FUNKE ADETUTU
As a little girl, I grew up to believe that pink is a girly colour not something befitting for a male. But as I grow older and with the various literary theories I was bombarded with in school, I discovered that such view is rooted in one of those patriarchal beliefs that certain norms and stuffs are for women and not men. These are biases that we have unconsciously internalised which the society have accepted as the norm.
The society believes pink is the colour of universal love. Hence, love is a women affair and not for men? Pink no doubt is a quiet colour and women are expected to be the passive kinds. Lovers of beauty favour pink, beauty is associated with women, hence they must like pink. A pink carnation means “I will never forget you” the women are ‘men-wrapper.’ These are some of the different ways women have been classified as a result of cultural biases deeply-rooted in patriarchy.
Abroad, there is a Pink Energy Pink which is a combination of red and white. The quality of energy in pink is determined by how much red is present. Since colour White is the potential for fullness, the red helps you to achieve that potential. Pink combines these energies. Shades of deep pink, such as magenta, are effective in neutralising disorder and violence. Some prisons use limited deep pink tones to diffuse aggressive behaviour. Pink provides feelings of caring, tenderness, self-worth and love, acceptance. “Put some pink in your life when you want: calm feelings that neutralise disorder relaxation acceptance, contentment.”
However, the society have come to accept these classifications such that women have consciously accepted these biases. Therefore, anything that has to do with women is synonymous with colour pink. The first example that comes to mind is the BankPHB Pink Account. Again, Pink is associated with the woman. She loves luxury and the good things of life; as if men don’t want such things too. And then, the upcoming ‘Pink Ball’ event for cancer awareness is associated with colour pink. Such is the life of the woman!
One thing that struck my mind while meditating over this, is the fact that there could be some kind of synergy between the pink associations, if you’ll permit me to call it that. Why can’t BankPHB and the Pink Ball organised by Genevieve Magazine do something together on breast cancer awareness since it’s all about the woman? The BankPHB Pink Account could do something for women in that regard as they’ll need all the support they can get to combat this dreadful disease called cancer. The life of the woman after all, is truly in danger.
Two nights ago, I saw an advert on TV urging charitable Nigerians to donate some money for a female breast cancer victim. It was really pathetic. I was sad when I saw how a once beautiful pair of breasts have now been eaten up by cancer. As the Pink Ball comes up later this month, I hope the Pink Account owners would consider doing something for women in this regard. It’s a about the enemy of their lives which could be silenced, at least with a Pink date.
FEEDBACK!
I am an Indian and I have been living in Nigeria for the past five years. BBC and CNN journalists have been rubbishing India, may be sub-consciously, but I hadn't expected a Nigerian sister to portray India so badly in her article published last Friday under the title, "Incredible India."
I am a trained journalist and I have been published by BusinessDay on five occasions and hence, I am sure that my views would merit your attention.
You wrote so dangerously about the caste system in India. Caste system is still prevalent in India but discrimination based upon caste, creed or colour is a punishable offence in India. Most often, non-bailable arrest warrants are issued if anyone is found indulging in such acts.
In industrial India and the urban India (50 percent) people of my generation don't bother about which caste you belong to and my daughter's generation doesn't even know what caste system is all about!
India is a vast country and our Prime Minister is a Sikh by religion. The community that practices Sikhism constitutes less than 1 percent of India's population. The leader of the ruling party (Indian National Congress) is an Italian-born Christian and Christians constitute less than 3 percent of India's population.
Our Vice President is a Muslim and the immediate past President was a Muslim too. Muslims form less than 16 percent of India's population. You also wrote that India is a country that practices "Sati." Sorry Tutu, we are not a nation that puts its widows on the funeral pyre.
In the last 50 years, the number of Sati cases is less than five! Your column is widely read and it helps people form an opinion about India. I really plead with you to exercise caution my sister.
