Nigeria Content Online

To mark Nigeria’s
five decades, we dusted down an iconic photograph. The image above
shows a handover of power – from James Robertson, the last British
Governor-General of Nigeria to Tafawa Balewa, the first Prime Minister
of Nigeria. We asked eight writers to tell us what feelings the
photograph evoked for them.

Below are their thoughts; some optimistic, some weary, and some resigned.

Sarah Ladipo Manyika, author, ‘In Dependence’

Two men are waving,
but to whom exactly? Tafawa Balewa’s hand hails the people, but what of
James Robertson? Is he waving hello, farewell, or not so fast? It’s
hard to tell, and yet the stiffness of those gloves, sash, headgear and
medals suggest a man no longer at ease. And as for those two young men
standing ramrod straight around the flagpole, what expression, I
wonder, rests on their faces? Pride, I imagine, and immense hope on a
day when a brand new flag waves prosperity and peace to all who stand
below. Half a century later, what would each of these men make of
Nigeria today? Disappointment, I would guess, at the very least, and
yet I hear that there is beauty in turning fifty and being able to look
both backward and forward. If this is the case, then I think that
today’s picture must be in colour with much less grey, fewer shadows,
many more women, and just as much hope.

Carlos Moore, author, ‘Fela: This Bitch of a Life’

The image of James
Robertson, the last British Governor-General of Nigeria and Tafawa
Balewa, the first Prime Minister of Nigeria, celebrating the birth of
what is today called NIGERIA is nothing unusual. It is an image that
says that, for all practical purposes, it is all business as usual.
Just a new arrangement of the same colonial, neo-colonial and
neo-imperial package.

Abidemi Sanusi, author, ‘Kemi’s Journal’

I am drawn to the
flag pole in the background. Has the Union Jack been lowered already,
and the flag of the new Nigeria, a phoenix of green and white stripes,
been raised in its place? It is hard to tell. The phantom army of
witnesses are a little harder to spot, their ghoulish presence a
forewarning of what is to come in the ‘new’ country. Finally, I notice
the two men; each, with one arm raised high, the white man, James
Robertson, the last British Governor-General of Nigeria and the
Nigerian, Tafawa Balewa, the first Prime Minister of Nigeria.
Robertson’s arm is raised in a wave, whether in farewell or in good
wishes, again, it is hard to tell. His face is inscrutable, no doubt
relishing the years ahead, when cocooned in his own grave, historians
would pore over every muscle of his face in the photograph for a hint
of the thoughts that lie within. He knows the photograph will reveal
nothing. I’m intrigued by Balewa’s arm. What is it saying? ‘Farewell‘,
‘Stay awhile’, ‘Now what?’ One thought keeps on reverberating through
my mind: where was the photograph taken and why the night-time?

Toni Kan, author, ‘Nights of the Creaking Bed’

Hello and Goodbye.
Two knighted fellows waving out an epoch and welcoming a new one;
albeit a benighted one. 50 years later we look at this picture and
wonder, was it too soon, were mistakes made and who made those
mistakes? 50 years of independence and yet we remain a country fraught
with ills that defy logic, balms and unguents. Who knows, maybe Sir
James Robertson was actually saying: good riddance!

Teju Cole, author, ‘Everyday is for the Thief’

“A painful
disappointment, though one must admit it was not a total failure” –
these were the words Nnamdi Azikiwe used to describe the Constitutional
Conference of 1957. The British stymied Nigerian demands for
independence by 1959. But independence did eventually come, in 1960.
Two hands raised in the darkness, a flicker of hope. The British packed
their bags and left, after poisoning the well, and Zik’s words might as
well serve for the fifty-year journey Nigeria has undertaken since
then. Things went wrong very quickly for the country once the
Okotie-Eboh model of kleptocracy supplanted the humble civil service of
Tafawa Balewa. There were utter disasters along the way, the three most
notable, in my view, being the Civil War, the Babangida dictatorship,
and the Abacha dictatorship that succeeded it. The years rolled on, and
we swallowed one missed opportunity after another. Still, there was
FESTAC. There are our great artists, particularly in literature and
music. And there is the incomparable intensity, creativity, and
resurgence of the city of Lagos. A painful disappointment, then, this
maddening Nigerian journey, but not a total failure. Not yet.

Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani, author, ‘I Do Not Come To You By Chance’

Five decades ago,
the white man waved goodbye to Nigeria. But today, Nigerians remain in
captivity. The colonialists rule our minds. We obsess over what they
think about us, we struggle to imitate their ways, we are in awe of
their abilities. As Nigeria celebrates 50 years of independence, I have
a dream that my people shall be free at last. With the white man and
his West safely out of our heads and our minds obsessing over more
progressive purposes.

Chika Unigwe, author, ‘On Black Sisters’ Street’

Whenever my father
talks of the 1st of October, 1960 his voice carries a certain sense of
awe, as if he were talking of something sacred. Looking at this
photograph, I am reminded of my father’s voice. There is a sense of the
sacred in the way both men are standing still, unsmiling, hands raised
as the clock strikes midnight to usher in the birth of a new country
and announce the irreversible death of colonisation. But there is also
a sense of excitement, of optimism. It is easy to read on Balewa’s
face, the eagerness to get on with the job of leading Nigeria to its
destined greatness as an independent nation. 50 years later, Nigerians
of my father’s generation have seen their hopes for Nigeria betrayed by
kleptomaniac regimes. And we, their children are finding it more and
more difficult to remain optimistic that things will change enough to
bring Nigeria back to its days of glory.

Amatoritsero Ede, author, ‘Globetrotter & Hitler’s Children’

The promise and
dream of that celebratory image of – I presume Tafawa Balewa, first
‘Head-of-State’ of an independent Nigeria beside the representative of
the colonial British Crown – has become a nightmare and an illusion.
The ex-colonial state (I refuse to call it post-colonial to emphasise
the continuing colonial dependence) has continued the plunders of
imperialism. As Wole Soyinka put it in a public statement recently, we
celebrate shame. It is like celebrating the death of an infant
first-born child. It is very un-African. This should be a time for
inward looking, not for pomp and pageantry. The leadership has failed
woefully. A country blessed with all the human and mineral resources
which Nigeria has should not be the failed state that it is today,
where a lack of maintenance culture, entrenched corruption in
government, criminal politicians or ex-military men vying for office is
normalised. Nigeria has taken itself out of any kind of global
competition – even on a continental level. This house has fallen! It
can only be rebuilt by a complete shift in its leadership and civic
mental orientation.

