ase in Love,
iiiYansaje T. Muse