Nothing to see, nothing to write

It was fun travelling to Enugu last weekend for the Nigerian Media Merit Award. It was a time to hang out with old friends I had not seen for a long time and to make new ones. The journey was an interesting one, although getting up in the morning to catch the first flight coupled with the scary noise from the aircraft, was not an easy task. Thank God we arrived safely in Enugu despite uncertainties which characterised our trip flying with Arik.

As a first timer, landing on the red soil of Enugu was like being on a strange terrain that is totally different. Amidst chat with Stella Sawyerr of Tell Magazine and Pius Okeosis, a former colleague here at Business Day, and Wole Shadare of The Guardian (who has never stopped telling me he is a fan of this column), I walked towards the arrival hall of the Akanu Ibiam 'International' Airport. But what first hit me was the reality that our luggage were conveyed from the aircraft to the arrival hall manually. There were no conveyor belts, nothing! The men were sweating it out as they strained themselves silly to lift the luggage from the motor car. It was a sorry sight for an "international airport?"

Anyway, we were to eventually survive the luggage "dismay and surprise" as we drove on into town proper on the Coal City BRT bus. It was not exactly a bad ride; at least it afforded us the opportunity to see a few areas in Enugu. At a point, I almost asked myself what happened to the much touted rapid development taking place in Enugu! On the other hand, I reasoned that where we drove through to the Nike Lake Resort, our hotel for the weekend, was the outskirt of town, as such, one may not necessarily expect much in terms of development from the area.

The atmosphere at Nike Lake Resort was though breathtaking. The lake was more like the much needed soothing balm to our aching legs and famished bodies, especially under the hot Enugu sun. Lunch however came rather late since we all left our homes without breakfast and we could not help but heave a sigh of relief when the waiters at long last thought it wise to uncover the ceremonial pans and asked us to help ourselves to lunch. The meal was tasty and I could not turn down Deji Bademosi's (of Channels TV) offer to 'wash down' the meal with a bottle of Amstel Malta he left in my care while he went to help himself with lunch. The day was crowned with the Heroes Night also held by the Lake side which had the likes of Prince Tony Momoh and Ambassador Segun Olusola in attendance.

The following morning was equally interesting but our supposed tour of Enugu city left a bitter taste in our mouth. Our journey began shortly after breakfast at about 11am. We though seemed excited at the thought of touring Enugu and for a first timer like me, it was exciting, as our mini convoy; heavily guarded by policemen (for fear of kidnappers I hear is the beginning of wisdom in Enugu) moved in the full glare of Enugu township that was alive to the rhythm of the scorching sun.

Our first point of call was the newly constructed bridge at New Market road.
There, the government official who was on one of the buses got off to explain to
us the state of the road before the construction of the new bridge. As if that
was not enough, the convoy moved to new estates being constructed in some parts
of the town, we could not believe what we saw and those who got off came back
with a disheartening testimony. After that, we moved to some unknown sites in
other parts of town. By this time, the whole bus had become restless because we
were convinced we could no longer put up with what we were being shown.

"Na wa o!" exclaimed Siju Alabi of Super Screen TV. We were shown some funny sites I cannot make anything out of. "What kind of tour is this?" someone else queried. "We thought we would be shown some historical sites and monuments. What's all these?" we almost asked in unison
In spite of our disdain for the circus show of shame, we were forced to watch, our journey that morning did not come to an end until we were made to visit the stadium where we were told point blank by the guards that we were not expected. This remark angered us all such that we asked to be returned to the hotel.

The state governor was to add salt to our collective injury when he refused to show up at the award night. We were told by Ambassador Segun Olusola that the governor was suffering from food poisoning which he contracted while on one of the campaign tours for the local government elections. It was really sad. If the governor could not make the event, does that also preclude his deputy from representing him? The truth must be told! It was a crazy tour of Enugu and those of us who thought we could write something meaningful about the state as a good tourist destination were highly disappointed. Honestly, there was nothing to write about, except this!

Another paradise lost

Paradise is not everywhere but I was once told one can be created by an individual regardless of where he is and the conditions he is surrounded by. But what do you do when those conditions are way beyond your power to overcome, especially when they are almost taking your last ounce of strength?

What do you do when you were once in paradise and suddenly lose it, like the one John Milton talked about in his poem, Paradise Lost? In that epic poem, Milton presents Satan as an ambitious and proud being who defies his creator, the omnipotent God, and wages war on Heaven, only to be defeated and cast down.

I was at an art exhibition some days ago and what I saw shocked me. In the place highlighted by the artist, there was actually a non-existent paradise; yet one could have been created if not for the greed of Nigerian rulers whom the artist portrayed as ‘satans’ and ‘vermins’ that continue to feed on the sweat and blood of innocent Niger Deltans.

Sometime in the 1940s when the nationalist movement was in progress in Africa, many people were made to believe that political independence would usher in a new life, solve all social problems and provide everyone a better life. So much was promised by black leaders but only a handful was realised. Most post-independence economic plans were based on expansive democratic principles which included the promise of equal opportunities and fairness in the standard of living. These promises fired the imagination of the black people. Unfortunately, though, within a few of independence, those hopes were dashed and disillusionment set in. The current issues across Africa are some of the post-independence disillusionments which many African writers and artists have talked about.

And so, the works at the exhibition revealed another angry voice in the person of the artist, the same angry voice in the character of Zilayefa in Kaine Agary’s ‘Yellow Yellow’. While Agary uses words to capture the suffering of Niger Deltans, the artist decided to employ the powerful medium of photography. He presented with great pathos and commendable realism the multifaceted situation of the Niger Delta region through the kind of photographs on display. The fortunes of the old and the young in the region whose hopes to get qualitative education, roads, pipe borne water, electricity are eventually dashed by the nature of the Nigerian political, social and economic system.

The images were very detailed and convincing, an analysis of the causes of juvenile delinquency, prostitution and big-time as well as petty crime which have spurred the so-called Niger Delta militants. There was a great depth of presentation, realistic images, psychological understanding and awareness of the implications of the issues raised.

And for me, the heroes were not the dictators who occupy the seat of power in Aso Rock or other government houses, but the innocent old men and women, children and adolescents who were victims of the greed and selfishness characteristic of Nigerian rulers. Many of the children were raised with the hope of a better future, but a combination of corruption, unfairness, nepotism, and more ensures that their hopes remain unrealised.

The experience was thus a paradigm, not just for the Nigerian situation, but for Africa as a whole, where hordes of youths educated up to the school certificate standard or university level discovered that despite their qualifications, the socio-economic situation ensured they have to roam the streets unemployed for years. The effect of this is not just a tremendous waste of potential but a loss of faith in the value of education and ultimately life.

The artist tellingly presented the utter despair of the Niger Delta people who are suffering in the midst of plenty - the misery and degradation of having to live in an environment virtually destroyed by gas flaring and crude oil. Most farmlands which were sources of livelihood for most of the inhabitants had been eroded by crude oil. The squalor in which the people live was contrasted with the opulence of Nigerian leaders and managing directors of oil companies, who deny them the right to basic social amenities. Through a series of evocative images, the destructive effect of gas flaring was vividly portrayed. The image that got stuck on my mind was that of a mother with her child firmly strapped on her back, and yellowish flames oozing from the gas flare in the background. It was a representation of the predicament of the people. The photographs were political statements about the impact of political activities and decisions of the leaders on the life and feelings of the people. It was a display of the anger and sympathy for a people’s suffering.

Ibadan!

“E n le beun o!” meaning, how are you over there, is a popular way of greeting in Ibadan. It’s a greeting some people consider too ‘conk’ for them to grasp. And anyone who speaks in that tongue is usually laughed at. It’s however amazing that some smart advertisers have leveraged on this to promote their brands. Most billboards, particularly those advertising telecommunications companies, have one form of such greetings or the other.

Ibadan is a city I love for its quietness and slow pace of the lifestyle of its inhabitants, as nobody seems to be in a hurry in this ancient town. Little wonder why the cost of living is still low. It is probably one of the few towns in Nigeria where you can still take a trip in a taxi for N10! Fresh farm produce are sold in the market at cheap prices.

I read in a book some years ago that the name Ibadan was derived from Ìlú Ẹ̀bá-Ọ̀dàn, meaning the town at the junction of the savannah and the forest. At Nigeria’s independence in 1960, Ibadan was the largest and most populous city in Nigeria and the third in Africa after Cairo and Johannesburg. The city was the centre of administration of the old Western Region in the days of the British colonial rule, and parts of the city's ancient protective walls still stand to this day.
History has it that Ibadan came into existence in 1829, when Lagelu, the commander-in-chief of Ife and Yoruba's generalissimo, left Ile Ife with a handful of people from Ife, Oyo and Ijebu to found a new city, Eba Odan, which literally means 'between the forest and plains.'