A version of this article was first published on the Cassava Republic blog.

The exhibition held
as part of the recently concluded first International Convention on Art
and Development (CONADEV), themed ‘Engaging Art as a Sustainable Tool
for Development’ was a big treat for art lovers in Lagos.

Though without a
title, the exhibition which held at Harmattan Workshop Gallery,
Victoria Island, featured works by designers, painters, sculptors, new
media artists and mix media artists. The about 50 works displayed were
made by Nigerian artists, a Ghanaian and an artist from Benin Republic.

President, Society
of Nigerian Artists (SNA), Uwa Usen, opened the exhibition which
started with entertainment from dance group, Theatre Centrik. The
dancers held the audience spell bound with their well choreographed
dance steps and acrobatics.

Viewers were able
to appreciate the beautiful artworks laid out in the three sections of
the gallery before the exhibition which opened on Monday, September 20
closed on September 26.

Celebration and development

The works explored
themes including celebration, development and growth. Bunmi Lasaki’s
‘Greenland Melody Merchants’; Palmer Noah’s ‘Life of a People’; Ahmed
Tijani’s ‘Drummers’; Dan Ifon’s ‘Labe Igi’ and Chris Ogieghbo’s
sculpture titled ‘The Saxophonist’ all depicted celebration.

Obiora Anaemaleze’s
mix media, ‘Anyabaife’ showing a girl reading and writing, and Olisa
Awunna’s ‘Sustainable Development’ tackled development and growth.

Lovers of landscape
paintings at the exhibition were not disappointed. Asmau Ahmed’s pastel
titled ‘Sabon Karshi’; Imonighie Imoesi’s ‘Unification of Purpose’ and
Olojo Koso’s ‘Close view of Majidun’ were available for their viewing
pleasure.

Famous Lagos
Island-based graffiti artist, Theophilus-Iwalokun Olaitan popularly
known as Ratty, also registered his presence with ‘Burning and Looting’.

Works leaning
towards traditional mysticism were also displayed. ‘Igba’ by Segun
Olotu and Okezie Okafor’s metal and wood sculptor, ‘Worshippers’,
combined well with Suleiman Taiwo’s fibre glass table top sculptor of a
goggled man reading.

Eminent artists,
Bruce Onobrakpeya and Kolade Oshinowo, were not left out. Onobrakpeya’s
‘Pendant and Beads’ and Oshinowo’s ‘Old City Gate’ were beauties to
behold.

Price issue

Victor Ecoma, a
lecturer at the Cross River University of Technology and participant at
the convention believed that it was good the exhibition held as part of
the meeting. He, however, commented on the pricing of the artworks.
“The exhibition raises an issue for pricing of art. What are the
criteria for appraising art? What are the indices? Is it objective or
subjective?”

Though artist, Ato
Arinze, was happy that the exhibition signified development in the art
scene, he expressed reservations about some of the works. “You cannot
see any development from what the artist has been doing before. It’s
the same thing in every exhibition. Development starts from the
individual artist, from his studio. Exhibitions are meant to show what
new things the artist is doing, it is when you get this right that you
can develop as an artist.”

Tijani Ahmed, a Ghanaian participant, was happy. “Though I wished
that there were more installation works and new media, I am happy to be
part of this great exhibition,” he said.

The first solo UK
exhibition of the Beninoise artist, Julien Sinzogan, opened at the
October Gallery in London on September 29. Attracting artists and art
enthusiasts of different races, the exhibition, titled ‘Spirit Worlds’,
explores the theme of the Transatlantic slavery and the spiritual
return of long-lost African souls to their homeland.

Employing varied
media, Sinzogan, also an architect, created an emotive atmosphere that
not only took viewers back in time to the horror of that period but
also made a bold statement on spirituality and the indestructibility of
the African soul and cultural identity.

Visa denied

The absence of
Sinzogan himself from the exhibition’s opening event, however, cast
some shadow over the event. Elisabeth Lalouschek, Artistic Director of
the October Gallery, disclosed that problems with obtaining a visa, had
kept the artist from attending. She however expressed hopes that the
artist will be able to visit before the six-week exhibition rounds off.

The artist
previously featured in ‘Voyages’, an October Gallery exhibition of his
work and those of Zimbabwean sculptor Tapfuma Gutsa, which ran from May
to June 2007, to mark the bicentenary of the abolition of the slave
trade. Sinzogan had attended the opening of the exhibition at the
October Gallery on May 16, 2007.

For ‘Spirit
Worlds’, the collection on show includes sixteen works which employ
different media such as natural pigments, acrylic, coloured inks as
well as mixed media. Many of the pieces, according to Lalouschek, have
been reserved by collectors. “Their prices range between 4,500 and
16,000 pounds sterling. The October Gallery likes to exhibit Sinzogan’s
work because they are excellent pieces of art and they attract good
sales,” she said.

Paul Goodwin, Tate
Britain curator, gave a brief speech about the artist and his works,
while formally declaring the exhibition open. “I first came across
Sinzogan’s art at the Victoria and Albert Museum in 2007. It was titled
‘Uncomfortable Truth’ and was exhibited to commemorate the 200th
anniversary of the parliamentary abolition of the slave trade,” said
Goodwin.

Particularly
striking in its detailed execution and use of colour, “His work dealt
with something I, and many other blacks across the world, have always
thought about.” Goodwin continued, “[Sinzogan] put a positive spin on
something that’s usually a dark subject; with the energy he gives his
drawings, as well as the colours and spiritual themes he employs. He
put beauty into an issue associated with ugliness.”

According to
Lalouschek, a lot of Sinzogan’s works derive from a need “to recognise,
remember and re-present the sights, scenes and shared history of those
almost-forgotten times,” and the artworks detailing varied subjects
associated with slavery, achieve just that.