Sudhir Bisht
sudhir_bisht@rediffmail.com
sudhir_bisht@hotmail.com
+234 7083239485
Friday, May 8, 2009
Once upon a generation of Oloola
Oloola is a generational craft which spans many centuries, but modern incursions are slowly but surely making the craft a dying culture, writes FUNKE ADETUTU
One rainy July morning, the Ayankola household at Oke Agunpopo area of Oyo Town, Oyo State, wakes up to the noise generated by thunder and torrents of rain whipping across the roof. This, surely, is a fitting background for what is about to take place this morning: all the young children in the household are lined up for the August visit of the Oloona, a Yoruba word meaning “owner of marks”.
“Oloola de o!” (meaning Oloola is here! ) announces the Oloola. He is a dark, elderly man with thick tribal marks visible on his face despite his sagging skin. He spots Buba and Soro, the Yoruba traditional wear, with a satchel slung on his shoulder. After exchanging pleasantries with family heads and their wives, he sits on a wooden stool, adjusts his cap and upturns his bag which disgorges its contents: a sharp knife which glitters in the dimly-lit hallway, a big snail and some powdery substance. The children who seem unaware of what is about to take place are lined up before him according to their age.
“How many marks do you want on this child’s face?” asks the Oloola, pointing at the first child on the line. “We want you to do Keke for him,” answers the family head. And so, the child’s mother pulls his son to herself and holds him tightly in-between her thighs, while the Oloola brings out his knife. On spotting the knife, the child breaks into wracking sobs, but is quickly assured by the Oloola that the knife would do him no harm. The process then begins in earnest.
The Ayankola household is just one among many that still get their children’s faces marked with the Oloola’s knife, a practice which most people, as a result of civilisation, are fast rethinking. This may also be having a direct effect on the Oloola who knows no other trade than decorating people’s faces with facial marks.
The Oloola’s trade, explains Samuel Ogundeji, an Oloola at Ilaka area of Oyo town, dates back to eons of centuries, even before the advent of colonialism among the Yoruba people in South-West Nigeria.
All the descendants of the Oloola are familiar with the practice, even the educated ones. This is not surprising because only males born into the Oloola household can practice the trade.
“It is a generational trade known to a particular household called Oloola. Tribal marks are different from any other trade. It’s a generational craft because our fathers handed it down to us,” says Ogundeji. “We have researched into it and discovered that it does not affect religion in any way. Where our own trade differs from others is that we have a house called Oloola, an abode of tribal marks. It is not that we have a particular place where people can bring their children. Those who have just given birth would come from their respective homes to tell us they want to do tribal marks, and we would go there to grant their wish.”
In times past, facial tribal marks were more or less a form of identity in Yorubaland, so it is only natural that Ogundeji would explain that facial marks have variants, which are synonymous with each household. For instance, Keke has different variants: Keke of Owu, called Keke Olowu which is common with the Olowu. There is another one called Gombo, which is not synonymous with any household but cuts across different households. There are yet others called Meeje meaning “Seven,” Pele, meaning three horizontal lines and Ture, which is synonymous with the Olokun Esin household.
Amusa Oladokun is the Olori Oloola of Oyo. Given the title by the Alaafin of Oyo, Oba Lamidi Adeyemi, he is therefore the only one with the right to do facial marks for the descendants of the King. “If you see anyone that has six marks on his face, it means he is the Alaafin’s child or is related to him. The Ture, that is their mark, the Keke called Alodi, that is their sign. The Alare who lives up the road, they have Pele with four on each side. That is their identity. The other kinds are all over the place. Those with 11 marks are there. They would have eight on one side, with three at the top. There are those with seven, three upward and four at the bottom. There are those with four or eight Baamu. It comes in different forms,” explains Oladokun.
With these variants, Ogundeji says those without tribal marks are often taunted by wearers, who say they cannot afford to pay the bill of an Oloola. But that is all in the past, as Ogundeji observes.
Meanwhile, this dying culture has become an issue, not only for the Oloolas but in the four walls of the university system. Kehinde Oladeji, an expert on African and Asian Studies and a lecturer in the Department of Language, University of Lagos, says facial marks have become irrelevant as a result of modernisation. “Facial marks were for identification during the inter-tribal wars and slavery. It was a simple means of knowing where someone was from, as it is said in Yoruba that a person with tribal marks will not remain missing for too long. Such a person, if separated from his relations during war or other conflicts, would meet someone who would identify his town and even his family, through his facial marks,” he explains.
