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The book, ‘Bitter
Leaf,’ revolves around a colourful village, thriving, and full of life,
still revelling in the unadulterated pseudo simplicity of rural life.
The author, a poet, celebrates the power of the written word in this
beautifully crafted novel throbbing with life – movement, activity,
colour, and spirit. The book explores a number of emotional dichotomies
that come together to move the plot forward, taking the reader on a
rollercoaster journey, into a familiar world, so much like, but
somehow, unlike; for the Mannobe village, the centre stage of most of
the happenings, is more finer and saner than the real one the reader
lives in.

The author
displays a mastery of the English word, crafting it in such a way that
the weight of the book rests lightly on the reader’s mind. The ability
to immerse the reader quickly into the complexity of the plot reminds
one of Ben Okri’s ‘The Famished Road’; indeed, a number of parts of the
novel, magical and poetic in description, attest to this.

The book presents
six main characters and many people whose characters are not fleshed
out but whose presence adds to the unity of the plot. The four women
and two men, whose lives intermingle to give the plot a healthy
wholesomeness, are used by Chioma Okereke to address issues of
rural/urban challenges; self identification; the rich/the poor;
spirituality/materialism; amongst others. These central characters had
to reconnect with the past in order to find peace in the present. Each
of them had a major issue revolving around their true identities which
they had to grapple with before they could eventually understand their
worth.

Jericho

The story presents
characters whose relationship with one another gently leads the plot to
a tumultuous climax that leaves the reader privy to so many secrets of
seemingly harmless looking people and situations. The exotic names of
some of the characters reveal much about them at the historical and
symbolic levels, thereby adding to the simplicity and sincerity of the
narration. Jericho and Babylon are the protagonists of the novel; the
former is a young lady whose restlessness and curiosity grow bigger
with the death of her father. It is these that push her to want to
experience the other life, far from the serene and flaccid life of
rural Mannobe. Her community is filled with people who generally care
for one another, but who also gossip a lot whenever there is a
deviation from the norm. The author describes Jericho as a woman of
unusual beauty, who is unaware of the effect of her physical presence
on others, especially on the male sex. Jericho is the name of a big
town in present day Palestine; it is known as the ‘City of Palm Trees,
for it is dotted with trees and many springs. In Hebrew, Jericho means
‘fragrant’.

It is these qualities of beauty and nature that add to her
allurement and mysteriousness, qualities that the village poet and
musician, Babylon, could not resist when he first laid his eyes on her.
She becomes an itch in his soul, so tempting that his music and
popularity could not distract him from doggedly going after her. The
biblical Babylon, now in present day Iraq, was a great kingdom ruled in
the year 606BC by an equally great, aggressive, and power thirsty King
Nebuchadnezzar, who conquered and captured surrounding and remote
kingdoms, until he was ruling almost the whole world.

Babylon

Babylon is a
handsome young man whose guitar, moves both the old and young to
emotions they are not aware they are capable of. He is also a ladies’
man, and has ‘conquered’ many so easily. Until he met Jericho. There is
a Daniel Dorique in Jericho’s life, whom Babylon had to work hard to
dislodge from her heart.

Constantly
exploring the strained discord between the rural and the urban, the
author shows the struggle Jericho put up in order to eventually find
her peace. The humanity of Babylon is in sharp contrast to the conceit,
lies, and urbanity of Daniel, who is no longer attractive to Jericho.
The author explores all the underlying emotions of these characters in
a maze of music, poetry, and friendships. Other characters too leave
large footprints in the story. There is the old man, Allegory, who
symbolises the positive aspects of tradition and a love for nature. A
lone man, he develops friendship with Babylon and the twin sisters,
M’lle and Mabel. The author uses him as the voice of truth in a
community that is beginning to lose its hold on tradition. More
importantly, however, the author successfully portrays a man who is
human, with his fears and affections, especially in his relationship to
Babylon and the twin sisters, even though his role tends to set him
aside from the others.

Then there is
Driver, the cart pusher, the community trader, who delayed the long
awaited union between Babylon and Jericho by bearing false witness
against Jericho. He also has many shadows and ghosts in his head that
he has to chase away. The twins also help deepen the plot of the novel.
They are the village cooks, who tempt the palate of the inhabitants
with the aroma of different dishes. Jovial, loud, and lively, their
jointly run restaurant is always filled with customers from every part
of Mannobe. But underneath their closeness lie secrets which if
revealed, would shatter into pieces the peace they have both managed to
build.

Conclusion

However, many of
the secrets, some dark and foreboding, are revealed to some of the
characters through the help of the village spiritualist, Venus Oracene.
The ferocity and shadows of their secrets and musings chase them –
Magdalena, the daughter of Mabel, Jericho, Babylon, at different times
– into the warm abode of Venus. Through the use of the tarot and some
powdery substance, these characters are able to wrestle these ghost of
their past lives, the shame, fears and anxiety to emerge strong,
refocused, and at peace with their selves and the world.

