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Sultry neo-soul
singer, Angie Stone, is to headline a jazz festival by Smooth FM, a
Lagos-based radio station that specialises in Soul, R’n’B and Jazz
music.

The
African-American singer will be joined on the programme by Jazz
Saxophonist Gerald Albright, fresh from his appearance at the Macufe
Festival in South Africa. Also on the bill is the Cameroonian Jazz
Bassist, Richard Bona.

Completing the line-up will be a clutch of up and coming Nigerian musicians including Bez, Tiwa Savage and Pure & Simple.

Festival organisers
said the concert “promises to change the face of entertainment in Lagos
and introduce adult contemporary genres of music to an eagerly awaiting
and expectant audience. It will be a night of nonstop entertainment for
a mature and discerning audience.”

Famous for hits
including ‘Life Story’, ‘No More Rain’ and ‘Brotha’, Angie Stone will
be making a welcome return to Lagos for the festival. She first gained
notice for her songwriting credits on D’Angelo’s critically acclaimed
CDs, ‘Brown Sugar’ and ‘Voodoo’. She came out in her own right with her
debut album, ‘Black Diamond’ (1999) and followed up with ‘Mahogany
Soul’ in 2001. Her latest album, ‘Unexpected’ was released earlier this
year.

Tagged ‘Love Music, Love Life’ the festival is the first in a series
of concerts planned by Smooth FM. It is sponsored by Guaranty Trust
Bank and supported by a number of other corporate organisations. The
festival holds at the Expo Hall of Eko Hotel, Victoria Island, on
November 12.

South Africa is a
country of songs, and those who can belt out great tunes are adored by
millions. We saw a demonstration of this during the Divas Concert at
the Performing Arts Centre for the Free State (PACOFS) in Bloemfontein,
South Africa, on October 8.

PACOFS is a massive, luxuriously fitted and
well maintained art infrastructure that sparked off debate among
Nigerian journalists present about the dearth of similar venues in our
country. Within the complex, the Sand du Plessis Theatre was packed the
people of all ages, a large percentage of whom were in their 20s, the
kind of demographic that would only turn up for a gig in Nigeria if the
programme is chock-full of hip-hop acts. Yet, here were young people
going wild for real musicians, and singing along at the top of their
voices to old favourites like ‘Paradise Road’, ‘Leave Me Alone’ and
‘Too Late For Mama’. The privileging of songs was hardly surprising,
perhaps, for the nation that gave us Miriam Makeba, Yvonne Chaka Chaka
and Brenda Fassie.

A rising stars of
South African music, is the Afro-Soul singer, Lira. A headliner for the
Divas Concert, she also featured in the Main Jazz programme of the
annual Mangaung African Cultural Festival (MACUFE), held on October 9
inthe Loch Logan Rose Garden. Making our way to the open-air jazz
festival, the size and beauty of the venue, incorporating a scenic
lake, told their own story of the sheer scale of the musical jamboree.
A thick, queue of people waiting to get in, seemed never ending, and
recalled scenes of great British summer festivals like Glastonbury.
Concert-goers had brought their own coolers of food and drinks; many
also brought their own deck chairs to sit in the crowd space that
stretched on and on in from the stage. At Mr Price, a popular store
chain in South Africa, the fastest selling items are these chairs, as
they are in constant demand for the Braais that bring people in
Madiba’s country together over roasted meat and drinks. The chairs also
come in handy for festivals like MACUFE; and the coolers, we would
later discover, doubled as seats too.

Again, one
wondered: can a mammoth crowd of this size come out in Nigeria for
anything other than a Gospel concert? A stadium-sized audience was
already enjoying the performances as we looked around. There are a
number of hospitality packages that bring people across South Africa to
Bloemfontein for MACUFE. We had come on the Premier Classe train from
Johannesburg to Bloemfontein, which entitled us to VIP tickets to the
Main Jazz Festival. A short walk across a bridge over the lake, led
from the main festival grounds to the VIP Village, where, in the large,
air-conditioned Premier Classe tent, we could watch the performances on
a large screen. Over a continuous flow of food and drinks, we watched
Lira on the screen; and considered whether the lilac-toned separates
she wore were too casual for this high profile gig.

