THE FEMALE SANGOMA

BY OMOSEYE BOLAJI

Strange barmy weather had held sway that day in South Africa. Despite the fact that we were in the heart of summer, the weather had not only been intensely cold, but a chilly wind punctuated the ambience. But life must go on; and people were clad in their overcoats, leatherjackets etc as they went about their usual work.

One of the female workers in my South African office entered my room and there was a stricken, strange expression on her face. “You have a visitor,” she said.

I grinned. “You don’t need to look too haunted about it,” I joked. “You look like Lady Macbeth! What’s so special about this visitor? Is it the weatherman with more dollops of horror?”

She now smiled. “You won’t believe it. You must see for yourself. Do you remember Julia who used to frequent this office, selling assorted meals? The pretty young lady?”

“Of course I remember her,” I said “I haven’t seen her for a few months. So she wants to see me…there’s nothing special about that. Bring her in,”

“Well, don’t be too surprised when you see her now,” she said. “I’ll tell her to enter your office…” In a very short while a woman entered my office. It was the same Julia, yet not quite the same Julia we had known for a long time!

What the hell is this! I found myself thinking, in unseemly fashion, as she entered, face wreathed in smiles. She waited for the customary hug, which I was reluctant to indulge in this time around. With prescience, she said: “Are you afraid of me now?” There was a big smile on her lovely face.

Was I! I knew about sangomas, traditional doctors or healers; but I had never actually gone to their arcane offices. It was clear enough that Julia, incredibly was now a female sangoma! She was fully dressed, and looked like one. How could this metamorphosis have happened? But there was no doubt about it: the girl wore the traditional attire, and had all the intimidating trimmings; to summarise, the numinous imprints on her face and body. Indigo. Camwood. Intriguing casque. Filigreed...beads across her head, wrists, feet. And barefooted to boot in the heart of toropo! (the city)

Seeing how shocked I was, she hugged me, and presently seated she explained: “Yes this is a surprise to so many people. They cannot believe I am now a sangoma, and an authentic one! That’s why I disappeared for a few months. I was undergoing the full traditional training in the bush, the forest. It was not easy. The wild animals were there. We had to be vey disciplined, listen to our ancestors and the spirits. You appreciate I can not go into details. Suffice it to say I am now a rather full-fledged sangoma,” She smiled and I appreciated once again – in my old age - how attractive she was.

She added: “It’s a pity sometimes, when the spirit enters me. I go into intermittent trances. I see visions, let’s say premonitions. Sadly, it might be visions of a tragedy about to befall someone,”

I winced. Had she seen a negative vision as regards me? She laughed, reading my mind again. “Don’t be afraid. I am not here because of any visions. I just came to visit you socially, to invite you out for lunch. I hope you’ll accept,”

How could I refuse? After all, I was sort of creating history for myself – my first ever lunch with a veritable sangoma!!

The Unsung Literary Catalysts

(Above) Ulli Beier

By O BOLAJI

As literature, local, national, and African, grows by leaps and bounds perhaps it is apposite that some sort of tribute should be paid to the unsung heroes, the literary catalysts (who are also often accomplished writers) who have done so much to boost literature in Africa.

We are not referring to established, celebrated writers here; nay, such vibrant literary catalysts often lurk in the background, doing great, coruscating things but remain essentially unknown in the main. They are often exceedingly selfless men and women performing wonders in this niche.

Nor are they exclusively black. Two outstanding examples of whites who did wonders for African creative writing were David Cook and Ulli Beier. Both of them were from European backgrounds but fell in love with Eastern and Western Africa respectively, providing a fillip for Black writing dating from the 60s! Prof Cook was a mentor for a number of now world class African writers who hailed from east Africa, including the illustrious Ngugi wa Thiong’o.

The exploits of Ulli Beier were even more astonishing. From his west African base decades ago he not only nurtured, encouraged and edited the works of many of Africa’s initial key black writers – he actually published their early works in book form. Unbelievably, authors he put on their feet (and published) included Nobel award winner (for literature) Wole Soyinka, J.P Clark (dramatist and poet), Kofi Awoonor (poet, essayist, and novelist), and Gambia's literary great, Lenrie Peters. Beier also published books written by South African greats like Es’kia Mphahlele, Denis Brutus and Alex La Guma.

By the time Ben Mtobwa emerged from East Africa (Tanzania-born), African literature was already ensconced world-wide. Mtobwa was to bring literature even closer to the people in his region, publishing interesting books mainly in the indigenous languages there (especially Swahili), and encouraging others to relish the world of reading and writing. This he did as a director of an important Publishing House, and also via a popular peoples’-oriented newspaper.

His achievements have been mirrored in South Africa here by the indomitable Vonani Bila, who from his Limpopo base has pulled off a string of literary achievements. Apart from the books he has published over the years, he has orchestrated (through his Timbila project) incredibly prolific outlets for many Black poets and writers to get their works published in book form. Bila is a quintessential literary activist who continues to make his mark.

As Tiisetso Thiba, poet and literary commentator says: “We (Black South Africans) have been lucky that despite the fact that we had no guidance before as regards literature, this is no longer the case. For those of us who are poetry lovers in particular, we have witnessed a boon with so many multi-faceted talented poets from the grassroots level. Their works, and exploits, are celebrated via the internet, books, journals, and popular newspapers now,”

In the Free State here, whilst acknowledging impressive progress made in recent times, enough recognition has not been given to such “unsung” literary activists. In fact it is arguable that one or two of such protagonists have not been recognised at all. Happily enough, the literary fraternity already realised the wonderful job a lady like Jacomien Schimper (a Director at Provincial Library Services) has done over the years in putting Free State Black Writing on the map.

Additionally, it is gratifying that in recent times there has been a clarion call among writers, especially literary critics and reviewers, to specifically acknowledge the awesome impact another lady, Alrina Le Roux has had in the literary sphere whilst apparently lurking in the shadows. An experienced Principal librarian for the FS Provincial Library Service, this is a lady who is regarded as a proficient repository of international and African literature, a skilful sympathetic editor, who has always encouraged sundry wordsmiths.

The well known Free State literary critic and essayist, Raphael Mokoena says: “It is about time I acknowledged my great debt to this wonderful lady (Alrina Le Roux). Many years ago in the Free State, I got to know about her regular profiles of authentic African writers…I went into the major libraries, to the Reference section etc and read all the articles she had published over the decades! I made photocopies of them and learnt a lot in the process. Alrina is a prodigious reader and her many profiles (in Free State Libraries journal) of the likes of Dambudzo Marechera, JM Coetzee, Sol Plaatje, Es’kia Mphahlele, Achebe etc, have belonged to the top drawer,”

Paul Lothane, another literary critic, agrees: “Nothing pleases me more than going through, and learning from the top-notch superb literary profiles painstakingly written by Mme Alrina Le Roux. She seems to be a reading machine! Those who have met her in the flesh agree on the same thing: she’s a wonderful, broad minded, kindly woman. No words can express our gratitude for what the so-called ‘unknowns’, like Mme Alrina have done for our writing,”

Kudos to all such unsung literary catalysts!

THE DELETERIOUS FUMES

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

“The unexpectedness of my daughter smoking gave me a shock. A woman’s mouth exhaling the acrid smell of tobacco, instead of being fragrant. A woman’s teeth blackened with tobacco instead of sparkling with whiteness…”

Mariama Ba, in the novel, So long a letter

Yes, let me admit it folks – I have always been biased against authentic black African women who have embraced the habit of smoking in rather prolific fashion. This despite the fact that in other countries, including South Africa I have dated in the past black women who smoked like chimneys! And of course I have countless friends, male and female, who smoke.

Perhaps my bias - or should we call it a predilection? – was stoked long ago whilst I was growing up in a quite decent middle class family in Nigeria where things like smoking – not to talk of taking alcohol – were completely unacceptable. Even when I entered the university at a very young age (Obafemi Awolowo University) and savoured the heady freedom of campus life, I could never bring myself to smoke a cigarette

To put it bluntly, during my years of youth the only black women in Nigeria who most of my generation thought smoked openly were hard-core prostitutes, the “hotel women’ who were utterly shameless, hard, brassy and calculating. Yes, every now and then some female “been-tos” were known to smoke licentiously, but by and large they were not really accepted as “part of the indigenous society”. Oh, how I hated those deleterious fumes of smoking!

