HOME | DD

Description
In a land of heat and desert
There lived a tribe who worked all day
And every day was the same as the next.
The people grew sorrowful when they could predict
The outcome of all they did
Because it’s all been done before.

The chief Nisooti had a proclamation
To end the repetition of days:
“At day’s end the sun leaves us
In hope that tomorrow shall be different.
But in its return at dawn it only can laugh
For when we wake and see it beaming over us
It only implies that the day starts the same as yesterday
And that the trend carries until nightfall,
Only to start the miserable process again.

“And so I have a plan.
We will gather up our men and our rope.
We will lasso the sun and pull it in.
We will take the gods’ tool for making us tire!
We will use the sun and keep an eternal day,
A day that will never end to bring us anguish;
A day unlike all the days before.
We will live this day like the gods,
Possessing the sun they cherish so.”

The chief rallied up his men
And they all tugged and tugged.
They pulled the sun into the earth
And they brought it down to their camp’s center
And joined hands in a circle,
Large as the sun itself,
And did a celebratory dance.

Nisooti had lead a great feat
And came to his hovel to retire
To consult his Ori,
A guardian angel who lead him in the path of a ruler.
It was when he stared the Ori in its thick, clay face
That it told him to bring down the sun
And it proved itself as a guide to Nisooti.
But now it had other plans:

“I fear, Nisooti, that
I did you more harm than good.
The gods will notice you stole
Their jewel from the heavens
And will be sure to exact their revenge.
They say you can have too much of a good thing.”

In which Nisooti replied:
“Do not worry, great Ori
For nothing will happen on today,
And today we live as kings.
The sun is unable to escape us
And this day will last forever.
The gods will not challenge us
For we are in charge today.”

And so the day passed while time stood still
And no one aged or died.
It was the greatest day of humanity
And so the tribe had triumphed.
But it was when the people grew hungry
And they ate and ate their crops.
But the crops, needing longer than a day to grow,
Were never able to replenish.
The sun’s heat was ongoing and unavoidable;
The people grew dehydrated and starving
And a great drought and famine plagued the tribe.

The gods had gotten their revenge for what Nisooti had done
And so the tribe had suffered.
Nisooti called to his Ori:
“How may I reverse what I have done?
This day was to be eternal and great
But now everyone suffers.
We cannot even hope for the gift of death
For the frozen time will not allow us to grow old
And so our suffering will last eternally.
Tell me, Ori, how may I get rid of the sun?
How may I bring nightfall?
Ori, how may I end famine?”

The Ori gave its answer:
“Poor Nisooti, I see your pain
But you can’t say I have not warned you.
Simply calling for the night will not end your sorrows
For the famine and drought will still be nigh
And your people will perish.
Not only must you release the sun
But also call for rain;
It is this rain that will grow your food
And this rain that will feed your people.
You will take a chalice of the tribe’s last water to Dzivaguru
For she is the Goddess of Earth.
She will magnify the amount ten-fold
And rain it down onto your people
And so you will live in pleasure.
But you will have to accept the fact
That you should not change routine,
Whether it be yours or that of the god’s
And especially not the sun’s.
You will let nature run its natural course
And accept what the coming days bring you.”

And Nisooti apologetically agreed
And went on a quest across the regions of Africa
With his chalice, a gift to the goddess.
And he walked for what would seem days without food or drink,
And would have suffered like the people of his tribe
If it weren’t for the immense determination that he had
Or the power of his will.

Our hero came across a woman
Lying in the dusty sand
Who resembled the welfare of his own people
Yet she was plump and heavy.
Though the expressionless face grew to a weary one
Not wishing for food but water.

She started:
“Good sir, I have a favor to ask
For I come from the Zulu tribe
And was on my way to another
Deciding to keep walking until nightfall.
But the night never came and the sun still shone
Until I grew tired and weary
With no source of hydration but my own sweat.
And I ask you, man carrying that clay goblet
If you may spare a sip of water for me to drink.”

Nisooti, realizing he was the cause of this woman’s problem
Humbly agreed to her request
And allowed the plump woman some of his water.
“I thank you kindly,” she said,
“And no man has ever helped me like you have.
In my tribe they shun the women of my demeanor
For we are treated by our looks
And I have been abandoned for what they call gluttony.
They threatened if I had not grown thinner
I would be poached myself and killed
And maybe even be served as a dish myself
To show my stomach shan’t be fuller
Than their quality of life.
It is for this reason that I ran away
In hope I could live a better life.
And I, Elephant, ask you, sir, for another favor:
I ask to be your companion
In fear I might not make the trip all my own.”

