"Ah, the Netherworld," I sigh, pondering my Fate. I've been locked in here for several centuries. Once upon a time, I was worshipped as a Deity in ancient Africa. to the Yoruba people of West Africa, I was Olokun, the Spirit of the Seas. Of course, that was before Christianity and Islam made their way into Africa through trade and colonialism, and I was all but forgotten by my people.
What happens to a God, Goddess or Deity of old when their believers stop believing? Two choices, folks. Either you fade into nothingness, or you go for a permanent timeout in the Netherworld, where at least you have sentience and awareness, and some limited form of agency. That's just the way it is. The Norse Gods, the Olympian Gods, the Aztec Gods, and many others have all faded into nothingness.
"Olokun, you must survive," said Adeyemi, a tall, stoic, dark-skinned man of about fifty, as he clutched my statuette to his chest. Made out of obsidian stone and raw ivory, it represented me and had been praised by the Yoruba people of West Africa for many centuries. I was worshipped by fishermen and their families. They prayed to me for safe passage during storms, and for the bounty of the seas. I was their god, and they loved me wholeheartedly.
The British Army marched into the City of Lagos, Nigeria, and annexed it, and thus, Colonial Nigeria was formed. The British brought Christianity to West Africa, with their missionaries who looked down on the animist faiths, the Islamic faith, and most of all, the African deities which the locals firmly believed in. They destroyed our shrines, our temples and our sacred places, and compared our worship to that of the Devil of Christian lore. Such a wicked bunch, aren't they?
Now, please understand the relationship between Man and Deity. Neither can exist without the other. When I walk among mortal men and mortal women, I look like a tall, handsome black man in a fisherman's shawl. That's how the Yoruba people, my first worshippers, envisioned me. The powers which I possessed, such as superhuman strength and speed, regeneration, sharp senses, the ability to control marine life, and control over the sea itself, were attributes given to me through psycho-materialization by the minds of human beings.
For over a thousand years, I lived among the Yoruba people, and I dwelled in the ocean, as well as in their hearts and minds. When they praised the name Olokun, they granted me power and agency, and I came to their aid in difficult times. When the British crushed the African shrines, they tainted the minds of my Yoruba worshippers with their malignant Christianity as the Arabs had tainted the minds of Africans with Islam. I was lost, and so were my people.
Adeyemi hid my statuette in a secret underground chamber in what would later become the University of Lagos. The old Yoruba priest had faith that someday, I would return and once more inspire Africans everywhere to be proud and strong again, and fearlessly challenge their enemies. Adeyemi's loyalty touched me, folks, it truly did. The old man needn't have worried, though. I am not bound to the statuette. It is a mere representation of my power. Representation is important, very important, let me get to that.
Every culture produces its godheads, and the adherents of that faith draw power from their beliefs. One cannot remove the white male as the image of the godhead figure in Eurocentric Christianity, nor can one separate the Arab's ethnic and cultural ways from Islam. That's why Europe and the Arabian world are leading powers today. The African will never be powerful as long as he or she clings to the religious ways of those who oppress Africa. Come on, black folks from all over the world have been passionate Christians and passionate Muslims for centuries, and where has it gotten them?
I remained trapped in the Netherworld and watched helplessly as West Africa was conquered by the Europeans, and the sons and daughters of Africa embraced every religion except that of their ancestors. When the African prayed to a Deity who was dark of skin, and imbued with raw, primordial power, he had strength and dignity. You're probably wondering what I mean by that.
Don't speak to me of political power, economic power or military power as the elements which indicate who rules and who is ruled. A far greater power is the power of belief. A man driven by belief can slaughter ten men by himself and laugh in the face of death, to the everlasting horror of his enemies. Once, the African commanded power and respect. Nowadays, the African is a shell of his former self. He continues to be mocked and oppressed by the European, the Arab and the Indian and the Chinese, all of whom draw power from religions whose godheads resemble them. Will the African ever see the light?
From the Netherworld, I watched the African diaspora around the world. I smiled as the black men and black women of Saint Domingue rose against the French colonial masters and slaughtered them before creating the Nation of Haiti. I watched as the French and the other European powers vowed to punish Haiti economically and politically for generations to come. I have much love for the people of Haiti, and in many ways, Africans everywhere are in their debt.
I privately wept as the descendants of Africans living in North America continue to be slaughtered by racist police, generations after their heroic forefathers fought a Civil War and led a Civil Rights Movement for freedom. The American police system, and its close cousin, the Canadian criminal justice system, deliberately target black men and black women. How else would you explain why black folks are killed for the kind of infractions that cost their white counterparts next to nothing? If you haven't noticed that, you're either a fool or a bigot.
I resigned myself to the confinement of the Netherworld. One after one, maddened Deities who'd fled there escaped to the planet Earth, only to die upon realizing that the power granted to them by their believers was no longer there. I held out, believing that someday, my worshippers would return. It was inevitable. The humans always have faith in their Gods and Goddesses. I'm ashamed to say that most Deities don't have faith in their humans. I was the exception to the rule.
As black men and black women across America and Canada and even Europe protested against police brutality, I began to feel a change in the ether. In places like Nigeria, Ghana and even Ethiopia, there were vestiges of the old African religions, the ones predating Christianity and Islam. That's not what I was feeling. In places like Morehouse College and Spelman College in Atlanta, Georgia, and Howard University in Washington D.C. young black women and young black men were researching and exploring African mythology.
