Browsing ktravula – a travelogue! blog archives for November, 2009.

What I Learnt This Week

All my students agreed, to my utmost discomfiture, that the Nigerian musician Lágbájá reminds them in some way of the Klu Klux Klan, even though his costume is neither white, nor as creepy. I wasn’t aware of this, and I had come to class with his most recent video, and a few others, as pointers to an authentic Nigerian musical art form popularized by this masquerade of a man.

“Does he ever show his face?”

No.

“Do people know who he is?”

Yes.

“Is he ever going to take his mask off?”

I don’t know.

And in actual fact, I didn’t. The brand that is Lágbájá has come to be defined by his invisibility, woven into the Yoruba’s mask as a form of cultural expression, along with the namelessness that Lagbaja represents. Lágbájá is a placeholder in Yoruba that means anyone of “anybody”, “nobody”, “everybody” and “somebody”.

In the end, all that mattered was that the students were exposed in some way to a form of artistic expression that both Yorubas and non-Yorubas are proud of as representative of creativity, and art. But that reference to the KKK, by both White and Black students of the class flipped me, and got me wondering just how much we take for granted because of our distance from the scene of events. It wasn’t so much of a consolation that the concept of Lágbájá is the farthest possible kind to that of hate-mongering, racism and intolerance.

Poem for Pumpkin

I miss her when she’s gone. She has the shrillest voice around

A smile so piercing, laughter so fluid, and a most charming sound.031020091506

There she is on the white wall, like a doll, staring my cold away,

and texts, like words, move my stone mind like music did today.

And not just flesh at this moment, a virtual soothing thought

stares gently back, half removed by not just a large pond, but like a dot.

I will put my feet to test, seeking the corridors of a winding maze

to bring her out. It is lonesome now without the thrill of her chase.

Without the petting that I seek, without the pat of her doting hand,

I swoon only with her stare from this wall, her charming face, and

the only thing I hold are rounds of rumbling laughter – it is the joy

but it is also a peeping-eyed hug of a less harming kind. She’s the coy

muse of my long distant nights. She’s the round and wingless muse

of lines that form with one closed eye. A love from the depth of snooze.

My Berlin Wall

IMG_1747IMG_1761IMG_1725IMG_1727IMG_1733IMG_1750IMG_1749IMG_1752IMG_1728IMG_1738IMG_1746IMG_1793IMG_1758Today, after a spell of indecision and procrastination, I finally got the spray paint and headed to the Wall to make it mine. It didn’t take too long, and it wasn’t too hard. And in the end, I didn’t get any more creative than I already got before. As none of the readers of the last post gave me sufficient ideas, and I never successfully resolved my language conflict, I ended up writing it in German, in the shortest possible way as allowed by the thinning white paint.

A few other words already sprayed on the wall include: “Palestine,” “JFK war hier,” “We love our troops: Bring them home,” “Love”, “Chelsea”, “Revolution”, “SPEAC”, and a moving, notable one: “Wir sind ein folk”, which means in English, “We are one people.”

And thus today, the Berlin Wall, also became mine. But at the end, I wished that there was something else less vain than “ktravula war hier” that I could have written there. Maybe simply,  #lightupnigeria, or “Jolaadé”. Oh well, that’s an idea for another day. Time to pack my bags. Chicago calls.

Our Berlin Wall

IMG_1587And so today marks the twentieth year of the demolition of the Berlin Wall in Germany. To commemorate it on campus, the German arm of the Foreign Languages Department in which I work have unveiled a public art exhibition featuring texts, artworks, pictures, history, (German) music, and most notably a miniature replica of the old Wall. Constructed with wood, and strategically placed at a publicly accessible spot on campus, the “wall” already randomly graffitied stands today both as a reminder of the historic day, as well as the ingenuity of the Department of Foreign Languages, especially of Belinda Carstens – the head of the department who is also a professor of German. Along with the chance to take pictures with the “wall”, students have been encouraged to spray-paint the wall and decorate it with their own graffitis as they see fit, just like was done with the real Wall in those days by angry Berliners and rebels who wanted it torn down. Needless to say, the over twenty feet long wall is already a notable piece of attraction on campus, and will be till the end of the week.

Here are a few of the pictures I took today, along with Catherine Xavier, an Indian member of the department. The exhibition will be open every day for the rest of this week, and there will be paint brushes and paints for each visitor to use to their artistic advantage on the symbolic representation of the old wall.

IMG_1649But amidst my excitement to be here at this moment in time, here’s a dilemma I face: I can’t yet figure what I want to write on this wall. Prof Doug Simms of the deparment had taken his time today to draw on it a sickle and a hammer (the old symbol of communism) turned upside down, like it was on the old wall, according to him. A few of the other graffitis on this “wall” reflect each painter’s own sensibilities, and not always related to the politics of the Wall itself. So here I am, thinking (or asking YOU, as the case may be) that when I go back there tomorrow with a brush and paint in hand, what other creative texts or symbols (in any language) should I be writing on this remade wall from twenty years ago beside the obvious personal statement in my mind at this moment which simply reads, in German: “ktravula war hier“?

More International Night Photos

IMG_1263IMG_1264IMG_1273IMG_1275IMG_1286IMG_1287IMG_1290IMG_1297IMG_1302IMG_1320IMG_1331IMG_1307IMG_1323IMG_1276IMG_1329IMG_1350IMG_1374IMG_1359IMG_1411IMG_1498Here are the final set of photos taken at the International Night celebration of cultures here on campus. It’s an annual event featuring drama, songs, dance and food from different parts of the world. Visitors also came from different parts of the country for the event that has become famous for its diversity. The roll call of countries featured either in the programme’s activities, food menu, or the guest list of where the visitors came from includes but is not limited to Nigeria, Israel, Egypt, Iran, Benin, Cameroon, Ghana, Ivory Coast, Germany, France, India, Kenya, Palestine, Phillipines, Nepal, England, Spain and Turkey.

Needless to say, it was an enchanting night of beautiful people, beautiful performances and beautiful food. A notable member of the audience was Nigerian poet Obi Nwakama whom I was meeting however briefly for the first time.

The next big programme of this magnitude will take place next March. It is the African Student’s Night, and from what I hear, it will be (almost) just as grand as this one, and I look forward to it. But even if I miss it inevitably, I will retain the image from this event where a masquerade from West Africa showed up on an American stage and captivated the audience with energetic dance steps for more than twenty minutes. Of all the beautiful performances of the night, there was no denying the colour and energy of the African masquerade, even on a foreign soil.