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Sade Adu is
arguably Nigeria’s most successful musician; having sold over 60
million records; and with two Grammy awards to show for her efforts as
an entertainer, songstress and bandleader.

Born on the January
16, 1959 in Ibadan, Oyo-State, she first came to the limelight in 1984
when her band ‘Sade’, comprising musicians Andrew Hale, Stuart
Mathewman and Paul Denman released their debut album ‘Diamond Life’.
The album came packed with hit tracks such as ‘Smooth Operator’, ‘Hang
on to your Love’ and ‘Your Love Is King’. The band won a Grammy award
in the Best New Artist category in 1985. Her impressive career received
another boost in 1986 when she released ‘Promise’, which had the
worldwide hit single ‘The Sweetest Taboo’, making her and the band the
largest selling debutant of British origin. She is the most successful
solo female artist in British history; and was one of the iconic
performers of the historic Live Aid concert, held at Wemble Stadium in
1985.

In 1992, she
released the album ‘Love Deluxe’ that included tracks such as No
Ordinary Love. The year 1994 saw the release of ‘The Best of Sade’, a
compilation of hit singles produced by the songstress and her band over
the years. After an eight-year hiatus she came out with ‘Lover’s Rock’
(2000), which won a Grammy for “Best Vocal”. Her latest effort,
‘Soldier of Love’, released last year, has enjoyed a huge success,
despite the fact that nothing had been heard from Sade in recording
terms for a decade. ‘Soldier of Love’ topped the music charts in 14
countries, selling 1.5 million copies worldwide in its first week of
release, 500,000 of it in the US alone, where the singer is revered as
an inimitable icon, especially among the Hip-Hop community.

Sade has insisted
that she is not in a hurry to release albums after album. “I only talk
when there’s something to be said,” she once remarked. She was honoured
with the Order of the British Empire (OBE) by Queen Elizabeth II, in
2002. Her visit to the palace to receive the medal, is reputed to be
the last public appearance made by the famously reclusive singer whose
allure and mystique never seems to wane.

Sade was well
connected with her roots in Ikere- Ekiti until the demise of her
father, Bisi Adu, a professor of Economics in 1986. Her mother Anne
Hayes was an English nurse. The young Sade and her elder brother Banji
were relocated to England by their mother when the relationship between
the parents broke down. Thus the future Grammy award winner grew up in
rural England, Essex to be precise, in the South East. She came
face-to-face with racism, and learnt how defend herself with jabs of
her own.

Her successful
musical career has been at variance with her private life. Her marriage
to the Spanish film director Carlos Pliego ended in the mid nineties;
she had her only childer, Ila, with Jamaican songwriter Bob Morgan in
1996. Sade now lives in the English countryside with Ian Watts, a
former Royal Marine. She told the British press last year that her
mother introduces Watts as “‘Sade’s current boyfriend’, like he was on
a conveyor belt, or something.”

As Sade turns 52 today Sunday, January 16, 2011, this is a worthy tribute to Nigeria’s greatest gift to Rhythm and Blues.

How do you describe a person who was so many different things to so many people from all over the world?

To most of us, she is known as a great artist of course, but there was so much more to Susanne Wenger and her life.

In the middle of
the First World War, she was born in Graz, a town in Southern Austria.
From a very early age, Susanne was drawn to nature and spent a lot of
her time in the woods and mountains around the town.

Her artistic
journey began at the College for Arts and Crafts in Graz where she
started by experimenting with different techniques such as drawings in
pencil, ink and crayon, ceramic works and clay sculptures.

She then moved to
Vienna where she spent four years at the Academy of Art and lived
through the horror of the city during the occupation, the war, and
finally the liberation. Susanne refused to accept the Nazi regime and
helped to hide Jewish friends and other people listed by the Nazis as
“unwanted”. Her art was considered “degenerate” by the regime and she
was forbidden to paint but found refuge in books about eastern
religions and far away countries.

During the nights
when the bombs fell on Vienna, she was haunted by dreams which she put
on paper during the day – surreal picture-worlds born of fear and
despair. These are now regarded by the “experts as “the first surreal
works of art by an Austrian painter”.

Artistic Freedom

The role of modern
artists during the Second World War was the subject of an exhibition in
Graz in 2001 ‘Moderne In Dunkler Zeit’ (‘Modern Art In Dark Times’)
which paid special tribute to the efforts of Susanne Wenger, the only
surviving artist of the period, for maintaining human values, risking
her own life, and helping others against the regime.

In 1946, she was a
founding member of the Art Club in Vienna, an international association
proclaiming “the right for artistic freedom”. Its centre was in Rome,
with branches in Belgium, Brazil, Egypt, France, Israel, South Africa,
Holland, Turkey, Uruguay, and Austria. Its chairman was Pablo Picasso,
then thought of as the embodiment of the “horror” of the modern art
movement.