But of course in a country like South Africa a very large number of people, including females smoke regularly. It is really nothing special here, though at least even many of my black friends here over the years are conservative enough to frown at this practice. “You know these things were brought by the white man, we don’t like our black women smoking too” many of them say.

It remains incongruous that most of us accept the fact that many white women are chain- smokers, consuming dozens of cigarettes every day and we don’t find it strange. Just because they are white! I can’t even begin to think of many white female friends of mine who smoke a lot. Somehow it does not look that unseemly when it is done by a white woman.

The coloureds (half-castes) in South Africa also have a justifiable reputation for smoking in proliferating fashion. It is not unusual to see such girls just approaching puberty (or shall we say in their early teens) already on the way to becoming most assiduous smokers here. It is just a way of life. Go to the ‘coloured/ townships and see for yourself....

The advent of winter in South Africa (which is often at its apogee from around June to August) sparks an increase in smoking, whether white, coloured or black. Apparently, smoking helps to stave off the cold – naively I can not vouch for this in my old age, since I have never smoked in my life!

Incredibly, even till date I still feel uneasy when so many of my black female acquaintances here are smoking, or rather when it is clear that they have just finished taking some puffs of the stick (this can be ascertained from the tell-tale smell, the tobacco whiff that surrounds them after a quick smoke in a corner!) To me there is something unreal, irritating, almost slap-stick about it. Do they really enjoy smoking?

Many of my male friends here would say: “You know our women, our black women, being in such close proximity to white women, coloured women, many times feel there is something ‘classy’ about smoking. Hence they start smoking surreptitiously too, and don’t even bother to hide this habit as time goes on. They will say that smoking ‘de-stresses’ them, whatever this means!”

On a lighter note, to round off this piece, as I was putting finishing touches here, a journalist friend of mine glanced through what I have written here and grimaced. A proudly Zulu (one of South Africa’s major tribes here) he chuntered: “Bathong! There is nothing I hate more than kissing the lips of a woman who smokes!”

ISHMAEL M. SOQAGA, essayist and writer wishes to comment thus:

"Smoking is not a white man's thing it has been here too i mean in
Africa, In traditional Xhosa women were and are still smoking thier
long pipe called UMBEKAPHESHELE). You can find them
in Covimvaba and Umthatha, Thembu Xhosa grannies are still smoking
even today. But nevertheless i agree with those who say smoking for
women is not good, even in traditional Xhosa women doesn't used it
like this young girls in township who smoke cigarette. Your letter is
fascinating, because our traditional Xhosa tobacco did not contain tar
and nicotine but is naturally from the ground..."

THE BELEAGUERED LADY

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

It was a quite satisfactory meal, and apparently as I ate with relish I was temporarily oblivious to the outside world. It was as if I was all alone at this cosy, small eatery!

Yet, someone was opposite me now across the table. A rather young lady who had been staring at me. As I put “finishing touches” to my dijo (food) I now looked up, and there she was, eyes fixed on me, almost accusingly. I recognised her. She was a lady acquaintance I rarely saw.

Now she said: “I didn’t want to disturb you by greeting you earlier. I could see you were really enjoying your food. You were in your own world! I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you now,”

My eyes shifted uneasily with some embarrassment. Her accent once again gave her away as “coloured” (half caste; mulatto). I muttered some words to the effect that she was not disturbing me. Then I tried to joke: “Actually it is my fault. I shouldn’t love food too much! That’s always been a weakness of mine!”

“Anyway,” she said. “I have been hoping to meet you for quite some time. I want to write a book, and I need your advice, and maybe your help – which I’ll appreciate. I want to write my autobiography,”

I winced. Instinctively, my mind went back to a book of Gerald Durrell’s we had studied at school, in Nigeria. Gerald’s brother, Larry (a writer) whilst young had sarcastically commented to a fellow writer who was writing an autobiography: “How young can one be before inflicting one’s autobiography on the world?”

But I said politely to the young, coloured South African lady now: “Aren’t you a bit too young to write an autobiography? You look like 25, 26 to me,”

“I’m 24,” she said. “So young people can not write about their lives? Even if they have something important to say?”

“So you believe at your young age you have a powerful message to readers?” I said.

She stared at me. “I think so. I want people to know we (ie women) can triumph against serious odds, or try to deal with horrific episodes. A few years ago I was raped by five, six men. It was a miracle they did not kill me. I was a virgin at the time. As a youngster, I experienced second-hand abuse as my step-father abused my mother horrendously and killed her in the end. I watched her die slowly,” I flinched, but she went on: “You might not know it, but I was married for over a year recently (We are divorced now). My man made me his punching bag everyday. Twice I tried to kill myself…don’t you think this is enough material for my autobiography?”

I was nodding my head, sympathising with her. So young and yet so beleaguered! How could she have been so unlucky in life? I was about to talk, but she added:

“Oh by the way, I am also Hiv/aids positive. I die slowly everyday. My life has not been easy. Do you still think I am not qualified to write the book?”

I said hoarsely: “You are more than qualified to write the book,”. My voice hardened. “And I’ll do all I can to help you with it,”

THE TROUGHS OF SPORTS

(Above) Former Eagles Coach, Samson Siasia - crestfallen

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

It was a nightmarish weekend for the hordes of sports lovers in South Africa, where millions of lovers of football and rugby were left scratching their heads in dire frustration. What could have happened? What kind of double blow was, this?

Yes, recently, it was a very important, pivotal weekend for the teeming sports lovers in South Africa and everyone was sure that all would go well. In football, all the national team, the Bafana Bafana had to do was defeat Sierra Leone at home (in South Africa) The same weekend the powerful Rugby side would play Australia in the quarter finals of the Rugby World Cup, and they will be on their way to the very finals.

Unfortunately, things did not go according to the plan. Incredibly, South Africa could not score even one goal against Sierra Leone, hardly a football powerhouse in the continent. The game ended in a 0-0 draw, but it still looked as if the Bafana Bafana might just have done enough to qualify for the finals, with Egypt doing them a favour by spanking their main rivals, Niger Republic 3-0.

In fact, the South Africans were celebrating with gusto after the draw with Sierra Leone, Players dancing and basking on the field of play; officials hugging each other with excitement; jubilant sports pundits patting each other on the back. Then news broke, that after all, with current CAF rules, South Africa had failed to qualify, the whole nation was thrown into mourning.

It was a devastating blow, but for many others, they still felt that the Springboks, the national rugby team, would put a smile on their faces in the Republic World Cup quarter finals. The first half against Australia saw South Africa trailing, but some ten minutes before the game ended, the Sprinkboks were leading, surely the semi final was beckoning.

Yet again, it was not to be. A back-breaking drop-goal from Australia ensured it was the Wallabies, Australians, that made it to the final.Another tragedy for South African sports. With many experienced rugby players retiring after the match; players whose dream was to grace the very final, Tears flowed. It was a double-whammy for South African sports; a horrific weekend.

Ironically, Nigeria would suffer the same fate, same weekend with the very painful inability of the Super Eagles to make it to the Nations Cup finals (2012). After all, for decades, Nigerians have been accustomed to accepting participation at every Nations Cup finals as a birthright. An understatement! For years on end, Nigeria not only played at such finals but almost always got to the finals, coming home with either bronze or silver. Now, not even an elementary qualification.

A combination of Niger and Sierra Leone ensured that South Africa missed out on the next Nations Cup finals. Guinea somehow turned the tables on Nigeria right there in Abuja. What disappointment and poignant melancholy for two supreme football loving nations.

As for the followers, many tried to drown their sorrows in their favourite watering holes, but can deflated emotions be washed away in such meretricious fashion?Millions of people are now asking: what would a Nations Cup finals be without giants like Nigeria, Egypt and Cameroon participating? A nightmare forthe organisers and marketers of course. Yet what happened provides a trenchant lesson in the face of complacency.

Ah well, such can be the troughs of sports!

DEON'S DEBUT WORK

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

Every so often in our continent, genuine, sterling literary talent emerges whether it is from Nigeria – a formidable land of literary aficionados – or South Africa here. These days, it is even easier to foretell the advent of such outstanding writers, thanks to improved technology like the internet.