From history also, we learnt the first city was destroyed due to an incident at a masquerade festival when a masquerade was accidentally disrobed and derisively mocked by women and children in an open marketplace. In Yorubaland, it was an abomination for women to look a masquerade in the eye because they were considered to be spirits of the dead forefathers who returned to the earth each year to bless their progeny. When the news reached Sango, the then Alaafin of Oyo, commanded that Eba Odan be destroyed for committing such an abominable act.

But Lagelu and some of his people survived the attack and fled to a nearby hill for sanctuary. On the hill, they survived by eating fruits and snails. Later, they cultivated the land and made corn and millet into pap meals known as Eko, which they ate with roasted snails. They improvised a bit by using the snail’s shell to drink the liquefied Eko. Lagelu and his people came down from the hill and founded another city called Eba'dan.

The new city instantly grew prosperous and became a commercial nerve centre. Shortly afterwards, Lagelu died, leaving behind a politically savvy people and a very stable community. The newly enthroned Olubadan made a friendly gesture to the Olowu of Owu by allowing Olowu to marry his only daughter, Nkan.

Coming from a war campaign one day, the raging Odo Oba (River Oba) would not allow Olowu and his army to cross until a human sacrifice was performed to appease the angry river. The chosen sacrifice was Nkan. The Olubadan was infuriated at hearing of Nkan's death; he sent an emissary to inform the Alafin of Oyo.

Yoruba kings and rulers such as Alake of Egba, Agura of Gbagura, Ooni of Ife, Awujale of Ijebu, and others formed a formidable coalition with Eba'dan against the powerful Olowu of Owu. After the defeat of Owu, many of the warriors that participated in the coalition refused to go back to their towns and cities, except the Ijebu warriors. They began attacking the neighbouring towns and hamlets, and also marauded across Eba'dan thereby making the indigenes fearful of them. Finally, they took over the political landscape of Eba'dan and changed its name to Ibadan, as we have come to know it today.

Ibadan was historically an Egba town. The Egba occupants were forced to leave the town and moved to present-day Abeokuta under the leadership of Sodeke, when the surge of Oyo refugees flocked into the towns as an aftermath of the fall of Oyo Kingdom.

Ibadan grew into an impressive and sprawling urban centre so much that by the end of 1829, Ibadan dominated the Yorùbá region militarily, politically and economically. The military sanctuary expanded even further when refugees began arriving in large numbers from northern Oyo following raids by Fulani warriors. After losing the northern portion of their region to the marauding Fulanis, many Oyo indigenes retreated deeper into the Ibadan environs.

What is sad today about this once beautiful city is that most of the relics are fast wasting away. Nobody seems to care about their dilapidating state. It’s really sad that these historic monuments are not taken care of.

Is FERMA coming alive?

You know what people?! I saw something on the Third Mainland Bridge few days ago I think I should share with you. I am sure many of you will agree with me that Federal Road Maintenance Agency (FERMA) mysteriously resurfaced when nearly everyone thought they were dead.
At least, for those people who passed through the Third Mainland Bridge last Wednesday, they will share my surprise.

What were they doing on the long bridge, you may ask? Well, I can tell you authoritatively that they were repairing the potholes on the bridge, after several accidents had occurred on the road. Since it’s becoming difficult for them to build new roads, it should be convenient for them to patch the potholes on our roads!

Well, this could call for some kind of excitement because I must confess that it’s been two years now since I have seen FERMA signpost on any road. I can recall that some years ago, road construction signs were commonplace. There was effort then to fix bad roads and it was also a time when the roads in places like Oshodi experienced a facelift.

FERMA has become faceless in the minds of most Nigerians such that no one seems to know the name of the minister in charge of roads? Dear readers, can you help? I need to consult Ikechukwu Eze, our Features Editor here. You can’t blame me, you see, because we have ministers who are inactive.

When Ogunlewe was the minister of works and housing, we all knew him. Oby Ezekwesili, Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala were names Nigerians got to know through the offices they held as ministers. They were very active, hence their presence in people’s consciousness.

Presently, I’m sure not many people can name the ministers of finance, petroleum, agriculture, power and steel, among others. The very few ones who are currently visible are: Dora Akunyili, Sam Egwu, Ojo Maduekwe, ministers of information, education and foreign affairs, respectively.
In fact, this was a test many of us failed one day in the newsroom when our deputy editor, Charles Ike-Okoh asked one afternoon. No one could say the names of the ministers he asked for. The answer to this is not far fetched, as the ministers have not been doing much to make a mark in the minds of Nigerians, newsmen inclusive.

Now, back to FERMA and the bad roads in the country. Journeying on Lagos/Ibadan Expressway is no longer a jolly one, even going through some federal roads within the Lagos metropolis can really be an excruciating task. The long stretch of road between the old toll gate and Iwo Road in Ibadan is in a horrible state. It’s really sad that such road still existed in a country where there is a minister for works and housing! Perhaps, he does not travel on some of these roads because if he does, he would have been forced to do something about them. A day journey is enough to leave him with back pains, or a disjointed hip to know how much it affects the health of those who travel through them almost on a daily basis.
For long, Nigerians have bore this suffering in silence, as we daily contend with most of the bad roads across the Lagos metropolis that had become increasingly dangerous and unsafe over the years. Now, we no longer think our silence is golden as we have resorted to speaking out loudly about our plight.

Likewise, Lagosians are worrying over the continued neglect of the roads, especially those who ply the Iyana-Ipaja-Oshodi, Iyana-Ipaja-Ikotun routes, which are in dire need of total rehabilitation. They lament that the poor state of the roads, marked by wide potholes, has brought untold hardship to road users just as precious man hours are lost on daily basis journeying through these roads in traffic logjam.

The claim by the state government has always been that most of the roads are under the authority of the Federal Government, that is, those considered as federal roads. The Federal Government should therefore be responsive to the yearnings of the masses and rise up to the occasion by fixing the roads in the general interest of the public.

The rain traveller

On the morning of last Wednesday, I was in a hurry to get to the office. I peeped out of my window to do a mini weather forecast since the Island had been overtaken by flood in the last two days. I could see in the distance from where I stood on the terrace that the clouds were gathering, a sign it would be a rainy morning.

I hurriedly carried my handbag and laptop with the hope of beating the coming rain. Alas, I was wrong, before I descended the stairs, it had started drizzling. Defying the trickling rain, I trudged on. I had to get to the office early to wrap up the production for the magazine, Business Life.

On a day like this, taking the car to the office was an option. Driving to the office on a rainy day in Lagos ? Uhn, uhn, tufia-kwa, nba! It’s not a feat I would dare to try! And true to my prediction, a heavy downpour began shortly after I got to Eko Hotel roundabout. The cabs I tried to wave down said emphatic “no” even before I could tell them my destination. For them, Festac was a no-go area because of the rain. And so, my last resort was to get on a danfo.
By the time I got to CMS, the rain was pouring in torrent and the ever busy CMS bridge was deserted, there were only three buses parked on the far right of the bridge. I got on one them heading towards Mile 2, with my umbrella dripping water. Other passengers and I, who were in the bus before me had to wait for the bus to get filled.

The bus driver was shouting at the top of his voice and also making signal with his fingers to the few passengers who walked by in the rain, his destination. His voice, which had become hoarse, was drowned by the sound of the rain. After waiting for some minutes, a young man with ransack fastened on his back was soaked to his pant by the October rain.

He took a seat next to a woman who was not soaked. The uneasiness on the woman’s face was too glaring, as she was trying to avoid getting wet. She moved close to the bus panel in a bid to leave an ample space between herself and the wet man. She was wrong, by the time the fourth person sat down (who was equally drenched), she had to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with the wet man.

As the heat in the bus became unbearable, I could not help but pray the bus moves on time, as the windows were shut. There was no fresh air in spite of the cold weather. Eventually, the engine roared to life as the bus got filled; and we embarked on our journey to Mile 2. After journeying for a few metres, we ran into a traffic gridlock on Apongbon Bridge . There was an accident involving three BRT buses and a car. We were in the traffic for hours.

Such an occurrence is not uncommon whenever it rains in Lagos . As if that was not enough, our bus broke down at the foot of a bridge. As the driver tried to revive the engine after several attempts, the engine came back to life. We have not moved a few yards when it broke down again, right in the middle of the highway. This time, the engine failed to respond and we all became impatient with the man’s fruitless attempts to kick start the bus.

We got off the bus to stand on the sidewalk. Several vehicles sped past, splashing water on us. I held on tight to my umbrella which was at the risk of being blown away by the strong wind. We were all at our wits end, as there was no hope of getting another bus. The rain was pouring heavily and it was unfortunate that it was at this its intensity increased.

Suddenly, an empty bus appeared from nowhere with the conductor shouting its destination, Mile 2. Excitedly, we jumped on board. We were completely overtaken by water as we approached Point Road , and saw several vehicles stuck in the flood. Commuters who could not get on any commercial vehicle made their journey on foot. With their trousers rolled up, they waded through the dirty brownish water. Discarded bottles of water, old shoes, and all kinds of nylon floated in the pool. It was horrible!