Jonathan Butler

MACUFE is a truly
international festival, and of particular interest this year was the
scheduled appearance of ‘Africa’s Golden Voice’, the great Malian
singer, Salif Keita. This edition also promised the return home of
South Africa’s son for whom America has been home for many decades,
Jonathan Butler. The beginning of his set got several of us to venture
out of the Village for the immediate festival experience side-stage,
alongside the crowds. Playing in the same set was American Jazz
saxophonist, Gerald Albright. Introducing one track, Albright said, “I
borrowed it from a friend who’s no longer with us but left a great
legacy of music. He travelled the world by one name, and it’s Luther.”
The crowd roared and many rose for ‘So Amazing’ – and sang Luther
Vandross’ lyrics to Albright’s instrumental rendition. Things got
better with the next track, ‘My My My’, originally sung by Johnny Gill.
“You know the words to it, let me hear you sing it” – encouraged the
jazzman, and the crowd obliged.

With a fine head of
short, grey hair, Jonathan Butler is a far cry from the youthful singer
with the flat-topped haircut who scored an international hit with
‘Lies’ over two decades ago. The guitar remains a constant feature, and
the gospel-infused soulfulness of his voice has lost none of its power.
“It’s good to be back home. So many memories here, this town,” he told
the audience. The following day, October 10, was Butler’s 49th
birthday, so he sang them a medley including ‘Take Good Care of Me’,
because – by his explanation – he wanted them to remember what old age
may cause him to forget. The singer-songwriter’s backing vocalist was
his daughter, Jody, who partnered him on a duet onstage, ‘Be Here With
You’.

“Jody Butler’s not
bad, wha’you think?” he asked the audience. The emotional high of the
concert thus far, came when Jody asked the MACUFE thousands to help
sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to her dad.

Tsepo Tshola

Expectations were
high for Salif Keita’s appearance, but there were memorable
performances meanwhile, including one by Ringo Madlingozi. After
another short dash for refreshments and discussions in the Village, and
we were back side-stage for a rousing performance by the much loved
Tsepo Tshola, a kind of ‘musical father of the nation’. A great moment
it was on ‘Ho Lokile’, when it seemed the whole country was singing in
unison with Tshola.

As an ecstatic
dancer nearby explained, the song’s title means ‘We Are Fine’. She also
gave some insight into the appeal of the man responsible for many
“beautiful, traditional” songs: “He is like the father of Soul in South
Africa. Every single South African knows who Tsepo Tshola is.” It is
also a public image shaped by suffering and human fallibility. “He used
to be a drug addict. While he was singing all these beautiful,
traditional songs, he was hooked on cocaine. Then he came out and said,
‘I’m hooked on cocaine. I’m going into rehab.” The admission further
endeared Tshola to South Africans, especially as it was seen as a show
of solidarity with Hugh Masekela and the late Brenda Fassie, who had
fought public battles with addiction.

Salif Keita

We relaxed in the
Village during other performances, while we awaited Salif Keita. When
as if by magic he appeared on the screens close to midnight, a whole
band of us headed across the bridge to be closer to the famed ‘soaring
voice’. But it was not to be. Crowd concerns had led security men to
shut the gates between the VIP Village and the concert. We could not
get through. On many screens around the Loch Logan Rose Garden, Salif
Keita played on. Like Moses and the promised land; so near and yet so
far. Downtrodden, we headed back to the Village, where in what seemed
like the town square, scores of fans gathered to watch the performance
on a giant screen. Keita wore a slim-fitting white shirt and trousers
with matching cap. His two backing vocalists, complete with elegant
headscarves, were the best presented back-up singers all day. The beat
over which Keita’s voice rang out, was a mellifluous blend in which
traditional Malian instruments, chief among them the Kora, stood out.

Many were soon
getting jiggy with it as the magic of Keita’s sound spread through the
gathering. How must it have been in the concert across the lake? One
could only wonder. It was poignant that, among a group of trendy young
women who danced energetically to Keita music nearby, was an albino,
like the musician himself. Keita’s latest album, ‘La Difference’ calls
for compassion on the plight of albinos, who are killed in many parts
of Africa for ritual purposes.

When the irresistible, ‘Africa’ from Keita’s 1995 album, ‘Folon’
came on, there were jubilatory scenes in the MACUFE village, as most
danced with abandon, singing to Africa. Not just concert attendees or
VIPs but waitresses and bouncers, danced and sang along. The track
ended, only for Salif Keita and band to strike it up again, perhaps at
the behest of the crowd across the lake. Cue even more joyous dancing.

The musician’s 45-minute set came to an end and he exited the stage
with his band. But they must have been calling for more and Keita,
astonishingly, came back out and sang ‘Africa’ for a third and last
time. The disappointment of earlier was nearly forgotten as we left the
venue. We could not see Salif Keita up close as we had wished, but a
memorable experience was had all the same.