And Nisooti replied:
“Dearest Elephant, your size does not appall
And I see that you are brave and healthy
For making it all on your own even this far.
But my tribe is not fit for a visitor
And is dying itself.
And so I am on a journey to the Goddess Dzivaguru
In hopes she will bring rainfall and support the life
That my tribe so greatly needs.
And if you follow me there and aid my duties
I will welcome you with open arms to the tribe
And ensure you are treated with wise respect,
For a wise woman you are.”

And so Nisooti received companionship
And the two traveled further down the pathless desert
Until they reached a formation of rock,
A steep climb as high as the heavens.
It was this mountain the two climbed
And as the day passed, still unending,
The man and elephant reached the very top
Where they encountered a man of many masks.

He introduced:
“Visitors of the heavens,
I bid you hello and fine greetings.
It is ironic I should welcome you to this place
For I am the one who sees spirits off.”
Nisooti was greatly confused:
“I do not understand what you say.”
In which Elephant herself added:
“This man is Ajala, creator of Ori.
When a child is born in the heavens
He creates them an Ori, a face in clay,
Who serves as the child’s guide through life.
And this is what he means when he says he sees spirits off;
The only people he meets are bound to leave heaven to venture on to Earth,
While we are leaving Earth to venture into Heaven.”
Nisooti, amazed, asked:
“How is it that you know all of this?”
And along came a sly reply:
“I am Elephant,
I do not forget
And I remember when I was just a calf
When Ajala molded my Ori;
It is something other people cannot think so far back as to remember.”

Ajala merely listened to the conversation
And finally joined in:
“The elephant-woman speaks correctly.
I am the creator of the Ori, these masks you see me hold,
And while I send off people to Earth,
I do not allow them in.
I know your purpose for coming here
And I cannot allow you to pass.
You cannot put and end to this dry day;
The dry weather is perfect for Ori creation.
You will notice that after I finish an Ori
And it is on its way towards Earth,
Rainfall, may there be some, will wash away the face
Ruining the Ori and inconveniencing its receiver.
And to not cause anguish I ask for you to leave
So that none may be harmed by that fate.”

But Nisooti used his skill of persuasion:
“Ajala, I find it in your best interests
To allow us to pass into heaven
For if not, not only will there be no rain
But also no nightfall.
This day will last forever
For we have yet to release the sun up here
And so time will not pass as normal
And without aging, they will never die.
And while you may create fascinating Ori
There will be no one to receive it
For not only will people never die
But children will never develop
And so no one will be born.
And so who then can appreciate the Ori?
You must learn the lesson my tribe has, Ajala:
You must be careful what you wish for.
You may enjoy this dry, never-ending day
But while it may improve your quality of work
It will also make your job obsolete.
Children cannot be born in a day.”

And Ajala gave in:
“Wiser words were never spoken
And you, my visitor, are correct.
I will allow you to pass by to the gods
In hopes that you may bring nightfall
Followed by many days to come.
And each day will bring a new child,
A new face for me to create,
And a new work of art.
And despite some being destroyed in the rain
It is but a small price to pay for having a purpose.”

Nisooti and Elephant walked along the heavens
And soon came across the palace of Dzivaguru.
Nisooti introduced:
“Great Goddess of Earth,
I am Nisooti, chief of the Yoruba tribe,
And she is Elephant,
Refugee of the Zulu tribe.
We come together asking for a simple gift of rainfall.
We are willing to sacrifice this chalice
For it contain all the water that’s left
In hope that you may return the favor within a day.
We will also return to you the sun
In apology for my tribe’s selfishness and ungratefulness to the gods.
Dzivaguru, I am deeply sorry for what we have done.”

And Dzivaguru replied:
“You should be, Nisooti, and I believe you are:
You made up for your selfishness
For I saw you offer your companion a sip of your water.
You have learned your lesson
For you taught the same to Ajala.
Nisooti, you are a good man; keep the water
And pour it down your throat
And let it be an example to those of your tribe
That respecting the gods will bring you far.
Drink, Nisooti!
You’ve endured a tiring walk.
And now let us end the day
And douse the sun’s blazing fires
With water from the sky.”

