There is pandemonium in the land of Eléwéńjéwé. The town crier could barely get another word out before his voice begins drowning in the shouting and wailing of the people. ” Kábíyèsí Adéwọlé Adédèjì, the King of Eléwéńjéwé is dead” Èewọ̀! The history of the land is bleeding into an abomination. Was it not only seven days ago that the sole heir to the throne, Ọmọọba Adéyẹ́mí started pushing daisies with the ancestors?
The town square that was only just beginning to regain life is deserted once again as everyone retreats to their homes to mourn Kábíyèsí. This village reeks of death. The sky is laden with tears. The air resounds with bitter tones of doom and gloom. Even the farmlands will yield sorrow today. The gods have painted the heavens black. It is time. I look up at the brewing storm, bracing myself to fulfil my àyànmọ́. I, Akínyẹmí, the beauty of dawn that escorts darkness. I am the light of a former light – the Abọ́bakú; one who dies with the king.