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...

It Couldn't Matter Less

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

Recently my birthday was marked rather quietly – though there was a plethora of gifts that came my way from a cross-section of South Africans. I am grateful to them all, but one particular touching – though inexpensive – gift/gesture remains indelible in my mind.


And it came from an unexpected source; let’s just call the gentleman in question Raphael, an intelligent essayist and literary critic whom I have known for many years, since he was a bibliophilic young man in fact. He always buys copies of my books and has reviewed many of them over the years. I can not really say I have been close to him since I sometimes do not even see him for up to a year: and he has a rather strange character anyway!

He contacted me via email and told me he would be visiting Bloemfontein city after a long time; and that he had something “small” to give me as a birthday present. I was a bit surprised, since he has never really been the emotional type and he has never cared for my birthday before. Somehow I guessed that his gift would somehow be connected with books, and I was proved right. But it was still a VERY pleasant surprise.

We met the weekend just after my birthday and he was as inscrutable as ever. He won’t thank me for saying this, but does he ever smile? (Laugh) He explained that he had to leave very soon (as usual) as he had urgent family affairs to take care of. Strangely enough, we were inside the main post office, which was quite deserted mainly because of the cold weather.

He had a bag with him, which presumably contained my present. In his lugubrious way he started crisply: “You know, I like other commentators have been interested in your literary influences since you were a kid. These things are always over-simplified, but in many studies written on you, even by me, we always blandly talk about writers like Chase, Sheldon, Cheyney, Francis etc as influencing you...”

I said nothing, as he went on: “Then I read that article, the second one that mentions you, by scholar and researcher Achal Prabhala, where he focuses on Peter Cheyney in particular. I myself had never seen a Cheyney book in my whole life. But I told myself that I must do all I can to buy a Cheyney book for you, even if just for your current library. I was in Cape Town last week, and happily enough after trawling a few old book centres I managed to get a Peter Cheyney book. For just for fifteen rand! What a bargain! I hope you’ll accept the old copy as a present,”

Excitement surged through me. How many decades ago had I last physically seen a Cheyney book myself, though I had read dozens of them as a kid? Raphael opened his bag and brought out the book, titled It couldn’t matter less.

I began to shake. At rare times like this I am quite likely to become nigh-comatose; incredibly the book had the same cover of the copy I had known decades ago! Profile of a woman with the face of the 'notorious' bland Slim Callaghan (detective) somewhat in the background! How I remembered the book!

I almost reeled as my mind went back to my father’s old library where It couldn’t matter less lay among the dusty shelves for many years. How I read the book intermittently then...whilst travelling in-between cities like Ibadan, Oyo, Osogbo, Lagos Akure, Ife (where I had attended university) etc. And I also remembered that the book had been lent to my old friend, Kunle Apantaku who never returned it.

Ah, Kunle. What memories! He was so much in love with writing since we were kids and wrote two astonishingly intelligent novels whilst still a teen ager. Pity that he fell by the wayside as a writer; and worst of all, something terrible happened to him over the years. Raphael did not know it, but this was one of the most touching gifts I had ever received!!!

But all Raphael could see now was someone who seemed about to faint or collapse...”Hey” he said. “You seem upset. I’m sorry, if you don’t want the book-“ He tried to touch the book, but within a jiffy this rare copy of It couldn’t matter less was already ensconced in my bag! “A wonderful gift and present,” I said. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me, but maybe you’ll read about it one day! Thanks so much!”

“Hey ntate!” Raphael protested. “Why don’t you let me gift-wrap the book for you?”

I grinned. “Don’t bother. It couldn’t matter less,” I said.

Troughs and Crests of the Olympics

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

There is no running away from the fact that Nigeria’s recent participation at the 2012 London Olympics was an unmitigated disaster. The only “consolation” is that the word “participation” is apt; at least the country was represented – even though the contingent could not garner even one paltry bronze medal whilst representing a nation of over 100 million people!


Yet some might argue that the Olympics is the acme of global participation; it is not a kids’ jaunt...participants are up against the very best in the world; hence to haul in any medal is very difficult indeed. But then, this must be set against the backdrop of just one country, USA winning over 40 gold medals! With China, and Britain (hosts) not very much far behind. Jamaica is a very small country of just a few millions, yet with magisterial Usain Bolt to the fore, the country harvested a number of gold medals, never mind silver and bronze.

And yes, Africa as a whole did dismally at the Olympics – as usual, really. Apart from the usual intermittent athletic medal hauls for Kenya, Ethiopia, Uganda (very last day of athletics), hardly any African country came into the picture. West Africa as a whole (with some 15 countries) might as well not have travelled to the Olympics! So bleak was the picture.

South Africa was by far the best performer from the continent at the Olympics; and I must confess that I had some vicarious pleasure in seeing the country winning three gold medals, two silvers, and a bronze medal. I even published features on these achievements. But more about of this later – let’s revisit how Nigeria won NOTHING at the latest Olympics

No wonder, countless millions of Nigerians back at home and those dotted in other places around the world have been debating what could have precipitated such a disaster. Apart from the usual “fire brigade” approach, mismanagement, poor planning etc; others have pointed to the fact that even from the very grassroots, outstanding talent is hardly emerging these days; with the inter-house (school) sports that was so competitive and eagerly anticipated years ago now attenuated and peripheral. The fact that some Nigerian sportsmen are even turning out for other (richer) countries has worsened matters.

