laspapi

2010-12-01T03:18:00.000-08:00

"The Waiting Room"

There is a place where luck and the fates cannot save you. It is a place where natural cunning and innate intelligence must be put to the ultimate test. Where even the most street-wise will come face-to-face with his or her own mortality.

A Stage Play written and directed by Wole Oguntokun.

Starring Jumoke Lahdi Bello, Ijeoma Grace Agu, Gbenga Adekanmbi and Precious Anyanwu.Dates: Sunday Dec 5, 12 and 26.

&

"Wat's Dis All ABout?"

(An adaptation of the South African Classic - "Woza Albert")

Starring Similoluwa Hassan and Toyin Oshinaike

Date: Sunday December 19

Written and Directed by Toyin Oshinaike .

All shows at 3pm and 6pm every Sunday in December.

Tickets - N2500

2010-11-30T20:18:00.000-08:00

Will I ever blog again?; The Berliner and other Nigerian stories.

It's gotten really strange. From being known for compulsive writing, I barely put a word on ...ehr...cyberspace now.

What does one blame?

The column in the Guardian that is so good to/for me but demands a thousand words weekly?

A busier work/play schedule?

STARCOMMS intrernet access or the lack of it? (This is a good one to lay the blame on. The Starcomms board should be lined up and flogged. N15,950 a month for no access is just nasty but they keep advertising and the Standards Organization in this country or whatever outfit should monitor this travesty lies comatose. By the way, Zain/Airtel/Econet/Vodacom/Buddie/Celtel is guilty of it too)

Well, I'll give consistent writing a shot once again seeing I'm some distance from Starcomms now and the internet's like lightning here.

I was leaving Berlin a few days ago when the airline attendant who was German told me my name wasn't on the passenger manifest. I told her to check properly and she got up, went to a telephone and sniggered into it in her, I assume, thick Bavarian accent, "Oluwole Oguntokun". She said it thrice, finding amusement in my name with her colleague at the other end of the line. I looked at her, 6am in the morning and said to her hearing and those of her colleagues around her, "That's the way your name sounds to me as well". She didn't get it at first so I repeated it. I saw she came to the phone a gentler person.

So much for a new century. The world is still riddled with bigots.

2010-08-22T03:43:00.000-07:00

The 4th Annual Season of Wole Soyinka

2010-08-22T03:37:00.000-07:00

The Official Launch of the Ola Rotimi Foundation.

2010-08-22T03:27:00.000-07:00

Grey Focus - Starring Curtis John Miller and Yemi Blaq. Directed by Imeh Esen.

Showing at Silverbird Cinemas - Lagos, Abuja and Port Harcourt from Friday the 20th of August.

2010-06-07T23:21:00.000-07:00

Theatre@Terra presents "Who's Afraid Of Wole Soyinka?"

Oga, a military ruler has decided to remain in power by becoming the nation's next civilian president. He schemes and plots with fellow soldiers, get-rich-quick opportunists, perfidious politicians, musicians and sportsmen, eliminating all opposition in his way.

"Who's Afraid of Wole Soyinka?" is a humorous satire that chronicles some of the darkest periods in Nigeria's history.

Written & Produced by Wole Oguntokun

Directed by Sola Roberts Iwaotan

Every Sunday in June at 3pm and 6pm.

Venue: Terra Kulture, Tiamiyu Savage St, Victoria Island.

Tickets: N2500

2010-04-28T23:03:00.000-07:00

Western Europe and North America have crumbling economies, despotic leaders and unstable governments. Africa has always been the land of plenty, a stable prosperous continent, and Lagos, its most attractive city. Darren Campbell, a white male born and raised in the United Kingdom seeks his fortune in Lagos as an illegal immigrant.

Written and Directed by Wole Oguntokun

Venue - Terra Kulture
Every Sunday in May
3pm & 6pm
Tickets-N2500

2010-04-19T21:52:00.000-07:00

Four men, a Warder and his wife in a Maximum Security Prison...

Prison Chronicles starring Carol King, Kenneth Uphopho, Sola Roberts Iwaotan, Gbenga Adekanmbi, Precious Anyanwu and Kanayo Larry Okani.

Written and Directed by Wole Oguntokun.

Every Sunday in April in the Theatre@Terra.

3pm & 6pm.

N2500

Carol Adoghe King, Prison Chronicles, Wole Oguntokun

2010-03-21T23:32:00.000-07:00

Wole Oguntokun is directing Aime Cesaire's "A Season in the Congo" for the Lagos State Government sponsored "Black Heritage Festival" - April 3rd - 9th.

2010-03-20T00:48:00.000-07:00

Up and about in 'Gidi. The picture of the "reddish" car was taken in England.

2010-03-20T00:18:00.000-07:00

It was birthday time for the stellar actor Bimbo Manuel and the cast and crew of the Ultimate Face-Off -The V Monologues v. The Tarzan Monologues took a break from rehearsals to celebrate with him.

2010-03-15T22:55:00.000-07:00

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

of 14th March 2010

Archie and Veronica

If you have a hard time comprehending why there are two names as my column title, you missed out on an experience that was a major part of the childhoods of many people all over the world. It was the comic simply known as “Archie” featuring a young man of the same name and his friends. They were all students of the same school, Riverdale High, lived in the same small town and wore bright, colourful, smart clothes, styles which I tried to copy several times when I was in my early teens but never quite succeeded in. As an adult now, it strikes me that the clothes “designer” for those comics was adult and the style pre-meditated, not anything easily accessible from the junk I possessed then.

There was a love triangle in the comic book series with Archie having a permanent crush on the dark-haired, rich beauty, Veronica Lodge and not realizing how much Betty, her friend, cared for him. Betty was a blond-haired girl of about the same age, no less good looking than Veronica and my personal favourite. (For all those who take issue with her hair colour, feel free to substitute blond with Ghana- Weave)At that time, all I wanted to do was meet a caring girl like Betty and live life happily ever after. As I write now, it strikes me that was probably the desire of the creator of the comic book series as well.

They had a company of friends too, Jughead who loved food, was rake-thin but could eat hamburgers like others eat very light biscuits. Moose, hulking in strength and who would do anything to protect his lovely girl, Midge, from the attention that other men might give. There was Big Ethel, who had a crush on jug-head, she was probably the least good-looking in the Riverdale community (it was a community where everyone was stunning) and Dixon (?) I think, the egg-head who was a whiz in the sciences. I almost forgot Reggie, Archie’s arch-rival (excuse the pun) for the affections of Veronica. I was never able to comprehend why Archie just never gave up on Veronica, leaving her to Reggie and starting a sunny life with Betty Cooper. I suppose that is the way life really is. We never really appreciate affection when it comes too easily, preferring the one we have to cut swathes in jungles for or climb rocky, precarious hills to reach. Veronica was not a simpleton, neither was Reggie malevolent in his smugness but I always thought they suited each other and that Archie was better off with Betty.

Many of us have over-looked the most amazing people because they gave themselves too readily to us. It’s an amazing thing about life and sad to say, speaks volumes of the level of development of a man, for instance, who thinks less of a girl because she was the first to express her affection. By the way, “Girl” for the Whisperer covers any female from ages thirteen to ninety. There are many women who are... well, advanced in age but are still involved in, or seek loving relationships. This is legitimate. Your life does not come to a screeching halt because you have children or they go on to have their own children. There are thirty-six year old grandmothers for those who care to know.

So on to the Betty Coopers that abound in so many lives and whom we do not care to give a second look because they expressed the way they felt about us before we spoke. I do not think less of any female who expresses the way she feels about a man before he indicates his intentions. Some men border on being obtuse and like wheel-barrows need to be pushed to a point where they will come to the realization that the lovely person whose company they had always found so enjoyable might have a thing for them. This has happened to the Whisperer many times before.

Now, no one is compelled to start a relationship with another merely because the other party expressed an interest in a relationship or in keeping the relationship “exclusive”. You might not like the person “that way” but if you do, it should not be to the girl’s advantage that she raised the matter first. The Whisperer’s submission is that you do not lose respect for the person who dared tell you she “liked” you. It is a fact of life, people caring for each other, and the man who feels uneasy about being told this should submit himself to therapy. People like people. And sometimes we have an uncontrollable urge to tell them so before we lose the moment. Carpe Diem. I think I spent my entire life looking for Betty Cooper and I must have found her several times in different people when I was in my teens. People are so beautiful at that age, untainted by life’s vagaries and bitter experiences.

For many reasons, Veronica Lodge is never short of the attention of men. She comes from a wealthy background, is self-assured and used to having her wishes met at every turn. She is also not as openly affectionate as one might desire. Unrequited love does it for many people. Not so for the Whisperer. You had better be loving me at the same time. Life is short and I no longer have the time for people who give love as if it is a currency that you cannot spend.

The self-effacing Betty Cooper will always run into trouble. Sometimes you should stand up for what you want, for what you believe in. Ask for the moon and get it, is what i have heard. When we do not speak up, things tend to pass us by. The Whisperer loves women, it is the only reason this column has gone on for three years. It is not an untoward interest in the opposite gender (well, not always) but a wholesome love for the female form. For the way their minds work, for their beauty, their intelligence and their capabilities.

The world would be a more beautiful place if all communities were like Riverdale, but that is an impossible task. I will try my best to make my immediate surroundings a place of calmness, a place of beauty, and hope that others try to do the same with their spaces too.

It really is a wonderful world, when we allow it to be.

Wole Oguntokun

2010-03-07T20:14:00.000-08:00

The V. Monologues v. The Tarzan Monologues - The Ultimate Face-Off, Wole Oguntokun, Kudirat Initiative for Democracy, Hafsat Abiola-Costello

Broadcasting Legend Adesua Onyenokwe, Wole Oguntokun and Orange Broadband Prize for Fiction Winner Chimamanda Adichie take time out for pictures after the 6pm maiden performance of the V Monologues v. The Tarzan Monologues. Professor Wole Soyinka was in attendance at the 3pm show.

The Ultimate Face-Off - Chimamanda Adichie and Wole Oguntokun iron out issues after the premiere of the V Monologues v The Tarzan Monologues.

Ego, Adunni and Bimbo Manuel stop for a chat before rehearsals at laspapi's offices a.k.a. The Play Station

Rehearsals. Ireti Doyle, Carol King and Kate Henshaw strut their stuff.

Kate Henshaw-Nuttall takes on the responsibility of "Mama Put" after the premiere of the Face-Off @ Terra. Night time- March 7, 2010

2010-02-23T23:04:00.000-08:00

The Peter Pan Factor

The Girl Whisperer

as published in the Sunday Guardian

of February 14, 2010

In many ways, I believe I bear a resemblance to the Walt Disney character, Peter Pan, based on the play, “The boy who wouldn’t grow up” written by J.M. Barrie. Peter Pan lived in Never Land with his friend, Tinker Bell, could fly where he wanted, time did not exist for him and he battled pirates all day long. Many men lived this life of adventure as children. Their tragedy is that adulthood comes and they no longer are able to find “Never Land”. I heard Kevin Costner on television say once, ‘when a man loses the child in him, he loses everything’.

An old secondary school mate came into my offices one day and saw a play-station console but couldn’t believe it was for me. I did not disabuse his mind. I suppose there are some of us who believe that because adulthood brings added responsibilities, we should live our lives like people who never found pleasure in looking at the clean sand at the ocean’s edge. For me, the world must always remain a place of beauty, a place where joys are strong and as simple as you can make them. I have not forgotten how to laugh even though I pay bills now and sometimes stare with hostility in confrontations with the tax men of this state government.

I told my friend, Adeola the Pharmacist, a few months ago how I felt about being Peter Pan. It is a unique place to be. The Whisperer still reads comic books, loves to play Wii and Play Station and plays actual football every Friday night in Ikoyi. By the way, if as a woman, you have ever said the reason you love a man is because he makes you laugh, you have a bit of Tinker Bell in you.

I do no talk of childish men in this article but of men who have not lost the child in them. I stare in wonder at little children when I see them; the incoherent babble they make that has so much meaning to their own ears, the spontaneous laughter that comes at seeing a bubble rise in the air, sheer happiness at life itself. You see two eight year-old boys walking along a road in deep conversation, one’s arm around the other’s shoulder. What is the conversation about? The stock exchange? A missing politician? No, they talk about life itself and its greatest pleasures- things such as loyalty, truth, honesty, genuine friendship. Children do not stab each other in the back; if they are your friends, they do not make snide remarks when you leave the room. They genuinely and totally believe in you, believe in love and in the world’s goodness. There are no attempts to second-guess you, no bid to intercept a move or some act of perfidy they might suspect. A child tells it like it is. “Adults” should too, and not hide treachery behind “diplomacy”. There are women who say the trouble with some men is that they refuse to grow up. If growing up means I forget how to laugh and become full of guile, I’ll leave “adulthood” to you.

Where did the inspiration for a Peter Pan article come from? The Whisperer is a playwright as well and produces plays weekly on Victoria Island. That itself is an indication of a Peter Pan state of mind. However, I write today because of a female (when have I not?). I lost contact with this one a long time ago but had written about her many times in the past. I liked to describe her as still waters, a female with such a calming effect on me, it appeared almost unnatural. However, she seemed to disappear off the face of the earth, vanishing completely without the faintest trace. I looked for her with ancient tools (word of mouth) and space-age tools (the internet) but not even google could show me where she was.

One day out of the blue, she sent mail to me. You must remember that nations had been built and destroyed in the time we had not seen each other, but that day, I put on my laptop and there she was asking how I’d been. We got talking (she was married and appeared quite happy in her situation) and we agreed that we’d meet for a coffee the next time I stopped by the country she now lived in. A couple of weeks ago, I went in pursuit of theatre lighting equipment to the United Kingdom and gave her a call to say I was around. We then fixed a day we would both be free to meet. That day, even though Manchester United and Arsenal were playing a football match, I knew nothing could stop me walking by “the still waters” and at least taking a glass of orange juice in some pub to catch up on old times.

What struck this Peter Pan when I met her was that she was no longer the twenty-two year old woman I remembered. She was a grown woman and mother and even as we sat over drinks, I could not quite fathom it. In retrospect and with “adult eyes”, you might ask, “What did you expect?” Would she have stayed the same forever? She had stayed the same actually, only she looked, well, older than a twenty-two year old. I suppose somewhere deep in all our minds is the deep-rooted belief that we have not changed since we were twenty-one or twenty-two and therein lies the danger of being a Peter Pan. Even though one must not lose the essence of youth which is the greatest elixir you may ever find, we must always remember to synchronise the passage of time with our situation. We must remember that our true natures might stay the same but our physicality changes. My friend that I met with again was still a very-good looking woman but she wasn’t Tinker Bell who never grew up, age-wise.

