Echoes from The Legend Paul Onalo Odi's Grave

TRIBUTE TO PAUL ODI 

when the fire dies, 

the embers stay behind, 

to speak of its fury,

it is the stem that always, 

tells how the branches fought.

Greeep greep greeeeep, 

Indeed the child behind,

does not know how far the journey is -

Echéogà will hold its peace,

only if everybody will remain calm, 

because the Ekwé is away, 

Agbanabò has made itself ruler,

the cat has gone home, see

what the rats have turned here too, 

the soup has lost its glory, 

see how to soar it tastes now, 

Kola has finished, see

how our elders now chew their fingers, 

the Men have retired

see how rowdy here has become,

because the rat fell into the water, 

children are now playing with it. 

Ugworò has become noise, 

and our uléle has turned into cacophonies,

they have naked our call and response,

now it has become noise and response, 

who has done this to us, 

Oh, Odi I call your name,

Okàkachi! Úkpokponúnu! Òlikéke! Úboŕgòjo! 

where are you? 

why have you turned your back on us?

For like a shell,

Our native songs have become empty, 

drained of proverbs, chants

and incantations,

Oh ODI - lkpàlikpà!

voice of flavour,

salt - and honey of igalà music.

todú Ojò,

come and sing for us one more time. 

(In the touchy Memory of Paul Odi, one of the fathers of igalà Folk music )

IGALA TO DE WORLD