After recovering
from a serious fall into a lift shaft just before the end of the war,
she travelled to Rome and Sicily in spring 1948 and later that year to
Zurich and Paris.

In Paris, Susanne
was attracted by the bohemian life and artistic circles with their
intellect and critical attitude. Here, for the first time in her life,
she could paint happily, free of troubles and restrictions.

She met Ulli Beier
in Paris, who at the time was working with handicapped children and had
just accepted a posting at the University of Ibadan. They got married
(using a pair of curtain rings as wedding rings) and set off for
Nigeria, driving across North Africa, the Atlas Mountains, and the
Sahara Desert before arriving in Ibadan in early 1950.

Yoruba Religion

After spending a
couple of years in the university compound, the couple moved to Ede
where Susanne met the Obatala Priest, Ajagemo, who became her mentor,
“guru” and great friend. After a long process of learning not only a
new and very different language, but also gaining knowledge about the
complexities and spiritual dimensions of the Yoruba Religion and its
traditions, she was initiated as a priestess.

After 4 years, they
moved to the village of Ilobu, where Susanne was further integrated
into the Yoruba culture. This is where she painted vivid pictures
echoing the experiences she had had during her apprenticeship and
initiation.

In Ilobu, she also
learned the ancient technique of Adire – where cassava starch is used
to create patterns on material, which is then dyed in indigo. Using
this technique, she started painting interpretations of Yoruba
mythology on pieces of cloth stitched together to create huge
monochrome canvasses.

1958 brought
another important turn in her life. Having moved, with Ulli Beier, to
the beautiful old stone house built in the Brazilian style on Ibokun
Road in Oshogbo, where she was going to spend the rest of her life, she
was asked by a high ranking priest to help restore an important shrine.
Together with a few local craftsmen, she started rebuilding the shrine
known as “Idi Baba” which is located away from the Groves on the road
to Ibokun.

Restoration of Osun Grove

This was the
beginning of what would become Susanne Wenger’s most important artistic
achievement. In more than 40 years of continuous work she not only
created the sacred shrines, monumental sculptures, and statues for
which the Groves are now famous, but she also managed to defend this
area of unspoilt forest from the encroaching town, from determined
farmers who wanted to cut down the trees for farmland, and from
poachers who wanted to hunt there. At one stage, Susanne said they
wrapped white bed-sheets around the large trees to save them from being
cut down.

The first
restoration project within the Sacred Groves was the shrine dedicated
to the goddess of the River Osun, the ‘Waters of Life’. This shrine,
‘Ojubo Osun’, had been destroyed by termites, and some people had
already started on repairs when Susanne was asked by the Osun priestess
for help. Slowly, inspired by Susanne’s example, the local woodcarvers,
blacksmiths, carpenters, and bricklayers began to develop their own
artistic potential.

Adebisi Akanji, who
had mastered the technique of cement sculpture, passed this knowledge
on to Susanne and was most important and instrumental in the subsequent
building of the monumental sculptures and structures.

Kasali Akangbe was
responsible for most of the scaffolding and wooden roof structures but
he is also one of the acclaimed woodcarvers who, together with Buraimoh
Gbadamosi, created most of the woodcarvings in the Groves. Examples of
Kasali’s remarkable carvings, as large doors and pillars can be found
at the new extension to the Bogobiri Hotel in Ikoyi, Lagos; and at the
Theatre in-the-round established by the late Barbara Anne Teer in
Harlem, New York, as well as in numerous private art collections.

Buraimoh Gbadamosi
is also a stone carver and is best known for his stone figures of
“Earth-spirits” – or as Susanne called them “Kiliwis”. These artists
are amongst the nucleus of the New Sacred Art Movement that Susanne
nurtured.

After the Oshun
shrine was completed, many others followed: “Iledi Ontotoo”, the
“Obatala shrine complex”, the impressive “Iya Mopoo”, the majestic
“Ela” and many more.

Metaphysical snapshots

Whilst the work in
the groves was going on, at home in her atelier, she developed a
technique that was a mixture of textile-painting, wax batik and indigo
dye. This is how she created her impressive batiks – some of which
measure 7 by 3.5 metres!

The themes of these
cloth paintings, are again, stories from Yoruba mythology, which in her
own words: “present a sort of metaphysical snapshot”.

Between 1952 and
1970, Susanne also illustrated and designed books by Yoruba authors and
wrote children’s books, both in English and Yoruba, and also
contributed to the legendary Black Orpheus Magazine, which was founded
by Ulli Beier.

In the mid 1960s,
she once again took up oil painting and as there was no canvas
available, she painted on plywood panels from old tea chests. During
this period, her paintings covered a wide span of themes from the
history of mankind, the Bible, world literature and environmental
issues as well as themes from Yoruba mythology. Unlike the monumental
sculptures in the groves or the large batiks, her oil paintings express
her philosophy on a relatively small canvas, but they are just as
powerful.