The people we love, sooner or later, will have grey hair, add a few pounds to their body weight, and be less active than you once remembered them to be. This is the truth about life but you can have the last laugh when as Peter Pan or Tinker Bell, you hold dear the memories you once shared, and you continue to love as time goes by.

laspapi@yahoo.com

2010-02-23T22:29:00.001-08:00

Its unprecedented. February & March in the Theatre@Terra.

The Tarzan Monologues every Sunday in February.

The V. Monologues v. The Tarzan Monologues every Suday in March.

Directed by Wole Oguntokun

Time - 3pm and 6pm

Venue- Terra Kulture

Tickets - N2500

2010-02-23T22:15:00.000-08:00

A Day in Gidi

Pic 1 - Disposing of the Waste Disposal Van - Lagos (Monday the 15th).Pic 2- The heatwave in Lagos forces a shower break. Pic 3 - Abuja's driving school. Pic 4 -Kola 'Kolabo' Krakue says farewell to Astro Turf after the game on Friday the 12th of February. He is now out of the country. Pic 5 - A sign outside St Dominic's Church on Herbert Macaulay Road, Yaba.

2010-01-01T02:30:00.000-08:00

There is a place where luck and the fates cannot save you. It is a place where natural cunning and innate intelligence must be put to the ultimate test. Where even the most street-wise will come face-to-face with his or her own mortality.

It is The Waiting Room. And in all those seated there, only one will walk out alive.

Written and Directed by Wole Oguntokun
Venue: Theatre@Terra (Terra Kulture), Victoria Island
Dates: Every Sunday in January
Time: 3pm and 6pm
Tickets: N2500

2009-12-14T18:24:00.000-08:00

PRESS RELEASE:
FARAFINA TRUST EDITORS’ WORKSHOP

Farafina Trust will be holding a three day editors’ workshop in Lagos, Nigeria, from March 15th till 17th 2010. Funded by TrustAfrica, Dakar, Senegal. The workshop will be facilitated by the former Senior Editor, Jonathan Cape, Random House Group, UK, Ellah Allfrey . Ellah is now a deputy editor at Granta. And one of the judges of Caine Prize.

Titles edited by Ellah Allfrey while at Random House include, On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan, Gods behaving Badly by Marie Phillips, and After Daybreak by Ben Shephard. She also edited Segun Afolabi’s A Life Elsewhere, Patrick Wilmot’s Seeing Double, Biyi Bamdele’s Burma Boy and a host of others.
Participation is limited to editors currently working in publishing houses in Nigeria Kenya and Uganda, who apply and are accepted.

To apply, send an e-mail to farafinatrust@kachifo.com

Your e-mail subject should read “Editors’ Workshop Application”

The body of the e-mail should contain the following:
1. Your personal CV
2. Information on your organization and the work you do
3. A brief paragraph about what you expect from the course

All material must be pasted or written in the body of the e-mail. Please do not include any attachments in your e-mail.

Applications with attachments will be automatically disqualified.

Deadline for submission is February 8, 2010. Only those accepted to the workshop will be notified by March 1, 2010.

Okey Adichie (07034981099)
Program Officer

2009-12-03T14:42:00.000-08:00

The Girl Whisperer
as published by
The Sunday Guardian

Mortal Blows

The Whisperer is back in town after a holiday that allowed him look at the world again with fresh perspective. He did not go to a perfect place; just one in which, well, things happened differently. On my first day back in my country, I went to that place of starry-eyed internet providers with a branch office on Bode Thomas street, Surulere, to renew my subscription. I met with service so appalling from three different members of staff of the place, I knew the only reason they survived was because there is so little competition in their area of business. I had just returned to this service providers who make me pay monthly, ten times what those in the place I had just visited pay, and that other place has ten times the speed of access. I do not exaggerate. The only people who were showed courtesy as I sought to pay this exploitative sum for primordial services were the uniformed security guards and the very pregnant female who handled customer enquiries. Apparently no one else felt they needed to be polite to customers. Still, with that kind of service, the time will come when the mortal blow they have dealt their relationship with their clients will show how hard an effect it has taken. Yes, the Whisperer is still talking about relationships, even if it is between telephone companies and the paying public that sustains them.

So off I went, getting used to driving again after several weeks of clambering on trains and buses. My next stop was Victoria Island, to pay the cable company and then have my car washed at the end of the street close to Kuramo Beach. As I watched the fellow washing a 4 by 4 with one and half buckets of water and a plastic cup meant for drinking, I knew I was back in the land of drama. I was not disappointed when about four feet from me I watched a scenario so surreal, it could not have happened elsewhere apart from my land. A drunken cook, who the day before apparently “borrowed” his “master’s” mobile phone, came to drink the liquid fire they call alcohol sold at the beach, met up with a fellow he claimed to be his “brother” and then consorted with a prostitute introduced to him by this “brother”. By the time the liaison was over, the prostitute was richer not only by the money paid her, but also by the phone she had lifted off the cook. Now let me describe this cook to you- He was about five feet and three inches tall, very fair in complexion in a way that pays no compliments to very fair people, had a white t-shirt on that had a faint spattering of blood and had no shoes on. His “brother” was a fellow about six feet tall, dark as the sun in total eclipse and they called him “Osaz”. Osaz who was as drunk as a skunk as was the cook on the flammable stuff that passes for drink in that area, was screaming at his “brother”, the cook claiming he knew nothing of the missing phone. The interrogator was a quiet-looking well-dressed man; too well dressed for the area where we stood and who insisted the phone had to re-materialize. Osaz continued to express his defiance only a few feet from me, everyone else yelling as well, and from nowhere, the well-dressed man produced a pistol. Yes, that kind that perforates people if you stand in the general direction it is pointing. By this time, there were about twenty people gathered who were some of the most-evil looking people I had seen in a long while. The villains in the movies, “City of God” and the banned “District 9” had nothing on these ones. These scarred people with dead eyes watched the unfolding scenario calmly, and when the gun was produced, I noticed I was the only one who flinched amongst those gathered. All in a day’s work for these gentlemen. The fellow performing a miracle by washing my car with air instead of water didn’t even look to see what was happening though he could have touched the main actors with his sponge if he had stretched. Osaz stepped aside to save his teeth from turning to rubble when the phone-seeking gun producer tried to swipe him across the mouth with the butt of the pistol. For some reason, the main parties turned to me and began to report themselves. I tried to be calm as I listened. According to the gun man (who apparently was a sergeant in the Nigerian Police attached to the owner of the stolen phone), the owner of the phone had sent him to retrieve his stolen property that had passed into the hands of an unidentified lady-of-the-beach. The sergeant told me of the stupendous wealth of the phone owner and how he owned “almost three aeroplanes”. “Stinkingly (sic) rich”, he described him as he told me of the man’s businesses and where his offices were situated. I still cannot figure out why I was chosen to be a member of the jury in the proceedings. It might have had something to do with my cavalier-style hat but the long and short of it was that the phone was retrieved after threats, cajoling and the same gun pointed at the lady who had lightened the cook off the burden he carried.

But back to “mortal blows”. We all know of people we have loved despite all their shortcomings and limitations. There are many people we have given our hearts to, whom in truth, did not deserve the honour. Yet for reasons we have not always been able to justify, we have pressed on, loving unconditionally. Many would have asked us, “Are you just plain stupid? Can’t you see what he is doing to you? How he/she is taking advantage off you?” However, we are able to accept the person’s imperfections, which is as divine as love can get, I reckon.

We soldier on bravely, loving in spite of it all, gritting our teeth and accepting that love is not always perfect. The person we are with cannot believe his/her luck, being able to get away with sheer murder in situations other partners would have long walked away from. However, as is the case in human relations, the partner who has been able to get away with everything, forgets himself/herself and continues to push, until a mortal blow is dealt the relationship. The mortal blow is the one blow no relationship can come back from, no matter the amount of pleading by the party that has done wrong, or how hard the wronged party tries to forgive and forget. It is literally the straw that breaks the camel’s back and it is a line you cross without realising it. One day, the party that has accepted all the rubbish for so long simply cannot take anymore. You do not know how you get there, you just find yourself in that place where you know you do not have the capacity to be insulted any longer. It might take months or even years. But it will happen if one party takes the other for granted. It might be infidelity or abuse and I do not talk of physical abuse (no one should wait in that situation) but of the emotional degradations that attempt to decrease your self-worth. I write of that partner who does not give the respect that should be your right, who pushes until you have nowhere to turn and you finally look him or her in the eye and say “no more”.

I write this for those who have taken advantage of the love they have found and have abused it, imagining it will stay forever. Love will go if you do not nurture it and you will stare in astonishment when you see you have nothing where once you were Lord of everything.

We all have a tendency to forget ourselves when we find a good thing; and to think love is a right. Having another love you is a privilege and we must never forget this. For those of us who have dealt repeated blows on the relationships we have and have taken morbid delight in the resilience it has shown, a time will come when cracks and fissures will appear. And you will be unable to paint them over.

2009-12-03T14:29:00.000-08:00

The Girl Whisperer
as published by
The Sunday Guardian

The Privilege

The Whisperer has had several adventures over the past few days. One of these was a plane trip to Europe that suddenly detoured and chose to fly to the Republic of Benin. No, it was not as a result of a hijack. That airline named after people who have had no intimacy with the opposite gender was my carrier and decided to fill up its fuel tanks in that neighbouring country because Nigeria was facing a fuel crisis for the umpteenth time. So the pilot announced the detour and assured us it would last for about forty-five minutes and away to Cotonou we went. Apparently the airstrip we landed in was unused to air planes of the size we were in as it took forever to fill up the tanks and then the issue of payment came up. The authorities at this “airport” refused to accept credit cards or any of the usual means of payment the airline used in regular airports. They insisted on cash, not pounds or Euros but American dollars. When the pilot and his crew magically produced the cash requested, the Beninois authorities refused it because they said the money bore those little security stamps Nigerian money lenders are so fond of putting on the notes to show genuineness. Apparently, once Nigerians touch notes, something happens to the money.

Some passenger carrying cash “lent” unmarked notes to the airline and then came the issue of the calculation of the sum demanded and its equivalent in dollars. How did I know all this? An exasperated pilot kept announcing to us all how things were going. Once in a while, he would finish with the half serious-half pun utterance -”The wheels of progress grind slowly in West Africa”. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry at this.

After about four and half hours, in which we were not allowed to get off the plane, even though we were only fifteen minutes away from Lagos, and in which we were trapped in close quarters with squabbling kids and their irritable mothers, but in which thankfully the air conditioners stayed on, the plane took off from Benin, Europe-bound, at the time it should have been landing in Britain. The proximity of the passengers led to debates and name-calling among the passengers. People were torn as whom to blame- The Beninois airport authorities who had found their day in the sun and had stood for more than four hours between us and freedom? The embattled Nigerian government which could not supply aviation fuel to air planes? Or the airline that had been forced to show innovation by flying to a neighbouring country?

The time in limbo gave me time to reflect on happenings and one of these brought the title of my piece- The Privilege. The problem with this world, as I read somewhere, is not that we ask for too much but we are ready to settle for too little. The day we realise we are worthy of whatever good comes to us and that evil happenings and misfortunes are not as a result of some “karma” for something we did in another life, we'll have a flying start ahead of the rest of the pack.

You must see whomsoever you have a relationship with or intend to have one with, as someone you are bestowing a privilege on. The privilege of knowing you, of having first call on your time and emotions, of being allowed to spend time in your presence and the like. Same way you must understand it is a privilege that person is bestowing on you. How did I come about this philosophy? I received mail from a young woman who said she was interested in the theatre (some of you might know the Whisperer is a somewhat busy theatre producer as well) and I offered her a chance to see a rehearsal. I thought all was well with the world until I received one of the most annoying letters that have come my way in recent times. This female I had forgotten since our meeting, sent in an article she had written and wanted me to give an opinion on (which is as normal a request as a writer can get). The problem I had was with the addendum, in which she said she had a crush on the Whisperer which was now no more but we could be friends and she hoped there would be no hard feelings.

I answered her telling her she had been presumptuous in thinking that the fact she had a crush on the whisperer meant it would have resulted in a relationship if the crush had stayed. I thought it was amazing she had concluded that her liking me was enough to fuel a relationship if she so decided.

You do not assume because you feel like a relationship, every one else will jump in line to await your command. For those who do not see even their friendships as privileges, it is about time. If you do not place value on yourself, no one else will. Firstly, don't apologise for being intelligent, smart, good-looking, witty or any of the other pluses you might have. Do not demean yourself, or force your light to burn less bright because you are afraid you might eclipse the person you are with. What is the point of being in a relationship you are afraid to be yourself in? Let your confidence border on (but not quite be) megalomania. Be yourself, be real, and walk with your head high.

I consider my friendship a privilege, the same way I consider the friendships of those who are close to me, privileges. When you are allowed into the lives of others, you are privileged to do so. Do not sell yourself short in this regard and do not settle for less.

As the year careens towards its final month, remember you have a right to be here too and there is nothing the matter with blowing your own horn from time to time.

2009-12-03T14:18:00.000-08:00

The Girl Whisperer
as published
by the Sunday Guardian

The Best Things

The best things in life are free. They have always been. The best things may be found in the ability never to lose your childhood; to find pleasure, contentment and peace as you hear the first rains hit your car roof in the heaviest traffic. It is in the ability to sit on a chair placed on the balcony as the rains come down and the dust goes up, and watch with delight these scenes of people hurrying homewards that once adorned the pages of the schoolbooks read in your early years.

The best things in life will always be free. It is in the unspeakable beauty in a girl-child’s smile, in a boy’s attempt to learn to walk. It is in the things that hold you close to a person you have not seen in more than a decade but whom you know will always remain a true friend.

For the Whisperer, it is in the simple pleasures of reading a comic, of coming across these treasures in another man’s possessions. The way I came across comics in the hands of Kunle Adeyoola also known as Soul Snatcha, one-half of the singing group, The Roof Top MCs as we rehearsed for the stage performance, “The Tarzan Monologues”. If comics are not your thing, there is no shame in it. However, if you are a true comic buff, you will read them up until the day you leave the earth. It cannot be helped. If you have ever seen the movies – Superman, Batman, Iron Man, The Fantastic Four, The Silver Surfer, The X-Men, Constantine, Judge Dredd, Conan The Barbarian and a thousand others, you have read a comic as all these movies had their origins in them.

The best things in life are free. An old school mate saw me carrying a backpack on one shoulder, as I like to do, hurrying down a flight of steps and said, “You still carry packs like these? They are meant for children.” I stopped to look at him even though I was in a hurry and asked, “What kind of bags do adults carry?” and he replied, “Briefcases”. We all have to be careful, because a man dies on top first.

