It's Festive Season Time Again!

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

Another year is petering to an end; it seems incredible that almost 12 months (of 2012) have been completed. But that is life. From “mewling…puking infants” as Shakespeare put it, we progress in disparate fashion towards the grave, as it were.


It is now about three years that that I began to write this on-line column; a column I am very proud of, by the way. Sometimes I have produced fine, sublime work, other times I believe I have descended so low as far as bathos is concerned, inflicting half-baked or wooly opinions on the readers. But life is like that.

I have been uplifted by countless positive comments from many readers out there, from inside Nigeria, from South Africa and in the wide Diaspora as they say. To be honest, a lot of the time such fine comments have prodded me to keep going. I am also pleased that so many of my columns have been reproduced in other websites, journals, books, world-wide.

One does not need to be a rocket scientist to state that my approach, my credo, essentially is light-hearted. I have never relished the “heavy stuff”, the pretentiously difficult, or obscurantism. What I write most of the time reflects my fiction – churned out to entertain more often than not, but also sometimes informative in its predilection.

I grew up more or less “worshipping” the great creative, imaginative Nigerian writers – Chinua Achebe, John Munonye, Elechi Amadi, Wole Soyinka, Chukwuemeka Ike, Victor Thorpe, TM Aluko etc. As a kid, I dreamt of publishing my own works of fiction too, and I have been thrilled to have published over ten works of fiction too. I do not compete with anybody (any other writer) and I believe I have my own style, even if some dub it a bit zany!

Like other writers, I have my own readers; people who enjoy what I write (now I am mainly thinking of my works of fiction). To my delight many intelligent readers, including academics have appreciated what I have published to the extent that at least ten different books (studies) have been published on my work. Some awards have come in plus a film documentary on me; and to be honest, these things can not be quantified in monetary terms.

In life one will always have some “detractors” or “critics” of course. That is the way it should be; the best “critics” are of course those who try to be open-minded and still give some praise where it is due. Alas, a very small minority - more or less like sick cranks probably motivated by other maleficent factors, will try to pull every writer down. But in the end as an “artist”, the view of the majority is what buoys one; keeps one focused and creative.

This year – purely from a literary perspective, so to speak – has been another memorable one for me. The recent glittering Mbali Awards that took place in Clocolan (South Africa) was easily one of the highlights. It was an occasion when I was honoured with another Lifetime Achievement Award, and it was thrilling to see the phalanx of intelligent people, Black, White and “coloured” gracing the event. There were traditional Zulu and Sesotho praise-songs, or rather poems rendered in my honour. And Zulu regalia in particular can be picturesque!

Ah, the festive season…the period all of us look forward to painstakingly with some relish. The time to unwind, rest, let our hair down; at least in theory! Psychologically it is a boost and fillip to us all time to re-connect properly with loved ones etc.

Seriously though, here in South Africa the festive season is already in the air…hordes of people, including myself, are preparing for long journeys during this period. In the major shops, uplifting melodious Christmas music can be heard, complemented by a phalanx of Xmas trees and Father Xmases. The young ones are particularly in celebratory mood, with School holidays commencing. On my own part, let me wish everybody out there a wonderful, fulfilling, jocose, festive season!

PIX ABOVE: Bolaji (left) with South African writer, K.A Motheane at the Mbali Awards

THE RADIANCE OF THE CUP

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

The magic, and allure of Cup football persists all over the world – with virtually every nation having its own major cup competitions usually won by the most prestigious clubs in the elite division. It might well be that “colonial mentality” will always be at work consciously or perhaps in subtle fashion, but even till date most of the world continues to look up to the English Cup competitions in particular!

Hence the FA Cup in England historically takes precedence over virtually every other Cup competition, including the Spanish one and the definitely overblown American version. Nigeria has treasured its own version of the Cup (indeed the Nigerian Challenge Cup was extraordinarily popular decades ago). Then there is the “second” Cup competition in England usually called the League Cup which continues to change its name regularly.

South Africa interestingly has so many Cup competitions that one might even suggest that it beggars belief; but that is what the fans want. There is a Cup for the “best 8” in the league annually; there are major cup competitions like the Nedbank Cup and the Telkom KO trophy. Then there are the “pre-season” cups which often feature international giants like Manchester United playing one of the big SA clubs. In most cases, the big clubs here – Orlando Pirates, Kaizer Chiefs, Mamelodi Sundowns or even Supersport, are the ones who get to the final of these cup competitions which are real money-spinners. And the sponsors chip in yearly with millions of rands to buoy these competitions.

Nowadays the world raves about the super-rich clubs being bought and sponsored by billionaires – clubs like Chelsea and Manchester City in England; but Nigerians have always had charismatic rich club proprietors who pump gargantuan amounts of money into their clubs. Who can ever forget the late flamboyant Chief MKO Abiola for example, who started the glamorous Abiola Babes – and bought many of the best footballers around at the time?

A few years before Abiola did this though there was Leventis United in Ibadan which also spent prodigious amounts on fine players during its relatively short-lived existence. The club made its mark in local Cup and international cup competitions, even getting to the final of the African Cup Winners Cup in the 80s. And ah – Iwuanyanwu Nationale! Note the cosmopolitan name as the owner (Chief Iwuanyanwu) invested extraordinarily in the club in those days.

Such expensively assembled clubs often realise that they are unlikely to win the (national) leagues immediately but they always fancy themselves in cup competitions; as witness the delight of Manchester City when after many decades of winning nothing, they won the English FA Cup last year; (soon to be followed by the premiership itself) But for quintessential thrills and spills nothing, it seems can beat cup football.

As I write, the final of the South African Telkom KO cup – a major cup – is just around the corner. So many excellent games have been served up thus far and two clubs will be contesting the final: Mamelodi Sundowns and Bloemfontein Celtic. Now I must admit some excitement over this, since I am normally based in Bloemfontein city; and Bloem Celtic is a charismatic club.

Often dubbed such intriguing names like Siwelele and Masokolara by the denizens here, Bloemfontein Celtic has in the main been ensconced in the national premiership for decades. What the club is most famous for is the supporters; a cascade of fervent, rollicking, happy-go-lucky, chirpy green and white-festooned males and females. So many of the fans almost literally live and breathe their club and are mines of every conceivable information on the club. I myself have published countless articles over the years on Bloemfontein Celtic, and though I am supposed to be professionally neutral as regards the club, that has never been the case!

It is not “every day”, as it were, that Bloem Celtic manage to get to the final of a major Cup competition as they have done this year; hence the celebrations, jabulane, can be imagined! The hordes are definitely looking forward to the final of the Cup with Mamelodi Sundowns this weekend. What a great occasion this would be!
PIX above: Effervescent Bloem Celtic fans

THE HONEY TRAP

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

When I was in my early teens, a rather starry-eyed pupil at Lagelu Grammar School in Oyo State, I had an Uncle who was always galvanized us into stitches whenever he chanced to be around! A warm, effervescent gentleman who never looked down on we kids. In fact he loved us and talked to us many a time as if we were adults too.

And herein lay the crux of a consequent “problem”. Other elders always had this tinge of uneasiness whenever Uncle was around, realizing that he could say just about anything, even the prurient, to us the young ones. But for me, Uncle was a veritable mine of information especially when it came to what then seemed like gripping comments on the fairer sex!

I remember that he was fond of using the expression “the honey trap” to describe the allure and enchantment of certain ladies. But he actually went further to explain the term, even localizing it in the world of espionage. As Uncle said: “You see, worldwide the easiest way of getting to a man, especially a man who is a crook or criminal is to use a woman to bring him down. In espionage for many years, lovely women have been used to seduce men and even arrest them. And oh, such scandals in ‘advanced’ countries! Like Profumo!” Uncle gave me a particular document on the erstwhile Profumo Scandal, with Christine Keeler pivotal.

I must confess that the phrase “the honey trap” is one that I do not think I have ever used in my writings over the years, despite being introduced to the concept by Uncle many years ago as a kid. But I found myself thinking of this phrase in recent times after a spate of arrests and clampdowns on foreigners, especially Nigerians, in South Africa.

