Coronation Colours

IMG_1572 IMG_1382 IMG_1384 IMG_1415 IMG_1422 IMG_1432 IMG_1434 IMG_1483 2015-12-07 13.38.172015-12-07 08.26.45 2015-12-07 08.26.48 2015-12-07 13.45.55-1IMG_1508IMG_1430The city of Ifẹ̀ and environs wore a festive look all through the weekend. You couldn’t expect less for the coronation of the Ọọ̀ni, the spiritual head of all Yorùbá, Ọba Adéyẹyè Ẹniìtàn Ògúnwùsì (whom we last met here as an energetic tour guide of his expansive resort in Lagos). For one moment on Monday, everyone who was anyone in the Yorùbá nation was going to be around to celebrate one man as he receives his staff of office, officially, from the governor of the state: a mostly ceremonial occasion as the real “coronation” has been performed in the form of rituals and rites over the last couple of weeks.

On the way to Ilé-Ifẹ̀, I pondered the unpredictable creativity of life. I’d visited the town a number of times as a student, as a visitor, as a tourist, and as a passer-by on the way to somewhere else. On this visit, I was visiting as family, to celebrate a man I’d called “Brother Yẹyè” while we grew up in Akóbọ, Ibàdàn, in the eighties, and whose only daughter is my oldest niece. It brought new meaning to serendipity, interconnectedness, and certainly to the dynamics of family. It was also a nice reunion with other friends and family from far and wide who had come to honour he who will now be called our king, Ọba Adéyẹyè Ẹniìtàn Babátúndé Ògúnwùsì, the 51st Ọọ̀ni of Ifẹ, and successor to the throne of Odùduwà.

Late Sunday evening, along with a number of royal guests, the Ọọ̀ni flagged off his new Ifẹ̀ Grand Resorts construction project at a location on the outskirts of town, with loud fireworks and a cultural display. The aim is to replicate the success of the Lagos equivalent, and turning the city into a tourist destination. The resort, according to him, is one of many planned projects to give the ancient town a modern look while also providing employment for the youths.

These are a few photos from the weekend.

Here’s to a long and successful reign for the king over Ifẹ̀ and all of the Yorùbá nation. Here’s also to a subsequent return to the town – for me – at a less crowded time in order to properly appreciate the architecture and expanse of the palace and surrounding areas, and perhaps the thinking of the man himself now tossed into the global spotlight with an enormous crown over an ancient institution.

At the Screening of Femi Amogunla’s “The Bargain”

ajankorodugbe performingAbiade OlawanleOn Friday December 4, 2015, film lovers gathered for the screening of Firm Media Production’s short film The Bargain. The film screening was part of the commemoration of the annual United Nations 16 Days activism against Gender-based Violence. The film screening opened up a well of stories about domestic violence.

Story One. Multimedia artiste and the producer of the film, Fẹ́mi Amógunlà introduced his project—a media project on gender based violence. He shared stories of various women through his photography, pictures that he still shares every day until December 10. He had taken various pictures of different women in different situations and asked their opinion on gender based violence. These faces, these issues, these stories set the tone for the many stories that would be shared during the day.


IMG_7113Ifeoluwa AdeniyiUsman Ogunlade aka Blackky_director of the filmL-R_Ifeoluwa Adeniyi_Olayinka Egbokhare_Soji ColeStory Two. The main character in the film, a woman experienced violence from childhood through adulthood. The film is in fact this character’s narration, of her experience, of the different lessons that women should learn. First lesson: as a woman, never respond. Second lesson: never out on a man. Third lesson: as a woman, you never struggle. Take everything lying low. Fourth lesson: As a woman, you should never grow too big. Never let your career grow big enough to shrink your husband’s balls. These lessons are from the book of society.

Story Three. Abíádé Oláwànlé, the founder of Humans of Substance Empowerment Initiative, a non-profit based in Ibadan shared her experience in an abusive marriage. She had married as a virgin with high expectations—and that did not include a divorce. Hers is also a story of courage, to walk out of abuse. Abíádé’s talk put the statistics of domestic violence in flesh and blood.

Edem Ossai&Laolu Ogunniyi&Guest“My ex agreed not to beat me but he abused me in every other way. I expected people to tell me to take my life into my own hands but they told me to endure. So, I stayed but when I knew that I wouldn’t get the church or the society’s approval, I packed my bags and I have never gone back.” Abíádé said that once violence starts, the victim has a role to play to break the chain—for there to be an abuse, there must be an abused.

Story Four. Dr. Oláyínká Egbokhare, a lecturer at the Faculty of Arts gave a sobering presentation that “simplified” the complexity of abuse, especially among young people.