I go through life finding pleasure in many things, in meaningful conversations, in a person’s ability to laugh at himself or herself and when done without cruelty, even at others.

An indicator of the kind of partner you have may be one who does not appreciate the fact that many of life’s pleasures are simple. Sometimes, pleasure is in watching the waves break on a quiet seashore, it is in spending time in conversation with your brother or sister or cousin, and never losing the ability to tease each other.

I watched a friend walk across a street one day and called out to him, “Jammin’ Jay”. He turned at the name and waved, a delighted grin on his face. At this time, the man known as Jammin’ Jay, his nickname in university, was in “power mode”, a dark-coloured suit that was an indicator of the banking profession he was so successful in. However, there was another fellow by my side as I called out, who had been in university with us. We had not been “good friends” but knew each other enough to stop and say hello each time we met. This fellow asked me, “You still call each other nicknames? I thought all that should have been left behind in university.” I looked at him for a few brief seconds but decided he was beyond help. I also thought sadly of the children he would have and the draconian rules he would impose. C’est la vie. We called our father “Supremo” like his friends did, not always to his face but he knew we called him that. My mother up until today is called “On-board” by her schoolmates because of a hair-cut she used to have. It was unnerving the day I stumbled across a meeting of some old students of her school, Holy Child College, and was addressed as “On-board’s son”.

The best things in life will always remain free and if you have a partner who does not get this, there might be issues that you need to resolve. I am not encouraging you to start a close friendship with a fellow who considers buying food sold by roadside hawkers for you daily as doing “the best things”. If you feel like buying akara from time to time by a busy roadside because you have a craving for it, that’s fine. It should not be turned into your staple diet, however. A man should treat a woman like a lady, even if he understands the simple pleasures.

I have a Marilyn Monroe CD in which she sings, “the best things in life may be free, but diamonds are a girl’s best friend”. According to her, when he returns to his wife, the diamonds will still keep you company. I can understand the logic behind her reasoning, but the Whisperer speaks today of those who will not let you laugh and not let you be who you really are. Sometimes you should take the time out to be goofy, to be yourself. The people we remember with the most fondness and with quiet smiles when their thoughts cross our minds are those who used to make us laugh. “What is this life if full of care, we have no time to stand and stare?”

It does not matter if your partner has serious intentions of becoming the Arch Bishop of Canterbury. He must know how to laugh. If he cannot, no matter how hard he tries, and you are cut from the same cloth, why, eternal happiness is yours.

If you are one, however, whose heart sings, then you must be careful in weighing if you can spend the rest of your life with Sad Sam. The Whisperer has always laughed long and hard, has a sense of the ridiculous, plays video games (that’s right, play station 3) and has no apologies for these.

In a world that often tries to tell us otherwise, let me laugh without shame. It’s my life.

2009-12-03T14:07:00.000-08:00

The Girl Whisperer
as published by
The Sunday Guardian

The Things Men Do.

Last night, I was in a telephone conversation with a friend whose family has diligently read the Guardian in Warri where they stay, for many years. She told me she had taken two days out to read the Whisperer’s articles after she and I became acquainted. That would have been over two years worth of Sunday ‘Newspapering’ and I was suitably impressed. She had made an observation however, and that was the Whisperer had not written of seduction and love on the rebound in any of the columns. That caught my attention. I was not aware there was any part of the world of men and women I had not written on, skimmed past, or prodded in some way, in over more than two years. The issue with relationships however, is they have so many compartments and then sub-compartments which also have their own spin-offs that I could write for another fifty years and still have enough material to start all over again with.

Still, I asked her, “What do you mean by seduction?” She was stumped for a few moments there but admitted it was a very broad topic. The very idea caught the Whisperer’s interest, however. What does seduction mean? Do people who are really seductive set out to do so deliberately? Is seduction in the quick flick of the tongue across the lips when a girl sees a fellow she likes? Is it in a sashay of the hips across a deserted hallway when the subject whose attention you are trying to catch is just a few metres away?

If you believe that is what seduction is about, you know nothing of it then. The unnatural things people do in their bid to forcibly impress other parties comes across as contrived, clunking, obvious to the target and unattractive. Learn from the Whisperer as he writes of what real seduction is. It is beyond words, beyond anything you can put a definition to. It is in the things you do without a moment’s thought. It is in the intelligence of your mind when you are in conversation with someone who is as intelligent and is in desperate need of meaningful discourse. I met a female a few weeks ago who seduced me with her mind without even trying. Physically, she was drop-dead gorgeous which is a great plus in any man’s computations; the Whisperer is still a man, after all, but the power of her attraction was that she was a intelligent as she was beautiful. Asteroids fell, stars crashed into each other and the sun went into eclipse as we spoke. You must realise however that we are talking of the art of seduction, itself, and nothing more. The fact that you are seduced does not mean, necessarily, that the seducer wants a relationship with you, since some of these signals are not even deliberately transmitted. Seduction is in the charm of the fellow you just met which he appears to have worn like others pour on perfume and it comes off him in gusts. You think, “Dear Lord, if only...” It is in the eyes of the man or woman who grins at you across a crowded street because both of you have just witnessed something silly and you feel connected in a way strangers sometimes do when they recognise a kindred spirit. If you have to work at seduction, then that is no longer what it is; it has become a manoeuvre, a ploy to make yourself attractive to another.

Love on the rebound sounds like a tactic performed like a lawn-tennis player on a basketball court. No one should start a relationship with another because you are trying to fill the space someone else left in your life and your heart. Sadly, many of us do exactly this even though we know it is the recipe to unhappiness and further pain. You are at your most vulnerable when you have just come out of a fragmented relationship and there are many who will take advantage of your need for solace.

As an aside, I was told of a lady who considered some of my writings, harsh. The truth is abrasive sometimes, and the Whisperer will not, for the sake of keeping feathers unruffled, couch quinine in sugar. So there.

Another ‘aside’ was this very lovely woman I met, who asked three people, after our meeting, what they thought of me. They, without exception, called the Whisperer, a flirt on a gargantuan level. I suppose writing an article that is meant to be a personal letter to many women and describing what you have experienced and seen might make one come across as a flirt of sorts. No matter what they think, this Whisperer still has a crush on Brittany Murphy. Please let her know if you meet her before I do. These articles have also provoked an inordinate interest in my private life over the years. I am the Whisperer, a very private man, emphasis on the “very” and you may consider me an “international man of mystery”. (I’m smiling at my foolishness now as I steal the line from the movie- Austin Powers’). My private life will remain that way, private, as we all walk this journey together. I was in conversation yesterday about status updates on Face book and the site sometimes telling half the world, “so-and-so is no longer in a relationship”. I cannot fathom why anyone would want to make his or her private life the stuff of gossip fodder in a forum that can be seen around the world. These aren’t marriages, they are relationships and that is what they do sometimes, they break up. When you make your private life the equivalent of newspaper headlines, you are asking for trouble for yourself and those who matter to you.

Every Sunday this month, the Whisperer’s “Tarzan Monologues”, the world as seen through the eyes of men, will be live on stage at Terra Kulture at 3pm and 6pm. It tells of all the issues that trouble men, and those things that make them vulnerable. You may subtitle it, “the Things Men Do”.

2009-12-03T14:02:00.000-08:00

The Girl Whisperer
as published
by the Sunday Guardian

Tales of the Unexpected

The world has a novelist whose name has stood against the ravages of time. His name? Roald Dahl. He was a soldier, who was also involved in espionage amongst many other things in his lifetime.

As a child, the Whisperer would sit enthralled, watching the television series originally based on Dahl’s work and wonder about the heart of man. With adulthood however, one learns that it really is an odd world and tales that will leave you numb in disbelief, exist everywhere.

The first tale I would like to share is that of a pleasant young woman I first met about a decade ago outside Nigeria. At the time of our meeting, she had two kids and was living with a man who was not the father of one of her children but more than a decade before, she had left her West African country of birth on account of the war that had turned it inside out and in doing so had left the man she considered her true love behind.

This man was a bodyguard to the country’s despot (I kid you not) and had to flee when his boss’ government fell. She made it to Europe but when she next heard of him, it was that he had become a refugee in a camp somewhere in Nigeria. Now many of you probably had no idea that Nigeria had a refugee camp for many years. It was situated in Oru-Ijebu somewhere in Ogun State and had people from Sierra Leone, Liberia, Rwanda and many other war-torn places. How did I discover the camp? I was studying for a Master’s Degree in Humanitarian and Refugee Studies and my Professor, Akin Ibidapo-Obe, insisted I had to visit the camp for my research, which I did several times. That camp did not have electricity even though it officially housed thousands of people and many of the floors of the buildings were earthen, meaning people who lived in them could catch pneumonia. I knew of an old man from Liberia whose grandchild died from that illness in the camp. But away from my angst about governments that do not do what they should and back to the tale of this woman and her true love.

So she heard he was in a refugee camp in Nigeria (the Whisperer never met him) and then he disappeared only to re-surface in another refugee camp somewhere in Northern Africa. More than ten years had elapsed in which both had seemingly moved on with their lives, the man in the best way he could under harsh conditions and the female, bearing children for two other men.

But one day, she kicked out the man she lived in Europe with, boarded a plane and headed to North Africa. There in that desolate camp, she found the man she had never stopped thinking of and they got married in the embassy of the country that had given her shelter all these years. They stay together in Europe now and I would like to think they do so happily. The Whisperer has a photo of them together. Any dream can come true if you have purpose and determination.

Then there was the time a couple of years ago when the Whisperer went to the cinemas alone (he has been known to do that from time to time, sometimes the pleasure of a movie can be made dull by bad company) and what was showing was Sandra Bullock’s “The Premonition”.

When the movie started, I found myself sitting in a row just before a noisy couple. The noise came from the man, mostly, and he spoke into his phone to some unidentifiable caller as the movie ran (that is a nasty habit, using a phone in a movie/play theatre). When he finished with the phone call, he commenced talking to his friend at the top of his voice. Well, it sounded like the top of his voice seeing that his mouth was only a few inches away from the Whisperer’s scalp. I decided I was seated in the wrong place in the half-full hall and therefore climbed over the row of seats (That’s right, I didn’t use the aisles, I was that desperate to get away from them). Three rows in front and a lot further to the side, I found the peace I craved for or so I thought. But from nowhere, I felt popcorn landing on me. It was a female and her friend on the new row I had joined. In the gloom of the cinema hall, I thought she looked a bit like my female friend from University, let’s call her D.T., another movie buff, so I gratefully sidled to sit in the chair by her side. It wasn’t D.T. It was some a girl who pretended to show compassion for my earlier plight with the loud couple (half the hall had seen me flee them) but in the next few minutes, she had her hand firmly around mine in the dark hall, squeezing it from time to time as the movie went on. When Ms. Bullock appeared in front of the house of the woman her husband had been cheating with, my ‘companion’ shrieked at the screen, “Does she know her husband is skrulling her?” I hung my head in despair as she repeated that line a few times at the top of her voice. My soliciting friend meant the socially unacceptable word, “screwing” but obviously had learnt to speak English in the wrong schools.

When I unobtrusively tried to remove my hand from her claws, she growled belligerently, “Whassamarrer, where are you going?” I knew the audience in the hall that day might have felt I had lost my mind if I climbed over the seats again.

And then my saviour came in the shape of Frank Edoho, presenter of the television game-show, “Who wants to be a millionaire?” He and a male friend of his had entered the hall, late for the movie, and as they sat just a few rows away, I fled to them for safety.

The Whisperer has had more adventures than is his fair share and prays that all the unexpected tales you have will be ones with beautiful endings. May the new month be a rich one for us all.

2009-12-02T08:52:00.000-08:00

Something is afoot in the land and Sunma knows. The danger lies seething just beneath the placid surface waiting for darkness to fall upon the land...

The Strong Breed – A Wole Soyinka masterpiece starring Jumoke Bello, Sola Roberts Iwaotan, Kenneth Uphopho, Precious Anyanwu and Kanayo Okani.
Also featuring Kemi Akindoju, Brenda Fashugba, and Renegade Theatre

Wole Soyinka's "The Strong Breed" returns to Terra Kulture every Sunday in December at 3pm and 6pm.

Tickets - N2000

2009-10-29T21:15:00.000-07:00

Theatre@Terra

presents

PRIVATE LIES

by Tyrone Terrence
Directed by Wole Oguntokun
Assistant Director - Kenneth Uphopho

What is a lie - but a misleading truth?
Are married men and women more accomplished liars than any other category of human beings?

On stage every Sunday in November 2009

starring Jumoke Bello, Kenneth Uphopho, Kemi 'lala' Akindoju and Sola Roberts Iwaotan.

Venue - Terra Kulture, Tiamiyu Savage St, Victoria Island

Tickets - N2000

Time - 3pm and 6pm

2009-10-22T21:10:00.000-07:00

The European Commission has just announced an agreement whereby English will be the official language of the European Union rather than German, which was the other possibility. As part of the negotiations, the British Government conceded that English spelling had some room for improvement and has accepted a 5- year phase-in plan that would become known as "Euro-English". In the first year, "s" will replace the soft "c". Sertainly, this will make the sivil servants jump with joy. The hard "c" will be dropped in favour of "k".

This should klear up konfusion, and keyboards kan have one less letter. There will be growing publikenthusiasm in the sekond year when the troublesome "ph" will be replaced with "f". This will make words like fotograf 20% shorter. In the 3rd year, publik akseptanse of the new spelling kan be expekted to reach the stage where more komplikated changes are possible. Governments will enkourage the removal of double letters which have always ben a deterent to akurate speling. Also, al wil agre that the horibl mes of the silent "e" in the languag is disgrasful and it should go away. By the 4th yer people wil be reseptiv to steps such as replasing "th" with "z" and "w" with "v".

During ze fifz yer, ze unesesary "o" kan be dropd from vords kontaining "ou" and after ziz fifz yer, ve vil hav a reil sensibl riten styl. Zer vil be no mor trubl or difikultis and evrivun vil find it ezi TU understand ech oza. Ze drem of a united urop vil finali kum tru. Und efter ze fifz yer, ve vil al be speking German like zey vunted in ze forst plas.

- Writer Unknown

2009-10-22T21:03:00.000-07:00

STILL PARTIAL JUSTICE

by Jude Fashagba

The Nigerian Army has been in the news lately, first it was the “commuting” of the sentences of the “Akure 27”, from life to seven years imprisonment, then the Chief of Army Staff (COAS), Lieutenant General Abdulrahman Dambazau, assuring that the Army (unlike before) would accept the verdicts of an appellate court. Pure rhetoric.
However, the announcement that the Army had retired one Lieutenant Colonel and two Majors for “culpable mistakes that led to the Akure protests” was a sign that the army may at last be trying to head in the direction of equity and justice.

