Nigeria Content Online

Daughters of Eve and Other New Short Stories from Nigeria is an
anthology of Nigerian short stories edited by Dr. Emma Dawson and published by
Critical, Cultural and Communications Press (CCCP), Nottingham, UK. It features
the writers Abubakar Adam Ibrahim, Ikeogu Oke, Peter Ike Amadi, Jumoke
Verissimo, Ifeanyi Ogboh, Rotimi (Timi) Ogunjobi, Uchechukwu Peter Umezurike,
Tolu Ogunlesi, Soji Cole, Alpha Emeka, and Emmanuel Iduma.

This is an anthology so bad, I almost resolved to give in to
the fervent wishes of friends and foes – to give up reading and reviewing
books. It is becoming an unbearable ordeal. Why did I read this book? Well, the
editor’s preface starts out with an ambitious proclamation: “This series
focuses on the production of new writing in English, specifically new World
Englishes fiction… writing which is newly sourced, edited and presented with a
critical introduction.” This is the second in a planned series of anthologies
of short stories from certain sections of the world, where English is arguably
a second language.

It is disappointing that there is only one female writer
showcased in this volume. This is hardly representative of the muscular
performances of Nigeria’s female writers. Several of these alleged writers do
not belong in any anthology that seeks relevance. This is not an important work
but it does raise certain questions about how Nigerian, perhaps African
literature is viewed and categorised in traditional academia. It is time to
rethink the paradigm that drives the current worldview. Students of literature
are still being taught from the same tired pedagogy, reducing our stories to
the pre and post-colonial.

Globalisation as in the coming of the Internet and smartphones
has already dwarfed the linearism of colonialism in terms of its impact on the
way of life of Africans. To reduce today’s literature to something as remote
and amorphous as the post-colonial is to literally miss the boat of what is
going on in Africa today. Life is more complicated than that. Boundaries now
bleed gleefully into each other and dissolve into that gaseous entity called
the Internet. We must not be bound by the strictures of what was taught us in
the classrooms.

What I read in hard print lately seems to be relentlessly about
documenting the lives of the other, Africans being the other. Case in point:
Nigerian terms that are deemed alien to Western eyes are painstakingly
italicized to separate them from “normal” English. Why should we be italicising
egusi in the year 2010? Do we do the same to a Reuben sandwich? Why must our
otherness be branded with a big red sign – toxic waste? Stop italicising our
way of life.

The editor makes an eloquent case – that this is not the best
of Nigerian writing. Not once is there mention of the works of Nigerians
writers on the Internet. You will not find innovation here. The flagship short
story Daughters of Eve by Peter Ike Amadi is a heartbreak of a story only in
the sense that after reading this too-long tale that goes nowhere, the reader
is filled with compassion for the unnecessary effort that must have gone into
creating this distraction, There are some other comforting names in the book:
Tolu Ogunlesi, Ikeogu Oke, Jumoke Verissimo, and Uchechukwu Peter Umezurike.

There is a reason why they shine; they know their craft because
they practise it everyday everywhere. I enjoyed Jumoke Verissimo’s Lightless
Room. It was a reader’s delight. It did not belong in this collection of mostly
tired tales. Emmanuel Iduma does show a lot of promise in his story Guitar Boy.
However, even the best are plagued by editorial issues and poor research. Also,
the claim that this is fresh writing is easily debunked by searching the titles
of the stories on the Internet. I found quite a number of them on the Internet
and even in other “anthologies.”

Dawson may have consulted some experts on the subject of
Nigerian literature; however, it clearly does not show in the output. Several
influential names come to mind: Bibi Bakare-Yusuf, Ike Anya, Muhtar Bakare,
Sola Osofisan, Chuma Nwokolo, Nnorom Azuonye, Afam Akeh, Obiwu, Lola Shoneyin,
Molara Wood, Jeremy Weate, Chika Unigwe, Victor Ehikhamenor, Ivor Hartmann,
etc. Some of them are not even Nigerians; rather they are digital natives
toiling on the Internet daily to push the envelope in terms of how our stories
should be told.

New Nigerian anthologies are born literally every day on the
Internet featuring truly fresh and emerging voices. Fresh, frothing,
scintillating prose struts out of those web pages and social networking media like
great palmwine. You couldn’t tell from this collection but Nigerian literature
is alive and rocking although the reader can be forgiven for thinking it is on
life support judging from the mostly wretched offerings in this anthology of
mediocrity. If it is any consolation, the editor’s three sentence narrative on
her Okada motorcycle experience in Nigeria provided one of the few nuggets of
hilarity and brilliance in an otherwise forgettable anthology.

The
assassination of former Congolese Prime Minister Patrice Lumumba is
hardly in the news these days. The visionary leader, who rose from
being a travelling salesman to holding the powerful office in the
Congo, was murdered in 1961 in what many termed a collaborative effort
between local and foreign forces.

For a character
bent on ensuring his native land’s independence from oppressive and
brutal colonialist forces, Lumumba was a likely hero for celebration at
the Lagos Black Heritage Festival. It was not surprising that his
murder and the conspiracy theories it gave rise to, would be revived at
the memory and performance-themed festival. A return to Lumumba’s life
and death came alive in Aime Cesaire’s poetic drama ‘A Season in the
Congo,’ which was staged at the Shell Hall of the MUSON Centre on
Sunday, April 4. Cesaire, the Martinican activist and author, was
himself a foremost commentator on African issues and a founder of the
Negritude movement.

The rise of Patrice

In the production
by Wole Oguntokun’s Renegade Theatre, Lumumba was brought to life
amidst song, dance and bloodshed, well not that they showed the
bloodshed anyway.

The play opens to a
Congo under Belgian colonial rule. Lumumba (Kenneth Uphopho), the
amiable beer salesman appears on the scene to satiate his countrymen’s
alcoholic needs. His eloquence and energy intimidates the guards who
say he’s one to look out for. They are not disappointed for in a matter
of weeks, Lumumba makes a meteoric rise to party stalwart and
eventually becomes the first Prime Minister of independent Congo.

