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Over 100 artists
from across Nigeria converged on the Civic Centre, Victoria Island,
Lagos, on Saturday, March 13 for an interview conducted by the painting
competition committee of the Lagos Black Heritage Festival.

‘Lagos, the City of
a Thousand Masks’ is the theme of the event being organised as part of
the forthcoming Lagos Black Heritage Festival starting on April 3. It
is a collaboration between organisers of the festival and Italy-based
Caterina De’ Medici Company.

The competition is
an annual event of the Caterina De’ Medici Company, but this is the
first time it is coming to Nigeria. Representative of the company in
Africa and head of the competition committee Foluke Michaels explained
that the goal of the contest is to support talents.

She stated that the
company realised there are several talented people in Nigeria who
should be showcased to the world. Michaels added that the fact that a
Nigerian won the overall prize at the last edition of the competition
made the company decide Nigeria should host it.

She further
explained that the competition wants “to capture the many realities,
and unravel mysteries of the historic city of Lagos and its
environment; the warring emotions it arouses in locals and visitors
alike. The competition challenges the imagination of the Nigerian
artist, brings talents to the fore and expands awareness of the many
tendencies of the artistic occupation.”

Medals and dollars

Only 25 applicants
will be selected to participate in the festival. They will be taken on
an extensive tour of Lagos to draw inspiration for their painterly
impression based on the theme of the competition.

The overall winner
of the contest will receive a gold medal and $20,000 while the second
person will get a silver medal and $15,000. The third and fourth placed
winners will also receive silver medals and $7,500 and $5,000
respectively while the fifth person walks home with a silver medal and
$5,000. Apart from medals and cash prizes, the winning artworks will be
exhibited around the world.

Members of the
jury, comprising artists Jerry Buhari, Ndidi Dike and Mufu Onifade,
stated before the commencement of the interview that participants will
be judged on their knowledge of the theme, artistic background and
capacity to respond to challenges.

A member of the organising committee, Akin Adejuwon, reiterated the
importance of the competition. He said it underscores the importance of
visual arts to the human psyche and noted that the competition is the
only event that starts and ends with the festival.

The Omooba Yemisi
Adedoyin Shyllon Art Foundation (OYASAF) has invited entries for its
annual photo competition. The contest, open to professional and amateur
photographers, is to create a platform for the development of
photography as an art medium in Nigeria.

Photographs which promote the tradition and cultures of Africa, but specifically Nigeria, are what the organisers want.

At a press
conference on Wednesday, March 17, patron of OYASAF, Yemisi Shyllon,
explained why the foundation introduced the competition. He said it is
to unite photographers and aid them in networking. The competition, he
added, will help build a photography bank on the arts, people, crafts,
and customs of Africa and complement the work of OYASAF as a pioneer
private art and antiques centre.

Areas of interest

Shyllon, one of
Nigeria’s major art collectors, also affirmed that photography has
taken a prime position in the creative arts in the country. He said
focal areas of entries include, but are not limited to, head attires,
dressing and traditional attires, body adornment and traditional dances
and festivals. Other areas of interest are royalty and its
paraphernalia, musicians, traditional craftsmen, traditional customs
and portraits of faces across Africa.

Submission of
entries is open till June 15, 2010 and will lead to a photography
exhibition. The 30 final best entries will be showcased at the OYASAF
Annual Photo Exhibition which holds on October 1 every year.

Right medium

At the conference,
attended by Sidney Akaphiare, Nathaniel Ajibola, Jude Anogwhi, Ariyo
Oguntimeyin and other winners of the last completion, Akaphiare, chair
of the team organising this year’s contest, stated that there is a need
for photojournalists to showcase their works. He added that the OYASAF
competition is the right medium for them.

Akaphiare explained
that nearly 16,000 images on Nigeria are stored in America’s
Smithsonian Institute while the National Archives of Nigeria can only
boast of about 300images. “We need images from across Nigeria to build
a worthy photo banks and then we will stop borrowing from the
Smithsonian Institute,” he said.

Last year’s winning
photos were displayed on the grounds of the OYASAF premises for viewing
after the conference while the photographers discussed their works.

Some members of the
media will be part of the jury to select the initial 15 works out of
which the OYASAF jury will select the final five.

Submission of
entries is open online until June 15. Along with the completed
application forms obtainable at www.oyasaf.org, interested contestants
are to send not more than five photos each to photos@oyasaf.org on a
JPEG format.

Copies of selected works will thereafter require physical delivery to the foundation.

The competition carries a cash prize of N150, 000, N100, 000 and
N50, 000 for the overall three winners. There will be consolation
prizes of photo printers and flash drives for other participants.

It was an enchanting evening with Victoria Oruwari at the MUSON
Centre on Sunday, February 21. Performing selected songs from the classical
period and more contemporary West End Musicals, the visually-challenged Oruwari
enthralled the audience with her voice and magnetic stage presence.

The recital kicked off at 6pm prompt as promised. Before the
night was over, many could decipher a theme to the evening’s performance.
Oruwari, a trained soprano, was accompanied by Babatunde Sosan on the piano.

Both graduates of the Trinity College of Music, London, it was
their first time performing together in Nigeria. What the audience was getting
that night was a result of a week of solo and two days of joint rehearsals.