Because it cannot be without reason, that the symbols for justice and the law are scales. Lady Justice, an allegorical personification of the force of right is usually depicted as a matron carrying a sword and measuring balances, and sometimes wearing a blindfold. The blindfold indicating that justice is (or should be) meted out objectively, without fear or favor, regardless of identity, money, power, or weakness; the scales, upon which she measures the strengths of a case's support and opposition; and a double-edged sword in her right hand, symbolizing the power of reason and justice, which may be wielded either for or against any party.
It was reasonable, therefore, that after all the hue and cry over the “Akure 27” someone at least considered that they were provoked by the action of certain senior officers. The report was careful not to say that the officers were guilty of stealing money due the soldiers.

Said their spokesperson, Brig-General Chris Olukolade, “it is important to make it categorically clear that contrary to speculations in some quarters, none of the officers in question was charged for stealing, as investigations into the subject did not in anyway suggest that anyone of them stole or attempted to steal the money meant for payment of the troops’ allowances.
Fine. Has someone therefore found out why they were not paid? Or if the patience of these soldiers were indeed, tested to the point where there were grounds for them to see or suspect that they would not be paid? Is there a history that people who went on peace-keeping missions did not receive their full due?

To dismiss the whole story, and suggest that by military law, the protest amounted to mutiny is in itself strange. And the army knows it has no monopoly of the dictionary. Neither can they ascribe new meanings to words as they deem fit. The soldiers might have disobeyed officers in the course of the protest, but if the punishment for disobeying an officer is life imprisonment, then what would be the punishment for murder? Clearly the military scales were tilted unreasonably and are not based on the foundation of equity.

So it sounded a lot better that, by their own review system, the judgment was commuted to seven years. Not that that in itself isn’t too much punishment for the offence in question, but when placed beside the compulsory retirement of the people who clearly provoked the soldiers to “mutiny”, retirement pales in comparison. The officers should be guilty of provocation, bringing the army to disrepute, criminal negligence, and causing soldiers to commit acts inimical to the interests of the army. They at least deserve the punishment of the 27, plus something else. The soldiers took to protest most likely because they could not find any reasonable path to express their grief and frustrations.

Also, it is strange that these officers were “not tried for stealing” when it was reported that evidence at the court martial showed that some of the officers involved were beneficiaries of these funds which were said to have been “wrongly posted to some other accounts”.
Why were the soldiers not compulsorily retired like the officers were? Why were their cases treated separately? And in the event of them appealing to the supreme court, would the soldiers not be right to request that the court declare the case of the officers a mistrial and that both cases be sent to a competent court of justice acting under military law?

The feeling that soldiers rioted, or protested leaves a bad taste in the mouth, but soldiers stealing? Moreover, I find it strange that the army did not see this as an opportunity to present the new face it is trying to sell to us as an equitable and law abiding organization to the public. The US army uses the payoff “be all you can be…learn to get the best out of life”. Can any reasonably thinking young man or woman join our army with such expectations? And if they do so mistakenly, do actions like these not portray the idea that the requirement for justice has been skewed ab initio against them? Are we as a people, and indeed our institutions at war with ourselves? Is the law made to protect, or to destroy us?
If the accounts department or whatever group was responsible for this cannot properly account for a million dollars or thereabouts, what does that say about the quality of governance (and accountability) we received in almost thirty years of military rule? These were senior officers. In a military regime, they could have been state governors.

They have to hide under the guise of military law. Knowing that no fair system will permit them to get away with such grave injustice. Justice should not just be done, but must be seen to have been done.
I will also dare to say that the whole court martial will prove to be an exercise in futility should the supreme court order a retrial or further commute the sentences. As a forward looking people, we should be in the forefront of eradicating a justice system which has untrained judges. As best the system, when compared to our justice system is an administrative panel. Why such a panel will have powers as to sentence people to death and life imprisonment is something that must be considered and curtailed. They should not have any powers more than to recommend to a competent court, a course of action.

I doubt however, if for the many young men who join the army, it is not just another job. If the motivation was not just a way, to stay away from unemployment. To be forced to join the army for lack of employment is bad enough, to find out that you joined an army where cheating is legal is killing. To get life imprisonment for a loud complaint against cheating cannot be fair.
Justice has not been done, that is why only the army lords can think it has been. The rest of us cannot possibly think so.
What happened to the military people who superintended over a “stolen” ship? Are they serving life? Has this case ridiculed the military more than that one? Have there not been people implicated in coups who got ten or fifteen years? Was this equal to or worse than a coup?

And some people have the guts to describe seven years imprisonment as punishment for people who complained (in whatever manner) that they were cheated (which was later proven to be true that they indeed were), as leniency? What then is the definition of wickedness?

The army in a democratic setting must first and foremost be a just army, and its laws can only be based on the fundamental liberties the constitution gives. Those are the bare minimum. The military would also need to revisit a lot of cases if indeed according to the COAS, the army itself has been acting in direct disregard to proper laws. Impunity will only be curtailed when people know that they can be tried and punished for offences in retrospect.

2009-09-26T04:00:00.000-07:00

The Tarzan Monologues

See the world (Sex, Religion, Politics, Erectile Dysfunction, Sterility, Finances, Infidelity etc) through the eyes of men -

Starring Bimbo Manuel, Frank Edoho, O.C. Ukeje, Kunle Adeyoola, Paul Alumona, Precious Anyanwu and Kanayo Okani.

Every Sunday in October at Terra Kulture.

3pm and 6pm.

N2000.

Written and Directed by Wole Oguntokun. Tarzan Monologues

2009-09-26T03:55:00.000-07:00

The Girl Whisperer
as published in the Sunday Guardian
of September 20

The Promised Land

For many of us since the earliest days of childhood, we have dreamed of a place in our lives that we know simply as the Promised Land. We have told ourselves that if we can only attain this state of bliss, some might call it Utopia and others, El Dorado, all our troubles are over.

As children, this Whisperer inclusive, the dream was finding the fabled pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. It did not matter much to us that the pot of gold was reputed to have been placed there by leprechauns or equally unappealing folk. The driving force was that if we could just reach the gold, all our troubles would be over. As a child, I would pick up the shattered remains of car wind-shields and imagine the crystal pieces as handfuls of diamonds. Yes, I had a very vivid imagination as most children had, really no different from the alchemist trying to turn stones into gold.

Age does not always bring wisdom, and as we grow older, we exchange the wild dreams of finding ten billion American dollars lying on the street waiting for us, for the more adult ones like a young girl finding instant happiness in the hands of a fellow she just met at a social function or in church. It is important that the Whisperer is not misquoted here- you may find your dream partner at a social function or in church; a night-club might be a bit more difficult to find eternal happiness in, but it is not impossible. Stranger things have been known to happen. That fellow with glazed eyes and shaky feet you collided with while he stood trying to maintain his balance by the music speakers, and as you tried to find your way down the dimly lit hallway on the way back from the night club’s bathroom, after throwing up the mix of drinks you had placed on an empty stomach, might be your knight in shining armour. Yeah, right.

So back to the night club or church or bus or public library (we do not have too many of the latter here anymore) and the accidental collision with the person who might take you to the Promised Land. You look into his eyes and you know this is the person you have been waiting all your life for. We all know that feeling, don’t we? That moment of absolute certainty as you round the corner and run into this other person; that moment of déjà vu when the whole world stands absolutely still, and you are the only ones moving in “slow motion” as you both fall to your knees, trying to help each other pick up the books scattered everywhere (assuming it is a library) or a plate of food assuming it is a social gathering. Your eyes are locked on each other’s as your hands scrabble for the dropped items. We’ve all been there, haven’t we?

That moment also is one of the greatest delusions on the face of the earth. You may round a corner and find a stranger absolutely attractive, stunning or mind-blowing or any combination of all three; and the security detail might have a hard time trying to persuade you not to follow this person home. (Brittany Murphy and Nicole Kidman would probably have that effect on me) but you need intensive therapy if you think that is how long-lasting (and healthy) relationships are built.

You do not build the foundation of relationships on the illusion that your hand tingled when you shook hands, that there was just something in the eye of this person you met, or that your heart knew you had found eternal happiness when you hugged. Relationships are built at the warfront, in terrible weather, through sludge and slit and rain and snow. You hold on to it like a soldier-in-training holds on to his or her gun as the elements batter you, and believe the Whisperer when he says the elements will batter you. You take the good times, when the sun is shining and all the music you hear tells you of the beauty of what you have, and you take the rough as well when your partner appears to be an alien from another planet.

When the Whisperer talks of the elements battering you, he is not talking of a physically abusive partner. If you are the victim of physical battering, cut and run while you can still move (and if you are so inclined, give his address to the Whisperer, and I’ll sort him out for you). There will be pain in every relationship though, no matter what they tell you. Every relationship will have a flip-side as you try to communicate and level out your differences. There have to be speed bumps as you race on to El Dorado.

Remember that if two people agree all the time, it means only one is doing the thinking. People with different backgrounds and personalities will sometimes have divergent opinions and these will cause friction. It is a mature relationship that purposes it is on to something good and will hold on no matter what comes.

The Promised Land is a long trek, across deserts, through never-before-navigated forests, waterless places and some of the most unforgiving terrain this world ever saw. It is a place filled with pain and extreme joy. And it does not happen in a flash, like gold left behind by some leprechaun with amnesia.

Every strong relationship has probably gone through some kind of fire that burnt off most of its impurities and there is no human combination that does not have its frustrations and short-comings. Along the way, people make their minds up that this is who they want to be with and also purpose to work hard at making the partnership succeed. Those who have failed at relationships are not lesser people, sometimes some combinations just do not work.

It is possible that when I finally meet Brittany Murphy, I shall discover a beautiful face does not necessarily guaranty a wonderful, warm person. Maybe. In the interim, it would be wise if you remembered that as well.

2009-09-26T03:45:00.000-07:00

The Girl Whisperer
as published in the Sunday Guardian
of September 13

The Departure Hall

For the past half-hour or so, I have lain on my back and watched the day break through the windows. I have also placed Ibiyemi’s new single, “Don’t Leave Me” on repeat. Her rich, strong voice sings with all the pain of a girl who, in spite of the misgivings she had from the start about the fellow who came cruising into her life, starts a relationship with him. A relationship which appears enjoyable for a while, before hitting turbulence. She plaintively begs him not to leave her standing all alone. “Don’t go” she sings to this fellow who’s had enough. “Till the end of time, I will love you, don’t do this to me.”

At some point in our lives, and hopefully while we are still quite young, we all will stand in a departure lounge and be left behind, knowing as our partner walks away, he or she is never going to return to you. This is where the really young or those that are in denial are going to say “it’s never going to happen to me”. There’s very little chance of you running through an open field like the young Mayan in Mel Gibson’s “Apocalypto” and think you are going to dodge all the spears and javelins thrown at your bare back. One’s going to nick you, draw blood, cause you pain; the prayer would be for it not to impale and incapacitate you permanently.

What is it about relationships and a planet that has five billion people that makes us think the departure of a single person will bring our world crashing down? What is it that makes us sing like ‘Ibiyemi’, “When you walk out through the door, you’ll mess up my life...I won’t let this go”?

Why can’t we just shrug and say “there are many fishes (sic) in the ocean” or whatever other mundane cliché would be appropriate? It is obvious that the synchronization of one’s life with that of another human, creates something, an entity, a corporation, an existing structure, that to pull down would tear the soul apart (or at least cause that kind of pain). Instead of the business structure that requires hard-headed common sense, what you have is a structure built from love (or some similar substance) and two members of the board that are guided by their hearts.

The best way to prepare for pain, some would say, is to have it at the back of your mind that anything can happen to a combination of two people. However, if one enters a relationship with the mind-set that it is certain there will be a rainy day, isn’t the potential for immense pleasure and joy taken away from the relationship from the very beginning?

Should we, because we are afraid of heart-break, not take risks? Now if the ‘risk’ becomes one that shoots us in the face, do we walk away from it or like Ibiyemi, sing the words, “Don’t Leave Me”? Years ago, the yet-to-be Whisperer received a letter. In it, the girl he felt he had found happiness with wrote, “I love you with all my heart but you can’t give me what I want”. Somewhere along the line and before the letter came in, I had come to my senses and prepared myself for such a day as that, still it did little to temper the pain. However, the preparation made it certain that I did not plead with her to stay. Years later, as she and I laughed over it, (well, I did the laughing, she was too busy being pained by how far I’d come), I realized that sometimes it is best not to hold on to someone who is insistent on leaving or a “love corporation” that has fallen apart. If a member of the board is bent on dissolving the company and there is a stale-mate, better to yield to the person who can no longer see the vision or you will go bankrupt.

The best revenge is living well, and if like the Whisperer, you are like wine, getting better with age, the last laugh should be yours. How many of us have come across people who “dumped” us and have thought with an inward sigh of satisfaction and the words of Sunny Nneji’s song in our heads “I’m the little bird that couldn’t fly, now see me high up in the sky”. I apologise, but yes, I have had the opportunity to sing those lines in my head after a separation in the departure lounge.

People will leave you because they do not see your potential (you should let those go, they are likely to become impediments to your development) or because they think “you do not have what they need” (whatever that might be). One of my favourite people, J, was left behind at the departure lounge by some chap after she had gone ahead to start a relationship with him despite serious opposition from her friends (and they were a tight lot). He left her for someone he considered more glamorous but she, in turn, found happiness and incredible advancement elsewhere. In retrospect, it was a good thing he got out of her life; he would have cramped her style.

The well-worn saying is true in this case, “if you love something set it free. If it comes back it is yours, if it does not, it never was.” There are many reasons why we so strongly hold on to those who are in turn, desperate to get out of our lives- We wonder where we will start again, from; how we can find the strength to wake up the next morning; how we will ever be able to make the pain go away. The Whisperer thinks we should let those who want to leave, leave. “A person convinced against his will, is of the same opinion still.” We must find the strength to say goodbye, to get on with our lives and above all, to continue to add value to ourselves. It is the loss of anyone who insists on walking away. Life is too beautiful to spend it in misery because of someone who does not want you. Tell the person, “get up and get out” and make your life continue the way it should, positively.

This Whisperer likes Ibiyemi’s song for many reasons apart from its superb melody. One of these is that the lines made him think, and there are parts of it that remind him of the all-time heart-break song, Dionne Warwick’s “Walk on by”. In affairs of the heart, well, you must follow your heart but remember, don’t let another human’s actions or omissions be what give the meaning to your life.

