Billionaire Blues, Love Calls

Orula-1
An Image of Orula. Who shall divine this future?

 

Teni’s latest release is on repeat. Teni’s Billionaire .“I wanna be a billionaire” rings in my head and all I can think of is how I want to be a billionaire with my future husband, with my partner-in-crime as I hope to see him. I clench my teeth as I hear, “sè b’omoba ni mí”. Yes, my surname reflects this. Adéòjó. The crown did not born. Yes, I am of that lineage. Yes, I am from royalty. Yes, yes, yes.

For me, wealth and love are intertwined. I have always envisioned the source of one’s wealth being  tied to one’s relationship with people and the positive energy that arises from that. I have seen couples rising from the dust, making names for their families, changing the course of their lineage. I want to be that person who works with someone to change the story of my nuclear and extended family.

One can chase a thousand, two will chase ten thousands. Being a billionaire is that easy. I need someone whose ambitions are in line with mine. Someone whose eyes are set on the game as, “omoba ò kíín f’òyà”. The child of a king is not afraid of what may come. The child of the king is not a coward. The child of the king is determined and can thrive regardless the circumstances. The child of the king is willing to work with a similar-minded person. The child of the king is ready to be a billionaire with that person. The child of the king wants to “yangàn”, wants to prance in style with that person.

Yes, I wanna be a billionaire. I want to build that empire. But not alone. I hope my future husband is building his part as I build mine. I hope that when it’s time, we will both be ready for this great future. Yes, I wanna be a billionaire with the man destined for me. “It’s not too much” (Tẹ́ní Àkpáta).

 

“This is Lagos” A Review of Henry Akubuiro’s Prodigals in Paradise

Art and Act Review

“This is Lagos”

By Adeojo, Mosunmola

Title: Prodigals in Paradise

Author: Henry Akubuiro

Publisher: Lasmedia

Number of Pages: 197

Year of Publication: 2016

Category: Fiction

Prodigals-in-Paradise

In a place where hope is fleeting, dejection and misanthropy reign supreme, resignation to a wretched fate is not an option as a diehard spirit, whether for positive or negative ends must be adopted. This is Lagos where life moves at a fast pace with the innocent, honest and moral being maligned; this is Paradise where the ceremony of innocence is drowned. Prodigals in Paradise gives a panoramic view of the decrepit lives that inhabit slums in the city. Like “Welcome to Lagos”, a BBC documentary which features degradation in dialectical Lagos, Paradise is a city than it is a house as it is home to a variety of characters; vile characters such as Job, Keziah, Junior etc. and ordinary characters such as Akpan, Nicodemus…

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“This is Lagos” A Review of Henry Akubuiro’s Prodigals in Paradise

“This is Lagos”

By Adeojo, Mosunmola

Title: Prodigals in Paradise

Author: Henry Akubuiro

Publisher: Lasmedia

Number of Pages: 197

Year of Publication: 2016

Category: Fiction

Prodigals-in-Paradise

In a place where hope is fleeting, dejection and misanthropy reign supreme, resignation to a wretched fate is not an option as a diehard spirit, whether for positive or negative ends must be adopted. This is Lagos where life moves at a fast pace with the innocent, honest and moral being maligned; this is Paradise where the ceremony of innocence is drowned. Prodigals in Paradise gives a panoramic view of the decrepit lives that inhabit slums in the city. Like “Welcome to Lagos”, a BBC documentary which features degradation in dialectical Lagos, Paradise is a city than it is a house as it is home to a variety of characters; vile characters such as Job, Keziah, Junior etc. and ordinary characters such as Akpan, Nicodemus and Komolafe (each with their own peculiarity).

The story revolves around Nicodemus, a young man of 24 who receives the first shocks of false euphoria that define the travel of rural migrants to metropolitan centres, on his first visit to Lagos. With the disillusionment he encounters, Nicodemus struggles to make ends meet while remaining morally upright in the face of sexual (evident in Keziah’s coquetry) and financial temptations. On arrival to Lagos, he meets his uncle Job, who has had a fair share of indiscriminate pilfering in the name of survival with his now-deceased friend, Okon. Presently an Okadaman, Job shares a rent-free abode, Paradise with neighbours like Keziah who doubles as his girlfriend, Komolafe a coffin maker, Akpan a conductor, amongst others. On learning of his father’s death, Job leaves Paradise and for about a year, his absence is hardly noticeable as Nicodemus engages in various money-making ventures which are degenerate to a man of his academic background. Later, he gets a job at a media house to work for six-months without pay after rejecting the initial offer of N5000 Naira per month.

Prior to this time, rumours of eviction notices have been prowling through Paradise and when Junior’s rumours are later confirmed by an eviction notice pasted on the building, Job returns, as a pastor. It is obvious he has made some spiritual contacts so that he is privy to the dilemma at Paradise and thus, surreptitiously uses the opportunity to become a phony pastor who gains a large congregation including a white man, Edward Bolton (his latest client infected with HPV). Paradise becomes a church, Junior, the delinquent boy becomes a disciple of Job and only Nicodemus is not bought over by the change in his uncle. As a result of his inability to appease the mermaid who gives him power, Job’s success winds down as quickly as it rose and he ends up in prison and Nicodemus writes an article on his uncle’s ill-reputed profession.

Detaching himself from the seemingly prevalent narrative of the tumultuous nature of a recovering democracy after military government, Akubuiro in his debut novel tells a tale of masses who have always exonerated themselves from being identified as the ills in the society. To this end, they become the sordid hands that Dickens in Hard Times implies to be the infamous progenitors of man’s inhumanity to man and mismanagement in government. Thus, although the author is able to reiterate the mantra of the government being at the helm of callous governance, his narrative reveals that delinquency is a characteristic of humans in possession of whatever form of power and inhumanity remains a universal phenomenon. Thus, when Nicodemus is job-hunting, he experiences this lack of empathy from the owner of The Voice,

“…A derisive smile tickles his face as he sees the disappointed young man walking up to the gate…‘As I told you, there is no vacancy here, but I don’t want to seem a wicked man; that’s why I want to help you.’”(158)

But Mr. Obong is a wicked man. He is contemptuous and when he eventually gives Nicodemus the terms and conditions of appointment, it is obvious that his statement is ironical.