The journey for most drivers became the survival of the fittest; vehicles without good engines were nowhere. Apapa was free of traffic, but too flooded. It was pitiable how people had to swim their way out of the huge water unmindful of what was underneath. The potholes were deep. They fell into them and with determination and courage they moved on. As workers have to get to work, it was no joke at all. Any one who passed through Apapa last Wednesday would understand how much Lagosians are suffering.

As I write this, some of my colleagues are just getting to the office at 7.30 p.m. They had been in traffic. It was a horrible day. In unison, we cry for good drainage system, good roads so that when it rains, we all won’t have to suffer as travellers in the rain!

A generation of female potters

Pottery in Nigeria has for centuries been the exclusive preserve of the womenfolk. Even in modern times, they live in a closed society that protects their craft secrets, taught only to those born into the hereditary profession of potters, writes FUNKE ADETUTU

Alhaja, as she is fondly called by her relatives and co-workers, is supervising the last set of women working on a set of Ikoko Amu, a huge water storage vessel. In this part of the state, Ikoko Amu, is essential to daily life, especially in rural areas like this where there is irregular supply of pipe borne water. Hence, when water comes as it does bi-weekly, those with large families have to store water in large storage vessels till the next ‘season’ it comes. And so, this hot noontime, Alhaja hurriedly encourages the workers to put finishing touches to the sets of Ikoko Amu they have been working on in the last few days. Customers are waiting!

Alhaja is a sturdy 60-year-old woman who has shrunken with age and hard work. The fold of overlapping flesh on her fore head is puckered in a furrow as she presses her forefinger on the moist clay pot. She is the family head of Ile Dada (Dada Compound), where virtually, all the females are potters.

Normally, they do not welcome strangers. They live in a closed society that
protects their craft secrets. They believe that if they share their craft, the
ancestors who taught them might not approve. Pottery is their only means of
livelihood and the processes are traditionally taught only to those born into
the hereditary profession of potters.

The Dada Compound demonstrates and explains the construction of huge Ikoko Amu, from digging and working the clay to the dramatic open field firing of more than a thousand perfectly symmetrical water vessels made without a potter's wheel. The women and girls, ages five to 65, work at their profession from dawn to dusk, year-round. Because of rapidly changing conditions in the country, the infatuation with modern technology and plastics, Odia Ofeimun, astute poet and literary critic fears these skills could pass away, and become victims of Western technology and notions of progress.

Three hundred kilometres north of Ogbomoso town lay the primordial town of Ilorin, Kwara State. It’s a rather traditional place, like many other communities in south-west Nigeria. This region is although not very wealthy, because most of its inhabitants are peasants who thrive on craft, farming and petty trading. The landscape is incredibly beautiful here: green, fertile, hilly, and all you will find more are groups of people tilling the ground or hawking their farm produce in the hot October sun.

Women potters are many in the city of Ilorin. They must have thought it odd that a male was a potter. Yoruba culture traditionally has been gender specific, regarding work, insisting that women perform tasks associated with hearth and home and that men perform tasks outside the home. When questioned, master-potter Alhaja says she is not aware that men are potters in Northern Nigeria where pottery is also common. She believes custom and tradition call women to pottery, yet couldn't think of any specific restrictions against men becoming potters. “The question had never come up,” she observes.

The Ogbena is another compound in Ilorin where there are women who specialise in the production of lidded soup bowls, called Isasun. It is used in rural areas for cooking over an open fire. Both the Ikoko Amu and the Isasun are produced with hand-building skills alone. This sweltering afternoon, Abibatu Koleosho is at work, her back is soaked in sweat. The brownish wrapper she tied around her body makes the beads of sweat visible. The perspiration is beading at her neck cape, then slipping down in quicksilver rivulets to rest on her already sodden waistband. Abibat belongs to a lineage of female potters. Her great-grandmother was a potter. “My mother was doing this job before she fell ill some months ago,” she says as she turns her face away from the smoke rising from the open fire. “I had to take over from her although I have been working with her before then. I used to work with my grandmother in the upper part of our compound before she died.”

Abibat has also initiated her 12-year-old daughter, a primary six pupil at a local primary school into the craft. “I don’t think I will do another job,” says Ajoke, in Yoruba, the local language. “My grandmother taught me how to make clay. She is still alive, although she is ill. She told us it is an exclusive preserve of our family, a secret we cannot share with outsiders. I will also teach my children when I grow up.” She has just finished working on a dark coloured ‘Isasun’ which she puts next to the ones her mother had done in the hot October sun to dry.

The largest community of potters in Nigeria is called Ebu Dada, located on the outskirts of Ilorin. The community consists only of Yoruba women who are hereditary full time professional potters. Here, a green ware water vessel is in the process of final construction. When fired, it will weigh some 125 lbs. The wedging task is in no way enormous for their slim frame. Their strength and stamina came from wedging clay every day since childhood. As potters, they performed amazing feats of endurance and strength. I offered to give some helping hand, immediately they understood I was not a potter because while I gave the helping hand tilling their clay, it was obvious it was such an excruciating task, of course, I was unable to keep up with them!
Pottery in Nigeria has for centuries been the exclusive preserve of the womenfolk. Pottery, in all Nigerian traditional cultures is used for utilitarian purposes such as cooking and especially for water storage. Some tribes and cultures also use pots as religious symbols, hence the intricate ornamentation that is typical of such items.

“Among some people in the north, for instance, women make pots for use at home, while men make the special pots to be used for ceremonial processions. Both make fragile, thin walled African pottery pots, which they make use of in varied ways,” explains Bola Durosanwo, a lecturer of Fine and Applied Arts at Yaba College of Technology, Lagos. “As when making baskets, women normally use a coil method, rolling long strips of clay into coils, which they then stack to make the pot. They sometimes shape a pot by stacking the clay pieces around a mould. Men also make use of moulds, but they create their pots from flat blocks of clay instead of coils of clay. The Igbo tribe of Nigeria have traditionally dressed both house hold and ceremonial African pottery pots with grooves, and raised designs.”

Historically, Ladi Kwali, who died in 1983, was Nigeria’s best known female potter. She left a rich legacy of her work and a school of ‘students’ who picked up from where she left at the Abuja Pottery Training Centre. She grew up in a family in which the womenfolk made pots for a living.
The Abuja Pottery Training Centre, which Kwali headed before she died, was established 1950 by an English potter, Michael Cardew, who was sent to the Abuja area by the then colonial government, ostensibly to ‘improve’ the quality of local work. But he found himself, for the next 15 years, in a symbiotic working relationship with local potters, in which he taught and was taught by potters like Ladi Kwali. While Cardew introduced wheels and kilns to the centre, he also learnt about traditional firing methods and ornamentation. Kwali on the other hand, was initially reluctant to adapt to the wheel, preferring the spiral coil method of building pots. She however, discovered she had a natural flair for the wheel.

Over the next decade, her ornamentation skills became more sophisticated, and probably because of improved firing methods, she had the opportunity to exhibit her work in Europe in 1958, ‘59 and 1962. Her pottery was also displayed during Nigeria’s independence celebrations in 1960. But the local women in Ilorin are not as lucky as Kwali. They are not celebrated, yet their works are rare masterpieces.

In Osogbo, Daramola Adekunbi is a graduate of civil engineering from the Esa Oke Polytechnic. She was not born into the potter’s lineage, yet she had been drawn to the craft of pottery since her undergraduate days. Now, she works as a foreman at the Industrial Development Centre, Osogbo. “I love working with clay,” she says, displaying both hands already smeared with clay. I can’t really explain what drew me to it but I love it. There is this aura - the smell of wet mud gives this unusual feeling which I can’t explain.”

Adekunbi unlike her counterparts decides not to seek for employment in the big cities like Lagos and Abuja; instead, she makes a living from selling fired clay and tutoring students who come to the development centre for training in pottery.

However, Adekunbi unlike the Ilorin potters, says she will not force any of her children to take to pottery. “They have a choice to decide on what to do. I was not born into pottery myself hence I will not force. Pottery is just a vocation I love and which I am currently practising.
To this end, Terracotta pots produced by these women are used in daily life by the majority of the Nigerian rural population. They may be cheap to make and very cheap to replace, yet these women see it as a calling, a craft to be practised by generations yet unborn.

For Wole

Two weeks ago, I did a piece titled ‘The Tarzan Monologues,’ where I talked about my visit to Terra Kulture, including the exchange between Wole Oguntokun, producer Theatre@Terra and the audience, when he introduced the play for October.

And so, last week Sunday was the premier of the famous play, and our dear Wole was there. “I was surfing the internet when I read Funke’s article,” he told the audience, why Tarzan was the question she raised. But my Tarzan is not a white man as she wrote in the article. They are black men.”

It was a hilarious experience for me to hear men talk about their pains and frustrations, dreams and aspirations. They talked about both serious and unserious issues, those unexpected matters that bother them.

The fact that the society has placed so much on the man because of his masculinity is one of the issues raised in the play. The first monologue titled: E get as e be, by Kanayo Okani, points out all the other monologues in the right direction as it states pointedly salient problems faced by a poor man, a man struggling to survive.