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.

After a packed week
of events including debates, lectures, book readings and gigs featuring
a wide range of musicians who identify with the Fela Anikulapo-Kuti
legacy, this year’s Felabration came to a close with a bang at the New
Afrika Shrine in Ikeja, Lagos, on Sunday, October 17.

There were
unbelievable scenes outside the New Afrika Shrine on the night, with
hundreds of people milling about on the street, hoping to get in or
just soaking up the atmosphere. And what an atmosphere it was. It was
night time, yet a bustling ‘market’ was in place, with rows of traders
selling liquor in small bottles and sachets. Food and stick-meat were
also on sale. Hardly surprising, for the grand finale of the
celebration of a man known for his use of marijuana, it was an
igbo-drenched night, as music boomed out from the Shrine.

Cars had to
negotiate a tight passage through the largely male crowd and the
‘market’ that had claimed most of the road. Those seeking to enter, had
formed a long queue. Security was tight, and crowd control measures and
stoppers that allow entrance only one-at-a-time, prevented any kind of
stampede. “From one chicken point to another,” remarked one punter, as
we waited to clear the final hurdle into the inner compound that
surrounds the concert ‘main bowl’ that is the Shrine.

The last tribute

Inside, the venue
was an impressive, well fitted one, and it seemed a shame that more
concerts do not currently hold there. At the height of the Felabration
finale, the Shrine’s ‘The Last Tribute’, commemorative images streamed
on large screens above the stage on both sides, paid homage to Fela,
showing photographs from his life, including shots of his mother,
Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti. Alternating with Fela were images of Dagrin,
whose untimely death from a motor accident earlier this year served to
take his fame through the stratosphere. Like Fela, Dagrin is bigger in
death. The tribute was also a well judged emotive factor with many in
the crowd, the generation that adores Dagrin.

Comedian Omobaba
pepped up the audience with jokes while introducing new acts onto the
stage. The batik-clad Gangbe Brass Band came on with an array of
instruments, including a stand-out tuba, borne by its player. “My
English is not so good,” said the jovial bandleader, who nonetheless
found another common ground with many in the audience, greeting them in
Yoruba, which is also spoken in Benin. The group played several numbers
in Yoruba and French, before bringing out a real crowd-pleaser, Fela’s
son, Femi Kuti. He had been on the bill, but no one expected him to
take the stage so early in the programme. Clad in a Fela T-shirt under
unbuttoned orange batik shirt and matching trousers, Femi launched into
a blistering performance on his saxophone, bringing the audience to its
feet. He wore neon-yellow plastic ‘clown’ glass-less eye-wear,
underscoring the ‘fun’ factor of Felabration (his sister, Yeni, would
later be seen in the crowd with similar ‘glasses’ in orange).

Femi carried on
blaring the sax for several minutes and the crowd whooped in
excitement. Stage smoke billowed onto the stage and photographers
crouched to the left and right of Femi to catch the best shots, adding
to the spectacle. That Femi came on so early, confirmed the agreement
of all that the headliner of the night was a man that would not make an
appearance for a while: D’Banj.

After Femi and the
Gangbe Brass Band came a succession of multi-genre acts. Mallam Spicy,
his stage show accompanied by two female dancers who jiggled
frenetically to the Dancehall star’s ‘Free Cure’. Solid Star, sporting
a Mohawk, followed close behind. Then came Tunde and Wunmi Obe, better
known as TWO, who performed an exuberant set with their band. Dressed
in white and black, the clean-cut duo got great reactions from the
crowd as they rendered ‘old school’ hits before performing their own
material, including ‘Fine Bara’ and ‘Mo Gbo, Mo Ya’. A juju band began
and ended their set by singing humorous lines from Saint Janet’s
notorious album, ‘Olope Plus’. In-between, the band played Yoruba dance
music in praise of the Egbas, the Yoruba sub-group of the
Ransome-Kutis.

Mo’Hits Crew

It was a well
behaved crowd, and there was evidence of swift action by staff to eject
troublemakers. Anticipation reached fever pitch with Omobaba’s
announcement of Wande Coal, Don Jazzy and D’Banj onto the stage. D’Banj
didn’t show, but a number of Mo’Hits Crew stars stormed the stage,
including D’Prince (‘Who am I?’ he asked, and the crowd chorused: ‘Omo
Oba’). The set was mostly dominated by Coal who performed his highly
popular hits.