At the bane of the story are religion and its politics. Religion becomes a manipulative tool and the characters are willing pawns in their own hypocrisy. It is no surprise that Keziah can at once pray to the figure of Christ in her room and later own, have illicit sex under his unfeeling eyes. Similarly, Junior, “…wants to be assured of the financial reward that comes with working in the Lord’s vineyard.” (144) Religion is a safe haven whose keepers are devourers. Nicodemus is privy to false prophecies and by implication, distrusts his uncle’s sudden change. However, while it seems that humans have been able to swindle their way through, using religion as a smokescreen, the divine seems to play a fast one on them as most of the characters end up with greater burdens than they had at the beginning of the story. Keziah becomes pregnant with Edward Bolton’s child and obviously infected with HPV while Job is imprisoned.

Dirt is a motif that runs through the novel to heighten the dilapidation of both the system and the characters. The depiction of dirt as a symbol of decay and social degradation further defines the kind of characters that exist in Paradise. From the start of the novel and to Nicodemus’ horror when he first encounters the façade called Paradise, a woman uses her mucus-smeared hands to wrap buns for a customer. This act parallels a moment of recoil in Ayi Kwei Armah’s The Beautyful Ones are not Yet Born, when the main character in repulsion, remembers the numerous dirt that have thickened the surface of a banister he mistakenly places his hands on. In Prodigals in Paradise, this motif of dirt is quite prevalent so that, when the house is repaired, it is but a whited sepulchre that habours a fake pastor, a dilapidating prostitute, a man infected with HPV, a coffin maker, and a vagabond child, amongst other miscreants. Nicodemus, although with a biblical name that symbolises willingness to learn, is different from this throng and happens to maintain his integrity in the midst of the madding crowd.

Nicodemus’ characterisation remains undefined as we struggle to know his relationship with Job; is he his cousin or his nephew? Nicodemus also, seems to be more of a friend or colleague than family. Thus, when Josephine, who should be either his aunt or cousin arrives Paradise, his detachment from the news of his grandfather’s fall and the news of worry at home is quite appalling and makes him less believable. However, the depiction of his character is a reminder of the fallacy of quick success in Lagos and like Adamu in Toni Kan’s Nights of the Creaking Bed, Nicodemus faces disenchantment in the place he had once envisioned to hold euphoric promises. Thus, Nicodemus becomes believable with the experiences he faces and his struggles in Lagos which are similar to the hustling stories of any new comer.

With an enthralling use of words marred by occasional refrain from grammatical exactitude, an all-too familiar story of disappointment, of the dystopic reality that mars the expectations of nouveau Lagosians, is told.  Paradise is home to benighted Lagosians who palpitate within the rhythm of disillusionment in the city of dreams. The constant reminder of, ‘This is Lagos’ a term used to explain away ills and excesses as suggested in Teju Cole’s Everyday is for the Thief, brings to mind the possibility that this peculiarity may perhaps, be palpable in most urban centres; Lagos being a symbolic representation. The novel encapsulates the idea of contradiction and contrariness. Right from its title to characters like Prophet Ahmed Elijah, and acts of honesty being seen as failure, the Janus-faced Lagos becomes a touchstone for everything out of the ordinary.

At the end of the novel, one questions what defines fulfilment while living a sham which Paradise embodies. The characters are living a sham because a prodigal in paradise should denote newness, a change of heart and repentance. However, ironically, these set of prodigals are a perfect fit for the paradise presented in the novel. With the politics of religion, supposed irrelevance of certified education and the irresponsibility of the government, Akubuiro paints a vivid scene of Nigeria’s present socio-political, economic and religious fate. Paradise therefore is a being, the victim which houses these ills and oddities so that it reeks of decay and anomalies. Above all, the book is a thought-provoking piece from an intellectual mind.

 

Reviewed on July, 2017 at the book reading at Faculty of Arts, University of Lagos

http://punchng.com/when-prodigals-in-paradise-visited-unilag/

https://www.vanguardngr.com/2017/07/akubuiros-prodigals-paradise-read-unilag/

The Journey to Remember to Forget

A review of Donna Ogunnaike’s Experimental Theatre Production; Strelitzia

 

I recollect the taste of baba dudu and sisi pelebe, choco milo and the race for agbalumo as a child. Whether sweets, fruits or candies, they always tasted heavenly. Seeing them as I was ushered into the gate of Strelitzia, a burst of emotions raced through me as I remembered my childhood.

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At the door, there is a call to remember the past. A summon into Strelitzia, the idea that the past lies hidden in some part of the human memory, is an invitation to explore the depths of reminiscence. In the black and white-coated milieu which symbolises the mind, the patient -for that is what one should call the participants who enter this therapeutic abode- comes with a fraught mind about to undergo the surgery of unburdening.

In this piece that features a co-mingling of poetry, music and drama, the spectator is introduced to a light bearer who leads one into the five compartments that make up the process of exorcism of pain. In each enclave, there are symbols that remind one of the past; from old gramophones to big desk radios, projected images of history, old advertisements, and old songs that reverberate through the memory lane, one sees images of the past and nostalgia sets in. That exorcism is at once enhanced in the first closure where a man (Emmanuel Musa) undergoing the pain of sorrowful memory is not at peace with himself. Like the general mood in Gabriel Okara’s Piano and Drums, the audience can relate (an older audience is prescribed as children may be alienated from the surroundings especially with the horror-like atmosphere) and the themes are relevant to young and mature adults.

The silhouette compartment seems to re-assert in the mind of the observer, an examination of the inner self. There, the glaring question is; who are you when no one is watching? Technically, the screen should be more opaque so the audience can see just the silhouette and not the performer within.