However, such wars no longer exist with the advent of modernism and technology, both of which make having facial marking obsolete. Hence, Oladeji observes that in most towns across the country, it is difficult to come across tribal marks on the faces of people younger than 35 years old. “The culture may linger a while with traditional institutions, but they will let go with time,” he adds.
Demola Dasylva, a doctor of literature at the Department of English, University of Ibadan (UI), however disagrees with Oladeji’s view on the issue. Dasylva says facial marks may remain with traditional institutions for a long time to come. “Some aspects of culture are so integrated that you cannot change them. Great Britain is a developed democracy, yet the monarchy there is accorded so much respect. If having facial marks is a condition for being made an Oba, Emir or Eze in any part of the country, concerned princes will be avoiding scarification at their own risk,” he observes.
In spite of these divergent views, facial marks perform dual roles in the Yoruba culture, first for their aesthetics and second for their functionality.
Ohiomamhe Elugbe of the Department of Languages, UI, on his part, describes facial marks as mere inoculation against certain diseases, it is used as a measure to prevent Abiku children from their cycle of deaths.
As for Akin Onipede, a visual artist, facial marks are symbols of pride and identity, especially among the Yorubas. This view greatly influenced one of his works he titled: National Award, which is a piece that features the Queen of England spotting a facial mark called Meeje. This, Onipede, explains offers multi-dimensional viewpoints and meanings: “It could be seen from the point of view of a country or people offering distinguished citizens or individuals one of the highest awards in the land such as KBE, OBE, MBE, GCFR, OFR. But then, this will appear normal. But an award to the Queen has to be unique and reflective of the culture of the person giving it.”
Therefore, tribal marks, for Onipede, are the most befitting award that the Queen of England can be given, and his art is just one of the means artists employ to prevent the total erosion of a people’s vibrant culture.
One rainy July morning, the Ayankola household at Oke Agunpopo area of Oyo Town, Oyo State, wakes up to the noise generated by thunder and torrents of rain whipping across the roof. This, surely, is a fitting background for what is about to take place this morning: all the young children in the household are lined up for the August visit of the Oloona, a Yoruba word meaning “owner of marks”.
“Oloola de o!” (meaning Oloola is here! ) announces the Oloola. He is a dark, elderly man with thick tribal marks visible on his face despite his sagging skin. He spots Buba and Soro, the Yoruba traditional wear, with a satchel slung on his shoulder. After exchanging pleasantries with family heads and their wives, he sits on a wooden stool, adjusts his cap and upturns his bag which disgorges its contents: a sharp knife which glitters in the dimly-lit hallway, a big snail and some powdery substance. The children who seem unaware of what is about to take place are lined up before him according to their age.
“How many marks do you want on this child’s face?” asks the Oloola, pointing at the first child on the line. “We want you to do Keke for him,” answers the family head. And so, the child’s mother pulls his son to herself and holds him tightly in-between her thighs, while the Oloola brings out his knife. On spotting the knife, the child breaks into wracking sobs, but is quickly assured by the Oloola that the knife would do him no harm. The process then begins in earnest.
The Ayankola household is just one among many that still get their children’s faces marked with the Oloola’s knife, a practice which most people, as a result of civilisation, are fast rethinking. This may also be having a direct effect on the Oloola who knows no other trade than decorating people’s faces with facial marks.
The Oloola’s trade, explains Samuel Ogundeji, an Oloola at Ilaka area of Oyo town, dates back to eons of centuries, even before the advent of colonialism among the Yoruba people in South-West Nigeria.
All the descendants of the Oloola are familiar with the practice, even the educated ones. This is not surprising because only males born into the Oloola household can practice the trade.
