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...