The Cherry Blossoms Dance Again

(Please Note: Some of the sentences in Yoruba are translated in the Ekiti dialect)

We buried Aderemi today.

As the pallbearers lowered his casket into the ground, tears rolled down my face. I glanced around the backyard of St. Thomas Aquinas Church, which was packed with the elites, all dressed in black—the color that befits their souls.

Acknowledging the presence of these out-of-touch-oligarchs was hard work, but nothing compares to the work I have had to put in these past three years.

Aderemi was my husband, and I—Aweda—am the one who sent him back to his maker.

Before Aderemi - (1875) - Part 1ꫂ ၴႅၴ

I remember that night clearly, just a couple weeks after my 10th birthday. The force of the rain hit our roof with such intensity, and the thunder rumbled loudly. The storm raged, making sleep impossible but just as I was about to drift into one of the dreamlands I so often visited, I heard screams.

I sprang up from my mat, my heart pounding, as my mother burst in, fear on her face.

“Aweda! Jì àbúrè dìdé, a gbódò kóo ní bẹ̀ẹ̀ báàbá! Ìhàn jàgúnjágún láti Ìbàdàn tí dé bá a lójíjí, hàn bá ohun í jẹ́! hàn síi pà’ níyàn."

(Aweda! Wake your brother up! We have to leave now! The warriors from Ibadan have come out of nowhere and they're destroying everything! They're killing people!)

In an instant, I grabbed my brother, pulling him to his feet, and together we raced toward the back roads, away from Ijero Ekiti - the town that had always been our home.

As we made our way through the back roads, the path was crowded with people, all scrambling to escape. The night was pitch-black and the air was thick with smoke, making it hard to breathe.

As we drew closer to the bridge that led out of our town, a voice pierced the night, loud and desperate.

“Pàdà sẹyin! Pàdà sẹyin! Íhàn jàgúnjágún tí gba afára. Àní là tí wá ònà mùrìn."

(Go back! Go back! The warriors have taken the bridge. We need to find another way.)

“Àmọ́ ẹ̀ sọ̀nà mùrìn! I bée lèmí rà tí bójú, shà yóò bá hàn jà ní? A kan lè jẹ́ kan ṣe à bée yi."

(But there is no other way! another voice shouted in response. This is the safest route. Can't we fight them? We can't just let them do this to us.)

I was never the type to stay home. After school, I roamed the town, always seeking adventure. I knew the town well and crossing that bridge was our only escape.

I remember standing there, my feet frozen, and unable to move.

"Aweda!" my mother shouted, panic clear in her voice. “Jà á lọ!” (We need to go!)

As she reached for me, warriors emerged from the shadows, surrounding us. Their faces were covered in dark intricate markings, and they carried guns as long as a giraffe's neck.

The leader of the warriors screamed at us, “Fi ẹ̀dá rẹ silẹ,tàbí òní yóò jẹ́ ọjọ́ ìkẹyìn rẹ, àwọn ọmọ rẹ yóò sì tẹ̀lé ìtàn rẹ!” (Surrender, or today will be your last, and your offsprings shall follow in your footsteps!)

People around me screamed in panic and some of the men from my town, in a burst of courage, charged at the warriors.

The lead warrior and his followers opened fire on the men and everything in their path. Bodies littered the ground, including my brother’s.

I fainted from the shock and hours later, I woke beside my mother under a mango tree. The sun was so bright, it was hard to believe the chaos and thunder had only happened hours before.

My mother looked at me, her face filled with sorrow. “Àwédà, Dígiọlá tí lọ. A gbọdọ̀ lọ Ìjẹ̀ṣà láti wá àbá rẹ.” (Aweda, Digiola is no more. We must find our way to Ijesha to find your father.)   

We walked back to the town, hoping to salvage whatever we could from the wreckage. But when we arrived, the town was unrecognizable.

Our home—the one I had loved so much—had been reduced to ashes. The famous market road, where my mother sold Aso Oke, was gone, and all her belongings were lost.