Cross-cultural

Among them is a
portrait of four ‘Yoruba Chiefs’- supposedly the first point of contact
for the intending slave traders; a mixed media work on a wooden panel
depicted slaves chained together walking towards a destination unknown;
several colourful drawings of ships with bird-like depictions of
spirits titled ‘Gates of Return’; and ‘Le Jetty’, the only work which
shuns a colourful visage, employing instead brown and yellow to depict
hundreds of chained slaves going onboard the ships that would cart them
away.

The collection also
includes a number of drawings depicting the Egungun masquerades in all
their vibrant and spiritual glory, while a mixed media artwork of the
Egungun costume took centre stage in the main hall of the gallery. One
of Sinzogan’s Egungun work had been the showpiece of the ‘Voyages’
exhibition at the October Gallery three years ago. The artist also
hosted Elisabeth Lalouschek in the Benin Republic, so she could see
real Egunguns (masquerades) in action.

Speaking further on
Sinzogan’s general theme, Goodwin opined that Sinzogan’s works have
cross-racial appeal. “It is open to everyone. The slave trade was a
universal moment in time. The West became rich, and Africa was
impoverished. And the globalisation we now experience has its root in
the slave trade,” he declared.

Goodwin concluded
by expressing his disappointment about the reason behind the artist’s
absence, saying, “A lot of Artists from Africa and the Caribbean face
this inability to obtain visas for exhibitions. And there is no reason
why this should be so.”

‘Spirit Worlds’ at the October Gallery, 24 Old Gloucester Street, London WC1N 3AL – until November 6.

The performance
justified the hype. Filmmaker, Tunde Kelani and Mufu Onifade, chair,
Lagos State chapter of the National Association of Nigerian Theatre
Arts Practitioners (NANTAP), producers of ‘Yeepa: Solaarin Nbo’, had
assured before it opened that it would not be jejune.

“It is a total
performance that is taking theatre back to the basics,” Kelani said of
Dotun Ogundeji’s Yoruba translation of Femi Osofisan’s ‘Who is Afraid
of Solarin’ staged as part of events organised by the Lagos State
Government to mark Nigeria’s 50th Independence anniversary.

As promised by the
duo, there was no dull moment at the first public staging of the play
at the National Theatre, Iganmu, Lagos on Tuesday, September 28. The
full house that saw it obviously enjoyed the play, going by their
raucous laughter and ripostes to the lines and antics of the actors on
stage.

The opening glee, a
two-in-one performance by the Lagos State chapter of the Dance Guild of
Nigeria (EKO GOND) and Crown Troupe of Africa, was the appetiser before
the audience was served the main course. Dancer, Dayo Liadi and members
of Eko GOND who performed 9ice’s ‘Petepete’, decrying the stagnation of
Nigeria 50 years after Independence, were outstanding. Their movements
were in synch with the mournful tone of the music and Liadi,
choreographer of the piece, got the extra applause he deserved when he
rolled himself several times over towards the exit as the song ended.

The Crown Troupe of
Africa’s performance of the late Hubert Ogunde’s classic, ‘Yoruba Ronu’
was no less interesting. Alabi Ademola, who spotted the trademark white
wrapper, cap and ‘shaki’ (fraternal shawl) of the late doyen of
Nigerian theatre, gave a good account of himself as Ogunde.
Unsurprisingly, members of the audience familiar with the chorus of the
reflective song, sang along with the troupe. The themes of the two
performances, fittingly, cohere with that of the satirical play on
corruption and the tragedy of small minds in big positions in Nigeria.

United by graft

Siaman, played by
Ropo Ewenla, bursts in on his colleagues in the local government and
informs them that Solaarin, the much feared public complaints
commissioner, is set to pay them a visit. The mere mention of Solaarin,
a forthright man, leaves the group including Edukesan also known as
Force is Force (Toyin Oshinaike); Adajo (Oladejo Adegboyega);
Alafowosowopo (Lara Akinsola); Dokita (Yinka Aiyelokun) and Adiyeloja (
Bukky Ogunnote- Ogunade) trembling in fear.

Like most public
office holders, their hands are not clean and they dread Solaarin for
reasons which become clear as the play progresses.

Edukesan who is in
charge of the Education Ministry is a rotten official who does nothing
other than embezzle money. Apart from collecting bribes to pervert the
course of justice, Adajo (Judge) is also a chronic womaniser who jails
the husband of a woman he fancies and turns the courthouse into a
poultry. Dokita is a pipe puffing and coughing layabout who has allowed
the hospitals to completely run down. The two women in the cabinet,
Alafowosowopo and Adiyeloja, are as rotten and immersed in corrupt
practices as the men.

Solaarin’s imminent
arrival throws them into a quandary and they start looking for ways to
avoid the perceived disaster. The half-educated Siaman suggests they
burn the records to hide their atrocities and sends his houseboy,
Polycap, to fetch Baba Fawomi, an Ifa priest, to rescue them.

Underscoring how
deeply corruption has eaten into the moral fabric of the society, Baba
Fawomi played by Bayo Ogundele, is also a dupe. He tells the terrified
officials that, among other things, Ifa wants five cows, 10 local
goats, 10 Hausa goats, 16 fowls and seven yards of white cloth as
sacrifice to hide their sins from Solaarin. Any doubts the audience
might have about Baba Fawomi’s integrity is soon erased when he does a
break dance while singing “ifa ki paro” (Ifa doesn’t lie). He also
requests schnapps to enable Ifa speak fluently. Siaman sends Polycap to
fetch the drink from his bedroom but the bumbling fool brings toilet
cleaner which Baba Fawomi quaffs thirstily before realising he is
drinking poison.

The arrival

The satire, which
more than adequately reflects the sordid state of affairs in Nigeria,
takes an interesting turn when Lemomu and Lamidi – two charlatans who
spy for Siaman while pretending to be beggars – return with news that
Solaarin is in town. Like the others, the duo don’t render assistance
except they are sorted. They disclose that Solaarin is staying in the
Pastor’s house; and Siaman heads there. The Pastor, sadly, is also
tainted. He not only helps himself to offerings, he also trusts more in
Baba Fawomi’s power than the God he professes.

It’s a different
scenario in the Pastor’s house where he is seen quarrelling with his
daughter, Cecilia, for taking too quickly to the guest (Kayode Idris)
from Lagos. Pastor is angry with the guest for finishing the bottle of
sacrament wine and taking liberties with his daughter.

