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
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