Description
In a land of heat and desert
There lived a tribe who worked all day
And every day was the same as the next.
The people grew sorrowful when they could predict
The outcome of all they did
Because it’s all been done before.

The chief Nisooti had a proclamation
To end the repetition of days:
“At day’s end the sun leaves us
In hope that tomorrow shall be different.
But in its return at dawn it only can laugh
For when we wake and see it beaming over us
It only implies that the day starts the same as yesterday
And that the trend carries until nightfall,
Only to start the miserable process again.

“And so I have a plan.
We will gather up our men and our rope.
We will lasso the sun and pull it in.
We will take the gods’ tool for making us tire!
We will use the sun and keep an eternal day,
A day that will never end to bring us anguish;
A day unlike all the days before.
We will live this day like the gods,
Possessing the sun they cherish so.”

The chief rallied up his men
And they all tugged and tugged.
They pulled the sun into the earth
And they brought it down to their camp’s center
And joined hands in a circle,
Large as the sun itself,
And did a celebratory dance.

Nisooti had lead a great feat
And came to his hovel to retire
To consult his Ori,
A guardian angel who lead him in the path of a ruler.
It was when he stared the Ori in its thick, clay face
That it told him to bring down the sun
And it proved itself as a guide to Nisooti.
But now it had other plans:

“I fear, Nisooti, that
I did you more harm than good.
The gods will notice you stole
Their jewel from the heavens
And will be sure to exact their revenge.
They say you can have too much of a good thing.”

In which Nisooti replied:
“Do not worry, great Ori
For nothing will happen on today,
And today we live as kings.
The sun is unable to escape us
And this day will last forever.
The gods will not challenge us
For we are in charge today.”

And so the day passed while time stood still
And no one aged or died.
It was the greatest day of humanity
And so the tribe had triumphed.
But it was when the people grew hungry
And they ate and ate their crops.
But the crops, needing longer than a day to grow,
Were never able to replenish.
The sun’s heat was ongoing and unavoidable;
The people grew dehydrated and starving
And a great drought and famine plagued the tribe.

The gods had gotten their revenge for what Nisooti had done
And so the tribe had suffered.
Nisooti called to his Ori:
“How may I reverse what I have done?
This day was to be eternal and great
But now everyone suffers.
We cannot even hope for the gift of death
For the frozen time will not allow us to grow old
And so our suffering will last eternally.
Tell me, Ori, how may I get rid of the sun?
How may I bring nightfall?
Ori, how may I end famine?”

The Ori gave its answer:
“Poor Nisooti, I see your pain
But you can’t say I have not warned you.
Simply calling for the night will not end your sorrows
For the famine and drought will still be nigh
And your people will perish.
Not only must you release the sun
But also call for rain;
It is this rain that will grow your food
And this rain that will feed your people.
You will take a chalice of the tribe’s last water to Dzivaguru
For she is the Goddess of Earth.
She will magnify the amount ten-fold
And rain it down onto your people
And so you will live in pleasure.
But you will have to accept the fact
That you should not change routine,
Whether it be yours or that of the god’s
And especially not the sun’s.
You will let nature run its natural course
And accept what the coming days bring you.”

And Nisooti apologetically agreed
And went on a quest across the regions of Africa
With his chalice, a gift to the goddess.
And he walked for what would seem days without food or drink,
And would have suffered like the people of his tribe
If it weren’t for the immense determination that he had
Or the power of his will.

Our hero came across a woman
Lying in the dusty sand
Who resembled the welfare of his own people
Yet she was plump and heavy.
Though the expressionless face grew to a weary one
Not wishing for food but water.

She started:
“Good sir, I have a favor to ask
For I come from the Zulu tribe
And was on my way to another
Deciding to keep walking until nightfall.
But the night never came and the sun still shone
Until I grew tired and weary
With no source of hydration but my own sweat.
And I ask you, man carrying that clay goblet
If you may spare a sip of water for me to drink.”

Nisooti, realizing he was the cause of this woman’s problem
Humbly agreed to her request
And allowed the plump woman some of his water.
“I thank you kindly,” she said,
“And no man has ever helped me like you have.
In my tribe they shun the women of my demeanor
For we are treated by our looks
And I have been abandoned for what they call gluttony.
They threatened if I had not grown thinner
I would be poached myself and killed
And maybe even be served as a dish myself
To show my stomach shan’t be fuller
Than their quality of life.
It is for this reason that I ran away
In hope I could live a better life.
And I, Elephant, ask you, sir, for another favor:
I ask to be your companion
In fear I might not make the trip all my own.”

