LECHESA'S NEW BOOK-LENGTH STUDY ON O. BOLAJI

Publisher: MBALI PRESS

Sponsored by: NATIONAL ARTS COUNCIL OF SOUTH AFRICA

CONFLATING YORUBA AND SESOTHO LITERATURE

By Omoseye Bolaji

Is it not a wonderful thing when we devour (read) a gripping, superb book written in our African languages, the mother tongue in particular? Such books read at a very young age often transport us into another world entirely, especially if the pertinent author is a fluent wordsmith.

Hence millions of Yoruba speaking people around the world (including myself) realise only too well the debt we owe to D.O Fagunwa, a more than proficient and dexterous writer in the Yoruba language. What an imagination! What florid captivating descriptions! Reading Fagunwa’s books enriched our childhood prodigiously, especially as we were so lucky to read him as kids.

It is rather zany that as regards writing in the mother tongue, our African languages, there is often complete ignorance among readers from other linguistic groupings about superb writers strutting their stuff in other African languages. That is the burden such great writers often necessarily carry. For example we Yorubas know all about the one and only D.O Fagunwa, but how many Yorubas know about Thomas Mofolo or KPD Maphalla? Or vice versa?

Okay, Thomas Mofolo (pix, above) and Maphalla are regarded as all-time greats of Sesotho (a South African ‘African language’) literature. Since there have been many translations (into European languages) of Mofolo’s books - especially Chaka – we can assume that from the international point of view Thomas Mofolo would be more celebrated than Maphalla.

Yet KPD Maphalla arguably is the greatest writer ever in the Sesotho language. Here is a living legend indeed! (He is still very much alive unlike Fagunwa and Mofolo who died many decades ago) Maphalla has published well over 35 books in Sesotho, a man whose books have been read by successive generations of (Sesotho language) readers in schools and Colleges in the pertinent regions. Just like D.O Fagunwa in the Yoruba niche.

Years ago, Fagunwa’s books were recommended reading in proliferating schools in Yorubaland, as it were, (mainly western Nigeria) And we all relish those good old days! Reading any work of Fagunwa then – like Ireke Onibudo, Ogboju Ode Ninu Igbo Irunmale, Igbo Olodumare, Aditu Olodumare etc - was being transported into a fantastical, exhilarating world where human beings, evanescent spirits, animals, ancestral African legends are intertwined inextricably.

As scholar Bayo Adebowale has put it: “Whoever among them can ever forget Fagunwa’s powerful character portrait of his major characters like Esu Kekereode, Anjonnu Iberu, Olowoaye, Ojola Ibinu, Kako, Akaraoogun, Imodoye, Olohun Iyo, Aramanda Okunrin, Egbin, Ibembe Olokunrun, Ifepade, Arogidigba, Baba Onirugbon Yeuke, Ajediran, Iragbeje, Ajantala, Ogongo Baba Eye, Edidare people and Omugodimeji their Royal Father, Ireke Onibudo, itanforiti, Ologbo Ijakadi, Iyunade and Ahondiwura!”

Not that Fagunwa is the only superb writer in the Yoruba language. There have been a number of others over the decades like the revered Adebayo Faleti, Akinwunmi Isola, and Afolabi Olabimtan (who I once interviewed for a Nigerian weekly in the past). Prof Faleti’s Yoruba classics (books) include O leku and Efunsetan Aniiwura – which we read long ago.

Yet there is no doubt about it that D.O Fagunwa will always be considered the greatest creative writer ever in the Yoruba language; the same way Thomas Mofolo and KPD Maphalla are regarded as all-time greats (or ‘greatests’) in the Sesotho language. Mofolo, being a pioneer (first novelist in the Sesotho language) will always be given pride of place by scholars and pundits. Ditto D.O Fagunwa in the Yoruba language.

It is a crying shame that these days, most African youth seem to consider it a burden, an imposition, even “infra dig” to read books written in their mother tongues across the continent. They do not know that this is sheer folly on their part. The ideal thing is to master both our mother tongues plus “international language” – bask in them all!