The continuously
twittering daughter whom the guest affectionately calls ‘Cicily Misa
Misa’, however, doesn’t mind the attention. She, in fact, basks in it
and strongly defends him against her father’s accusation. The street
wise Lagosian wins the Pastor over with a yarn to promulgate a decree
that will elevate him into a Bishop.

Pastor becomes
afraid when Siaman later tells him his guest is Solaarin. Pastor leaves
immediately to see Baba Fawomi lest Solaarin discovers his own
atrocities too.

The play climaxes
with the rotten officials falling over themselves to offer ‘presents’
to the guest in Pastor’s house so he doesn’t report them in Lagos. But
is he really the upright Solaarin, the bane of corrupt officials?

Current theme

Though set in a
rural Yoruba town of the 60s and 70s, ‘Yeepa: Solaarin Nbo’ reflects
the current Nigerian society where elected officials don’t understand
the meaning of service; where contracts are awarded at exorbitant
prices but shoddily executed; where nothing works. Siaman, whose full
name JDG Gbonmiayelobiojo hints at graft, typifies the half-literate
official in a position of power. Playing Siaman, Ropo Ewenla
entertained the audience endlessly with his excellent portrayal of the
thieving chair. The icing on the cake was his bad pronunciation of
words like ‘emergently’; ‘gentlemens and ladies’; ‘incongnito’; ‘tomati
puri’ and “o si ro pe o prosper lati wa so fun mi” (You didn’t deem it
proper to inform me).

But a tree does not a forest make. Ewenla was good but so were the
others. Oshinaike who played Edukesan; Adegboyega, the corrupt judge;
Aiyelokun, the doctor and Idris, the scoundrel who pretended to be
Solaarin, also handled their roles excellently. Toyin James who played
Tolu, Siaman’s mentally retarded wife, and Bunmi Mapelujo, the besotted
Cecilia didn’t fail to add to the play. They were completely at home in
their comical but significant roles in the fast paced satire directed
by Niji Akanni. That careful planning went into the production of
‘Yeepa: Solaarin Nbo’ was also evident in the choice of costumes. The
characters were appropriately dressed while the stage was functional.
The audience had no cause to complain when the play ended.

Sam Ebohon’s latest
solo exhibition, ‘Fragments’, opened on Friday, September 24 at Omenka
Gallery, Ikoyi, Lagos. Twenty five new works by the artist, winner of
the 2009 edition of the Caterina de Medici Painting Competition, were
on display in the exhibition, the opening event of which recorded a
large turnout of guests.

Ebohon’s
colleagues, Ben Osaghae; Olu Ajayi; secretary general, Society of
Nigerian Artists (SNA), Dotun Alabi, and curator of Omenka Gallery,
Oliver Enwonwu, were among those at the opening ceremony.

Vice chair, Lagos
SNA, Stella Awoh declared the exhibition open. She did not waste time
on formalities as she promptly ushered in viewers to see the visual
feast that had been laid out for them. Some viewers lingered while
appreciating the works done in the artist’s unique crisscross linear
strokes that gives them a somewhat abstract touch feel.

Arranged under
themes like Family, Work, Love, and Beauty, works displayed include
‘Adam and Eve’; ‘Still One’; ‘Rain and Shelter I and II’; ‘Curvature’;
‘Engrossed’; ‘Survival Strategies’ and ‘Triumphant entry’.

The works, Ebohon
later told NEXT in a chat, are offerings from his heart. He revealed
that his two favourite works on display are ‘Adam and Eve’ and ‘Still
One’. He explained that he conceptualised ‘Adam and Eve’ from scratch.
The painting, which shows a male and female figure in the process of
merging, also holds another meaning for the artist “The work is an
imaginative composition of man cleaving to his wife and not letting go.
If Adam held on to Eve, we wouldn’t be in the trouble we are in today,”
he said.

In ‘Still One’ a
man and a woman lie together but face opposite directions. “The
painting is called ‘Still One’ because couples quarrel but one cannot
remove himself from his wife,” the painter said. He also explained why
he titled the exhibition ‘Fragments’.

“One thing that runs through my works is strokes made into fragments; if you remove one fragment it changes everything.”

Kelani Abass, 2010
winner of the Caterina de Medici Painting Competition who attended the
opening said of the show, “I think the works are wonderful. The artist
knows what he wants in his works. Based on the title of the exhibition,
I can see the fragments in the way that he uses the medium; I think the
exhibition is a good one. His style really makes him unique in Nigeria.
I have not seen anyone in Nigeria who has such a style.”

Artist, Kehinde
Oso, also showered praises on the Ebohon. “In most of the works, you
can see good craftsmanship. The artist made good use of light and
shade. Exhibitions are not about having big sizes, and the sizes of the
works are moderate.”

Speaking on his
style, Ebohon confesses that though he is known for his unique style,
he is certain other people are practising variations of it. “Somewhere,
somehow, you will see other derivatives in some other part of the
world. Also, I will tell you not to look at the title but the works,
that’s the way to truly enjoy them. The paintings will tell you things
I have not added.”

Born 44 years ago,
Ebohon holds a Higher National Diploma in Painting from the Yaba
College of Technology and a Teacher Training Certificate from the
Federal College of Education, Akoka, Lagos. He is a member of the SNA
and the Guild of Professional Fine Artists of Nigeria (GPFAN). His
works go straight to the heart of the matter but still leave plenty to
the imagination

The works are available for sale; and rices range from N200,000 to
N400,000.. ‘Fragments’ is at the Omenka Gallery, 24, Ikoyi Crescent,
Ikoyi, Lagos, until October 8.

I didn’t start life
as a voracious reader, in the way that the average member of the Lagos
literati supposedly did. I didn’t hear about the character named
Bambulu in James Ene Henshaw’s ‘This is Our Chance’, like most people
of my age seem to have done. I wasn’t the most passionate member of the
debating society at Baptist Academy. I didn’t belong to the Press Club
at the Federal School of Arts and Science. I picked up the idea of
writing sometime in the course of studying at the University of Ife;
after the German culture activist Ulli Beier came to give a lecture on
Duro Ladipo and discovered, a few months later, that ‘Lagos Weekend’
paid 25 naira for published articles. “The proceeds” helped pay for my
final year Geochemistry project on Laterisation (the creation of those
red soils that form the sub grade in tropical roads).