And Nisooti replied:
“Dearest Elephant, your size does not appall
And I see that you are brave and healthy
For making it all on your own even this far.
But my tribe is not fit for a visitor
And is dying itself.
And so I am on a journey to the Goddess Dzivaguru
In hopes she will bring rainfall and support the life
That my tribe so greatly needs.
And if you follow me there and aid my duties
I will welcome you with open arms to the tribe
And ensure you are treated with wise respect,
For a wise woman you are.”

And so Nisooti received companionship
And the two traveled further down the pathless desert
Until they reached a formation of rock,
A steep climb as high as the heavens.
It was this mountain the two climbed
And as the day passed, still unending,
The man and elephant reached the very top
Where they encountered a man of many masks.

He introduced:
“Visitors of the heavens,
I bid you hello and fine greetings.
It is ironic I should welcome you to this place
For I am the one who sees spirits off.”
Nisooti was greatly confused:
“I do not understand what you say.”
In which Elephant herself added:
“This man is Ajala, creator of Ori.
When a child is born in the heavens
He creates them an Ori, a face in clay,
Who serves as the child’s guide through life.
And this is what he means when he says he sees spirits off;
The only people he meets are bound to leave heaven to venture on to Earth,
While we are leaving Earth to venture into Heaven.”
Nisooti, amazed, asked:
“How is it that you know all of this?”
And along came a sly reply:
“I am Elephant,
I do not forget
And I remember when I was just a calf
When Ajala molded my Ori;
It is something other people cannot think so far back as to remember.”

Ajala merely listened to the conversation
And finally joined in:
“The elephant-woman speaks correctly.
I am the creator of the Ori, these masks you see me hold,
And while I send off people to Earth,
I do not allow them in.
I know your purpose for coming here
And I cannot allow you to pass.
You cannot put and end to this dry day;
The dry weather is perfect for Ori creation.
You will notice that after I finish an Ori
And it is on its way towards Earth,
Rainfall, may there be some, will wash away the face
Ruining the Ori and inconveniencing its receiver.
And to not cause anguish I ask for you to leave
So that none may be harmed by that fate.”

But Nisooti used his skill of persuasion:
“Ajala, I find it in your best interests
To allow us to pass into heaven
For if not, not only will there be no rain
But also no nightfall.
This day will last forever
For we have yet to release the sun up here
And so time will not pass as normal
And without aging, they will never die.
And while you may create fascinating Ori
There will be no one to receive it
For not only will people never die
But children will never develop
And so no one will be born.
And so who then can appreciate the Ori?
You must learn the lesson my tribe has, Ajala:
You must be careful what you wish for.
You may enjoy this dry, never-ending day
But while it may improve your quality of work
It will also make your job obsolete.
Children cannot be born in a day.”

And Ajala gave in:
“Wiser words were never spoken
And you, my visitor, are correct.
I will allow you to pass by to the gods
In hopes that you may bring nightfall
Followed by many days to come.
And each day will bring a new child,
A new face for me to create,
And a new work of art.
And despite some being destroyed in the rain
It is but a small price to pay for having a purpose.”

Nisooti and Elephant walked along the heavens
And soon came across the palace of Dzivaguru.
Nisooti introduced:
“Great Goddess of Earth,
I am Nisooti, chief of the Yoruba tribe,
And she is Elephant,
Refugee of the Zulu tribe.
We come together asking for a simple gift of rainfall.
We are willing to sacrifice this chalice
For it contain all the water that’s left
In hope that you may return the favor within a day.
We will also return to you the sun
In apology for my tribe’s selfishness and ungratefulness to the gods.
Dzivaguru, I am deeply sorry for what we have done.”

And Dzivaguru replied:
“You should be, Nisooti, and I believe you are:
You made up for your selfishness
For I saw you offer your companion a sip of your water.
You have learned your lesson
For you taught the same to Ajala.
Nisooti, you are a good man; keep the water
And pour it down your throat
And let it be an example to those of your tribe
That respecting the gods will bring you far.
Drink, Nisooti!
You’ve endured a tiring walk.
And now let us end the day
And douse the sun’s blazing fires
With water from the sky.”