In this wise we all remember that one of Africa’s greatest ever writers, Ngugi wa Thiong’o (from Kenya) made his name as a brilliant writer in English, and then suddenly announced that he would be focusing on his mother tongue (Kikuyu) in his writings. Many scholars have regarded this as “extreme”, but the point is that there is great joy in the literature of our copious African languages…suke…

MELANCHOLIC PALL OF MARIKANA

By Omoseye Bolaji

August 16 – yesterday - is the date of my birthday – but alas, the heart-rending events at Marikana last year (2012) in South Africa, have made this date one for sober reflection in the country. This is because of what has now gone down in history as the “Marikana massacre”

Some background information here. The Marikana miners' strike or Lonmin strike was a wildcat strike at a mine owned by Lonmin in the Marikana area, close to Rustenburg, South Africa – last year. The event garnered international attention following a series of violent incidents between the South Africa Police Service, Lonmin security, the leadership of the National Union of Mineworkers (NUM) and strikers themselves which resulted in the deaths of 44 people, the majority of whom were striking mineworkers killed on the day.

On the afternoon of 16 August, members of a contingent of the SAPS, from an elite special unit, opened fire on a group of strikers. 34 people were killed, and at least 78 were wounded. The striking mine workers had gathered nearby Nkaneng Hill armed with spears, pangas, and sticks. A large group of women, not employed at the mine, some armed with knobkerries, joined them. Six guns were found at the scene, one of which belonged to a police officer "hacked to death" earlier during the strike

At least 78 additional workers were also injured on 16 August last year. The total number of injuries during the strike remains unknown. In addition to the Lonmin strikers, there has been a wave of wildcat strikes across the South African mining sector. ^..

Now a year after South Africa's bloodiest post-apartheid labour incident awoke the world to the potential for unrest in the country's mines; the industry still suffers from worker poverty, pay disputes, shrinking profits and a violent union feud.

It is still remembered that squalid living conditions and hard work coupled with indebtedness in a violent crime-ridden environment, contributed toward mounting resentment among the miners.

This was exacerbated by a perception that trade unions, the supposedly democratically controlled shields of the workers, had been mere stepping stones to wealth and privilege for the few.

Yet the sad reality is that now, a year after SA’s bloodiest post-apartheid labour incident awoke the world to the potential for unrest in the country's mines, the industry still suffers from worker poverty, pay disputes, shrinking profits and a violent union feud.

The shooting incident on 16 August last year that the press dubbed the Marikana massacre was the single most lethal use of force by South African security forces against civilians since 1960, and the end of the apartheid era. The shootings have been described as a “massacre” in the South African media and have been compared to Sharpeville massacre in 1960. The incident also took place on the 25-year anniversary of a nationwide South African miners' strike.

The commission of inquiry appointed by the powers-that-be in SA to establish just what happened in the days leading up to the fateful events last year has yet to conclude its work. Retired Judge Ian Farlam and his team were initially given four months to finish their probe but their work has been plagued by numerous problems; including the issue of funding for the deceased’ families to attend proceedings, and also the fact that several key potential witnesses were killed. Despite the challenges, the commission continued probing what happened in the dusty mining town last August.

On Friday yesterday (my birthday), prayers were offered at the rocky outcrop known as the "Hill of Horror" near the Marikana mine where the 34 strikers, many carrying clubs and spears, died in hail of police gunfire when officers moved to disperse their protest last year.

But the fact is; the date is still my birthday. On a personal note, I have been surprised with the plethora of birthday wishes, congratulations, gifts et al that I have received this year - especially as I am considered by many as something of a ‘a recluse and old fogey’ who has always steered away from ‘social networking’ paraphernalia like facebook and twitter. Thanks…

TANTALISING GLIMPSES OF THE IVORY TOWER

By Omoseye Bolaji

The South African academic, Dr Somadoda Fikeni (pictured above) is a top-notch intellectual I enjoy watching whenever he is on TV analysing political issues with elan. He has an extraordinary ambience of gravitas, which complemented with his suavity and excellent diction adorns him with a special aura.

I can not make great claims that I know much about this gentleman, but just listening to him intermittently on air one becomes somewhat entranced. Even without being told, one ineluctably has the distinct conviction that this is a man of distinction and erudition, a man who would have churned out world class books in his field.

And, voila! This is indeed the case. The good Doctor – or/and Professor – is the author of massive analytical, painstaking books like Conflict and Accommodation: The Politics of Rural Local Government, and Exile and Return: The Politics of Namibia’s “returnees”

Somehow, when I see Fikeni on air, my mind goes back to a few decades ago back in Nigeria when as a youngster I used to see another eminent academic, Dr Ben Elugbe on TV analysing football with awesome proficiency. As kids we marvelled at his knowledge and skilled delivery – on football. Somehow we could not get to grips with his already considerable pedigree as an academic.

