The first time I attended the Osun Festival, I was eight years old. I had traveled to Osogbo to spend the long holidays with my Aunty Adeola, who had a way of taking me on adventures, so she was my favorite family member to spend the holidays with. She told me one morning that we had an outing to attend.
Aunty Adeola had the local tailor make a stunning oleku for me—short-sleeved and cut just right—from a beautiful black Ankara fabric adorned with gold stars. I still remember how the stars seemed to dance under the sunlight. She had even thought ahead and had a scarf made for my head, sparing me the struggle of balancing a full gele. That scarf became my favorite accessory long after the festival ended.
Her house was only a three-minute walk from the Osun River, so the journey to the festival grounds was short, but it felt like stepping into another world.
As we approached, the air buzzed with energy. The rhythmic pounding of bata drums filled my ears, mingling with the people talking, and the occasional call of a vendor selling roasted corn or chilled sachets of water. Brightly dressed women swayed their hips to the drumbeats, their geles standing high in different styles.
I clutched Aunty Adeola’s hand tightly, overwhelmed but exhilarated by it all. I did not want to get lost in the throng of people present. She led me to a spot near the river where we could see the main procession. Aunty Adeola pointed to a girl walking at the center, her movements graceful despite the weight of the large calabash balanced on her head.
“That’s the Arugba,” she whispered, leaning down to my height. “She carries the prayers of the people to Osun. Look at her, so strong. It’s an honour to be chosen as the Arugba.”
I watched her with wide eyes, her flowing white attire catching the sunlight, making her look ethereal. Behind her were priests and priestesses chanting as she led the group. People rushed forward to lay offerings by the river—kola nuts, honey, white cloth—each prayer whispered with urgency and hope.
Aunty Adeola explained each part of the ceremony to me in hushed tones. She told me about Osun, the goddess of the river, of love and fertility, and how she had once saved the people of Osogbo during a time of drought.
“Osun keeps her promises,” she said. “That’s why we keep ours.”
She handed me a small basket with flowers and fruits we had brought from her garden. Together, we walked to the riverbank, where I timidly added our offering to the growing pile. Aunty Adeola closed her eyes, murmured a prayer, and I followed suit, though I didn’t know what to say. “Osun goddess, I want to be happy forever.” I whispered as I clutched my arms against my chest.
After the procession, we explored the festival grounds. Dancers performed to which the crowd cheered. Vendors sold handmade jewelry, beaded anklets and necklaces, and wooden figurines. Aunty Adeola bought me a pair of earrings shaped like the crescent moon, saying they matched the stars on my dress.
We made our way back home as the sun started to set, the drumbeats fading into the distance. I was tired but happy, my head buzzing with new stories to tell.
As I remember that adventure, that day was more than just an outing. It was my introduction to the soul of Yoruba culture, to the stories and traditions that connect us to the past.
The Osun Festival remains a cherished memory, a reminder of the beauty in our traditions and the strength we draw from our roots. And every time I hear the rhythm of a bata drum or see the flowing Osun River, I think of that day—my first Osun Festival, hand in hand with Aunty Adeola.
GLOSSARY:
● Oleku: A traditional Yoruba outfit for women, typically a short-sleeved blouse and a wrap skirt, often styled with a headscarf or gele.
● Ankara: A brightly patterned fabric popular in West Africa, often used to make traditional clothing.
● Gele: A head wrap worn by women, usually made from stiff fabric, tied to complement traditional attire.
● Arugba: A virgin girl chosen to carry the sacred calabash of offerings to Osun during the festival.
● Bata Drums: Traditional Yoruba drums used in ceremonies and festivals, known for their distinctive rhythms that communicate with deities.