This is a very
interesting book, racy, and well written. The author describes complex
scenes and characters so well, in so few words, that the plot naturally
races to a conclusion which is, unfortunately, not different from what
the reader expects. Just like Nigerians can predict the ending of many
Nollywood films, the conclusion of the novel too comes to a predictable
one. However, the complexity of the characters’ lives, their everyday
living, and the secrets they carry for many years keep the novel from
sliding into a boring and predictable read.

The setting of the
novel is not clearly stated, as no particular country is mentioned. So,
the reader is a little confused about whether the characters are
Kenyans in one breath and Nigerians in another. It sounds a bit odd
hearing a character that looks so Kenyan, Ugandan, or Ghanaian in
attitude, using words or clichés that are strictly Nigerian. Words like
‘sha’, ‘a beg o’, ‘ewo’, to mention a few, all seem out of place in the
general feel of the setting.

The title of the novel, ‘Bitter Leaf’, is apt, as the novel explores
the bittersweet experiences of the central characters. Just like the
bitter leaf soup common to many parts of West Africa, its initial
bitter taste gives way to a lingering sweetness at the end. The human
spirit rises from the ash of the past to a new dawn, a hopeful present,
which brings a fresh sweetness when it is shared with loved ones.

I usually approach
Helon Habila’s books with dread. His novels are too long, even when
they are just two pages. I just finished reading his new novel, ‘Oil on
Water’, ostensibly about the hell that is the Niger Delta. Habila
doesn’t disappoint. The novel is too long. He should have stopped right
after the first page and directed us to YouTube to gawk at gas flares
and military goons drawing, hanging and quartering hapless civilians.
‘Oil on Water’ offers absolutely no new insights on the issue of crude
oil and the Niger Delta. In any case, everything has been said; all
that is left is purposeful rage directed at the myrmidons of Nigeria’s
hell-delta.

In this novel, a
white British lady has been allegedly kidnapped for ransom by the
militants of the Niger Delta. Inexplicably, two journalists, Rufus (the
main character) and Zaq (a has-been journalist and a raging alcoholic
who has no business being anywhere but in a hospital) are commissioned
to go establish contact with the militants and the woman. The awful
plot does not allow any room for the thriller that the book loudly
advertises. It does however start on a thrilling note borne on wings of
well crafted prose-poetry. I adore the first line: “I am walking down a
familiar path, with incidents neatly labelled and dated, but when I
reach halfway memory lets go of my hand, and a fog rises and covers the
faces and places, and I am left clawing about in the dark, lost, and I
have to make up the obscured moments as I go along, make up the faces
and places, even the emotions.” Right after these memorable lines, the
book promptly dozes off and never awakens, despite Habila’s gallant
attempts.

It is as if
Penguin Books, Habila’s publisher, needed another African novel and the
author complied with another sleepy-eyed, rheumy riposte on Africa’s
problems. The misfortunes of the people of the Delta have been a boon
to anyone with a laptop and a camera. My eyes have endured some pretty
bad writing, atrocious cinematography and plain bad pictures in honour
of the devastation. There are several books you must read if you are
interested in Nigeria’s war on the beautiful people of the Niger Delta,
for example, Michael Peel’s excellent book, ‘A Swamp Full of Dollars’.
The oppressed people of the delta should rise up in song and strangle
all her oppressors.

Part of the
problem, besides Habila’s challenges with the novel as a medium (he
should stick to writing extremely short stories) is that blogs,
Facebook and YouTube are making books struggle for relevance when it
comes to contemporary issues. In a few lovely places, ‘Oil on Water’
promises to gather up the rage in the reader until it is an inferno
billowing out dark acrid smoke from the conscience’s ears. In a few
precious instances, Habila is priest-like, in a trance, churning out
dark, brooding, gorgeous prose that offer delectable hints of Ben
Okri’s ‘The Famished Road’.

In the beginning, the book is engaging; it
doesn’t sound contrived and there is abundant evidence that Habila did
some research for this novel. There is enough detail to provide
memorable scenes. His greatest strength is deployed to descriptions of
the apocalypse that is the Niger Delta. Dreamy and haunting are the
lush descriptions of the roiling waters and forests. Habila loves water
and he finds a peaceful kinship with the seas and the rivers. When he
is good, the scenes remind one of Vietnam, Napalm bombs, children on
the streets fleeing fires roasting them, and My Lai.

But then it is
hard to overcome the main characters’ self-serving, unctuous
narcissistic self-absorption. Like many of Africa’s intellectual and
political elite, it is always about them. In the end, where is the
rage? Indeed, where is the beef? Habila is perhaps guilty of
romanticising common thugs pretending to be “freedom fighters.” These
are not freedom fighters in the mould of Isaac Adaka Boro and Che
Guevara. As Peel shows in his lovely book, these are mostly greedy,
self-serving thugs. It is the case that the people of the delta are
victimised by their own leaders also. That point seems lost on Habila.