Hence, there was no need to be a transcendental soothsayer to realise that South African writer, Deon-Simphiwe Skade has that special stuff that separates the wheat from the chaff as it were, in respect of literature. Over the last few years, Mr Skade, who is still a young man, has been churning out superb reviews of both books and music.

His perspicacious reviews were always far-removed from the mundane; he somehow fuses a great, avid knowledge of eclectic literature with philosophical divulgations and effusions, interspersed with what South Africans call Ubuntu (humaneness)

The corollary of this is that when Deon published his first book a week or so again in South Africa, there was some fizz, enthusiasm and delectation amidst the literary fraternity, both black and white. The pundits knew instinctively that the book would be good.

On my own part, I was preparing to get a copy for myself when I got a pleasant surprise from Deon. He had mailed a copy of his book to me from his Cape Town base the moment it was published! In his "artistic" way he called it "a belated birthday gift" for me! And how welcome and tantalising the gift was!

Meanwhile, the pundits were already burrowing into his book and essentially favourably reviewing his debut work. Deon’s book is a collection of well-written short stories jostling alongside complementary poems. Titles are: An old flame that went out, My Epidemic, your Epidemic, Last Night, It’s a Secret, Class Act, Her Attitude, His Face Others are - A Broken Man, Matters of the Heart, In Need, Yesterday, Suspension, Time Keeps Its Own Time, It never rains but Pours, and Our Today, The Future.

The disparate stories here are essentially told in the first person, with the author showing astonishing skill and empathy with his characters, male and female. Arguably, this reaches a peak in the story, Class Act.

The author is famed for his propensity to call himself a "dreamer" in real life; and dreams certainly loom large in this work. The pertinent question is: Are they successfully integrated into the warp and weft of the stories? Here, one might well be subjective, adumbrating the furore over the late Lenrie Peter’s work, The second round with its profusion of dream-like sequences...and of course, Ayi Kwei Armah’ s early classic, the Beautyful ones are not yet born.

Then there is the hilarious, finely written story, Last Night. It is also tinged with irony, and redolent with sexual undercurrents. And how’s this for a touch of the great D.H Lawrence:

"The moon watched us caress. It lit over the perfect world of perfect persons, a man and a beautiful woman under its unwinking stare and the stars who winked as if celebrating our glorious kiss. Table Mountain could have peeked over the balcony to witness us under the conspiratorial luminescence of the moon."

(Page 28, A Series of undesirable events)

As one would expect from a grammarian like the author, and a fastidious craftsman to boot, the book is well edited and immensely readable, with fine descriptions. How about “the ping-ping against the porcelain." "The gulp I took snailed down my throat as if it was a hard bubble constrained by meagre space preventing it to move downwards,"…

A very impressive debut work.

Basking In Global Rugby Fiesta!

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

Right now, the Rugby World Cup is going on in New Zealand, enthralling many millions around the world. The South Africans largely love the game of Rugby and have been resoundingly backing their national team, the Springboks, to do well at the tournament.

Yes, we know that by and large Rugby is not a popular game in Nigeria; very few are interested in the sport and it has been like that for donkey years. Any Nigerian Rugby squad will struggle to have any sort of sterling followership, this, despite the fact that Rugby is a global sport.

Of course a number of Nigerians brought up, or who have largely lived in European countries like Britain (England, Scotland, Wales...) France, Italy, Ireland, might have some interest in Rugby, or at least observe how the hordes follow such a sport fanatically, yonder. I myself can say on the average, that I am a Rugby follower, though of course football will always occupy the pride of place – time willing, in my old age!

I was however prodded, or reminded, by a number of South Africans as the Rugby fever hit their country, that I had contributed in a bizarre way to even more black people here loving Rugby. This, I have been reminded, was because of my work of fiction, Tebogo and the haka (2008), which has been a hit here. How many times have I been asked why I was inspired to write the book?

It is simple: the traditional New Zealand (Maori) performance of the Haka, has always fascinated me. The All Blacks (the New Zealand team) always perform the Haka before they play anybody, and it can be a breathtaking (initially, rather frightening) performance.

Of course, if it was mainly black people performing an intriguing dance like the Haka, one won’t be surprised. In Nigeria, we have so many intricate arcane, traditional performances, for example those of the egungun/egwugwu (masquerades). The talking drum for example, can do wonders!

But, the New Zealand team is made up mainly of white players; and to see them performing the Haka will always fascinate the world. Poised athletically, fists pumping even clenched; fearsome expressions etched on their faces, the belligerent words of the Haka thundering out of their mouths, and cascading around the stadium…

But then again, we can state that this is, or should be part of the universality of human experience; the human race partaking in a plethora of ancestral, traditional rites, practices, mores worldwide, and basking in the same.

After all, (in parenthesis) why is the western world so fascinated with Chinua Achebe’s books that they read them over and over again, and relish the contents? So many white critics, thanks to the books of the likes of Achebe, Chukwuemeka Ike, John Munonye among others, have become so interested in Igbo culture and language, plus the proverbs that they have managed to build up an impressive vocabulary of their own in this wise.

And I won’t start on how Wole Soyinka via his books shedding light on, and celebrating the Yoruba gods (especially Ogun), fascinate the western world! Ah yes, the universality of human experience.

Let Rugby, with the haka performance, grow by leaps and bounds!

SLIVERS OF HOBHOUSE AND SLESSOR

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

(Right) Emily Hobhouse

The questions were coming in thick and fast, and I could hardly cope. And to think many would dub this small South African town, Hobhouse, a “backwater"!

"This is a pleasant surprise Mr Bolaji, you say this is your first visit to Hobhouse. Do you know we are a proud agricultural town?" A resident of the town enthused.I had been invited to Hobhouse by a group of writers who told me they would be “honoured "if I could visit them, and happily enough, I managed to do so.

It was a small, multicultural ensemble comprising blacks, “coloureds," and a couple of whites. The love for literature united them all, here at Hobhouse. The workshop had been interesting, and now it was time for me to be grilled! Yes, the questions were coming in thick and fast.

Another: “Mr Bolaji, we’ve read so much about how you’ve been sick over the last few years, yet you look so fresh, even big. Are you back to form? Have you overcome your health problems? Then why have you not written any major fiction for almost two years now?"

Another question: “We understand a few years ago you visited another small town, Ladybrand, and you were inspired to write your brilliant work of fiction, ‘Tebogo and the Haka’ which is based on Ladybrand. Will your visit here inspire you to write a mystery story based on Hobhouse?"

Yet another..."Do you know why this town is called Hobhouse? Do you know who it is named after?" “Of course he does," one of them answered for me. “Who does not know about the famed Emily Hobhouse?"

Indeed I knew about her; Emily Hobhouse, the British lady who had selflessly campaigned to improve the horrific lot of Boer women and children, during the Boer war in South Africa over a hundred years ago. Hobhouse had written and campaigned so lucidly and graphically in favour of the hapless victims, and somewhat precipitated changes. She has since remained a celebrated hero in South Africa, especially with the Afrikaaner (Boer/white) people.

I said a few words about Emily Hobhouse to them, expressed how much I admired her integrity, humaneness, empathy and resilience. Then I added: “Actually that’s one of the main reasons I came here. Hobhouse is some sort of vicarious kindred spirit to me as a Nigerian. She always reminds me of Mary Slessor,"

“Mary Slessor?" they queried. Apparently, nobody knew her here. The irony of world history! A personality might be celebrated in one area, but virtually unknown elsewhere. Like Hobhouse, Slessor was a British lady who travelled to Nigeria over a hundred years ago, campaigned against the killing of twins among the Efik. She is generally regarded as “an angel of mercy" (like Hobhouse) because she precipitated many positive things.

So I told them about Mary Slessor and her deeds in Nigeria over a hundred years ago. I did not forget to tell them that one of her major legacies was being a major catalyst behind the establishment of the Hope Waddell Training Institute in Nigeria, a magnificent institution which at its peak was the best in West Africa.

“Hmm...We certainly must do our research on Mary Slessor," some of them said. “So Slessor, another lady from Britain – was like our Hobhouse. Both did a lot for African communities, and the people on ground. Their legacies are still living on,"

And so it does. Both of them are celebrated by millions of Africans; in Nigeria and West Africa, for example, millions of youngsters learn about the exploits of Mary Slessor from a very young age in schools.