What followed was no pointer to this. Oruwari started off with
‘Tornami a Vagheggiar’ an aria from Act 1 of George Handel’s ‘Alcina’.
Translated as ‘Return to me to languish’, the aria is the story of an unlikely
love triangle between two women and a man. With this love song, Oruwari grabbed
the audience’s attention and did not let go till an hour and a half later. She
followed this with ‘De Vieni Non Tardar’ (Oh Come, Don’t delay) from Mozart’s
‘The Marriage of Figaro’.

Oruwari obviously enjoyed teasing the audience with how high her
voice could go, tackling Rossini’s ‘La Pastorella’ with the dexterity of a
primadonna and working her vocal muscles in Bizet’s ‘Comme autre fois’.
Charlotte Church could not have delivered better renditions of the aria from
‘Les Soirees Musicales.’

Before the interval, Sosan treated the audience to a piano solo,
‘La Cathedral Engloutie’ (The sunken cathedral), a prelude by Claude Debussy.
In Sosan’s rendition, the listener gets a feel of the cathedral bobbing up in
the sea, the bells signalling time for mass and the priests as they officiate.
The music rose and fell to depict the appearance of the cathedral and its
eventual disappearance from sight.

Summertime

The second part of the recital was dedicated to contemporary
Broadway and West End musicals. First up was the popular jazz lullaby
‘Summertime’ from George Gershwin’s ‘Porgy and Bess’. The only thing missing
from Oruwari’s version was Louis Armstrong on the trumpet. This, however, did
not reduce the jazzy feel the composers’ intended for any performance of this
stage classic. Oruwari could as well have been Ella Fitzgerald.

Fans of Andrew Lloyd Webber were placated with ‘Think of Me’
from the evergreen ‘Phantom of the Opera.’ In this musical, the revelation of
Christine Daae as the new star of the Opera Populaire becomes almost
indisputable after she sings this song. In a voice that could upstage nearly
any diva, Oruwari entranced the Agip Recital Hall’s audience and had them
clapping as the song finished.

True to her promise to perform songs by Stephen Sondheim in the
composer’s honour, Oruwari performed back-to-back hits from ‘The Follies’,
‘Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street’ and ‘Into the Woods.’

Apart from being a fan of Sondheim’s, Oruwari’s tribute was also
in early celebration of the renowned composer’s 80th birthday anniversary
coming up in March.

Losing my mind

First in line was ‘Losing my Mind,’ from ‘The Follies’.
Questioning her state of mind, Sally sings this song about her unrequited love
for Ben. Oruwari adds some drama to her delivery, as she turns left or right to
the lines of the song: ‘Not going left – not going right’

Next in the Sondheim tribute was ‘No one is alone’ from ‘Into
the Woods’. In the notes accompanying songs in her line-up, Oruwari writes, “In
this musical, Sondheim and Lapine explore the darker and more complex elements
that exist in fairy tales and relate them to things that occur in real life.
They ensure that all the fairy tale used in this musical are true to the
original. No one is Alone is sung by Cinderella in her maternal role of
comforter to the lost characters in the woods.”

The plot is drawn from many of the Brothers Grimm’s fairy tales
and in its musical performance, more enchantment is added to the already
enthralling stories.

A playful but disturbing tune was ‘Green Finch and Linnet Bird’
from Sondheim’s ‘Sweeney Todd’ musical. Sung by an imprisoned Johanna when she
cites a bird singing by her window, the song is more about herself in captivity
than about the singing bird. But Johanna concludes, “If I cannot fly, let me
sing.” And sing Oruwari does.

I feel pretty

Concluding the Sondheim tribute was ‘I Feel Pretty’ from West
Side Story, Leonard Bernstein’s musical adaptation of Shakespeare’s tragic
romance ‘Romeo and Juliet’ with lyrics by Stephen Sondheim. The words reflect
Maria’s happiness at going to the ball, a feeling Oruwari embodies on stage and
dramatises to full effect with her voice, especially when she sang, ” I feel
fiszzy and funny and fine, and so pretty, Miss America can just resign!”

This performance was rewarded with the loudest applause of the
evening. Oruwari, however, reminded us in the programme notes that this song is
Sondheim’s least favourite.

The presumed conclusion to the evening was Oruwari’s performance
of ‘Much More’ from Harvey Schmidt’s ‘The Fantasticks’. Like the heroines of
the previous songs, Luisa ‘spends her time daydreaming of a more exciting life
than the one she is living.’ Part of this song’s opening lines read, “I am
special. I am special. Please, God, please don’t ever let me be normal!” The
audience could not resist applauding and saying, “Yes, you are,” to the truly
special Victoria Oruwari.

Giving a standing ovation for what they thought was the last
song of the night; Oruwari surprised everyone by giving probably one of the
best renditions of popular folk song, ‘Oluronbi.’ It was a fitting conclusion
to an enchanting evening.

Speaking after the event, Oruwari justified her very inclusive
choice of songs, “My aim with my music is to integrate people more and to let
everybody come to my concert and enjoy what they hear.”

No one could deny their enjoyment of the evening.

Studio Visit will return next week.

Worship, comedy,
music and health were at the heart of the ‘Praise Along with Femi
Micah’ concert. A series of shows scheduled to take place across
various Nigerian university campuses, the first held on Thursday, March
11 at the University of Lagos.

The programme,
which also involved testing and counselling sessions on ailments like
diabetes, cancer, and hypertension, pulled a large crowd from within
and outside the university community.

