Decades back during my freshman year at the University of Ife (Obafemi Awolowo University), Ilé-Ifẹ̀, Nigeria, I once heard a custodial worker sing:
Ọ̀na fásitì mó fẹ́ lọ
Nìbi táwọn ọ̀jọ̀gbọ́n wà
Nìbẹ lọ́mọ́ mi yó lọ
Jèsu yó mu wọ̀n dé 'bẹ̀ o
The lines translate roughly to English thus:
I desire to be on the road to the university
The place where the learned gather
There my child[ren] will go
Jesus will surely lead them there.
I do not know why the song has stuck in my head ineradicably.
I do not recollect the date; but it was not in the Harmattan semester. It was in Awolowo Hall. I cannot recollect any ill will from her towards those of us already inside the university. I know that she sang earnestly. I believed then, and still believe now, that she wanted her children to be one of us. It was clear in her voice that she did not want her children to be custodial workers, cleaning toilets for other people's children.
Many times since, I have used the words to illustrate in class how hegemony makes its forms highly desirable to those outside it and also to demonstrate how we work our fingers to the bone to gain entrance.
I imagine how tough it would be today for that woman to realize her dreams in, and for, her children. Alas.
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