bismi-llāhi r-raḥmāni r-raḥīm
My father’s blood, my mother’s blood, my blood, run as epitaphs for our ancestors. Our glory never died. For the sacrifices and the mead, for the rams horn and the lambs blood, we have made this our blood. For Yúcahu and Atabey, who have feed and protected us on new land. This is our home. Nana Buluku, Ògún, Ọbàtálá, have made these bodies monuments among humanity. Allah has protected us from the journey through continents. And when we found the other gods, when we arrived on their land, in chains and boats, they clothed us, they feed us, they loved us. I cannot prescribe to religion as it will offend my blood. As it would offend my gods, my blood, me. My parents have spoken thunder into my ears, my mother has rooted me in history. My father spoke in prayers, in the drumming of earth. I was raised in a house of Yahweh/Jehovah, and my body felt drained. I will not abandoned my ancestors, my gods. This is for my ancestry. My rituals and my strength. For Olókun, you made my body, our bodies possible. You are my ancestry, you are my blood. In my father’s blood, my mother’s blood, my blood, runs the diaspora.