2009-09-26T03:35:00.000-07:00

The Girl Whisperer
published in the Sunday Guardian
of September 6, 2009

The Autobiography

I receive mail all the time from people around the country who read this column, people who have been touched in diverse ways by the things I write, and mostly in a positive manner, I would like to think. There are people with very serious situations out there and in some way, this Whisperer who has never laid claim to perfection or being anywhere near it has been of help at times. However, just a few days ago, an e-mail arrived in response to the Whisperer’s article titled “The Ugly Truth” from a lady I’ll call C.N. I found the mail quite inspiring and I thought I should share it. She wrote: “For all the subtle truths. Thank you. For all the whispered lessons. Thank you. For all the 'in your face' daring advice. Thank you. Thank you for being my true friend (even if you didn’t know me...)
You've been there for me(through the back page of ‘Life’ every week.) in good and bad times, in times of discontent and almost hopeless despair. I appreciate the fact that you know you are not perfect but you 'try'. And so I pray that you never lack for someone to share a smile with. That you never lack a true friend especially when you need one and that you will find fulfilment in the things you do.”

All the “Thank you(s) were written in capital letters and the Whisperer spent a while reading and re-reading the words. For some reason that I cannot find words for, the mail came across as a very profound one and I thank C.N. whom I have never met before, wherever she may be at this moment, and whatever she might be doing, for taking the time out to let me know the impact of my words on her. The Whisperer considers it a privilege that others allow his words into their lives and he’ll be treasuring that mail for a long while.

Many have asked, “Who is this Whisperer that talks with such boldness” and sometimes like C.N. wrote, states “in your face daring advice?” This then is the Whisperer’s autobiography as he chooses to reveal it.

The Whisperer has been there, done that and gone round the block several times. He talks from experience and scenarios he imagines (being a playwright is a great help in such matters). He has been cruel to women in times past (Is there any man who hasn’t?) as they have been cruel to him. He has learnt that life is not about cruelty, and happiness in a relationship is not just a distant and unattainable mirage as some might like us to think.

The Whisperer tells his truths as he knows them. He knows if you enter a relationship and make your life an open book; fools will write their autobiography in it. The truth is simple. You must guard your heart and be very fussy about whom you allow to leave an imprint. When you finally get to write that autobiography of yours, there are some people that should not be blips on your radar. They should not be able to say with a smirk that “I caused her pain” or “I was the subject of that amount of distress”.

I have known females who have not expected to hear me say anything that might put that gender in a bad light. In a singular case, one female I had made acquaintance with, said I hated women on account of these writings. That came from reading a column which apparently struck home in her case, but if I was giving examples of females to emulate, she would be at the bottom of the rung. The aim is to tell all parties the truth, and even if he leans in favour of the “Girls”, he will still tell it like it is. The Whisperer has always been thankful for the opportunity given to tell others of his experiences and his thoughts.

The Whisperer has never claimed his words to be a Bible or the Talmud. His word is not law, it is advice and as in all things, you must weigh the things you hear and balance it with the reality of your life. There is such a thing as commonsense however, and you do yourself a disservice when you do not do things that are sensible.

There are many people who write me privately with issues that you can tell they should know the answer immediately to. You start a letter with “He and I were together and now he is with someone else but I still love him”- You’re asking for trouble. The aim of whispering is not to rubber-stamp situations you should not get yourself entangled in. Why cause yourself further pain? If a partner falls out of love with you, walk away from this person. Don’t grovel, don’t beg. If he changes his mind out of pity, remember that “a person convinced against his will, is of the same opinion still”.

Isn’t the truth obvious in these cases? Dump the sucker and get on with your life. Life is what we make it, usually. You shouldn’t be afraid to live your life as you see it. There are many things that militate against us making decisions for ourselves- They are family, friends, loved ones, religion... the list is endless. However, if you sit and consider that the life you have to live is yours alone and that no one signed the lease for your life alongside you, you’ll grow up quickly and become an adult. There is a reason the voting age is eighteen. If your society believes you are old enough to choose who will lead your government at that age, why does it consider you brain-dead in your twenties, thirties, forties and even older when it comes to relationships? Like the song in that eternal movie, ‘The sound of music’ goes, “Your heart, little girl, is an empty page that men will want to write on”. Hold the hand of the writer before he starts to scribble, stare deep into his eyes and if you have any doubts or you meet shifty eyes, twist that thumb till the pen drops from his slack fingers.

It’s an autobiography, baby, write the chapters yourself.

2009-09-26T03:21:00.000-07:00

Theatre@Terra presents "Sizwe Banzi is Dead" written by Athol Fugard and directed by Wole Oguntokun every Sunday in September featuring the world's first-ever female 'Sizwe' - Kemi "lala" Akindoju, Paul Alumona as "Styles" and Precious Anyanwu as "Buntu"

Every Sunday in September at 3pm and 6pm.

2009-08-03T08:54:00.000-07:00

The Girl Whisperer
as published by the Sunday Guardian
of 2nd August 2009

Whispering Lessons

The Whisperer is in the city of London as he writes this. A city meant to be in the middle of summer but still feeling very cold to a body that has been warmed over several decades by the African sun. He sits quietly, looking out of glass-plated windows at blood-red buses carrying people to varying destinations, people meditating on their own thoughts and he remembers some of the lessons life has taught him.

One of these is that the best revenge you can ever mete out is the revenge of living well. For everyone who has ever abandoned you in a relationship, who has ever looked at you and told you, you would never make the cut, that you would never be a success; it is your determination to prove them wrong that should be your driving ambition. It should not be you praying night after night that they stand under a crumbling skyscraper, that a speeding car runs them over or that they accidentally swallow ground glass. The best payback is the one that improves you so much that both the doubter and the rest of the world are awe-struck when they finally see you come up for air.

Another lesson goes hand in hand with this. You must always remember no one is compelled to believe in you or your dreams and aspirations. There is no one who owes you that obligation, not your mother or brother or best friend. The primary believer must be you. If you do not believe in yourself, no else can, no matter how much they pay lip service to your cause. “There will be miracles if you believe”. The power of consistency and single-minded pursuit of a cause can never be over-stated. Take the Whisperer’s word for it as he once took the word of Professor Adeoye Lambo, the renowned psychiatrist, in a quiet conversation at a dinner table years ago. Lambo said, “A cutlass has only one sharp side”. Keep cutting.

You will also learn that success has many parents but failure is forever an orphan. There are many who lay claim to having lent a hand to the supposed, perceived success of the Whisperer but this man can count and he knows those who truly believed. Guard your heart, guard your strength, and keep true friends. Nwabundo Onyeabo, I’m never letting you go.

The Whisperer has learnt that not all that is gold glitters. In searching for potential in prospective partners, the flashy are not always the best options. Often we do not look below the surface, as we are swept away by the glamour, the glitz, the trappings and the tinsel, but there are deeper things and those are the things that will last when the surface trimmings are gone. And believe the Whisperer when he says the surface trimmings will go, some sooner than later.

A lesson that must never be forgotten is that patience is a virtue and it will serve you when other things have failed. Often however, we are not prepared to wait. In a world of instant gratification, we expect results at the click of a button. One day, your ship will berth in the harbour, carrying all (or who) you want if only you can resist the urge to be hasty. I have seen things I longed for; fall in place many years after, even though not at the time I desperately sought it, and I have chosen to believe that the eventual timing is the right one. Beware of desperate steps; the darkest night lived will turn to day.

The Whisperer has learnt not to believe in stereotypes; for angels come in many forms and not all of them are pretty but they are angels all the same. The most-sound advice he ever got in academics came from a classmate on a dusty classroom corridor when he was thirteen; and help has come from unlikely sources like “area-boys” when he was stranded and at their mercy. Do not judge a book by its cover or a potential suitor by pedigree or family history. Open the book to read and then if it does not catch your attention, throw it away. Note that I did not say to take the book home when you can steal a quick glance through its pages by a busy roadside. The world is full of surprises and the book’s contents might surprise you. Everyone has a story.

I have learnt that the grass always looks greener on the other side of the fence, that for some reason, many humans are wired to believe what lies unattainable just across the iron-gate is much better than what they have in their possession. We long for the good-looking person who goes past the door every morning, thinking of how life would be a much better place if only that beautiful person existed in it. The only fault with our calculations is that we underestimate the baggage other people carry. There are a number of variables in every relationship; the mind-set of the people involved, their personal quirks… Sometimes we do not realise we are in possession of the real deal, that we hold gold in our hands as we strive for “fools gold” in other places, material that bears a semblance to the real thing but is of much less value.

I have learnt that happiness and laughter know no colour or language barriers, that you can find happiness in the company of those who are young at heart and contentment with those who are truly content. I have learnt that truly peaceful people are priceless and a person who is like “still waters” can be calming to the soul. I have learnt that a person dies on top first and the day you lose your childhood is the day you lose everything.

I have learnt you must be able to speak the language of children and have the strength to look Presidents in the face.

I have learnt you must love yourself first before you can truly love others and though others might have the ability to make you happy, there is no one who can give you joy. It is your duty to find that wellspring inside yourself.

2009-08-03T08:48:00.000-07:00

2009-08-03T08:38:00.000-07:00

Theatre-ing@Terra- 3rd Annual Season of Wole Soyinka- June and July 2009.

2009-08-03T08:30:00.000-07:00

The Girl Whisperer
as published by the Sunday Guardian
of July 26, 2009

If I were a boy

I first came across the poignant Beyonce Knowles song, “If I were a boy” one day as I sat surfing cable television channels. A good looking woman, Beyonce herself, was playing the part of a police officer who did her work well but spent time with the other officers doing what men generally do after hours; drinking, clubbing, and just “kicking it” as men have an inclination to. All this while, she had a doting boyfriend/partner at home who would watch the clock and wait for her to come home. It was a reversal of roles and gave me a lot of food for thought as the singer must have intended. Then only a few days ago, I sat talking with the Alli-Hakeem sisters, Toyin and Anike and one of them said, “If I were a boy”, and she elaborated on the things she would do and get away with, expressing pain that runs deep in women, pain inflicted by the things men do and never have to answer for.

In some ways, men are like the officers’ corps, policemen if you wish, who stand up for each other, whose ranks are closed and who will never testify against a “brother-officer” even at their own detriment. It is a rare man who tells a woman, “I saw your man with so-and-so”, or “I saw him at so-and so”. For some reason, the “esprit de corps” code among men also conjures a code of silence. Many men take relationships for granted the way the generality of women could never. Beyonce sang, “If I were a boy even just for a day, I’d roll out of bed in the morning, and throw on what I wanted and go drink beer with the guys”. As an aside, that might be the singular advantage men have over women, the ability to wear clothes without thinking if the colours suit our eyes, or whether our eye-shadow is the wrong shade of blue or whether our arms are growing bigger and we cannot get away with wearing sleeveless tops anymore. But back to our song and Beyonce. “If I were a boy, I would turn off my phone; tell everyone it’s broken so they would think I was sleeping alone.” At this point, many of the men reading should take deep breaths and think of the variations of this lie they have told. Some will say, “But the women do it too”. The Whisperer agrees but submits that this is a fallacious argument. According to philosophers,“And you too” does not work very well when you are the one accused of wrong-doing. Today, the Whisperer looks only at the men and the way they take their women for granted.

We turn off our phones and claim there is no network in a world that permits us to do whatever we want to do as long as it is not “hurting anyone else”. When the men sit to reflect, they must remember that the breaking of a human heart is probably more painful than a physical accident.

“I’d put myself first and make the rules as I go, because I know she’d be faithful, waiting for me to come home”. The Whisperer is not only in this procession of those who make the rules as they go; he is also carrying a banner. This is said without pride and shame-facedly. Men often make up the rules of engagement as they move along, much like the way children create new rules to suit themselves in games they have not mastered fully. What applied in a previous relationship will not apply in a new one. A rule set for the female partner, will not be applicable to the male. We can take long sultry looks at other females as we drive along but a glance from our woman that lasts for more than one second on a passing male is tantamount to fornication. She has sinned in her heart. The man is confident always that the woman at home is exactly where he wants her to be. She will not be going anywhere and no matter how long the pursuit took, she has been conquered and he can look to newer horizons. But do not forget that it is a strange world we live in where there are never any guaranteed fairy-tale endings and it is possible that like in the words of Mr. Ray Parker, “by the time poor Jack returned up the hill, somebody else had been loving Jill.”

Music is the closest thing we have to a time machine, able to teleport you to exact places and times when you first heard the song. With songs, the situation is created again, the same players, the entire scenario. I can never hear the Oleta Adams song, “Get here if you can” without feeling pain and Gabrielle’s “Dreams” does the same thing for me.

Madonna’s haunting “La Isla Bonita” is a victory song for this Whisperer, one that always reminds me of a day I took a major step in the right direction, and All 4 One’s ”I swear” will remind me of my father till my dying days. The reason is simple. I heard him singing the song in accompaniment one day as it played on the radio and I was brought into reality forcibly, that my father was a man first, before being a father.

The talented Ms. Knowles sang, “You don’t care how it hurts until you lose the one you wanted because you’re taking her for granted” and I agree. And the Whisperer gives advice to all men wherever they might be, and in whatever generation they might come from, even if they find this article seventy-five years from now in some dusty archive and they sit to read from yellowing, brittle pages. As they ponder on how love must have been in generations gone by as they go about their business in a world that may bear no resemblance to this one that we know; all men should remember one thing, times and seasons may change but men and women will always be. There are many pluses in being a man but it is not a sign of manliness to drag a woman in the mud behind you.

“If I were a boy...” Walk a mile in your woman’s shoes.

2009-08-03T07:54:00.000-07:00

India. Early June 2009.

2009-06-26T05:07:00.000-07:00

Heal the World - Michael Jackson (August 1958-June 2009)

2009-06-24T22:48:00.000-07:00

The theme for the first international edition of
ewaBAMIJO is

HOME AND ABROAD

It is coordinated by Qudus Onikeku, dancer,acrobat and choreographer.

More details soon.

2009-06-23T20:46:00.000-07:00

A Nation's Identity Crisis

By Reuben Abati

You may not have noticed it: Nigeria is suffering from an identity crisis imposed on it in part by an emergent generation of irreverent and creative young Nigerians who are revising old norms and patterns. And for me nothing demonstrates this more frontally than the gradual change of the name of the country.

When Flora Shaw, Lord Lugard's consort came up with the name, Nigeria in 1914, she meant to define the new country by the strategic importance of the Niger River. And indeed, River Niger used to be as important to this country as the Nile was/is to Egypt. We grew up as school children imagining stories about how Lugard in one special romantic moment, asked his mistress to have the honour of naming a new country in Africa. Something like: "Hello, sweetheart, what name would you rather give the new country that I am creating?"

"Let me give it a thought? ....Awright, how about Ni-ge-ria darling?"