The audience was
going to have to wait a bit longer for D’Banj, but no one seemed to
mind. All the high energy of Wande Coal and others slowly dawned as
mime acts to the detached observer – no instruments played, no backing
band. Was this to be the extent of musicianship on displayed at the
climax of this show? Surely D’Banj would have to do more than this? It
was not long to wonder, for just as the Mo’Hits bravura started to grow
a bit thin, the real deal came.

Superstar

To behold the
spectacle of D’Banj’s arrival onstage, was quite something. Watching
from the raised VIP balcony, the eyes swept over the two thousand
strong audience as D’Banj emerged, clad in white, his tight trousers
reminiscent of the style favoured by Fela. There were unbelievable
scenes as, with Fela’s signature two-fisted Black Power salute, the
singer soaked up the adulation of his fans, as heraldic music wailed a
crescendo. This was the most important performer of the final night of
Felabration, the star attraction, and everyone knew it.

Much earlier in the
evening, posters of D’Banj had been distributed free through the crowd.
Then, minutes before his arrival onstage, he signalled a departure from
his Mo’Hits contemporaries’ performance mode, as his band took up
positions behind musical instruments onstage. After several minutes of
star-worship, D’Banj playfully lifted his ubiquitous shades to take a
playful peek at his adoring fans. Then the band struck up the beat, to
which he sang live.

To watch him was to
observe a star at the height of his powers. With D’Banj’s incredible
stage presence, there were echoes of Elvis Presley at the crest of his
fame. When someone brought D’Banj a face towel – white to match the
outfit, of course – one thought a James Brown cape-drama was in the
offing. D’Banj just needed to wipe the sweat off his face now and then,
and the towel also became part of the showmanship, flicked from time to
time as traditional dancers do with their handkerchiefs. He didn’t have
to do much; wowing the crowd effortlessly. There were no sexy dancers,
no gimmicks; and Wande Coal deferred to a bigger star, singing backing
vocals for D’Banj. There were Fela touches here and there in the
movement, as D’Banj sang his own hits and played the crowd, who lapped
up everything he said or did. “I said it before; I’ll say it again,” he
half-sang, about God-knows-what. He can say it anytime he wants: a star
is born.

There was some talk recently about D’Banj possibly playing Fela in
the hit Broadway musical, and it seemed he came onstage determined to
settle the argument. Anyone resistant to the idea of D’Banj as Fela,
would have had a rethink, seeing his reign at the Shrine. By now it was
1.30am – thousands were inside, many more outside. We decided to leave
in the middle of D’Banj’s set, regrettably, to avoid the crush of the
crowd at the end. As we exited the New Afrika Shrine, D’Banj said over
the loudspeakers, “We all know why we’re here.” Then from the street,
we heard as he launched into Fela’s songs proper, a fitting conclusion
to the evening.

The inaugural Lagos
Jazz Series, an extravaganza created to bolster the prospects of the
music genre in the city, kicks off next month. Organisers say the event
is an opportunity for jazz connoisseurs and buffs alike to enjoy first
rate concerts by international performers without having to leave
Nigeria. It is billed as the ultimate lifestyle event right in the
heart of Lagos, where previously Jazz enthusiasts had to travel to New
York, Paris, London and Cape Town to see live performances.

Events in the
series will be held at choice Lagos locations. “Jazz enthusiasts will
have the opportunity of listening to the best of Jazz music in the
garden, on the creek and on the waterfront,” says a press release by
the organisers. LJS begins in the Japanese Garden of the Sofitel
Morehouse Hotel, Ikoyi, on November 5. Other venues are The Federal
Palace Hotel waterfront and the Muri Okunola Park, which is fast
becoming an open-air arts venue in Lagos.

Major Jazz artists
from Europe, America and the African continent will take centre stage
during the first LJS. Among these are: Randy Weston, Karen Petterson,
Simone (daughter of Nina Simone); Nneka, Morrie Lode, Mike Aremu, Bez,
Aiyetoro and Femi Kuti. More performers are expected to be added to the
playbill.

The event’s
founder, Oti Bazunu, said, “The Lagos Jazz series is a singular
experience. We’re inviting some of our favourite Jazz musicians from
all over the world to come and play for us, in intimate and exciting
venues. Since they’re coming, we might as well put on a bit of a show
and invite all our favourite people to attend… The show is coming
together and it’s going to be wonderful.”

Bazunu acknowledged the support of the Lagos State government (which
sanctioned the use of Muri Okunola Park), Lufthansa Airlines, Sofitel
Morehouse and other groups in ensuring the success of the events.

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

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.