“It is a generational trade known to a particular household called Oloola. Tribal marks are different from any other trade. It’s a generational craft because our fathers handed it down to us,” says Ogundeji. “We have researched into it and discovered that it does not affect religion in any way. Where our own trade differs from others is that we have a house called Oloola, an abode of tribal marks. It is not that we have a particular place where people can bring their children. Those who have just given birth would come from their respective homes to tell us they want to do tribal marks, and we would go there to grant their wish.”
In times past, facial tribal marks were more or less a form of identity in Yorubaland, so it is only natural that Ogundeji would explain that facial marks have variants, which are synonymous with each household. For instance, Keke has different variants: Keke of Owu, called Keke Olowu which is common with the Olowu. There is another one called Gombo, which is not synonymous with any household but cuts across different households. There are yet others called Meeje meaning “Seven,” Pele, meaning three horizontal lines and Ture, which is synonymous with the Olokun Esin household.
Amusa Oladokun is the Olori Oloola of Oyo. Given the title by the Alaafin of Oyo, Oba Lamidi Adeyemi, he is therefore the only one with the right to do facial marks for the descendants of the King. “If you see anyone that has six marks on his face, it means he is the Alaafin’s child or is related to him. The Ture, that is their mark, the Keke called Alodi, that is their sign. The Alare who lives up the road, they have Pele with four on each side. That is their identity. The other kinds are all over the place. Those with 11 marks are there. They would have eight on one side, with three at the top. There are those with seven, three upward and four at the bottom. There are those with four or eight Baamu. It comes in different forms,” explains Oladokun.
With these variants, Ogundeji says those without tribal marks are often taunted by wearers, who say they cannot afford to pay the bill of an Oloola. But that is all in the past, as Ogundeji observes.
Meanwhile, this dying culture has become an issue, not only for the Oloolas but in the four walls of the university system. Kehinde Oladeji, an expert on African and Asian Studies and a lecturer in the Department of Language, University of Lagos, says facial marks have become irrelevant as a result of modernisation. “Facial marks were for identification during the inter-tribal wars and slavery. It was a simple means of knowing where someone was from, as it is said in Yoruba that a person with tribal marks will not remain missing for too long. Such a person, if separated from his relations during war or other conflicts, would meet someone who would identify his town and even his family, through his facial marks,” he explains.
However, such wars no longer exist with the advent of modernism and technology, both of which make having facial marking obsolete. Hence, Oladeji observes that in most towns across the country, it is difficult to come across tribal marks on the faces of people younger than 35 years old. “The culture may linger a while with traditional institutions, but they will let go with time,” he adds.
Demola Dasylva, a doctor of literature at the Department of English, University of Ibadan (UI), however disagrees with Oladeji’s view on the issue. Dasylva says facial marks may remain with traditional institutions for a long time to come. “Some aspects of culture are so integrated that you cannot change them. Great Britain is a developed democracy, yet the monarchy there is accorded so much respect. If having facial marks is a condition for being made an Oba, Emir or Eze in any part of the country, concerned princes will be avoiding scarification at their own risk,” he observes.
In spite of these divergent views, facial marks perform dual roles in the Yoruba culture, first for their aesthetics and second for their functionality.
Ohiomamhe Elugbe of the Department of Languages, UI, on his part, describes facial marks as mere inoculation against certain diseases, it is used as a measure to prevent Abiku children from their cycle of deaths.
As for Akin Onipede, a visual artist, facial marks are symbols of pride and identity, especially among the Yorubas. This view greatly influenced one of his works he titled: National Award, which is a piece that features the Queen of England spotting a facial mark called Meeje. This, Onipede, explains offers multi-dimensional viewpoints and meanings: “It could be seen from the point of view of a country or people offering distinguished citizens or individuals one of the highest awards in the land such as KBE, OBE, MBE, GCFR, OFR. But then, this will appear normal. But an award to the Queen has to be unique and reflective of the culture of the person giving it.”
Therefore, tribal marks, for Onipede, are the most befitting award that the Queen of England can be given, and his art is just one of the means artists employ to prevent the total erosion of a people’s vibrant culture.
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