The author does not have the investigative instincts and skills of a
journalist and it shows rather painfully. ‘Oil on Water’ is a gentle
disaster of a story lolling about wishing it was a very short story. As
an aside, the Pidgin English here is a distraction, a tool struggling
for meaning. Inchoate, the Pidgin hangs in the air, squirming in
mid-sentence, as if unsure of its legitimacy. The unintended
consequence: The characters are thus diminished as half-humans.

The
drama and dialogue are forced, and insincere. The book features
editorial issues, jerky disjointed dialogue, awkward attempts at humour
and improbable twists and turns lifted right out of a third-rate MFA
curriculum. Habila, like Rufus, the main character is in pursuit of the
elusive “great story.” He should continue the hunt. This story is
definitely not it.

We played the game.
It entailed any number of men or women running about kicking any
roundish object. We had no special name for the game. Then the man from
overseas came. He brought balls and boots and talked of football and
soccer. Like most white men Coach Clemence came to Africa with a
mission—to discover the beautiful game of football.

Coach Clemence came
with many rules and regulations. And we all got hoarse complaining that
he was complicating a simple game with his many rules. The bounce of
the ball was beyond the ken of most of us. Kicking with boots put us in
all kinds of trouble: the ball flew everywhere but the goalposts. It
was all so cumbersome, like teaching a man to use the left hand in
grand old age.

“Keep the ball on
the ground!” Coach Clemence hollered, daring the noonday sun as he ran
from one goal to the other correcting us. “The birds in the sky do not
play football.”

We suffered at the
hands of this man. He made us run endlessly round the field building up
what he called stamina. After the marathon running, kicking football
was well-nigh impossible. Even so Coach Clemence insisted that we must
play football. There was nothing like impossibility in the man’s
dictionary. You cannot play the man’s game unless you have sapped all
your energy running like a madman chasing after dry leaves.

“Who ever heard of
the footballer with neither skill nor stamina?” Coach Clemence asked
rhetorically while pushing us ahead to more suffering. “You lot deserve
special places in the Football Hall of Shame!”

To give him his
due, Coach Clemence led by example. He ran all the rounds with us and
played ball like a maestro. He could keep the ball up in the air for an
entire day, juggling masterfully as though the ball were tied to his
boots. And he could whack a shot at goal. The goalkeeper once flew into
the net together with his thunderously wheezing shot. And the man cried
like a baby, ending his football career just as abruptly.

The first
competitive match we played was against a team of some tourist friends
of Coach Clemence. It was a massacre. We somewhat stood fixed watching
the soccer wizards from London do all the scoring. They ran like the
wind and danced past our ears like mosquitoes. They were more slippery
than catfish in water. Neither skill nor stamina was on our side, a
total mismatch. Coach Clemence had to stop the match after thirty or so
torrid minutes to save us from further punishment. Even he had lost
count of the number of goals scored against us.

“I quit,” my elder brother said to me moments after the game.

He was gasping for
breath, dying for oxygen. It had been his job to mark the fleet-footed
left-winger of the tourists. My big brother, big and proud fellow that
he is, was dusted on the corners of the field by the flying little
wizard on the left wing. The wee ball player drew circles round my
brother, dribbling, taunting and scoring. After the humiliation my
brother picked up his climbing-rope and returned fulltime to his trade
of tapping palm wine. All the entreaties from Coach Clemence could not
get my brother back on the field.

“I can’t afford to
spend all my life chasing the wind,” Brother Okoro said. “My younger
one is still there and he may yet catch the wind.”

“You can’t afford
to throw in the towel so early in your career,” Coach Clemence pleaded,
staring fixedly with imploring eyes on my brother Okoro. “You can still
make the grade and earn tons of money as a football professional.”

“It is a man who is alive that can earn money,” Okoro replied, unmoved. “Do you know how many times I died in that field?”

“The beginning of
every act is always difficult,” Coach Clemence said, patting Okoro on
the shoulder. “Once you have mastered the art, all the suffering you
took would look glorious in hindsight.”

“White man, I have
played my last match.” The finality in Okoro’s tone could not be missed
by Coach Clemence. “There is even no sense at all in fully grown adults
running all over the place chasing an inflated balloon!”

The exit of Brother
Okoro was an open wound felt by all our teammates. He was a natural wag
who softened our suffering with his many jokes. In his absence
everybody looked upon me to take up the mantle of team clown. I was a
profound failure on all counts. One statement assailed my ears
everyday: “If only your brother Okoro had been here …”

We played some
other matches. We lost all the matches. The score on each occasion was
scandalous. Coach Clemence had the same words for us after every
defeat: “You learn from losing.”

After one
particularly humiliating defeat, a game in which half of our players
scored own goals, one rugged man walked into our fold. Some said he had
been a coup-seasoned soldier while others said he was an expired
politician. Nobody was sure of anything about the man. A pudgy and
crafty old stager, he was gap-toothed and his goggles were darker than
midnight. He spoke quaint English that edged Coach Clemence’s for
incomprehension. He at first introduced himself as our Team Manager. In
the next practice session he appointed himself Defence Minister,
explaining that he had all the answers for all our defensive frailties.
Next he called himself Sole Administrator. Coach Clemence could not
hide his amusement as the strange fellow by and by took the titles of
Head of State, C-in-C, Life President etc. The title Presido fitted him
like a cap.