Sacred Art

Susanne was a very
spiritual and religious person, religious in a sense that has nothing
to do with following a doctrine or script but with the acceptance of a
different, mystical dimension that is inherent in all that exists. In
her own words: “creative thinking and art are not measurable since they
are testimony of the truth, and this truth, the only truth, has many
faces. Who can count the faces of truth? All religions are ultimately
“the religion of mankind”. Art is ritual.”

From the mid 1980s,
Susanne Wenger had many important exhibitions in Europe, the first
marked her 70th birthday in 1985 and brought her art back to Vienna for
the first time in 35 years.

Ten years later,
the Kunsthalle Krems staged a large retrospective exhibition in the
Minoritenkirche, which included works from the Nigerian New Sacred Art
Movement.

Her hometown, Graz, then followed with an exhibition in 2004, ‘Along the Banks of a River in Africa’.

Other venues
included Prague in 1992, Bayreuth in 1993, Gmunden in 2001 and in the
same year she took part in the exhibition staged by Okwui Envezor, ‘The
Short Century – Independence and Liberation movements in Africa
1945-1994′, which was shown in Munich, Berlin, Chicago, New York.

Her work in the
groves, her involvement in the Yoruba Traditions, her paintings,
drawings and batiks found international acclaim and Susanne met people
from all over the world and corresponded regularly with a large number
of friends. I remember coming back from Oshogbo with a wad of envelopes
to be posted for her. Those of course were the days when the only
working telephone was in a neighbour’s house, computers, emails and
mobile phones were things of the future and months-old newspapers and
magazines the only source of news from Europe.

Extended family

Besides all this,
she still found enough time to dedicate herself to her growing
“extended family”. She was entrusted by one of the last truly great
Osun Priests, Layi Olosun, to bring up most of his children. One of
those children is Doyin Faniyi; Susanne also adopted Sangodare
Gbadegesin Ajala at the age of five. Sangodare is a prolific batik
artist, known to use up to 30 colours, often giving a stained-glass
effect to his large wall-hangings. He recently won the National Art
Competition and is due to follow-up with exhibitions in the UK and the
Netherlands.

Faniyi and
Sangodare are now very significant personalities in the hierarchy of
Yoruba Tradition and are dedicated to the protection and preservation
of Susanne’s legacy. They are also key members of the New Sacred Art
Movement.

Over the decades,
many more children grew up in her home in Ibokun Road and many friends
and fellow artists have found support and help within its walls. One
way of supporting the emerging artists of the New Sacred Art Movement
was to buy their work, which Susanne did, and these pieces now form the
mainstay of her substantial private collection of traditional but
mainly modern Nigerian art. This collection was documented in a recent
publication by the ‘Adunni Olorisha Trust: Susanne Wenger, her House
and her Art Collection’.

Incidentally, her
own works are nearly all in Austria, with art curator Wolfgang Denk, to
whom Suzanne had given them, to be preserved as a complete collection,
not for sale. They are now held in trust and are to be housed for
posterity at a purpose built museum/gallery in Krems funded by the
Austrian Government, which will open in March. As recently as two years
ago, the collection was being considered for a spot-light at the famous
Venice Art Biannale. Occasionally, the few examples of her works in
private hands do find their way on to the international art market,
such as the Bonhams exhibition and art auction of African works last
year in New York.

Her death has not
only left an empty chair at her favourite spot along the river, it has
also left us with the enormous task of preserving her legacy.

Looking back, these
are only some of the many things Susanne Wenger was: the student, the
activist and resistance fighter, the survivor, the traveller, the wife,
the drop out, the apprentice, the teacher, the sponsor, the
environmentalist, the animal lover and protector, the matriarch, the
friend, the philosopher and above all, the artist.

She was all this –
and more – and there is only one thing Susanne Wenger most certainly
was not: a materialist. Money to her was a means to an end but not
something she ever wanted for herself.

She lived a remarkable life and made a remarkable contribution to Nigeria and the world. May her legacy be preserved.

Producer and
director, Jimi Odumosu, has something nice cooking. A docu-drama on
Nigeria’s commercial nerve centre titled ‘Lagos: The Golden Nugget’ is
what the veteran is waiting to serve Nigerians. The production,
spanning the 15th century to the present, is a series of 13 half-hour
programmes capped by a final 14th episode of one hour.

Though his father
is from Ogun State and his mother from the Centre of Excellence, the
retired permanent secretary, Lagos Television, who sees himself as a
Lagosian, had always wanted to do something on the state. After
completing ‘The Head of State’, a series about a military regime in an
imaginary West African country currently running on TV, he started work
on the script of a psychological thriller.