Showtime at the Main Auditorium

On the bill of
performers were the host himself, Femi Micah and comedian Holy Mallam.
Starting the musical run was singer and Ewi musician Damola Adesina.
Paying homage to God in His various names, she quoted copiously from
the Bible before breaking into song and praising the name of God. The
applause that followed her performance was near-ecstatic but would go
higher before the end of the evening.

Upcoming acts Kenny
K’ore, Sanmi Michael and Bolaji Sax had the opportunity to strut their
stuff. Bolaji Sax’s proficiency on the wind-instrument blew the
audience away with his style and a medley of contemporary indigenous
and foreign Christian tunes. The grateful audience sang along,
providing the words to his instrumental symphony. The fast-paced tempo
of K’ore’s and Michael’s performances also proved the event was no
place for ‘dull’ worship.

Offering prayers
that, given a different circumstance would seem like curses, popular
comedian Holy Mallam had the audience reeling in laughter. He set the
stage for other comic acts of the evening: First Born, Helen Paul, Fat
Jerry and Cee D. John. First Born’s act had the audience reminiscing on
the “good ol’ days” and the differences between children brought up in
wealth or in poverty. Cee D. John’s mimicry of ‘village-influenced’
worship was, however, the evening’s comic highlight.

Young dance group
Xquizit gave an energetic and inspiring solo performance and back-up
act to musician Funke Akinokun’s performance. Akinokun spiced up her
act with praises to God in Nigeria’s major languages, before delving
into upbeat melodies that kept the audience on its feet.

Saxophonist Segun
Oluwayomi was last on the list of musicians before the evening’s
headlining act. Building on the pace of other performers, Oluwayomi’s
string of tunes was all the audience needed to bring them full circle
for the act of the night.

The Man of the Hour

Guests had
gradually been trickling into the main auditorium as the event went on.
It was almost at full capacity when top-billed act, Femi Micah, got on
stage at around 8pm. He was welcomed with a roaring, standing ovation.

Performing songs
from his Live Recording album, ‘Praise Along with Femi Micah’, the
artist had the audience perpetually on its feet; clapping, waving and
dancing, as offering to the Almighty God. But in the midst of praise,
forces with other interests seemed to be at play. During Micah’s praise
medley and at the height of the audience’s frenzy, the sound went off.
If not for the fierce drumming of the traditional drummers, the music
would have died.

Send in the clowns

The break in
transmission, however, seemed to the advantage of some. It provided a
quartet of young men the opportunity to ‘strut their stuff’ on stage.
While it was not the best of dancing, it was a bit of a distraction
from the lack of sound on stage.

This side
attraction and Micah’s attempt at involving the audience in some
clapping and waving did not stop almost half of the house from trooping
out, though. For those left in the house, however, there was no slowing
down when the sound was eventually restored. Rounding off with the
interrupted medley and one more track from his album, Micah ended his
act for the evening.

Micah had made his
audience’s evening with songs like ‘Holy, Holy’; ‘Immortal God’,
‘Mighty God’ and ‘I will lift your Name Higher’, all from his new
album. It was probably not so new, though, as the audience was singing
along smoothly.

Your health and You

It was not just a
night for music. At the entrance to the venue, a crowd of students
could be seen at various testing locations. The centres had been
stationed to provide diagnostic and counselling services to all those
who had attended, especially the students.

Pastor and breast
cancer survivor, Sola Adeoti, of the MariaSam medical and counselling
team, advised regular testing and check ups to prevent the onset of
certain potentially life-threatening ailments. She encouraged those who
had tested positive or were at risk of some of the ailments not to be
afraid but to immediately commence treatment or seek preventive
measures that would ensure a normal life post-diagnosis.

In the closing
remarks of Saheed Ogunsola, a pastor with the Redeemed Christian Church
of God, the event had a purpose to fulfil. “The purpose of this
programme is not to entertain you, but for the uplifting of your soul;
to connect you to the source of your life, so that you’ll never run
dry.”

With laughter, praise and healing, the concert is on its way to fulfilling that purpose.

Other concerts and counselling sessions are scheduled for the
Olabisi Onabanjo University in Ogun State; the University of Ibadan,
Oyo State and the Obafemi Awolowo University in Ile-Ife, Osun State.

I was taken aback
when midway into our conversation, Funsho Ogundipe, with a straight
face declared that, “Afrobeat is dead!” Surely, I thought Ogundipe,
leader of Ayetoro who in the late 90s, released a piano-driven,
blues-flavoured Afrobeat hit album with gems like ‘Something Dey’ and
‘Tribute to Fela’, must be deliberately putting me on. Here was the man
many music lovers and critics rightly considered as the new mature
voice of post-Fela Afrobeat, literarily biting the finger that
musically fed him.

To my relief,
Ogundipe then proffered reasons why he felt that Afrobeat was ‘dead.’
“How many people are playing Afrobeat?” he asked rhetorically “If
Afrobeat, like Jazz, wants to be relevant,” he continued “or does not
want to become museum music, it has got to incorporate the modern
sounds, whether hip hop or fuji. In Jazz there was much more onus on
the musicians to play their own beat and then improvise.” “We must
remember” he recalled, “that Fela brought musicians from various tribal
groups; a mixture of African nationalities; Nigerians, Ghanaians,
Cameroonians, Beninoise and Congolese, and they all brought the
rhythmic impetus of their people to create Afrobeat music.”