“They are my people,” the man said to Coach Clemence, pointing at us as we sat head bowed. “I know their psychology.”

In the football
field he spoke to Coach Clemence in English while he talked to us in
the native tongue. Some of his words to us were actually full-throated
insults directed at the white man.

“Don’t mind the white monkey,” the man said, pretending to be serious. “May he dissolve under the hot African sun!”

“What’s that?” Coach Clemence asked quizzically after we had burst out in laughter.

“Oh I was telling
the boys to rise up to the magnitude of the British Empire,” the man
replied in grand English elocution. Then he turned to us and asked in
vernacular: “Can this white nobody give birth to a black somebody?”

We continued to laugh much to the puzzlement of Coach Clemence.

“Don’t mind the
native morons,” the man said, reverting to English. “They are laughing
at my lack of knowledge of the local lingo.”

Coach Clemence was
none the wiser but would not be distracted. He upped the ante by taking
us into the classroom to teach us football. He mentioned many
incomprehensible figures and numbers: 4-4-2, 4-3-3, 4-2-4 etc. He drew
many lines on the blackboard and plotted many graphs. He pointed and
directed through arrows and curves. We got more confused by the minute.
The classroom lessons continued interminably. If there was anything
worse than being defeated woefully on the field it was being made to
sit through the dreary lessons in the classroom.

“My people cannot
get the hang of this teaching of football inside the classroom,” our
self-appointed President challenged Coach Clemence.

“Without a sound theory there can be no good praxis,” Coach Clemence explained.

“How can somebody do on the blackboard what is played out there in the football field?”

“Presido!” We all rose in salute of our President for asking a question that we had all individually wanted to ask.

“Football is a game of the head rather than of the feet …”

We all shouted, interrupting Coach Clemence.

“In that case,” Presido was saying, “the game would have been called headball instead of football.”

Yes! We were all screaming in support of the thesis of our darling Presido, a true man of the people.

Coach Clemence
shook his head and announced the end of the day’s lesson. He then said
that the British Embassy Staff Club had challenged us to a football
match. Presido instantly volunteered to produce FIFA-graded match
officials and a record crowd for the special match.

“This match I take as your command performance,” Coach Clemence said, dismissing us for the day.

The football
stadium was a wild forest of people and spirits on the august day. The
pep talk of Coach Clemence minutes before the match dwelt much on the
anticipated style of our opponents. He talked of the speed and accuracy
of British football and asked us to watch out particularly for the
overlapping runs of the full-backs. He mentioned a certain footballer
of yore called Terry Cooper who by overlapping turned into a menacing
demon for all opponents of England.

“We know what you
mean,” said Presido, interrupting as usual. “Overlapping means that
somebody comes as a missionary and then overlaps as a colonial master!”

“Don’t mix football with politics,” Coach Clemence said.

“Don’t listen to the white man,” Presido said to us in the native tongue. “When we get into the field we shall play our style.”

“Our style is
home-grown freestyle soccer democracy played with military boots,”
shouted our dancing goalkeeper who had for some time been taking some
private lessons at the insistence of Presido.

The match was not
yet a minute old when the British left-back, overlapping, scored. He
would have scored again in the very next minute but for the agility of
our goalkeeper. Now instead of putting the ball into play according to
the rule of the game our goalkeeper ran the full length of the field
and threw the ball into the net of our opponents!

“The overlapping goalkeeper!” roared the crowd.

“Unprecedented! Fit for the Guinness Book of World Records! First in history!” I heard so many exclamations.

The referee looked
at his assistants and at the excited crowd and then pointed to the
centre of the field, thus counting our goalkeeper’s caper of a coup as
a goal. The British Embassy Staff Club players were dumbfounded. I
could not understand what was happening. The referee was asking the
Embassy boys to restart the game, but they refused to. Suddenly our
goalkeeper picked up the ball and ran all the way to score again. The
referee blew a blast on his whistle, jumping up in excitement like
Presido and the crowd. The overlapping goalkeeper scored many more
times, and the spectators could no longer be controlled for joy. They
encroached into the field, passing the ball to us with their hands and
feet. It was a melee. Nobody could leave the field of play. I looked in
the direction of Coach Clemence but his place had been taken by
Presido. And how Presido enjoyed the game! He actually came into the
field to score a handful of goals with his hands and feet and head. How
he gloried in “our style” of total football! He jumped and screamed and
laughed, urging us on with his hands and feet and mouth. And we obeyed
him, playing with all parts of our bodies and scoring with every
section of our anatomy. It was indeed an original never-ending game.