“Some people even partake in abuse without knowing it.” She says that it is important to talk about the issues. She interspersed her presentation with stories: of a man who perpetually abused his wife who worked at UCH; of how he killed her and committed suicide after the act, leaving their four children as orphans. She reminded the audience of the story of the banker who was stabbed to death by her husband. She told the story of how she used to admire a couple that always wore anko, same clothes. Only for the wife to show her the fresh wounds beneath her gorgeous bùbá lace one day. If abuse must stop, everyone must be ready to be called a rabble-rouser, she said.

Edem Ossai“How many of you are willing to be accused of asking a married woman to leave her husband’s house?” She asked as she buttressed her point on the challenge that comes with change.

After the presentations, the other members of the panel: lecturer and only male panelist, Sọjí Cole; OAP and author, Ifẹ́olúwapọ̀ Adéníyì and lawyer, Edem Ossai engaged the issues. What role does culture play when it comes to violence? What do parents need to do to prevent their children experiencing sexual abuse? What needs to change?

Sọjí Cole called for shared responsibility. Male and female, husband and wife, are responsible for what their families and the society become. This should come into play even in the way chores are shared in the house. Cole who has been married for four years says he washes clothes in his house.

Ifẹ́olúwapọ̀ Adéníyì brought the issue into perspective by showing that not just men are culpable of violence against women. “How about the pain that women bring on other women? Who are the mothers-in-law maltreating their daughters-in-law? Who are the husbands maltreating their wives?” She queried. Her point: abusers are not ghosts; they are male and female.

audieceEdem Ossai emphasised the role of the society. It is not only in marriages. Teachers are abusing students. House girls are abusing house boys. Fathers are abusing their daughters. Rather than deal with the issues, we blame the victim and ask, in case of sexual abuse: what was she doing there? What was she wearing? Failure of the law at punishing violence in the Nigerian society also makes abuse thrive. “If you have to run to a judge who himself is an abuser, what do you do?” Ossai stressed the importance of parents being more watchful when raising their children; it is important to raise children who respect all human beings, male and female.

It is not enough to talk about these stories without action. The film screening ended in the afternoon but with once certain thing—with more programmes like this, Nigerians will begin to see gender-based violence the way it is. They will begin to see that it is a mindset, steeped in years of repeated action, and that it can stop. That it is not about bargaining with words; but it will take everyone, male and female, one small action at a time, to stop it.

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Report sent from Ìbàdàn

Ideas of Identity

IMG_4054A BBC Radio 4 feature on Nigerian writing today, with a focus on the diverse ways in which Nigerian writers are interrogating identity, aired today at 12.30pm Lagos Time. The theme was Ideas of Identity.

Along with other contemporary Nigerian writers, I was interviewed on my work in Yorùbá and on the dearth of literature in the local language in the country today.

You can listen to it here. The programme was produced by Jeremy Grange (who himself is passionate about the resurgence of local languages – Welsh in particular – in his native country), recorded in September 2015, and narrated by Wana Udobang.

MultiChoice Dinner and the Sub-Desk

IMG_8224 IMG_8234 IMG_8236 IMG_8353 IMG_8355 IMG_8364 IMG_8432 IMG_8511 IMG_8598IMG_8398 IMG_8426 IMG_8478 IMG_8646IMG_8651 IMG_8593 IMG_8602 IMG_8609Last week Friday, I was at the home-welcoming party organised by MultiChoice Nigeria for the five Nigerian contingents/nominees at the 2015 African Journalist Awards in Nairobi, Kenya. It was a get-together dinner with veteran journalists in the country and a chance to review the state of journalism in Nigeria, discuss the problems that need solving, and appreciate us, the contingents, for “making the country proud.”  The event held at The Regent hotel in Ikeja and had in attendance all the five Nigerian nominees (out of which four won in their categories) Wálé Ẹmósù (Tribune), Ibanga Isine (Premium Times), Fẹ́mi Asu (Punch), Arukaino Umokoro (Punch) and yours truly. Also present were editors of The New Telegraph (Yẹmí Àjàyí), The Nation (Festus Eriye), Business Day (Philip Isakpa), The Guardian (Martins Ọlọ́jà), The Punch (Martin Ayankọ́lá), and other journalists and friends.

Speaking first after necessary introductions by the MC, Mr. Jenkins Alumona, the MD of MultiChoice Mr. John Ugbe spoke of the dedication of his company to the sustenance of good journalistic practice in Nigeria. He spoke particularly of his new-found fascination with what is called the sub-desk in media houses where news stories are doubly and triply vetted by dedicated editors before publication, as a way of ensuring quality of the feature in terms of grammar and facts. Responding to the charge, each of the editors present spoke to their experience with the sub-desk and how important it was in making them into the kind of writers they became. They also spoke of the unfortunate disappearance of the desk in today’s media houses because editors no longer want to spend money to maintain it or because journalists don’t find the work done there as “juicy” or exciting. The consensus, however, seemed to be that something drastic needs to be done to get the quality of writing in Nigerian newspaper up to global standard.

