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