Uzor Maxim Uzoatu
was born in Nigeria on December 22, 1960. He was the 1989 Distinguished
Visitor at the Graduate School of Journalism, University of Western
Ontario. He is the author of the collection God of Poetry. In 2010, his
play Doctor of Football will be produced across Nigeria. He was
nominated for the Caine Prize for African Writing in 2008.

‘Doctrine of
Necessity’ is the title of a new exhibition by artist Kunle Filani,
which opened at Quintessence, Ikoyi, Lagos, yesterday and will run till
November 13.

A preview of the
exhibition was held at the venue on Tuesday, October 19. The event
attracted members of the media as well as art patrons and enthusiasts
who came to view the works that would go on show, and interact with the
artist. Many held that ‘Doctrine of Necessity’ is a major
accomplishment for Filani, a dynamic and multi-faceted artist, art
educator, art critic/historian and art administrator.

Filani, who also
doubles as the provost of the Federal College of Education, Abeokuta,
was full of enthusiasm as he spoke about the exhibition, which is a
commemorative effort to celebrate his creative journey and 30 years of
professional art practice since graduating from the University of Ife
(now Obafemi Awolowo University), Ile-Ife, in June 1980.

On the term

At the event, Kunle
Filani remarks on his observation of a trend peculiar to Nigerian
elites, which is the deploying of certain English words and phrases in
a contradictory manner, sometimes without paying attention to the fact
that the words have no relationship whatsoever with the context. For
instance, he noted that the term ‘Doctrine of Necessity’ has been used
by some individuals to justify their lust and greed.

The controversy
behind the term began when the Senate of the Federal Republic of
Nigeria used it to defend the delegation of the office of the president
and its duties to the then Vice President, Goodluck Jonathan, upon the
abrupt departure of Umaru Yar’Adua from the country due to ill health.
Filani, however employs the term to suit his artistic purpose in the
new exhibition. According to him, his present position as administrator
of a federal institution of learning, combined with other
responsibilities, has made his schedule impossibly jammed, but the
doctrine of necessity has laid it on him to celebrate 30 years of his
creative accomplishments.

He also adds that
necessity has meant that he has to appropriate the ‘Doctrine of
Necessity’ by abbreviating it to DON – the name of one of his closest
friend, Don Akatakpo, also an academic, who died recently.

Art talk

Aside from
enlightening the public on the exhibition, Kunle Filani also spoke
about his favourite subject – art. The scope of his discussion covered
issues ranging from his preference for infusing the motifs and forms of
African culture with modern concepts, to his belief in career
diversity; which means one can and should be accomplished in as many
areas as one decides. On the need for Africans and especially Nigerians
to nurture and glory in their cultural identity as a way to enhance
their arts, language and culture especially in the midst of a rapidly
globalising world, Filani says, “We must tap into what is unique to us
as Nigerians , if we must have Nigerian Art”.

About the exhibition

‘Doctrine of
Necessity features up to 25 pieces. They include old art works, which
he had displayed in a previous exhibition, a retrospective held to
commemorate his fiftieth birthday. More recent works are also
showcased. Works of photography are also on display.

‘Doctrine of Necessity’ is at Quintessence, Falomo Shopping Centre, Ikoyi, Lagos until November 13.

Juju music icons,
Ebenezer Obey and King Sunny Ade (KSA), have disclosed that they are
game for the forthcoming ‘One Nite Stand’ featuring them with the same
band on a stage for the first time ever. The show, scheduled for the
New Eko Expo Hall, Eko Hotels, Victoria Island, Lagos from 4pm on
Sunday, November 7 is being packaged by GrandFaaji Concepts Limited.

Obey and Sunny
spoke about the concert at a press conference held at Airport Hotel,
Ikeja, on Tuesday, October 19. Welcoming reporters to the event, chief
executive of GrandFaaji Concepts Limited, Azuka Jebose Molokwu, said
the Juju legends were there “to imprint on our minds the essence of
this concert.”

The show, he
added, “is unlike any other in the history of Nigerian music. Many may
have thought that the so-called rivalry that existed between the two
musicians would never have made this possible. But, as it is evident
here: these are two brothers and friends. And, they are gearing up to
show what two will do, when they are agreed.” The former entertainment
journalist now based in the US noted that “It is also going to be an
evening of soul-gratifying melodies.”

President,
Performing Musicians Association of Nigeria (PMAN), Dele Abiodun,
thanked organisers of the concert for coming up with the idea. Abiodun,
who recalled the duo’s efforts to popularise Juju music, reiterated
that nobody would have believed the two role models would ever perform
together. “Thank you sirs, we are very proud of you and will continue
to be proud of you,” he ended.

We are brothers

Obey expressed
happiness at the opportunity to talk about the show. Baba Commander, as
some of his fans call him, said Abiodun and others saw him and KSA as
role models because God made it so. “What happened is not coincidental;
God brought us together to come into the music scene. We both prayed to
be successful musicians and God answered,” Obey said of their musical
beginnings. The duo, he added, have their strengths but “God brought us
to release messages to the world, to calm people. Both of us were there
and became a source of encouragement to each other.” Continuing on
their early years, Obey said it was a rarity in the history of Nigerian
music for two icons to reign together but that they did until he became
a minister of God nearly 20 years ago.