One thing led to the other and the last time I checked, my arts column has been 21 years in the running.

To write about 10
Nigerian works of literature I found most memorable in my 50 years of
life is thus a way of presenting a slice of my biography:

Burning Grass:

I read this in
Class 2 in Baptist Academy (read Age 13). It’s the only Nigerian text I
read in my teens whose basic message has stuck with me. This is the
story of a man who wanders aimlessly from village to village, having
been struck by Sokugo, the wandering disease. I don’t know if Cyprian
Ekwensi, who ordinarily tells simple stories without trying to hammer
in a sermon, meant that this should be about living a life of purpose,
but whenever I evaluate my contributions to my immediate environment,
in the 50 years I have hung around this earth, I am always hoping I
haven’t lived like the protagonist in this slim novel.

Season Of Anomy:

Wole Soyinka’s
second novel, published in 1973. This was my introduction into
‘literary enthusiasm’, so to speak. Three years after graduation,
having worked for The Guardian, and now at ThisWEEK, a news magazine, I
did more of film reviews (pre-Nollywood Nigerian, celluloid based
movies), visual art appraisals, some (very little) literature reviews
and a lot of evaluation of stage and TV drama content and trends. But I
needed to do more book reading, if I wanted to be a rounded arts
writer, I was warned. So I borrowed Niyi Obaremi’s copy of ‘Season of
Anomy’ and read it specifically for finding out for myself the so
called obscurantism in the typical Soyinka work. It was heavy going,
but I enjoyed the flow. It provided quite a very gory picture of the
pogrom, but it wasn’t so much the detail, but the language – the
cadences, the imagery – like linking a paunch with rolls of Amala. You
don’t exactly read a work like this, it happens to you.

On A Darkling Plain by Ken Saro-Wiwa:

This is one of
those non-fiction books which I found most illuminating about the
National Question. I started reading this type of work, at the turn of
the last decade of the last century (the 90s for short), more out of
the wish to be a front row witness in the unfolding of the Nigerian
drama. These ‘minutes of the last meeting’ kind of books are always
being written by other people about us. So it’s always welcome when a
Nigerian does it and does it in a properly structured literary style.
On A Darkling Plain is a long, extended, rigorously delivered argument
against the Nigerian Civil War. You can’t always agree with the
author’s opinion (I found ludicrous the length to which Saro Wiwa wants
to go to declare that the Ikwerres are non-Igbos, especially as I have
read Elechi’ Amadi’s ‘The Concubine’ and ‘Slave’ and found the lore so
close to the basic societal order in ‘Things Fall Apart’ and ‘Arrow of
God’).

Roots In The Sky, by Akin Adesokan:

I read the
manuscript of this book at around the time I decided that the way to
truly find out as much as I could about Nigerian literature was to
start reading ANA award winners, especially those works which won in
the Prose Fiction category. I was amazed at the task the author set for
himself. He packed in: History (it’s about three generations of a
Nigerian family from pre-independence to the 90s); Poetry (the author
swerves into long verses, chanting); a city’s subculture ( a vivid
portrayal of the underbelly); linguistics (there’s a gush of words by
one character in Pidgin spread over three pages). I was awed by the
perpetual storytelling and the effort at turning phrases around.

Anthills Of The Savannah, by Chinua Achebe:

This is a very
different Achebe from the one I’d come to know. I somehow found some
similarity with ‘The Interpreters’ in terms of temperament. This book
reads like a discursive argument, about power and its intoxication.
It’s a theme Achebe had explored in ‘A Man Of The People’, but this is
an updating because it fits with the emerging tendencies in the novel
form around the 70s to 80s, that novels can be written, more like a
conversation, than like a story that starts from A and ends at Z.

Conduct Unbecoming by TM Aluko:

While everyone
insists that Cyprian Ekwensi is the dominant spinner of yarns about
Lagos, I find ‘Conduct Unbecoming’ an instructive portrait of life in
the city in the immediate post-independence era; the mentality behind
the take-over of the famous Public Transportation company owned by a
Greek businessman; the sneer (by the Lagos elites) as the last
remaining British public servants insisted on adherence to city code in
building construction and destroyed illegal structures. This sort of
novel is good for a journalist, because it provides a context. It shows
how everything started to crumble.

Arrows Of Rain by Okey Ndibe:

This is an onion of
a story, you read one story – it leads you to another, which leads to
another. It’s an utterly beautiful storytelling and like ‘Roots in the
Sky’, it tackles the Nigerian political landscape through three
generations of a single family. It ends with a twist.

Everything Good Will Come by Sefi Atta:

This book grabbed
me because it reads like the story of my life; growing up in Lagos.
It’s the first book I ever read where someone depicts childhood exactly
as I lived it and the scene in Ikoyi Park, even though on the dark
side, reminds me of what we enjoyed, holidaying every Easter in what
has been mercilessly sand-filled and renamed Parkview. It’s one of the
joys, like the view of the Lagoon while driving along Oyinkan Abayomi
Drive, that has been snatched from the majority of us by a few.

My favourite 2010 reads are “minutes of the last meeting” types:

You Must Set Forth
At Dawn by Wole Soyinka: is a feisty account of one man’s exciting
journey through the world over a course of 30 years. It’s not a
chronological reading but you can fix the beginning at around 1960 and
end it at 1994. It’s the entire story of key global concerns in those
years and how one man engages all through personal and public
interactions.

When Citizens Revolt:

Ike Okonta uses
the Ogoni tragedy to attempt an explanation about why access to power
at the Federal level is still important to every ethnic unit in the
country. The Ogonis were citizens in the pre-independence era, who
became subjects as the colonial project took hold, and muzzled their
most enterprising individuals out of the economic mainstream. Like many
other nationalities in the Nigerian agglomeration, they are still
subjects even in a democratic environment run by Nigerians.

Toyin Akinosho is Publisher of Africa Oil+Gas Report

Why Art?