When foreigners in Diaspora, including Nigerians here talk about the sudden, precipitate arrest of a particular “brother”, in most cases one can be sure that a woman would be pin-pointed as being responsible for the guy being nabbed on some sort of charges which might be trumped-up. “You don hear that your brother dey for jail now?” No. “Dey don arrest am; na ‘im woman betray him… suddenly she brought the police etc to the guy’s place.” Apparently she sung like a canary and the guy found himself behind bars!

Yet there is something very unsavoury about it: in virtually all the cases the man has really fallen for the woman, gone to great lengths to cater, take care of her, shared “secrets” with her – not knowing the lady was an informer in cahoots with the law enforcement agents! This much some of my police friends have confirmed to me - that they often use the “honey trap” trick to round up ‘undesirable foreigners’.

As one of my police chums told me: “Ag, it is not as if the end of the world has come; these guys are criminals who have done bad things, and the easiest way to get at them is through ladies…we can use ‘ordinary’, women or actual attractive trained female officers to track these guys down,” Let me state categorically at this juncture that I have no problem with criminals being rounded up

But it does get my goat when it appears that in so many cases the man is actually a law-abiding, decent person and despite this he finds himself in gaol because of a woman pretending to love him; smacking of a frame-up or trumped up charges. I have a particular recent episode in mind. I know the pertinent gentleman, an Igbo man, and no one can convince me that the guy was engaged in any illicit business. And I could also have sworn that his woman dearly loved him. Then one day I noticed his office had been securely locked up, and news spread that the gentleman was in jail.

And all his closest friends were united that it was the woman in his life who was responsible for his plight. I contested this in the beginning, thinking about how the man used to tell me again and again how much he loved the woman in question, how wonderful she was and how both of them could do anything for each other. “I don’t believe it,” I said. “That woman really loved him,”

“My brother, pls don’t argue with us,” his closest friends said. “We were there when the woman came with the police, showed them his office, helped them pack his things and made terrible accusations against him in public. She never loved him. She was just pretending, using him… (The man) even cried like a baby in his prison cell when he realized this,”

I was speechless.

(Above pix: Christine Keeler of the infamous Profumo Scandal)

THE INADVERTENT MISERY

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

I savored the ambience of this area – in the heart of the South African location (townships) again. It was an area I had not been to for many months’. Now I was here inadvertently having just met an acquaintance here who had to return a document to me.

I also decided to drop in on the family of Moshe (not his real name); to wit his mother and siblings. I had been somewhat of a family friend for years. Moshe no longer lived here at the family home, but it would be churlish indeed for me to be very near their place without paying a courtesy visit to the mother at least.

The house was just a few buildings away from where I was, near the derelict public telephone. I moved forward a few paces and suddenly Mike, the younger brother of Moshe materialized very near me! We exchanged greetings. I thought that he was no longer a “small boy” – in fact he was not only a policeman now, but a father to boot.

It was clear that Mike was not on duty now. He was as friendly as ever, even inviting me for a drink “at a nearby pub”. But I told him that I wanted to enter their house and say hello to their mother, “I have not seen her for a long time. I can’t come to your area without greeting her. She’s at home?”

There was an uneasy pause. Mike stared at the ground. What was this? Then he said: “Mama is at home, but I’m afraid you can’t see her. She won’t want to see you, Ntate. She’s quite angry with you – “

I winced. What could I have done wrong? Mike went on” You see, my brother, Moshe is in the hospital. His wife attacked him brutally, even stabbed him. My mother blames you for this…” I stared at him blankly. He continued: “Moshe was not supposed to go back to that violent woman of his. He told our mother that you convinced him to go back to her. And she attacked him again! Mama holds you responsible,”

Suke! Trouble can really lurk from any angle, even from inadvertent sources. So, this was my “crime” I had heard from Moshe himself that he and his wife seemingly always had vicious fights, but it was not my business. As I recalled, he had said to me last time:”She’s so violent and always makes my life so miserable. My friends say I should leave her, and the (two) children. What do you think?”

In cases like this, if pressed to “advise”, I always invariably preach reconciliation. So I had said: “You married her because you loved her. Go back to your wife and kids and try to work things out,” Now I was in trouble for this.

But one should always endeavour to maintain one’s dignity. I asked Mike in which hospital Moshe was being treated. He told me. So I rather made a beeline to the hospital. To my consternation Moshe was in a very bad condition indeed (though not life-threatening). But he was in bandages, and we were told he would be on crutches for some time

Under the circumstances the gentleman was quite chirpy and philosophical. (I might as well state that he is by nature a suave, highly educated man anyway) He was delighted to see me. “My family told you what happened to me?” he struggled to say.

I tried not to be brutal, or display acerbity; as I said: “I’m sorry about this. Your brother told me, really. Apparently I am responsible for what happened to you, and your Mum is angry with me. I’m sorry anyway…”

Moshe said, a hint of nigh-aphonia in his voice: “Of course you are not to blame my brother. You are not involved. It is an unfortunate situation and mama is or was being emotional. I will sort things out when I am out of this soul-depressing place. i am the one who fell in love with that woman. I am the one who married her. when things were good or better between us I did not cry. So how can you be blamed for advising reconciliation?...”

I sighed. If only he had told his Mother this!

MUSING ON DVDS...

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

I seemed to make a bee-line for the 2, 3 dvds I wanted at the shop. With great speed I had browsed through the shelves, knowing I would probably find any two dvds I would care to watch, anyway. Thereafter I took them to the cashiers for payment.

It was an attractive shop in the heart of Sanlam plaza in the city. Here musical cds and general dvds, especially movies are sold. I did not come here often, but when I did, I made it snappy. I have never been one for window-shopping.

How technology keeps on advancing, I thought. A few decades ago we listened to music cartridges in cars, trendy small cassettes on our sound systems. Now it was all about c.ds. Back then, for movies it was the video cassettes for films. and there was nothing like cellphones in those days....

Now dvds were the rage. No doubt, coming generations would be taking advantage of apparently slicker technological advances. That is life with its atavistic creative burthen. Now I set about paying for the dvds, the latter placed on the counter.

To my left, a man stared at the 2 dvds I had chosen. I had noticed him rather absent-mindedly earlier. From his accent, it was clear that he was "coloured", using South African terminology – that’s like half caste or, mulatto.

He said to me – “You have good taste in movies. This is the first time I will see someone choose two such old classics - I spit on your grave, and Fatal attraction."

I shook my head deprecatingly.”No,” I said. “I am not really into movies. I mean there are scores of them we can watch daily on general tv, dstv, but I dislike most of them. I am very selective, and would rather buy the few movies that have impressed me over the decades. I guess I am very old fashioned."

“I am a bit like that too,” the gentleman said, now surprisingly following me to the entrance of the shop. "I am a teacher, very worried about our children who no longer read - " He stared at me. "Now I remember! You are to do with books, aren’t you? a writer. A couple of my students love your books. I remember now! ... I am sure you are worried too that few kids read these days."

I sighed. "It’s all this technology. mixit, facebook, cellphones...it's insidious, killing black youth in particular, as they can't prioritise. Most of their time goes on this stuff, exacerbating their illiteracy. I am sure you educators are worried..."

“The way we are going few youth will be able to spell accurately," he frowned, going on. “Now most of them spell in a bizarre way when sending messages on their phones, thinking they are being fanciful. It’s a pity really. Very few youth bother to try to read a book now, whereas in old days even half-baked pupils who went to primary schools read a lot...” We soon parted.

I was thinking: Of course these days the old dvd cassettes now appear to be somewhat ungainly and even awkward. That’s the way it goes as modern technology marches on stolidly. A few decades in Nigeria, for one, people were so proud of their video players and complementary video cassettes.

Strangely enough, in those days it was a "religious" video movie I was so enamoured with - The Ten commandments, starring Charlton Heston. What a film! The sheer colourful spectacle, the magnificent scale and range of the movie blew me away, not to talk of the convincing comprehensive gallery of the actors.