A man without money is regarded as an outcast among friends and families, as he cannot contribute anything logical to important discussions because he is penniless, according to some Nigerians. Hence, he stylishly excuses himself from taking on responsibilities such as settling the bills at home, funding his father’s funeral rite or even getting a birthday or valentine gift for his girlfriend. “If you wan waka with pride,” says Okani, “scarcitygo make your hand fall.”
In one of the monologues, O.C Ukeje narrated his experience (I’m sure it’s not a personal one) about erectile - dysfunction, premature ejaculation, sexual-weakness or impotency, as some of the issues bothering men. There are men who suffer from these sexual problems.
He said it was the desire of all men to indulge in sexual feelings and acts, and it was a natural state of mind to feel this way and naturally make love and produce other life form. Hence, the inability to do this takes away the man’s ego.

It also has psychological effect on the man who often feels inferior to his peers on one hand, while he lacks the confidence to talk to a woman on the other. Such an experience could be really devastating.

Paul Alomona’s monologue on The First Time was quite touching. “I was 13, Aunty was 32,” he said as he began his narration, “She called me after my parents had gone to work. She told me: ‘hold me, touch me, hold me close, don’t let go. The embrace went on for two years until Aunty travelled. Now, whenever I am with my girlfriend, it’s Aunty’s image I see with her words: ‘touch me here, touch me there, hold me close, don’t let go.’”

It may sound funny, but it is true that some women do indulge in such act.
And of course, Kunle Ayoola’s monologue on Me, My Girl, Her Pastor and the Church was funny. It brings to bare the influence of pastors on the members of their congregation, the fact that a woman needs her pastor’s approval for the right man.

“I have a problem, I want to marry. However, my girl said before I could marry her I have to pass a test. The test is an outside one which is important to her. I must be scrutinised by her pastor! A woman needs validation from her pastor, friends, families, hairdresser and dance instructor.”

Closely related to Kunle’s narration was Bimbo Manuel’s, on a man dating a woman who is 30 years younger than him. “If a girl is old enough to vote, is she not old enough to choose a life partner?” he asked, “they will give you an evil eye if your partner is 20 and your 50. But there is no law that says a man must not choose a partner that is 4, 10, 30, 40 years younger.”
The play was quite interesting and it feels good to know that men like women have issues to deal with. But in spite of the differences, there should be a common ground for both sexes to resolve these differences. The key word, if you ask me, is tolerance.

The ability to overlook and forgive one another, no matter how bad, is the wisdom needed. It is about seeing one another as humans and not as male and female. To an extent, I like Wole’s objectivity with script and the fact that at the end, he states categorically that men who rape women are beasts!

The Tarzan Monologues

Some weeks ago, John Osadolor, our news editor here at BusinessDay, accused me of having too much fun 'going out' on weekends. He believes covering a beat like mine means 'over enjoyment.' However, what he considered 'going out' was not going out in the real sense of it. I go out to work and not for pleasure as he thought. Going to watch stage plays on Sundays at Terra Kulture or Muson Centre or any other place, depending on the venue chosen by the organisers, may not be fun at all unlike what John thought. Instead of having fun like other members of the audience, I tend to be more attentive thinking within myself how the actions of the characters affect the development of the plot.

I don't just go there to sit and laugh, but it's more of an intellectual work, one that requires doing a critical analysis of what is unfolding on stage. Hence, I cannot watch the play with the ordinary eye of someone who went there to enjoy herself. But I have no choice but to have an eye for a critical analysis of the play. Well, you may want to agree with John that, that is just one occasion when socialising and having fun were all in a day's work for me since journalists do not have weekends - every day is work!

And so, like most Sunday afternoons, I am clad in my 'Sunday's best' on my way to Terra Kulture as usual to watch a stage play. As is his custom, when a play is about to start, Wole Oguntokun, producer, Theatre@Terra, stands in front of the audience to introduce the play.
Just few weeks ago, he started off by introducing the play staging for the month of October, The Tarzan Monologues, a male version of the famous Vagina Monologues. For me, there is nothing wrong in Wole coming up with his own version of the play, since he was discriminated against by the all female crew of the last edition of the play, which he directed and co-wrote the script.
"The women said they did not want a male directing their play," he explained, and this gave birth to the idea of The Tarzan Monologues.

"Why Tarzan?" asked a woman in the audience. "Why Tarzan?" echoed Wole. "Well, Tarzan was a white man who lived in the jungle. We want to show that men also have a story to tell. Women have been talking; we also want men to talk. The characters will talk about many issues, issues bothering men too."

"Men talk about politics," another woman in the audience noted. "No, they don't talk about politics," denied Wole. "Men talk about their kids, about a landlord knocking at the door. I live in a room with a woman who worries about what to wear every morning. Men don't worry about what to wear. Men don't worry when they are not invited to a party, but women do."
Wole's position begs for question and I believe, dear readers, you will agree with me, because making such a general statement about women is not totally right. Not all women worry about such mundane issues. For instance, I don't worry about such things. I don't even like parties.
Besides, there are men who also worry about not being invited to parties and what to wear. The fact that Wole does not worry about such issues does not mean some men don't worry about them and vice versa. I still insist that life is not about gender discrimination, but about people who inhabit it. Our preferences for things differ from person to person.

Am not a feminist, but if I want to do a feminist analysis of Wole's intention given the play's title, then, it will be instructive to do an analysis of the character, Tarzan. Tarzan was actually a fictional character created by Edgar Rice Burroughs, and it first appeared in the novel Tarzan of the Apes. Tarzan was an archetypal feral child raised in the African jungle by gorillas, who later returned to civilisation only to largely reject it and return to the wild as a heroic adventurer.
In Tarzan, Burroughs created an extreme example of a hero figure largely unalloyed with character flaws or faults. He was described as being Caucasian, extremely athletic, tall, handsome, and tanned, with grey eyes and black hair. Emotionally, he was courageous, loyal and steady, intelligent and learns new languages easily.

He was presented as behaving ethically, at least by Burroughs' definitions, in most situations, except when seeking vengeance under the motivation of grief, as when his ape mother Kala was killed in Tarzan of the Apes, or when he believed Jane had been murdered in Tarzan the Untamed.

He was deeply in love with his wife and totally devoted to her and in numerous situations where other women expressed their attraction to him, Tarzan, politely but firmly declined their attentions.
When presented with a situation where a weaker individual or party was being preyed upon by a stronger foe, Tarzan invariably took the side of the weaker party. In dealing with other men, Tarzan was firm and forceful. With male friends, he was reserved but deeply loyal and generous. As a host he was likewise generous and gracious, and as a leader he commanded devoted loyalty.
Based on the above analysis, would it be right to say that all men possess the character of Tarzan, at least, that is what Wole wants us to believe when he titled the play The Tarzan Monologues.

Anyway, I will keep my fingers crossed to see if the stories of Kunle of Rooftop MC, Bob Manuel-Udoku and Denrele, who would feature in the play, be interesting enough to deserve such title.

The attitude

I had a blind date. Yes, I could recall I got a phone call from someone some months ago. How he got my number was a mystery, until I discovered that a colleague in the office gave him.
I was eventually able to put a face to the voice when a friend introduced me to the famous Sam at a poetry party. It was there and then I uncovered the mysterious one.

And so, one Friday evening, we met again, and this time, at a photography exhibition at Ikoyi. After the exhibition, we decided to hangout in the company of one of Sam’s friend, Dafe. I never knew I was in for a nerve-wrecking hilarious outing. Our destination that evening was unknown to me as we rode on the smooth Bourdillion Road . “Where do you guys want us to go,” he asked as he turned into Bar Beach Road . “I will stop at the closest restaurant around here,” he added. The closest was Terra Kulture, but he quickly had a change of mind when he remembered he had to do some shopping. And so, The Palms was the next point of call.

Our short journey was marked by argument and counter argument on current issues and I was amazed when Dafe claimed he still writes. He was a journalist before he took on a corporate job. And his new found mediums of expression are Facebook and Twitter. “I write too,” he said, as a response to Sam’s question on writing as a medium of expression.

It’s interesting for me how Facebook and Twitter are making writers of people all over the world. Citizen Journalists are taking over the industry, even as I remember now an argument we had back in classroom when I was in Holland about journalism without journalists.
Journalism is taking a new turn today, which makes it possible for someone like Dafe to claim he is a writer. And of course, he is in sense, as Citizen Journalism makes that possible. Anyway, that will be a topic for another day.

Meanwhile, let’s go back to the issue of the day. Cafe Virginano was the place Dafe chose we hangout because the salad there was his favourite. We ran into another Sam’s friend when we got in and we decided to share his table. After a while, Dafe excused himself to go shopping while we ordered some drinks and club sandwich.
Sam, his friend and I touched on various issues about Nigeria , our president, Christine Amapour of CNN, among others. It was an eye opening experience, I’d say.