Time for change

In essence,
Ogundipe’s concern is the modernisation of Afrobeat and the need to
permanently situate the music as a lasting genre on the fast-changing
competitive international popular music scene. According to him,
Afrobeat has to change! “Early Afrobeat musicians did not want the
music to expand in terms of sound and colour,” he observed, “to use it
for cartoons and romance. It is almost ironical that Afrobeat should
only be about open protest. We have to improve on our use of irony,
satire, social meaning and have oblique lyrics.”

In the light of
such views, Ogundipe, predictably, is concerned about the negative
mindset that associates Afrobeat with hemp-smoking – an excuse for
putting the music down. “Winston Churchill did opium, Obama claimed use
of cocaine. It has cost Fela and Afrobeat dearly to be portrayed as a
drug-crazed, sex-addicted music; turning it into a monster and
depriving the music from the blood that originated it. Afrobeat at its
best is African classical music. People should not forget that all the
revolutions in music have been rhythmic. Remove the beat from Afrobeat
and, it is not there!”

Popularising Ayetoro

It is obvious that
Ogundipe’s articulate views on the state of health of Afrobeat and its
future survival and sustenance are based on further learning,
experimentation and continued experience. He left Lagos and lived in
London from 2000 to 2007 and, for the past two years, has spent six
months in Accra, Ghana and the other six in London. “I left Nigeria to
become a better musician and face more challenges. Nigeria was stifling
and I needed to play with better people, see better people play.” And
with his children now in secondary school in England, he could afford
to relocate to Ghana, “because it is close to home and it is
frightfully expensive to come home to Nigeria.”

Why? “I play the
piano for five or six hours everyday. The overheads in Accra in terms
of electricity, security, petroleum, make more sense than Lagos.”

He -as a major
shareholder, and his Ghanaian friends, own a digital production house,
Atta Productions, which provides equipment for movie and music
producers. What has been his musical direction and development over the
last decade?

“I simply took the
name Ayetoro with me and started playing with that name. As a
keyboard-accentuated Afrobeat musician, I have matured more as an
arranger, composer and piano player, and this reflects the way my music
is arranged. My models are Thelonius Monk, Duke Ellington, Sun Ra and
Miles Davis. I strive for a group sound; using individual sidemen who
have their own sound. They contribute through improvisation and they
also have to be good ensemble players and must be sympathetic to other
musicians. Up until now, the best musicians were not attracted to play
Afrobeat. It may have been for social reasons but I am changing all
that now!”

To the credit and
influences of ex-Fela drummer Tony Allen and keyboardist Ogundipe, many
more bands in Europe and America are now playing music with distinct
Afrobeat roots. In London, Ayetoro developed a reputation for live
shows. His first gig in England in 2002, was the Africa Oye Festival;
the biggest world music festival in Europe held in Liverpool. He has
also played at the famous 100 Club on Oxford Street, London.

What are the new
flavours in his music? “I do not know what name to give my music. Not
Afrobeat; maybe ‘Naija Blues’ which is the title of my first album. The
music I play now satisfies my yearning for structure and improvisation
at the same time. Not one-chord music like old Afrobeat; which was
restrictive. I use the structure of 12-bar blues, diminished chords and
whole tones to improve the musical colouristic choice available.

I strongly believe in discipline in music. My old album ‘Something Dey’ involved tension release.”

Ogundipe has grown
into a musician that straddles many worlds. In Ghana, he was appointed
musical director and principal composer of the Culture Caravan
Initiative of the French Embassy and Vodafone that took concert
parties, live band and a play on stage across Ghana. “I had to create
atmospheric sounds, not just sweet sounds, but music in totality,” he
recalls. He then took a 14-piece band called Afrobitten that included
dancers and singers to the Alliance Francaise in Accra.

Exciting generation

What is his opinion
on the calibre of young musicians now on the scene in Nigeria? “There
is an exciting new generation of young musicians in Nigeria from the
Muson Music School, who have the discipline of classical music training
and can play and improvise. Since 1998, half of the musicians I worked
with in Nigeria were from the Peter King School of Music. I think it
will be musically rewarding to have Nigerian hip hop singers play with
learned musicians.”

Ogundipe’s recently released albums successfully demonstrate his
immense musical growth in one decade as well as show in energy and
musical diversity, the futuristic directions of the ‘new’ Afrobeat. He
directs the music with maturity and confident expertise from keyboards,
piano, Wurlitzer electric piano and Fender Rhodes electric piano.
‘Afrobeat Chronicles’ (Vol 1) subtitled ‘The Jazz Side of Afrobeat’
features Byron Wallen, a prominent non-American jazz trumpeter in the
Diaspora. ‘Afrobeat Chronicles’ (Vol 2) subtitled ‘Omo Obokun’ in
reference to his Ilesha roots, features a choir of expatriate Cuban
bata drummers and percussionists who play two rhythms; one for ‘Iyesha’
[As Ijesha people pronounce it] and the other for twins (Ibeji).

“I’m very excited.
I think I am happier than the first time,” explains Femi Kuti whose
latest album, “Day by Day” (‘Living with History’ outside Nigeria) has
been nominated under the Best Contemporary World Music Album category
for the 2010 Grammy Awards holding on January 31.