Finally, in the fourth and last parts where one encounters the gate-keeper and the poet, the essence of the poet according to Aristotle, as an imitator and a creator, a medium between the unknown and known, is enforced. The audience meets the poet who intimates them with tales, trajectories of humanity and the contradictions that define our existence.  At this point, the audience stands, broken and ready to experience total catharsis. This is achieved through the expression of oneself through the written medium and the washing of hands, like Potiphar, to let go and be reborn. Donna Ogunnaike’s whole ensemble (seeing that the setting is a moveable theatre that can be built to the peculiarities of any space) is at once captivating and liberating. The limited number of spectators fosters intimacy. For anyone who wants to experience freedom in its real sense, especially in this economic recession, Ogunnaike’s Strelitzia, and not a Shrink, is recommended.

 

Adeojo, Mosunmola Omowunmi is a budding young critic on her graduate programme at the University of Lagos. She is studying English Literature and is interested in movies, film and theatre criticism.

Street party

‘Are you married?’

Yes.

‘With or without kids?’

With kids. I have three girls and their dad…

‘…where is he? He should be here.’

Well he works in Port harcourt and is really busy so he sent me over. Yes, I am married. With three daughters.

‘Yoruba. Married. Three girls…err. I would convince Alhaja, i will. I don’t know how she would take the husband issue but i will see what i can do…’

I am married sir. I promise that i am…

‘See you tomorrow madam.’

***

I walked out of his office, with a relief from the normal questions that trailed house hunting. I had viewed beautiful houses by mouth that were monstrous on sight. I had seen barrack-like houses, with prices betraying their dilapidating form, houses  unfit to raise three girls until i met Mr. Sobunmi.

The house, a two-storey building with four flats sat on a well-floored two-plot land. It was a haven with an outhouse for relaxing. Mr Sobunmi in his round-rimmed glasses told me in a matter of fact tone that the landlady was amiable and accommodating and made sure trash was collected by the house’s trash collector and an end-of-the-year celebration for phatic communion was organised on the street. She only wanted married tenants.

I would find out later that the out-house was a no go area; that Mr. Sobunmi had collected money for dumping trash, trash which would sit for two months until the landlady threatened eviction and i would have to pay an aboki; that the 50,000 Naira collected for the street end-of-the-year party was a label for a gathering that never existed.

#MyHouseHuntWahala

Living History

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Beyond what you see

Living History
Episode one
Truth

When it hits one in the face, when it comes, with a force that cannot be contained; it is the truth.

It’s like she knew what she was in for. The banging of the door left the wooden victim creaking silently on its hinges. Her mother had looked at her menacingly in the face and pronounced those words that left her shaking, her nerves trembling furiously; they were trembling still. Their impact was so intense and like an echo in the …valley, they resounded in her aural membrane, the words, those words ‘You cease to be my daughter!’

The previous day, when it all started had been fine, when she had gotten home and decided to tell Mama, was just fine for an evening meal, for a night out with Danladi, for the smile that caressed her lips, for the lonesome feeling she shared towards an unfeeling yet seemingly emotional man. He shared in her smile, his, a grimace that masked the feelings of revenge he harboured.

You can never achieve anything without tending to get in on the inside; a childhood of endless detective cartoons had enhanced that desire to avenge his father. The muse was dead, yes, but didn’t the good book say that the child would partake in the sins of the father and that vengeance will be wrought by generations after? Well, he admitted, the latter was only a fabrication to conform to this burning need his heart so feverishly hunted. He tried not to seem like Hamlet yet he knew the drive was alike. Rather than an elixir of poison in the ear, his father had been tea-poisoned.

One might wonder how Funmi had gotten entangled with a man whose face was a true reflection of his heart. His eyes seemed to search endlessly into the depths of one’s heart. At first, she had feared those huge bulging eyes until three moons after when they became a part of her: having watched them on nights of passion, ecstasy and on angry days when they nearly popped out from their sockets. His frame was the same as any man’s. It was intimidating, his arms large enough to snap a neck into two.

Why hadn’t he done so he sometimes asked himself. Why hadn’t he wrenched hers off its root and perhaps hung it to a stake, making it a premier of a collection of ornament, of the heads of a family doomed to his vengeance.

‘Do you know who his father was?’
mama waited for no answer
’… he was a pain in the neck. He had to go, had to die; for some people have to die for you to move on.’

Funmi stood still as her mother relayed Danladi’s history. Did he know? Did he not? or if he knew, was this all a pretense in order to avenge his dead father on her? Was what they ‘shared’ false? The thought of it alone would make her go insane. These questions ravaged her mind, made her begin to doubt and distant to her mother’s outbursts.

Mama continued waiting for no answer from her mute listener, ‘his father sucked at your father’s marrow. He was a pest, a pain in the ass as you would say. But then he died, he died. Yes he did and you know what? We were happy just that I didn’t know whoever it was who killed him. Otherwise, I would have thanked such a person all my life. You know why and how your father died?’ she continued in the same rage, ‘he did not die as a result of cardiac arrest as Doctor Bamiji told us, NO. His heart gave way to so much excitement at the news of the death of Mustapha. He saw this world last when he got to know that a man who had tormented his life so much, that had made him smell the other side of life was dead. You know what it’s like to be that happy at the death of someone?’ she asked then sneered
‘it’s like when Abacha died. Nigerians were happy. You know it don’t you? You must have read it in one of your books; but you didn’t learn how to be sensitive. You never learnt from history and so you bumped into this temporary façade called love.’

All these she said to a sobbing little body. A little body that harboured a bright mind but a large heart that Mama had always known would be her undoing. She was just like her father, too soft, too open and trusting people without caution. Life was hard, she, Mama was hard. To rule the world, you had to be. There were no two ways about it.