Heston himself who acted the part of the biblical Moses was my firm favourite, with his magnificent focus and plumy, awe-inspiring delivery. As a youngster, I knew by heart all his lines in the film. They seemed (are!) so regal! How about:

“I’m sending down the (River) Nile 20 full barges of such wealth as you can see here...logs of ebony and trees of myrrh, all for your new treasured city... “ Or:

“What the gods can digest will not sour in the belly of a slave!”

Ah, quality movies that can build one (instead of gory tosh)!

PIC above: Charlton Heston as Moses in The Ten Commandments

HOIST BY MY OWN PETARD!

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

So much had changed at this township that it seemed incredible. Admittedly I had not been here for years, but I still found it inconceivable that I had once lived at this particular place for over half a year!

But at least Shimo, who still lived here, and who had been close to me in those days, was still as amiable as ever. He kept on smiling, even as he pointed now, saying - "That's the house in which you used to stay. Remember it?"

I grunted. Yes I did, but it had changed too. New coat of paint, though for me not for the better. A sort of fence in front of it. I stared to the left. “That building - that provisions shop we used to frequent. Where the hell is it now? That’s not it!” I said.

“Ooh, that old store,” Shimo replied. "It’s gone. This new building has replaced it. A funeral parlour! So many people are dying now.” Depressing.

He became excited as we approached the big field, where people used to play football. To my surprise, a game was on now, being watched by a fair number of people. He said: "At least the field is here, and young people still play. You used to love watching games. Let’s do so for a while, before you leave."

“Really, I must leave now –“ I said.

“Come on chief, “ Shimo coaxed. “Just for a while. You write a lot about catching players whilst they are young, from the grassroots. This is the grassroots! Just watch a bit!”

I smiled - it seemed I was hoist by my own petard!

So I watched the players...in truth not all of them were really young, but that's neither here nor there. Soon, I became entranced with one player who struck me as being a throwback to the past, a genuine, skilful, dribbling left winger, so rare to see these days...it made me go down memory lane. How many great, effervescent players have graced the left wing for Nigeria over the decades?

I thought about Adokiye Amiesimeka, arguably Nigeria's greatest ever left winger, at least as far as skill is concerned. His trickery and vision terrorised defenders in many international matches, and he was part of the victorious Africa Cup of Nations team of 1980. Even as a young player he was suave, polished, well-spoken.

My mind went again to Felix Owolabi, who played for donkey years - his exploits on the left flank lasted till he was almost 40 - was more direct and aggressive, as brave as any player could be. He also played many matches for the Eagles. Owolabi was a veritable stalwart for the old Shooting Stars club, a great left winger like Kunle Awesu.

Humphrey Edobor, who initially played with Stephen Keshi in the old Bendel Insurance club, was a seemingly languid but very skilful left winger. He also played many matches for Nigeria, with his sublime crosses, and unexpected scorching shots. In the 80 s he helped Nigeria to a very rare win over Ghana right there in Accra, a great feat anytime, any era. Edobor scored, and created another goal in that great match.

Now in the modern era, we have seen Emmanuel Amunike emerging as the most successful Nigerian left winger ever. More direct and a dangerous goal scorer, Amuneke was pivotal as Nigeria won the Africa Nations Cup for the second time in 1994; and incredibly, the Olympics gold in 1996. Amuneke also played and scored at the 1998 World Cup finals. Who can forget his goal against the lofty Italians?

Ah, the quintessential left-wingers!

Above pic: Emmanuel Amuneke

THE BEHEMOTH

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

The terrain and ambience here in the township was parched and dry – one could hardly believe that intense cold winter had been the order of the day till just about a week ago! That was South African weather for you. I traversed the small ‘location’ knowing I would soon be travelling back to “my” Bloemfontein, the city where I am normally based.


I was taking in the topography and lay-out here, buoyed by the fact that this was my first time here, and it was very unlikely that anybody would know me personally here. Few people were around anyway. I saw a signboard showing a place where I could get a drink and was almost tempted to enter. No, on to Bloem! I thought...

Then around a corner, beside a cellphone shop (where people could make public calls, buy airtime etc) I suddenly saw a woman standing in front of her modest house. What a woman! I could not believe that anybody could be so big...it was incredible. My mind went to the idea of “Behemoth” in the Bible, and I knew this was irreverent of me. But I did not stare at her for more than a few startled seconds; I dislike embarrassing anybody. Anyway, people here were used to her; it was only because I was a stranger here that I had been temporarily taken by surprise. I stared at the ground walking on briskly.

But the big woman suddenly said: “Hey ntate! Hello ntate!” It was clear she was talking to me, but I pretended not to hear, striding on implacably!

Then she shouted, and I had never heard such a loud voice coming from a female in my life! She said: “Ntate Bolaji! Ntate Bolaji!”

I froze. How did this big woman know me, not to talk of my name? There was no way I could pretend not to hear; people must have heard her loud voice miles away! So I turned backwards and went to her. One thing I knew for sure: I had never seen her in my life.

“Dumela, mme,” I said respectfully. “Initially, I didn’t know you were calling me. Actually I am a stranger here...”

“I know,” said she. “But I know you eh; for a few reasons. For one, I have seen your photo in the papers many times. And I know you write books...there is someone who would like to see you, my friend. He is an avid reader, young boy, stays just two houses away. Do you mind meeting him for just a few minutes. He’ll be so thrilled,”

I forced a smile. “No problem,” I said. She walked heavily away, and I looked away, embarrassed by her bulk. Soon she came back with a young man of perhaps 22, 23. Slender, and a bit above average height. He stammered briefly in front of me. “I can’t believe this, sir!” he said. “You in our location! You don’t know me, but you have indirectly written a lot about ‘me’ through your detective series. My name is Tebogo Mokoena!”

I winced. The big woman added, smiling: “Tebogo here has read all the fictional books you wrote on Tebogo Mokoena the detective; over the years he’s always reading and re-reading them from our local library here. He always says maybe he’s meet you one day in the flesh. What a coincidence he’s called Tebogo Mokoena too!”

I smiled; but the young man added to me: “Actually I have not read ALL the books in the Tebogo Detective Mystery series, sir...I know you have published eight of them now; but I have only actually read six of them...many times. I know you have a new one titled Tebogo and the bacchae but I have not seen it. I’ll do anything to have a copy,”

“Maybe ntate has a copy in this bag of his,” the big woman said. “I am sure he is happy to meet somebody called Tebogo Mokoena!” She stared at my bag and I knew I had to do something magnanimous in this small town. Under normal circumstances, it would bring tears to my eyes to part with personal copies of my books; but it so happened that I DID have a copy of Tebogo and the bacchae in my bag; and the big woman somehow seemed to know this!

“I’ll give the young man my personal copy of the book,” I said. “I’ll get another copy for myself,” I opened my bag and took out my copy; gave it to the delighted young man. “Thank you sir!” he whooped.

“It’s nothing,” I said, nodding at ‘the behemoth’. “But I have to hurry now...”

PARLEY WITH A CRITIC

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI


The wholesome, salubrious breeze hovered around us at the waterfront where we were having our drinks, complemented with light lunch. I was with Ishmael Soqaga who had invited me here. His message had been brief and to the point:

Ntate Bolaji, I am so delighted with the publication of my study on you (book) I have been so excited with the positive reviews the book has been getting. I’d like us to have lunch together at the Waterfront at the weekend. What do you say?

I had agreed. And here we were now. Ishmael Mzwandile Soqaga is the author of the very latest study on my literary work. His book is titled OMOSEYE BOLAJI: A voyage around his literary work. Always humble and polite, Soqaga almost always prefers to praise others, rather than allow himself to be commended. He was thanking me fulsomely now, but I stopped him.

“Why are you thanking me?” I said. “All the praises and kudos for your book should deservedly go YOUR way, as they are now. You spent years researching and writing your book on me. If many pundits and critics like it, then that is to your credit. Who told you I enjoyed the way you severely criticised me in your book anyway? I am not even supposed to be here with you!” I joked, smiling. “So, well done to you anyway,”

He said: “But to be honest, I have learnt so much from you over the last few years; from you, from Lechesa, from ntate Flaxman (all South African writers)...I mean, it’s only my first book anyway. My special area of interest as you well know is actually pan-Africanism; you made me realise how diverse and prolific Wole Soyinka is as a writer...But what I appreciate most about you is how you introduced me to the works of Chinweizu. What a great intellectual! And of course Obi Egbuna too. Nigerians have contributed so much to intellectualism and ideas of Africanism. Chinweizu; and Egbuna!”