"That would do. That would do. How thoughtful, my fair lady? You are forever so dependable"

And the name stuck and it has become our history and identity. But these days, the name Nigeria is gradually being replaced by so many variants, that I am afraid a new set of Nigerians may in the immediate future not even know the correct spelling of the name of their country. For these Nigerians whose lives revolve mostly around the internet and the blogosphere, the name Nigeria has been thrown out of the window. Our dear country is now "naija" or "nija". What happened to the "-eria" that Ms Shaw must have thoughtfully included? The new referents for Nigeria are now creeping into writings, conversations, and internet discourse. I am beaten flat by the increasing re-writing of the country's name not only as naija or nija, but consider this: "9ja". Or this other name for Nigeria: "gidi". There is even a television programme that is titled "Nigerzie". In addiiton, Etisalat, a telecom company has since adopted a marketing platform that is titled: "0809ja." Such mainstreaming of these new labels is alarming.

This obviously is the age of abbreviations. The emerging young generation lacks the discipline or the patience to write complete sentences or think through a subject to its logical end. It is a generation in a hurry, it feels the constraints of space so much, it has to reduce everything to manageable, cryptic forms. This is what the e-mail and text message culture has done to the popular consciousness. Older generations of Nigerians brought up on a culture of correctness and compeleteness may never get used to the re-writing of Nigeria as "9ja". Language is mutatory, but referring to the motherland or the fatherland in slang terms may point to a certain meaninglessness or alienation.

What's in a name? In Africa, names are utilitarian constructs not merely labels. Even among the Ijaw where people bear such unique names as University, Conference, FEDECO, Manager, Heineken, Education, Polo, Boyloaf, Bread, College, Summit, Aeroplane, Bicycle, Internet - there is a much deeper sense to the names. But the name Nigeria means nothing to many young Nigerians. They have no reason to respect the sanctity of the name. They don't know Flora Shaw or Lord Lugard, and even if they do, they are likely to say as Ogaga Ifowodo does in an unforgettable poem: "God Punish you, Lord Lugard." Eedris Abdulakarim summarises the concern of young Nigerians in one of his songs when he declared: "Nigeria jagajaga, everything scata, scata"

The post-modernist, deconstructive temper of emergent youth culture is even more manifest in the cynical stripping to the bones character of today's Nigerian hip-hop. It is marked by a Grunge character that shouts: non-meaning and alienation. On my way to Rutam House the other day, I listened at mid-day to a continuous stream of old musical numbers from 93.7 Radio FM. Soulful, meaningful tunes of Felix Lebarty, Chris Okotie (as he then was), Mandy Ojugbana, Christy Essien-Igbokwe, Onyeka Onwenu, Sony Okosun, Alex O, Ras Kimono, Majek Fashek, Evi Edna-Ogoli, Bongos Ikwue, Veno Marioghae, Uche Ibeto, Dora Ifudu, Mike Okri, Dizzy K. Falola, and Tina Onwudiwe. Onyeka Onwenu sang; "One love, keep us together". Veno Marioghae sang: "Nigeria Go Survive". Even in the romantic offerings like Chris Okotie's "I need someone, give me your love", or Felix Lebarty's "Ifeoma, Ifeoma, I want to marry you, give me your love" and Stella Monye's "Oko mi ye, duro ti mi o", or Tina Onwudiwe's award-winning "Asiko lo laye". there was so much meaning and polish.

This was in the 80s. That generation which sang music under its real names, not abbreviations or slangs, was continuing, after the fashion of T.S. Eliot's description of "Tradition and the Individual Talent", a pattern of meaning that dates back to traditional African musicians and all the musicians that succeeded them: S. B. Bakare, Victor Olaiya, Fela Anikulapo-Kuti, Sunny Ade, Ebenezer Obey, Dan Maraya of Jos, Osita Osadebey, Ayinla Omowura, Victor Uwaifo, Geraldo Pino, Rex Lawson, I. K. Dairo, Haruna Ishola, Yusuf Olatunji, Inyang Henshaw, Tunji Oyelana, Bobby Benson, Tunde Nightingale, and even the later ones: Shina Peters, Dele Abiodun, Y.K. Ajao, Ayinde Barrister, Kollington Ayinla, Batile Alake, Sir Warrior, Moroccco Nwa Maduko, Orlando Owoh, Salawa Abeni, KWAM I (Arabambi 1 and please include his disciples- Wasiu Alabi Pasuma et al), Oliver de Coque (Importer and Exporter...), Ayefele, Atorise .... But there has been a terrible crisis in the construction of music. The children, grandchildren and great grandchildren of these ancestors have changed the face and identity of Nigerian music. As a rule, gospel musicians, given the nature of their form, sing meaningful lyrics, but the airwaves these days have been taken over by the children of "gidi","naija", "nija", "nigerzie" and "9ja". I listen to them too, but everyday, I struggle to make meaning out of their lyrics.

Music is about sense, sound, shape and skills. But there is an on-going deficit in all other aspects except sound. So much sound is being produced in Nigeria, but there is very little sense, shape and skills. They call it hip-hop. They try to imitate Western hip pop stars. They even dress like them. The boys don't wear trousers on their waists: the new thing is called "sagging", somewhere below the waist it looks as if the trouser is about to fall off. The women are struggling to expose strategic flesh as Janet Jackson once did. The boys and the girls are cloaked in outlandish jewellery and their prime heroes are Ja-Rule, Lil'Wayne, Fat Joe, P. Diddy, 50 Cents, Ronz Brown, Chris Brown, Sean Kingston, Nas, Juelz Santana, Akon, Young Jeezy, Mike Jones, T-Pain, F.L.O-RIDA, Will.I.am, Beyonce, Rihanna, Ciara, Keri Hilson, Jay-Z, Ace hood, Rick Ross, Birdman, Busta Rhymes, Cassidy, Chamillionaire, Soulja Boy, Young Joc, Kanye West, R. Kelly, Kevin Rudolph, T.I.P-king of the South, Ludacris, Plies-The real goon, The Game, Young Rox, Flow killa, Osmosis (2 sick), Flow-ssik, Raprince, Bionic, Fabulous, Jadakiss, Nas, Swiss Beatz, Dj Khaled, Maze, Yung Buck, Maino, MoBB Deep, Lloyd Banks, Olivia, Lady Gaga... Well, God Almighty, we are in your hands.

And so the most impactful musicians in Nigeria today, the ones who rule the party include the following: D'Banj, MI, Mode Nine, Sauce kid, Naeto C, Sasha, Ikechukwu, 9ice, Bouqui, Mo'cheddah, Teeto, P-square, Don-jazzy, Wande Coal, 2-face, Faze, Black Face, Dr. Sid, D'prince, K-Switch, Timaya, Dj-Zeez, Dj Neptune, Banky w., Big bamo, Art quake, Bigiano, Durella, Eldee, Kelly Hansome, Lord of Ajasa, M.P., Terry tha rapman, Weird MC, Y.Q., Da grin, kel, Roof-top Mcs, Pype, Niga Raw, Ghetto p., Kaka, Kaha, Terry G, Ill Bliss, Zulezoo, Pipe, Dj Jimmy jatt, X-project, Konga, Gino, Morachi... Well, the Lord is God. These are Nigerian children who were given proper names by their parents. Ikechukwu bears his real name. But who are these other ones who have since abandoned their proper names? For example, 9ice's real name is Abolore Akande, (what a fine name!), Tu face (Innocent Idibia), Sauce Kid (Babalola Falemi), D'Banj (Dapo Oyebanjo), Banky w. (Bankole Willington), P-Square (Peter and Paul), MI (Jude Abaga), Timaya (Enetimi Alfred Odom), Sasha (Yetunde Alabi), Weird MC (Adesola Idowu). But why such strange names? They don't sing. They rap. Most of them don't play instruments, they use synthetic piano.

At public functions, they mime. They are not artists, they perform. They are not necessarily composers, they dance. The more terrible ones can't even sing a correct musical note. They talk. And they are all businessmen and women. They are more interested in commerce and self-advertisement, name recognition, brand extension and memory recall! They want a name that sells, not some culturally conditioned name that is tied down to culture and geography. But the strange thing is that they are so successful. Nollywood has projected Nigeria, the next big revelations are in hip hop.

Despite the identity crisis and the moral turpitude that we find in Nigeria's contemporary hip-hop, the truth is that it is a brand of music that sells. Nigeria's hip hop is bringing the country so much international recognition. All those strange names are household names across the African continent, so real is this that the phrase "collabo" is now part of the vocabulary of the new art. It speaks to an extension of frontiers. In Nigeria, it is now possible to hold a party without playing a single foreign musical track, the great grand children of Nigerian music are belting out purely danceable sounds which excites the young at heart. But the output belongs majorly to the age of meaningless and prurience. The lyrics says it all.

Rooftop MC sings for example: "Ori mi wu o, e lagi mo". This is a very popular song. But all it says is: "my head is swollen, please hit it with a log of wood." X-Project sings: "Lori le o di gonbe (2x), e so fun sisi ologe ko ya faya gbe, ko ya faya gbe, file, gbabe, se be, bobo o ti e le, wo bo nse fe sa hale hale niwaju omoge, ha, lori le odi gonbe, .....sisi ologe ki lo di saya o, so fun mi ki lofe, o wa on fire o...." Now, what does this mean in real terms? But let's go to Naeto C: "kini big deal, kini big deal, sebi sebi we're on fire", or D'Banj: " my sweet potato, I wanna make you wife, I wanna make you my wife o, see I no understand o, cause I dey see well well, but dey say love is blind, see I never thought I will find someone like you that will capture my heart and there will be nothing I can do....". Yes, we are in the age of sweet potato. And so Art quake sings: "E be like fire dey burn my body, e je ki n fera, oru lo n mu mi. Open your hand like say you wan fly away. Ju pa, ju se, ka jo ma sere, alanta, alanta."

And here is Zulezoo, another popular Nigerian musical team: "Daddy o, daddy, daddy wen you go for journey, somebody enter for mummy's house, person sit down for mummy bed, person push mummy, mummy push person, mummy fall for bed yakata, daddy, o daddy, the man jus dey do kerewa kerewa...kerewa ke" And Dj-Zeez: "ori e o 4 ka sibe, ori e o 4 ka sibe, 4 ka sibe, 4 ka sibe". And MI: "Anoti, anoti, anoti ti, anoti titi." And Konga: "Baby konga so konga, di konga, ileke konga, ju pa pa, ju pa, konga, ju pa pa, ju pa, sibe".. And 9ice: "gongo a so, kutupu a wu, eni a de ee, aji se bi oyo laari; oyo o se bi baba enikan, kan, i be double now, aye n lo, a mi to o, gongo a so, oti so o, e wo le e wo enu oko..." Or Tony Tetuila: "U don hit my car, oyinbo repete, u don hit my car o". Or Weird MC: "Sola lo ni jo, lyrics lori gangan, awa lo ni jo". Sheer drivel. So much sound, little sense. Is this the future? Maybe not.

Most of the music being produced now will not be listenable in another five years and this perhaps is the certain fate of commercial art that is driven by branding, show and cash. But we should be grateful all the same for the music, coming out of Nigeria also at this time in the soul, gospel, hip, hop genre: the music that is of Femi Anikulapo-Kuti, Lagbaja, Asa (there is fire on the mountain/and no one seems to be on the run/ there is fire on the mountain now..."), Ara, Sam Okposo, Dare, Sunny Neji, Infinity (now a broken up team), African China, Alariwo of Afrika.... We suffer nonetheless in music as in the national nomenclature, an identity crisis. A country's character is indexed into its arts and culture, eternal purveyors of tones and modes. Nigerian youths now sing of broken heads, raw sex, uselessness and raw, aspirational emotionalism. A sign of the times? Yes, I guess.

I find further justification in the national anthem, many versions of which now exist. I grew up in this same country knowing only one way of singing the national anthem: from "Nigeria we hail thee" to "Arise o Compatriots". The singing of the national anthem is supposed to be a solemn moment. Arms clasped by the side, a straight posture, and the mind strictly focussed on the ideals of patriotism and nationalism. Stillness. Nobody moves. And the national song is rendered in an unchanging format. But not so any longer. There are so many versions of the Nigerian national anthem these days. Same lyrics but different musical rhythms. I have heard the national anthem sung in juju, in fuji, in hip hop, in Ishan's igbagbolemini, in acapella mode, even reggae. I attended an ocassion once, the rendition of the national music was so enthralling, people started dancing. Even the photographers and cameramen danced with their cameras. For me that was the ultimate expression of the people's cynicism. The prevalent mood is as expressed by Dj-Zeez: "ori e 4 ka sibe, 4 ka sibe": an epigrammatic, onomatopoeic, market-driven diminution of language as vehicle and sign. What kind of people are we? A dancing nation? Dancing and writing away our frustrations and caring little about sense, in this country that is now known as "naija", "nija", "9ja", "nigerzie," "gidi"?

2009-06-23T09:12:00.000-07:00

The trial of Reuben Abati by Jude Fashagba

I had read a response to Reuben Abati’s article ‘A nation’s Identity Crisis’ published in the Guardian and written by one of Nigeria’s hip-hop musicians who goes by the name ‘Banky W’ on Facebook before I read the article itself. However, the decision to react to it was already taken; I had to read your piece to put my work in perspective.

Permit my précis, but I broke your points to a few points; the death or killing of national symbols by the youth, a culture of abbreviations, ‘poor quality’ (or in some cases foul) lyrics in hip-hop songs, and a wholesome importation of the foreign hip-hop culture.

I hope you find time to read Banky W’s response which is on the webpage http://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=107335169088&id=21807323062&ref=nfI found it interesting. He accuses you one, of misunderstanding his generation and indeed their symbols, of poor research into the origin of the abbreviations that you condemn, of critising an art you have not taken time to study, of trivialising it as only a ‘business’

Furthermore, you stand accused of praising the older generation, just for its ‘oldness’ even when (as he feels) it is guilty of everything you have accused the new of. Implying that your affiliation to the old is cultural, and not evidential.

Then there is the bit about names. Should there be a difference between stage names, brands and ‘real names’ ? To use your own words ‘what is in a name’?
Having listened to the case against you, I think it is salient to ask a few questions. One, what is the origin of these dying national symbols; two, how relevant are they in our national life and three, if indeed they still represent our current hopes and aspirations. You, Dr. Abati described graphically how Mrs. Lugard could have come about the name Nigeria. Probably in their bedroom. Named after Africa’s second largest river. Niger-area they said, to commit what you seem to have called the (‘mortal sin’ of abbreviation), Nigeria.

The truth is that while a good number of European countries are named after their people, their languages or their cultures, African countries are named after rivers and mountains. Who has heard of River England or Mount France? Cameroun however is named after a mountain, Congo after a river and Lake Victoria after the Queen of England.