It was only later on that one would learn that Elugbe is a renowned academic in his own field (linguistics?), a man who has published the usual awe-inspiring works – like his “thick” book, A comparative Edo phonology, Comparative Edoid: Phonology and Lexicon; and Nigerian Pidgin: Background and Prospects.

It does appear that academics, though respected prodigiously in their own niche, seem not to belong to the “ordinary” world, it is as if the “Ivory Tower” is where they should be ensconced; as if they are rather unreal and ethereal; that the works they produce can only be appreciated by a removed, restricted, cerebral audience. This is a perception which continues to persist, even among so-called mainstream writers and public “performance poets”

At this juncture, let us throw in the names of two great, world class African writers; one a Nigerian, one a South African. Both academics. Nigeria’s Isidore Okpewho is an outstanding writer who has produced scintillating works. But how many “ordinary readers” know about him or his works, including his fiction? The same applies to South Africa’s Zoe Wicomb (“coloured”) a woman whose writing skill is easily one of the best in the world. Yet this duo seems inextricably submerged into the world of academia and one would be hard-pressed to find more than a handful of ordinary, mainstream readers familiar with their published works. And I must also mention the polished, superb (also an academic) female writer, Menan Du Plessis, author of stunning books like A State of Fear and Longlive…

A few years ago, I met an incredibly modest, quite young woman (incidentally white) at a conference. Whilst other mediocre participants were making their presence felt volubly, she was mouse-like, funereally quiet, as if it was incongruous that she should be at the occasion. But nevertheless, I had the feeling that she was an immense intellect and managed to share a few words with her.

“I am sure you have published a lot of quality stuff. You are an academic,” I said to her. Deprecatingly, she admitted that yes, she had published some “weak stuff. Nothing much,” Books? Shuffling of feet. “Just one…a small book…”

Subsequent research on my part soon elicited the fact that this lady had indeed published a book; and the “small book” she had published in her field was over 300 pages long! In my mind (I won’t publish her name here) she strikes me as a quintessential academic, exceedingly modest yet already top-notch.

Since academics always aim for the skies, and are so painstaking that it is not easy for them to become part of the warp and weft of the mainstream, I suppose that is what makes the achievements of writers like Chinua Achebe and Ngugi wa Thiong’o more astonishing. They were (Ngugi still is) academics for many decades yet most of their published works are generally accessible to virtually everybody.

Ah, the lofty academics…

KUNLE APANTAKU (Book)

Book: KUNLE APANTAKU
Author: Omoseye Bolaji
Publisher: Motheane Associates
isbn number: 978-1-920670-00-9
Reviewer: Pule Lechesa

In this new book, it is remarkable how many sweeping, far-ranging literary allusions author O Bolaji resorts to whilst paying this heart-felt tribute to his friend and literary colleague, Kunle Apantaku. My intention here is to briefly point out some of these references.

Bolaji mentions a raft of literary protagonists, most of them among the best the world has ever seen. These writers, African and Eurocentric, include Wole Soyinka, Kola Onadipe, Cyprian Ekwensi, Chinua Achebe, Ama Atta Aidoo, Ben Okri, Dillibe Onyeama, R.L Stevenson and Herman Melville.

Other wordsmiths mentioned in this new book are William Faulkner, Ernest Hemingway, Philip Roth, John Steinbeck, Bessie Head, Dambudzo Marechera, Ayi Kwei Armah, Sol Plaatje, Njabulo Ndebele, Melvyn Bragg, Ngugi wa Thiong’o, Enid Blyton, Sidney Sheldon, William Shakespeare, Nostradamus (the great seer), Frantz Kafka, Tsitsi Dangarembga, Flaxman Qoopane, and Ishmael Mzwandile Soqaga.