“In the midst of
that, someone called me and said that he would want us to do something
pretty profound about the history of Lagos. Since I had been thinking
of it, I got very excited,” recalls Odumosu with whom I have just seen
an episode of the production.

He had thought he
would spend about eight months on the project featuring tested artists
including Dejumo Lewis, Toyin Oshinaike, Tina Mba, Kayode Idris, and
Olu Okekanye, but ended up spending just under two years.

“We did not
envisage the scope of what we were going to engage in when we started
originally. So, as we went into the subject, we discovered many things
that we were not aware of before. We got more excited and as we got
more excited, the scope kept on getting wider. We were pleased with the
way that things were going because it meant more information.”

Faithful to history

Though there are
other documentaries on Lagos, Odumosu highlights what makes his unique.
“I have not really seen or known someone to have done something this
large, going into the history of Lagos from the 15th century up to the
present day. You could have seen people do something on Eletu Odibo,
Erelu Kuti or Madam Tinubu or depict one or two kings within the
particular period. We’ve done something that I think is good and
aspirational.”

How true an account is the production to the history of the state?

“I’ve not done a
straight documentary. I’m not a History professor, I’m a filmmaker but
I also like to be sincere to history. I took a bit of dramatic licence
in modifying some scenes which in itself is … we based our framework
on a particular book telling the history of Lagos. We remain pretty
loyal and sincere to that. If you put 10 historians in this room right
now and ask them to tell the history of Lagos, they are going to tell
10 different stories. We researched, spoke with people, and let logic
and plausibility prevail in what we were doing.”

Cinematic elements

Another uniqueness of the producer’s latest work is the generous use of illustrations.

“If you are talking
about the major events that we have to capture on camera from the 15th
century, you will realise that even if we had all the money in the
world we probably would not have been able to capture all,” he offers.

“I decided that I
was going to use almost all the major elements that are available to a
filmmaker when working on a period piece like this. Wherever I couldn’t
get enough money to do the set or the special effects that would be
needed for such a scene, I needed alternatives and these could come
either in the form of file shots, photographs, paintings, drawings,
sketches, actuality shots and interviews. I became a little greedy in
terms of being creative so I decided to use and bring all of them
together.

“Fortunately, I
found someone who is really very good at illustration. There were some
other areas where we had problems, we had written those areas for
actors and actresses but for some logistic and human reasons, we
couldn’t shoot the sequences. He was able to bridge this for us through
his illustration; all we needed to do was to write narrations for that
to move the story forward. If we had done this as a drama piece all
through, we probably would have ended up with 52 episodes. It was more
of economics really than any other thing.”

The perfectionist

“Anybody that has
worked with Odumosu knows that you have to be on your toes all the
time,” actress, Lilian Amah-Aluko, said of the producer of ‘Evil
Encounter’ and ‘Fiery Force’ in an interview not too long ago. Is he a
task master or perfectionist?

“In my younger
days, I thought I could achieve perfection but I doubt if anyone can
achieve it. Experience has shown me that, but you can get perfection in
man. Perfection in the sense that if you push a man, not to the limit,
but to bring out the best of their ability, the best of their
knowledge, you will be able to get something tangible from them. I push
myself a lot and I never in my life, as a broadcast manager, writer,
producer, director, pushed anyone more than I pushed myself.

“It may not be too
good for other people because we are made differently, but I just
assume that if I am this old, I should be able to push much younger men
to do things that they probably felt they couldn’t do. I found out that
people are generally happy with a low level of performance. As soon as
they achieve something very little, they relax but I found that the
more you push yourself, the better you get.”

Positive feedback

Talking about ‘The Head of State’, Odumosu confesses he is pleased with the feedback he has been receiving.

“A lot of people
phoned in and sent texts. Few months ago, I went to a furniture company
to buy some furniture and we got talking. Somehow, the owner of the
company got on to ‘The Head of State’, even things that I had
forgotten, that person was narrating to me. Telling me my story, what
could be more fulfilling than that? I’m happy because when I was
writing it, quite a lot of people didn’t want to partake in it because
they thought that it is about military regime and it might not go down
well with whatever government is in power.

“If we cannot take
the Army state and emote them on television so that we can learn from
the mistakes and be better for it tomorrow, if we cannot as a nation do
that, sit back and assess ourselves I don’t think we are ready for
development.”

Poor distribution

People desirous of acquiring works of by the director of ‘Doctor’s Quarters’ shouldn’t despair, they are properly documented.

“If we had a good
system of distribution in this country, as soon as we air a movie or a
television series, the next thing that a producer wants is to dump
everything onto the stable of a reputable distributor who will have a
network of distribution, but I’m still looking for that and that’s very
bad. Except for ‘Evil Encounter’ and ‘Fiery Force’ which are not in
their basic forms because something happened to them but after I clear
the works that I want to do this year, I want to travel abroad and get
these projects reworked, as it were, so they can be available for
people. But all my other works are available on hard drive in their
pristine form.”

