THE BEGUILING OUTING

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

Early January. Vestiges of New Year Celebrations. I was in the South African toropo (city) of Bloemfontein in somewhat desultory fashion, when a female acquaintance saw me, came to me. We talked, “catching up”, as they say. Then my phone rang.

It was Sibusiso, a friend/acquaintance of mine; also a poet of sorts. “Mr Bolaji,” he thundered into the phone. “Right now I have so much extra money and I have not seen you for a long time. Let’s have lunch and drinks unlimited at the Waterfront NOW. Please! I am already at the Ocean Basket. You can bring anybody with you, male or female; but preferably female! Meet me there soonest if possible, and it’s jabulane (enjoyment) time,”

I sighed. The lady beside me asked what was going on and I told her. Like many black women she was excited about “enjoying at the Waterfront” – a famed place where people (mostly comfortable whites) can let their hair down, enjoy near the waters, luxuriate in the salubrious breeze, impressive edifices etc. “Are you crazy?” said she. “You say the guy said you can even bring a companion along…let’s go there now and enjoy!” So we went to the Waterfront.

Sibusiso was already there at the “Ocean Basket” section, enjoying a few ice-cold drinks. It was incongruous to see him seated alone, at a table meant for four people. “Doesn’t he have any friends; any woman?” my lady companion asked. But before I could reply, we were already beside Sibusiso who greeted us fulsomely.

“Hantle! (fine)” he said. He stared at the lady with me “Ah, it’s so nice having feminine company too!” He exchanged pleasantries with her. Sibusiso was around 40 years old, charming and always smiling. “Please don’t be shy or stingy. Order anything you want! It’s all on me!” he beamed. “I have not seen Ntate Bolaji for months; we only see him in the papers!”

It was a wonderful time had by all as exotic meals and drinks flowed. The lady enjoyed herself a lot. She became quite cosy with Sibusiso. He spoke frankly, even intermittently referring to the time he had spent behind bars, in jail (without his going into details). This did not faze our lady companion as she cuddled close to him (the power of money?) happily gave him her cell number, and talking liberally about herself. When it was all over (in the evening), with all of us sated at his expense, she threw her arms around him and gave him an almighty hug. “Call me,” she said, a seductive smile on her face.

My female companion was delectably drunk. As she kept on repeating, she could not remember the last time she had had such a wonderful time. I escorted her to her place (also in the city). “Well thanks for your company,” I said, preparing to leave.

“By the way,” she said, suddenly focusing. “Apparently, Sibusiso was in jail for some time. Such a nice man. What did he do? Some sort of fraud? Or don’t you know what his offence was?”

Rather indignantly, I retorted that of course I knew what Sibusiso had done that had landed him in jail for years. I told her that he had killed his wife, stabbed her viciously many times whilst putting an end to her life. The lady flinched.

“A murderer! A wife killer!” she shouted. “And you let us go to him for drinks and food! How can you do this to me?”

“Come on,” I said peaceably. “You persuaded me, us, to go to him. You remember? You enjoyed yourself a lot there. You insisted on giving him your phone number. You hugged him. You said he’s a good man. The man has served his time in jail; doesn’t he deserve to be treated decently now that he’s out?”

But the woman was still angry. She shouted epithets at me and said I had “disappointed” her. How could I do this? I sighed. Women! What could I do?

"DON'T PRESSURISE CREATIVE WRITERS" - Bolaji

(Above photos) Bolaji on vacations during the festive season

2012 has dawned and African literature will continue to be healthy in the New Year. During the festive season, well known writer Omoseye Bolaji was interviewed for a Cameroonian magazine by Theophile Ebounge. Excerpts here...

EBOUNGE: You have done very well in the genre of fiction. Yet many people say they do not like fiction much, that it’s much contrived, even absurd. Will you accept that a lot of absurd incidents crop up in fiction?

BOLAJI: Of course, yes. We confront a lot of absurdity in real life too; that’s why we have trenchant expressions like “stranger than fiction”. Incidentally, for those who worship “classical” literature, we might as well remember that a lot of such writing might come across as absurd too. Take early great works by Richardson for example – Pamela, Clarissa...so many strange goings-on. Or the world famous Gulliver’s Travels – nothing can be more absurd! Little people (Lilliputians), people so tall that tall men like me appear like dwarves, horses stated to be refined and supercilious...or consider Oscar Wilde’s classic on Dorian Gray. The weird Faustian “mirror stuff”, a man refusing to age, attacking the mirror ultimately and coming to a grotesque end. Surely all this can be dubbed absurd if one is inclined to be negative. My own opinion is that people who say these things (attacking fiction) are aware of their own limitations; that they just can’t read; and are looking for excuses!

EBOUNGE: I’m impressed that you refer to some classical works. I thought I read elsewhere that you are not really into classical literature...some critics say you don’t like the classics.

BOLAJI: Let’s get this clear –critics are not infallible, they make a lot of mistakes, they spout a lot of nonsense! But on the whole, they are very important even if it is because many of them stoke controversy, thereby drawing attention to certain works. I have nothing against the classics. There are so many of them; but I read quite a number of them when I was young and had the time and complementary concentration. You might remember that some of these critics have also pointed out many allusions to classical literature in my books, over the years. As a writer, I respect the classics...Flaubert – Madam Bovary: Hemingway –Nobel award winner with his sparse journalistic style. Virginia Woolf. Thomas Hardy. Conrad. George Orwell. TS Eliot. DH Lawrence. Charles Dickens. Samuel Becket(author of Waiting for Godot)The Bronte sisters. Of course Shakespeare. It’s just that as an African writer it disgusts me that many Eurocentric writers hardly know about our own writers who have produced classics; like Chinua Achebe, Wole Soyinka, Ngugi, Ben Okri, Ayi Kwei Armah, Yvonne Vera, Dangarembga, Es’kia Mphahlele, Lewis Nkosi, Camara Laye etc.

EBOUNGE: Many critics say your career as a writer of fiction is over!

BOLAJI: Critics again! They are not deities. People must go out and read the large corpus of works already published and not be hankering for new works. I respect the critics who at least read one’s books, not the “clowns” who read the blurb of a book, or one or two half-baked reviews, and claim to know it all. Critics say I produced no fiction in 2011, yet across the world, my 2011 book, Miscellaneous Writings is largely categorised as “short stories”! This should tell you something. (Pause) Pa Achebe waited for over 20 years after writing A man of the People, before he published his next novel, Anthills of the Savannah. It was almost the same scenario for Ngugi whose Wizard of the Crow came out almost 20 years after his last novel. I published Ask Tebogo (novel) in 2004 and it was only four years later that I could publish another work of fiction, Tebogo and the Haka. It does not mean I am “finished”. Writers should not be put under pressure, ideally. But if I’m “finished”, then I am finished! Anyway, I can tell you that Mbali Publications will be bringing out a book of fiction of mine in early 2012. So are you happy?
(laughter)

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!