Reminiscing on their youthful writings long ago (he and Kunle) Bolaji states: “Now looking back on it, it is rather strange that we considered ourselves as “old” at that time, and even the themes of what we wrote reflected this: love, philosophy, sex, crime etc. There is a very impressive corpus of African literature anchored on children’s books. Even in those days, the outstanding African writers like Chinua Achebe, Cyprian Ekwensi, Ama Ata Aidoo and Ngugi wa Thiong’o had penned some children’s works. But although we had read countless Eurocentric works of this ilk some years ago (the Enid Blytons, Biggles series, Three Investigators, Hardy Boys and the like) we now firmly considered ourselves – even at 15 – as mature, rather wizened wordsmiths!

 “I have always maintained that the youth must devour pertinent literature (Children’s books) when they are very young – let’s say from around 4, 5 upwards. Nothing can be more exciting than reading such books at the right age. In this wise, I must pay a brief special tribute to one of the all-time greats of Black African writing pertaining to children – Kola Onadipe.

“His books were – are - extraordinarily interesting for the young ones, with works like the exhilarating The adventures of Souza. Mr Onadipe (now deceased) was a very prolific author of such books for the young; his published titles include The adventures of Souza, The boy slave, Koku Baboni, Sugar girl, The magic land of the shadows, The forest is our playground, The return of Shettima, Footprints on the Niger, Sunny boy, Sweet mother, Around Nigeria in thirty days, Call me Michael, Halima must not die : and other plays for schools; Happy birthday : queen for a day; Mothers-In-Law, The Other Woman, A pot of gold, Beloved daughters, The king is naked : and other stories, The mysterious twins; and Binta : beautiful bride…”

Do writers belong to the loony bin? Are they a crazy breed? Here are Bolaji’s views on this:

“We think of excellent (now dead) African writers like Dambudzo Marechera and Bessie Head, who were also “oddities” in their own way. Their idiosyncrasies and “weird” behaviour have been chronicled by scholars over the years. Lunacy also seems to loom large in the magnificent novels of Ayi Kwei Armah (especially in Fragments)

“How many times over the years have I heard African writers complaining in this vein: “Few people appreciate writers; they think we are crazy. We Blacks just want to enjoy material things, not things of the mind. Why can’t we wordsmiths be appreciated?” “But it is not only “Black Africans” who might view writers with suspicion. Consider the case of Herman Melville, American, now world famous for his fantastic novel, Moby Dick in particular. Yet during his lifetime he was often derided; family members even prevailed upon his wife to leave him, “the madman”.

 Incredibly, here is how a national publication (The New York Day Book) commented on the great Melville in those days (1852): “A critical friend, who read Melville's last book, Ambiguities, between two steamboats accidents, told us that it appeared to be composed of the ravings and reveries of a madman. We were somewhat startled at the remark, but still more at learning, a few days after, that Melville was really supposed to be deranged, and that his friends were taking measures to place him under treatment. We hope one of the earliest precautions will be to keep him stringently secluded from pen and ink..." Bolaji in this book also remembers how Kunle used to mention then-young writers, Ben Okri, and Dillibe Onyeama. Bolaji concedes that Okri is by far the more famous now, adding:

“But here is a brief literary sketch of Onyeama for record purposes: The writing career of Dillibe Onyeama, a Nigerian, has straddled five decades - though he was only born in 1951. Author of the famous book, Nigger at Eton, Onyeama was reputed to be the first Black African to study at that institution (Eton College). He went on to publish over twenty books and has contributed prodigiously to African publishing after returning back to Nigeria. “His other published books, over the decades, include John Bull’s Nigger (1974), African Legend, The Return, Juju (novel) Secret Society, Boomerang (short stories), Notes of a so-called Afro-Saxon, Godfathers of Voodoo, Female Target, The Night Demon, The New Man, Revenge of the Medicine Man, Book of Black Man’s Humour; and God, Sex and the English man (2012). Readers of Onyeama’s books insist that in works like Juju, he matches the best of Eurocentric mystery/thriller fiction…”

Whilst adumbrating on diverse literary styles Bolaji writes; “Take three disparate writers for example, all Nobel-award winners in literature; William Faulkner (USA), Ernest Hemingway (USA), and Wole Soyinka (Nigeria). Their approach to writing is completely different; you might say the simplistic, “journalistic” approach of Hemingway is the complete opposite of that of the dense, profound, intricate style of Soyinka. Faulkner might not be as complex as Soyinka, but he is certainly streets ahead of Hemingway in this wise. And what about the “streetwise” John Steinbeck (American too) who also won the Nobel Award?” Thereafter Bolaji quotes Faulkner with great relish (even making it come out in bold type in this book);

“Let the writer take up surgery or bricklaying if he is interested in technique. There is no mechanical way to get the writing done, no shortcut. The young writer would be a fool to follow a theory. Teach yourself by your own mistakes; people learn only by error. The good artist believes that nobody is good enough to give him advice. He has supreme vanity. No matter how much he admires the old writer, he wants to beat him...” 