On the day
independence is granted and he is sworn in as Prime Minister, Lumumba
outshines the President Joseph Kasa-Vubu (renamed Kala Lubu and acted
by Sola Roberts Iwaotan) who gives a weak and obsequious speech
thanking the Belgian royalty for their ‘kindness.’ The partying youth
whom Lumumba has encouraged to “do what you like as long as you do
something” cheer their outspoken hero. From that point on is the
beginning of the end for Lumumba’s government.

Beginning with the
Army’s anger over low wages, a crisis soon follows with the natural
resource rich Katanga region declaring independence. Both the Congolese
and Katanganese independence, according to this drama were deliberately
orchestrated by the Belgian colonialists to cause strife in Congo.

There is also
trouble in Lumumba’s camp. His wife warns him of Kasa-Vubu’s jealousy,
which Lumumba dismisses. “The people are my shield. What makes you
think I’m that easy to crush? You think I don’t have friends or
weapons?” Lumumba replies. Kasa-Vubu and Mobutu (renamed Mokutu in this
drama), Lumumba’s supposed allies, soon betray him.

Enter Hammarskjöld

In the midst of the
crisis, the United Nations sends its Secretary General, Dag
Hammarskjold to mediate. His involvement is more or less a worthless
interference. Hammarskjold on his first entrance introduces himself
thus: “I am a neutraliser.” What he neutralises is what we think we
find out at the end of the play. Is it conflicts, insurgents or heroes?
One is not sure, but he sure does neutralise something.

In one scene,
Hammarskjöld and Lumumba argue over the UN’s inaction. “You not only
not act, you also prevent us from acting,” Lumumba says to Hammarskjold
when the latter refuses to offer peacekeepers to help retrieve Katanga
from rebel hands.

Lumumba’s so-called
friends eventually see to his exit. Kala Lubu dissolves the government
in his power as president and Mokutu (Gbenga Adekanmbi) supervises a
group of soldiers, who kick Lumumba out of the Prime Minister’s
residence.

As happened in real
life, Lumumba and two of his comrades, Mpolo (Kanayo Okanni) and Okito
(Taiwo Adesoji) are killed at the end of this performance. The question
as always is ‘By whom?’ This performance tries to answer that question
to a large extent but one is never sure.

Who killed Patrice?

It is hard to
believe Kala Lubu and Mokutu when they say, “I told them to prune the
tree not to pull it off by its roots” and “I had no personal animosity
against him. What political expediency would make me do, political
expediency could make me undo.”

Whatever that
meant, history also points to Belgian authorities and the United
States’ Central Intelligence Agency as being involved. But if the
Ghanaian general deployed to oversee the Congo region during the crisis
is to be believed, “The Congolese will attend to it themselves.”

Eight months after
Lumumba’s assassination, Hammarskjold was once more on his way to the
Congo to end a crisis between UN forces and Katanganese troops when he
dies in a plane crash. His death also gave rise to its own fair share
of alternative theories, with many saying it was no accident.

Uphopho is sterling
in his role as Lumumba and also as co-choreographer with Mike Okorie of
the dance scenes. He is hardly audible at the start but ups his
projection as the play’s intensity increases and more energy is
required of him. Iwaotan shows he is at ease either as a tragic or
comic actor. Adekanmbi’s Mokutu should expect to be stoned on the
streets after his performance as the power addict that would also take
his turn at the reins of Congolese government. He oozed pure evil.

The ladies from the
group Nefertiti were the orchestra, who followed the play’s transition
from light to dark with their songs and sonorous voices.

The downside of this performance however included the technical
issues with poor or wrong lighting and delayed transitions. After
starting an hour and a half after its scheduled time, the performance
showed to a near-empty hall, perhaps due to poor publicity. None of
this though reduced the import of the pre and post-independence
politics that has influenced present-day life in the Democratic
Republic of Congo.

Ngugi wa
Thiong’o’s childhood memoir, ‘Dreams in a Time of War’ is quite simply
enchanting. Every thinking human being should have a copy of this
wondrous memoir. Ngugi returns with full force to the playground of
ideas and shames those who suspect he is a spent force. He puts
together many ingredients of a lived experience and serves the world a
delightful stew of recollections. It is impossible to put this book
down. The man can tell a story.

‘Dreams in a Time
of War’ is a graceful, moving ode to the relentless pursuit of
enlightenment by a child born into the war that passes for life in
sub-Saharan Africa. The writers Barack Hussein Obama, Chinua Achebe,
Toyin Falola and Wole Soyinka have explored the same theme with
uncommon eloquence and pathos. Ngugi simply adds a stunning, powerful
salvo to that repertoire of musings.

This is a memoir
narrated simply, prose shorn of gimmickry and most importantly,
bitterness. Ngugi has mellowed and this attitude provides graceful
wings to a soaring delivery. He also performs the very sly trick of
making the reader bear the burden of becoming really angry about all of
the unnecessary roughness that Africans of his generation had to bear
just to live through the day. Brilliant. Even the title says a lot
about Ngugi’s generosity of spirit. Upon reading the memoir, a mere
mortal would be forgiven for calling it ‘Nightmares in a Time of War’.

Born in 1938 in
pre-colonial Kenya, there were so many anxieties hovering around the
writer as a child: The descent of his father into despair and
decrepitude, marital abuse, separation and the rejection of Ngugi and
his siblings on his mother’s side; the brothers’ struggles for survival
during World War II and the Mau Mau uprising; and the challenge of
holding on to family bonds as he and his mother coped with trauma and
tragedy. These stresses shaped Ngugi’s childhood and his worldview. Yet
by all accounts he proved to be a star student.