Mama’s philosophy had helped her train six children; what with the money she had fought for after her husband’s death? Relatives who had been ashamed to cross their front steps suddenly became men who ordered her out of the house her money had built its foundation.  Five sessions in court and she had won the case. The race was not to the swiftest but to the diehard man ready to bite fingers that held down his legs on the ladder of success. If possible, chop them off. Mama did not mind.

And so, it was no wonder that her daughter’s connection with  the son of a man who had made life unbearable for her father and who miraculously, had been poisoned by a Good Samaritan who was possibly one of the various victims, dazed her. Thus, she said without thinking twice,
‘I have trained you all and I expect good returns. I toiled and expect good success! But if you decide to stick to this enterprise and refuse to heed  to your mother’s warnings as your children will do to you, you cease to be my daughter!’ with that she left and slammed the door that still creaked from the impact.

On the Journey to Self-preservation👉 The First Calling

Today, i have found what has made me boyfriendless over the years. It itches me as walk, spreads through my body like wild fire in harmatan. It has made me become more cautious, careful and prude.

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Prude is the word. I cannot look into the eyes of a man and feel at ease anymore. The heaving of my chest at the smell of masculinity lets something in me spark that i try feverishly to restrain. If i become one of those who faces stare in cold walls of dark castles; then, maybe my fight would not be in vain.
At 12, I remember running an errand for ma. She held out a note and thrust under my armpit, the already-finished customer’s cloth. I rushed off, as children were wont to do then and got to the house, few metres down the street. The young man who opened the gate, was to my eyes, an uncle as we were asked to call every older man, not old enough to be one’s father. Thus, when i saw him, i said,’Uncle, i am looking for Mrs. Eniade.’ He looked at me in a queer manner, one that gave me shivers and even as i pen this down, still does.
I was walked into the big parlour, gave the cloth to the gigantic woman slowly munching on some green apples and then, i turned my back to leave. I was almost at the gate when i hear a call from behind. Turning, it was the biggest mistake of my life as i hit my newly-grown breast-chest on the wall to which the gate was attached. ‘Kaii!’ I almost spat out. I checked myself quickly as the queer-faced young man moved towards me and i became composed. I was a lady, he was the man.
He came towards me, smiled winked and said,’ why don’t i walk you to your house?’

(“The second coming” is the next episode)

Broken

At a point we began to realise that life was not it seemed. Those who stretched their hands to help were doing it for ulterior reasons. I could share in the laughter of so many people, smile at jokes that would make me massage my aching cheeks and hug a long-seen friend when i didn’t actually mean it.
We became bored of relationships that were only in place because of one thing or the other; of future gains, networking and connections. We were stranded; unable to understand true friendship as life had become,’ Move with people who positively affect your life.’
That could be boring.
Sometimes, we just want to observe. We want to say ‘hi’ to that secondary school mate and leave without exchanging contact. We want to travel round the world without taking pictures and just immerse ourselves in the beautiful landscape without having to show the world proof that we were actually there.
We want to get married, have a baby and build houses without the world knowing.

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This is because sometimes, we are not just interested in this world or how today affects tomorrow.
Sometimes, we just want to live our lives.

I want to take a picture without caring how it looks or whether it is instagram-worthy.

Wish me Well

Wish me well as i cross the seven seas. Wish me well as i tread the path some ancestors have trod. It is not for personal aims or glorification that we go on this voluntary yet compulsory sojourn. No.
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It is to serve our father land. I move onwards, towards Yikpata. This  Yikpata was unlike many. It’s sparse landscape filed with dry trees scared in themselves, should they fall. I looked on with fear as the bus stopped. We were at our stop, the beginning of  para-military training.

When i remember how i had queued in the drizzle, of how,i had carried my luggage on my head in obedience to the shouts of the soldiers…of how in camp, i woke up at 3:00am every morning and learnt to live a robot life, then i would respect all ex-corps members and appreciate their service to our father land.
Whoever said it was easy should think again.

Reality and Fantasy in the Contemporary African Experience: An Analysis of Sello Duiker’s The Hidden Star.

HOW TO CITE THIS ESSAY: Adeojo Mosunmola Omowunmi- ‘Reality and Fantasy in the Contemporary African Experience: An Analysis of Sello Duiker’s The Hidden Star’. Retrieved from; https://profmossie1.wordpress.com/2015/01/07/reality-and-fantasy-in-the-contemporary-african-experience-an-analysis-of-sello-duikers-the-hidden-star/comment-page-1/#comment-25

An essay written by Adeojo, Mosunmola Omowunmi

 

INTRODUCTION

Since she found the stone everything has become strange, out of the ordinary, like an ever-changing story that never ends.’

In Madan M. Sauldie’s ‘The Prisoners’ of God, the author believes that, ‘…there is a constant tug of war between the inner world and the outer world- the inner one intrinsically strong but stout challenged by the even stronger outer one.’ In lieu of this, if one is to discuss reality and fantasy in the contemporary African experience using K. Sello Duiker’s The Hidden Star, one will undoubtedly note that fantasy is a realistic part of the African existence. What Africans see, live by and over generations have imbibed may to science and the Western world be illogical. However, they form an integral part of the African system so much that this stronger outer world influences the introspective of a typical African.

Reality in literature is a reflection of the society in a literary work in terms of issues, the ills, as well as the events. One may ask if discussing the salient issues, like apartheid in South Africa is what reality in the South African novel is all about. Sello Duiker takes a different turn in discussing the South African society through the eyes of little children in a communal setting; this will be further addressed in the essay. Writers of early contemporary South African novels like William Plomer discussed ‘race relations’ as in the novel Turbott Wolfe (1925), Alan Paton’s Too Late the Phalarope (1953), etc. Like J.M. Coetzee, Sello Duiker breaks away from, ‘South African tradition of realism and naturalistic description.’