As the question-and-answer session petered to an end, it struck me that indeed certain people have made their indelible mark on the world. Here I was at Hobhouse, a town named after a remarkable Englishwoman, Emily Hobhouse. This for me, adumbrated the life and times of Mary Slessor, who has also been immortalised, for example on Scottish stamps. Intriguing.

THE TANTALISING PALATE!

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

We take the culinary delights we are used to back at home (in our countries), for granted. But of course when we live far away from home, we have to get used to other types of meals, though we do miss certain items that titillate the palate, so to speak!

On my own part for example, intermittently I have a pang when I realise I cannot (easily) eat delicacies like dodo (fried plantains); akara (bean cakes); moin-moin, dundun (West African chips). The simple fact is that it is almost impossible to get such delicacies in South Africa.

Yet, the situation could have been worse. At least, thanks to the intrepid and innovative zest of some Nigerians, Nigerian foods are replicated to a certain extent in special restaurants in major cities of South Africa.

Admittedly, often it is some sort of hybrid, but the main thing is the savoury “peppery” dishes! Hybrid? Yes. What I mean is that all Nigerians, like other foreigners, have very much gotten used to the fact that the staple food in South Africa – beloved by virtually everybody here – is good old pap. Hence, in many special Nigerian restaurants, what we often refer to as “Nigerian food” here, is a combination of pap and wonderful Nigerian stews, meat including isi ewu on occasions!

For those wondering what pap is, what it looks like, or tastes like – just imagine food like semovita or eba (gari). Pap is along these lines. It is everybody’s food here – for the strong and weak; male and female, young and old!Naturally Nigerians (and there are so many of us in South African cities now) congregate to these (alas, few) Nigerian restaurants.

The clever ones (business people) build a whole “entertainment centre” for Nigerians around these restaurants – a place where Nigerians can meet, listen to music, chat, essentially let their hair down, drink and the likes. But the mammoth focal interest is the food!

For the cynics (even “critics”) out there, who might be thinking that this smirks of fragmentation, Nigerians forming “cliques”, it must be pointed out that more and more South Africans are relishing the food served at Nigerian restaurants. To cut to the chase, generally, once a South African can get over the “exceeding pepper” in our stews, they just cannot stop frequenting these restaurants!

How often have I heard them saying: “Eish you guys know how to prepare fantastic meals, especially your stews. I love eating pap or rice served with your wonderful stew,” So do we all! Incidentally, the other day, I saw two whites enjoying Nigerian food at such a place.

One South African who loves Nigerian meals so much, is the well known black author, critic and editor, Pule Lechesa. One of the highlights of the day for him is tucking into, at least, one meal at a Nigerian restaurant. Virtually every day he goes to such places to eat; sometimes we go together.

Mr. Lechesa intriguingly is getting to sound like a Nigerian more and more, thanks to his being a “regular customer” at such restaurants. Phrases like “Oga” “Igwe” “Ese” and a plethora of pidgin English reel off his tongue easily. But the one he often machine-guns out is: “Oga, I wan chop!” – meaning he’s hungry and he would be rushing to a Nigerian restaurant!

WATCHING THE PLAY: "IHOBE THE FREEDOM SONG"

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

There is no running away from the fact – South Africa has had a chequered past, a horrific past really; with millions of blacks suppressed, oppressed and butchered during apartheid.

This, however, had the effect of producing so many gallant, intrepid heroes over the decades.A number of books, documentaries, and the occasional drama have been churned out in South Africa to celebrate certain pertinent events, or heroes of the struggle. The other week I was a guest at one of the most recent of such dramas commemorating the struggle; titled:“Mangaung Students Revolt: Ihobe the Freedom Song”.

The event was held at the Assemblies of God Church in Mangaung.It was a great moment for one of the heroes of the struggle, Fikile Qithi, the gentleman of whom the riveting play is essentially weaved around, his face was creased with smiles, even tears, as the play honouring him unfolded. I found myself reminiscing on the times I had visited the great man in his house while he simply and modestly prepared meals for us.

Fikile Qithi, famously a former student leader of Ihobe Secondary School, and former political prisoner at Robben Island said: “the event commemorates of Mangaung Students Outburst. We are all indebted to younger students in Mangaung who were inspired by the Soweto uprisings of June 1976, who also took part in the struggle against Afrikaans as the medium for education.”The gentleman also paid tribute to young black students from the schools in the days of yore who displayed exemplary courage.

Such schools included: Ihobe Secondary School, and Marang Primary School, Sehunelo High School, Lereko High School, St Bernard Roman Catholic School. History reveals that these institutions rejected the imposition of Afrikaans. Their heroes included: Mpho Diba, Pinkie Litheko, and Fikile Qithi.

Zingile Dingani, the former Ihobe Secondary School student and now secretary of parliament from Cape Town said: “I’m a former learner at Ihobe Primary School. In the past, we learned Geography and Mathematics in Afrikaans. That helped us to raise our consciousness though, we were young. We knew it was a terrible thing for us to be oppressed so much in our own country, and we fought the system.”

The occasion came at a propitious time, with the mammoth ANC getting ready to celebrate the centenary of the formation of the liberation movement. As illustrious poet, Raselebeli Khotseng explained at the occasion: “It is good that this play has been organised in Mangaung, we are going to have the ANC Centenary in the Free State next year. The people of this province must participate in the centenary celebrations.”

Indeed, many distinguished people turned out to enjoy the didactic, powerful play. They included the celebrated female poet, Nthabiseng Jah Rose Jafta, Flaxman Qoopane, Hector Kunene, Raselebedi Khotseng, and performance poet, Imbongi Sibongile Potelwa.The applause for the well orchestrated play was deafening.

Afterwards, well known South African struggle stalwart, Mpikeleni Duma told me: “this play is the culmination of a dream I have had to honour one of the heroes of our struggle. We blacks must learn to celebrate, and learn from the steamy marsh of our history,”

For the records, here is the cast of the play:

Hector Kunene
Mungisi Tshobeka
Morena Hamilton Berries
Zola, Mzayiya Thabang
Lenko Nomthandazo
James Nthabiseng Diphoko.

THE EFFERVESCENCE OF THE NOBEL AWARD

BY OMOSEYE BOLAJI




Soyinka

Wole Soyinka has always been a writer I have admired for decades, infact, ever since I was a kid. There are so many endearing and charismatic factors that form the warp and weft of him and his sublime writing – his incredible writing career, his mien and demeanour (never forgetting the luxuriant beard!), his integrity, his theatrical approach to life, his baritone voice, etc.

Of course his extraordinary literary career has propelled him to the very top – the first black man to be awarded the Nobel Award in Literature. His fecundity of works is also amazing – he has averaged more than a book a year for about half a decade now! In fact, the records show that his first published books came out in 1963 – before people like me were born!

I grew up surrounded by books written by the likes of Soyinka, Chinua Achebe, Chukwuemeka Ike, John Munonye, Ola Rotimi, etc. Of course, we youngsters then agreed with all the adults that the most difficult writer was always Wole Soyinka! I recall that when he garnered the Nobel Award, the great Achebe congratulated him, noting that his (Soyinka’s) prolificacy was staggering.

Indeed it was, and still is. How can one forget his early works like The Jero Plays, Idanre, The Interpreters, Kongi’s Harvest, and Season of Anomie? Then there were many others like the man Died, Requiem For a Futurologist (whatever this means!), Isara :a voyage around essay, The Beatification of Area Boy. In recent years, he has added works like The Burden of Memory: – the Muse of Forgiveness, King Baabu, and You Must Set Forth At Dawn.

Winning the Nobel Award catapulted Soyinka into an international superstar, a world icon. After all, he still remains Nigeria’s only Nobel laureate. Nobel Laureates are few and far between, in Africa anyway; although in the genre of Literature, most would agree that Achebe surely more than deserves the award too.

Hence (by African standards) South Africa has performed wonders in producing many Nobel laureates (almost 10). Of course because of the blighting scourge of apartheid, many heroes emerged in the country and a few of them garnered the Nobel Prize for Peace. The most famous of them is of course, Nelson Mandela, but other illustrious recipients here are FW De Klerk, Desmond Tutu and Albert Luthuli.