Art is personified.
It is the purpose of my existence. My embrace with art began a long way
back; it was simply for the love of art. I intended to study something
else, but my dad advised me otherwise. “Since you are used to doing art
sketches and painting at home, why not go for Art?” That was how it all
started. I finally decided on Art. And I tell you, it has been a
progressive race indeed, the choice was right and for the right person.

Training

I’m a graduate of
Rivers State College of Education, where I acquired an initial (NCE)
certificate in Fine and Applied Arts. I obtained a degree course (B.ED)
from the University of Ibadan, majoring in Painting. I am presently
pursuing a post graduate degree in Fine Arts and Design at the
University of Port Harcourt, Rivers State.

Medium

I use all range of
painting media like pen, water colour, oil, acrylic, pencil, pastel,
cloths, etc. I also use some improvised materials such as wood, metal,
sand, newspaper, glue, and so on.

Influences

I have been
influenced by Chris Afube and Gani Odutokun for their usage and control
of colours. Then Hazel Harrison and Andrew Loomis for their
representation of object.

Inspirations

I would say my
inspiration comes from God Almighty and my environment. My works depict
our political scenes and activities around me.

Best work so far

There is no bad
artwork; all my works are lovely and unique in style, with its
messages. I have discovered that a lot of people don’t pick up or buy
your artwork because of the message you are preaching, but because they
like the colour combination and can imagine it being anywhere, be it
their office or home.

So, my brush
produces what is continually evolving. However, I am fascinated with a
recent painting of mine titled ‘Opi’, defining the combination of
different cultures in Nigeria.

Least satisfying work

I usually paint on top of them. I don’t burn artwork because I will see their uniqueness some day.

Career high point

Yet to come.

Favourite artist living or dead

Gani Odutokun

Ambition

I would want to see myself as a king sitting on top of my game.

South Africa is
gearing up for one of its biggest art events, the Mangaung African
Cultural Festival, popularly known as Macufe. It is a colourful event
that attracts, yearly, tourists from all over the world. In its
thirteenth year, the festival, which opened on October 1, will hold
until October 10. This year’s theme is, ‘Monateng Kaofela (Together in
Fun).

Billed to hold in
Bloemfontein, a town steeped in natural beauty and history, there will
be live performances from popular South African artists based at home
and abroad, including the US-based Jonathan Butler. International
artists expected to grace the show are the American Jazz and R‘n’B
singer, Gerald Albright, and Malian-born World Music star, Salif Keita,
during the 10 days of the event.

There will be
tours to the Excelsior Lion Park, traditional dance, music, food, an
exhibition of traditional African fashion, beads, wood work, comedy
shows, among other highlights. There will also be a special memorial
programme in honour of the late Brenda Fassie, the energetic and
soulful artist whose music stirred many hearts.

Still basking in
the success of the 2010 FIFA World Cup, the organisers of the event,
The Free State Tourism Authority (FSTA), in partnership with South
African Tourism, are introducing unique elements into the festival that
visitors from other parts of Africa can relate with. The Macufe
Festival will play host to tourists from Lesotho, Botswana, Namibia,
Kenya, Nigeria, Mozambique, DRC, Angola, Swaziland, and other parts of
the world.

Phumi Dhlomo,
Regional Director of Africa and Domestic at South African Tourism,
says: “We give a warm welcome to all those who will be visiting Bloem
and attending Macufe. South Africa is a welcoming nation with that
special brand of African hospitality so we truly hope you have a lovely
time.”

For interested visitors, the office hours will attend to enquiries
about accommodation, transportation, and other information from 11h00
to midnight. The contact number is 051 412 7940.

One could begin
with the dust, the heat, and the purple bougainvillea. One might even
begin with the smell of rotting mangos, tossed by the side of the road
where flies hummed and green-bellied lizards bobbed their orange heads
while loitering in the sun. But Tayo did not notice these – instead he
walked in silence, oblivious to his surroundings. With a smile on his
face, he thought of the night before, when he had dared to run a hand
beneath the folds of Modupe’s wrapper. Miraculously, without him even
asking, Modupe had loosened the cloth around her waist. Of course they
had kissed many times before, usually in the Lebanese cinema when all
was dark, but that was nothing compared to last night. And while Tayo
was lost in his thoughts, his father, who walked alongside, noticed the
smile and read it as excitement for the forthcoming trip. They had set
off early that morning to visit relatives, as was the tradition when
someone was about to embark on a long journey. They would begin with
Uncle Bola in the hope of finding him sober. By midday, he would almost
certainly be drinking ogogoro and this was not a day to meet Uncle Bola
under the influence.

“An old man should
be contemplating his mortality, rather than dreaming of women,” Tayo’s
father said, alluding to his brother’s raunchy tales, which Tayo knew
his father secretly enjoyed.

Uncle B liked to
joke that he was still young enough to make babies and thank the Lord
God Almighty. And he did make babies – dozens of them. As for thanking
God – well, that was simply a manner of speaking. Uncle Bola believed
only in beautiful women – not Allah, Christ nor Ogun. In turn, women
loved him, in spite of what he lacked by way of height, teeth and
schooling. Tayo had long since concluded that Uncle Bola held the
secret to a woman’s heart, which was why he looked forward to this
visit. But on this particular morning, Uncle Bola did not seem himself.
Upon seeing them, he became quite weepy, so weepy in fact that he
forgot about his atheism and offered prayers to Allah, Ogun and Jesus
on behalf of his favourite nephew. With tears still in his eyes, Uncle
Bola gave Tayo his best aso ebi as a going-away present, and then
insisted that they stay longer to take amala and stew with him.

“Here is some money
for the ladies when you arrive,” Uncle Bola whispered, stuffing the
newly-minted pound notes into Tayo’s shirt pocket before waving a final
goodbye. Tayo had hoped to stay even longer, enjoying the company of
his sentimental uncle, but there were many more relatives to be visited
and several more lunches to eat. Everyone insisted on feeding them and
then, just when Tayo thought it was all over, they returned home to
find more relatives gathered to wish him well. Several of Father’s
friends were sprawled across the courtyard drinking beer and palm wine
while the children chased each other in the dirt path by the side of
the house. The women sat in one corner, roasting corn on an open fire,
with sleeping babies on their backs.