I looked around, my heart heavy with a mixture of anger and sadness. Unable to bear it, I collapsed to the ground, weeping.

“Kóri a ṣe lè ṣòràré Mami ? Digiola… ṣé a rè a gbọ́rẹ́ ní?” (What about his body Mami? Digiola... will we just leave him?)

My mother knelt beside me, her voice calm but carrying the weight of our reality.

“Aweda, nù àlẹ̀ là ti hā, inú àlẹ̀ làá pàdà sí. Jà á lọ!” (Aweda, from the ground we came, and from there we must return. We need to go!)

Meeting Aderemi - 1902 ꫂ ၴႅၴ

The Oke-Ibadan Festival is a popular celebration honoring the history and culture of the ancestors of Ibadan. People from all walks of life attended this festival. I knew Aderemi and others of his caliber would be present—it was important that I was there, looking beautiful as ever, to begin my mission.

Balogun had given me three years, and no more, to pursue my business. The conversation replayed in my mind as I oiled my body with Ori—the very one my mother always delivered to me, laced with the prayers of the gods, as she always said.

"Aweda, ohun kan nṣe ọ. Ṣé mi ò ti gba ìgbàgbọ́ rẹ, kí o le fi ẹrù rẹ sẹ́yìn?" (Aweda, something troubles you. Have I not earned your trust, so that you can lay your burdens on me?) he asked.

"Balógun, ìyà ìyà ni mo ń fẹ́. Àlá mi kún fún ìrántí ìpadà mi; nítorí náà, ìsinmi ń bọ́ lójú mi.” (Balogun, vengeance is what I crave. My dreams are filled with memories of my loss; therefore, rest continues to elude me.)

"Lẹ́yìn ọjọ́ ọja tó kẹta ọ̀dún yìí, èmi yóò tú ẹ́ sílẹ̀,  Ṣùgbọ́n ọdún mẹ́ta ni gbogbo ohun tó kù fún ọ.” (After the last market day of this year, I will release you but three years is all you have.) Balogun responded.

Hearing those words, I fell to my knees, my face on the ground, right next to Balogun’s feet.

"Eshe, Jagun Jagun, mi o yẹ̀ fún ìbàṣepọ̀ yìí. Àwọn òrìṣà mi ń fi ìyìn fún ọ." (Thank you Jagun Jagun, I  do not deserve this grace. My ancestors give you praise.)

"Aweda,ìtòlẹ́yìn wà nínú àṣẹ. Ọdájọ́!" (Aweda, preparations are in order. Good luck!) he said with a smile.

The wealthy sat atop the highest buildings, watching the festival from above. I walked beside, Babajide, a good friend, keeping my head high and my thoughts to myself as we made our way to where Aderemi sat, surrounded by his usual entourage.

I froze as soon as I saw him. Time had not changed him. He sat there, arrogant as ever, with two servants fanning him on either side - kolanuts and expensive alcohol laid out in front of him.

“Jide of Alalubosa!" Aderemi called out loudly, "Mo dùn pé o lè wá! Báwo ni bàbá rẹ?” (So glad you could make it! How is your father?)

"Wọ́n wà dáadáa” (He is well), Babajide responded, bowing slightly. "Wọ́n bínú pé wọ́n lè wà, ṣùgbọ́n wọ́n ránṣẹ́ pẹ̀lú ìbàṣepọ̀ rere.” (Devastated that he could not attend, but he sends his well wishes.)

"Ah!" Aderemi waved his hand dismissively. "Same to him!”

He turned his gaze to me, “Ati ta ni Awelewa yìí? Iwọ àti àwọn obìnrin." (And who is this Awelewa? You and women.) He laughed.

I forced a smile, even as disgust rose in my chest.

I shook his hand, "Orisa, sir," I said, my voice smooth and controlled, "Inú mi dùn láti pàdé yín.” (What a pleasure to meet you.)