This is a highly
disciplined documentary of Ngugi’s early childhood. We see a precocious
child weaving tales of his childhood experiences and the tortured
history of his clan with tales from the Bible. The sense of wonder his
ancestors must have felt upon stumbling into a modern city like Nairobi
makes the reader gasp with the same emotion. “Before their eyes were
stone buildings of various heights, paths crowded with carriages of
different shapes and people of various colours from black to white.
Some of the people sat in carriages pulled and pushed by black men.
These must be the white spirits, the mizungu, and this, the Nairobi
they had heard about as having sprung from the bowels of the earth. But
nothing had prepared them for the railway lines and the terrifying
monster that vomited fire and occasionally made a blood curdling cry.”

Ngugi fashions a
gorgeous tapestry of stories that pulls together all the racial and
ethnic relationships and tensions in pre-colonial Kenya, the result is
a carefully scripte oral history fused with the written. Clear-eyed
observations of the human condition politely but insistently hammer
home crystal clear conclusions. This is not only about Kenya; it
connects the dots of our shared humanity everywhere in the globe. There
are few books that I have read in my lifetime that radiated from a
single locus and connected all these dots everywhere without losing
their focus.

The author’s
relationship with his mother Wanjiku wa Ngugi is exceedingly moving. It
compares to Obama’s narrative about his mother Stanley Ann Dunham
Soetero (Dreams From My Father). They shared the same traits: that
gentle push for excellence and a fierce nurturing spirit. Throughout
the book, Ngugi’s mother is the guiding spiritual force holding the
book together. This is motherhood at its best peeping fiercely through
the mean legs of patriarchy. In return, Ngugi doted on his mother and
lived to please her. We also see strong similarities in temperament
between Ngugi’s father and Obama’s Kenyan father.

The book’s editing
is a delight, kudos to the publishers, Pantheon Books of New York.
There are minor quibbles: the chapters are strangely not numbered and
it was tough keeping up with the cast of characters in Ngugi’s clan. A
genealogical chart would have been helpful. Regardless, this is an
important book, full of authentic history. It reminds us that we should
not take for granted the valiant struggles of our warriors of old. They
fought the good fight, for us and the land. They were not perfect
people, but they had heart. May this book inspire us to pursue anew the
dream that our ancestors fought and died for.

My marriage therapist has been married seven times to absolute
jerks (her bitter emphasis) and she has divorced their sorry behinds (her
bitter emphasis) each time. It never fails, just before we start my therapy
session, she assures me that men are beasts and then she starts to cry
inconsolably. Why do I have a marriage therapist?

I don’t know, it came with my health care package, well, until
my brother Bwana Obama came to ruin it with “health care reform!” Every married
person in America should have a therapist, especially the men. Marriage in
America is hard. Here, men actually have to do things around the house, nothing
is taboo, nothing! I know this Ndigbo-American who has an Ozo Chieftaincy
title, his wife is always asking him to stop at the store and buy her sanitary
pads (gulp!).

It is true. This one day, I was riding around with Chief Ozo
(not his real name) doing manly things like looking for a cheap bottle of
Chilean Malbec when Chief suddenly said, “nna men, abeg mek we go store, I wan
buy pad!” I was surprised, but you know this is America, anything can happen.
Tufiakwa! So I asked suspiciously, “Ehn, chief, why you want pad? Abi your
period don come?”

He explained that it was for his wife, she was fond of making
him buy un-Chiefly things like pads and lip gloss. So we dashed into the store,
quickly grabbed one box and raced to the aisle to buy it quickly before anybody
would notice. The sales lady at the counter could not find the price on the
sanitary pad, so, what does she do, this wicked lady? She gets on the store’s
loudspeaker and loudly yells for help while waving the brightly coloured box of
pads over our heads: “SANITARY PADS! PRICE CHECK ON SANITARY PADS!” We were
mortified but it is the law in America, you can’t buy something without the
price! Chief Ozo is no longer my friend.

My dad Papalolo is a great marriage counselor. I have fond
memories of him laying the charm thickly on my mother Mamalolo (and come to
think of it, on every woman that met his roving eyes). He knew what to say and
he was generous with sweet nothings. Women liked that. He would say absolute
nonsense like, “ah my princess I am going to make you omelette today, with
sausage on the side, this your mouth is so pretty, it is not for eating eba!” I
swear I am not making this up; he would pluck things from the bush he called
“flowers” and bring them into the house, present it to Mamalolo and say, “here,
for you, my dear!” I think he had been watching too many oyinbo and Nollywood
romance movies.

My father observed that I was a bookworm who seemed interested
only in the company of fellow men, reading things that didn’t have pictures of
naked women in them. So this one day he asked me, “enh, my son, you are always
with other men, reading books, don’t you like women? Tufiakwa! Olorun ma je!”
My father always lapses into Igbo and Yoruba epithets under stress. I told him
that I love women but I am tongue tied in their presence. He said, “Ah, my son,
it is easy, tell them nice things! If they are pretty, tell them, they like
that! They will smile at you and once a woman smiles at you enh, you are half
way there. Even if she is not pretty, tell her she is pretty! She will smile
and then she will be pretty! All women are pretty. Here is a bottle of Gulder
beer. Drink it, it will loosen your tongue and you won’t be too shy to talk to
women!” I drank it. He was right. Gulder loosens tongues.

Papalolo also taught me never to appreciate the beauty of another woman in
my wife’s presence. He would say, “My son, never, ever, tell your wife that
another woman is beautiful. You might as well just shoot yourself. If you are
driving and madam is by your side and you see a beauty, don’t let your jaw drop
like a fool. Immediately start saying things that are the opposite of what is
going through your head, “Enh, Mamalolo look at that ugly woman, look at her
fat head! Look at her big stomach like Obasanjo! Look at her legs like
toothpicks, Mamalolo, there is no woman as pretty as you, Allah!” I am not sure
Mamalolo was fooled though. One day we were in the car in a go-slow in Benin
City when this gorgeous Naija man looking like Denzel Washington sauntered by
flexing his fine muscles. Mamalolo got excited, hit Papalolo in the arm
severally and cackled: “Enh, Papalolo! Look at that ugly man, look at his fat
head! Look at his big stomach like Obasanjo! Look at his legs like toothpicks!
Papalolo, there is no man as handsome as you, Allah!” Papalolo did not smile.