After a while, Dafe returned from his shopping spree with a satisfactory look and smile, bars of chocolate in hand. He dropped the chocolates on the table and beckoned on the waitress for his order. As she walked towards the table, Dafe was smiling and looking serious at the same time. Initially, I did not understand Dafe’s ‘moves’ until the waiter returned to remove the plates in front of me. “Should I take this,” she asked somewhat agitated. “Yes, you can. I’m done,” I replied not sensing anything. “When you are through, come back for my order for drinks,” Dafe said sternly.

“Why did you do that?” I asked Dafe. “She has an attitude,” he said. “Really, I did not notice that; she does and you will see when she returns.” And so, she returns and Dafe asked her name. She did not answer the first time. “What is your name,” Dafe asked again.

“Me, I don’t have a name o,” she said, while walking away. She never returned to our table to pick up the bills. Another waiter who later came for the bills told us her name. She actually benefitted from the generous tip Dafe left in the bill pouch.

Most waitresses and waiters don’t know the importance of customer relation to their businesses. In fact, people have complained bitterly about being badly treated by these waiters. What some of them do not understand is that attitude is really important to their business.

Religious hypocrisy in The Swamp Dwellers

As a playwright, Wole Soyinka concerns himself with themes that assess topical issues in a post oil boom Nigeria hence his play, The Swamp Dwellers is almost far removed from the themes of colonial rule and the culture clash characteristic of most plays. The play which was staged by the National Troupe/National Theatre and directed by Nick Monu, an alumnus of the American University Washington D.C and the Webber Douglas Academy of Dramatic Arts London, assesses the lives of the inhabitants of swamps.

The Swamp Dwellers takes a look at the Nigerian society, progressively moving towards the path of retrogression, degeneration, corruption and moral decadence. This is a clear manifestation of the Nigerian society as a class society with all the contradictions and problems inherent in such society. The audience is confronted with power and its associated arrogance by the elites in a society that lacks the meaning of accountability, corruption, immorality and bribery.

Through the use of such highly poetical diction, bitter tone, irony, juxtaposition, symbolism Soyinka presents graphically and truthfully what he sees and experiences and concludes that Nigeria is a class society where nothing goes well. A society based on violence, injustice, brutality, immorality and a society where greed and corruption of the privileged and the ruling class has created a big gulf between the few wealthy and the majority of the poor masses who dwell by the swap thus creating a society woefully lacking in proper human relationship and brutal economic relations.

The activities revolve around the protagonist, Igwezu, who is the picture of an idyllic son of the swamps. He is loyal to tradition and has performed all the necessary rites required by the deity to ensure a good harvest and a happy life with his family. However, he is confronted by many disasters in the swamp. As the play progresses, the argument between his son and the blind stranger exposes the inadequacy and impotence of the gods who have failed to come to his rescue.

In his short stay in the city to try his hands at making money, his twin brother, Awuchike, seduces his wife, contrary to the spiritual values of the Swamp. Much frustrating, he fails in his commercial enterprise. Igwezu's tragedy is more severe when he returns to the Swamps with the hope of recovering from his despair by harvesting his crops alas, he discovers with utter disappointment and disbelief that the floods had ruined his farm and the beans and the corn had made an everlasting pottage with the mud.

In the play, Soyinka articulates his opinion from the point of view of the masses especially in the ways in which they have been relegated to the background of bourgeoisie in the society. Symbolism in the play is an important avenue for the expression of the playwrights view on the Nigerian society. It is possible that symbolism in a play can be made to serve an aesthetic purpose. This is to say that symbolism can be used for an objective other than the functional use.

Symbolism is used in The Swamp Dwellers for the revolutionary conscientisation of a people who are dwelling in an unjust social arrangement. Symbols, for Soyinka therefore, have to operate in a very dynamic sense. In his perspective, symbol should not just add colour to a work of art but should also play an active role in conscientising a people in the general process of reforming the society. Symbolism in The Swamp Dwellers operates at various levels. One of these levels is the group of symbols that are drawn from nature. Soyinka places emphasis on the symbolism in nature right from the beginning of the play. And the characters talk about how the rains have washed away their farm crops and the blind stranger talks about a severe drought in the north.
The play also exposes religious hypocrisy in the character of the Kadiye. The Kadiye is the religious figure in Wole Soyinka’s The Swamp Dwellers, is masterfully portrayed and is very convincing. Kadiye is portrayed in this drama as the main priest of the swamp dwellers. As a professional priest, he is anything but pious. He portrayed as a corrupt and self-centered person. But Kadiye is not the sole example of his type.

The physical feature of Kadiye indicates that he is more like a villain than to be a religious person. He is fat like a blood-swollen insect. He is a monstrous looking person. He is described as ’a big ,voluminous creature of about fifty.’ He is smooth-faced and his head is shaved clean. He is bare above the waist and at least half of his fingers are ringed. This physical look suggests something ugly about his moral nature. Kadiye is very rich and has a good control over the swamp like a Godfather featured in the western films. Kadiye destroys people wearing the mask of religion.

As the priest of the Serpent, the Kadiye betrays the trust of the villagers by encouraging them to indulge in meaningless cult which are profitable. The villagers give of their harvest to the Kadiye so he can appease the serpent but unknown to them he is feeding fat on their sweat. No one questions where the goods go, because it is almost blasphemous to do so. But it seems that the dramatist is very critical to the Kadiye and Kadiye’s real nature is exposed through the confrontation between the Kadiye and Igwezu.

In all, the play itself is a symbol of the rots in the society. The rottenness of the era which is part of the origins of poverty is presented in more physical terms by the ugly sight of the swamp where the masses dwell.

Man and woman, the age long struggle in A Husband’s Wife

In the African contemporary plays, feminine characters are inscribed in a complex sphere of multiple meanings, partly derived from the ancient myth of the “Big African Mother-Earth”, and partly referred to an idea of difference which is very distant from the European notion of “Other”.

In literature, a typical feminine conception has been theorised by the movement known as “Motherism”, whose suggestions have been followed by many African writers. The creation of a new literary woman’s typology refers, therefore, to philosophical, historical, sociological and psychological perspectives, showing new routes to develop the European epistemological system.
It is this emerging modern woman that Tyrone Terrence tries to recreate in his play A Husband's Wife that is currently staging by Theatre@Terra at Terra Kulture. Directed by Sola Roberts Iwaotan and produced by Wole Oguntokun the play chronicles that experience of the protagonist, Tomi who suspects her husband of infidelity and seeks to confirm her suspicions. She struggles to accommodate the fact that her husband is looking for excitement after 20 years of marriage. However, when the truth is discovered, it is much more than either husband or wife could have imagined.

A Husband’s Wife could be classified as a tragedy although it’s highly satirical. It closely resembles William Shakespeare's comedies. The play concerns itself with the inborn, unargued ‘stupidity’ of couples as they grow older leaving behind the life-affirming gaiety and resourcefulness of their youth. After years of threading their way through obstacles set up by middle aged vanity and impercipience, Tomi is on the verge of being dumped by her husband, Femi, for another woman of their daughter’s age. After moments of quietness, Tomi decides to break the norm of silence which women are known for when she confronts her husband on his infidelity.

Tomi symbolises the modern woman who has refused to be given a lower status than his husband, as it is the norm in a patriarchal society. The feud between Tomi and Femi reinforces or undermines the economic, political, social and psychological oppression of women. Femi pushes all the traditional gender roles deeply-rooted in patriarchal ideology on Tomi. And he thinks Tomi’s concentration throughout their 20 years of marriage has been her job and housekeeping. Through the play, Terrence tries to show the loopholes in a patriarchal society where culture privileges men by promoting traditional gender roles. Traditional gender roles regard men as rational, strong, protective, and decisive while it sees women as emotional (irrational), weak, nurturing and submissive. “Marriage is work,@ says Femi. “A woman did not devout time for her marriage.” Femi compares the tears of women to a ceaseless flowing river, a weapon. But Terrence creates a strong and formidable character in Tomi who refuses to be seen as the ‘other.’

“Marriage vows do not expire with age,” says Femi. “The most pathetic thing a woman can do is to hold on to a man who does not want her any more.” And so, Femi thinks his object of affection has become his object of affliction. As with most patriarchal societies, women are subjected to the pains of domestic violence which in this case takes a form of verbal abuse from both parties.

Male promiscuity is accepted to be natural, but a woman can suffer great repercussions if she is found to be unfaithful. Refusing sex or asking money from her husband (hence challenging her husband’s authority as the controller of finances) can have disastrous effects. Cultural factors place males at the head of their households, and when their position is challenged, just as when any male animal feels that his territory has been invaded, they will strike out to deter the invader. Through, Tomi’s replies to his words, Femi feels his territory has been invaded and he has a right to find solace in the bosom of a younger woman. Thus the plays shows that the traditional mindset that women are property of men does not help.

...and Sizwe Bansi is a Woman

In the on-going play, Sizwe Bansi Is Dead, being staged at Theatre@Terra, written by Athol Fugard, John Kani, and Winston Ntshona, Sizwe Bansi, the protagonist, is stranded without a work permit in Port Elizabeth. The only solution to his dilemma is summarised in Kafkaesque terms by his benefactor Buntu, analysed the rigours he has to go through in other to secure a Residence Permit in New Brighton.