Why is Spain not an acronym of Catalonia and Basque and called Catasque, like Tanzania is for Tanganyika and Zanzibar? The Niger River is called Kogi and Kwara in some local areas, but some ‘foreign discoverer’ named it Niger and by extension my country. Don’t misunderstand me, I love my country but I hate its symbols. Our colours are green and white representing agriculture and peace. Where is the agriculture? Where is the peace? Are they not alongside electricity the three most elusive things in the country?

And now that we have darkness, 419, oil and bloodshed in the Niger delta as our gross national product, it should be sensible to change our flag to red for blood and black for darkness and oil.

I have seen the American flag and indeed the elements of the flag redone in creative ways and heard their national anthem sung in slow, mid and fast tempo, so I have no reason to complain about mine being sung anyway. Instead, I praise the people who in spite of the charred and unimpressive present opportunities and the irrelevance of the basis of these national symbols, still found ways to give them new meaning and revive them.

Who named the Naira? What is the origin of the word? What does it mean?
This narrows to the second allegation, a people are who they call themselves. The dictionary calls a name ‘a sound that connotes a meaning’. Why should Banky W take more pride in being called Bankole Wellington? After all, it is his name anyway. You alluded to Fela, once a Ransome-Kuti, later an Anikulapo-Kuti. I could not swap the first name for the other for a zillion dollars, but he did, and he found pleasure in that. I remember this conflict myself. In the letters my late father wrote me while I was in school, he would address me as Fashagba but he would sign as Fasagba. He was my father, but our names were different. Never did he make the mistake. What is in a name?

Is a name more spiritual because somebody put alligator pepper, sugar and salt in your mouth when he pronounced it, as was the culture when we were born? What special circumstances could warrant the naming of a child Manager, University, Okuta or Confidence that would dis-warrant the naming of a person X, W or Eldee? Would I name my son Reuben? Does it not mean the same as Yaro in Hausa? I mean a son.
Is Obey’s name Obe or Obey? Was Okotie Kris or Chris? Where did Felix get Lebarty? Dizzy K? Oliver de Coque?

To say the truth, I know no songs of Banky W, but I was made supremely proud, when taking a one hour boat from Lungi airport to Freetown in Sierra Leone, ninety percent of the songs the deejay played and advertised were made in Nigeria, by these same boys who have braved everything against all odds. Forget the oil, the major export we have is the Nigerian spirit, the attitude of making it against all odds. See how much we have been saved in foreign exchange by the fact that Tuface now sells more that Boys II Men in Nigeria, and Nollywood saving all the sums that hitherto went to Bollywood and Hollywood? True some of the songs and films may be close to rubbish, but to use Fela as an example of morality was excessive. True, some of these boys say some that older musicians only mimed, but I was so shocked to find Salawa Abeni, Barrister and Kollington on your morality list. In the eighties, these three fuelled by personal feuds put some rubbish on tape.

However, music and poetry have always been on the precipice of free speech and to extend the point, of discovery. Tina Turner’s ‘what’s love got to do with it’ has worse lyrics than D’banj’s ‘you don make me fall in love’.

The other truth Doctor, is that your generalisation has robbed you of a chance to see order in the midst of these chaos. This is evident in your attack on Rooftop MC’s. It rubbished some of the good points you were making. It is clear you have been too dismissive to listen. The parents of yesterday complained about the Okotie’s ,the Onwenu’s and the Tina Turner’s but they are mainstream today. And you used the right phrase; post mordernism.

What do we not import in Nigeria? A country where it is a thing of pride to deride people who cannot speak English, or who speak it with an accent tainted by their mother tongue? We even paid fines for speaking ‘vernacular’ in school. Our own very languages!

We have therefore lost the morality to challenge these kids of wholesome mimicking of Jay Z and Ja-Rule. Even our respected institutions pay a fortune to bring these ‘stars’ to the country.

We hear (and I hope I am wrong) the government is negotiating with and involving Facebook in its rebranding project. Sad. There are enough 24 year olds here, who can extend the frontiers of social networking but they won’t even get a look in.
Dr. Abati, in pronouncing you guilty as charged, I quote an old architect, whose name I cannot remember, ‘symbolism can be esoteric, but it must mean something to ordinary people’.

Jude Fashagba wrote from Lagos.

2009-06-23T05:38:00.000-07:00

Banky W.'s response to Mr Reuben Abati's article in The Guardian Newspapers

This is my response to the article entitled "A Nation's Identity Crisis" that recently ran in The Guardian Newspapers. It was written by Dr Reuben Abati, a well respected name in Nigerian Journalism. His original article can be found here: http://www.ngrguardiannews.com/editorial_opinion/article02//indexn2_html?pdate=210609&ptitle=A%20Nation
Please try and read the original article before commenting on my response. As Mr Abati has stated his opinion, I felt it neccessary to state mine. If anything I'm sure both pieces are at least food for thought.

Dear Sir,

In the immortal words attributed to P.T. Barnum, "I don't care what the newspapers say about me, at least spell my name right." My name IS Banky W, full name being Olubankole Wellington. Not Willington, as you stated in your article entitled "A Nation's Identity Crisis". I read the piece repeatedly, and found that misspelling my name wasn’t the only error. At it's worst, the article seemed like an attempt to discredit and slander an entire generation of artistes and consumers, and at best it came across as having some valid points but being grossly misinformed, prejudiced, and hypocritical; definitely not what we would expect of a highly regarded publication as The Guardian, or from a person in Mr Abati's position.

In the very least, the article warrants a well-informed response. I have little doubt in my mind that it will generate a slew of responses, positive and negative, and as one of the many subjects that was mentioned in the write-up, I feel compelled to voice my opinion (with all due respect) on some of the issues that were raised in your piece. What I'm going to attempt to do is to directly address issues that stood out and resonated most with me.

The writer asked "What's in a name?" and went on to honor a "...generation which sang music under its real names, not abbreviations or slangs"; this would have been a valid point if he had not himself mentioned Greats like King Sunny Ade (real name: Sunday Adeniyi), I.K. Dairo (Isaiah Kehinde Dairo), and Ebenezer Obey (Real name: Ebenezer Remilekun Aremu Olasupo Fabiyi- Wow!!!). We could also point out other legends like Ras Kimono and Majek Fashek as others who, for creative or other reasons, saw it fit to have stage names that happen to differ from what's on their passports. Shortening of full names and/or the crafting of stage names is not something new from our generation of artistes that "lack the discipline or the patience to write complete sentences" as you said; rather, it's the creative right of an artiste to go by whatever moniker he sees fit. And if we want to talk about the names of today, we can highlight a few: Eldee - actually L.D. which stands for Lanre Dabiri, similar to Isaiah Kehinde Dairo's transition to I.K. Dairo. Naeto C and Banky W are simply short forms of their full names. In my case, my father's nickname among his friends is actually Banky as well.

Furthermore, on the topic of Names and abbreviations let's set a few things straight. Nigerzie is actually spelt Nigezie and is not an abbreviation for Nigeria. It's a TV Show, much like Soundcity or Hip TV, except they choose to incorporate "representing Nigeria" in their name. It's like the "United Colors of Bennetton", or DKNY, both companies that choose to represent their locations or origins in their name. Also, for the record, Gidi doesn't mean Nigeria either. It's a term for Lagos... coined from "Las Gidi". And as far as the popular term "Naija" goes, who remembers Shina Peters singing "♫ Naija lo wa yi o o o, wa jo, afro juju lo gb'ode ♫" I hate to point out that our generation did not come up with that term... the "golden age" that you long for did.

As an editorial head of a National Newspaper, you owe it to your public to at least do proper and accurate research before printing an article. The risk in not doing so, is you might unknowingly mislead your readers, and you might actually come across as being ignorant or out of touch. A quick look at all the reference names of artistes and songs mentioned in the article goes to show that the author was sadly way off base in his accusations and examples. For instance, to make a point on how today’s Nigerian artistes lyrics are meaningless and prurient, he referenced the Rooftop MC's song "La Gi Mo". What he failed to realize or crosscheck, is that the said song is probably one of the most meaningful and important songs that have been released in the last few years on the Nigerian Music Scene. The Rooftop MC's are actually a Rap Group that leans to the Gospel or at least Socially Conscious side of music, and their songs always have a positive message. That song itself talks about the errors we make by trying to take God's glory for our success... getting caught up in the limelight and asking God to bring you back to reality to know that HE deserves the praise for where you are.

The author mentioned other songs like D'banj's "Fall in Love", and doesn't realize how hypocritical he sounds by attempting to ridicule some of our most popular love songs. Felix Liberty sang "Ifeoma, ifeoma, I want to marry you", D'banj sang "Omo U don make me fall in love" and Banky W sang "Till my dying day, I'll love you". Barring a difference in musical styling, are these songs not cut from the same cloth? Why can't someone in Mr Abati's position be proud of the fact that at Nigerian and African Weddings nowadays, couples are choosing these songs to mark their first dances instead of previous choices like “Endless Love”? Why can't we appreciate that the days of going to Nigerian Parties and clubs and celebrating to foreign music “all night long” are long gone? Despite these facts, you still see International festivals and concerts being held in Nigeria where the foreign acts are paid 30 to 40 times what some of our biggest stars are allowed to charge.

I have to disagree with the author's views. We are not all one and the same, but we ARE artistes. We may sing, rap, dance, mime, perform, play instruments or whatever else; but we are artistes. And Composers. And musicians. We may not all play the piano or the guitar, but neither does Michael Jackson, arguably the world's greatest artiste/entertainer. That's why he teamed up with producer Quincy Jones to create some of the best music anyone had ever heard. We have our own producers that have shaped Nigerian sound...people like Cobhams Asuquo, Don Jazzy, I.D. Cabasa, Dr Frabz, Tee-Y mix, Eldee, Terry G etc. That list goes on. These music minds are no less credible than those of Mr Abati's time, like the great Laolu Akins.

Far be it from us to claim that we are perfect and flawless in our art... we know that we are still growing and have lots of areas to improve, but the truth of the matter is we have worked very hard to create the industry we have now, and some people choose to criticize and lambaste most of us, instead of helping and teaching us. That is unfair. Yes, some artistes sag their jeans... however, a glance at the pages of THISDAY style or the recently concluded awards shows will show you very clearly that others wear three-piece suits and traditional attires just as proudly, myself included. This music industry that you have very clearly disapproved of has partnered with and given rise to the fashion industry in Nigeria as well. Just ask Designers like Mai, Babs Familusi (Exclamations Couture), the Okunorens, Muyiwa Osindero and countless others. Everything from the t-shirts and jeans rappers wear, to the shoes and suits are made by young Nigerians, where in previous years people preferred to shop in London. The youth-driven industries in Entertainment and Fashion have teamed up to thrust Nigeria into the world's positive spotlight, when for many years our dear country was mostly known for corruption, lack of infrastructure, and security issues.

Our country has not yet given us steady electricity, adequate education, safety from armed robbers or standard healthcare, yet artistes have risen like the Roses that grow from Concrete... and these very artistes love and represent their country proudly on a global stage. This music industry has given hope, jobs and income to countless youth of today. We are Rappers, Singers, Producers, Sound Engineers, Managers, Promoters, Marketing Consultants, Record Label Owners and we will not apologize for making the best of our circumstances; and all this in spite of the fact that we have Marketers that exploit but refuse to pay for our Musical pieces, Royalties and Publishing income that hitherto has been non-existent, a Government that is just now very slowly starting to enforce anti-piracy laws, and Event Organizers that would rather pay 50 Cent One Million US Dollars than give D'banj or P-Square 5 Million Naira.

You were right on some counts. We ARE businessmen and women, and we ARE interested in extending name recognition and brand extension. You were also right in that we look up to people like Jay-Z, who took their music and created multimillion-dollar empires. Since when did ambition and desire to succeed against all odds count against a person’s moral character? Shouldn’t we be encouraged to pay more attention to the business side of “Show Business”? Shouldn’t we want this music industry to provide for our future and the futures of our children?

We know we have a moral responsibility when it comes to our Creative works. Some of us pay more attention to it than others, and there is lots of ground to cover up. But how about a little appreciation and help, instead of trying to tear us down and discredit us? Time will tell whose music will last and become evergreen, but it is not in anyone's place to judge; and for the record, can we just accept that fact that hip hop music is an artform that is probably here to stay... I mean for goodness sake the Grammy's has!! Instead of fighting the change, we should learn to embrace it. I thank God for people like the great Adewale Ayuba that have reached across to our generation to collaborate with, bridge the gap, and help us improve.

We want to learn but your generation has to teach. We want to read but the Government must provide libraries. We want to go to school but the lecturers keep going on strike. We want to travel but previous generations messed up so they won’t give out visas. Most of prefer having our own live bands but the income needed to support that is not forthcoming.

You speak of meaninglessness and prurience, identity crisis and moral turpitude. You praise Legends like Fela Anikulakpo-Kuti and you ridicule us. 9ice does not drink or smoke. eLDee is married to one wife. Olu Maintain does not drink. Naeto C is currently obtaining his Masters’ degree in England. The ironic thing is, we look up to and praise your generation too. You seem to forget that Baba Fela had 27 wives, smoked marijuana in public, was himself half naked at shows (as well as the women around him) and allegedly died of HIV. However we look past what some may consider shortcomings and respect and emulate the immense contributions he made to our history. We are in awe of him despite personal choices that some may or may not agree with. All we are asking for is to be appreciated and afforded similar tolerances.

You danced to Shina Peters. Let us dance to our music. And for the record: for every "Anoti" by MI, he has a "Crowd Mentality" or a "Talk about it". For a Naeto C's "Ki Ni Big Deal", he has a "The Devil is a Liar". Just because an artiste uses a particular song to promote his album for commercial reasons, doesn't mean they should be judged on that alone. Anyone that is familiar with the cost of promoting an album (videos, press, etc) would know that you end up making hard decisions in terms of what you have to push and promote, for your best chance at success. I suggest that you buy whole albums and look at the body of work. Listen to the entire CD’s. I think you'll find that more often than not, Nigerian artistes are doing a pretty good job of representing this great Country of Nigeria. Naija Till We Die. Yes Boss.

Sincerely,
~ Banky W.

2009-06-22T23:29:00.000-07:00

The Red Reception for Tolu Ogunlesi

Date: 24th June

Place: Swe bar

Time: 6pm

2009-06-15T22:10:00.000-07:00

Eko Bridge - on the way home from the cinema. June 2009.