“I’m very happy
because it’s at a point in time where politically, I need to be heard.
Since I’m having a difficult time in my country – people in Sokoto,
Delta State, the North and East don’t get to hear what I’m doing in the
Shrine; being nominated the second time shows that I have not been
sleeping. I’m a very hard worker and I think it will make people who
love me very happy.”

Is it not his fault that people outside Lagos don’t get to hear him because they believe the world market is his focus?

His father,
Afrobeat creator, Fela Anikulapo, would have loved his response. “Do
you have an industry in Nigeria? Do you have electricity in your
country? Do you have a good educational scheme? You call yourself
independent but there is no water in the cities, talk less of the
villages and towns. You think I‘m to blame? I have been exposed to good
governments and when I come back home, I become frustrated with people
who have just ‘gba kamu’ (become apathetic) that well, no light.

“I’ve released
albums many times in Nigeria and they have done a very bad job
distributing them. Many promoters believe once you release in Lagos,
that’s it. Nigeria is big; to get your music to 100 million people is
not easy.”

Femi pauses when
asked if he wants to win the award. “There is nobody that would not
love to win the Grammy but I’m happy I’m nominated. Being nominated
already for me is like winning because there are hundreds of musicians
that want to be nominated.

“My purpose in
life is not about awards. As much as I would love to win the Grammy, it
is not my objective. My objective is to play good music, to continue to
forge ahead, to pray to the creator to shower me with more new songs so
I can keep on performing around the world and for my music to be
acceptable.”

Inimitable Fela

Unlike his father
whose tracks are usually lengthy, tracks on Femi’s albums are shorter.
“Fela was the creator of Afrobeat music so he could do what he liked.
How do you, as a son, live up to such a big name? You first have to
work 10 times harder than he did and you have to understand the market.
Except you are a fanatic of Fela, you are not going to sit down and
listen to a song for 45 minutes. How did I get myself across to the
world, how did I get to the Grammy? How did I get ‘Bang Bang Bang’ to
win the KORA Award and the World Music, how did I get nominated for
awards round the world?

“It was by saying
I must take this powerful music and make it commercial. Take what Fela
did in 45 minutes and reduce it to three, five minutes and make it more
explosive. I made it have everything that hip hop, funk and rock would
have.”

Silent giver

Making donations
to, or organising fund-raisers for the less privileged with the media
in tow is the rave among players in the entertainment sector but not
many know Femi has been helping lepers at a colony close to Benin since
the 80s.

“I promised myself
in 1984 or ‘85, we were going to Benin or somewhere and there were so
many on the road but I didn’t have money. One naira then was a lot of
money and by the time I gave one of them one naira, we‘ll see another
one. They were many and I swore to myself that if I ever become rich,
I’ll always help this people.”

He has also been
sponsoring the education of some of his son, Made’sfriends. “I had the
money to send Made to a good school but the friends he likes were the
poor people in the area. By each term, his English was getting very
fluent; they were not speaking good English. Made knew mathematics; he
was getting more advanced and he was oppressing them. He didn’t realise
he was oppressing them but I could see that they all felt envious when
he is mixing with them.

“His oppression
was not self-made, it was just that his father could afford a better
school and they were looking at him as if he was a god. I didn’t want
that. So, I called him and asked if I should send them to the same
school? He was happy so I said let’s go talk to their parents. I spoke
with them but unfortunately some of their parents died. I’ve continued
to take care of them. Now they are like brothers.”

Nothing in marriage

Those expecting a
reunion between Femi and Funke, his ex-wife, may well wait till
eternity. “We are not getting back because there is nothing to get back
to. Forward ever, backwards never. We are very good friends. She even
called to congratulate me on the nomination. We are very civilised …
First, I never believed in marriage. I’m a very independent person. I
don’t want any woman to tell me what to do with my life. Don’t forget
my father married 27 wives so I know all the garaje (trickeries) of
marriage. I don’t want to be involved in that.

“I want a
situation where I’m totally independent. I don’t need a better half; I
don’t want a better half. I want to appreciate people. I have people I
appreciate and I want them to appreciate me. From when I can remember,
my mother, she loved my father gan (very much) so I saw what love did
to her. My father, he, ko ran yan se (was carefree). I don’t want to
put a woman in the kind of predicament my mother was so I always make
it clear. I like women, I’m not getting married. I don’t like all this
type of Oyinbo (western) roses. I’m not into all that. Made’s mother,
we understood. How she derailed, I don’t understand.”

The self-confessed
workaholic unabashedly discloses, “I don’t relax. When I’m going to
relax, it’s with my girlfriend; we are making love. That’s relaxation
but that one gan (in itself) is hardwork these days. Experience is the
best teacher in this life. You are always sexually excited as a young
man. When you now think about it rationally and want to play sex
properly, it is hard work. To satisfy your partner, it is hardwork
especially if you don’t have money or there are other things on your
mind.”

September 2009. We
waved good night to the warrior Gani Fawehinmi. When the news came, no
cannons boomed loud sorrow for a fallen giant, no women raced through
the market places shredding grief into angry tatters. Here cannons boom
only for thieves tossing loot-crumbs to the masses. May his spirit
haunt us until we seriously locate our role in rebuilding the land of
his dreams.