But he almost
backed out of the show. Though he had agreed with the organisers and
even concurred on KSA’s behalf, elders of his church saw the concert in
a different light. They thought people would perceive it as rekindling
the perceived rivalry between them. Obey said Molokwu explained the
whole concept again but he wasn’t ready to go against the wishes of the
elders. Molokwu eventually contacted Obey’s son, Folarin, who persuaded
the elders.

Obey said the
concert which is keyed into the 50th Independence anniversary, couldn’t
have come at a better time because God has helped them to contribute
their quota to the nation. Though he confessed he wouldn’t have ever
imagined the two of them on the stage, he noted that “With God all
things are possible. We are not enemies as people are thinking. We are
brothers.”

Who is fooling who?

Also dispelling
notions of a rivalry, KSA said even at the height of the so-called
enmity, he used to visit Obey in his house for discussions. “We have
cause to thank God because we are blessed. I am lucky to have him as a
brother who understood, understands and continues to understand,” KSA
said before narrating an incident involving the late celebrity
journalist, Olabisi Ajala.

He disclosed that
Ajala happened on him and Obey in his house and demanded that they open
the door. They had agreed to do so when Ajala’s next comment stopped
them. Ajala said, “You guys are sitting together and we are fighting
for you. You better open the door now or you will find your story in
the Evening Times today.” The journalist was true to his word as he
wrote a story titled ‘Who is fooling who?’ that same evening. Ajala, he
disclosed, always knew whenever Obey came to his house and was always
lying in wait for them.

KSA reiterated
that there was never any rivalry between them even when people assumed
so. He recalled why they had to change the day of their gigs when they
both had their joints on Olonade Street, Yaba, Lagos. KSA said there
was no problem when they started playing on Wednesdays until they
started having crowd trouble at their respective joints. He disclosed
that they amicably resolved the problem by tossing a coin with Obey
settling for Thursdays, even though his fans didn’t like it. That was
not the only measure they devised to manage their feuding fans; KSA
said they both agreed and instructed their managers not to book them
for the same event.

“Both of us are
working together to make this project what you think it will be.
Nigeria is 50 and this is the first time ever that the two of us are
meeting on the stage. We intentionally agreed not to meet together on
the stage but I want to assure you, we are going to have a good show, a
remarkable show. It will be even difficult for you to allow anybody
stand in front of you while you are watching the stage,” KSA promised.

Rare privilege

Veteran producer,
Laolu Akins, who is also involved the show, highlighted its uniqueness.
He said though it has never been attempted before, the organisers will
do “everything possible to ensure people have a wonderful time.” Apart
from Akins, the renowned Eddie Lawani is involved as the stage manager
while US-based broadcaster, Olusesan Ekisola, will anchor the show. All
female singing group, Nefeetiti and singer, Stella Monye, will also
perform as part of the bill. “It is a rare privilege to be playing with
these two giants. The opportunity just fell on my laps and I will be
the help to these two giants,” Monye said at the briefing.

Commenting on the
show, photographer and NEXT columnist, Tam Fiofori described Obey and
KSA as role models and trail blazers. He disclosed that Obey bought
beetle cars for all his band members and succeeded in raising their
social status at a time musicians were disparaged, while KSA was
equally benevolent and innovative.

Tickets for the
show which comes at N10, 000, N25, 000 and N100, 000 are already on
sale at various points across Lagos, emcee, Taiwo Obe, informed the
gathering.

Responding to
whether they will produce an album together after the show, KSA said it
is under consideration but that they will discuss further with the
organisers in that regard.

Asked to disclose the strengths of each other, Obey described KSA as
a master guitarist and excellent showman; KSA said it is Obey’s
melodious voice and perseverance on stage. The duo gave an insight to
what to expect at the concert when they sang ‘Ara mi e se pelepele’ by
Obey and KSA’s ‘Aimasiko’. “E fi yen le (leave that), e don dey sweet
una. Wait for the concert,” KSA said as photographers jostled to
capture the scene and reporters sang along.

The second edition
of playwright, Ben Tomoloju’s ‘Poetry, Laughter, Arts and You’
(P.L.A.Y) which held at Terra Kulture, Victoria Island, Lagos on
October 15 and 16 had something for everybody. There was music aplenty
for lovers of music while those interested in poetry were not
disappointed.

The opening was a
comprehensively entertaining show that was at once didactic though it
started almost two hours late. It was unadulterated fun all the way
when the show anchored by actor, Ropo Ewenla, eventually kicked off.
Female singing group, Nefretiti, raised the curtain with ‘Ayeraye’ a
song/chant extolling the virtues of the creator.