Yet perhaps it is not a doomsday scenario. Was it not the same Nigeria that had done so brilliantly in the most popular sport at the Olympics – football? In 1996, the country created history by becoming the first African country to win the Olympic gold for football. Just four years ago in China, Nigeria again got to the final, and walked away with the silver. A commendable feat when we remember that Brazil, generally believed to be the best football country in the world, has NEVER won the Olympic gold medal for football. But then again, maybe it is ominous that the Nigerian football squad did not even qualify for the Olympics this year.

Yet it was not so long ago when Nigeria produced some of the most thrilling sprint runners in the world, epitomised by the magnificent Mary Onyali who literally ran her heart out for the country for many years. Even at the latest Olympics especially in the 4 by 400 metres relay, Nigeria showed glimpses of talent. With Jamaica and USA in particular dominating the short distances it would take some sort of miracle for African countries to really challenge...but do not let us give in to despair. Maybe another Frank Fredericks is around the corner?

The polemics will continue over how Nigeria can turn around their sporting fortunes at the highest level; meanwhile South Africa was reasonably satisfied with their medals haul at the latest Olympics. Not surprisingly, all the three gold medals (most of the medals, actually) came from “white sports” like swimming and rowing. These are sports very unpopular or even non-existent in west African countries. Maybe some Nigerians still remember Valerie Oloyede and her swimming prowess many years ago – but she was a rarity indeed. Anyway, two white South Africans: Cameron van der Burgh and Chad le Clos won gold medals, and became overnight celebrities.

But the truth is that virtually all the Black people who are by far the majority in South Africa were more focused on the exploits of the remarkable Caster Semenya whom many expected to win a gold medal in the 800 metres. The girl won silver – a superb achievement at the Olympics, yet millions still felt a whiff of disappointment; they had wanted gold! Silver at Olympics’ athletics! Imagine how she would have been worshipped if she was a Nigerian or Ghanaian...
PHOTOS (Top) : Caster Semenya; middle - Mary Onyali

CLIMATE OF FEAR

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

The non-smoking zone here was essentially occupied by only two of us, seated on adjacent sofas. I for one; and then the white lady to my left sprawled on the sofa, seemingly tossing and turning whilst asleep. Or so it seemed, as two, there young men intermittently came to our side, making prurient plans and comments as regards the woman.

This was an eatery/tavern joint I rarely came to. But as I passed the place today the assistant manager in charge who happened to be a friend of mine saw me and shouted that “it had been a long time and I should enter and have at least one drink on the house” as it were; so I decided to relax a bit at the non-smoking zone where few people came to. But because of the woman there now, the white woman, the pesky guys kept on popping in and out!

They moved close again and their conversation was so bad, so embarrassing this time around – they were volubly saying what they would like to do to the woman – that I was moved to tell them: “Gentlemen, pls! This is South Africa, a free country. Leave the woman alone, asseblief (Please). Let her feel free here. Remember that this is August, Women’s Month. Just assume the lady is your sister or Aunt...you won’t want any harm to befall them...what do you say, pals?”

I was expecting at least one of them to be angry or belligerent towards me, but the two beside me just moved closer to me and said: “Thank you my brother. We are good people. We never meant the lady any harm. God knows that. We know you our brother; we’ve seen you in the papers. We are not bad people...” The one near me hugged me, followed by the other one who smelt strongly of cigarette. “We are sorry, we won’t disturb her...or you...we’ll go back to our table. We MUST respect women,” It was almost a comedy of errors, but that’s what drink could do!

I finished my drink and decided to relax a bit. Then I heard the supine white lady on the sofa say to me: “Thank you,” She did not sound drunk at all, just a bit tired. She sat up and came to sit beside me. After telling me her name was Nadia she went on:

“I was listening to them as I lay on the sofa. Foolish guys. They don’t know I have no fear for them. I can take care of myself anytime, and I rather like putting men in their place. You know Charlize Theron, the great SA actress of course. You know what her mother did to her father,”

I nodded solemnly. “She killed him, eh? Must have been very traumatic for Charlize.”

“Yes.” The lady said. “Charlize’s Mom killed her man. Self-defence. I killed my husband too years ago. He abused me. I had to spend time in jail for this of course. No regrets. Killing a person makes you feel a certain way. Sort of powerful and fearless. You know how it is,”

At this stage I had to admit to her, feeling almost ashamed in the process, that I have never actually killed any human being in my life.

She stared at me. “Ah well,” she went on. “Anybody, especially a man who tries to be violent with me will regret the day he was born. Have you heard about Katherine Knight?”