Bolaji is also happy to reproduce what distinguished British writer, Melvyn Bragg has written as regards literary criticism: “…the teaching and programming of literature has let loose armies of ‘readings’ and interpretations which – whatever the quality –have threatened to divert the attention from the novel itself, to the theory erected around it,”

There is a lot more – Bolaji even deprecates and undermines his own contributions to literature over the decades – but it is appropriate that Bolaji ends his tribute to Kunle by making an allusion to William Shakespeare. Better still let us reproduce the very end of this book: 

“Olakunle Olubukola Apantaku was one of the finest literary talents Africa has produced. It does not matter that due to strictures etc of his time he could not publish much during his lifetime. And so what? The great European writer, Kafka (Franz Kafka) published very little during his lifetime; and it was only later on, posthumously that those who had been close to him began to publish the bulk of what he had written.

“Now we come to the terminal stage where we spew the clichés: Rest in peace, Kunle.

Or in Yoruba: Sun re oo…O di’gba ose… 

Ah, but Kunle also revered Shakespeare. So as Horatio says in Hamlet: “…and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest…”

In effect, Kunle Apantaku and international literature are intertwined in this illuminating new book.

* This edition of this column features a review of Bolaji's new book which is a tribute to the late Mr Apantaku (above)

Windmills Of The Dames

By Omoseye Bolaji

Although rather inadvertent, I was happy to see the coterie of Senegalese gentlemen again after a long, long time (since some five years) Here they were now, their technicolour shops ensconced in this big South African market.

Once again I marvelled at their extraordinary camaraderie, close-knit ambience, and bonhomie. Yes everywhere you go in South Africa, the Senegalese communities are unmistakable. I was well known to this particular lot though I had not seen most of them for years (save for intermittently bumping into each other in toropo- the city)

We hugged each other, shook hands, catching up. Incidentally they are all Muslems so their names ranged from Mohammed to Hassan etc. Over the years I had helped many of them with their “papers” and other documents, hence it was no surprise they seemed genuinely pleased to see me.

At last I set eyes on one of my favourites (let’s call him Ahmed). Tall, wiry, very dark and brimming with his usual energy – though I could see that his moustache was getting quite grey now. We greeted each other heartily. “Ah Monsieur,” he said. “Ca va. Ca va!” how’s it been? Another one of them gently dragged me to his shop, saying: “I remember you love sun shades (dark glasses). I can give you one for free. I know you won’t buy; you are too stingy for that!”

I grinned. “You mean, I am too poor!” The temporary fanfare continued till I put my foot in it (as usual?). Thinking of his taciturn, good natured wife I said to Ahmed: “By the way how is Madam? Your wife?”

The convivial atmosphere suddenly exploded into smithereens. Ahmed clenched his fists angrily and for a terrible moment I thought he was about to punch me! His face convulsed with anger and revulsion. What had I said wrong? “I am sorry…” I quickly said.

Trying to pull himself together, Ahmed managed to say: “Mon ami, never never ask me about that woman again…”

Meanwhile, one of his compatriots dragged me to a corner and said: “Of course you have not heard. Ahmed and his wife parted a couple of years ago. She…she just left him…for another man…these women. You know Ahmed is a man of peace very gentle; it was a big shock to him; despite the fact he had seen it happening to many of us…I mean our SA women leaving us,”

“I did not know,” I said weakly. I was about to move to Ahmed and apologise to him when he (Ahmed himself) suddenly materialized beside us and he apologised. “I am sorry,” he said. “It’s not easy for a woman; one’s wife…to leave one, and go to another man. She actually faced me directly that fateful day and said she was leaving me for another man; despite the child we shared, and her first child (fathered by another man) that I treated for years as if she were mine!”