Paul Abiagam, an
official of Guaranty Trust Bank (GTB), sponsors of the festival
welcomed guests thereafter. He recalled the history of poetry in
Nigeria, its evolution and emergence of first and second generation
poets including Gabriel Okara, Wole Soyinka, J.P. Clark, Odia Ofeimun
and Niyi Osundare. The two generations, Abiagam noted, “defined modern
Nigerian poetry and left an indelible mark on the art, not only in
Nigeria, but worldwide.” The country, he continued, has been unable to
replicate the success of these poets because of decaying
infrastructure, poor state of the economy and falling standard of
education amongst others. “A search for an end to this worrying
situation influenced our decision at Guaranty Trust Bank to create a
unique platform for the rejuvenation of Nigerian poetry,” Abiagam said
of the bank’s involvement.

Abeeb Ayodeji,
better known as Awoko, and Iquo Eke continued saluting God after
Abiagam left the stage. Awoko paid homage to God with a Yoruba ewi
(poem) while Eke did ‘Chosen’ and ‘Rites of Rebirth’ backed by
Nefretiti and the Solar Band. The two groups supported different acts
as the event progressed.

Poetry is instrumental

Award winning poet
and head, Department of English, University of Ibadan, Remi Raji
delivered a lecture titled ‘Poetry and National Rebirth’, the theme of
the festival. “Don’t be scared by the books, I just acquired them,”
Raji who had a bundle of books under his arms as he walked to the
stage, assured the audience. “That’s a lesson to the young, when you
see recharge cards and books, go for the book,” he added before reading
a poem, ‘I rise now’ about learning to laugh again in a land of gloom.

Though he
initially wondered if poetry can birth anything for Nigeria or any
other African nation, Raji reiterated in the lecture that it has been
instrumental in the creation of some epochs. He cited the Harlem
Renaissance and Civil Rights Movement in the US and the Negritude in
the African Diaspora as examples.

“My simple
argument is that a nation cannot be without its culture, and poetry is
the creative quotient of that culture; it is given that national
rebirth is only possible with an awareness, a strong awareness of one’s
culture in interaction with other cultures; poetry is therefore a
strategic performative element of national rebirth,” he said.

The author of
‘Lovesong for My Wasteland’ also highlighted the role of the poet. He
described the bard as “an important contributor to the memorisation and
the re-orientation of a national psyche. S/he cannot exist outside his
or her culture, and s/he is influenced by culture as s/he functions as
an octant icon of his or her culture.

“Nations are
reborn when they calibrate the intelligence of their writers. The
rebirth of nations always almost involves the celebration of creative
writers, because the literary genius is an important material of any
cultural renaissance.”

Rich culture, vibrant art

Nefretiti did a
medley of popular choruses including a number by late Ikale musician,
Comfort Omoge, some Egun songs and others to lighten the atmosphere
after Raji’s lecture. Terfa Ahondo, a foundation member of the National
Troupe of Nigeria, took the performances a notch higher with his Tiv
dance and mastery of the traditional Hausa trumpet. The artist backed
by two others showed the audience he has strong lungs by blowing the
trumpet for more than three minutes without pausing to catch his breath.

The Fadesewa of
Simawa, Oba Gbenga Sonuga who was accompanied by his wife, Peju, noted
that it was a beautiful show. “It has been a pleasant afternoon and I
am glad that I made time to be here,” said the king who also
highlighted the depth of Nigeria’s cultural assets. “The only thing
that Nigeria has to talk about in 50 years is the wealth of its culture
and vibrancy of its art. I thank God that we are rich, I thank God that
we are alive to witness the rebirth of art in Nigeria.”

The king, a former
dancer, however regretted that the Minister of Tourism, Culture and
National Orientation, Abubakar Sadiq Mohammed was not at the festival.
He noted that it would have been a good opportunity to “teach him one
or two things about art. You can’t be minister of culture without
having undergone cultural re-orientation. A minister that is not
appreciative of his culture won’t deliver us. The arts make our life
meaningful.” He prayed that by the time Nigeria celebrates its
centenary, the nation will be flying in the culture sector. “You have
made my day, you have made my 50th anniversary real,” he said in
gratitude to the singers, drummers and other performers.

Poetry and jazz

Vocalist, Titi
Ogunsola accompanied by the Solar Band opened the ‘cocktail of poetry
and jazz’ session with a commendable rendition of Louis Armstrong’s
‘What a Wonderful World.’ Playwright and poet, Ozi Okoli also
registered his presence with, ‘Through the Silent Night’ and ‘The
Spilling Darkness’.

Tomoloju, visioner
of the project, read J.P. Clark’s ‘The Casualties’ and dedicated it to
Chinua Achebe. He paid tributes to the late maestro, Steve Rhodes and
other elders of the Nigerian stage and literature in a song titled ‘Oro
Agba’. Ewenla did Pius Okigbo’s ‘Condolences’ while Segun Dada brought
Odia Ofeimun’s ‘Lagoon’ to life. Nefretiti softly sang ‘Eko Akete’ in
the background while Dada danced as if he was paddling a canoe.