Before Aderemi - 1879 - Part 2 ꫂ ၴႅၴ

The destruction of several towns in Ekiti and Akure ultimately led to the outbreak of the Kiriji War. The war lasted from 1877 to 1893, and it was brutal.

My father was among the warriors who rebelled against the Ibadan rule. My mother begged him not to join, urging that we protect whatever family we had left, but my father refused.

He made it clear that it was his duty, as a man, to avenge Ekiti, to seek justice for all the towns that had been destroyed, and most importantly, to avenge his dear son.

The warriors took breaks in cycles to rest and visit their families. During one, while my father was home - We began to talk.

“Ba mi, kí ló máa ṣẹlẹ̀ tí mo bá fẹ́ di jagunlè bí yín?, Ṣé èyí lè ṣeé ṣe?” (Father, what if I wanted to be a warrior like you? Would that be possible?) I asked.

My father looked at me, concern etched on his face, and replied, "Aweda, Kí ló túmọ̀ sí? Mo rò pé ó fẹ́ kó ẹ̀kọ́ kí ó sì di olùkọ́. Èyí nìlọ̀nà kò sùn hàn ju.” (Aweda, what do you mean? I thought you wanted to get an education and become a teacher. That’s a better path for you.)

“Bẹ́ẹ̀ ni, mo tún fẹ́ kó ẹ̀kọ́, Ṣùgbọ́n mo tún fẹ́ mọ bí mo ṣe lè dáàbò bo ara mi àti àwọn ènìyàn tó wà ní ẹ̀dá mi." (Yes, I still want to be educated. But I also want to know how to defend myself and the people around me.)

He paused, his expression softening. “Ọmo mi sóò dára rẹ lẹ́bi fún ikú digital? Ẹ ṣùrú, kò bá ṣe”. (My child do you blame yourself for Digiola’s death? There was nothing you could have done.) he said, sadness in his eyes.

“Bẹ́ẹ̀ Ba mi” (Yes father) I answered, my voice trembling. “Èmi mí fó lọ, mè fé rì rú bà mó.” (I froze... I never want to freeze again.)

He placed a hand on my shoulder, his voice firm but gentle. "Ọ̀ dáa, ẹ̀mi yóò kọ́ ẹ—kékèké ni. Ṣùgbọ́n, má jẹ́ kí ìyá rẹ mọ̀” (Okay, I will teach you—little by little. But don’t let your mother know.)

During Aderemi - (1902.1903) - Part 1ꫂ ၴႅၴ

The Bamgbose’s were a dynasty in their own right. Their wealth came from their significant involvement in the agricultural trade, particularly in cocoa and rubber.

And with that wealth came power—power to shape the city.

They didn’t just own; they had ties to everything and they made sure everyone knew they were not to be crossed or messed with.

Things moved quickly with Aderemi just as I had expected. After about four months, I married him in the Bamgbose compound becoming his 4th wife. The celebration was one of a kind, with few appearances from my clan pretending to be my family.

In those months of courtship, Aderemi established 2 important things he was looking for. Firstly, he was desperate for a male child. So, I fabricated stories about how my family line always produced sons, and that I was one of the few girls in my extended family.

Secondly, he was looking for someone close to him to assist with some of the trade business he had with his elite partners. I convinced him to make me his trusted advisor, assuring him that I would make him very proud. I still remember the look of elation on his face, and I silently thanked the gods for guiding my steps.

Everything was going according to plan, with no real setbacks—though Balogun’s voice echoed in my mind, always warning me to prepare for the worst.

However, life with Aderemi was far from easy. He was cruel, abusive, and often unbearable. His need to control me was suffocating, wrapped in the excuse that I had to protect my womb—the one that would carry his heir. His behavior toward me caused the other wives to grow jealous, and they made my existence in the compound excruciating.

One evening, while the children played outside in the compound, I found myself lost in thought.