Ah, Obi B Egbuna, I thought. My mind went back to his African classical work of fiction, The madness of Didi. A superb work indeed. I had not seen a copy for many years unfortunately though...

I had been astonished the way and manner in which Mr Soqaga had done intensive research on Chinweizu soon after I had inadvertently introduced his name one day during a discussion. As a well known South African “Africanist” and polemicist, I had expected Soqaga to know about Chinweizu; but initially he did not. But within a short time he seemed to know everything about Chinweizu! He was also to do some research on Obi Egbuna, buut Chinweizu remained Soqaga’s firm favourite, alongside Ngugi.

Soqaga now touched briefly on some aspects of the reviews of his new book based on me. He tried to “explain” himself as regards certain opinions on his work. I smiled at him. “You must never try to defend yourself against critics,” I said to him. “After all, you are a critic yourself!” We both laughed.

It was a congenial ambience here. Buoyed with the initial success of his maiden book, Soqaga was now telling me about the new book he intended to work on. “The reviewers keep on harping on how long it took for me to put the study on you together,” he said rather lugubriously. “My next book won’t take a long time, I’m sure,”

“Good for you,” I said.

Then Soqaga asked me an invidious question. He said: “Mr Bolaji, you have had so many books, studies, published on your literary work. Both by black and white writers. At least ten books on you so far...I wonder, which one of these books do you like most? Which one is your favourite?”

It was a tricky question and whilst trying to answer it diplomatically I had to seek the “help” of one of the greats, Chinua Achebe who once said that writers should not be asked about their “favourite works...it is like asking a parent about which child they love best,” I told him this.

“So you refuse to answer the question?” Soqaga said.

“I will answer it,” I said. “I love all the studies, the books. Fact is when a new book is out, and one is the subject, because it is the very latest one, for some time there is a concentrated frisson of excitement surrounding the new one. So you and your new book have the advantage now!”

“But you love them all,” he said, laughing. I nodded, laughing too. The exchange of ideas continued...

It Couldn't Matter Less

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

Recently my birthday was marked rather quietly – though there was a plethora of gifts that came my way from a cross-section of South Africans. I am grateful to them all, but one particular touching – though inexpensive – gift/gesture remains indelible in my mind.


And it came from an unexpected source; let’s just call the gentleman in question Raphael, an intelligent essayist and literary critic whom I have known for many years, since he was a bibliophilic young man in fact. He always buys copies of my books and has reviewed many of them over the years. I can not really say I have been close to him since I sometimes do not even see him for up to a year: and he has a rather strange character anyway!

He contacted me via email and told me he would be visiting Bloemfontein city after a long time; and that he had something “small” to give me as a birthday present. I was a bit surprised, since he has never really been the emotional type and he has never cared for my birthday before. Somehow I guessed that his gift would somehow be connected with books, and I was proved right. But it was still a VERY pleasant surprise.

We met the weekend just after my birthday and he was as inscrutable as ever. He won’t thank me for saying this, but does he ever smile? (Laugh) He explained that he had to leave very soon (as usual) as he had urgent family affairs to take care of. Strangely enough, we were inside the main post office, which was quite deserted mainly because of the cold weather.

He had a bag with him, which presumably contained my present. In his lugubrious way he started crisply: “You know, I like other commentators have been interested in your literary influences since you were a kid. These things are always over-simplified, but in many studies written on you, even by me, we always blandly talk about writers like Chase, Sheldon, Cheyney, Francis etc as influencing you...”

I said nothing, as he went on: “Then I read that article, the second one that mentions you, by scholar and researcher Achal Prabhala, where he focuses on Peter Cheyney in particular. I myself had never seen a Cheyney book in my whole life. But I told myself that I must do all I can to buy a Cheyney book for you, even if just for your current library. I was in Cape Town last week, and happily enough after trawling a few old book centres I managed to get a Peter Cheyney book. For just for fifteen rand! What a bargain! I hope you’ll accept the old copy as a present,”

Excitement surged through me. How many decades ago had I last physically seen a Cheyney book myself, though I had read dozens of them as a kid? Raphael opened his bag and brought out the book, titled It couldn’t matter less.

I began to shake. At rare times like this I am quite likely to become nigh-comatose; incredibly the book had the same cover of the copy I had known decades ago! Profile of a woman with the face of the 'notorious' bland Slim Callaghan (detective) somewhat in the background! How I remembered the book!

I almost reeled as my mind went back to my father’s old library where It couldn’t matter less lay among the dusty shelves for many years. How I read the book intermittently then...whilst travelling in-between cities like Ibadan, Oyo, Osogbo, Lagos Akure, Ife (where I had attended university) etc. And I also remembered that the book had been lent to my old friend, Kunle Apantaku who never returned it.

Ah, Kunle. What memories! He was so much in love with writing since we were kids and wrote two astonishingly intelligent novels whilst still a teen ager. Pity that he fell by the wayside as a writer; and worst of all, something terrible happened to him over the years. Raphael did not know it, but this was one of the most touching gifts I had ever received!!!

But all Raphael could see now was someone who seemed about to faint or collapse...”Hey” he said. “You seem upset. I’m sorry, if you don’t want the book-“ He tried to touch the book, but within a jiffy this rare copy of It couldn’t matter less was already ensconced in my bag! “A wonderful gift and present,” I said. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me, but maybe you’ll read about it one day! Thanks so much!”

“Hey ntate!” Raphael protested. “Why don’t you let me gift-wrap the book for you?”

I grinned. “Don’t bother. It couldn’t matter less,” I said.

Troughs and Crests of the Olympics

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

There is no running away from the fact that Nigeria’s recent participation at the 2012 London Olympics was an unmitigated disaster. The only “consolation” is that the word “participation” is apt; at least the country was represented – even though the contingent could not garner even one paltry bronze medal whilst representing a nation of over 100 million people!


Yet some might argue that the Olympics is the acme of global participation; it is not a kids’ jaunt...participants are up against the very best in the world; hence to haul in any medal is very difficult indeed. But then, this must be set against the backdrop of just one country, USA winning over 40 gold medals! With China, and Britain (hosts) not very much far behind. Jamaica is a very small country of just a few millions, yet with magisterial Usain Bolt to the fore, the country harvested a number of gold medals, never mind silver and bronze.

And yes, Africa as a whole did dismally at the Olympics – as usual, really. Apart from the usual intermittent athletic medal hauls for Kenya, Ethiopia, Uganda (very last day of athletics), hardly any African country came into the picture. West Africa as a whole (with some 15 countries) might as well not have travelled to the Olympics! So bleak was the picture.

South Africa was by far the best performer from the continent at the Olympics; and I must confess that I had some vicarious pleasure in seeing the country winning three gold medals, two silvers, and a bronze medal. I even published features on these achievements. But more about of this later – let’s revisit how Nigeria won NOTHING at the latest Olympics

No wonder, countless millions of Nigerians back at home and those dotted in other places around the world have been debating what could have precipitated such a disaster. Apart from the usual “fire brigade” approach, mismanagement, poor planning etc; others have pointed to the fact that even from the very grassroots, outstanding talent is hardly emerging these days; with the inter-house (school) sports that was so competitive and eagerly anticipated years ago now attenuated and peripheral. The fact that some Nigerian sportsmen are even turning out for other (richer) countries has worsened matters.

Yet perhaps it is not a doomsday scenario. Was it not the same Nigeria that had done so brilliantly in the most popular sport at the Olympics – football? In 1996, the country created history by becoming the first African country to win the Olympic gold for football. Just four years ago in China, Nigeria again got to the final, and walked away with the silver. A commendable feat when we remember that Brazil, generally believed to be the best football country in the world, has NEVER won the Olympic gold medal for football. But then again, maybe it is ominous that the Nigerian football squad did not even qualify for the Olympics this year.

