Mugu Paradise & Fools' Paradise
Mugu Paradise
Wi dey hala halleluya, halleluya
For di door of heaven awa voice dey ringi o
Wayo wata wey commot for awa eye don turn river,
for wi house na honey-bee sweet lie o,
awa wuru-wuru way came fill di temple.
Dis fabu, na im catch awa spirit so,
For hala-hala prayer na inside am awa spirit dey gyrate,
Di floor con dey cry for awa leg wi dey take knack am,
music comot for di mout of kolo, awa body dey tranga.
Whinch prepa food awa belle gage.
Na awa Nija bi disi o!
Wi roll for ground leg scatter, dey yarn opata for mout,
Love wey God get we dey hurry pull am con wi side alone,
Gra-gra prayer wi demo for altar, awa fingers con fly
For di orda man im eye, di finger con park.
for everibodi to see heaven, wi sey dis na di only way.
Na awa Nija bi disi o!
Dis awa whinch craze com dey waka wit vexation,
Anybodi wey dey road come dey scatter scatter,
Di people wey no scatter, na gbua for dem face,
For awa face wi form mu-mu dey preten,
But na bread and butta na im wi dey fin,
Di remainder wey fall for gutter, dey follow wata,
For dis poto-poto, bega put hand to chop,
Dem leg and hand com dey tranga inside.
Na for dis show born-again hala dey hapi.
Na awa Nija bi disi o!
Di orda way awa eye con turn,
But for awa way area-boy dey burn,
Awa bodi dey shine dey comot oyel.
Area-boy look us im see pig wey im go fry.
Di shain wi carri put for awa neck,
Awa passpot we sey for longer troat,
Wi sey na sign sey wi sabi business,
But wi know sey di torry na wayo,
Na di pot wey carri honey, na im wi dey run follo,
Di people wi mash on di way, wi no say sorry.
For dis empti basket, Na im wi dey hala.
Na awa Nija bi disi o!
Wen wi knee down, wi bigin beg God O!
Wetin comot for awa mout na wuru-wuru,
Awa yanga com dey make shakara,
For God to forgive us and miracle na im wi dey fin,
Mama bon-boy im pickin wi bigin kick am.
Di cona wi hide tins wi tif, na di place we con dey hide.
Di tins wi dey sell, wi ask poor man to brin gold to buy am.
Na awa Nija bi disi o!
Na awa Nija bi disi o!
Any which way people dey fall to arm-robber bullet,
Di wans wey pai, na dem share for di cost,
All wi con bi target for guns wey dey hungry,
For di back of iron door, wi dey hide dey complain,
Na awa ancestors wi con blame for dis our trouble.
(Note: Originally written in honour of the Late Nija Musician, Fela Anikulapo-Kuti in 1997, re-written 2003, translated into pidgin 2006)
Fools’ Paradise
Alleluia! Alleluia!
At Heaven’s door our voices ring.
Crocodile streams our teary eyes bring.
In ether, vacuous and honeyed, the heathen contagion fills.
Flux of fable, our souls’ bliss.
In lurid worship our convoluted souls.
Mutinous feet enraged in ‘bata’ stomps, the floor pulls.
To the symphony played by full moon, swarms of gyrating torsos flow.
Filling our arcane and lewd appetite, this chow.
Nija
Oblivious yell and ground roll,
Gods love, all hands scurry to pull.
Frenetic prayers to the altar, fingers take to flight.
The others eye, a bequeathed plight.
And all these, Heaven’s pathway,
for all to take.
Nija
Magma of madness with fury flows.
Scathing all, wrecking blows.
Deluge mass of surface affection,
To bread and butter, hoggish devotion.
Awash the gutters way, crumbs set sail.
To the muck, vagrant forage for a meal,
wander and scurry at their feet, limbs begging low.
This show, voices of new-day saints bellow.
Nija
The other way, our eyes set to turn.
On our way, marauders set to burn.
Our pores, ooze of fattened oil.
On the marauder’s sight, a pig to broil.
Beads of adornment, our veil of gluttony.
Show for our enterprise we claim, a tale so phony.
To a pot of honey, we flee to in hurry.
The trampled on our way, we are all but sorry.
To this hollow, our voices howl.
Nija.
On our knees, to God, a glut of plea.
Escape our gaol of pious pretence, Egoism within to flee.
Mercy and miracles, to ourselves alone we seek.
Thy neighbours’ love, we all scramble to kick.
Within mist of stolen treasures, our refuge lie.
At the price of gold, our wares we sell by a lie.
Nija
Nija
Random pickings at the Snipers’ will.
The picked and fallen, the part of the bill.
All and all, targets for guns so deprived.
Behind shackled doors, hiding and grumbling.
“Heaven’s fault”, muffled voices now mumbling.