South Africa has also produced Nobel laureates in the field of science, or medicine. In 1951, Max Theiler got the ultimate accolade for his contributions to medicine. Again in 2002, Sydney Brenner also became a Nobel laureate thanks to his great innovations in medicine. He was also a South African.

The first part of this column today is about Wole Soyinka; hence we can touch on the genre of literature again. Two South Africans – both white – have received the Nobel Award for Literature; Nadine Gordimer in 1991, and JM Coetzee in 2003. Coetzee remains a very reclusive figure. An associate of his for 10 years, for example, has famously said he only saw the great man smile twice during such a long period!

It is a rare occasion indeed when any African country receives a Nobel award, especially the veritably black ones. Nigeria has one Nobel laureate (Soyinka), Ghana has one (Kofi Anan) and Kenya has one too (Wangari Maathai) Contrast this with the United States of America (one country) which has over 200 Nobel laureates!! Nigeria has produced so many great people in diverse fields, and the country certainly needs more Nobel laureates …

THE EERIE SALUTATION

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI


My latest book, titled Miscellaneous Writings (2011) was launched in South Africa recently. Unlike similar occasions in the past, the book was launched in a small way this time around, as regards the formal occasion itself.

I garnered some flak for the quiet launch, especially from many other writers and literary activists who believed that it had been an oversight, or even a slight not to make the occasion even more memorable. But on my own part, I was quite satisfied; to be honest, the understated launch was quite deliberate.

Alas, there was no way I could control the media coverage however; the stories published on the new book itself. The local papers in particular made a song and dance about my latest book, and one of the publications went a bit too far!

In South Africa, unlike in Nigeria, there are many free, “mahala” publications, newspapers and magazines, distributed free of charge to tens of thousands of the people all over the place. Hence an incredible number of people would likely read stories published in such publications.

It so happened that an article on my latest book, plus my photograph was emblazoned on the front page of one of such free publications. This particular publication’s slant was that the new book, Miscellaneous Writings was the 30th I had published. And this deserved a lot of celebration!

The free, popular newspaper catapulted me almost to a “cause celebre” status.People were congratulating me all over the place. “We saw you on the front page! Congrats!” was the order of the day.

Perhaps, the most “bizarre” of such congratulations was when a certain lady, an acquaintance of mine I had not seen for some years, came to me. Smiling broadly, she threw her arms round me, and hugged me in unbridled fashion.“I saw you on the front page of the newspaper,” she said warmly, nigh tremulous with excitement. “So you have now published 30 books! You must be very clever,”

I grinned. “On the contrary,” I said. Before I could go further, she said: “you see now…pity you did not let me have a baby for you in those days…you were scared; afraid…”

I winced. But I managed to rally: “I thought we were just ordinary friends at the time…I never knew you wanted me in that way,”

She said: “Then you are blind! How could a blind man write 30 books?” She shook her head deprecatingly.

THE FLOTSAM AND JETSAM

(Right) Okara's THE VOICE

By Omoseye Bolaji

“The people who have the sweetest insides are the think-nothing people
and we here try to be like them. Like logs in the river we float and
go whither the current commands and nothing enters our insides to turn
the sweetness into bitterness,”

- from Gabriel Okara’s THE VOICE


When Pa Okara published his novel – THE VOICE – decades ago many critics and
reviewers interpreted the work as one exhorting, calling for moral
regeneration in African societies generally.

In the haunting book (The Voice) Okolo, the protagonist is on a
puzzling, nigh esoteric quest for “it” – loosely defined as “meaning
of life”; advising his people and others to ponder about the lives
they are living, their integrity, purpose of existence etc.
Ultimately, Okolo pays the price for his “treachery” and is killed on
the orders of King Izongo.

It is stressed again and again that most people will rather live
“empty” lives, lives without a purpose, and they would not like others
criticising them or calling for more integrity from them. Remarkably,
the book was published over forty years ago; yet its theme still
resonates till date.

Has Africa moved forward since the book was published? Not even an
obtuse optimist would say “yes”; the whole continent has been ravaged
with a plethora of negative things – including extraordinary
corruption, civil wars, maladministration, greed, diseases (not
forgetting the scourge of hiv aids), famine etc.

On an individual level, the type of people referred to as those who
are “like logs in the river we float and go whither the current
commands and nothing enters our insides to turn the sweetness into
bitterness” seem to proliferate in African nations, including in
Nigeria and South Africa. Yet it might well be a cosmetic situation.
But how do they manifest themselves? Do they really do any harm?

Here in South Africa, you see a medley of people milling around
apparently jobless and purposeless, wallowing in the same. Young and
old. You see them hanging around their houses, their neighbourhood,
nearby taverns and shebeens. You see a few of them and you’ve seen
them all…

Yet paradoxically, there is a serenity that surrounds people of this
ilk that indeed gives the impression that “the people with the
sweetest insides....” A friend of mine in South Africa once called
them the “flotsams and jetsam,” During summer, winter – never mind
autumn and spring – they are in profusion; often friendly, waving,
greeting good-natured in their apparent vacuousness.

Do these people have any real ambitions? What do they think about life
itself? Do they have plans to forge ahead in life? What do they do by
way of finding jobs, or furthering their education? These are answers
for the pertinent pundits and experts, perhaps. On a simplistic
level, what is clear enough is that they remind one of Okara’s famous
description.

Nor should we be naïve enough to think that many of these people are
as harmless as they look. From among their ranks the likes of thieves,
rapists, even murderers lurk. Perhaps this is in accordance with the
hoary saying that “an idle mind is the devil’s workshop,”

OMOSEYE BOLAJI'S LATEST BOOK (2011)

OMOSEYE BOLAJI'S LATEST BOOK (2011)

Review by Paul Lothane



So Omoseye Bolaji’s 2011 book is out, and those of us who love his brand of writing are enthused again. After all, his last book came out in very early 2010. The new book is titled Miscellaneous Writings.

Some might be disappointed that the new work is NOT fiction. But as I always say, we can always re-read Bolaji’s many works of fiction anyway. This latest work comprises short essays, articles, reviews etc, written by the author.

As the blurb of the book tells us: “This book contains a selection of (Bolaji’s) miscellaneous writing: brief, informative, sparkling, introspective; often humorous and dazzling. Not surprisingly, the author touches on many aspects of the world of literature…”

This book is written in various styles, so to speak. I suppose the author wrote each piece the manner in which he felt they should be written. Bolaji’s essays on writers D.H Lawrence, NMM Duman, and (largely) Lewis Nkosi are essentially formal, with a rather disciplined format.

Yet there are idiosyncratic pieces included in this new work too, as one would expect from Bolaji. The write-up on “facebook” will probably fall under this framework; as would the one titled “The vagaries of poverty”, and “Guitarists with brio”. Read them and see whether you agree with me!

A few of the essays in this new book clearly show Bolaji’s passion for sports, especially football. The one on “Segun Odegbami” a former great African soccer player, is filled with child-like fascination and hero-worship, for example. Odegbami was at his best when the author was still quite young.

Yet by the time the 2010 World Cup finals came around, Bolaji, as a grown-up, exhibits the same passion for football, but is much more philosophical and serious about it all. Hence the three or so special articles pertaining to the unforgettable South Africa 2010 in this book, reaching a peak with the one titled “The allure of the stadium”

It is no surprise – since Bolaji is such a fine writer of fiction – that some of the essays here seem almost as if we are reading short stories. Examples in this wise here are “Gem of an artist”, “The burgeoning wordsmith”, “Stumped”, “The pungent illustrators", and “Murder in the temple”

Bolaji is also famed for the twists and turns of his fiction, the unexpected conclusions. We see traces of this here in some of these short essays, especially “Stumped”. Can a leopard change its spots?

In the very last segment of this new book, some recent essays on Bolaji’s literary work are published. The piece on his short stories (The Guillotine), is excellent; as are essays written by Deon Simphiwe Skade and Raphael Mokoena. I agree with Pule Lechesa, who wrote the Introduction to this book, that all lovers of literature in particular must get a copy of Omoseye Bolaji’s “Miscellaneous Writings”.

Those interested in getting a copy of this new book can email barbara@newvoices.co.za

THE PROFUNDITIES OF INITIATION?

By Omoseye Bolaji

It was a magnanimous gesture on the part of Ntate Thabo, the nigh-veteran South African police officer. Although exactly 50 years of age now, he has been in service for decades.