“Don’t talk about it,” I said. “You’ll move on…”

“I am NOT going to move on,” Ahmed said, acerbity in his voice. “I will never have anything to do with these women again. Believe it or not, she told me that she had met another man who would take care of her much better than I could! A tsotsi! Imagine all the money I spent on her first child alone, who’s not even mine, sending her to primary school; transport, food every time…”

“Ag, don’t think about it Ntate. Life can be unfair…let’s forget it,”

But Ahmed spoke on: “It’s because I am a foreigner that she treated me like that…like I am nothing…”

However I did not believe this, though I said nothing else. How many times have I heard even my SA male friends complaining about how their women treated them “shabbily”; “used them”; “destroyed them” or ultimately left them. Probably a sign of the times. C’est la vie…

Adumbrating Literary Criticism

By Omoseye Bolaji

We talked briefly, in an interesting if unspectacular office. There was a painting to the left, depicting an animal that might have been a rottweiler (I am no great shakes as regards fauna!) Yet it was the fresco on the other side that largely attracted interest as a prodigious amount of creativity and talent had apparently gone into it. The fresco merged almost seamlessly with the wall. There was a computer on one of the tables here; and it was a sign of our times that a young gentleman trying to use it referred to it as a “fossil”. There were fragments of annihilated pieces of paper on the floor in another corner of the room, no thanks to a “rat” I was told. So, nature and modernity continue to co-mingle!

Hmm, the young lady I was chatting with was voluptuous, charming, well spoken, very intelligent; focused. And a published poet to boot.

We spoke about the world of writing in general; she explained how she had come to love writing; how she was a great “debater’ from her early time in school, and the like. She explained how her debut book had come into fruition. I was quite impressed with her single-mindedness, savvy, and determination to make her mark.

And how is she savouring the fact of being a published writer? She told me that it was a wonderful feeling “My book launch was a remarkable occasion graced by many people who have made it in the world of letters. Though I am still young I think I have made a positive step forward” she vouchsafed.

Then we touched about “local literary figures” who had inspired her, or the writers she knew about. She mentioned a few figures explaining what she liked about them. Smiling, I remarked: “What about Pule Lechesa (pictured above)? Do you know him? Have you ever met him?”

The lady flinched, fear suddenly etched on her face. “Pule Lechesa?” she repeated. “The dreaded literary critic?”

“The very same one,” I commented, enjoying her sudden discomfiture.

It was clear that mentioning this name had unnerved this young female writer. Her whole mien seemed to be transformed; fancifully I imagined the horrifying fear of the days of yore when an “apostate’ heard anything about the “Inquisition”

I grinned. “You are reacting as if Mr Lechesa (a South African literary pundit) is the devil himself!”

“Yho! People are scared of him…writers are really afraid of that man,” the young poet said, as she physically shook. “From all the stories I have heard about him and his reviews, criticisms…he’s some sort of bugbear!” she laughed.

I smiled, thinking briefly of other writers who were not too enamoured with Mr Lechesa, the “critic”. As far as many of these writers are concerned, here is a fearsome, dreaded figure always ready to pull them down as it were. Yet he continues to be respected nationally and internationally by people who know what literary criticism is all about. Indeed a number of Eurocentric literary observers have told me a number of times that it is “a pleasure and honour to be reviewed by Mr Lechesa” But how many writers on the ground believe this?!

I told the young female poet now that it seemed to be the norm that writers were scared of critics anyway. I gave her some examples drawn from around the world. “it seems the critics are doing great jobs introducing books, analyzing them but the pertinent writers are reluctant to have any ‘weaknesses’ in their works pointed out. Seriously it is a long-standing practice in the western world. Literary criticism. Countless thousands of books have been published on diverse writers and their works. But as Lechesa himself would say, most of our African writers would just like to be praised instead of having their books evaluated properly,”

“But why is he (ie Lechesa) so ‘tough’ on writers?” the lady asked. “We can’t bring those high white standards here…”

“Then we might as well give up on proper, widely respected literature here,” I said. “If we want to be taken seriously even at the most rudimentary level, we cannot turn our backs on literary criticism,”

“But Ntate,” she said after a while. “Come to think of it, you are also an internationally recognized critic too. I have read a lot about you. But how come writers are NOT scared of you?”

I grinned. “If I was such a good critic, people would be scared of me too,” I said. “but alas, the opposite is the case…so let’s agree that I’m just not up to scratch!”

·         NOTE: This columnist got the permission of Mr Pule Lechesa to publish his name whilst recalling this real-life encounter with the lady poet