On why he appears to produce TV series more than feature films,
Odumosu says, “Maybe I’ve been called to be a broadcast administrator
more than I had time to work on movie projects. I’ve been doing
administrative work for the most part of my life.”

Wisdom dictates
that one flees when evil approaches but people paid no heed to this on
Sunday, January 9. They embraced, ate, drank, danced and congregated
round the ‘Evil Genius’ of Highlife music, Victor Abimbola Olaiya. The
Highlife All Starts Club chose that date to honour one of their most
illustrious members. Olaiya had clocked 80 on December 31, 2010.

The Highlife All
Stars were there in force: the ageless Fatai Rolling Dollar, Alaba
Pedro, Duro Ikujenyo, Anjola Aboderin, Eji Oyewole, Orlando Julius and
his wife, Latoya Aduke. Patriarch of the Arts, Segun Olusola; Femi Esho
of Evergreen Music; newspaper columnist, Benson Idonije; flutist
Tee-Mac; and actor, Dejumo Lewis. Younger musicians affiliated to the
genre were not exempted. Yinka Davies, Nomoreloss, and Jojo Bodybeats
also came to pay homage to Olaiya, the inimitable artist.

One of the younger
generations of Highlife musicians, Roy Olokungboye and his De Afro
Classique Projectors entertained while guests awaited the arrival of
the celebrant. Olokungboye opened with some Afrobeat instrumentals
before launching out with Fela’s ‘Kolomentality’. The fast paced ‘Se e
o mo?’ from the artist’s album came next and was followed by ‘We Need
Freedom’.

“Nobody will give
us freedom, we have to set ourselves free,” Olokungboye noted after the
song lambasting Nigeria’s thieving politicians.

Profitable talent

Clutching his
ubiquitous trumpet, Olaiya walked into the venue in company of Rolling
Dollar, Olusola, Tee-Mac and others some minutes after 6pm while
Olokungboye was doing Fela’s ‘No Agreement’. The show, which had
commenced an hour behind the advertised 4pm, began in earnest
thereafter. Olaiya’s All Star Band rendered three of the maestro’s
timeless tracks including ‘Omo Pupa’ and ‘Kiriji Kenkeluke’ while
guests signed the birthday card specially made for the occasion.

“We have looked
forward to the birthdays of our members since the inception of the
club,”disclosed Bambo Ademiluyi, one of the coordinators of the
Highlife All Star Club, who welcomed guests. He recalled that the
London-based Tunji Oyelana was celebrated when he attained the age of
70 late 2009 while it was the turn of Alaba Pedro last year. He also
touched on what the club is about.

Chair of the event,
Olusola, reiterated why Olaiya deserved the honour being accorded him,
noting that “we must honour him first before the world will honour
him.” Olusola ended his address with a prayer for longevity for Olaiya.
“80 is good, but not good enough. We are praying that we are around
when he marks his 85th and 90th birthday.”

Grandfather of Afrobeat

Columnist Idonije’s
toast was preceded by ‘Cherry Koko’, another Olaiya song from the band.
The music writer adduced two reasons why the man some call ‘the
innovator’ deserves all the accolades. The fact that Olaiya clocked 80,
an age not easy to reach, especially for musicians, and his continued
relevance to music in Nigeria, Idonije noted, made him worthy of
celebration. Idonije said that despite setting up his band in 1954, the
Octogenarian continues to wax strong and continues to attract
accolades.

He further
described Olaiya as the father of Highlife music in Nigeria, adding
that but for him, “Highlife won’t be known in Nigeria. Ghana would have
continued to claim the credit; but only the name came from Ghana.”

Idonije, who also
touched on Ghanaian, E.T Mensah and Olaiya’s collaborative
relationship, noted that the latter influenced generations of musicians
including Fela. He said that Fela’s style in the early days when he
played Highlife was Olaiya’s style and that while Fela is credited with
originating Afrobeat, Olaiya is the godfather of Afrobeat because of
his influence on Fela. He prayed that the ‘Mo fe mu’yan’ crooner lives
till 90 and beyond.

Latoya vs Tee-Mac

Olaiya went down
memory lane in his response to the toast. Still clutching his trumpet,
he thanked Olusola and Idonije for their kind words. He also told the
gathering that he and Idonije clashed and fell out some 40 years ago
but thanked God that they are now best of friends.

“Today is a happy
day in my life. It is a wonderful evening, an extension of my 80th
birthday celebration,” said the celebrant who also thanked and prayed
for his professional colleagues. “You will clock 80, 90 and 100!”, he
said. A resounding ‘amen’ naturally followed.