Bruce Onobrakpeya shows us round the Niger Delta Cultural
Centre, venue of the annual Harmattan Workshop he started in Agbarha Otor,
Delta State, in 1998. The workshop is now in its 12th year (“we missed a year,
in 2001,” he tells us).

“Oladapo Afolayan introduced stonework in 1998,” Onobrakpeya
informs as he leads a tour of designated workshop spaces for the various visual
art disciplines. In a couple of weeks at the centre, an artist can produce up
to six pieces; one is donated to the Bruce Onobrakpeya Foundation (BOF), which
organises the workshops. Stone pieces from previous years are on display, but
the stonework is now done in the open air outside, as it generates a lot of
dust. We are shown the Printmaking section, which is large, because “we need
water, we need space to move around.”

The Onobrak Etching Press, proudly Nigerian in manufacture,
stands to one side. University of Benin MFA students were standard participants
in previous years, but not now, as there’s no one taking Printmaking at UNIBEN.
Touching a kiln used for firing ceramics, Onobrakpeya says, “We’ve toyed with
ceramics in the past.”

How Harmattan started

The Harmattan Workshop is “a retreat where artists can meet,
think and share ideas. If you can get good ideas, those ideas can go into the
art.” Onobrakpeya was inspired to start the programme after his own “positive
experience” in workshops of the past. As a student at the Zaria School of Art
in the 50s, he bowed to “peer pressure” and studied Painting, which was the
“respectable” thing to do.

Things changed when University of Ibadan Extra Mural Lecturer
Ulli Beier and Michael Crowder (then Minister of Information, also in charge of
the Exhibition Centre, Marina, Lagos) made contact with the Zaria Group.
Onobrakpeya later attended art workshops organised by Beier in Osogbo, Ife and
Ibadan in the 60s. A nine-day printmaking workshop in Osogbo had a profound
effect on the young artist. “My eyes were opened,” he says. “It changed my
direction. Similarly, an artist’s direction can be changed [at the Harmattan
Workshop]. And if you have not found your direction, you can find it in a place
like this.”

Looking back, Onobrakpeya reflects that, “Beier and the
influence of the late [Susanne] Wenger were very important in my development as
an artist.” In 1975, he attended the Haystack Mountain School of Art and Craft
in Maine, US. “I realised that people, whether they’ve gone to a normal art
school or not, can still benefit from the workshop environment.” Haystack was
the inspiration for the layout of the Niger Delta Cultural Centre, right down
to the accommodation chalets constructed from wood. “The scenario is that we
wait for ‘Oyinbos’, but I thought, why don’t we do it ourselves?”

Keeping BOF going

BOF’s workshops are extremely popular, not just with artists but
with local women who come in droves to learn jewellery making. “We remove
poverty from people’s lives. Those who learn jewellery and textiles, they go
and eat with [the skills]. We employ local people. When the place is buzzing
with activity, the locals see, they see the calibre of people. There was a time
Agbarha Otor was fighting for a local government. They stood up proudly and
said: ‘we have this, we have that, and above all, we have a museum.'”

BOF is a non-profit organisation that relies on funding and
donations. Ford Foundation, once a mainstay of funding, has not supported BOF
in the last two years, the policy focus having changed to museums. Some support
comes from art organisations like Arthouse Contemporary, Terra Kulture and
OYASAF, while galleries like Signature and Mydrim sell BOF artworks. Proceeds
from the sale of Onobrakpeya’s art also go into the running of the centre, but
more funding is needed to keep the centre going. “This place will only continue
to go on if the alumni will contribute to help it grow,” he says. Artists Kunle
Adeyemi and Adeola Balogun are among the alumni helping to facilitate workshop
sections in 2010.

The present and the past

There are three sessions this year, as well as two weeks in
August when artists can work unsupervised. BOF plans to seek UNESCO sponsorship
for artist residencies from all over the world. Onobrakpeya urges for an
exhibition to showcase the fact that Nigerians have been creating art for 50
years, noting that it was the Trade Fair Exhibition that brought a crop of artists
including himself to prominence during independence.

The 2010 Harmattan Workshop was billed as a platform for
discussing the gains and failures of art production since 1960. There are
reminisces about art patronage in the 60s, especially the Thursday-Thursday
Show on McEwen in Ikoyi, Lagos, where Jean Kennedy Wolford opened up her home
to showcase artists, free of charge. “On Thursdays, I would go and they would
put lots of money in my hands and I thought: my God, I could live on art! £35
was a lot of money then,” Onobrakpeya recalls.

A gallery for
contemporary art

The Niger Delta Cultural Centre – set in scenic countryside with
an outlay of chalets for participants and guests – is only Phase 1 of BOF’s
plans. An adjoining seven-acre land has been acquired for the construction of
proper workshop sections, as well as exhibition and conference facilities.

The four-level building that serves as the main set-piece on the
site, was designed by Demas Nwoko in his beloved impluvium style; and was built
from 1989 to 1998. “The advantage of this is light and air,” Onobrakpeya says.
Everywhere one looks, there are artworks in every medium, made by former alumni
of the Harmattan Workshop; prominent artists (Uche Okeke, Olu Amoda et al)
along with a sizeable collection by the master printmaker himself.

“We don’t just limit ourselves to what is locally available
alone; we get the best from elsewhere as well,” he explains. Where original
artworks are not available, their prints are shown. The Niger Delta Cultural
Centre displays prints of Susanne Wenger’s Osun Grove sculpture, Yeye Mopo:
“This is our lady who just died – fantastic!” he says of the work. A wall
section has photographic reproductions of German printmaking, Cezanne and Henry
Moore: “To get the pieces is expensive, but the photography of them is an art
in itself.” Perkins Foss’ exhibition of Urhobo art, ‘Where Gods and Mortals
Meet’ is also given a poster display. When we come to a 1972 picture of The
Ovie of Orughworun, we see the connection between the many adornments worn by
the subject and Onobrakpeya’s installations. The artist readily concedes the
connection, saying, “I love this [image]. Some of this has reechoed in my work.
This is installation in itself; different things put together can become art.”

