There is a cover story for Sango’s anger that they didn’t tell you about. All they ever said was how Sango had flames in his eyes and burnt with fire in his mouth when he’s angry but none of you ever made time to ask why.

I was there as the media consultant to the first P.R.O of the Oba-in-council of the old days. Yeah! We can say I am over 178 years old, isn’t that curious? Long life for a small me, right? We live long here.

Sangó was all smiles and easy when he was a boy. We were always fishing at the rivers close to the Odan valley beside the house of the Iya Alakara in my area. He was a prince but he never lived like one. His favourite spot was standing on the hill at Jobele.

Sàté, his best friend always tool us to the palace and we enjoyed the sumptuous meals the queen mother, Oya made for us. We ate not to our fill, but to the brim of our lives. Sango was always glad to have us around and we all felt welcome at the palace of the Alaafin.

Sàté grew and Sango grew and I grew. Sàté was the first to take up palace work, which was the most respected and lucrative. He was handed over to Ajeromi, the master of lamps and Atupa in the palace. Sàté was a natural drummer but I was the only one who knew that he was gifted. Sàté never told anyone this. His excuses were that he was never adequate to take up the Saworoide, the prominent of the drums.

Six months later, Sàté became a palace official. Sango met Osun, the daughter of my mother’s first sister. I had my eyes fixed on Osun as well, but when I saw that she was with Sango, I gave up. Sango is a better man and the truth was she’d end up becoming the queen, that is glory. I can’t possibly duel with Sango for Osun.

Unfortunately, Sate was also interested in what we were interested in, but he told no one. I only got to know when he was lost in thoughts admiring the beauty of Osun. I told him to desist from thinking about the idea. How can he be thinking of such? She is going to become our queen, I said. Sate stood up and dusted the dust off his Danshiki. He looked at me and said “kàkà kí eku má je sèsé, a fi se àwàdànù ni” (none of us will have what we seek)

I shrugged off his threats and laughed at his words. What can a mere mortal like you do to our own Sango? The next Alaafin of our Oyo. Two weeks later, Sàté joined the elite drummers of the palace, I never saw his scheming but I saw him.

The old Oba died and Sango became the next.

That was how we lost our former benevolent king. Sango wasn’t brute but we had wars. And we needed our drummer to egg us on during battle.

Everytime Sàté drums
Sango must dance
Sàté drums corrupt the strongest mind
Sango’s mind was not the strongest
It was corrupted

Sango saw everyone as enemy. He actually married Osun but we all know that Sàté was the puppet master. With a stroke of his Iya-Ilu, you don’t need to tell us that we are marching to war.

In the rage of Sate’s drum we marched with Sango until Sango’s rage boiled over. We killed more than mortals at every turns. We killed our souls and unleashed the fangs. But we never satisfied Sango. In his rage, he brought down thunder and stormed his own soldiers.

The shame took him to Kòso. Sàté kept following him, egging him on. Sango saw the oyan tree and did what no oba has ever done.

The coast was clear for Sàté but he made Osun a widow that desired no suitor.

Sàté, no drummer has drummed your drums
No drums has sound like your drum
Your drums were boiled in rage
And in rage, your drums sounded.

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