I thought back to my childhood—the one that had been stolen from me. I thought of Digiola, and the quiet ache in my heart that never quite went away. It dawned on me that despite all the preparations, I hadn’t truly understood how serious this would all be.

If anyone ever discovered the true reason I was here, I would be finished.

But I refused to give in to fear. I reminded myself of what I had been taught—by my father and by Balogun, whose clan I had joined after my father’s death.

I was not here to fail.

During Aderemi - 1903 - Part 2 ꫂ ၴႅၴ

One year into my time as Aderemi’s trusted financial advisor, I began to unravel the web of how the Bamgbose’s made money. It was a blend of legal and illegal dealings, just as I had imagined.

But I wasn’t overly concerned. The rich always get their way—so what was the point in reporting them to the authorities? That was a fight I’d never win.

But dishonesty between the powerful? That was a different story. It was something they couldn't tolerate. They would punish any betrayal among themselves—and that, I realized, was the leverage I needed.

I had to make the Bamgbose’s the scapegoats so that things would spiral out of control for them.

With Balogun’s help, I devised a plan so intricate and flawless that no trace of my involvement would remain. It was a dangerous game—my life depended on getting it right.

The first move was subtle, several of Aderemi’s storage facilities and shipments were raided and destroyed by members of my clan.

These weren’t just any facilities or shipments — they were the lifelines of his business empire and that of his partners.

Weeks passed, and soon the cracks began to show. Supply took a huge hit , payments to his business partners were delayed, and excuses piled up. His empire was unraveling, and the once-untouchable Bamgbose name was dragged through the mud.

The surprise visit from Gbajabiamila that day was the tipping point.

“Aderemi ṣé mo ní láti lọ sí Ibadan kí n tó dá àwọn ohun náà ṣe fún ara mi?” (Aderemi, do I have to move to Ibadan to take care of things myself?)  Gbajabiamila yelled.

“Sir, mo n ṣiṣẹ lori rẹ.” (I’m working on it.) Aderemi replied, his voice strained. “Òun ni pé... àsìkò ìṣòro ni yìí.” (it’s just... it’s a difficult time.)

“Ẹni tó bá ti bà á, lọ bẹ̀rù!” (Whoever you’ve offended, go and beg!) "Èmi àti igbimọ̀ náà ń padà ìfarabalẹ̀. Bí kò bá sí àtúnṣe kankan ní Oṣù Kejìlá, a ó yọ ẹ lára." (The board and I are losing patience. If nothing changes by December, you’ll be cut out.)

“Gbajabiamila, jọ̀wọ́, èmi ròyìn," Ajani pleaded. “Bamgbose’s ti máa ń ṣèjọsìn pẹ̀lú gbogbo rẹ. Ṣùgbọ́n..."

(Gbajabiamila please, I beg you. The Bamgbose’s  have always delivered. It’s just—”)

Gbajabiamila slammed the door and walked away before Aderemi could finish his sentence.

I stood in the hallway, listening, my heart pounding with triumph. The final move was the most delicate. I had to be certain everything was in place.

Death of Aderemi - (1904) ꫂ ၴႅၴ

I had thought that with all the pressure mounting, Aderemi might finally ease up on his constant bickering about a male child.

I had managed to stall him and keep my womb intact, but he was as persistent as ever. I needed to act fast - If I was to complete my mission intact.

I have always loved the water—the calmness and the peace it brought me, especially on my sad days.

The Osun River had become my sanctuary over the years and Aderemi never understood why I would travel all the way to Osun to visit it. “The place where peasants gather,” he’d sneer. It was my only safe place, the one spot where I could clear my mind, away from the lie I was living with him.

One weekend, I finally convinced him to come with me. I told him he needed a break from the chaos, that the breeze from the river and its serene surroundings would calm his mind. I even added a tempting clause—that afterward, we could try for a child.

I thought I’d have to work harder to persuade him, but he agreed almost immediately. The mighty lions’s tide was indeed turning.