It is important to perhaps look at certain issues surrounding the contemporary African experience; issues that reflect that the modern African is not far torn from his ancestral roots and beliefs. These beliefs include life after death, the circle of life, birth, death and rebirth, supernatural being as well as supernatural forces. Also, Africa is known as the Third world because of the intense poverty eating away its essence and this is a part of us we are battling with as developing or underdeveloped states. The advent of the Europeans is one similar to African nation-states but also similar is the religious practices and culture which has been dubbed ‘paganism’ and ‘traditional religion’ by ignorant whites. Despite the fact that we had no written literature before the advent of the Europeans which made us to be referred to as cultureless, drama, a genre of literature is said to have jointly originated from Greek and African religion.

THEMATIC AND STYLISTIC ANALYSIS OF THE HIDDEN STAR

In order to understand this discourse, one must discuss some salient words. Fantasy is, according to Oxford Advanced Learner’s Dictionary simply, ’a pleasant situation that you imagine that is unlikely to happen.’ It further states that fantasy is ‘a product of your imagination.’ Ultimately, fantasy is something illogical, inapplicable to science and a product of our imagination. However, in the African society, and with regards the novel in question, fantasy is a pigment of imagination with a totality of reality and believability. Despite the porous and corrosive effects of technology, the contemporary African has continued to thrive on the ‘illogicality’ of his culture and beliefs. Another salient word is ‘reality’ which is according to the aforementioned work, ’the true situation and problems that actually exist in life, in contrast to how you would like life to be.’ Evidently, reality contrasts with the dictionary meaning of fantasy. It is not what one wishes for or imagines but what actually happens in a real world, whether one likes it or not.

Experience can be defined as ‘events or knowledge shared by all members of a particular group in society, that influences the way they think and behave.’ This probably is the best definition of the word in relation to the topic. With regards Sello Duiker’s The Hidden Star, a particular group who share the same experience is the children. Perhaps it is because of the innocent nature of children and their untainted heart that causes them to be the only qualified party to be able to speak with and hear animals speak.

‘Only children are supposed to hear animals talk…

First, one needs address the concept of reality in the contemporary African experience. The question, ‘what is reality to the modern African?’ should be asked. Reality is him waking up each morning to the realisation that he is an ex-convict of the British colonial experience. Reality is him being reminded of his ‘cultureless’ past and his poignant present. Reality is him knowing each day that his society is one of the poorest in the world. Therefore, one will see how the theme of poverty is discussed in the novel.

As in Hard Times, Phola is a place whose very existence reflects poverty. It is like the Coketown in Hard Times where,’ Nature was as strongly bricked out as killing airs and gases were bricked in…’(pg 67) and brick would have been red if smoke had allowed it. Perhaps, the author is not as raw as Dickens in describing the poverty in the society but, it is evident that the people in Phola are at the far end of the ladder of success. Shanties and not houses is where people reside,’…the tiny homes’ as they are called by the author. Even the animals are affected by the poverty- ridden society. As in Sizwe Bansi is Dead where cats who are supposed to eat mice eat insects because the mice are eaten by the people, the dogs are, ’thin and their coats are mangy…’ The people are not left out, Nolitye for one needs to save candles to use at night, ‘because the candle is about to burn out and it is their last one.’ Also, her lunch at school is always peanut butter sandwich and sometimes, they; she and her mother have to eat bread with, ‘hot sugar water.’

From the foregoing discussion, it is obvious that the living condition of the people is unfavourable. The fact that they have to use candles every day shows that the issue of power is something they have to deal with as in most African nation-states. Furthermore, their habitation is unhealthy and hazardous, thus, when there is a fire in one shanty, others have to beware of their belongings,

’Everybody knows what to do when they hear ‘Fire! Fire! ‘- save their clothing and bedding first.’

The effects are disastrous as ,’…six families are homeless and a cloud of smoke hangs above Phola.’ Power outage is obviously a point of concern in Third World countries of today and the novel relays this. In another sense, the author seems to posit that light is a constant part of man, one he cannot live without. Therefore, the fact that the people have to depend on candle lights shows that their situation is pitiable. They are in a state of total flux. Their night is day in the underworld; a presumably cheerless place;

‘It is morning in a remote, boulder-strewn valley…they look around silently, in awe of the valley’s beauty.’

One may ask if there is any hope for a people living where the underworld is better and whose nights are spent with only a flicker of light- the candle.

According to a critic, it would be boring for the same issue to be discussed by the same people in different ways for several generations. In the same vein, K. Sello Duiker’s The Hidden Star is a South African novel not discussing the apartheid. It is a novel based on magical realism. However, we are able to feel the society of the South Africans that filled with poverty, class- structured but with an impoverished people living communally. These proletariats work for people in ‘The City of Gold’. Phola is a region in Johannesburg, so is Siswe Street. The difference between both places i.e. Phola and Siswe (where the Zwanes live) is glaring, the first being,

‘…a place with nothing to brag about except that all the shacks face the morning sun and the inhabitants for the most part live together in peace.’

And the second simply,

‘…unlike the streets in Phola.’

In Phola, their only source of joy and hope is in the morning sun they bask in but as each night arrives, they have to endure the painful flickers of candle light and looming darkness.

The communal sense of the people is seen in their readiness to protect each other from evil and villains. From Nolitye’s point-of-view, her friends Four Eyes and Bheki stick together with her during fun times as well as perilous times. Their relationship seems to propagate the saying; a friend in need is a friend in deed. Again, when there is fire, the community helps the families to quench it despite the fact that those families are left homeless. The novel graduates from a simple children’s tale of triviality to a story of serious issues presented in folklore manner. We see the discourse of search for identity, struggle for survival and evil versus good. The involvement of adults brings into the novel some seriousness.