My people live in
this tired place that time forgot. Ugly dirty buildings wave their
owners’ pride at you. The earth is red-brown, dust valiantly fighting
off any attempts at progress. Their way of life is governed by a mix of
the past and what passes for today. Progress is measured by the
material nearness to an otherness which makes for the farcical. Graham
Greene would love my village and VS Naipaul would fill sick volumes
with reams of this self-loathing. Here turmoil is constant. We merely
describe the turmoil and we despair. Everything stays constant. Why? Do
not be afraid of the answer; be afraid of today’s darkness. Why are
things the way they are with us?

This land of my
birth is a giant boil that needs to be lanced and drained of excess.
This is a filthy nation, an eco-disaster in the making. Cloying waves
of dust and filth rise up to escort you everywhere and environmental
abuse wraps around you squeaky tight like discarded cellophane. Our
land is allergic to respect and it proclaims itself a sick warehouse
where bad products and ideas go to die, a crude nation pawning crude
oil to the crude. Elegance fled long ago. And tending the growth and
the decay is a mean army of agbada-clad rodents taking turns to gnaw at
the innocent. Why are these things so?

Pompous signs
filched from America are proudly hung on filthy structures and
institutions: “Welcome to River Road Estates!” The right words anoint
the wrong things; palaces for hovels, good fortune for corruption, and
God’s wish for the misfortune of beautiful children swimming, sad, in a
war they did not ask for. Women and children carry this nation and her
men on their frail backs. Every day.

This land is
infested by bible-toting vermin, pastor-thieves mining the rich
anxieties of our people. They are picking peasants clean of everything
they do not have. What kind of God allows this insanity? A horrific
crime is being committed here. The new temples steal from the triply
traumatised in the name of their Jesus. Churches! Churches! Churches
everywhere, not enough destitutes to minister to the jheri-curled
demands of thieving clone-pastors. The living dead die finally and
greedy elders gleefully exert their revenge at funerals, slapping tolls
on exhausted pall-bearers.

The police sit
under barren mango trees staring balefully at the papers of the hunted
willing the money that they did not earn to appear. The oppressor is
not spared the rank indignities of what passes for life in this
country. A perverse individualism has disfigured all of the land, this
place of a billion bore holes and power generators. Every house is a
municipality unto itself indifferent to indifferent government
services. Nothing else seems to work.

Steam shrouds
ancestral clans and red clouds of dirt sway to the taunts of new
masquerades with sporting alien names. This land is pregnant with water
maidens bearing offspring and issues. Produce and game spill out of
dilapidated trucks, everything ripe for the stealing. We wave to
beautiful umbrella people selling phone cards – mystical pathways to
the dreams of the dispossessed. My blackberry flits from anemic network
to anemic network, flirting with the gods of broken cyber bridges, just
to keep me connected to the world.

We wave to
18-wheelers traversing the land on roads that used to be here. Trucks
killed by the crush of produce and neglect lie in wait seeking blood
for fuel. We close our eyes waiting to be crushed by speeding
dilapidated vessels coming straight at speeding dilapidated vessels but
they disappear like raging comets at the last merciful minute. The
roads, oh the roads, what have we done? Iku, death-god, Ogun of the
rusted metal, save your son.

Generators.
Everyone has a generator. Imagine living in a three-bedroom apartment;
imagine a lawnmower in your balcony, mowing nothing, roaring, belching,
farting noxious noises and fumes all day long. The place should be
child proofed, toddlers and children are everywhere amidst the
generators, the electrical wires and the gas fumes, All day I beg the
generator to stop its effete roar. The generator is proud of his
muscle, why his phallus is bigger than his neighbour’s.

Every day my people race from pockets of danger to isles of lesser
danger. Walls are a forbidding metaphor for the annihilation of our way
of life. Everywhere free spaces have been arrested behind ugly walls.
Outside the walls, we walk fearfully among ancestral masks wearing
designer handbags, crocodiles burying themselves in shoes. Opportunists
leap out of the darkness brandishing opportunities at bottom feeders.
Our leaders should be shot. Why are things the way they are?

This is the first
of an occasional series on the pleasures of marriage. I have a Facebook
friend; she is always trying to understand men. She must be married
because she does not understand men. Actually like many married women,
men get on her nerves. I don’t blame her, I don’t blame women, I don’t
blame my wife, I would get on my nerves if I was married to me! Who
needs the stress? So this FB friend asked on her status page, “What do
Nigerian men really want?” Well, as all married Naija men know, this is
surely a trick question that our wives ask us when they already know
the answer. For example, when your wife asks you the question; “Honey,
where have you been?” That means you are busted, start confessing your
yeye deeds. Even if you don’t remember, make it up. Trust me; this is
the voice of experience talking.

What do men want?
O beautiful women, it is really very simple. Men want all you women to
stop asking us questions. What does that mean? I say stop asking us
questions, especially the ones you know the answers to. My people, I am
not complaining but marriage is tough and it is our women’s fault. Oya,
I said it, sue me it is the fault of all you women who do not
understand us men. My father developed an elaborate maze of tricks to
survive the institution of marriage. He has been married now for 100
years. Whenever I am stressed I call him. I call him every day; my
phone card bill is atrocious. I know a trick that my father taught me
many years ago: to be extremely careful when I am enjoying another
woman’s cooking in the presence of my wife. My wife is the best cook in
the whole wide world so I don’t have this problem. Actually na lie, my
wife is the best cook in the whole wide world but my long-throat keeps
staring at other women’s soup pots. It is an issue that I have and my
doctor has not been able to fix it with all the therapies in the world.
It is like teaching a lefty to be right-handed.