Aside from hosting workshops, “The aim [of the Niger Delta
Cultural Centre] is to create a gallery for contemporary art. You don’t have to
go to a museum in Lagos or Abuja to see these things,” he insists. Also
displayed are objects that are fast becoming relics, including: instruments and
utensils from bygone eras, finials for staffs used by the Ogboni cult and other
totems. “We are losing so much of our material culture. We collect these things
not just for fun, but as a record, to remind people.”

The perennial artist

Art historian Dele Jegede has said of Bruce Onobrakpeya, “He was
the curious wanderer, the quiet but discerning inquirer who participated in Ru
Van Rossem’s printmaking workshop in Ibadan in 1963 and latched upon a medium
that suited his spirit.” The experimental artist incorporates car and computer
parts in his work. He explains, “From childhood, I’ve been fascinated with the
inside of an engine. People don’t see the engine, it’s covered up. But the
inside of an engine is beautiful.”

When someone observes that ‘Skyscraper’, made from engine parts,
is futuristic, Onobrakpeya replies that such works are only futuristic in the
sense that, “In our environment, people don’t appreciate these things.” He is
attached to them all the same. ‘Akporode Shrine’, his plastographs first
exhibited in 1995, take their inspiration from traditional shrines. Onobrakpeya
says, “In Yorubaland and Edo, the art of making a shrine is aesthetic. The
priest derives pleasure in putting these things together.” In performance mode,
he picks up a ‘fly-whisk’ art-piece from the Akporode Shrine installation and
swishes it about. Seeing a camera, he puts down the whisk, joking that, “They
will call me Baba Olorisa!”

We pass the ‘Jewels of Nomadic Images’ installation inspired by
Fulani herdsmen and the Opon Ifa (divination board), and proceed upwards to the
topmost floor which contains massive paintings by Onobrakpeya. The print-works
echo strongly. “The paintings come out of the prints,” he explains. “The prints
become studies and the paintings come out of them.” But even a master
printmaker has his limitations; most of the paintings here have never been
exhibited. “They don’t’ see me as a painter,” he says.

Into the future

Asked about the preservation of art in the non air-conditioned
rustic atmosphere of the centre, Onobrakpeya replies, “They preserve as well as
anything preserves in this environment, humans, trees… We have a problem with
white ants; we are always working to drive them away. We have a problem with
the weather. But it is all part of the process. White ants, weather; they
create patina.”

At the end of each workshop, Onobrakpeya and his helpers ask
themselves if they should go on or fold up. “The answer is: continue, because
we are doing a good job. Since we started, we now have about three people who
have [initiated] foundations that run workshops,” he said, citing Peju
Layiwola, copper repousse artist Bola Oyetunji and leather man Obi Leda (Obiora
Onuoye). Proof that BOF’s work is relevant, Onobrakpeya argues. “People have
participated, they’ve gone from being just small artists to being recognised
artists. The local people [and those] elsewhere now accord some respect to art,
because of this place.”

As Bruce Onobrakpeya, 77, heads downstairs in his labyrinthine centre built
for art, the questions inevitably turn to what will happen to this place when
he is no longer around. The master printmaker says those who come after him can
do as they please. He spreads out his hands as if to encompass all the artworks
and declares, “I have lived my life with them, gone through the process and I
have found it meaningful. If future generations don’t think so, I don’t care.”

The other day, I received a review copy of the movie thriller
based on Nigeria’s Niger Delta crisis, called Blood and Oil. It has since been
aired on the BBC TV and the writer Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie did a masterful
review of the movie.

I enjoyed Adichie’s review; and would like to offer some
additional thoughts. Ostensibly, this is a drama about the adventures of two
British ladies (one Nigerian-British, acted by Naomie Harris and the other
white, acted by Jodhi May). Jodhi May plays Claire Unwin whose husband gets
kidnapped (with three others) by the Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger
Delta (MEND).

Naomie Harris as Alice Omuka sets out with Claire to go secure
the release of Mark Unwin and the other kidnapped workers. Something goes
awfully wrong and three of the men (all white) are discovered murdered in the
dangerous creeks of Nigeria’s Niger Delta. The lone black man is missing; I
never quite figured out what happened to the poor fellow. Not that it matters;
he is irrelevant to the movie’s burden.

The movie plods along nicely and predictably. Nigeria is a
scary place, armed guards everywhere. A police state on its way to becoming a
failed one, Nigeria’s leaders have made sick caricatures of its long suffering
people. Western audiences will love this film. Money talks, the producers did
not spare a penny to make this a realistic production with great sound effects.

The boys of the Delta are here, muscles rippling, bullets
drilling into bullies and the bullied. I applaud the actors of Nigerian
ancestry who took part in the movie, even though they sounded and looked liked
expatriates with their accents and all. David Oyelowo was great as the
community activist despite having to deal with mediocre lines engineered to
engage Western audiences.

Adichie’s observations about the movie are astute and spot on.
There is more to this movie than meets the eye. Or less. The accents are fake
except for the occasional eerie chants and voice-overs murmuring Pidgin English
exhortations over the heads of pretend-Nigerians. The movie appears to be
filmed through a very narrow lens, the scenery is controlled, suspiciously
tight-lipped where it should be lush.

You don’t see much else than they want you to see. And it is
for good reason. There is a reason that the scenes and the crowds don’t look
quite like Nigeria. Close-cropped takes mask the fact that this movie was not
shot in West Africa. The scenes are carefully controlled and you almost feel
claustrophobic, looking for the Nigeria you know so well. Jodhi May explains in
an interview:

“We shot it in South Africa and the streets were spick and
span, unbelievably clean, so we had to get dirt put down so as to create an
environment that was Nigerian.” Today, Nigeria is apparently so dangerous that
a movie about her has to be shot in South Africa. If you want to be a Nigerian
go to South Africa! They will employ you there. Our leaders should be shot.