As a blogger with no allegiance to any particular editor-in-chief but myself and self-selected critical (but competent) friends, the discussion intrigued me and I said so. The idea, thrown up by the Multichoice MD, of organising an annual workshop for all nominees for the CNN/Multichoice Awards, before the awards, as a way of contributing to the development of the journalistic practice in the country is a good one and should be applauded. I agree that it will lead to increased competence by all concerned. It will also add a bigger purpose to the annual event that is mostly celebratory. Something else that will greatly help – which I should probably have brought up when I had the chance on Friday – is an annual training of Nigerian journalists on plagiarism, how to avoid it and how to operate by global best practices regarding fair use of other people’s intellectual materials. I’ve been a victim of plagiarism by print media organisations a few times, as have many of my friends. It’s not something that should continue.

When responses were allowed, one of us, Ibanga Isine, challenged the editors present to also get off their butts. Rather than point fingers at what’s going wrong in the practice, they should also get out into the field and file reports like everyone else like they used to before they became content as title holders of “editor” positions. It is a sentiment I wholeheartedly support. The benefit I have, as a blogger, is the opportunity to be a reporter and an editor at the same time. Most media houses today have editors who do neither editing nor reporting, but merely sit down and earn heavy pay and a title that opens doors for them with no added benefit for the newspaper or the profession. In all, it was a warm and stimulating evening sharing ideas and listening to the veterans of the profession interact at close quarters.

After all the talk, we settled down for a nice dinner, after which the MD of Multichoice presented us with a free DSTV Explora decoder set with free three months subscription. That was nice. I’ve never been a cable person, but I’m now about to give it a try. I thank them.

 

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(Photo credit: Multichoice)

Beneath the Black Ass is a Continent

6P8uiwq6IP7VBztiTzkidMbNB0_EVBxL0iSszg5nhTafmucMvgpHWMuD-A1XcJm9qL_sKRR1u20ZeoWuZvFJX48dSZ-p6R0PmwMFujehUrVA4eXnBKsYdewIFZ8UstUsrZlbVTu00cxf4fdeafVgmjE4=w310-h474-ncTitle of the Novel : BlackAss

Author: A. Igoni Barrett

Nos of Pages: 302

Publisher: Kachifo Limited. 2015 (Under its Farafina imprint)

Review by Femi Morgan                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             ___                                              

Furo Wariboko wakes up and begins to come to terms with his new identity. He was a black man yesterday and he is a white man today. Furo is born again without confessing away his blackness totally, his black ass is the constant reminder of the disappeared melanin. This Kafkaesque novel is about the metamorphosis of not only Furo but also Furo’s people in a postcolonial state.

Furo lives in a cosmopolitan landscape which despite its aspiration to compete with its western counterpart fails in the infrastructural, socioeconomic decimals of true metropolis. The author splendidly subdivides Lagos using the perspective of exotic prediclection towards white people. The people who live in Ẹgbẹ́dá, where Furo lives, are not conversant with a white man walking on the streets and hustling up and down.  Furo, therefore must find a way to escape the eyes of people. Areas like Victoria Island and Lekki have white people jogging in the early hours of the morning. White people live within these scapes as expatriates, government personnel and as facilitators of linking the values of the west in the globalisation project of Africa. Igoni Barret captures the nuances of Lagos most accurately. He spares no time in explaining the rich as well as the struggling transits of the city. His exposition on Lagos is successful because it is a subtle brush on the landscaping of the exciting narration.

Furo begins to receive an umbrage of responses to his new personality. A white man is shown exceptional favour at the detriment of a fellow black man, a white man conveys the aspiration of so many poor Africans and therefore taxi men and transporters hope to get a piece of the dollar-pie by jerking up the price. Many people hold conversations with him, asking him about the places he has never been, the places in Europe and America.

Furo is a white man with a black soul. He is expected to negotiate this displacement of identity with a certain ingenuity that may make or mar him. These postcolonial reactions of reverence, of hate, of anger and of fear stem from a deep postcolonial malaise that has been enhanced by stories of the great west as against the low global north. Thus the author satires Africa, it is a continent that kneels in the presence of its western personas.