Now, he painstakingly tracked me down to buy me special lunch!I had been rather busy and could not meet him for a couple of days. He kept on phoning me. “My friend, stop avoiding me,” he said. “I have some extra money now, and I want to make you happy....” Anyway I did meet him, and we went for some drinks – and a magnificent lunch, at his expense.

We talked. A very hearty straightforward, genial man, this man is a mine of so many intriguing stories. He has had a somewhat checkered career while serving his country, but at least he is very much a fulfilled man in his own right. This became evident as he told me about his son. Thabo grinned. He does have a wonderful smile!

“Ah, my son – in his early 20’s – will soon become a man. You know, he will be spending weeks at the arcane initiation centre, up in the mountains; where he’ll be circumcised during this winter. I’ll be driving my boy there,” he said.

I winced. Initiation ceremonies have become somewhat controversial in South Africa these days, with horrifying tales of kids being abducted, suffering harrowingly, bleeding to death during these initiation ceremonies. And here was a proud father, who will soon drive his own son there very much willingly.

Officer Thabo was still smiling. “Thank God, my boy will soon become a veritable man. I’ll be supporting him all the way whilst he’s there (in the mountains); taking food and other material support to him; blankets....”

I managed to say: “you mean, you are not worried...about your son. I have read so many negative things about these initiations...the practice is not anachronistic?"

Whether he understood what I meant by “anachronistic" I am not sure; but he continued smiling effulgently. He said: “My son knows that without going through the initiation rites he would not be regarded as a true man in many circles as he grows up. That is why you see some very old men in my culture (the South African Xhosa people) going to the initiation schools in the end...."

My mind went briefly to Camara Laye’s masterpiece, ‘The African Child’, which brilliantly re-creates the poignant ambience, fear, dread, pains, and travails of such initiations in his own old society (Guinea). I suppose there is a lot to be said for Africans still having pride in certain ancestral customs.

“What are you thinking? Still worried about the initiation? I’m the boy’s father, and I’m not worried. Why should you?" my cop friend said, still good naturedly.I said: “You know, I’ve always felt that maybe some sort of printed certificate should be given out at these initiation schools, maybe as a token to modernity. I mean; all those weeks of deprivation, great discipline, learning, learning, the old ways...."

Thabo laughed. “There is no need for any certificate. There are special songs they learn at the initiation, which nobody else can know. The uninitiated cannot pretend to have gone to the school....Stop worrying about nothing. Let me get you another drink, my friend," he added, still with sparkling good humour.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This piece, in its original form, sparked some interest and comments. I was particularly interested in the comments of my good friend, Soqaga "Dada", a very proud Xhosa man who commented thus:

"You must also know that we the Xhosas we are
unshaken and unafraid to practice our ancient culture of initiation.
It is the old culture and since this western and so called advanced super
power states have problem about it and certainly we cannot compromise
our noble,lovely and beautiful heritage of our forefathers. This is
the best school for the boys to learn to behave in a manner that is
moral and disciplined in our society..."

"ND" AND THE INTERNET

By Omoseye Bolaji

It was “peak period” inside the internet centre, as it were. A cauldron of frenetic activities! Here we were in the heart of Bloemfontein city in one of the internet cafes.

As usual the young ones, the students, were in the majority here now, adolescent boys and girls in school uniform chatting and gossiping whilst savouring the wonders of the internet. Eyes glued on the screen of the computers; intermittently the young ladies in particular checked the latest goings-on on facebook – both on the computer screens and their mobile phones.

Apparently, these days the young find it much easier doing their homework and assignments with the help of the internet. Showing off their knowledge, the pupils luridly made suggestions to each other: “No, try Google!” “Wikipedia is better!” “I still like yahoo,” etc.

I could hardly hide my smiles; perhaps I was in a tolerant mood! But it struck me powerfully how the youth have taken all these scientific marvels in their stride; how they take it all for granted. Whilst the truth is that the world has existed for thousands of years, yet incredibly things like world wide web, internet are just about 20 years old in human existence!

Now virtually everybody, especially the youth take advantage of this technology every time, sending a plethora of electronic messages hither and thither; be it via emails, facebook, twitter, SMS (text messages) etc. I shook my head, remembering that not so many years ago – before the internet became popular in Africa too – as a roving journalist I used to send my reports via telephone (eg from stadia during football or rugby matches), as internet was very scarce then.

“ND”- the owner of the internet cafe now entered, surveying the goings-on inside his internet cafe. He greeted me very well – after all we are both Nigerians and have been friends for years and he moved on to his office.Ah, ND! A very important man indeed, though the hordes of youngsters here at his internet cafe would not know this.

ND, a proud Igbo man to boot, was the first person to popularise the internet in the whole of Bloemfontein city. Almost 10 years ago he opened his internet café and charged incredibly cheap prices for the masses” to come and use his services. To complement this, he went out of his way to teach people the wonders of the internet at a time ignorance was rife in this wise even amongst the most educated people.

Within a few years other people were copying the pioneering efforts of ND, all over the city; opening internet cafes and trying to keep the prices down. Gone now were the days when black people in particular had to more or less “travel” to white areas to use the internet at very exorbitant rates. That was/is the legacy of ND!

And he was not alone. In other South African cities (and towns), Nigerians over the last 10 years have contributed greatly to popularising the internet – in well known cities like Johannesburg, Cape Town, Pretoria, for example. Till date, many of such internet cafes belong to Nigerians; affording cheap access to the internet for large numbers of people; and to boot, often opening their offices to the public at unusual times (eg late into the evening, and on Sundays.

Hence we now see a situation where hordes of people, including young scholars, flood these internet cafes. Yes they are taking so much for granted; but that is part of the effervescence of youth. They take it all in their stride!

RASPUTIN!

By Omoseye Bolaji

“There lived a certain man in Russia long ago
He was big and strong, in his eyes a flaming glow.
Many looked at him with terror and with fear
but to Moscow chicks he was such a lovely dear…”

From Boney M’s hit, Rasputin.

I was with a white friend or acquaintance, of mine in the South African suburbs. I seldom went to his place and whenever I did, I initially had to jump through hoops of the intimidating presence of his dog (in the courtyard)! But here we were now, in the sitting room.

It was, I suppose, an average sitting room. A big television set, sound system, an impressive library to my left; and the inevitable laptop on the table. Some sofas were dotted around in the room. David (that’s his name), after giving me a drink, said he wanted to play some music.

“I suppose you won’t appreciate the music, though it’s English” he said. “One of my old favourites. It’s Boney M, You know the old group?”I nodded absent-mindedly; my mind was engaged on something else for a moment.

Then I found myself almost freezing, goose pimples coursing through me! All because of the music of Boney M, David was now playing! It was “Rasputin," and its “bizarre” melody and lyrics were affecting me adversely! It was as if I was about to faint!

“What’s going on Bolaji?” he said, “Have you suddenly come over a bit sick?” I forced a wry smile, trying to pull myself together.But my mind had gone back to decades ago, when I was a very young student at the university, University of Ife, Ile-Ife, in Nigeria. I stayed at Angola Hall of residence and there was a particular student in my room who used to play Boney M, especially “Rasputin" rather late in the night almost every day.

He knew by then that most of the inmates in the room did not like this particular song.I remember one of them complaining: “What the hell is this? What type of music is this? It’s like I must run to my mother for protection when I hear this song…Rasputin!”

Yet I found myself fascinated by the lyrics of the bizarre- sounding song (a great international hit decades ago, overseas). Over the years, I was to learn the real-life details of the erstwhile Soviet Union’s Rasputin even more, the gentleman who had caused a stir in Russia many years ago, garnering the reputation of becoming something of a philanderer and manipulator.

I was in Sierra Leone some years ago when I read an authoritative book on the life and times of Rasputin, written by his daughter. Thereafter, I appreciated even more the legacy of the charismatic, controversial Rasputin; and how his life and demise spawned the many legends, myths, exaggerations that still survive him (including the Boney M song on him).

Yet the killing, the murder of Rasputin, is one of the most horrific ever; if contemporary accounts can be believed; he was not only poisoned, but shot many times, stabbed, his manhood cut off, his body thrown in an icy lake etc…all these factors combined to overwhelm me when I heard the “Rasputin" song again!