The movie’s competing imperial arrogance and obsequiousness are
fueled by a keen sense that a superior civilisation has run smack into hell as
represented by the Niger Delta and black Africa. Scenes seem engineered to
shine a light on our otherness. White princess meets black beast and shivers
with loathing and fright. Shudder. Horrific scenes showcase alien attitudes
about us that scream “you horrid beasts.” Unfortunately, it is not only white
expatriates that now shudder once they enter African airspace. As the movie
shows so well, we are also raising our children to loathe themselves and
Africa. The fake accents belonged to South Africans and the offspring of
Nigerians schooled abroad – on the oil money of the Niger Delta. Make no
mistake about it. This movie is really all about the death of one white man, a
man whose life is a million times more valuable than all of the miserable lives
in the Niger delta. It is the truth.

I do agree with Adichie that it can’t hurt to watch the movie. It improves
on Bruce Willis’ horrid 2003 movie about Nigeria, Tears of the Sun. However, it
is not a well thought-out documentary on the shame that is playing out in the
Niger Delta. It is formulaic with a very predictable ending and saddled with a
mediocre script. All the ingredients are there but they are muted commentaries
on globalisation, poverty and despair.

Things that have come to define Nigeria are hurriedly captured and abandoned
as if the producers were weary of controversy. What distinguishes this movie
from a fairly well written Nollywood movie is money. We should collaborate
more. Wealth and Creativity, please meet Poverty and Creativity. We would all
be richer for it.

Why Art?

What else? I was first introduced to the creative world of
painting and drawing by my grandmother, Angelina Akpotuzor, who was a
traditional wall painter and decorator. She herself came from a long ancestral
line of wall/body decorators popularly known as Uli, the name of the village
from which it derives. In my earliest days as a child, my mother and I lived
with her in the village because of the Nigerian Civil War and I imbibed some of
my creativity from her.

Training

I studied Fine Arts and Education at Delta State University,
Abraka. I later apprenticed with Sam Ovraiti. I’m currently studying
print-making at Bruce Onobrakpeya’s Harmattan Workshop in Agbara Otor, Delta
State.

Medium

I use watercolour, oils, acrylic, pastel, mixed media, clay and
paper mache.

Influences

My influences include modern and contemporary Nigerian artists;
Ben Enwonwu, Bruce Onobrakpeya, Sam Ovraiti and Tayo Adenaike amongst others.

Inspirations

I derive inspiration from God and life on earth.

Best work so far

I will say all of my works.

Least satisfying work

I have none. I’m satisfied with all my works.

Career high point

The Society of Nigerian Artists Award I was given in 2009 for
industrial design in ceramics. There is also the participation Award from
Caterina de Medici International Painting Award, Florence, Italy.

Favourite artist living
or dead

There are too many of them to list.

Ambitions

My ambition is to be the best.

Participants at a forum organised by the Committee for Relevant
Art (CORA) in honour of writer Mabel Segun, who clocked 80 recently, did more
than eat the birthday cake. They thoroughly appraised the non-existent
cooperation between Nigeria’s literature and motion picture industries during
the round-table at the National Theatre, Iganmu on March 21. They also touched
on why collaboration should be encouraged.

Filmmaker Tunde Kelani, Francis Onwuche, Dapo Adeniyi, writers
Odili Ujubuonu, Toni Kan, and Mowunmi Segun who stood in for her mother during
the discussion, were the panellists who talked on the theme, ‘Promoting
Cooperation between Literature and Film.’

The cutting of the birthday cake preceded the discussion. Poet
Odia Ofeimu, Kelani and others joined the celebrant during this aspect of the
programme. Segun only spoke once at the occasion. “If you say the youth don’t
read, what do they do on the Internet? You can’t be illiterate and go on the
Internet,” she said in defence of youth, said by the older ones to be lacking a
reading culture.

CORA secretary general, Toyin Akinosho set the ball rolling by
reading ‘Never Again’, a short story by Segun. He added that the author of ‘My
Father’s Daughter’ and other children’s work is, “the matriarch of Nigerian
letters, the only woman who could match the big men of the Nigerian literature
world.”

Mutually exclusive
sectors

Mowunmi Segun disclosed that her mother believes she spends too
much time watching Nigerian movies. “I do watch Nollywood films but I find
myself dozing off at intervals because they are so predictable,” she said. She
reiterated that Nollywood can’t develop unless scriptwriters first develop
their craft.

Author of ‘Under the Brown Rusted Roofs’, Abimbola Adelakun,
revealed that a filmmaker had approached her to write him a film. “I asked him
if he had read Purple Hibiscus he replied no. [It was the ]same for Half of A
Yellow Sun, Everything Good will Come and all the other titles I asked if he
had read.” She noted that the filmmaker wasn’t actually interested in making
good movies; all he wanted was “something that will make him money. Adelakun
however noted that Nollywood will be forced to grow if the audience grows.

“I can’t make a film that won’t earn me money, the end must
justify the means,” stated filmmaker, Francis Onwuche. According to him,
filmmakers in other countries receive grants to make art-films because they are
more expensive to make. “I can’t be forced to be ready. I need to ask myself if
I am ready and receive confirmation that the society is ready,” he said
concerning the making of films adapted from Nigerian books.

Ujubuonu believes that Nollywood is not availing itself of the
opportunity offered by books. “If Chinua Achebe and Wole Soyinka’s works are
complex, you can start by adapting ‘The Passport of Mallam Illia’ and ‘The
Drummer Boy’, these are not complex stories,” Ujubuonu said in response to
Onwuche’s earlier claim that it is expensive to turn Nigerian classics into
films.

Toni Kan agreed that literature presents ready material and
thinks the film industry should seize the opportunity. “The Godfather was first
a novel, Crazy Heart, Blind Side, Precious, Lonely Bones and most of those
films that won awards this year were adapted from novels. If Nollywood aspires
to be like Hollywood, then it should do the same with its films,” he said.