The thirty-three year old Furo earns a job that he had sought for 10 years. He is given the benefit of doubt when he bungles a crucial question at an interview and he is placed in a rather uppity position in Haba! a failing enterprise, because of his white status. Arinze, the CEO of Haba! says in an interview with Furo, ‘I will be frank with you, we need a man like you in the team’.  Meanwhile, despite the change of skin and hair, Furo is a typical Nigerian. He hardly reads for leisure or for self-education, he is an educated ‘good for nothing’, a half-literate whose chances in life has improved not because he is intelligent but because he is now white. Yet, his Nigerianness haunts him, he is an African who is unable to reach the fullest of his potential, he is an educated rag who is fighting a ‘postcolonial war’ that has long been lost.

I do sympathise with Furo because I realise that the older one gets, the more he realises that he has shed those dreams and gifts of his childhood. A jobless 33-year-old will often be misunderstood because he has not crossed the essential threshold set by society. In Nigeria, a child is like a cheque that must never bounce, he must make the parents proud and must become the symbol of ancestral progress. 

Furo understands that no family member will understand his metamorphosis and this leads to his departure from home. He struggles with his new identity, the necessity for departure and the nostalgia of motherly love. Mothers subtly own their children by sheer investment, so much that they become the essential mention in the cannon of one’s personal narrative. Furo’s father is typical. A man overwhelmed by failures, losing his pride as he tries to be faithful to his family. The novel explains that despite his dehumanisation by circumstances beyond his control, his staying will be vindicated in the memories of the hereafter. Furo’s father lives by a certain mechanical routine of hopelessness, a television addiction and a dictatorship that stems from his inability to provide for his family. These postcolonial times calls manhood to question, the manhood is shrivelled because it often times has failed to be successful and has failed to meet the expectations of family and friends.

Now a white man wants to eat fufu at a buka for disoriented black people. It reminds me of Bright Chimezie’s song about the musician eating Akpu in the streets of London. The Europeans invited the police to rescue Chimezie from committing Suicide. Furo is a victim of the eczema of modernisation, yet he is watched as a circus, while he expertly swallows lumps of fufu. He is favoured against his fellow black man with an extra meat for his exotic performance.

Igoni is a splendid storyteller whose sense of observation leads his story to those existential paradigms that we often fail to acknowledge. He is not preachy, not assertive, he tells a story that pulls you in. Igoni’s work is a classic, a story that stays in your subconscious and becomes part of your memory. You walk the streets with Furo, you experience the sun shining on his face, you make love to Sycreeta, you become his alter ego. You ask yourself, is it better to live an interesting, conspiratorial life than to live a life of a cockroach?

Igoni brings to fore a new prism of narrative for contemporary writing, it is close to reality because the conversations transit between the cadences of English, popular lingo, tweet-speak and introspective expressionism. Igoni’s prose gives the reader an impression that storytelling is an easy craft, but a second look at how he wields the story and how he brings himself into the story, you realise that Igoni has painted a monumental Chiaroscuro with words. He tells a story of a failed cosmopolitan ideal as he creates parallels and binary oppositions that make the work come alive. Sycreeta and Tósìn are women who want different things from Furo, Arinze and Yuguda, Lagos and Abuja, Furo and Frank Whyte, black and white. Igoni is not the storyteller in the book, ‘he’ is in the novel, changing to a ‘she’ with a dick between her legs. Nevertheless, I come to glean the authorial intrusion of the writer whenever he postulates about existential ideas in the novel. This however is a trademark of the many classic novels that predicates on explaining the workings of modernity and life, like James Joyce’s A Portrait of An Artist As A Young Man and Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis.

There is a realistic sense in which many of the characters are trying to transition from a certain physchological in-betwenness to a full knowledge of their persona or an attempt at accomplishing their dreams . The reader becomes aware of the way of the world from the novel. The things we shy away from using the veneer of religiosity are challenged by the comprehensible raison d’etre of the characters. There is Sycreeta who understands the prize of a white man’s worth and plays a game to win, there is Yuguda, Arinze and others who realise the impressions that a white man can bring to their firms, their NGOs and Ad Agency.  So the jobless 33 year old becomes the most sought after. There is Victor Ikhide and Ehikhamenor in the novel, a resonance of reality meeting fiction. Ehikhamenor retains the high status of being an artist while Victor Ikhide is a talkative, loud-mouthed driver. Yuguda is clearly the Dangote of the novel.

Furo’s changes is in continuum, he becomes more opportunistic and begins to negotiate his identity and to create the money spinning perception that lands him a better deal. Furo tries to be complete in his whiteness but it is left to Igoni to let him achieve his new ambitions as a white man.     

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Femi Morgan is the co-curator of Artmosphere, a leading Arts and Culture event in Nigeria and a co-publisher at WriteHouse Collective. He is a co-recipient of the 234Next Fashion Copy Prize and was longlisted for the BN Poetry Prize in 2015.