I am a great cook
if I must say so, but I enjoy the cooking of women. Even as I am
writing this column right now, I have just finished polishing off a
plate of pounded yam and okro plus vegetable soup cooked by a woman
that did not enjoy my bride price and all I can say is that all sorts
of animals and Yar’Adua (snails!) lost their lives to satisfy my
palate’s issues. Even when I am on the Internet, instead of reading
weighty, sad articles by respected but depressed Nigerian writers like
Okey Ndibe and Pius Adesanmi, I read the delicious cooking, er,
writings of the great NEXT gourmet genius, Yemisi Ogbe. That lady can
describe ordinary white rice as if the angels in heaven cooked it. Na
wa. If I don’t read her essays in a week, I suffer from mental
kwashiorkor. That woman can cook, er, write.

Did I just say, I
have just finished enjoying another woman’s cooking? Mba O, I did not
say that, who wan die? Anyway, before I forget, whatever you do, never
behave like you are enjoying the food. Because madam is watching you.
If you start licking the plate, wo, when you get home, you are dead!
When the food is placed before you, loudly refuse the meal once. Once
O! When the woman offers it to you a second time, quickly ‘reluctantly’
accept it or she will happily withdraw the offer. Wrinkle your nose and
start picking at the food until it is all eaten. On the way home, give
the meal a bad review and compare it harshly to your wife’s cooking.
Your wife will like that. She will tell you lovingly that she felt
sorry for you as you were struggling to finish the food. She will say
lovingly, “Ah! Ikhide! You are so spoilt! You will have to learn to eat
other people’s food O! I know that you are used to my cooking but this
is ridiculous!” Ah, once she says that, your dog is sleeping alone in
her house because you, you are sleeping with madam.

One day though, we went visiting this family and this wonderful
woman of the house put before me a steamy pot of fresh fish ofensala
plus boiled plantain. I don’t know what that woman put in that ofensala
but as soon as I tasted it I was bewitched. No way could I wrinkle my
nose and pretend that this was simply ‘mek I manage am’ food. I simply
said to myself, when you get home tonight, you are dead, but it would
have been worth it. I ate like a starving fool. I went straight to the
doghouse after that meal but it was worth it. Life is good.

Knopf has just published a disappointing volume of Chinua
Achebe’s essays titled The Education of a British-Protected Child. They are old
(well, mostly old) speeches sloppily stapled together. Almost all the ideas
have been previously published multiple times, ages ago, with some freely
available on the Internet. Achebe has said precious little here that offers
fresh insights on the world’s current condition.

Of 16 essays, only three were written in this century. The rest
are from the 80s and the mid-90s. Those new to Achebe’s works may be enthralled
by the power of his words but they will be better served reading his earlier
works: Home and Exile, Hopes and Impediments, and The Trouble with Nigeria.

The same issues are recycled ad nauseam: Racism, colonialism,
Africa’s humanity, Africans, African writers, James Baldwin, etc. Achebe’s
classic denunciation of Conrad’s Heart of Darkness has already attained
ubiquity in books and on the Internet. I suspect the machinations of an overly
aggressive publisher here, building a cash cow out of Achebe’s scrolls.

The essay, My Dad and Me, about Achebe’s father was first
published in 1996, in Larry King’s book of the same title, but it is a
tight-lipped reflection that is mostly devoted to Achebe’s great-uncle. The
volume Hopes and Impediments already covers that subject richly and warmly.
Similarly, My Daughters, although written in 2009 provides anecdotes about
parenting in the late 60s and early 70s. It is a cute essay but the daughters
are grown now; surely, they and perhaps Achebe’s grandchildren have given him
enough to write about since then.

The editing is sloppy. Several speeches from Achebe’s lecture
circuit were poorly edited to adapt them to essay format. And the errors are
unacceptable, Knopf should be embarrassed. In one essay, Achebe talks of his
only meeting with James Baldwin in 1983; in another, the same meeting is in
1980. Furthermore, the official name of the conference sponsor changes
depending on the essay. Achebe is a master story-teller, but you soon get tired
of reading the same anecdotes over and over again. There is a recurring
anecdote about confronting racism in a bus. In one essay, a South African
driver confronts Achebe about sitting in the Whites Only section of the bus; in
another essay, it is the conductor.

Achebe’s near-obsession with the West’s prejudices turns into a
relentless chant: “Africans are people in the same way that Americans,
Europeans, Asians, etcetera are people. Africans are not some strange beings
with unpronounceable names and impenetrable minds.” It is a position that is
sadly allergic to the reality: Our black leaders are compromising our humanity.
As Achebe faces the West and insists on our humanity through clenched teeth,
our people stand far away, trying very hard to look like the broken people that
he insists we are not.

Achebe’s words drip angrily like ancient history, words gone
rusty in the broken pipes of Nigeria’s indifference. Missing is the Achebe who
famously urged Nigerians to look inwards in The Trouble with Nigeria: “The
trouble with Nigeria is simply and squarely a failure of leadership. There is
nothing basically wrong with the Nigerian character. There is nothing wrong
with the Nigerian land or climate or water or air or anything else.” Missing is
the question: Why are things the way they are? Why are we having trouble
managing change? Achebe shies away from that analysis.

