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.