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I shall rename Gabriel





I shall rename Gabriel

And watch him reenter earth’s firmament with renewed annunciations

I shall call on the cosmos of the continent

And take from them the bit and the pitch

I shall muster our very elements

To sieve our shadows and reclaim the realities

I shall then bow before my folks

And we shall rename Gabriel.



Archangel,

You stand before the throne of mercy

You appeared to Mary,

And showed yourself to Daniel and Zacharias

You delivered the Koran to Muhammed

Securing a safe spot

In the annals of the faiths,

But your name is thick in my mouth

My African tongue could do with any other name

A name known to us

A name we can relate to

As I rise to rename you,

I must speak to our moons and our stars

Our ancestors, days and seasons

They shall come together for this naming ceremony

And we shall rename Gabriel.



But not so fast,

Crier, hold your oblong gong

Not a note shall you cut as yet,

We must throw this at Gabriel himself:

Tell us, wise angel,

Tell us, messenger of the Gods,

Tell us, what language they speak in heaven

Hebrew, English……….what?

How did you get the name Gabriel?

Is that really your name?

We must know the old before we give the new,

What language do they speak in heaven?



I shall restructure the feast of Eucharist

And cast away the wafer and the red wine,

The theme is to make communion

And we shall do it as we know,

For we have come to our holy anthill

To behold a God of every race and clime

To that spot where humanity melts into oneness

And the spectrum of the shades of skin fuses into singularity

We have come to the anthill

The foods and gifts we have, we must use

My flat melon cakes called “mgbam”,

Salted and spiced up, dried over the fire place,

In that old safety basket,

Shall be ‘the body of ‘Christ’

And the fresh palm wine,

Frosty and unblemished,

In that pot whose ass is yet to touch the ground

Shall be ‘the blood of Christ’

But do not venture to the Lord’s table

If your mind is sick,

Or if in any way the darkness of sin stains the depths of your mind

Or if your entrails are poisoned by evil thoughts towards either kin or kith,

For you shall eat my melon cakes

And drink my palm wine, with a pure heart….

Then I, Priest at the Eucharist will bless the melon cake and say….

‘Take, eat: this is my body, which is broken for you:

This do in remembrance of me.’

After the same manner will I lift the palm wine and say….

‘This cup is the new testament in my blood: this you shall do,

As often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.



But not so fast,

Crier, hold your oblong gong

Not a note shall you cut as yet,

Tell me, all that hear me today

I am speaking to mankind as they seek eternal souls

If the savior was born across the Niger,

If he lived and worked with the Igbo tribe,

On that night when he dined and wined

Would he have touched the vine?…

The palm wine I think, would have been quaffed that night

Perhaps there would have been a blood tie

Between Jesus and the twelve on that night.

This great ritual which the Igbo call “Oriko”

Forbids any participant from acting against his brother

With whom he had a blood tie.

After “Oriko” between Jesus and Judas,

Judas would have called the high priest

And cancelled the deal of betrayal

Afraid the gods would strike him dead.



I shall drive Santa Claus away,

And prohibit him from the steps of St John’s

I shall throw the doors of my church

Wide open for the “Ojionu” masquerade

To saunter in and give away gifts to children,

Armed with his broom and whip,

As the masquerade approaches the alter,

The old carol would be changed,

For the children would yell:

“………..you better be good

You better watch out

You better don’t cry,

And I will tell you why,

For Ojionu is coming to town.

He sees you while you sleep

He knows if you’ve been good or bad

la la la la la la la la





And we will tear down paradeisbaum

And speak like the prophet Jeremiah,

Let my people not deck trees with gold and silver

Then the crier with the the oblong gong

Insisted on blasting his gong,

But I said no and waved him down.

Thematically I enquired,

What difference exists between a Santa claus

That appeared from the North pole

And my masquerade that emerged,

Tearing out of an ant hole.



I will change Pentecost,

And while maintaining the themes of the feasts,

Steal into Christendom all the days of my ancient feast.

We shall celebrate Pentecost on the day of our Ekpe masquerade

Advent on our new yam festival,

And Christmas on our Ikoro festival.



I will erase the crap in your mind

And place your ancestors where they belong

I will charge you never again to term them idol worshippers

They who gave us our markets

Named our days

Carved our roads

Gave us our foods

Tapped our wine

Handpicked vegetables for us

Without any help

Without your laboratories

They labored, built and discovered life

Tied it up and left.

I speak again to mankind as they seek an eternal soul

These thoughts, acts and ancestral ordinances were divine,

The gods lived in our midst indeed.

  All these they did,

Now what have you done for us.

And the crier again lifted his oblong gong,

And I again waved him down,

But he beat his oblong gong

And away he went.



                                                                                       Uzoma Nwaekpe Esq.

                                                              Amsterdam, May 2010.