Ganiyat Ogundele
performed Niyi Osundare’s ‘Out in the Night-Sleepwalking’ in another of
the day’s best performances. Attired in a bathrobe and holding a cover
cloth, she slept on the floor until a mosquito bite woke her to perform
the poem like a real sleepwalker. Up and coming act, Oyinkansola drew
applause for her fast paced number, ‘Yokolu yokolu’ about a greedy
fellow who got his just deserts. The audience sang the chorus loudly
along with the guitar strumming singer who reminded all of Asa.

Wazobia FM’s duo
of Steve Onu, popularly known as Yaw and Lolo Motunde spiced the show
with some jokes before Ebika Anthony took the gathering – including
students of two secondary schools, the Lagos State University (LASU)
and Adeniran College of Education, Ijanikin – to the Niger Delta with
an Izon (Ijaw) poem on hunger. ACE (Awoko, Cornerstone and Eda Oto)
continued with the performance ridden festival by doing Wole Soyinka’s
‘I Love this Lagos’ accompanied by the Solar Band and Oyin Ogungbade on
the sax. A LASU collective paid tribute to poet, Eddie Aderinokun who
clocked 70 earlier in the year by performing his ‘Ode to an Artist
without Compare’. Jumoke Verissimo closed the cocktail of poetry and
jazz session with a poem, ‘Gold Plated Anniversary’ accompanied by Eda
Oto on the guitar.

Verissimo and Onyeka Nwelue, author of ‘Abyssinian Boy’ later spoke
on the theme of the festival, ‘Poetry and National Rebirth’ at a youth
forum that ended the first day of the fiesta. Ebika Anthony, national
public relations officer (south), Association of Nigerian Authors also
gave a keynote address on the theme at the session attended by actress,
Joke Silva.

Lagbaja: Gig by the masked musician – Motherlan’, Opebi, Ikeja, Lagos. Tickets: N2,000. Time: 10pm. October 29.

Jude Dibia: Author reads at Infusion – JB’s Grill, Maitama Amusement Park, Abuja. 6.30pm. October 28.

Kunle Filani: Solo exhibition by the artist – Quintessence, Falomo Shopping Centre, Ikoyi, Lagos. Ends November 13.

Lagos Photo Picnic: Including performance by the Crown Troupe of Africa – Muri Okunola
Park, Victoria Island, Lagos. 2pm. October 24.

Lagos Photo Opening Event: Netherlands Embassy, Walter Carrrington, Victoria Island, Lagos. 7pm. October 29.

Lagos Photo
Exhibition: Festival of images by 28 photographers- Eko Hotel, Muri
Okunola Park, Professor Ayodele Awojobi Park and MKO Abiola Gardens,
Lagos. Ends November 9.

Tarzan & V-Monologues: The Ultimate Face-Off 2 – Terra Kulture, Tiamiyu Savage, Victoria Island, Lagos. 3pm. October 24.

Movie Premiere: Muyiwa Ademola’s ‘Iyo Aiye’- Silverbird Cinemas, Victoria Island, Lagos, October 31.

Spirit Worlds: Julien Sinzogan’s exhibition on slavery and the ‘Transmigration of
African Souls’- October Gallery, 24 Old Gloucester Street, London WCIN
3AL. Ends November 6.

Abuja Writers’
Forum: With poet, Kabura Zakama – Pen and Pages Bookstore, White House
Plaza, Plot 79 Adetokunbo Ademola Crescent, Wuse 2, Abuja. 4pm. October
30.

Abuja Film Festival: 7th annual event – Silverbird Cinemas, Abuja. October 26 to 29.

Andrew Dosunmu
Exhibition: Photography on ‘Music, A symbol of Nigeria’s Independence’
– The Palms Shopping Centre, Lekki, Lagos. Ends November 30.

ANA Convention: 29th annual meeting of Nigerian writers – Babafunke Ajasin Auditorium,
Igbatoro Road, Akure, Ondo State. October 28 to 31.

Celebrity Reads
Africa: Readings and discussions on books – Terra Kulture, Plot 1376,
Tiamiyu Savage, Victoria I, Lagos. 3–6pm. October 30.

Night Out With The Arts: SPAN dance finale – Eko Hotel & Suites, Victoria Island, Lagos. 7pm, October 29.

National/Cultural Historical Exhibitions: 50 years of Nigerian Art- Velodrome, National Stadium, Abuja. Ends October 31.

Please send details of art events 10 days in advance by SMS 907034086014) or email: culture@234next.com.

Full artists’ line-up, venues and dates:

November 5 -Sofitel Moorhouse Hotel:

Karen Patterson

Chinaza

Morrie Louden

Randy Weston

November 5 – Federal Palace Hotel:

Mike Aremu

Morrie Louden

Simone

Somi

Randy Weston

November 7 – German Consulate (Sunday jazz breakfast):

Karen Patterson

Chinaza

Nneka

November 7 – Muri Okunola Park:

Bez

Ayetoro

Nneka

Somi

Simone

Femi Kuti