For di door of heaven awa voice dey ringi o
Wayo wata wey commot for awa eye don turn river,
for wi house na honey-bee sweet lie o,
awa wuru-wuru way came fill di temple.
Dis fabu, na im catch awa spirit so,
For hala-hala prayer na inside am awa spirit dey gyrate,
Di floor con dey cry for awa leg wi dey take knack am,
music comot for di mout of kolo, awa body dey tranga.
Whinch prepa food awa belle gage.
Na awa Nija bi disi o!
Wi roll for ground leg scatter, dey yarn opata for mout,
Love wey God get we dey hurry pull am con wi side alone,
Gra-gra prayer wi demo for altar, awa fingers con fly
For di orda man im eye, di finger con park.
for everibodi to see heaven, wi sey dis na di only way.
Na awa Nija bi disi o!
Dis awa whinch craze com dey waka wit vexation,
Anybodi wey dey road come dey scatter scatter,
Di people wey no scatter, na gbua for dem face,
For awa face wi form mu-mu dey preten,
But na bread and butta na im wi dey fin,
Di remainder wey fall for gutter, dey follow wata,
For dis poto-poto, bega put hand to chop,
Dem leg and hand com dey tranga inside.
Na for dis show born-again hala dey hapi.
Na awa Nija bi disi o!
Di orda way awa eye con turn,
But for awa way area-boy dey burn,
Awa bodi dey shine dey comot oyel.
Area-boy look us im see pig wey im go fry.
Di shain wi carri put for awa neck,
Awa passpot we sey for longer troat,
Wi sey na sign sey wi sabi business,
But wi know sey di torry na wayo,
Na di pot wey carri honey, na im wi dey run follo,
Di people wi mash on di way, wi no say sorry.
For dis empti basket, Na im wi dey hala.
Na awa Nija bi disi o!
Wen wi knee down, wi bigin beg God O!
Wetin comot for awa mout na wuru-wuru,
Awa yanga com dey make shakara,
For God to forgive us and miracle na im wi dey fin,
Mama bon-boy im pickin wi bigin kick am.
Di cona wi hide tins wi tif, na di place we con dey hide.
Di tins wi dey sell, wi ask poor man to brin gold to buy am.
Na awa Nija bi disi o!
Na awa Nija bi disi o!
Any which way people dey fall to arm-robber bullet,
Di wans wey pai, na dem share for di cost,
All wi con bi target for guns wey dey hungry,
For di back of iron door, wi dey hide dey complain,
Na awa ancestors wi con blame for dis our trouble.
(Note: Originally written in honour of the Late Nija Musician, Fela Anikulapo-Kuti in 1997, re-written 2003, translated into pidgin 2006)
Fools’ Paradise
Alleluia! Alleluia!
At Heaven’s door our voices ring.
Crocodile streams our teary eyes bring.
In ether, vacuous and honeyed, the heathen contagion fills.
Flux of fable, our souls’ bliss.
In lurid worship our convoluted souls.
Mutinous feet enraged in ‘bata’ stomps, the floor pulls.
To the symphony played by full moon, swarms of gyrating torsos flow.
Filling our arcane and lewd appetite, this chow.
Nija
Oblivious yell and ground roll,
Gods love, all hands scurry to pull.
Frenetic prayers to the altar, fingers take to flight.
The others eye, a bequeathed plight.
And all these, Heaven’s pathway,
for all to take.
Nija
Magma of madness with fury flows.
Scathing all, wrecking blows.
Deluge mass of surface affection,
To bread and butter, hoggish devotion.
Awash the gutters way, crumbs set sail.
To the muck, vagrant forage for a meal,
wander and scurry at their feet, limbs begging low.
This show, voices of new-day saints bellow.
Nija
The other way, our eyes set to turn.
On our way, marauders set to burn.
Our pores, ooze of fattened oil.
On the marauder’s sight, a pig to broil.
Beads of adornment, our veil of gluttony.
Show for our enterprise we claim, a tale so phony.
To a pot of honey, we flee to in hurry.
The trampled on our way, we are all but sorry.
To this hollow, our voices howl.
Nija.
On our knees, to God, a glut of plea.
Escape our gaol of pious pretence, Egoism within to flee.
Mercy and miracles, to ourselves alone we seek.
Thy neighbours’ love, we all scramble to kick.
Within mist of stolen treasures, our refuge lie.
At the price of gold, our wares we sell by a lie.
Nija
Nija
Random pickings at the Snipers’ will.
The picked and fallen, the part of the bill.
All and all, targets for guns so deprived.
Behind shackled doors, hiding and grumbling.
“Heaven’s fault”, muffled voices now mumbling.
posted by Jagu Gbenusu at Friday, September 08, 2006
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