"Orisa, this isn’t so bad, I must confess. O ṣé fún mi pé o mu mi wá sí ibè.” (Thank you for bringing me here.) he said, his voice softer than usual.

"Ọlọ́wọ́ orí mi, it’s my duty to keep you at ease, as much as I can." I replied

"O kò sọ fún mi ohun tó ṣẹlẹ sí ẹbí rẹ... ó dájú pé o nímọ́ wọn." (You never really told me what happened to your family... you must miss them.) he said, his eyes narrowing with genuine curiosity.

“Wọn kú nígbà ìkànsí tó yọrí sí Ogun Kiriji.” (They died during the raids that led to the Kiriji War.) I replied

"Oh..." he said, - “ We should head back. Mi o le wa kuro nínú ìtọ́jú àwọn ológun fún pípẹ́. Wọn ń dúró lókè pẹ̀lú òkè náà.” (I can’t stay away from the guards for too long, they are waiting right up the hill.)

"Béèni, béèni. Èmi yóò wà lẹ́yìn rẹ.” I murmured as I stared at the river.

(Yes, yes. I’ll be right behind you.)

As he got up and turned his back to me, I slit his throat and he fell to the ground, his hand clutching his neck.

I gently lifted his hands and inserted a needle under his Adam's apple. Then I stood up, confident and tall.

"Ìkòkò tó wà ní Ijẹ́rò—Èkìtì, nígbà ìkànsí, Do you remember?” (The bridge in Ijero—Ekiti, during the raids, Do you remember?) I asked, my tone cold and steady.

He looked at me, his eyes wide with fear while I reminded him of the timeline—each detail still as fresh in my mind as if it had happened yesterday.

"Èyí jẹ́ fún Digiola. Fún bàbá mi. Fún àlá tí wọ́n jí ní ọwọ́ mi. Fún àwọn ènìyàn Aye tó kú lẹ́bèèjì” I said, my voice low but firm.

(This is for Digiola. For my father. For the dreams stolen from me. For the people of Ijero who died by the bridge.)

He stammered ,”Mo kan ń tẹle àṣẹ, Orisa.” (I was only following orders, Orisa.)

I leaned in closer, my eyes narrowing with a sharpness he couldn’t ignore. "It’s Aweda. And I, too, am following orders."

I was right on time—the village thugs typically gathered around the river to do their business, and they came in flocks.

I yanked the needle from his neck and quickly dragged his body toward the river. The current dragged his lifeless body away, sinking it into the murky water.

I ran up the hill, my heart pounding and my body covered in blood. To make it look convincing, I had cut myself too, leaving a few small but deliberate marks.

I screamed at the guards!  “Remi wà nínú ìṣòro!” (Remi is in trouble!) falling to my knees and wailing for effect.

I’m not sure what happened after that - But from what I later heard, the thugs had overwhelmed the guards, mercilessly beating them.

The next day, we drove back to Ibadan, Aderemi’s body and the reputation of his family in a casket beside me.

Inside, I beamed with pride, though my face remained a mask of sorrow.

Present Day - 1905 ꫂ ၴႅၴ

I am sitting outside my mother's little townhome. I can hear the beautiful melody of the breeze and can smell bleached oil.

My mother drags her feet as she comes to join me outside.

I look up at her, and she smiles.

“Why Aweda?” I ask

She looks at me, her eyes distant as she recalls the painful memory.

“Mo jàgùn láti mú ò wá ṣàyè, àmọ́ ò jàgùn ju mi lọ, ọmọ mi... jàgùn jàgùn ló ì hā.”

(I fought so hard to bring you into this world, but you fought harder, my child. Aweda means ‘Warrior'—and it is the perfect name for you!)

Sage Roses ❁

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I would like to say a big thank you to my Uncle Busuyi for his help with the Ekiti translations.    

Also, to Lade and Ojo - I am grateful for your guidance. All my love always.