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...