By Ebhohon Majekodunmi Oseriemen

‘Dewole, listen well!
For the man who carries an ant-infested log
must not cry when the ants begin to bite.
The one who steps into the river
must not shiver and wail of the cold.

Did Ori not warn you?
Did Ori not say, “That path is slippery, that water is deep!”
Yet, you threw off your sandals,
you rolled up your trousers,
and you waded in—chest deep!
Now, your teeth chatter,
your arms shake,
and you cry, Cold! Cold! Cold! Oh cold!

But tell me, ‘Dewole,
did the river call your name?
Did the waters beg for your feet?
Or was it your own hands that led you in?
Yet now, you weep! Now, you complain!
Now, you look to the sky as if Sango himself will dry your clothes!

Foolish man!
The one who marries trouble
must sleep in the arms of suffering.
The one who eats pepper
must not weep when his tongue burns.

So hush! Hush your crying,
for the cold you feel is of your own making.
The ants you fear—
they are the ones you carried on your back.
Now, dance to the rhythm of your own foolishness!