Ladies are sitting in a circle singing the song Edure Umbami in English and Yoruba. One person is sitting off to the side singing along when the verse is in English. Person keeps silent and turns head to watch the circle when the verse is in Yoruba. Sometimes she picks up a word or two. She sings alone in neutral syllables such as “la” or “hmm” or “doo”. Edure Umbami should be sung switching keys several times and end calmly repeating the phrase Edure Umbami. Call and response fashion.
Song:
Edure umbami (3x)
Oba to sidi aye sole o
Edure umbami
Edure umbami (3x)
Oba to sidi aye sole o
Edure umbami
Edure umbami
Edure umbami o
Edure umbami
Edure umbami o
Oba to sibi aye sole o
Edure umbami
Edure umbami o
Edure umbami
Edure umbami o
Oba to sibi aye sole o
Edure umbami
A Grandmama, diva ghost appears:
“You don’t know how to speak Yoruba? That is not how you sing it at allllll atall atall. This is how you must sing it. (She proceeds to sing a grander, and illustrious version of the song, flitting about the stage joyously, in a more upbeat tempo and with correct pronunciation.) Eh heh. THAT is how you sing. All you dese small, small gyels, you do not know how to sing. Anyway, you tried.”
She disappears.
Person prays:
“Dear God, I tried to understand. I mimicked every word, every movement, every inflection. And yet it still came out sounding “oyibo”. Strange. Foreign. Like something from overseas. White. Like a blank piece of paper. Waiting to be used. For someone to come along and etch an impression of BLACK text to give it some meaning. Some…significance. Lord, make me a SIGNIFICANT Yoruba. One who knows herself and her tongue. (By the way, how is it that this language is second nature to my ear, but funny on my tongue?) Let me not just be merely born overseas but able to return to my native land. It doesn’t have to be physical. Just real and authentic.” Amen.