Yet it was not so long ago when Nigeria produced some of the most thrilling sprint runners in the world, epitomised by the magnificent Mary Onyali who literally ran her heart out for the country for many years. Even at the latest Olympics especially in the 4 by 400 metres relay, Nigeria showed glimpses of talent. With Jamaica and USA in particular dominating the short distances it would take some sort of miracle for African countries to really challenge...but do not let us give in to despair. Maybe another Frank Fredericks is around the corner?

The polemics will continue over how Nigeria can turn around their sporting fortunes at the highest level; meanwhile South Africa was reasonably satisfied with their medals haul at the latest Olympics. Not surprisingly, all the three gold medals (most of the medals, actually) came from “white sports” like swimming and rowing. These are sports very unpopular or even non-existent in west African countries. Maybe some Nigerians still remember Valerie Oloyede and her swimming prowess many years ago – but she was a rarity indeed. Anyway, two white South Africans: Cameron van der Burgh and Chad le Clos won gold medals, and became overnight celebrities.

But the truth is that virtually all the Black people who are by far the majority in South Africa were more focused on the exploits of the remarkable Caster Semenya whom many expected to win a gold medal in the 800 metres. The girl won silver – a superb achievement at the Olympics, yet millions still felt a whiff of disappointment; they had wanted gold! Silver at Olympics’ athletics! Imagine how she would have been worshipped if she was a Nigerian or Ghanaian...
PHOTOS (Top) : Caster Semenya; middle - Mary Onyali

CLIMATE OF FEAR

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

The non-smoking zone here was essentially occupied by only two of us, seated on adjacent sofas. I for one; and then the white lady to my left sprawled on the sofa, seemingly tossing and turning whilst asleep. Or so it seemed, as two, there young men intermittently came to our side, making prurient plans and comments as regards the woman.

This was an eatery/tavern joint I rarely came to. But as I passed the place today the assistant manager in charge who happened to be a friend of mine saw me and shouted that “it had been a long time and I should enter and have at least one drink on the house” as it were; so I decided to relax a bit at the non-smoking zone where few people came to. But because of the woman there now, the white woman, the pesky guys kept on popping in and out!

They moved close again and their conversation was so bad, so embarrassing this time around – they were volubly saying what they would like to do to the woman – that I was moved to tell them: “Gentlemen, pls! This is South Africa, a free country. Leave the woman alone, asseblief (Please). Let her feel free here. Remember that this is August, Women’s Month. Just assume the lady is your sister or Aunt...you won’t want any harm to befall them...what do you say, pals?”

I was expecting at least one of them to be angry or belligerent towards me, but the two beside me just moved closer to me and said: “Thank you my brother. We are good people. We never meant the lady any harm. God knows that. We know you our brother; we’ve seen you in the papers. We are not bad people...” The one near me hugged me, followed by the other one who smelt strongly of cigarette. “We are sorry, we won’t disturb her...or you...we’ll go back to our table. We MUST respect women,” It was almost a comedy of errors, but that’s what drink could do!

I finished my drink and decided to relax a bit. Then I heard the supine white lady on the sofa say to me: “Thank you,” She did not sound drunk at all, just a bit tired. She sat up and came to sit beside me. After telling me her name was Nadia she went on:

“I was listening to them as I lay on the sofa. Foolish guys. They don’t know I have no fear for them. I can take care of myself anytime, and I rather like putting men in their place. You know Charlize Theron, the great SA actress of course. You know what her mother did to her father,”

I nodded solemnly. “She killed him, eh? Must have been very traumatic for Charlize.”

“Yes.” The lady said. “Charlize’s Mom killed her man. Self-defence. I killed my husband too years ago. He abused me. I had to spend time in jail for this of course. No regrets. Killing a person makes you feel a certain way. Sort of powerful and fearless. You know how it is,”

At this stage I had to admit to her, feeling almost ashamed in the process, that I have never actually killed any human being in my life.

She stared at me. “Ah well,” she went on. “Anybody, especially a man who tries to be violent with me will regret the day he was born. Have you heard about Katherine Knight?”

I could not immediately remember the connotation of the name, so Nadia explained to me now: “Katherine killed her lover in a bad way, I suppose. She stabbed him many times, dozens of times. Then she cut off his head, then she skinned him...cooked his body parts... what she did horrified the world; but for me I regard Katherine Knight as a sort of role model,”

I flinched. I now remembered the case of Katherine Mary Knight. A sadistic abuser and killer! The only thing on my mind now was to get away from this so-called lady! I tried to look calm and steady. “Interesting,” I said. “Pity I must go now. It’s been nice meeting you,”

She stared at me again. “You are shaking, my friend,” she said. “Surely you are not scared of me? Did what I said scare you? Surely you know I would never attack or harm someone like you; I now regard you as my friend...” But I felt even more uneasy.

“I am not scared,” I lied. “I just have to keep an appointment now,”. I forced a smile. I did not want her to regard me as an enemy!

“Okay...” she smiled. “Will you give me your number then? And perhaps a hug?”

I forced myself to do this. And as you can guess, it was a fake number I gave her!

PHOTO (Top) Katherine Knight, who killed her lover, cooked his flesh, and served this on plates...

THE ALLURE OF LARGER THAN LIFE WOMEN

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

I marvelled at the young lady’s prowess as she unpacked, unfurled the paraphernalia of her filming equipment with punctilious dexterity. And she was strong to boot! I wondered whether I myself could carry all the equipment she easily handled? Probably not. Yet although I teased her about being a “tomboy” et al, she was – is – an attractive young lady.

This was Winnie, the producer of a film documentary being made about me. I had flinched at what seemed to be an interminable list of questions I was supposed to answer. This was enough to drive anybody crazy! But as time unraveled, her utter professionalism made a great impression on me; even though I did refuse to answer a few of her questions.

Relaxed temporarily, the cameras away, whilst having lunch, she smiled and asked again: “Oh those women! Those interesting women who dot your books! (my fiction) She shook her head. “Oh my – just tell me – in real life, you don’t strike me as someone who likes women, but in your books! Oh! – “ she laughed again. “Don’t you want to say something about this; off the record perhaps?”

I grinned. There was a lot to say; but it was something of a pity that I thought she was too young to appreciate what would have been my real answer. I had old international movies in particular in mind – which was supposed to be her specialty, but actually was not. She was just too young to fully understand or have gone through what I had in mind; though she was brilliant in her field.

I was thinking of how women, interesting, intriguing captivating women have made the world sparkle with their larger than life essence in world history, books and movies. Just think of Cleopatra and Helen of Troy. They remain legends till date. Imagine a woman launching countless ships just because of her persona?

In the world of books, women add so much allure to works, whether classical or “popular” (including thrillers. Even Shakespeare knew this hence the gallery of intriguing women in his works, including the tragic heroines like Desdemona (Othello) or Ophelia (Hamlet). There are so many other classical works, like Madam Bovary, Batsheba Everdene (Thomas Hardy), Lolita (Naborov)

Even in African books, certain works became famous or notorious – probably both – because of the haunting nature of the female protagonists there. Like the Concubine (by Elechi Amadi) which featured a charming woman – Ihuoma - who seemed to destroy all her male suitors; like Ekwensi’s Jagua Nana which focuses on a ruthless yet irresistible “woman of easy virtue”

But these effects have been encapsulated in diverse movies over the decades. In the “good old days” when the big screen was god all over the world certain ladies (female actresses) found themselves being worshipped by millions as sex symbols and even in their old age now (or deceased) they are still highly venerated.

Just imagine names like Marilyn Monroe, Elizabeth Taylor, Brigitte Bardot, and Raquel Welch. They have gone down in history. They transcended the image itself and became household names during their eras in virtually every country in the world. They were more than iconic, to coin a cliché. Millions descended on cinemas, the big screen just to watch them.

Many pundits have pointed out that the “James Bond girls” over the decades have often been cinematographic triumphs. From the very first Bond, Doctor No, where Ursula Andress made a spectacular entry onto the screen! Remarkably, the producers of the movies have kept up the tradition, knowing how captivating special women can be so enchanting to countless millions watching the movies.

