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.  

Visiting Karen

“To be lonely is a state of mind, something completely other than physical solitude; when modern authors rant about the soul’s intolerable loneliness, it is only proof of their own intolerable emptiness.” – Karen Blixen (Out of Africa, 1937)

 

IMG_0167IMG_0178IMG_0179IMG_0184 IMG_0185 IMG_0147Last October, during my visit to Nairobi, I convinced a few friends to take me to see the Karen Blixen’s house/museum. But because I’d also indicated that I’d like to see other interesting and “authentically Kenyan” places, whatever it meant, I was invited to visit the famous Giraffe Centre as well which, as it turns out, was in the same vicinity as the house where Karen Blixen stayed during the time recounted in her bestselling book Out of Africa (1937).

For a better report of our trip to the Giraffe Centre, you should read the account of one of my co-travellers, Nyambura Mutanyi, whose memory and attention to detail makes the retelling on her blog a delightful read. The Karen Blixen house and museum was what I had imagined it would look like: a large country house in the middle of a large, somnolent landscape. Ngong Hills, the most notable inanimate character in the novel (and in that area of Nairobi), was visible from afar, prominent for its many curves that reminds spectators of the knuckles on a fist.

Much of the history of the house has been preserved in a walk-through speech that one hears (or endures) from the house guide as one walks through the premises. You can’t take pictures within the house for fear – as the guide insists – of having plagiarists steal the idea and replicate some of its paintings and contents in some other place. Nothing in my insistence that a ban on photography is usually to prevent a damage to the artworks from camera flash impressed the guide. In any case, she had her orders and wouldn’t budge. She however promised to pass my message across to the management of the house in hopes of a policy review.

IMG_0192 IMG_0197 IMG_0207 IMG_0198IMG_0189 IMG_0212Karen Blixen, the Danish writer, born Baroness Karen von Blixen-Finecke, purchased the house with her husband in 1917 (during WW1). The house itself was built five years earlier by the Swedish engineer Åke Sjögren. It was donated to the Danish Government many years after she had left the place and returned to Denmark, and after her global bestseller Out of Africa put the house, Nairobi, and the people who live around Ngong Hills in public consciousness. The Danish Government, in turn, returned the house to the Kenyan Government as an Independence gift in 1964 after her death.

One of the most fascinating discoveries I made about her life is the fact that she was nominated for the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1962, which was won by John Steinbeck, and could perhaps have won it later had she not died later that year (of Syphillis-related ilness). The suburb of Nairobi where her coffee farm (and house) were sited has now been named “Karen” in her honour.

Writer Sightings: Pius Adesanmi and Efe Paul Azino

http://writersightings.tumblr.com/post/134194627235/in-an-animated-discussion-here-last-week-at-the