HOW TO CITE THIS ESSAY: Adeojo Mosunmola Omowunmi- ‘Reality and Fantasy in the Contemporary African Experience: An Analysis of Sello Duiker’s The Hidden Star’. Retrieved from; https://profmossie1.wordpress.com/2015/01/07/reality-and-fantasy-in-the-contemporary-african-experience-an-analysis-of-sello-duikers-the-hidden-star/comment-page-1/#comment-25

The search for identity is an issue popular in contemporary African literature as our experience of colonialism has caused us to be a hybrid of both systems. This is in the sense that the African is torn between what he is, what his background is and what colonialism has made him to be. In works like Achebe’s No Longer at Ease, Athol Fugard’s Sizwe Bansi is Dead; Emecheta’s The Joys of Motherhood amongst others, this theme has been discussed. In relation to the text, we see an African who believes in the supernatural, witches and wizards, magic, black magic, birth and rebirth, retribution in life, life after death and so on. All these contrast with Western civilisation which sees these issues as barbaric and illogical. Sello seems to posit that Westernisation cannot affect the beliefs of the African like the young educated African man in Death and the King’s Horseman. Thus, the novel’s plot and certain themes show that the author is not ready to acclimatise with the logical world but to delve into the spiritual.

In this Bildungsroman, or coming-of-age novel, Nolitye struggles to find a balance in the magical world and the physical world. She is torn between believing her ‘dead’ father and mother over the woman who she lives with, shares emotions with and who she believes is her mother. From the author’s point-of-view, there seems to be an overpowering of the spiritual, that ultimate truth can only be found in this, ’illogical’ reality and not in a tainted physical world.

‘Nolitye feels tired. She never imagined that there were so many different powers at work in the world, some good and some evil, some evil but in the guise of good.

Here, Nolitye obviously has to take a stand. In later parts of the novel, one finds out that she accepts the superiority of the spiritual and the fact that good and evil exists though with a thin line in between. This will lead to the discussion of good and evil.

The novel’s stand on the issue of good and evil is seemingly to say that there is no ultimate bad or good. One can also conclude that, as aforesaid, good will always triumph over evil despite the fact that life is not black and white but several shades of grey. With respect to this, one can see the magical stone as both a tool of good and evil. Nolitye uses it to get more fatcakes to sell and make money for her mother. Taking a close look at this, one can say it is extortion of ignorant people who unknowingly buy fatcakes not prepared by man. Another question to ask is if these fatcakes are not magically taken from someone else. Also, although Rotten Nellie causes trouble in class, Nolitye has done badly by making them croak like frogs. Despite the fact that she is punishing them for their prior wrongdoings, the action may be seen as selfish. Therefore, she makes up for the bad;

‘The good must cancel out the bad, she learns; also a balance between good and bad is part of the responsibility of having the stone.’

Furthermore, the characterisation of characters further elucidates this point. The characters are in a world where evil and good interplay. On the one hand, MaMtonga is a reflection of the black that makes up the several shades of grey; she is the reverse of the senility that constitutes old age as she is full of black magic and the most powerful of the Night Riders. Nolitye has to use magic to fight the evil represented by MaMtonga and the Mean One; similar to the villain in Harry Potter called You-know-who. Perhaps, we can at this point note the universality of the human experience. The stone is to be used for the good of mankind by a little girl; an adult however desperately craves for it for selfish and disastrous needs. Nolitye becomes a ‘marginalised child’ trying to balance reality with fantasy.

Before discussing the novel as a magic realism, it is important to address it from the point of view of quest literature. Quest literature is about a hero who is on a journey or quest with the sole aim of victory. This was prominent in Romance literature of the romance age and in the mediaeval times of Geoffrey Chaucer as is seen in Canterbury Tales in The Knight’s Tale. In contemporary England, it is noted in Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness although, it is adulterated. The heroine, – although the question of the presence of a hero and not a communal hero can be asked- Nolitye (The Keeper of Stone) is destined to save the world from evil. This quest is not the damsel-saving one but involves a supernatural girl on a journey in a world different from her own. Although like other children who can talk to animals, she is able to communicate with Nomakhosi, see the green-eyed snake in MaMtonga’s keep, visit her parents in a ‘dream’ and meets with Noka, ‘Queen of the River Spirits…’ who shows herself to,’ …only deserving people.’

According to M.H. Abrams, magic realism is a weaving of,’ …an ever-shifting pattern, a sharply etched realism representing ordinary events and detail together with fantastic and dreamlike elements, as well as materials derived from myth and fairy tales.’ On the one hand, the novel is a romance as it presents life as we would have it be in a picturesque and vivid manner. On the other hand, it is a realistic novel, presenting the world as it is. Happiness is as in Thomas Hardy’s The Mayor of Casterbridge; ‘…an occasional episode in the general drama of pain.’ Unfortunately, this is life as we know it, a world of pain and problems. These problems need to be solved by the main character, Nolitye who lives in a shack; a realistic place.

It is important if the novel actually presents life as one would have it or manipulates romance literature. The presence of fairies or nymphs like Nomakhosi, and of fiends like Zim show that the novel plays on the rational mind. But, this mysterious aspect of life plays side by side reality. The question of what reality really is can be asked as Nomakhosi tells Nolitye,

’Life is full of mystery. Don’t be fooled by what you think you see.’

One may also ask if fantasy is so distinct from reality because although Nolitye believes people may think she is crazy if she tells of everything that has happened to her, the fact remains that a thin line is what separates fantasy from reality. Like in the movie Merlin the underworld is a hole on the face of the earth in the novel. This significantly shows that the physical and spiritual are interchangeable. Therefore, Nolitye is able to travel in her dream as Alice does in Alice in Wonderland.

Through the plot, elements of fantasy can be noted. Animals like dogs and donkeys talking are reflective of ‘fabulative’ literature as in Animal Farm. This is obviously not a natural phenomenon but could actually be seen as a didactic move by the writer to show the innocence and purity of children. Also, the talking hare, Vlunda seems to remind one of the white rabbit in Alice in Wonderland. During her meeting with the Queen of the River Spirits, her clothes remain dry despite being in water. Again, the hippopotamus helps her cross the river and even communicates with her, this is obviously fantasy. The stone, an inanimate object also speaks to her; this is not feasible in real life.