A mini drama was
staged before, during and after the cutting of the birthday cake.
Veterans including Olusola, Rolling Dollar, Pedro, Julius and Aboderin
amongst others joined the celebrant and his wife, Victoria, in cutting
the cake. A long happy birthday song lasting almost 15 minutes then
started. Lewis, Tee-Mac, Jojo Bodybeats, Yinka Davies, Oyewole, Rolling
Dollar, Latoya Aduke and Nomoreloss all sang and danced to the song
with Olaiya joining in later with his trumpet.

Julius, a
saxophonist confirmed his mastery of the instrument with a long,
pulsating display of sound while his dancer wife and Tee-Mac provided
another spectacle. The duo did a mixture of tango, ballroom dance and
traditional ‘Owambe’ to the admiration of the crowd. But more was to
come from Latoya Aduke who wowed the gathering when her husband and
Aboderin sang his popular ‘Jagua Nana’.

Dejumo Lewis, the
king in ‘Village Headmaster’ is a known actor but it appears he also
moonlights as a singer. He and Olusola started ‘Omo Oniresi’ before
Olaiya joined them. Olaiya’s band led by Bayode, his banker son who got
married the previous day, also joined in the merriment before leaving
the stage for Rolling Dollar.

Though released
years ago, Rolling Dollar’s ‘Won Kere si Number’ has lost none of its
appeal. What made it more unique at the occasion was the way the
minstrel sang it for his ‘aburo’ (younger brother). He did it in the
best tradition of the Yoruba praise singer, eulogising Olaiya, himself
and praying for the celebrant.

“Rolling Dollar,
olohun arere, agbalagba to nse bi omode” (sonorous voiced Rolling
Dollar, old man acting like a young man), he said at a point to hoots
of approval from the crowd. The tireless Latoya Aduke also danced
during Rolling Dollar’s performance.

The Evergreen Band added to the fun with Olaiya’s popular ‘Bisi’ and
one of Fela’s early Highlife numbers. They took the audience back to
the swinging 60s with a song from Trinidad and Tobago. Couples, Julius
and Latoya and Rolling Dollars and his wife who held themselves tightly
while the song was on were a sight to behold. Alaba Pedro and some
others later rounded up the party for the ‘Evil Genius’.

When Ogedengbe and
the other protesters passed by Oliho Forest, he asked them not to pluck
any leaf or tree branch from the virgin expanse of land in the middle
of town inhabited by huge Iroko trees. “This is the forest dedicated to
Oliho, the town’s deity,” he said. “Oliho is the deity that blesses our
land, increases our crop yields, protects us and fights our battles for
us. Since government has failed us we have taken recourse to our gods.”
The crowd cheered. At the Y-junction linking IDC Road and Emore road,
the protesters surrounded the Delta State Library and wanted to set it
ablaze. But Ogedengbe remembered the encyclopedia he always read there
and the several altercations he had had with Obi. He remembered the
librarian, a short man who walked hesitantly as though unsure of what
step to take, threatening to ban him from using the library after Obi
had falsely accused him of tearing one of the pages of an encyclopedia.
He remembered the abusive manner with which Obi threatened to ban young
girls who refused his advances. Still, the mathematics teacher believed
the library was inviolable. “Please don’t torch the library!” he
pleaded. “The library is the storehouse of knowledge. If it’s
destroyed, our memory’s gone; and once our memory’s gone we are gone,
our country’s gone. So, please don’t destroy the library.”

The mob moved over
to Unity Bank, a green and white square-shaped building whose walls
were peeling off like Harmattan-beaten skin. It’s only protection
against robbery attacks was a burglary proof that served as the
entrance and a smallish policeman who, when not sitting on a raised
pavement in front of the bank, his rusty AK-47 rifle beside him, was in
a palm wine shop across the road, discussing people’s marital problems.

“Set it ablaze!” a voice rang out. What’s united about Nigeria?”

“There is so much
corruption here!” another said. “The bank manager not only gives out
loans without collateral, he issues loans to himself, family members
and wealthy people who never pay back. There is no difference between
when it was called New Nigeria Bank and now. Torch it!”

Ogedengbe’s
silence meant approval. And immediately one of the protesters splashed
some petrol at the entrance, the windows and rusty zinc of the
building. He lit a match and the building was engulfed in flames. The
fire sizzled as it raged, licking every part of the building. Ogedengbe
could hear the sound, in spite of the loud noise all about him. It was
now pitch dark. He could only see silhouettes and shadows that the
light being emitted by the flames allowed. Across the road, some goats
that had taken over the palm-wine seller’s makeshift shop, made of
tarpaulin, were bleating uncontrollably, as they jumped from one bench
to the other.

