Awòlúmátè

Wisdom in Another Man's Land

The original article was published via https://yorubathought.substack.com/p/awolumate

Awòlúmátè, ìwòn ara rẹ̀ ló mọ̀

So say the elders to the overtly boisterous and one lacking moderation, affirming that the truly discerning person knows not only what is right, but what is appropriate, and most importantly, what is within their reach especially when you are in another’s territory. Let this thought marinade.

In our time, where assertiveness is often mistaken for intelligence, and loudness confused with leadership, we must return to the deep wells of Yorùbá thought, where wisdom is not always the most visible thing in the room but often, the most respectful.

The Awòlúmátè does not walk with haste. He does not throw his weight around. He does not declare himself in every gathering. He knows his size, his season, his strength. He knows how to read the signs, not just the written ones, but the atmospheric ones: the weight of silence in a room, the age of the land beneath his feet, the tone of a host’s greeting.

When you walk in a land that is not your own, wisdom is not in the noise you make, but in the silence you keep.

It is this awareness, not fear, that shapes his posture. He walks not because he has nowhere to run, but because he knows how sacred it is to be received. He knows what it means to be allowed in. He knows that presence is not a right, it is a privilege.

Move gently, like breath over water, with the grace of one who knows that presence is a privilege, not a right.

He does not mistake hospitality for possession. He does not overstay. He does not overstep. In a world that celebrates the one who claims the floor, Awòlúmátè asks: what did it cost the host to prepare it?

Pay homage, not just with your words, but with your posture, your restraint, your reverence for names spoken before yours.

It is easy to forget that in Yorùbá worldview, every space is alive. Every land has a keeper. Every moment has a spirit. Even the air has elders. The Awòlúmátè does not forget. He shows up with humility, with quiet gratitude. He offers ÌBÀ before offering ideas. He listens before he speaks. He watches the rhythm of the people before adding his own beat.

To be received is a favour.

To be regarded, an honour.

To be remembered, that is earned by the care you carry in your steps.

In the land of another, power is not in declaring yourself, but in aligning yourself. Those who are truly wise do not dominate foreign ground, they attune to it. They do not impose. They don’t wear their own customs so tightly that they cannot bow in respect to another’s.

The wise do not dominate foreign ground; they dance with its spirit, asking nothing but the blessing to pass through without arrogance, without assumption.

We live in an age of constant movement; migration, travel, cultural exchange, digital presence. We enter spaces, physical and virtual, often with entitlement. But the Yorùbá remind us: Kò sí ohun tó dà bí ilé. Home is sacred. And when you are not in yours, your posture should reflect that awareness. To forget this is to forget ÌWÀ (character) which is the foundation of all that makes a person truly respected, truly remembered.

Awòlúmátè walks with this understanding. He doesn’t need to be told when to bow. He doesn’t need to be corrected. He knows the weight of his footsteps. He carries himself with awareness.

Let the uncivilised be guarded accordingly because, even the air has elders.

Ire o 🌴