We are living in incredibly exciting times and technology is
driving a shift in global cultural transformation. The notion of the
nation-state as an entity is under serious review. The individual is becoming
increasingly a municipality of one. Economic theories that assumed finite
physical boundaries have ruined today’s global economy. African thinkers should
be part of the conversation, and visioning a robust future for Africa. Even as
we confront the West, we must also engage in honest conversations among
ourselves about our contribution to this mess. Those that rubbish Africa’s name
today are not just white folks; black on black carnage is the rage of the day
in Africa. Our leaders are openly savaging Africa; let us turn our rage on
them.

This is not a review but a commentary on how Knopf conducts its business of
publishing books. As technology continues to democratise and individualise
creative expression traditional publishing houses will be tempted to employ
gimmickry to rescue them from what they imagine is a looming irrelevance.

It doesn’t have to be so. There are challenges indeed but opportunities
abound to use technology to showcase the talents and gifts of emerging and
established writers. The unintended consequence of recycling the dated ideas of
thinkers is to trivialise their legacy. That would be unfortunate and
unforgivable. Achebe deserves better. These essays are merely words that clothe
him in the silence of the bereaved. We must respect it, but as a child that
grew up at the Eagle’s feet lapping up his every word, this silence hurts.
Speak, speak to us great teacher.

Ike Oguine’s A
Squatter’s Tale ought to be required reading for anyone interested in
the Nigerian immigrant experience in Europe and America. This is an
important book; and it is a shame that Heinemann, the publisher, did
not seem to have aggressively advertised and marketed it. Lesser books
have sold for buckets of money, thanks to the wonders of marketing
hype. It would be a crime if Oguine’s novel was not re-packaged and
re-issued by a more assertive publisher.

A Squatter’s Tale
is a work of dark genius that cobbles together a riotous story that
gets your heart pumping every step of the way. This is a fast-paced
work that takes your emotions for an unforgettable ride. The main
character Obi is a cynical, unrepentant jerk with few redeeming traits.
Obi leads a cast of misfits in a story that would have been improbable
if not that we all to varying degrees live it daily. Obi comes across
as a sneering genius of a beast too self-absorbed and jaded to see joy
in anything. He is also cursed with a heart that is allergic to
affections except maybe for those of his girlfriend Robo.

Obi’s odyssey to
America starts with the visit of his US-based Uncle Happiness to
Nigeria. Happiness is a jolly fellow of many dreams and schemes, all of
them unrealistic and unattainable. When Happiness arrives in from
California, for young Obi, it is a time of joy, lovely stories and
gifts. Happiness regales Obi, and whomever else is listening, with
tales of America – that land flowing with an abundance of everything
from milk, to dollars and as it turns out, oodles of lies. He showers
attention and gifts on young Obi and in between mouthfuls of
made-in-America roasted turkey and chicken, Obi dreams of someday
landing in that nirvana called America.

He ends up in
America alright, but it is not the America of his dreams. It is the
America of his nightmares. America is harsh on Obi and every immigrant
of colour that Obi encounters. In Uncle Happiness’s apartment, he is
dismayed by the lies, hopelessness and despair that taunt his uncle’s
wretched existence. Oguine offers an exquisite analysis of acute,
painfully felt dislocation from one’s own culture. The result is a
character-fest of sad caricatures furtively living a lie either in
Lagos or in Oakland, California.

Obi went to America, in his own words,
to seek success, not to keep company with failure. In the end he kept a
lot of company with failure. The book’s enduring appeal is in how it
seamlessly showcases the universality of the lies that people
perpetuate just to live a lie on either side of the Atlantic. Happiness
says of America, “This country turns you into a liar and a thief, or
maybe we are all already liars and thieves and this country just
provides you with many opportunities to do those things.”

I am blown away by
the book’s honesty and fearlessness. For instance, Oguine touches upon
a seldom discussed topic – prejudice against African Americans by
African immigrants. Obi observes that the African immigrant sometimes
exhibits as much prejudice towards his African American cousin as the
worst white racist and he offers several anecdotes to support this. The
prejudice cuts both ways; African Americans have been known to exhibit
similar prejudices towards immigrants.

As cynical as the
book comes across, it is not far from reality. In Oguine’s book, we see
what happens when free enterprise is layered on a rickety structure of
governance. The result is capitalism of the worst sort, of a swarm of
locusts engaged in self immolation – a relentless march of self
destruction ravaging and raping the heart and soul of a once proud
people. We see this in Oguine’s Nigeria and in his America. In the end,
only the weak are left standing, shivering under the weight of a
merciless hurricane. The strong are sheltered in the warmth of their
big houses, snickering in their white neighbourhoods.

A Squatter’s Tale is a must read. Written awhile back, it remains an
important book – a powerful time-stamp of a never-ending period of loss
and despair, not only in Nigeria, but in the Diaspora. The author
captures with startling effectiveness the hollowness, the lack of an
ideology, the me-ism, the hollow yearning for materialism that never
seems to satisfy, and the tragicomedy of timid attempts at
mainstreaming and social integration in an alien land. Oguine steps out
smartly, out of the shadows to deliver a stinging indictment of the
state of our being in Nigeria and in the Diaspora. And then he steps
back into the shadows as swiftly as he came. May this brilliant comet
return to taunt our conscience with the truth of our condition