Suddenly,
Ogedengbe became conscious of the huge responsibility chance had placed
on his shoulders. Where were Baba and Obidi? he wondered. They should
be with their families now. Many of his fellow teachers often asked
Ogedengbe when he would marry; and he always told them that he would
marry when the time was ripe. The mathematics teacher was not averse to
being in a relationship; rather he was too preoccupied with figures to
give quality time to women. When he was a student at the University of
Ibadan, he had a girlfriend called Tolulope. The relationship was
short-lived.Starved of attention and love, Tolulope later fell for
another student, Ganja, who, though smoked weewee, spent enough time
with her. Since he graduated, Ogedengbe had not been in a relationship,
yet he always admired the way Baba’s wife, a petite lady with a long,
narrow face, always brought food to him at the pools office. He also
admired the way Obidi often spoke glowingly about his family, how he
had just bought one ornament or other for his wife, how he had just
paid his children’s school fees. Still, for him, it was not yet time
for marriage. Obidi always told him that he was not a responsible man
and was not man enough, because he was not married. “I am a man in
spite of what he thinks I am. And my manhood is bigger than his,”
Ogedengbe said to himself.

OHis face
brightened. He looked about him. The protesters’ chants were deafening.
No one else walked the road, apart from the mob. A bus, its headlight
dazzling, was approaching in the direction they had come from.
Ogedengbe shielded his eyes with his right hand. He gazed at the
vehicle and realised that it was a Coaster bus. He smiled, thinking
that the students’ union government of the university had sent it to
take them to their homes. Immediately the mob moved to the road and
blocked it. The inscription on both sides of the bus read, God’s Case,
No Appeal.

“Hey, let’s move
to the courts!” one of the protesters bellowed. “Let’s move to the
courts and set them ablaze. They not only pervert justice, they delay
it. The judges are corrupt!”

Ogedengbe shook
his head from one side to the other disapprovingly. “The judiciary is
the bastion of justice, our last hope. Once the judiciary is destroyed,
we are finished,” he said.

The bus stopped
and the crowd milled around it; some of them standing on their toes,
stretched their necks to see what was inside; while others walked
around it, hitting the bus with their palms. A blue line ran around its
middle as though it was wearing a necklace. At the front and back of
the bus were fresh green leaves the driver had stuck on the windshield
to show solidarity.

“Where are you
coming from? And where are you going?” Ogedengbe asked the driver who
wore a faded, perforated t-shirt. He was drowsy; and still was chewing
a kolanut noisily, making a crunching sound.

“I’ve closed for
the day. I am going home,” the driver, hunched over the steering, said.
His face, which was as flat as a deflated tyre, was uninspiring.

“No, you can’t close now,” Ogedengbe said. “It’s not over yet. There is still a lot of work to do.”

“Eh! What are you saying? Are you saying I can’t go home now?”

Ogedengbe did not
say a word. Silence could mean anything. It could mean oppression,
suppression, negation, affirmation or passivity. But this time, it
meant affirmation, affirmative action, the power to decide the course
of action. It was already past midnight. The town seemed asleep but the
bleating of goats intermingled with the mob’s agitation. Unity Bank was
still in flames. And in the middle of the road, ten metres away from
the bonnet of the bus, there was a bonfire; the flames spluttering.
Ogedengbe opened the front passenger door and entered. The mob slid the
other door open and entered one after the other, singing solidarity
songs.

“Eh! Where are we going?” the driver asked, thick lines crisscrossing his brow.

“Take us to our homes,” Ogedengbe said.

The driver
hesitated for some minutes before turning on the ignition. As they
started up Emore Road, the passengers singing, the inscription on the
bus flashed in Ogedengbe’s mind. There are gods and there are gods; big
ones and small ones, he thought. He disagreed vehemently with Louis
XIV’s famous statement, ‘L’ Etat c’ est moi, I am the state’; and
Hegel’s quote, ‘The state is God marching through the world’. To him,
those two statements were the heights of absolutism. “The rights of the
individual are not just inalienable, they are invaluable… my rights…
your rights,” he said aloud. The driver looked askance at him.

The driver dropped
the passengers whose homes were beside the road in front of their
houses. He dropped others on the spots adjoining where they lived.
Ogedengbe was the last to alight. As the bus stopped slowly at the
entrance of Emore Grammar School, opposite the Oleh Campus of Delta
State University, Ogedengbe hopped out, determined not just to take his
job seriously but also to cater for others’ welfare and fight for
people’s rights, no matter their colour, creed or station. As he walked
to his one-room apartment, which was beside one of the dilapidated and
abandoned hostels, he looked back and waved desultorily at the driver
who was revving the bus, having taken a U-Turn. “Go and marry!” the
driver shouted, his head popping out of the window, and zoomed off.