Sizwe Bansi opens with a now famous improvisation by the character Styles, a photographer, on themes provided by whatever news is topical in the newspaper. There is an improvisation on this part of the play compared with what his in the printed version which covers about fifteen pages.

Styles’ narration is a political satire and its dramatic significance lies in its contribution to the definition of the character, Styles, and his history. The play opens in the here and now of Styles' photographic studio, where he finds himself, facing his audience, waiting for a customer to turn up. From this point Styles returns to his beginnings, his first job as a worker in the Ford Factory in Port Elizabeth, and traces the vicissitudes of his life along the route which will bring him back to this studio. There is indeed, in Styles’ seemingly light hearted a tale embedded in both past and present pain a search for identity. The interaction of time past and time present establishes a base and a model for the further evolution of the play.

Styles' account of his life's journey is metaphorical. Upon first acquiring his studio, he faces a problem of infestation by cockroaches, and the first remedy he reaches for is an insecticide. Clearly, in this scene, the cockroaches become a metaphor for the black masses infesting the white capitalist's condemned premises. This becomes most evident in the failure of the attempt to "doom" the "pests" in Styles’ words. But for the metaphor to work, Styles himself becomes, at least temporarily, allied to the forces of white repression. An even more convoluted situation arises when the failure of the first attempt to evict or kill the cockroaches is followed by a much more efficient method: a cat called Blackie does the job. Even if one resists the temptation to tread much further through this particular labyrinth of metaphors, Styles' appropriation of the strong-arm tactics that traditionally characterised the apartheid regime sends some unexpected signals.

Undoubtedly, Styles’ story contains a strong and explicit political text---- the lack of choices available to him as a black worker in a white-owned factory; the dreary realities of job reservation, of group areas, of the whole complex of laws that define apartheid as a system; the futile pleasure derived from a momentary reversal of white and black roles (when Styles makes a fool of ‘Baas’ Bradley by saying in Xhosa what cannot be said in English, by standing erect while the foreman is "kneeling there on the floor," by "wearing a mask of smiles," by changing the customary order of perception as a key to the racial power play at work in the scene—("We were watching them. Nobody was watching us"); the process of transformation into a self-made man with his own studio.

The problem is that Sizwe Bansi knows no white man to start with. In the circumstances, Buntu’s evaluation of the situation is straightforward when he says: “There’s no way out, Sizwe. You’re not the first one who has tried to find it. Take my advice and catch that train back to King William’s Town.”

However profound the personal implications for Sizwe Bansi may be, the problem as formulated by Buntu appears to be a purely social one. Within moments, however, another dimension grows from it. When Buntu suggests, as the only other ‘way out,’ a job on the mines, which Sizwe refuses point-blank. The statement is echoed in Antigone's acknowledgment in The Island that: “I know I must die”, and in the resignation to: “a susceptibility to death” in Statements after an Arrest under the Immorality Act.

Much of the impact of this moment in Sizwe Bansi derives from the way in which it represents an interface between the play’s two key dimensions: the socio-political and the existential. Sizwe Bansi has long been recognised as an indictment of the wickedness and brutality of apartheid.
In the present post-apartheid era it is perhaps time to take a more dispassionate look at some problems illuminated by Sizwe Bansi Is Dead: not only the interaction between socio-politics and theatre within a given text, but the dilemma of the writer as a person with both artistic integrity and a social conscience. Or, in terms of Fugard’s own explanation of his improvisational technique in his preface to the play.

The basic device in the play has been that of challenge and response, the problem of reacting to an ideological or political challenge, that is apartheid and the struggle for liberation; with a response on a different level altogether --- theatrical, existential, and moral.
What marks the Styles circle above all else is his resort to role-playing, which is, interestingly enough, a strategy in any number of resistance plays by black writers in South Africa. Much more than a mere device to resolve the problem of tedium presented by straight narrative, role-playing operates within several systems of signification. In the first place, role-playing extends the scope of the character's involvement in the narrative. Instead of being merely this individual implicated in this situation (a photographer and ex-factory worker in his township studio), Styles becomes a crowd, reaching beyond the twenty-seven members of an extended family who turn up to have their photograph taken to a whole community, a whole society, the blacks in South Africa.

In the second place, role-playing makes it possible to represent the all-encompassing yet invisible apartheid system on the stage. The representation of the objects and victims of the system is inevitable and inescapable --- that is what the play is about.
However, the attempt by the producer/director, Wole Oguntokun to a female as the lead character, Sizwe (played by Kemi Lala Akindoju), is not completely a success as there are lapses by character to fully play the role. Some aspects of the script should have been changed to suit the new perspective. For instance, when Sizwe tries to explain her predicament of loosing her identity by changing her name from Sizwe Bansi to Robert Zwelinzima to Buntu. She could not understand how she will explain her transformation to her husband or children in her letter. Of course, the change of name may not completely affect her husband, but for her children, it may be a big dilemma because they cannot afford to change their last name from Bansi to Zwelinzima. In the original text, Sizwe is a man transformed from being Sizwe into Robert Zwelinzima and he finds himself at a crossroad in his letter to his wife about his sudden change of identity. The message of hopeless which Athol tries to pass across in the original text is not clearly portrayed; it is not forceful. Oguntokun’s attempt is quite commendable although, the fact that Sizwe is dressed in a three-piece suit at the beginning of the play before she changes her costume shows the difficulty in using a female to play such a lead role.

...and the man died

I could not believe that Gani Fawehinmi was dead when I got wind of the news last Saturday. Although he had been ill for some time now, it’s unbelievable he’s gone.

Fawehinmi, popularly known as Gani, has passed on. Some sources said he had succumbed to a long drawn battle waged against him by cancer, which had lasted for about 2 years. The news of his sad demise had flooded in during the early hours of the morning.

Before now, Fawehinmi was one of the most famous figures in Nigeria. Fondly referred to as "the people's lawyer" and "Senior Advocate of the Masses," he used his legal training and resources in fighting for justice for the Nigerian people.

Like Wole Soyinka, Fawehinmi was the loud conscience of millions of Nigerians. For him, silence was never an option. In fact, I will greatly miss his husky but firm voice on TV. I love Fawehinmi because he believed there were no tyrants too big to be challenged.

For most of the years he lived, he endured imprisonment, harassment and the climate of assassination created by the different military regimes. He battled causes, he took on the corruption of civilian governments while highlighting their illegitimate means of coming to power.
He was not everything to everybody, there were people who liked or hated him. He was liked and hated because of the endless energy with which he tenaciously pursued what he believed in. He protected the fundamental human rights of the ordinary Nigerian, and had respect for the hopes and aspirations of the masses who were victims of bad governance.

I could recall how much he fought the government of Ibrahim Babangida after the death of Dele Giwa, who died through a parcel bomb in 1986. Fawehinmi openly accused Babangida of being complicit in the journalist's murder. He later took the case to the Supreme Court, but lost. For this, Babangida tried to humiliate him publicly when he was arrested.

The story was the same when Sanni Abacha came to power in the early 1990s. Fawehinmi led the fight against the cancellation of 12 June 1993 presidential election and the subsequent detention of Moshood Abiola. His international passport was seized on many occasions; his residence and chambers were ransacked several times.

He was beaten up repeatedly and was confined to one part of the country in order to prevent him from being listened to by the masses. Some of Fawehinmi’s books which Abacha did not like were confiscated and one of his Lagos houses, where his law books were kept, was about to be set ablaze when the perpetrators were caught and apprehended by neighbours.
In spite of it all, he was undaunted. Even till he died, he continued to take on the ruling class, and filed a law suit against the current civilian administration.

For some of us, Fawehinmi was more than an activist. He was also a humanitarian with an uncommon legal mind. I could remember that he gave scholarships to many poor students in the county and revolutionised law reportage with the establishment of the Nigerian Weekly Law Reports in the late 1980s. What else can I say, but adieu to a man who fought for the masses.

Women behind the wheels

On a rainy Saturday morning in August, I had an appointment to meet hence I was somewhat in a hurry. By the time I hit the roads, the entire area was already water logged and traffic logjam was beginning to build up.
Since I was running a little late for the meeting, I drove a little faster than I normally would. But no matter how fast I moved, I was still conscious of traffic rules and not to swerve the car into an on-coming vehicle.

After being schooled in driving rules, at least the Highway Code has become another Bible for me (the fear of Federal Road Safety Corps and LASTMA is the beginning of wisdom); I made sure I did not overtake wrongly in order not to put the lives of other road users in danger.
That morning, there was a driver who tried to overtake me wrongly, because he saw I was a female. The man’s attitude underscored the impatience of most Nigerian drivers. But for the careful driver that I am, I stopped on my track when I realised the man deliberately swerved his bus in my direction.