I said to David now: “Don’t worry. There’s no problem. I was just carried away for a moment. I’m enjoying your drink. Thanks,” Rasputin!!!

THE SVELTE LADY

By Omoseye Bolaji

It had been a rather arduous day – a plethora of unexpected events had soured the day for me - and as “evening” approached, it gets dark very quickly in South Africa now because winter has more or less arrived, I wanted to leave the office and let my hair down a bit.

But I said politely enough to “Madam Maki”, the charming, amiable South African “Manager” of my Office: “Am I glad to leave the office now! I’m bushed, tired, finished,”

“Laelae!” (Never) Madam Maki said, smiling; displaying the full range of her West African vocabulary!

Anyway some time later, I was happy to relax at ATLAS where fine food and drinks are in abundance. But there was to be no peace for the wicked! (as they say) Even as I relaxed with a drink, with what I thought was a hostile, unfriendly expression etched on my face, a few people still came to me to chat intermittently.

One of them was a nice gentleman who works in the main toropo (city) library. “Hi!” he burst out. “We’ve been rather worried about you. You’ve not been to the library for quite some time now. We think it’s strange,” I stared at him.

“We?” I said “Yes my brother,” he replied. “You know people are always asking for you, you and Ntate Flaxman, Mr Lechesa, etc when they come to borrow your books from the library. Many of them are so much interested in literacy and literature and we have to tell them you’ve been ‘scarce’ at the library. I mean, a person like you has published so many books; why should you avoid the libraries?”

What type of logic was this? I wondered, still not in the best of moods. It seemed to me that the legendary Wole Soyinka would regard this type of logic as “casuistry” of the highest order! But I just nodded, muttered something and wondered whether anything could cheer me up. Meanwhile another male friend, or rather acquaintance, of mine had sat down beside me.

The librarian departed, but the acquaintance seated on my right was making “small talk,” and I listened in desultory fashion. Then he suddenly gripped my hand tightly and said: “Oh My! What a lovely lady! Look, my friend!” I stared at the entrance of the place, and a well dressed young lady, lovely to boot, was stepping inside. She had a svelte, streamlined figure. I said to the guy beside me.

“Come on, don’t be childish! There are many lovely ladies around, but it’s not our business."“ But the scamp was grinning. “She’s making a beeline towards you; she’s coming to you!” he announced. “No doubt she knows you,” I was about to say I had never seen the young lady before, but she had got to our table and in a coy way was smiling at me. Stunned, I wondered what was going on. She opened her bag and brought out a sort of exercise book. “I’m sorry if I’m embarrassing you Mr Bolaji,” she said. “I just want your autograph. I’ve read a few of your books and I loved them very much”

Maybe it’s human nature. I suddenly cheered up, whilst signing the autograph for her. The lady had somehow made me feel better; a veritable ray of sunshine!

MALOME STUMPED!

By Omoseye Bolaji

The eatery/drinking place was almost bursting at the seams; but this did not discourage me from entering it. There were raucous and jocose conversations all around.

I looked for a spot to sit, absent-mindedly staring at the elevated TVs.
I was sure, from habit, that at the end of the cavernous place there would be some space for me. And so it turned out – to my right near the cul de sac I could see at least one table empty. But as I almost got there, there was a tug on my arm.

“Chief,” a friendly voice said. “You can take my seat. I was just leaving.” I now saw that it was an acquaintance of sorts, a man of bonhomie. I sat down where he indicated – and noticed that a young man was sitting in front of me. We nodded at each other.

I placed my order with one of the ladies working here, and waited for service. The gentleman in front of me was taking one of those cider drinks, and on my own part I was soon eating a fine plate of pap and dikgorolo cooked intestines. A lover of fine food, the gastronomic delight “went down the hatch” with alacrity! And now I could concentrate on my drink.

It was an almost awkward situation as the gentleman in front of me and I intermittently stared at each other. I do not make it a habit to be too garrulous with strangers and often leave it to the other party to start talking with me. And so it was this time.

“You don’t like talking much eh?” he said. “I have seen you in the papers many times. You write books and stuff eh?”

That was how the ice was broken. I was thinking that here was a personable young man, and we talked a bit. Presently he said: “Every now and then, I go to many places to drink and relax. Perhaps that is what happens when, like in my case, I have no partner!”

I replied: “Come on! A good looking man like you can get a lady anytime...”
A rather rueful smile from him; then he said: “Actually I’m a woman, not a man.” A pause. “You can see my ID Book to this effect...” She gave me her green ID book, and stunned, I saw that it was true! This fine young ‘man’ was actually a woman!

I began to apologise. “I’m sorry ma’am...I’m so stupid.” Like they say in cricket, I was stumped!

But she stopped me, smiling. “Ag, Ntate don’t worry. Many people do make that mistake, thinking I am a man. Even if I did my hair like a girl, I’d still look rather like a man...” She was very decent about it indeed, trying to put me at ease.

But despite her best efforts, her dignified mien, I still felt quite bad and was happy to leave that place soonest! I now realised even better the plight of the celebrated South African (female) athlete, Caster Semenya; and the furore surrounding her gender; with the strident claims in international circles that the powerfully-built young lady must be a man! Unfortunate, really…

ALEJO PATAKI

Alejo Pataki (the distinguished guest)

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

It was a rather exciting time as Achal Prabhala, a notable international scholar and researcher, spent some days in Bloemfontein city, South Africa (where I am based), learning more about black writing at grassroots level. Flatteringly, he spent a considerable time with me.

Of course I was not the only one Achal met and probed on writing literature. He also met established writers like Flaxman Qoopane, Pule Lechesa, Hector Kunene, Nthabiseng “Jah Rose” Jafta, Raselebeli Khotseng etc. Affable, charming yet intellectually pugnacious (!), Achal was a busy bee during his visit.

On consecutive evenings/nights, I was privileged to be ensconced at the famed Mimosa Mall in Bloemfontein – sipping drinks and the like with Achal. There are many layers to this suave gentleman! This alumnus of Yale University, USA, is a consultant to the nigh-monolithic Wikipedia, an associate editor for Chimurenga, among so many other feathers in his cap.

He is also an avid reader; easily discussing classical and/or literary works of the likes of Charles Dickens, William Shakespeare, Thomas Hardy, JM Coetzee, Ngugi, Nadine Gordimer, Chinua Achebe, Tsitsi Dangarembga, Dambudzo Marechera, among many others. And as a proud Indian, he is well aware of the literary trends in his own country.

As regards Nigeria, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that the gentleman (Achal), is well aware of most of the key writers, scholars, universities and even the quality publishers. He even had quite a lot to say about my Ibadan city! I was beginning to think he was something of an “anjonnu” – a wizard!

He has a fine sense of humour too with his regular quips, anecdotes and witticisms. He told me bluntly: “I have an idea I’d have to see a psychiatrist after finishing with you!” Apparently I was sending him around the bend! I assured him it was mutual, with his scholarly pontifications.

I was also staggered with Achal’s generosity. He was ready to pay princely sums to buy certain publications (books), and in incongruous fashion, I found myself in a position where I had to be convincing him not to pay so much for certain works. He assured us that he was a most assiduous reader, who could be at ease devouring the classics and at the same time appreciating what some might dub “trashy literature.”

For me, one of the highlights of his visit was when Achal visited Flaxman Qoopane’s famous “Literary Gallery”. Qoopane, author, poet and journalist, has a fascinating collection of articles, interviews, critiques and lurid photographs of hundreds of writers – especially African - across the world. Achal was busying taking photos hither and thither and putting in appropriate comments intermittently.

Hector Kunene, always something of a dynamo and a whirlwind of activity, was often in “action” too, as an enthusiastic host and “chaperon” for Achal Prabhala. He was ably “assisted” by the charming Jah Rose, as the red carpet was metaphorically laid out for the illustrious guest.

Not that Achal always appreciated being complimented. He strongly resented my calling him a superstar, for one thing. “You’ve abused that word!” he explained to me, smiling. “Don’t describe me in that way...” It was an unforgettable visit.

THE FACEBOOK PHENOMENON

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

Right) Mark Zuckerberg

It is a gargantuan phenomenon we can not get away from; inextricably part of the warp and weft of the modern world we live in. Facebook! Everybody is, or wants to be part of this gargantuan social network. “Are you on facebook?” is a standard question one is faced with now on a regular basis. It’s in your face!