Ogedengbe walked
on sluggishly. When he got to his room, he brought out a key from his
trousers pocket, opened the door and entered the darkness. No light as
usual, he thought. There was no furniture inside his room and so there
was no danger of hitting his legs on them. He removed his shirt and
hung it lazily on a nail in the wall. He hit his right leg on the
sooty, green kerosene stove, blackened pots and aluminium plates on the
floor. The clanging sound the pots made meant there were empty. He
removed his shoes and slumped on the eight-spring mattress on the
floor. All around him were seven Mathematics textbooks, an improvised
rusty telescope and a stethoscope that cluttered up the room. He
stretched his hand and felt an open New General Mathematics (Book
Three) that he had read the night before and closed it. As he lay down
he looked at the darkness and the events of the day came tugging at his
mind. I have found a niche in life, he

thought again. But
where could Baba and Obidi be now? Certainly with their families. He
was brooding on his being alone and did not know when he fell asleep.

The next morning
Ogedengbe woke up, had his bath, put on his clothes and hurriedly
scampered to the assembly ground, which was in front of the school’s
administrative block. Suddenly, he heard some students who were also
walking briskly, calling out his aliases. Alpha Beta! Archimedes!
Calculus! they hailed. Ogedengbe, occupied with the thought of how he
was going to face Mr Mgbunwe, only waved his hand and continued
scampering. On the assembly ground, Ogedengbe stood with the other
teachers, facing the students, as they waited for the arrival of the
school’s principal. What was he going to tell him? he thought,
agitated. Would the principal reprimand him or deduct from his salary,
as he had once threatened? Was he going to give him a query or write to
the Delta State Ministry of education, recommending his sack? Ogedengbe
could not imagine being relieved of his job. There were no jobs
anywhere. Where would he get another job? Graduates, with better
qualifications, roamed the streets in search of jobs that were not
there. At best, he would get a teaching appointment in a private school
and receive a monthly salary that could not take him home. As Ogedengbe
stood facing the students, he was enmeshed in his thoughts, oblivious
of what was going on around him. The assembly was now noisy as the
students, already impatient, were talking with one another; and
giggling. And intermittently, some of them wiped beads of sweat off
their faces with their hands. An unusual day, thought Ogedengbe. Were
he in a good mood, he would have hushed them, would have searched for
those students with torn shirts, slippers or black sandals instead of
brown. He would have asked them to stand facing the assembly,
reprimanded them and sent them back home. But now he was too
crestfallen to do so.

“Congratulations,
Ogedengbe!” Mr Mgbunwe’s voice rang out, as he walked briskly to the
mathematics teacher; with a copy of The Guardian in his hand. His red
and black striped tie was resting on his pot belly; and his black baggy
trousers clasped the lower part of his stomach.

Ogedengbe heard
the principal mention his name with a jolt. “What, sir? What have I
done?” he asked. The other teachers were also taken aback.

“Congratulations! I
am proud of you. Our school is proud of you!” Mr Mgbunwe enthused and
thrust the newspaper in his face. “How did you do it? Look at your
picture there. You are now a celebrity!”

Ogedengbe took the
newspaper, and the bold headline which read, ‘School Teacher Leads
Protest’, caught his attention. On the front page also was a snapshot
of him setting the police building ablaze. The mathematics teacher was
too dumbfounded to speak. A smile played on his lips. He hadn’t
realised that journalists were covering the event of the day before.

“How did you do it?” the principal asked again, looking upward at Ogedengbe’s face, as he adjusted his trousers.

Minutes passed, and
there was a silence. Ogedengbe was engrossed in reading the story. So
my life has now become a story, he thought. My life has now become a
metaphor for the struggle to improve the lot of our people.

“How did you do it?” Mr Mgbunwe asked for the umpteenth time; furrows were already etched on his brow.

“I only took a calculated step and seized upon a chance, “Ogedengbe said, smiling, as he gazed at the principal.

“Calculated step.
Chance,” Mr Mgbunwe said, ruminating on the key words. “Life is indeed
a game of chance.” And, immediately, the principal took the newspaper
from Ogedengbe and raised it up, making sure the front page was facing
the students. “Students, I have good news for you,” he said. “Can you
see the headline? Mr Ogedengbe has made us proud. He is now the hero of
our times. That is why I am a strong advocate of Education For
Relevance, a bridging of the gap between town and gown. Education
without positive impact on the society is useless…”

The principal had
not finished speaking when the students started chanting, Archimedes!
Alpha Beta! Calculus! “Calm down, students! Calm down! I have not
finished my speech!” pleaded Mr Mgbunwe. But the students increased
their chants. Suddenly, Mr Opio the school’s gate-keeper, a dark
diminutive man who always caught students and punished them for coming
late to school walked up the principal and told him that some
journalists who wanted to speak with Ogedengbe were at the gate.

“Did they say they want to speak with our hero? Let them come inside,” the principal said loudly.

A smile played on Ogedengbe’s lips. This is just the beginning of my story, he thought.