I could not immediately remember the connotation of the name, so Nadia explained to me now: “Katherine killed her lover in a bad way, I suppose. She stabbed him many times, dozens of times. Then she cut off his head, then she skinned him...cooked his body parts... what she did horrified the world; but for me I regard Katherine Knight as a sort of role model,”

I flinched. I now remembered the case of Katherine Mary Knight. A sadistic abuser and killer! The only thing on my mind now was to get away from this so-called lady! I tried to look calm and steady. “Interesting,” I said. “Pity I must go now. It’s been nice meeting you,”

She stared at me again. “You are shaking, my friend,” she said. “Surely you are not scared of me? Did what I said scare you? Surely you know I would never attack or harm someone like you; I now regard you as my friend...” But I felt even more uneasy.

“I am not scared,” I lied. “I just have to keep an appointment now,”. I forced a smile. I did not want her to regard me as an enemy!

“Okay...” she smiled. “Will you give me your number then? And perhaps a hug?”

I forced myself to do this. And as you can guess, it was a fake number I gave her!

PHOTO (Top) Katherine Knight, who killed her lover, cooked his flesh, and served this on plates...

THE ALLURE OF LARGER THAN LIFE WOMEN

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

I marvelled at the young lady’s prowess as she unpacked, unfurled the paraphernalia of her filming equipment with punctilious dexterity. And she was strong to boot! I wondered whether I myself could carry all the equipment she easily handled? Probably not. Yet although I teased her about being a “tomboy” et al, she was – is – an attractive young lady.

This was Winnie, the producer of a film documentary being made about me. I had flinched at what seemed to be an interminable list of questions I was supposed to answer. This was enough to drive anybody crazy! But as time unraveled, her utter professionalism made a great impression on me; even though I did refuse to answer a few of her questions.

Relaxed temporarily, the cameras away, whilst having lunch, she smiled and asked again: “Oh those women! Those interesting women who dot your books! (my fiction) She shook her head. “Oh my – just tell me – in real life, you don’t strike me as someone who likes women, but in your books! Oh! – “ she laughed again. “Don’t you want to say something about this; off the record perhaps?”

I grinned. There was a lot to say; but it was something of a pity that I thought she was too young to appreciate what would have been my real answer. I had old international movies in particular in mind – which was supposed to be her specialty, but actually was not. She was just too young to fully understand or have gone through what I had in mind; though she was brilliant in her field.

I was thinking of how women, interesting, intriguing captivating women have made the world sparkle with their larger than life essence in world history, books and movies. Just think of Cleopatra and Helen of Troy. They remain legends till date. Imagine a woman launching countless ships just because of her persona?

In the world of books, women add so much allure to works, whether classical or “popular” (including thrillers. Even Shakespeare knew this hence the gallery of intriguing women in his works, including the tragic heroines like Desdemona (Othello) or Ophelia (Hamlet). There are so many other classical works, like Madam Bovary, Batsheba Everdene (Thomas Hardy), Lolita (Naborov)

Even in African books, certain works became famous or notorious – probably both – because of the haunting nature of the female protagonists there. Like the Concubine (by Elechi Amadi) which featured a charming woman – Ihuoma - who seemed to destroy all her male suitors; like Ekwensi’s Jagua Nana which focuses on a ruthless yet irresistible “woman of easy virtue”

But these effects have been encapsulated in diverse movies over the decades. In the “good old days” when the big screen was god all over the world certain ladies (female actresses) found themselves being worshipped by millions as sex symbols and even in their old age now (or deceased) they are still highly venerated.

Just imagine names like Marilyn Monroe, Elizabeth Taylor, Brigitte Bardot, and Raquel Welch. They have gone down in history. They transcended the image itself and became household names during their eras in virtually every country in the world. They were more than iconic, to coin a cliché. Millions descended on cinemas, the big screen just to watch them.

Many pundits have pointed out that the “James Bond girls” over the decades have often been cinematographic triumphs. From the very first Bond, Doctor No, where Ursula Andress made a spectacular entry onto the screen! Remarkably, the producers of the movies have kept up the tradition, knowing how captivating special women can be so enchanting to countless millions watching the movies.

Hence Andress was followed Daniella Bianchi who starred brilliantly in From Russia with Love; we have had other stunning beauties like Barbara Bach (The spy who loved me) Jane Seymour (Live and let Die), Tanya Boyd (A View to a kill), Halle Berry (Die another Day) to mention just a few. Without these ladies, the films could not have been so extraordinarily successful.

Admittedly, nowadays the big screen is not as magical as it was decades ago, especially in Africa, but the sex symbols still abound in our modern times. Julia Roberts, Aishwarya Rai, Angelina Jolie, etc still have countless millions drooling over them and their characters on the screen. To undermine the impact or effect of intriguing women whether in history, books or movies would be incredibly fatuous.

But of course I did not go into such details with Winnie the film producer. I just said simply: “You know, women add a lot of spice and allure to books, etc. Without them so many books – just like movies -will be boring. My readers love enchanting women and I try to deliver the goods for them…one way or the other!”

PHOTOS: Ursula Andress (Top), Brigitte Bardot (Middle) and Aishwarya Rai (Below)