Hence Andress was followed Daniella Bianchi who starred brilliantly in From Russia with Love; we have had other stunning beauties like Barbara Bach (The spy who loved me) Jane Seymour (Live and let Die), Tanya Boyd (A View to a kill), Halle Berry (Die another Day) to mention just a few. Without these ladies, the films could not have been so extraordinarily successful.

Admittedly, nowadays the big screen is not as magical as it was decades ago, especially in Africa, but the sex symbols still abound in our modern times. Julia Roberts, Aishwarya Rai, Angelina Jolie, etc still have countless millions drooling over them and their characters on the screen. To undermine the impact or effect of intriguing women whether in history, books or movies would be incredibly fatuous.

But of course I did not go into such details with Winnie the film producer. I just said simply: “You know, women add a lot of spice and allure to books, etc. Without them so many books – just like movies -will be boring. My readers love enchanting women and I try to deliver the goods for them…one way or the other!”

PHOTOS: Ursula Andress (Top), Brigitte Bardot (Middle) and Aishwarya Rai (Below)





 

   

QUINTESSENCE OF EVIL

By Omoseye Bolaji

The poor young man was not only chased and hounded at the graveyard; he was ruthlessly stabbed many times. Then his head was cut off. And his face was stripped from his head! Thereafter his body parts were defiled in the most horrific fashion. Later, the police were to find diverse parts of his body all over the place – in the local graveyard, garden.

In case you are thinking: this is yet another unsavoury case of African muti (juju) black magic; you will be wrong! Very. The crime enumerated briefly here was actually perpetrated by a white woman; a gorgeous young South African white woman!

It is a harrowing, horrific, exceedingly shocking incident that continues to shock South Africans. The brief facts are as follows: a young white man , Van Eck thought he was finding love on the internet when he corresponded with a lovely young white woman, Chane van Heerden (20). The lady told him they should meet in person at a graveyard one night in the town of Welkom.

Never for a moment did the man think that he could be walking into danger. Grave danger! He was rather exhilarated and intoxicated at the prospect of meeting the lovely young lady in the flesh, at night! Hence the poor gentleman went to the graveyard…and that was the end of him.

As the girl, Chane van Heerden, confessed in court later, she and a male accomplice (Maartens Van Der Merwe (24) at the graveyard had attacked, ran after, and stabbed Van Eck many times. Then they had decapitated him and cut him to pieces. Unspeakable things had been done to his face and torso before his body parts were buried and even stored in a refrigerator.

It was incredibly shocking for South Africans to hear the young lady, Chane van Heerden, confessing to what they had done to van Eck and his body. She herself had “skinned his face and enjoyed doing so”

Suggestions of Satanism, Cultism etc were made by many “pundits” to explain why a young lady like Chane van Heerden could have done such horrific things to another human being. Yet all the parties involved were white…

For example, South African essayist and writer, Mzwandile Soqaga has said: “You wonder what the white perpetrators - the young woman and the man gained whilst doing this terrible thing to another human being. It appears it was done just for the macabre thrills!”

Indeed in the maleficent world of muti in the black African world, such horrific murders – including the mutilation and appropriation of human body parts are perpetrated for a specific purpose; mainly because of the belief that such violated parts can augment or enhance material wealth, bring good luck etc

But in this case, everybody was baffled as to why Van Eck had been so cruelly dealt with. Anyway, the young lady Chane van Heerden, has been given a lengthy sentence in jail which by South African standards is more or less tantamount to a life sentence…

A HARVEST OF GRIM DEATHS

By Omoseye Bolaji

“Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent.”

- Isaac Asimov

The message from my female South African journalist - sent via text
message was depressing –

“Morning, my editor. My younger brother was brutally killed on Friday. I’m going home today…” Later on I would hear the other terrible details of the death from her.

I winced. Another unnecessary death! A young life cruelly nipped in the bud again. Murder most foul. Another statistic of violence!

There is no running away from a general perception that in many ways South Africa can easily be construed as a very violent country where human life meretriciously means little. Reports of violent deeds and murder
are redolent.

The mass media does little to attenuate this perception. Every day in the print and electronic media, there are
lurid reports of wanton killings, men and women being slaughtered, farmers butchered etc. But as I pondered this new personal disaster afflicting my female journalist, my mind went back to a number of grisly deaths involving people I had known in South Africa over the years.

The first that came to my mind was “young” Themba who was the son of my first landlady here. A promising handsome youngster, he was tipped by most to carve a niche for himself in the near future. I left that house but still remained close to that family. Then I heard that Themba was now out of school and had a good job, and was taking care of his mother...then disaster!

I ran into Sandi, the younger brother of Themba and asked him about the family, and Themba in particular. I saw an involuntary shudder run through his body.

“So you haven’t heard?” he started. “Themba is dead. He was stabbed to death, ntate. Just because he bought a new fine cellphone. They left him to bleed to death on the ground in winter. They took his phone...”

What a senseless murder! But it is just one of many I know about personally here. Then there was the”gentleman” Lebohang who I had liked in the beginning. Amiable and genial. Then people told me he had killed two people, stabbing them viciously to death. He noticed my sudden discomfiture one day and laughed.

“So you heard about the guys I killed? It was self-defence, my brother.” He grinned at me and added. “Well, more or less! I am not afraid to kill a human if needs be”. Yet he himself met his end after being
brutally stabbed by an assailant. He who lives by the sword...?

And what about “Aunt Rita”? Friendly, empathetic lady. We used to meet intermittently,
her daughter - in her late teens - in tow. Uncharacteristically I saw the daughter all alone in toropo (the city)one day. I asked about her mother.

There was a terrible silence. She managed to say – “They killed my wonderful mum horribly. An assailant came at night and stabbed her so many times. The blood flowed from her bed to the kitchen... “ And she
began to cry

Alas, sadly, many Nigerians regularly lose their lives in South Africa too, some in gruesome fashion. For me one of the saddest cases was that of a Nigerian who operated a saloon here. I always had a soft spot for
him as I was the one who initially lent him most of the money he used to start his business.

His business acumen and nous were never in doubt and his business blossomed. I visited him every now and then; he was very much a people’s person. The news of his death really shocked me.

I gathered that he was stabbed in the torso many times by one of his closest South African acquaintances, who was drunk at the time whilst having an altercation with him. The same assailant, once sobered down,
whilst visiting the stabbed Nigerian in hospital, was told that he had passed away!

Yet, despite these sad recollections, I can not in good conscience say that I consider South Africans to be essentially violent people. There is violence all over the world. I really don't know...

Omoseye Bolaji writes on the idiocy of racial prejudice

As I watched the recently concluded Euro 2012 with South African friends, the arrant, blinkered idiocy of racial prejudice hit me like a ton of bricks!

This was particularly so during the 2nd semi final between Italy and Germany of which the latter were the hot favourites to win. Yet Italy won thanks to two
superb goals by their so called black striker, Mario Balotelli who played a blinder. Italians in their millions celebrated, crying with joy.

Yet Balotelli is as "black" as anybody could be, came into this world courtesy of authentic Ghanaian parents. He was brought up by Italian foster parents. In fact he dedicated his goals to his white Italian adoptive mother.

 Indeed sports, especially football has done a lot in reducing the centuries old prejudice against blacks by the western world. Now it is no longer almost impossible to see black players strutting their stuff for traditionally white countries.

Pele has always been a legend in football, hailing from Brazil, arguably the most racially mixed country in the world. Pele during World Cup finals starting in 1958 showed the world how brilliant and dexterous a black man can be with the ball.

 By the mid sixties Portugal became the first European country to benefit from fielding a brilliant black player. This was Eusebio, actually born in Africa but
starring for Portugal. He was by far the top goal scorer in the 1966 World Cup finals.

 France and England began to benefit from utilising black players too. Some 30 years ago the sleek Marius Tresor, a black player, actually captained France in a couple of
matches. In the 80s the superb black midfielder, Tigana, lit up matches for France.