At this point, I tried to manoeuvre the car, making sure he didn't pass me. But on a second thought, I decided to stay calm to avoid any dent on my car.
I realised too that the man like any other Danfo driver was just another crazy, impatient driver who loved to make trouble. Despite the fact that I did not struggle with him for right of way, he tried all he could to scare me off the road, but I didn't budge. “You be woman o, why you no wan comot for road? You no fit drive like a tasin drifa” he jeered wickedly.

The behaviour of some drivers in the Lagos metropolis has never ceased to amuse me, and at a point it became a cause for worry. I don’t understand why some drivers are so careless about the safety of other road users. Most times while driving, I've seen and heard other male drivers taunting female drivers with comments like 'E no sabi, na woman o, no wonder,' or 'I must drive myself, you no go tell your husband to give you driver?' or 'Na so woman dey drive?,’ are very common comments on our road.

The question then is: are there really that few or no good female drivers on our roads or it’s just that the male drivers are just being sexist? It annoys me on end though, when I see a woman who has no business driving, being a nuisance on the road.

I feel women like that make the male drivers generalise that most women are bad drivers. However, if it is a man, no one says anything, they'd just write it off as one of those things, maybe he's having a bad day, but if it is a woman it becomes a problem.
There is another side to it, when some male drivers realise that a woman is behind the wheel, it’s at that point they will begin to flex their muscles by offering to give instructions on how to ‘turn your hand,’ especially if you are reversing.

Even the most ignorant of them will still offer to help. Hence, at the slightest issue, every man on the road feels he must help you drive or give you directions. I think it's mostly a sexist thing.
And so, I believe there is no woman driving a car on the road that doesn’t know where she is heading. Yet, there are some men who are bad drivers than women. They only try to cover up their inadequacies with ego.

The 21st Century mum

The morning of last Saturday is one I will not forget in a long time to come. When I set out of the house, I never had an inkling of what to expect from the meeting I was going for. Some days before, I got a call from Adebola Williams of Future Awards concerning the meeting, yet I could not figure out what to expect from Oby Ezekwesili, World Bank vice president for the Africa region, who called for the informal meeting.

Since I was unsure of what to expect, I looked forward to the meeting with great expectation and curiosity. The meeting was scheduled for 8.30 am, but did not begin until 9.30.
When I arrived the Civic Centre, it was few minutes past eight. Uche Unaji of Ouch, the Igwe of style, as he is fondly called, with Dele Odufuye, were at the lobby waiting for the others to come. “We are the early birds,” Ouch said, as a way of welcome. “We arrived before those who live on the Island,” he added. “Yes, that’s true. It was difficult getting a place to park,” I answered. We walked back into the meeting room together just before Oby walked into the room.

“I am happy to be with you all,” she said, as she settled into a seat away from the high table, a sign of humility I suppose or she simply wanted us to feel free interacting with her. She told us how much she looked forward to meeting the 2009 winners of the Future Awards and how elated she was about the award. But what I found striking about Oby as she spoke that morning was her poise, humility and the fact that she exuded life.

I saw in her a woman who is in touch with this generation. She understands the needs of this generation and she feels its pulse. She knows the old’ school music, she knows the latest music, she tweets, as she is even on Facebook. She is a part of the Facebook and Twitter generation, making her is a 21st Century mum!

“I am so excited about your generation. No matter what people say, I am always happy about the opportunities of your generation. Many of you would have fallen by the way side but you choose not to. I am happy to know that you are by no means held back by any region. You are a citizen of the world and you are able to set a standard of excellence for yourself,” she declared.
“We are on the move,” she stated with a sting of pride, that she considered herself lucky to be a part of a generation that is resilient and internet savvy. “Let nothing stop you, you can rule the world. I want to do better than I have done; whatever you think I have done should be your start-off point. You must destroy every stereotype,” she charged.

As expected, she had a word for everyone, as she joked about her sons being good dancers, and however expressing her joy over Mosun Umoru’s interest in agriculture. She is a woman who believes strongly that agriculture has the propensity to grow the economy more than any other sector, and it will be a good way in tackling poverty in a continent that is still very agrarian. Of course, Obi never failed to let us into her private dream.
“One of the dreams,” she revealed with a giggle, “I have is to see the Nigerian fashion industry grow. In it, I can see an industry that can rule the world. The finesse of Nigerian designers is great. Nothing stops them from aspiring to becoming well known labels like Christian Dior, Armani, Gucci, among others.”

Undoubtedly, those words were for Ouch who expressed his displeasure about the ban on the importation of textiles. Oby’s last words were really striking and like a mother who understood needs of the internet generation and the tendency for it to be a copycat, she did not fail to highlight the importance of self discovery.

“In all of you, there is something deposited in you that is great. Share knowledge with one another, dig deep into yourself and discover what you have on the inside. In Nigeria, we don’t have the capacity to share but what we don’t know is that when we share knowledge it may trigger something in someone else that will be helpful,” she disclosed.
What I would have loved to ask Oby that morning was how she manage in checking her Facebook and Tweet, but Emili asked when she said: “I am sure someone updates them for you.” A statement Oby could not refute!

Sakawa: Ghana’s new rave in crime

Sakawa: Ghana’s new rave in crime
As global economic downturn takes it toll, many young people in Ghana are turning to get-rich-quick schemes. Most of these schemes are hatched and executed on the internet.
Evelyn Tagbo, Accra

