THE FEMALE SANGOMA

BY OMOSEYE BOLAJI

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Unsung Literary Catalysts

(Above) Ulli Beier

By O BOLAJI

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kudos to all such unsung literary catalysts!

THE DELETERIOUS FUMES

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

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

Mariama Ba, in the novel, So long a letter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE BELEAGUERED LADY

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE TROUGHS OF SPORTS

(Above) Former Eagles Coach, Samson Siasia - crestfallen

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah well, such can be the troughs of sports!

DEON'S DEBUT WORK

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Page 28, A Series of undesirable events)

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

A very impressive debut work.

Basking In Global Rugby Fiesta!

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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