In this novel, ‘magic elements are a natural part in an otherwise mundane, realistic environment.’ With reference to an online source, Professor Matthew Strecher believes that magic realism is, ’what happens when a highly detailed realistic setting is invaded by something too strange to believe.’ The novel is set in the simple Phola,’…a very ordinary place to live.’ where a hole leads to the underworld. There, they encounter Zim,’…a large hairy man-so tall that he has to stoop to fit in the hut…’ she also sees her mother, who is kept in a giant egg,

‘Nolitye’s mother sleeps, curled up like an unborn baby.’

And her father who has been turned into a large baobab tree is saved by her. All these seem quite hard to believe.

Some characters in the story violate the rules of nature. As in MaMtonga who takes the form of Four Eyes’ Aunt Vera and Sylvia who takes the form of Nolitye’s mother, Thembi. They turn into their real selves when their real name is mentioned. Also, Nolitye floats in the air with Nomakhosi when she goes to spy on the gathering of the Night Riders. Lastly, she uses the stone to make more fatcakes so as to get more money for her ‘mother’. Although Thembi, the ‘mother’ of Nolitye is like a normal person living in Phola and working in the city, she is actually a transformed Night Rider whose real form is later discovered.

Furthermore, in relation to magic realism, the novel draws,’…upon the energies of fable, folktale and myth while maintaining a strong contemporary social relevance.’ By implication, the novel can be seen as a contemporary novel with an ancient undertone. For instance, the myth of ‘The Healer of the Road’ otherwise known as dung beetle is mentioned. Its role is significant in that it helps Nolitye and the others find their way back home. A folk song is sung for it called, Unqonqothwane. Also, Vlunda the hare tells a fable of ‘why crocodiles bury their eggs…’ and the famous fable of the hare and tortoise is ‘acted’ out by Nolitye and the hare, Vlunda. In the end, Nolitye wins, just like the tricky tortoise with her smartness. Also, the mention of the elephant graveyard reminds one of an Elephant Graveyard in the movie; Lion King, it is depicted as in the animation, a desolate place, devoid of reasonable life. In page 78 to 79 of the text, what would be considered as the ‘myth’ of the Stone is told to Nolitye. She is acclimatised with this ‘truth’ in order to be able to understand the nature of the quest. Therefore, the essence of folktale and fables in the African setting is depicted; the novel draws reference from these ancient intricacies of the African setting.

One must align with the fact that like Gabriel Garcia, one of the premiers of magic realism, does in One Hundred Years of Solitude, the magical aspect of the world presented in the novel is revealed. The supernatural world is made to blend with the natural familiar and realistic world. A ‘sharply etched realism ‘is employed to relay ordinary events together with ‘dream-like’ or unrealistic events. Thus, in page 56 of the text, there is a vivid example;

‘On the outskirts of Phola some waste disposal men are loading four mobile toilets…Nolitye and Bheki are on their way to Bheki’s house with the magic stone.’

Set in a patriarchal society, the novel tries to draw on the superiority of the womenfolk. In essence, the powerful people although some are good and others bad, are females. The males are presented as power drunk, using power to oppress like Ncitjana and Zim; the ordinary men described as irresponsible, knowing of great things but incapable of doing anything( as is the case of Ntate Matthews and Xoli who cannot save himself.)

According to a critic, man’s life is filled with unhappiness; this is the reality he deals with. Happiness is illusory, fallacious; ’…is but an occasional episode in a general drama of pain.’ ;with reference to Thomas Hardy’s The Mayor of Casterbridge. In relation to the text, the people of Phola are an unhappy people living in a place bereft of happiness. One may ask if happiness is real as the children, whenever they hold the magical stone have joy. Evidently, their joy is momentary as they have to confront the Spoilers or the evil forces in guise of Ncitjana, Zim and MaMtonga. Momentarily, they gain happiness in the purple stone; what does this tell of the world? In the end, the happiness and peace they seek for their world is found in the stone. Through the return of the stone to its original place, light overtakes the underworld;

’ A burst of light shoots up from the sacred stone like a comet.’

‘Knowledge that has been obscured, like a hidden star, has been restored to you. But those dark days are to be no more,’

Through vivid description, which displays gothicity, the author is able to discuss the fantastic aspect of the novel. However, the author is not intrusive; this is according to a critic, authorial reticence. There is no credible explanation of the events described, neither is there an expression of views by the characters in the novel. This is also an element of magic realism. The story is told from the perspective of a young girl but in a third person narrative; it is omniscient but not intrusive, rather, the narrator is indifferent to the events in the novel. Rather than comment when illogical and fantastic things happen, the,’…story proceeds with ‘logical precision’ as if nothing extraordinary took place. For example, when Ntate Matthews hears dogs speak, the dogs are rather cool about it and Ntate states; ‘it was nice meeting you all.’ rather than be in a bewildered state.

Again, the novel is a criticism of the society presented. It criticises a society of social imbalance as in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice and Samuel Richardson’s Pamela. This is evident from the prologue where it is stated that Phola is far from the society of the rich, ‘…far from the quiet suburbs where one knows one’s neighbours by name and never sees them.’ It is instead a place filled with labouring parents, working in the City of Gold, slaving for a few selected rich. The essence of communalism is however something the Bourgeois lack. People in Phola know themselves, they care for each other, share their fears and problems together and in time of need, they are not far to reach. This is reflected in Ntate Matthews’ action in looking for the lost boy, together with other men of the neighbourhood after the fire incident. This is further imbibed by the children as is evident in their joint effort to help Nolitye.

As aforesaid, Sello Duiker’s The Hidden Star is partly a romance literature. It thrives on,’ the relatively far-fetched, implausible and escapist prose narrative.’ There is also a ‘…struggle between realism and romance…’ as from the novel, the reader is accosted with wonder which is an inevitable fact in romance literature. However, the romantic aspect is parallel to the realistic part of the novel, none overrides the other. In contrast to the underworld where Nolitye and the rest arrive from, the real world,’ …the township with its dusty streets…’ is what they miss. Despite the insurgence of poverty and unkind social conditions, ‘They’ve missed the township, because it is home.’ Home is reality; it is the place they know, no matter the deprivations abounding in it. Although the underworld is blissful after the power of the stone is wrought, they cannot stay. It is not reality, it is not viable. Home, Phola to be exact is not comfortable but, since man according to the existentialists defines life and gives meaning to life, by implication;

…home is never far away when you believe in it.’