“Tayo! Tayo!” the
older children chanted as he made his way through the throng, stopping
to pick up the youngest. Tayo expected his father to usher people away,
but after the day’s copious consumption of palm wine, he had apparently
forgotten time, preferring instead to continue boasting about his
eldest son.

“Na special scholarship dey don make for de boy?” somebody asked.

“Oh yes.” Tayo’s father beamed.

In fact, the
scholarship was not created just for Tayo, but because he was the first
Nigerian to win it (such things having been reserved, in the past, for
whites), Tayo’s father decided that he might as well claim it solely
for his son. Tayo closed his eyes while his father boasted, and thought
ahead to the day after next, imagining how he would move swiftly
through the crowds at Lagos Port to the ship and sail over the seas to
England.

“And then to Balliol College, Oxford,” Tayo whispered, thinking how grand it sounded.

At dawn the
following day, the entire Ajayi family said prayers before gathering
around Father’s silver Morris Minor, washed and polished by brothers
Remi and Tunde so that it glistened like a fresh river fish. Everybody
was dressed in his or her Sunday best, ready for the photographs, and
only when the photographer ran out of film did five of them clamber
into the car. Father sounded the horn and all the doors slammed shut.
The key turned and turned again, but the motor wouldn’t start, so
everyone stumbled out again to push. Even Father helped, with one foot
pumping the pedals and the other pushing back against the ground. They
rolled it down the path, out of the compound and onto the road, until
the engine jerked into action. Then, hurriedly, they all piled back in.
The children followed the car down the dirt road, running and waving,
not caring about the dust being blown into their faces, but jogging
along until they could no longer keep up. Sister Bisi ran the fastest,
thumping decisively on the car boot before they sped away, out of
Ibadan and onto the main road that would take them to Uncle Kayode’s
place in Lagos. In the car, Mama and Baba sat in the front, and Tayo
and his two aunts in the back. Father forbade talking in the car,
claiming that it distracted him, and for once Tayo was happy with this
edict, knowing that otherwise his aunts would lecture him on how to
behave in England. It didn’t matter that his aunts had never travelled
outside Nigeria: it was their right and duty to instruct. Tayo closed
his eyes and thought again about his sweetheart and their final
goodbye. He remembered the poem he had composed for the occasion and
the lines that did not quite rhyme. Thankfully, in the end, there had
been no need for sonnets.

By the time they
arrived at Uncle Kayode’s house, the car was caked in dust and its
weary passengers covered in sweat and grime, but all would soon be
forgotten. Uncle Kayode had a luxurious home. He was a big man in
Lagos, recently returned from abroad as a senior army officer. Maids
cooked for him, and large fans hung from the ceilings, whirling at high
speed to keep the house cool. Tayo had never seen anything like it
before.

“When you arrive in
England, my son,” Uncle Kayode was saying, “you must make sure to
contact the British Council and don’t forget to write to cousin Tunde
and cousin Jumoke.”

Tayo listened
carefully, hoping not to forget any valuable advice, but by the time he
went to bed he couldn’t remember half of what he had been told. Annoyed
with himself, he tossed restlessly on his mattress. For weeks he had
been looking forward to travelling away from home – to having his
freedom – but now he thought only of what he would miss and how
frightening it would be to travel alone. He took Modupe’s photograph
from his bag, quietly, so as not to wake his uncle, and kissed it.
Reassured by her smile and remembering the events of Friday night, he
rolled over and eventually fell asleep.

The next day, Tayo
stood at the port, holding his bag tightly. He dared not ask his uncle
another question (he had asked so many already), but he still wasn’t
clear about what to do when he disembarked. What if the arrival halls
in England were just as chaotic as the confusion he was seeing now,
with everyone shouting and gesticulating and no-one bothering to queue?
Exasperated by the late-afternoon heat, men took off their cloth caps
and flicked away beads of perspiration. Then, as the folds of their
agbadas kept slipping off their shoulders, they hitched them back,
raising their arms like swimmers. Meanwhile, women herded children and
straightened little dresses, trousers, and shirts, while hastily
tightening their own wrappers and head ties, continually unravelled by
heat and bustle. Tayo, like everyone else, had been standing in this
crowd for hours. He smiled, but not as broadly as the day before. His
parents, uncle, aunties, and several Lagos-based relatives were with
him, as well as Headmaster Faircliff and some teachers from school:
Mrs. Burton (Latin), Mr. Clark (Maths), and Mr. Blackburn (British
Empire History), but none of his brothers or sisters had come and he
missed them, especially Bisi.

Tayo shook his head
wistfully, staring at the Aureol, which towered high above them like a
vast white giant with hundreds of porthole eyes. You will be missed, he
told himself, recalling the rumour started by friends that a particular
Lagos girls’ school – the one whose pupils occasionally visited his old
school – was in mourning over his departure. He glanced around for
these girls, but all he saw were family, easy to recognise in the
matching clothes worn specially for his send-off. The men’s agbadas
were the same aubergine purple as the women’s short sleeve bubas and
ankle-length wrappers. Tayo’s mother had chosen the material, fine
Dutch waxed cotton, embroidered in gold thread at the neck and sleeves.
Tayo had wanted to wear his agbada like the rest of the family, but
Father insisted on western attire, claiming it more appropriate for an
Oxford-bound man. So instead of loose, flowing robes, Tayo wore grey
flannel trousers, white shirt, school tie, and a bottle green blazer
that stuck to his skin like boiled okra. His agbada was neatly packed
away in the trunk with extra clothes, the Koran, the Bible,
half-a-dozen records, and several large tins of cooked meat with dried
okra, egusi seed and elubo.

“Jeun daada o, omo
mi. F’oju si iwe re o, de ma jeki awon obinrin ko si e lori. (Eat well,
my son. Pay attention to your studies, and don’t be distracted by
women),” Mama whispered, tugging at his shirt sleeve.

“Yes, Ma,” he
nodded, turning to face her as she adjusted his collar – it needed no
tweaking but that was her way. He hugged her tightly so that her head
tie brushed against his chin, and the weight of stone and coral
necklaces clinked against his blazer buttons. It took him back to his
childhood days, when he was afraid of thunder and lightning and would
rush to his mother’s arms to bury himself in the reassuring scent of
her rose perfume, tinged with the smell of firewood and starched
cotton. He squeezed her again before his father called him away.