For Asamoah, a 22 year-old resident of Accra, the good days are here. At least, so it seems. Until April last year when the United States embassy refused him visa for the fourth time in three years, Asamoah (not real name), dreamt about nothing but going to live in the United States. The mere thought of New York fascinated the high school leaver from the Ashanti region of Ghana. His uncle and his family live there. The stories his younger cousin tells him of the city thrilled him. But that was then. Things have changed.
Asamoah is no longer desperate to go to the United States. Not for now. Though he might not be living in the United States right now, he does live on the States and many other countries in Europe. (He only accepted to speak to The Business Eye, after a good friend of his assured him his identity would not be revealed.) He is presently building a four-bedroom bungalow in Dodowa, a suburb of Accra. For those who care to ask, he identifies himself as a businessman. “I am into IT (information technology) and systems installation. That’s what I do,” he says. He started identifying himself as such, after his first ‘deal’ came through and he opened a small cyber café. But that is not what is building his new home for him, he admits. “I do the obroni business,” he tells the magazine.
‘Obroni’ is a local parlance for a white person, much the same as ‘oyibo’ in Nigeria. What Asamoah refers to as ‘the obroni business’ is what is popularly known in Ghana as ‘sakawa’. It is not possible to be in Ghana since last year without knowing what sakawa means. It is the rave of the moment. In the last 12 months, the act has gained notoriety as one of the pastimes of many Ghanaian youths eager to make quick money. No day passes without a newspaper, a radio station or television carrying news on the latest act of sakawa.
Sakawa is Ghana’s equivalent of yahoozee in Nigeria – the act of defrauding people via the internet. In international criminal circles, it goes by different appellations. Computer crime, cybercrime, e-crime, hi-tech crime or electronic crime, whichever you choose to call it, it generally refers to criminal activity where a computer or network is the source, tool, target, or place of a crime. According to Meshack Opoku Afriyie, a crime analyst, sakawa which literally means ‘how to make money’ in Hausa, started in Swedru,( a suburb an hour drive from Accra) where young people and even adults enticed foreign nationals with pictures of nude girls who claim to be searching for other nationals to marry.
As the magazine learnt, the modus operandi has not changed much. Essentially, Asamoah’s tactics, is to impersonate beautiful ladies through social networking sites like facebook, yahoo and msn. In each of these sites, he poses as a white lady. He scoops pictures from facebook and pornographic websites to illustrate his false identity. His pranks first paid off when a victim, a 44 year old businessman in New Jersey, United States, fell for his lies and sent him $5,000. Posing as a beautiful 24 year old lady, (whose picture he had in the fake facebook and msn chat identity he created), Asamoah lied to his victim that he was a post-graduate student from a prestigious university in the U.S, who had come to Ghana for research, but was robbed and is stranded. He gave him false campus address, agreeing that the New Jersey businessman visit ‘her’ on campus on return from Ghana. Delighted at being able to help a stranded girlfriend, the man transferred the money to ‘her’ through Western Union.
Since June last year when Asamoah got that first ‘breakthrough’, he has swindled several other victims through similar means. He confesses he has made up to $80,000 through sakawa, an amount that even bank managers in Ghana do not earn as annual income. He owns a 2002 Toyoto Corolla car which he bought 4 months ago, and as he told the magazine, hopes to complete his building in two months time.
News about young people like Asamoah acquiring fortune through sakawa, has dominated media reportage in Ghana in the last few months. “Ironically, the more the media talk about it, the more youths you see go into it. I think government needs to come out with a legislation that gives serious punishment to sakawa, otherwise, we are likely to be overwhelmed,” said Mensah Dankyi, communication officer of a local NGO.
Nima, Kotobaabi, Madina and Maamobi, all underprivileged suburbs of Accra, are most notorious for sakawa. Last Tuesday an Accra Circuit court remanded four young men: Michael Ivan Kesty, Stephen Dadzie, Godwin Aborge and Julius Nutsukpo, for defrauding a Briton of 4,000 pounds. They allegedly assured their victim that they could facilitate the purchase of 5,000 acres for a fee of £100,000. They then requested for £10,000 from their victim for the documentation covering the parcels of land. They were also alleged to have informed their victim that the remaining £90,000 was to be paid over nine years in £10,000 annual instalments.
Two of the boys, Michael and Stephen, then sent a letter via the Internet purportedly signed by the Registrar of the High Court. According to the prosecution, the victim then sent £1,400 to them through the money transfer system. The prosecution stated that Godwin and Julius, the two other boys, on their part, informed their victim that their father had suddenly fallen ill with stroke and solicited for £2,600, which the victim sent.
The victim later discussed his transactions on the purchase of the land and his donation to God­win and Julius, the accused persons, with some London-based Ghanaians. The prosecution stated that it was during the discussion that the victim was informed that the transactions were fraudulent, adding that the victim then lodged a complaint with the police and under an arrangement, the victim informed the two groups that he had sent £750 to them and asked them to pick it up. It said a team of detectives laid ambush on the premises of the money transfer organisation and arrested the four men when they showed up to collect the money.
“Sakawa is the latest craze in town and even teenagers are getting hooked. A colleague of mine in the recently interviewed a 13-year-old boy who spoke about how he poses as a woman to dupe white men in Europe,” says Ato Kwamena Dadzie, a popular Ghanaian journalist. “Thanks to sakawa school dropouts have suddenly become millionaires, driving in posh Mercedes and BMWs. They are buying houses whiles graduates who are honestly earning a living struggle to pay their rents,” he says.
Aside impersonating ladies, there is also the traditional strategy of stealing people’s credit card details and other data, or tricking them into paying for services or goods that do not exist, which has also become very popular in Accra. Initially, some locals blamed the trend on Nigerians living in Ghana, but most suspects arrested since the surge last year, have been locals, many of them students and young school leavers. What makes sakawa serious in Ghana, according to one analyst, is that, different groups of people have joined this as a quick way out. Students, the unemployed, businessmen, pastors, and even gainfully employed people are trying it out daily. These groups approach sakawa in different ways.
Many of the young fraudsters have now penetrated some money transfer outlets with enticing offers to enable them retrieve large sums of money sent to them by their victims abroad. Recently, Daily Graphic, Ghana’s state-owned newspaper, reported a case of a lady attendant at one of the transfer outlets in Accra alleged to have been compromised by 'sakawa' boys with huge sums of money in kickbacks in lieu of the presentation of correct documents for the collection of their remittances. The attendant allegedly collects 10 per cent of the amounts involved from 'sakawa' boys who present code numbers and their personal identity cards to collect money in the name of females and 20 per cent from those who do not present identity cards.
“The problem is daunting, and it's getting worse,” said Oteng Adu-Gyamfi, a businessman, who laments the dent it is casting on the country’s image. According to a recent release from the United States Embassy in Accra, Ghana ranks second after Nigeria on the list of African countries that U.S e-retailers rejected orders from last year. 76 percent of merchants in that group shut off orders from Nigeria, 58 percent from Ghana, and 32 percent from Pakistan. Other countries blocked included Indonesia, 23 percent; Singapore, 19 percent; Romania, 18 percent; China, Russia, and Vietnam at 13 percent each; and South Korea and Hong Kong with 10 percent each.
According to Emmanuel Kwablah, a journalist with a local business weekly, the biggest threat to local business is, however, yet to manifest. In recent times, increasing numbers of entrepreneurs are providing websites for the display and sale of Ghana-made products, especially those that are targetted at the European and American markets, as well as other foreign markets. “It is only a matter of time for ‘sakawa’ to extend its ugly hand to this side as well, only to jeopardise Ghanaian e-exports,” he states.
“I really think that the problem is becoming bigger. If we continue this way, we very soon will be put in a position where we cannot do any other business outside,” says Clement Dzidonu, a professor at Valley View University, Accra. Dzidonu hinted that although the youngsters engaged in such crimes employ spiritism to achieve their ends, that does not write off the country’s increasing risk profile. Rising internet fraud and business scams originating from Ghana, he warns, could weaken the country’s e-commerce credibility on the international financial market.
Although internet service providers in the country have been tasked to check the crime, Michael, a 19 year-old former online scammer, who was guest on a national radio phone-in programme last month, said it will be a tough battle. He claimed the fraudsters use special software that blocks access to their Internet Protocol (IP) addresses. He recounted how some of his colleagues had been consulting spiritualists for certain potions which they used to ‘confuse’ their victims in Europe and America. “Some even die in the process of doing the charms,” he said.
Bedeviled with increasing rates of armed robbery, drug trafficking and lately ‘sakawa’, President John Evans Atta Mills, has his hands full as far as fighting crime in Ghana is concerned. Analysts say only a pragmatic crime busting strategy and a concerted national orientation effort can reverse the trend, which many acknowledge, is fast catching up with Ghana’s future generation.

Day I met Bill Clinton

Sometimes, I wonder why Nigerians no longer trust aन्योने As Nigerians, foreigners don’t trust us and we don’t even trust ourselves! More often than not, we are sceptical when dealing with colleagues in our offices, homes and beyond. Hence, I don’t know why we should complain whenever we travel abroad and people look at us with suspicion.

I could recall the statement of Nigeria’s immediate past president, Olusegun Obasanjo “The image of our country has been battered at home and abroad; more by our own mishandling and mismanagement than by anything else,” he once said at the launching of the “Nigerian Image Project” at the Presidential Villa, Abuja.

So much has been said and written about the bad image of Nigeria abroad। It is true that some people have argued that much of the country’s progress and achievements have been beclouded and damaged by sheer weight of bad publicity and erroneous impression by the acts and actions of few individuals, corporate organisations and public officers whose activities have wrecked havoc on our reputation as the largest black nation in the world.

The launching of Nigerian Image Project by the Obasanjo regime raised many questions: what does the country intend to achieve? How will it be accomplished? What are the parameters for the execution and how credible are those involved in its implementation? But what we have failed to ask ourselves as a people is, how do we perceive one and another?

Sometimes last month, I was at a book launch, three books written by Imo State governor, Ikedi Ohakim. As expected, the who-is-who in the Nigerian political scene were gathered at the event and the hall was packed full of friends and admirers of the state governor. As also expected, it was a time for speech making.

After a few people had spoken, it was the turn of President Umaru Yar’Adua, who was represented by Ojo Maduekwe, minister of foreign affairs, to give his speech। Maduekwe began by extolling the virtues of the writer, praising him on the ongoing developments in Imo State while comparing it with people’s perception of the Yar’ Adua’s administration.

And of course, our dear minister like the Honourable Minister in Chinua Achebe’s A Man of the People while delivering the president’s speech, tried to indirectly boast of his personal accomplishment in the course of carrying out his duties, yet he never failed to drive home his message.
“The other day I was in Washington,” he began, “I met Mr। Bill Clinton who said favourable things about Nigeria. He talked about...” Before he could end his statement, the whole hall said: “uhmnnnnnnnn...!” A sign that they did not believe his story.

At that point, I was deeply hurt and I reflected on how much Nigerians lack faith in our leaders। It’s amazing that story of the honourable minister of foreign affairs could be termed incredible by Nigerians. Given Maduekwe’s status, his story is not out of the ordinary. His office gives him the opportunity to mingle with and meet powerful people in the world. It’s possible that Bill Clinton could have walked up to him to express his feelings about Nigeria.

For this reason, the problem of image building of a country like Nigeria, just like any other African nation, is a very arduous task if it is only intended to attract the attention of foreign media। The process of re-branding starts with us. We have to believe in ourselves.

It is true what makes news about Africa, including Nigeria in foreign media, is gory tales of war, hunger, disease, communal clashes and endemic corruption, but we must learn to trust out leaders to an extent, even if they had betrayed the trust we put in them in the past. Many Nigerians do not understand why their trusted leaders often end up in unacceptable behaviours; perhaps this sparked the kind of reaction that greeted the minister’s claim from the audience.
The effects of such embarrassment have left too many souls with no answer।

Efforts by the government to reinvent our image and correct the very grave misrepresentation of our country and people by western media may become fruitful only if they can serve us faithfully. We believe that in terms of reforms, there is a lot going on in the country.
We have a very rich culture, the warmest people on earth and we have a land that if we are to develop to our full potential, could become a major tourist destination in the world। Unfortunately, Nigeria has acquired criminal connotations over time, on account, perhaps, of the activities of an insignificant number of our compatriots.

There is no country on earth that does not have this group of people; they are just everywhere. I believe as a people with one destiny, we must work hard on our interpersonal relationship in this vibrant country that holds so much promise. However, I hope Nigerians would believe Maduekwe this time, if he says he has met Hillary Clinton, after all, he had a special meeting with her the last time she visited Nigeria!