The gods of our Land - 1

************ NARRATOR **********

Tradition, Tradition, the tradition of our people,  the so governing norms that keeps us bound as us,  distinguishing us from all other.  Bounding us to a race we never saw with our eyes,  keeping rules we know not how it came about,  following footsteps of those we did not see.  

Those that existed thousands of years before us,  making decrees according to the knowledge available to them,  we now embibe,  in our time,  with our level of knowledge and expository.  We must bend to their demands and be in sync with their age long dictates to protect our dynasty,  to keep our lineage,  to come from our tribe.   

Our Ancestors, the straying spirits of those who existed years before us,  who were supposed to be facing judgment at the throne of the creator,  now form a governing council to govern us the living,  to dictate our code and conduct, what we should abhor and chose,  what we should eat and not touch, our association et al.  Whom we are in general.  

This is the gods of our land.  A demon from hell hatched from Lucifer's very breathe,  living in mask we craft ourselves,  occupying our land space we ought to use for our industries.  Here the straying spirit of our ancestors resides, to hide from the judgment of the creator,  so that they won't give account for their misdeed,  and face the scorching torments of hell.  

This is the house of the gods of our ancestors,  here we lose the lives of our loved ones, our livestock and properties. We serve the mask with blood to appease the straying spirit of our ancestors.  

I'm tired of all these concept, I tried to wrap my mind around these babarism, how we lay the lives of our precious ones down,  to the straying spirits of our ancestors, how we try to uphold our traditional that is rooted in the worship of demons,  for our ancestors are in hell,  paying for the sins they committed themselves.  I've tried to see if I finally can understand,  this phenomenon called African tradition,  this evil legalised in daylight,  this forceful worship of demons,  in the name of the gods of our land.  My heart fails me,  each time it drifts to my heart,  the countless number of innocent souls,  and animals,  whose blood was used to appease the gods of our land. The straying spirit of our ancestors, the demon from hell itself. Who poses to own us, who claim they once walked this earth who claimed they once lived amongst us,  and bore the names like we do here.  

Maybe it is my education,  but a man cease to exist when he dies, religion gives us a clue, they go straight to judgment,  to pay for their sins, to answer for their unrighteous, to face the almighty. Again I ask,  who then masquerade under this mask, who claims to be our ancient fathers, who demands we act in line with their demand, who demands our blood and that of our goats.  The one we can fight and kill for, the one we can give away our hard earned property to, the one we must make obeisance to.  

If truly man goes for judgement after death,  then none is remaining to create an ancestral clique, to govern the living,  the exert judgment and punishment, to drink the blood of our brothers and livestock. This must be a demon,  Satan's very right hand man to our village people, we who have been liberated are stronger than the shrines run by the demons from hell.  For we are charged by the almighty to cast out devils.