“So long, my son,” Baba spoke in English, which was his custom when in the presence of expatriates.

Tayo held out his
hand and was surprised when his father pulled him into the voluminous
folds of his agbada and held him there for some time. Baba then started
sniffling and fiddling with his handkerchief behind Tayo’s neck, which
compelled Tayo to cough and break Father’s hold so that they stood for
some moments, disentangled but silent, each searching for something to
say.

“Now, Tayo,” Headmaster Faircliff interrupted. “You’re off to be a Balliol man.”

“Yes sir.” Tayo nodded.

“You ought to be jolly proud of yourself, Tayo, and soon you’ll return to lead your country and make our school proud.”

He grasped Tayo’s
hand and threw a friendly slap across his shoulder. Tayo nodded again,
feeling strangely irritated by the man whom he normally admired and
felt indebted to for the scholarship.

“Right then, off you go,” Mr. Faircliff ordered, releasing Tayo, and pointing to the gangway.

Tayo turned to
leave, holding tightly to the large canvas bag that hung from his
shoulder. Mama had assured him that in it was all that he needed for
the voyage – a few changes of clothes, a bar of Palmolive soap, a tin
of kola nuts, some dried meats, a map of England, chewing sticks, and
Uncle Kayode’s old winter coat.

“Write to me as soon as you arrive,” Father called.

“Yes sir.” Tayo
glanced back at his father before making his way slowly up the steps.
He waited for his father to shout one last instruction, but it never
came.

Excerpt taken from ‘In Dependence’ by Sarah Ladipo Manyika, published by Cassava Republic Press.

The play, Oluronbi
is making its second annual appearance on the Nigerian theatre scene.
An initiative of AbOriginal Productions, this year’s staging of
Oluronbi is being sponsored by the Lagos Sate government as part of
activities to mark Nigeria’s 50th independence anniversary.

Produced by Ikhane
Akhigbe and written by Tunde Aladese, the musical play features
Iretiola Doyle, Seun Kentebe, Lala Akindoju and Uzoma Osimkpa, among a
purported 70-member cast.

The opening
production of the play, which was staged at MUSON Centre in Lagos on
September 25, revealed that quite a lot of cast change had been made
since the last edition, which had featured popular music personalities
like Omawunmi, Waje, Yinka Davies, Dr Frabs and Timi Dakolo.

Adapted from a
Yoruba folk song, Oluronbi depicts the travails of a woman who, in
desperation for an offspring, beseeches the town’s diety, Iroko. She
makes a promise to Iroko, and as is the way of the spirits, there comes
a time when they come collecting.

What is admirable
about the production is that it takes a plot that is sketchy at best,
and gives it vibrancy. It incorporates an interplay of issues like
polygamy, infertility, social class, inter-tribal marriage, as well as
the richness of the Nigerian cultures to create a delightful
performance for the audience.

Wooing Abike

What the play might
have lacked in a complex plot, it made up for with stage choreography
and dance. Perhaps the most entertaining scene of the play occurs when
men come from far and wide to woo Abike; and each with his ethnic
biases and behaviours makes no secret of the reason for his interest in
the heiress.

The play employs a
healthy dose of humour and music, but it was rather disconcerting to
have a character break into a line of song amidst a dialogue.

The most emotional
scenes of the play are provided by Osimkpa in her rendition of
Oluronbi, who says to her husband when she reveals the mystery of
Abike’s birth, “You used to joke that she was a gift from the gods, I
never laughed.”

Oluronbi goes to the Iroko

Towards the end,
the play employs a flashback, which provides a background for audience
members who may not have been familiar with the folk song. Oluronbi is
betrothed to her husband, “in a time when women were peace treaties,”
and she is subsequently subjected to a life of bitter rivalry with the
three other wives of the husband. The senior wives, in their frequent
‘See me see trouble’ musical refrain, snigger at Oluronbi’s
infertility: “Everyday it’s a different brew, a different herb, a
different soup. The market women sell the leaves to her. They collect
the money with one hand and cover their laughter with the other.”

In a beautifully
executed dance choreography depicting a sexual scene with her husband,
we are acquainted with Oluronbi’s efforts to conceive. Finally, unable
to bear the shame any longer, she goes to seek out Iroko. She is
advised by bystanders, “You must not go to Iroko (and haggle) like a
market woman – let me first offer chicken. You must state what you will
give.”

When finally
attended by the Iroko, Oluronbi asks for a son but Iroko is “out of
sons at the moment”, so she settles for a girl child, whom she
promises, will be returned as soon as she is able to shed the shame of
infertility by sporting a pregnancy.

Iroko bides her
time until the child, Abike, is of marriageable age; only then does she
send her emissary to claim Abike. Oluronbi again visits Iroko, and in a
deluge of recriminations, asks, “How could you bear to let her go?”
Iroko in her turn asks Oluronbi, “How could you promise to give her
back?” The inevitable, however, must happen, as according to Iroko,
“mothers are given charge over spirits, souls and bodies only for a
period of time.”

The musical aspects
of the play save for the performance of the three senior wives, was
less remarkable than anticipated. All characters, except Oluronbi, were
also rather flat; and would have benefited from some character
development. The production also had other problems which may be put
down to the challenges posed by an initial production – the lighting
was rather erratic, as it went off sometimes during a scene, and
transitions between scenes became lengthier as the play progressed.

One might also
wonder why it was a masculine voice that spoke to Oluronbi as Iroko
when she made her request for a child; when Iroko is embodied in a
female form. The explanation made later by Iroko, that “My voice has
always been rather masculine” does not adequately repair the
disconnection.

Doyle and Akindoju
were less remarkable in this play than in other stage plays that they
had featured in – not for their inability to deliver their roles but
because they had been put to too little use. It is also doubtful that
the play fulfilled its producer’s promise of a 70-member cast as only
about 50 made the curtain call.

Choreography, dance, costumes and props were the best features of
this staging, and were probably the most advanced ever employed in a
Nigerian theatre performance. The directors: Awoba Bob Manuel, Bimbo
Manuel and Olarotimi Fakunle must also be given kudos, for the
ambitious and unique employment of the large cast of the play.