HOW TO CITE THIS ESSAY: Adeojo Mosunmola Omowunmi- ‘Reality and Fantasy in the Contemporary African Experience: An Analysis of Sello Duiker’s The Hidden Star’. Retrieved from; https://profmossie1.wordpress.com/2015/01/07/reality-and-fantasy-in-the-contemporary-african-experience-an-analysis-of-sello-duikers-the-hidden-star/comment-page-1/#comment-25

 

REFERENCES

Abrams, M.H. (2005) A Glossary of Literary Terms U.S.A:Wordsworth Cengage Learning

Dickens Charles (2004) Hard Times Barnes and Noble Classics

Fugard Athol Sizwe Bansi is Dead

Trevor, James (1986) English Literature from the Third World New York: Longman York Press

http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/magic_realism

HOW TO CITE THIS ESSAY: Adeojo Mosunmola Omowunmi- ‘Reality and Fantasy in the Contemporary African Experience: An Analysis of Sello Duiker’s The Hidden Star’. Retrieved from; https://profmossie1.wordpress.com/2015/01/07/reality-and-fantasy-in-the-contemporary-african-experience-an-analysis-of-sello-duikers-the-hidden-star/comment-page-1/#comment-25

The Year of Great Beginings

429646_362122953798428_1442610155_n_jpg_oh=1ee2c01df35d1aab553eccbba0337d93_oe=54F02F53___gda__=1424656770_6cdc78efad4870a0c662f23a7a4952e1We know people make up new year resolutions at the end of each year, hoping to have accomplished most if not all by the end of the next year. Ironically, while some struggle to achieve the first three out of about 20 to-dos, the others remember not a word from wherever the list is.

i am one of them, well, at least i got more than half of my resolutions in 2014 achieved. But, the sad thing is, number one on my priority list was to finish the book i started writing in 2013. Well, i am stuck. So, i turn to myself, my inner self and ask what happened in 2014? Why did i get stuck while everyone was moving on?

Snapshot_20140712_2The answer is not far-fetched. i guess i refused to understand the way i work, and how my life functions when i make resolutions for myself. i remember not writing a resolution to start a book. i realise that i am more of a spontaneous person.

some of us are this way. that moment when we decide to make resolutions is when we deter from accomplishing them. so, if you are one of the live-as-it-comes people, then do so. I hope to continue with my book soon. And, by the way, i made no new year resolutions because it’s all gonna come as it was meant to.

Peace…Another story on the way. Just had to do this.

Mr. Johnson: Episode One

Mr. Johnson

Episode one

Mr. Johnson the school teacher left Madam Folorunsho, the paraga seller and walked towards the alley preceding the street he lived in. At the other end, he sighted Ajanaku and Ori ejo struggling for wraps of marijuana in a ‘poly bag’. They saw him and, fooled by the darkness, ran off, almost out of the alley until Johnson whistled a tune they were familiar with, did they turn and grin in the dark. A smile replaced their previous expression as Mr. Johnson strode towards them.

‘What are you doing here this late sir? ‘ Ajanaku asked, feigning ignorance as they shook hands.

‘ A little thing came underway. I had some student-teacher issue to discuss.’ Mr. Johnson replied. He was about to tell them of his escapade when the praises of the boys cut him off. The boys pretended to be oblivious of tired workers and school children struggling to sleep in the intense heat and ‘swarm’ of mosquitoes pervading their rooms. Rather, they shouted in the dark night. Mr. Johnson silenced them with a wave of his hand and asked, ‘I see you boys have been busy. Any luck?’ they shook their heads. ‘The bus gave us problems. So we had to spend…’ Mr. Johnson nodded quickly to show he understood.

The #5000 Naira they had placed in his hand as proceeds from routing Agege to Oshodi and finally to Bariga for at least 8 times was a lie. He would try to see if they had made more. So he asked cynically,’ you must have made more money right?’

‘Actually, we were thinking of something else.’ The reply came from behind; it was Ori ejo who had then placed a knife on Mr. Johnson’s back, ready to plunge it in. The recipient gasped silently and hurriedly placed the keys to the bus and the money into Ajanaku’s hand. Then, with a signal from Ajanaku, Ori thrust into the man’s back, the steel knife.

Another figure appeared from a corner not too far from where the deed had been done. His inquisitive and bloodshot eyes reflected the disastrous self he was made of. To Ori he said, ‘Leave him there . Just make sure you wash your hands. We don’t want blood on our hands do we?’

‘Of course not.’

‘The police will have something to keep them busy. Let us go.’ They had walked ten steps when he turned sharply and let out two silent shots from a previously unseen gun. Two thuds followed. He smiled then walked off. That was how three adults were killed on the night of October 31 without their consent. That was the beginning of terror and haunts on the alley and its environs. His mountains leveled, Omogori walked off with the keys to a bus and the sum of #15,000 Naira in his hand.

In the bus, he turned the ignition, nothing budged. Omogori cursed the dead men under his breath,’Irresponsible idiots!’. He tried once, twice and countless times until the bus wheezed, coughed and jerked before releasing a strenuous sound that probably meant,’I Do!’ then the driver steered off the side onto the street towards Agege. However, the bus swerved on its own accord, ramming its headlights into a parked lorry on the roadside. Omogori’s head hit the steering which out of prolonged use was battered. The force sent his head jamming into a gap between the steering wheel and dashboard.

No sound came from the battered bus. Only the occasional drop of blood trailing from the victim’s head down his body making a pool on the ground could be seen. In the dark night the man died. FaceGoo14-03-27 1727