 In 1998 many black players helped France to winthe World Cup for the first time. Apart from then young Thierry Henry and Patrick Vieira, Marcel Dessailly was actually born in Ghana, whilst even Zinadine Zidane was the French born son of Algerians.

 By the 80s black players in England were doing well too. Winger Mark Chanberlain used to remind me of Nigeria s Segun  Odegbami. John Barnes became a household name especially after scoring a fantastic goal for England against Brazil. When Des Walker a superb black defender began to play for England the latter even made it to the semi-finals of the 1990 World Cup.

And during the recent 2012 Euro tourney many black players were now ensconced in the squad, it was no longer a novelty. In the attack alone, there was Ashley Young,
Walcott, Danny Welbeck, and young Oxlain Chamberlain. Not to mention
Daniel Defoe!

In many other quote white European countries, they can now boast of black players representing them internationally. Think of Vincent Khampony of Belgium, stalwart of his club, Manchester City. Many of these players, like Balotelli, have their roots in Africa. 

Another example of this that we saw at Euro 2012 was Thodor Halessie who played
for the Czeck Republic; with an Ethiopian father. Angelo Ogbonna who played for Italy was born in that country of Nigerian parents. Then there is Jores Okore  - Ivorian born – playing for Denmark...

The trends extend far beyond football. In boxing for over 50 years the great Muhammad Ali brought glamour, wise-cracking, and zest to the sport. British boxer, Frank Bruno, though black, is a household darling. David Haye is charismatic too.

The Williams sisters - though naturally aging now - dominated world tennis for a decade or more. Venus and Serena. In the sphere of golf, despite his recent problems, Tiger Woods is largely synonymous with the sport.

 And never mind music where blacks rule the roost! Let us just conclude by very briefly looking at acting where there are now many black superstars. Yet incredibly, just over 50 years ago, there was almost no important black actor. Then great Sir Sidney Poitier as a black actor went on to show the idiocy of racial
prejudice...
Photos: Balotelli (top), Eusebio (middle) and John Barnes (below)

Omoseye Bolaji writes on the hoity-toity lady

The post office gave the impression of being pared to the bone, too few people were present. The customary queues were non-existent today. It was a very cold day in the heart of the S.A winter.

I was perched at the other end trying to write a quick letter using one of the public marble-like tables. The cold made this simple process rather languid. I could hardly believe that so few people could be
around.

Presently I noticed that a lady was now on my left. I nodded to her, as a form of greeting but she hardly acknowledged this. She had an ambience of haughtiness and pride. In my mind I briefly dubbed her a hoity-toity lady, well dressed to boot. In the past one could have said she looked "a million dollars",
but apparently that is a cliche!

She was filling a form quickly, her expensive mobile phone beside her on the table, on my left. I
concentrated on my own letter, and hardly noticed she had left. But there was now nobody beside me. Then there was a sort of cold whoosh, draught, as a young man materialised on my left.

Now I was in full possession of my faculties, such as they were! It was just pure instinct. It just occurred to me that there had been a fine cellphone on the table - inadvertently left by the lady - but this new guy had just grabbed it with great speed! I wheeled around and faced the man. The crook!

“Don’t do that my friend,” I said. Obviously, he thought the phone was mine, that I was too busy concentrating on writing, and he could steal it quickly from the table.

The guy smiled at me, a typical tsotsi, skelm - (area boy, omo ita.) “I'm sorry, my brother”, he said. "Temptation." He handed the phone to me. “A very good phone, boss”

But of course the phone was not mine. I had no doubt in my mind that the owner would soon be rushing back after discovering the loss, or perhaps frantically phoning her own phone now with me! I finished my letter, and moved to the seats nearby. Let me wait a bit, I thought.

I had hardly sat down than the "hoity-toity" lady came rushing in, breathless and distraught. She made a beeline for where we had been earlier; the table. She looked as if she was about to cry when she did
not see her phone. I moved towards her and gave her her phone. "I knew you’ll come back for it", I said.

She was very happy, the erstwhile ambience of arrogance deserting her. “Oh, I am so grateful,” she said. “My phone is my life!”

I grinned. “Isn’t that an exaggeration?”

She replied, “Not really. I have countless vital phone numbers there. What about sms, facebook, twitter, etc? General internet in my phone. A fantastic camera in my phone too. Music. Games...”

I grinned again. “Maybe I should have stolen the phone,”. I joked. We both laughed...

Omoseye Bolaji writes on The lady bards

I must confess I have always had a rather ambivalent attitude towards poetry. To be absolutely blunt, on the whole I consider it to be a rather "inferior" genre of literature, especially nowadays when so many mediocre "clowns" are claiming to be poets! I realise many out there would be incensed but this is a general view of mine which is patently qualified. I mean the world has noted eg that T.S Eliot was a great poet and writer, he was also a great literary critic, dramatist and essayist. Nigeria has of course produced many great poets too - like Wole Soyinka, Okigbo, J.P.Clark, Niyi Osundare, Ofeimun, even Chinua Achebe. But note that these illustrious names are not just poets, they are also renowned critics, novelists, dramatists etc. My point is that I feel uneasy when a writer places all emphasis and credence on being a "poet", only, like it's the be-all and end-all of being a writer. To give a SA example, one of my favourite writers is Aryan Kaganof. He has published about ten books of poetry. Yet when I think of Kaganof as a great writer, I am not really thinking of his poetry, but his powerful novels like Uselessly and Laduma. This is a global approach, largely. Thomas Hardy was a great poet but virtually everybody concentrates on his novels. The same applies to D.H Lawrence And the same applies to African writers. When we think of great writers like Achebe, Dambudzo, Armah, Ngugi, Ata Aidoo, virtually everybody is thinking of their works of fiction, or literary essays - not their poetry. Yes, I myself am a published poet. I have published three books of poetry,but I am in no way surprised or upset that most readers and critics focus only on the fiction I have produced. As far as I am concerned, that is the way it is supposed to be! Yet having said all this, I am excited to see more and more young ladies in South Africa reading and writing poetry! I know they will benefit much more from reading prose, but at least they are still appreciating literature. As the great Achebe said, we must not presume to be policemen of literature! And so when three charming, brilliant young S.A women poets - spearheaded by the redoubtable Jah Rose Jafta - approached me to write a Foreword to their book, how could I refuse? In fact I was delighted to do it. The ladies' book, titled Free State of mind, is a fine anthology of poems. And the good news is that the ladies are still quite young and have lots of time to add more strings to their literary bows! - Omoseye Bolaji

Omoseye Bolaji ponders being a movie star...

I suppose I should be gratified and grateful that I have experienced a number of gongs, exhilarating highlights in my life, thanks to my writing career, such as it is. A recent highlight was when the news broke in South Africa that a film documentary focusing on my literary contributions would soon be made by a major film-making firm. This development was published liberally, and many got to hear about it. Inevitably people, especially strangers were enthused about this, and I was congratulated everywhere. "We’ve read that a camera crew will be coming from Johannesburg to film you!" was a constant refrain. This happened virtually everywhere I went - inevitably at libraries, other public places including eateries and parks - it was a bit worrying that many people were construing the news as if it was a conventional block-busting movie! Hence, a large number of people, apart from the usual congratulation, would give me their phone numbers, and other details, including CVs! "We want to be in the movie too, my friend," they said. Actually I am very grateful to Winnie Mokhomo who packaged the documentary. But it was what happened at the main post office that startled me most. The section where I collect my assorted parcels. I got to the place where we rapp on the window-like panel, and took my place at the small queue. I saw two people inside the office, the officials suddenly stare at me and freeze. Then they smiled. The coloured (half-caste lady) went to a corner, and to my shock, brought out a large newspaper story on the film documentary to be made about me. It had been specially laminated! Those around beamed at this, and all eyes swivelled on me. I was embarrassed as the coloured woman hoisted the laminated piece around, saying” “You see,we were all so excited when we saw this. We said - we know this man! He comes here once, twice, a week to collect parcels," Another official, the slender young man, added - "We are very happy for you, and proud of you. Congratulations, Ntate. I am sure it would be a great movie." I thanked them for their goodwill, hoping the ground could open up and swallow me! Then the coloured lady added: "Do you think I am good-looking enough to appear in the movie?” - Omoseye Bolaji