Literature, film and
intellect

Kelani offered that ‘gullible’ audiences expect no more than a
quick fix when watching Nigerian films. He explained that this is why
filmmakers can get away with making films with insubstantial content.
“Literature stimulates the intellect of the whole people,” said the filmmaker.
He stressed that bad films are capable of causing a systematic degradation of
the intellect of the society itself. “I have a love for books, which is why I
am able to adapt books into films” said Kelani. He however noted that in
adapting a work, the filmmaker has to respect the writer by adding value to it.

Chief executive officer of Position International TV, Dapo
Adeniyi, has been trying to make Wole Soyinka’s ‘Ake’ into a film for close to
three decades with no success. He said, “Budgets shoot up when it comes to
adapting literature to motion pictures. If we can get the government involved
with funding and actually put in the funds they make available, then it will be
possible to turn our classic literature into film.” Adeniyi also mentioned the
difficulty of getting the right interpretation of an author’s work. “Achebe
says he was grossly misinterpretated, he was not happy with the film
adaptation. For Soyinka’s work, when we were discussing it with the NTA board
back then, none of the people on the board had actually read the work. How
possible would it have been for them to then make suitable adaptation?”

Do it well or…

“You can’t get Ola Rotimi or Wole Soyinka to write for the
screen because they are not screenwriters,” said Femi Oso from the audience. He
added that getting works adapted is the work of the screenwriter who should get
involved in establishing a relationship between literature and films. Pamela
Udoka supported Mabel Segun’s assertion that children want to read, and will
read if they can access reading material. She however pointed out that lack of
proper research is evident in some Nigerian literature.

Writer and filmmaker Chris Ihidero, passionately defended youth at the
occasion. He stated that established filmmakers should be sincere whenever they
feel they really should produce good films. “Americans also produce crap but
they make sure only the good films get here. Nevertheless, let us Nigerian
filmmakers not touch the classics unless we can do them well.”

Producer Parminder Vir is an Indian in love with Nollywood. Vir
not only rates Nollywood highly, she also believes there is a relationship
between Nigeria’s popular indigenous movie industry and Bollywood. “The film
industry and film as a culture is a meeting point. It is the only medium other
than music that enables people to meet across cultures, national boundaries and
languages. Film is an emotional medium and if we are telling universal stories,
it doesn’t matter where you are. Absolutely, there is a meeting point between
Hollywood, Bollywood, Nollywood and any other film industry in the world. [In
2008], I came and we talked about the European film industry and what Nollywood
can teach them or learn from them; about how we in Europe have a structured
film industry. So, yes of course, there is a meeting point.”

Strategic project

As part of her resolve to ensure cooperation between both
industries, the expert in international film finance, co-productions and film
distribution was in Nigeria last December for the ION International Film
Festival. She was the programme consultant for the ‘Connecting Bollywood and
Nollywood’ session which involved Indian and Nigerian filmmakers during the
festival. The producer of award winning ‘Single Voices’ says of the initiative.
“I think the project is really strategic. It’s not a single film project that
would happen depending on the quality or structure of the project. I am much
more interested in the strategic relationships and alliances because the film
industry is a business, it’s not a lifestyle. And ultimately, the film industry
contributes phenomenally to the economy and culture of the country.

“Here in Nigeria, I think there is a lot that Nollywood can
learn on how the partnership between the Indian government, the Indian film
industry and the private sector was forged. They were able to attract foreign
direct investment, direct investors from within the country and government
support for the industry. That is exactly the position that Nollywood needs to
be; where it can get the government, the industry itself, producers and
distributors, exhibitors and the private sector to come together to develop a
strategy which serves the film industry as an important sector of the economy.”

Hit or miss medium

The 2002 recipient of the Order of the British Empire (OBE) for
her contributions to TV and film in the UK also recommends ‘pre sale’ to Nigerian
producers as a way of getting money to make films. “Distribution in the
European and Indian model, what you have is presale. You go to the distributor
and say I want to make this film; this is the subject and the audience it is
targeted at. This is how much I think we will make once the film is made and it
is sold as a VCD or whatever revenue stream you want to explore. So, pre sale
means you have pre-sold your film and someone believes in your story to be able
to advance you money against what they think they will make. And if they make
more than what they expect the film would make, they would benefit from the
success of the film. If it doesn’t, they would have to deal with the
consequences from the loss of the film as well.”

Though not a bad suggestion, I cite examples of Nigerian
producers who pre-sold movies which later became very successful but got
nothing from the distributor. What happens to such producers in such
situations?

“People not honouring contracts, that happens all the time
because film is a hit or miss medium. You have hits and misses but neither the
producer who took his product to the distributor nor the distributor knew the
film could perform beyond what they thought it could. If it does, for me, the
distributor took the risk by pre-buying the film. But then, I would like to
think that the distributor is in this industry for a long time. So, the
distributor should be able to go back to the producer and say ‘hey, what’s your
next film? Let me sign you up for your next three films. This is how much I can
bring to the table.’ And the producer should get smart and say ok, ‘I would
also want to share in the next profit.’ So, it’s important to locate the film
beyond the box office to say I want to also negotiate a net profit corridor. The
problem is that producers always need money to make film, so they don’t think
that this film could be a hit and beyond this, it could have a long term
because people could still go on either renting or purchasing through different
medium.”

Distribution is the
future

Unlike in Nigeria, Western filmmakers have shifted focus from
production to distribution in a bid to make more money. The chief executive of
PVL Media Consultant suggests the same for players in Nollywood. “I think it
would be a wrong strategy to continue to pour money into production without
having the means of monetizing that production. You also need to diversify your
revenue stream. At the moment, it is only retail that is dominant here but you
have to diversify your revenue streams. You have theatrical, TV, retail which
is your normal DVD and the international market as well. Within television,
you’ve got pay TV.