Now, let me confess from the outset that I am not registered on facebook. I have nothing against it, but as an “old fogey” I do not feel compelled to join facebook, a fact which so many people want me hanged, drawn and quartered for! Every time I am invited by so many people to join facebook; and though I have not joined for years, I do look at photos etc countless people send to me via facebook.

Countless times in South Africa here, people (especially young ladies) would shake their heads with shock, angst and pity after I have confessed that I am not on facebook. “You don’t know what you are missing!” they would declaim. That’s modern technology for you.

On my own part, I do not believe I am missing anything, as I find the general internet (e.g Google, Wikipedia, specialised websites) more fruitful than social networking. I’d rather text (SMS,) phone, or email friends and acquaintances if needs be! I’m not interested in trivialities and banalities which so many facebook followers wallow in.

Don’t get me wrong – I realise facebook is a marvellous creation in its own way. Take a few statistics for example – More than half a BILLION people visit facebook every month; the company itself is worth well over 21 BILLION POUNDS! The founder, young Mark Zuckerberg (26) is personally worth over FOUR BILLION POUNDS.

And that is where my interest really lies – I mean the founder, not what he’s worth. I have always been fascinated with great inventors from the beginning of time. Tragically, many young people nowadays thoughtlessly just wallow in materialism, bask in the perks of the modern world; without even making an attempt to learn about the brilliant, selfless geniuses who, little by little over the last two centuries or so, discovered or founded the modern marvels of the technological era we now enjoy.

The most important invention in the modern era was of course electricity – the foundation of all technology now. Fantastic men like Michael Faraday experimented, discovered, worked on electricity. We take all these things for granted now. Telephone. Morse Code. Television. Radio. Aeroplanes. Computers...how did they start? In my book, Tebogo and the pantophagist (2010) I dwelled on this and more; in my own small way paying tribute to these great, great inventors.

Mark Zuckerberg, founder of facebook, has already gone down in history as one of the all time great inventors. And he is still only 26! Like the founders of Google (Larry Page and Sergey Brin), Mark Zuckerberg loves a simple, quiet life – the type of lifestyle that would make many black African communities (with their mindless worship of materialism) to regard this great inventor as “crazy”

Despite his billions, Mark lives in a small rented – yes, RENTED house. He is almost always in cheap clothes, especially jeans. He goes out himself to buy food; he often walks to his office. Oh and by the way he drives a humble Acura car – with many of his employees driving better cars than him! In other words, Mark Zuckerberg is staying true to what made him world famous – solitude, selflessness, experimentation, lack of ostentation. Although he is the youngest BILLIONAIRE in the world, he has hardly changed.

For the records, Mark launched Facebook in 2004 in his Harvard University dormitory room, initially as a way for students at different universities to communicate. Soon Microsoft was buying less than two percent in his company for 150 MILLION POUNDS. Facebook continued to grow from strength to strength, later taking even Africa by storm. Facebook now employs almost 2000 people.

Let’s raise a glass to truly great men like Mark Zuckerberg; and to facebook!

GEM OF AN ARTIST

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

(Right) Stephen Achugwo

An impressive crowd gathered at the historic Hoffman Square in Bloemfontein city (South Africa). On my own part I wondered what was going on. A public speaker holding forth? Traditional dancers gyrating? Or was it the famed “iron bender” who intermittently entertained people?

None of the above! It was actually an impromptu exhibition of the works of an artist; a painter, that people were drooling over. I moved closer and saw that the paintings were excellent. There was one on Oprah Winfrey, the celebrated American talk show hostess. There were others delineating sundry well known figures.

But probably the piece de resistance was that of the revered Nelson Mandela, depicting him in his glory; regal, refulgent, even coruscating. It was not surprising that so many people congregated around this particular painting.

Right there and then people were already negotiating, buying some of the paintings; others, especially ladies, were requesting the painter - the cynosure of all eyes - to make such colour portraits (paintings) for them too. Yet, as I got near the painter his accent made it clear to me that he could not be a South African. Now, he grinned at me and said:

“Old boy, why you dey look at me like that?” Then he added in formal English: “Both of us are from Nigeria. Don’t say you have not heard about me, as I know you well. You are Omoseye Bolaji the journalist and writer; no be so?”

We hugged each other and a couple of journalists who knew me well, including the iconic Flaxman Qoopane, laughed. But not everybody welcomed my “intrusion” at that moment. Some of them wanted to continue negotiations with the painter, whose name is Stephen Achugwo.

Yes, Stephen Achugwo is from Nigeria. He came to South Africa in October 2002. “My philosophy in art is based on inspiration. I love creating paintings and artworks that inspire people. I believe that with inspiration, a man can achieve stupendous success in any calling,” he was to explain.

Now, Stephen Chinedu Achugwo has become quite well known in South Africa. Recently he completed a splendid painting which pays tribute to eleven celebrated international musicians.

As he explained: “I was commissioned by the owners of the Ekhayeni Pub & Grill to use oil colours on canvas to paint the following late musicians, Luciano Pavarotti, Tupac Shakur, Miles Davis, Michael Jackson, Luther Vandross. Marvin Gaye, Barry White, Gerald Levert, Groover Washington, Notorius Big and Bob Marley. The painting is titled the last Super @ Ekhayeni. The size of the painting is 3m by 1 and half meter.”

His eye – catching paintings also hang on the walls of many business buildings in South Africa. He reminisced: “During the World Cup (which SA hosted in 2010) tourists bought many of my paintings. It has been my wish to sell some of my work to the tourists. I have also exhibited my paintings at several art galleries; and at the international Macufe festival”

And by the way, Aducho has done my own portrait too – it somewhat occupies pride of place in my home!

THE REPREHENSIBLE RAPE

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI


It was an extraordinary sight in front of the usually placid Magistrates’ court in Bloemfontein city, the judicial capital of South Africa, as medical personnel, mainly doctors, nurses and the likeS chanted, carrying placards, luridly condemning the rape of one of their colleagues.

It has become something of a cause celebre in South Africa – the infamous, shocking rape of a selfless female doctor at the mammoth Pelonomi hospital, with commissioners and premiers having their say about the episode. And as the suspects were wheeled into the front of the court, massive demonstrations took place.

Briefly, what happened was this: On the ill-starred night in question the female doctor was going about her nocturnal duties in the hospital as usual, from all accounts she was jovial and empathetic as ever. Then three “gentlemen” suddenly accosted her and it soon became clear that their intentions were in no way honourable.

Savagely, the female doctor was hit with a brick and she became stunned and immobile. Allegedly the three men then proceeded to rape her one by one. Afterwards she somehow struggled up in pain, notified her husband and other colleagues about what had happened to her.

Rape is a common crime in South Africa, but this time the society itself was galvanised into action. The suspects were soon rounded up and everybody had their penny worth of opinions and condemnations, with ANC, African National Congress, brought to the fore. The medical establishment began to press for justice. Something had to be done.

Government immediately announced that they would be overhauling the security system at the hospital and promised that nothing like this would happen again. The legions of female employees at hospitals naturally cried out fervently, wondering how they could do their job with the possibility of rapes hanging over their heads like the sword of Damocles.

And that is precisely the point. The incidence of rape is reportedly too rampant in South Africa, to the extent that hardly anybody is enraged at the plethora of regular reports. Sadly, many women are not only raped, but actually slaughtered during certain rapes. It appears that people become extremely enraged only when high profile women are raped.

A Banyana Banyana, South African national football team girl was brutally raped and killed, reportedly because of her lesbian proclivities. But what about the many “ordinary” women who are regularly traumatised and even killed by rapists?

I must admit that I personally know quite a number of South African women who have been raped, and their accounts are heart-rending. Of course, despite all these reports, I generally believe that majority of South African men are decent and would never dream of taking a woman by force. The problem is the criminal, degenerate fringe, the thoughtless unconscionable criminals.

As the Yorubas would say: “Eniyan buruku ti b’eyan re je,” the few horrible people have facilitated a situation where good people have been tarred with the same unsavoury brush. The reality on ground now is that women should be more careful than usual in Afrika Borwa (South Africa).

Till next time...