Omoseye Bolaji reminisces on TV antecedents

Television, like modern technology generally, has grown by leaps and bounds. Now worldwide, via satellite TV there are countless stations to savour, including many specialised stations which millions - including myself - would never even bother to watch. Yet incredibly, it was not always like this. A few decades ago, most countries just had only one or two stations, mainly the national one. I was reminded of this recently when i made a brief acquaintance of an Australian tourist. Whilst we shared a few drinks he lamented the current boom in TV worldwide. "The good old days have gone," he said. "There is too much saturation these days. Then, there was the exhilaration of looking forward to, waiting days for the next episode of a TV hit, whether international, or our home grown Aussie shows." I grinned. “You mean like your Return to Eden? ‘ He smiled, not too surprised that I knew about this Australian series, featuring Stephanie Harper, Jakes Sanders etc. I added that as a kid, I also used to watch Skippy - Skippy, the bush kangaroo! He winced. "How could that be? That's many decades ago! Did youu grow up in Europe?" he asked. I replied that though I spent years as a kid in England, I actually watched most episodes of Skippy, the Australian show back in black Africa, so to speak. I explained: “You see, I happen to come from Ibadan, a Nigerian city which has the record of starting the first ever T.V station in the whole of Africa - over fifty years ago, so kids grew up watching shows from around the world. Like in your Australia etc then, it was black and white T.V of course. Colour came later." He said: "So in those days you watched our Skippy a lot?" He laughed. Ah, we were kids then! Did you know most of the stunts in the show were just film tricks? That even the kangaroo itself, "Skippy", was fake in the sense that many kangaroos were used, not just one? I myself learnt that many years later!" I shook my head. "No, we were too young then...you know even in those days, Nigeria had superb home-grown programmes too, including what is usually called soapies now. As you said earlier, the excitement was in waiting a week for the next episode!" My mind went back to Nigerian block-busting TV shows decades ago, like Village Headmaster, New Masquerade, Cockcrow at dawn, Suke, Fadeyi Oloro, Ripples. Gorgeous female stars of those days like Barbara Soky. My own personal favourite actor, Jegede in the comedy, Awada... I said: “Ah well, the world moves on. Now there is so much mushrooming of Nigerian movies, Nollywood. They are so popular here in South Africa! Even in the townships, synonymous with African Magic." The Australian sighed. “I prefer the old days,” he intoned, rather lugubriously. - Omoseye Bolaji

GRAPPLING WITH MALIGNANT HATRED

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI “To the last I grapple with thee; from hell’s heart I stab at thee; for hate’s sake I spit my last breath at thee!” Ahab, in the classic, Moby Dick The pigeons swooped down and flapped around majestically. They pecked at disparate morsels of food on the ground, jostling around with some frenzy as I watched them in desultory fashion. I had not come here at this particular park for some time. I savoured the ironically cold breeze. It was serene – but not for long! The first inkling I had that I was no longer alone here was when the birds suddenly flew away in an amazingly orchestrated manner! A man materialised beside me, a ginormous smile on his face. “Ntate! Long time!” he said. I stared at him now, and the penny dropped! It was a gentleman acquaintance I had not seen for at least four years, a rotund, amiable man. Now I could see he had put on even more weight. Immediately I also remembered that this man was always with a “twin”, a very close friend of his who was always by his side; a very tall man on the quiet side. I tried to remember the friend’s name... I failed. So I said – “Ah, Richard! Long time indeed. You have been more than scarce.” I smiled. And where is omo telele - the long (tall) man? I have never seen you without him in tow! “ Richard grimaced, a tragic expression suddenly etched on his face. He sat on the public bench beside me. “He’s no longer with us,” he said. “Joe (his tall friend) died a terrible death,” I winced “You see”, he went on. “You might not have known, but Joe had a sister that he loved very much. She was killed in a gruesome way by her boyfriend. It broke Joe’s heart, especially when the killer was somehow released from jail! The law system! Joe swore revenge, it festered with him. He wanted justice for his sister.” “So one day Joe went to the killer, and the mother of all fights ensued.” Richard shook his head. “It was terrible. There was blood all over the place. Both men died in the end. I lost my best friend.” There was silence. I thought about the Chinese saying, “Before setting out on revenge, you first dig two graves. I understood all too well what had happened. Actually, one of my books, Tebogo fails, is constructed around a similar theme. “Hmm, revenge,” Richard said. “It is a powerful thing that often leads to disaster.” I nodded. I thought of the classic book, Moby Dick, where Ahab wanted revenge on the awesome whale, Moby Dick; he hated it with all his heart, to the gruesome end - with virtually everybody on the ship dead because of this! C’est la vie?

ADIEU, RASHIDI YEKINI!!!

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI It was an unpalatable bolt from the blue for most of us to learn that “gangling” Rashidi Yekini is no more, the mercurial striker who regularly prodded millions into frenzied celebrations with his plethora of goals for his country. Ineluctably the world will always remember Yekini for his earnest, yet theatrical goal celebration at the World Cup finals in 1994. The pertinent photo is actually reproduced in one of my books,Eagles at USA 94. On a personal note again, I had the pleasure of publishing a long feature article on Yekini in the glossy, international magazine, World Soccer in 1994. Since the magazine is distributed in almost every country in the world, at the time,excerpts from my article were being used, quoted everywhere in many countries. The World Cup made Yekini world famous. Yet it was a long walk for Yekini. His early career is often overlooked, eg as a kid he actually starred for Nigeria at the 1984 Nations Cup finals where the Eagles unexpectedly reached the final, where Cameroon won 3 1. And how well I remember January 1984, at the Liberty stadium in Ibadan after a young Yekini had scored twice for the national side, Eagles against the Shooting Stars club, (a warm up session). The great Lekan Salami, now late, supremo of Shooting Stars said - “It was Shooting Stars that ‘killed’ Shooting Stars today!” A reference to the fact that the young Yekini had just been signed as a player for Stars club then. The pundits had no doubt then that Yekini will go on to score many goals for club(s) and country. And so it turned out, but it was not a smooth ride over the years. Yekini did score many goals till the early 90s, but one could hardly claim that he was fulfilling his early potential. In fact when Nigeria pulled out all the stops to qualify for World Cup 90 - and failed at the last minute - the attack in virtually all the key games comprised Siasia, Etim Essin, Owubokiri, and the late Okwaraji. No Yekini. Yekini was to bounce back later, adding more strings to his bow as a striker - apart from his ferocious, scorching shots - he became more versatile, with more close control, better passing ability, and adroit positioning. He was top scorer at both the 1992, and 1994 Nations Cup finals, the latter one won by Nigeria. His prolific goal scoring form helped Nigera qualify for the 1994 World Cup at long last, where he scored our first ever goal at the global finals against Bulgaria. But even at this highest level, it was still a case of "if only," for Yekini the great player... Nigeria might well have gone on to reach the World Cup final in 94 and made history for Africa if not for Italy's Maldini's sly, cynical yet horrific foul against Yekini who was set to score a crucial goal. Four years later, even at around 34 years old Yekini still made the Eagles squad that qualified for the 98 World Cup finals. Yekini made his mark again, even if not a regular starter. He was sensational against Spain, with an unforgettable overhead shot that just flew wide. But there was heartbreak again in the second round against Denmark who eliminated the Eagles. With his football career over, some did wonder what the future held for Yekini. Like England's tormented ex-football star, Paul Gascoigne, Yekini s whole life seemed to revolve around football. With their careers over, sadly, depression, general negativity seemed to envelope them despite their wealth and status. From the early days of the likes of Odegbami, Adokiye, Dan Amokachi, (all Nigerians), Gary Lineker,(England) , Doctor Khumalo, Mark Williams (South Africa) it was always clear that even when their playing days were over, life would still go on for them. Without being churlish, some former stars find it so difficult to make the transition. Maybe it should be a must that specialists in this wise,psychologists, psychiatrists, etc should be in regular contact with sports people throughout their careers? Quand meme, Adieu, Rashidi Yekini...and thanks for everything...