” I also think you have to make a distinction now between those
who really make television and those who aspire to be filmmakers and cinematic
storytellers. I think there is a big difference between the cinema as a medium
and film as a medium. I would also think that in order for you to exploit the
revenue from theatrical ticket sales, you’ve got to put in place digital
exhibitions because that’s the way the world is going. The reason why we in the
UK are focusing on distribution is because digital distribution, for us, is the
future. So, we need to look at how do we monetise our film? How do we monetise
it online? How do we monetise the different digital platforms?”

Born in India but moving to the UK at age 10, Vir crossed into film from
being a Television documentary producer. She went into TV and film because “I
wanted to tell stories and I wanted to give a voice to the voiceless. In the
UK, I wanted to basically have storytellers that came from the so called ethnic
minority communities.” She describes her over 20 years experience in film and
television production, media finance and business development in emerging
markets as a “challenge” but adds “I think it’s such a privilege and an honour
to work in film and television industry.”

Linus Idahosa’s shirt is drenched with tears. The tears are not
his own; they belong to a few of the 400 students that have just concluded a
one month film programme in conjunction with the New York Film Academy. They
are not tears of angst or annoyance. They are tears of appreciation and
gratitude.

Idahosa is the CEO of Del York International Ltd and tonight is
the culmination of an eight month labour of love. Over 400 students have
successfully completed the four week programme to develop and improve their
filmmaking skills. This is not just an acting class; the spectrum of available
courses includes production, editing, cinematography and screenwriting. To aid
in delivering world class instruction, DelYork enlisted the help of the New
York Film Academy, one of the most reputable film schools in the world. The
task, to convince and implement a move that saw 36 instructors cross the
Atlantic, was not an easy one.

“I was deep in negotiations with the NYFA when the Abdulmutallab
thing happened,” Idahosa says. ” At that point they were not comfortable with
sending so many of their people to Nigeria so I had to do a lot of convincing.”

Lights, guns, action

Even after the NYFA provisionally agreed to supply equipment and
staff, the next big task was getting them over to Nigeria.

Another major undertaking was identifying and mobilising the 400
odd students that would participate in the film project. For this, Del York
turned to the restive Niger Delta region.

“The Niger-Delta crisis has been a major talking point locally
and internationally,” Idahosa says. “The biggest problem these guys have is
there are no alternatives for them so what do they do? They pick up a gun. Here
we are giving people the option of picking up a camera instead.”

Idahosa enlisted the help of several state governments in a bid
to encourage ex-militants and unemployed youth to be part of the programme.

“We had great support from the Rivers State governor, Amaechi,
who instantly pledged to sponsor 120 students,” he says.

“By the time the managing director of the Niger Delta
Development commission sponsored another 250 students, we knew we were on [our]
way.”

In spite of the government support, Idahosa is quick to point
out that the DelYork/NYFA partnership is privately backed.

“Yes we had some help from government sources but the concept
and implementation was wholly by Del York.”

Hollywood pedigree

The resumes of the film instructors are impressive. Ross Novie,
who taught the production class, has been an assistant director on several well
known TV shows such as Arrested Development, The Office and Entourage.

Adding star power to the Del York project is Stephanie Okereke,
the Nollywood actress.

“Stephanie is an executive director with us,” Idahosa says. “She
is an alumnus of the NYFA and is very passionate about film. I could think of
no better person to join forces with.”

Bright lights, bright prospects

To safeguard against participants returning to idleness and
inactivity, Del York has put a support network in place.

“We have created a database which contains a [details] of all
the people that took part in this programme,” Idahosa says.

“This ensures that nobody is left behind. We will contact and
update them on all future projects that we engage in.”

Some of the students have already caught the eye of film
producers and casting directors. The BBC is one of the numerous visitors to the
Public Service Institute in Abuja where the classes took place. A prospective
meeting turned into a full blown audition for cast members for an upcoming
movie ‘12.30′.

Ewor Agbor Daniel, one of four students chosen for the film,
will play the lead. Prior to the programme, Ewor had never had any acting
experience.

“What has happened in these past few weeks has been amazing,” he
says. “I have never acted before but always dreamed about appearing in a
Hollywood movie. Aside from acting, the most fascinating experience has been
meeting so many diverse people with different backgrounds.”

According to Ross Novie, a vast majority of the students across
the disciplines had no prior experience.

“I would say in my production class, maybe about ten percent of
the guys had picked up a camera before,” he says. “It’s not like being in New
York or LA, some of these guys are very raw but have so much willingness to
learn.”

Poor acting has, for a long time, been identified as one of the
main Achilles heels of the Nollywood industry. William Schneider, one of the
acting coaches, disagrees however.

“There is as much talent here as there is anywhere,” he says.
“The main drawback people have is a lack of exposure. They try to emulate what
they see on the screens here. What they need to do is to look within themselves
to seek characterisation. There is no limit to their potential.”

In spite of the obvious prospects of the budding filmmakers,
Idahosa is convinced that there is much more that can be done for the
graduating students.

“We have had terrific support from various individuals and organisations,”
he says.

“Unfortunately there were many pledges made that were not
fulfilled. A large proportion of these guys are from the Niger-Delta and people
keep talking about meaningful post-amnesty programmes.

“Here we are presenting an opportunity that means these guys
will not return to kidnapping, bunkering and piracy. Yet some of the
stakeholders are not assisting us.

“Each of these students should be walking away with a Mac
laptop. I hope that in future projects we will be able to help the students
with the basic tools to assist their development.”

Cut

As the curtain comes down on the four-week programme, Idahosa’s
tears have now joined those of the graduating class.

“It was an emotional night,” says Israel Edjeren, a media
consultant of Del York. “Nobody wanted this thing to end even the instructors,
some of whom have never been to Nigeria before.”

A huge sum of money has been invested in the project and in
spite of the broken promises and logistical nightmares; the CEO is not
dissuaded from embarking on future ventures.

“When you believe enough in something the money will always
come,” he says. “We had originally hoped to do Lagos around the same time but
it has not worked out this time around. We hope that by the end of the year we
can bring the same thing to Lagos.

“The time for talking is over and we need to be the change we want to see in
the world. We can, we must, we will. That’s the motto here and it is what keeps
us driving forward.”