2009-06-15T22:02:00.000-07:00

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

of June 14

The Broken Mould

We’ll start this ‘story’ properly by defining what a mould is for those who might not know. It’s what potters and people of similar professions make their casts, shapes, patterns and forms from. You make the mould then pour in the plaster, the clay, molten gold or whatever else you might use to make your shapes and it brings an exact replica of the form of the mould. In that case, you might call the mould the master-copy.

One day, a while back, Sherri, a female who stays continents away and whom I consider very pleasant, wrote of me, “they broke the mould after laspapi” and that set me thinking. What happens when we find the perfect person, that person who meets almost all of our needs and expectations in a partner and we get on like a house on fire, but then someday, for whatever reason, we have to part ways permanently with that person, road leading onto road? What happens if the perfect mould is broken?

Let’s be truthful, the world has basic types of people. Even the Whisperer has categorized women into four main groupings, the Jerry Springer, the Free Spirit, The Girl Next Door and the Thorough Bred. However, these are broad generalizations and even within groups, there is massive individuality. So you meet the perfect partner, the one who laughs at your jokes, who looks at you from across the room and you know without an exchange of words that it is time for you to leave the horrible party both of you made the mistake of attending. What happens to your world if this person leaves, if the mould is broken and cannot be replaced? One might create another mould, some would say. That might be true but it would never be the same. It might be better ...or it might be worse. The idiosyncrasies that come with one partner are rarely duplicated in another. The laughter, the friendship, the way people respond when upset or annoyed, the intimacy; all these things are peculiar to individuals and you cannot teach another to be like the one that went before. It is disrespectful , as a matter of fact, to even try. There are no two people that have the same kind of dentition, not even twins. You find someone who’s like your mould and yet, there’s something missing. Maybe laughter that goes on a bit too long or is a little bit too loud or just has a grating quality that sets your teeth on edge.

The Whisperer asks again, “what do you do when the mould is gone for whatever reason?” The separation might be your fault, the fault of the mould or circumstances beyond your control. Yes, life isn’t always fair, so get ready for the curve balls. By an accident of fate, the “perfect partner” has walked out of the door and you know, you just know with a sinking of the heart, “he ain’t coming back this time”.

In retrospect, the Whisperer believes that quite a number of his relationships were with people who looked like a master copy since long gone. It appeared it was a subconscious thing not done with any afore-thought malice. It just happened that a number of subsequent partners looked like a certain female the Whisperer once cared greatly about and who also cared about him. Some would argue that men and women have certain specifications, standards they want partners to meet, whether physical, emotional or intellectual so that might be the reason your partners seem to look the same way. It isn’t always so. It might just be because somewhere deep in your heart, you’re looking to replace the person who rocked your world, anyhow you can.

If the mould is broken, is life over? It would be foolish to set out thinking that life has ended because you cannot continue a relationship. The world as you know it might have entered a new phase but you must look on this as an opportunity to improve the prototype...if you’re lucky.

The world is full of beautiful people and you cannot lie down and die because the pain in your heart is unlike any other that you have felt. An amount of philosophical thinking is needed here and it is that if it was meant to be, it would have been. The Whisperer, once or twice, has lost out on lucrative-appearing contracts unlike any in his profession but he learnt one must have the ability to turn one’s back on these disappointments and move on. Pain paralyses and will make nonsense of your future if you do not let go.

Travel the world, take up new hobbies, and meet interesting people from the North, from Kenya, from Tibet, anywhere. Win a Grammy like Tina Turner after managing to escape from the abusive Ike, be like Cher who continues to re-invent herself generation after generation even though Sonny’s long gone, or like Halle Berry and win an Oscar after your man rejects you in public. It doesn’t matter how you do it, but like the Nike advert goes, “just do it”. Do your best to make a much better mould than what you had before and improve your art.

As an aside, I receive mail from strange men who believe the pictures that accompany the “whispering page” are pictures of the writer. The pictures of the usually attractive women (there have been a few lapses of judgement) on the page are chosen by the staff of the Guardian and not by the Whisperer. The Whisperer is male. And anyway, except you’re brain-dead, just reading a few lines would let you know it was a man writing. So here goes to the men who have offered me homes in Abuja and in Calabar; those pictures are not of the writer.

But I digress. If the mould is broken, you can make a new one, an improved one, cast in stainless steel or made with flawless titanium. The world is a beautiful place and the Whisperer has met many, many beautiful people; women with great hearts and great, great minds, and he faces the future with a huge smile on his face and a jaunty spring in his step and he tells you, as one friend to the other, that you should too.

2009-06-09T00:21:00.000-07:00

Lagos Jumping
Before The Rain- The view from 'The Playstation' last thursday; Sunset on Eko Bridge; laspapi and the elfine Tunde Aladese sporting her Mohawk.

2009-05-25T23:43:00.000-07:00

As the Collusus turns 75

Theatre@Terra presents

The 3rd Annual Season of Wole Soyinka

Every Sunday in June and July.

Featuring-

The Lion and The Jewel- June 7 & June 14

Death and The King's Horsemen- June 21 & June 28

Madmen and Specialists - July 5 & July 12

Kongi's Harvest - July 19 & 26

Produced by Wole Oguntokun

Every Sunday in June & July at Terra Kulture, Tiamiyu Savage St, Victoria Island, Lagos.

Time- 3pm & 6pm

Tickets- N2000
Exclusive to Theatre@Terra.

2009-05-25T23:32:00.002-07:00

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

of May 24

Love Made Easy

The Whisperer has been writing these articles for more than two years now, close to twenty-six months of telling and learning how it is. Some of the things written have been from experience, the Whisperer’s and others; some from intuition and a number from “worst case scenarios” or what he likes to call, the “what ifs?”

The columns have brought new friends into his life (and probably new enemies). Some men have taken umbrage at the Whisperer’s advice to females accusing him of “teaching them to be wayward”. Some women have just been miffed at the very idea of a man thinking he knows so much. For those in the latter category, believe the Whisperer, he does know.

The Whisperer, on this journey, has met females who liked him for a myriad of reasons, the feeling not always being reciprocated, and others in whom the feeling was mutual, friends he wishes to keep for always. But life being what it is, you have to make do with the cards you’re dealt and play with it as if you held four aces. (In that last statement, might lie the secret to true happiness).

Many good songs have philosophies. It is rare for a song that has no sound reasoning in its lyrics to stay on as a perennial, ever-green tune, playable from generation to generation. Why do Nat King Cole songs still have meaning after all these decades? Because they are beautiful, well thought out, well arranged songs for posterity. Your children on a day they are feeling bored, come across your collection, play a song and sit mesmerized, unbelieving that the song was done decades before they were a glint in their parents’ eyes. Nat King Cole did that to me as a child, as did Harry Belafonte. Great songs, great people, that showed another world I had no idea existed.

As I ponder on life and love in the early hours of this morning, I remember the song by the group known as ‘Native’. The title of their song was simple- “Love ain’t no holiday”. They sang, as did half the world with them, “you’re my shadow’s own reflection, you’re what gets me through the day, you’re my source of inspiration, everything I have to say... and if that’s not enough, then there’s nothing left to say, but it’s sure gonna be rough, cos love ain’t no holiday”. I agree in totality with the words of this song. We fall in love, expecting it will work itself out. It rarely does. You meet someone who plays the tune of your heart, with whom you can be silent and be at peace with the world; who, well, makes you happy. And isn’t that what life is really about, to be as happy as often as you can be? We will not at this point have a conversation with the crew always ready to pick out and lecture on the differences between happiness and joy. The Whisperer is declaring that the reason we do the things we do, is to be in a state of happiness as often as we can be. The reason you eat chocolates; go out for dinner with friends; go the movies, sit in darkened halls and enter the world of make-believe; always call up certain people you know are always there for you; take long walks across quiet fields with someone special; put certain songs on replay in your car... All these things are done to continue and to improve our states of happiness. So you meet this wonderful person and you fall in love and for a period in time, everything is perfect. Everything. The sun warms you on the face in the mornings, the cool breezes of the night are perfect for your outings or the times you choose to stay in. And then from nowhere, the resistance comes. Your friends are in opposition; your parents don’t approve, your religion won’t approve, your economic backgrounds are totally different... human beings have a million things that war against them and their happiness.

How do you get out of a bind like this? Only children should be surprised when they meet with resistance on life’s journey. Isn’t it a law that “for every action, there is an opposite reaction”? The very fact that you’ve found happiness means that in some way you can expect some situation will try to take it from you. So the group called “Native” sang, “love ain’t no holiday”. Sometimes, we ourselves are the obstructions to our own sunshine. Like many people who have death wishes, we chip away at the beauty we have found, because maybe deep down in our hearts, we think we’re not really meant to be that happy. There is no situation on the face of the earth that is a new one. People come and they go, they meet someone, fall in love, find happiness. Sometimes they allow it to be taken from them, sometimes, they themselves smash up their happiness for obscure reasons they might never be able to figure.

The Whisperer, like many, many others, has felt what happiness can be like. For those who are worried about the situations they are in, he advises that they hold onto love and to what feels true to them. It is important though, that when the ship you and your true love sail on is torpedoed, and the lifeboat you are on, has capsized and all you have left as you both swim for survival, are each other’s hands to hold on to...it is important that the person you are with, is someone you trust and someone who believes in you completely. The person you may enter the water with is one who will not let go off your hand when the waves come to test your resolve. On a holiday a short while ago, I saw a small marker which was a monument to that great ship, ‘The Titanic’. I stood quietly for a short while and remembered that great, great love story and the young man who froze to death in the sea so his true love could remain on the life-boat. May we all be guided to those who would give up all they have for us. May they never have cause to do so.

2009-05-19T00:19:00.000-07:00

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

of May 17

Whispering for Dummies

After receiving plenty of mail in that regard, the Whisperer realises how difficult it must be for some men to communicate with females they want to be friends with as well as potential partners. As suitors, they are clumsy, they say things that make onlookers cringe, and they ignore the cardinal rule: “when you find yourself in a hole, stop digging”. I stood in the company of a lady many would regard as a diva in the entertainment “industry”, whatever that word means. She is unmarried but doesn’t seem to be dying from this condition many people ordinarily consider an ailment. As we stood talking, a male acquaintance sidled up to her and commended her for great work done. No problem so far. Then he said,” I guess to do this kind of work; it’s convenient to remain single”. Foot in the mouth. And like must amateurs, even though he knew he’d said something not quite right, he couldn’t keep quiet. He kept digging and floundering until he was way in over his head. I could see him frantically attempting to stop but his mouth betrayed him. The Whisperer in me looked at him and told him to shut up. It was a mercy killing, because I had seen the smouldering in my friend being addressed and knew there would have been an outburst of sorts soon if I hadn’t intervened.

This therefore is an open instruction book to all men who might want to do some amateur whispering, and desperately need to be seen by all and sundry as suave and smooth. It’s in line with all the books that say “computers for dummies” and “astronomy for dummies”. Whispering itself, being an exact science, the ability to say what is right at the appropriate time and when to shut your mouth is as technical as the engine of a brand new car.

The first lesson is absolutely free of charge and is meant to help the lines of communication. I’ll say something odd here to the men. Check to see that your male friends like hearing you talk. If you can’t interest your beer buddies and they groan in despair when they hear you attempting to join a conversation, chances are it’ll be an uphill task trying to get a woman to listen to you for more than a couple of minutes. If you’re unnecessarily loud, are given to yelling when you are with the ‘boys’, temper it down for the ladies. No female wants you shouting at her because you’re trying to be warm and outgoing.

Respect the personal space. There is an invisible circle around every human that must not be crossed except you are invited into it. That space is the one that might make a difference in people being uneasy about you or being absolutely free. If you lean close to whisper into the ears of a female you’ve set your eyes on, be careful how you do it. Unwanted lips touching the ear, standing so close you are breathing in each other’s carbon monoxide is a no-no. Keep your distance and err on the side of caution. If she likes you enough, one day she’ll stand so close, you’ll see the light, just like a lamp coming on in a dark room. Don’t ask me how you’ll know, just believe that you will.

Less is more. It’s as simple as I just wrote it. The attention you give her, the conversations you make.... Be careful that you are seen as a reservoir of knowledge and not as a fountain of information. There is no female that likes a clinging man. For some men, the penny just dropped at that last line. If you are overly-effusive with your love and affection, it will not be appreciated. I shall ignore the females protesting at the point I just made now. If you pour it on, always sounding like an Indian lover in a bollywood flick, the full impact of your personality will be lost on her. It’s the same way people generally do not appreciate free things; whether it be free tickets to the theatre or freebies of any sort. They think there must be some defect in the design so they look down on it. Turn it down a bit, learn to relax. Always remember, what will be yours will be yours. A female saying no to you is no indictment of your character or person. If she asks you to be more open, more loving, tune the dial to match what she wants, but be careful about being overly effusive. Women do not like gushing men no matter what they say to the contrary.

There will always be someone better-looking than you. Don’t go around trying to match up with the brawny fellow on the front cover of that magazine, just be yourself in every way you can. If there is a possibility you can firm up your body, why not? But if you do not have the time or inclination, ensure that something else has muscles; your personality, your kindness, your humour, your bank account...something has to have muscles. Women are far more practical than they are given credit for. If you’ve met a girl that has a roving eye and speculatively inspects every man she meets, ditch her. The regular female however, will take you as you are if you can find her emotional dashboard. Once you have the emotions, you have the woman.

Even though females appear to be the same all over the world, there are slight variations from area to area, depending on environmental backgrounds, culture, DNA and up-bringing. A ‘modern’ woman might have a problem ironing your shirt because she feels it makes her subservient to you , but if you show it is something you would do for her without thought, it balances her perspective.

Learn to delay gratification. There are too many men who would try to jump the bones of any female on the first night they meet them. No woman wants to be treated like meat. And believe me; they know what’s on your mind when you start breathing heavily and getting cross-eyed. Free your mind; enjoy her person, the smiles she brings so easily to your face. In many ways, relationships do not differ from the way they were when we were fifteen years old apart from the heavy emphasis on physical intimacy, the older we get. Find the joys and sheer pleasure you had in relationships when you were a teen.

And for those who would say, “I’m not a child anymore”, hear the Whisperer. When you lose your childhood, you’ve lost everything.

2009-05-10T21:42:00.000-07:00

The Girl Whisperer

as published in the Sunday Guardian

of May 10, 2009

Que Sera Sera

Take a moment with me to hum that old, familiar tune, ‘Que Sera Sera’, which has delighted families for countless generations. The Whisperer learnt it from his mother and older sisters around candle-lit tables in the early days. Call to mind the second stanza, “When I grew up and fell in love, I asked my sweetheart ‘what lies ahead? Will there be rainbows day after day?’ Here’s what my sweetheart said- ‘Que Sera Sera, whatever will be, will be, the future’s not ours to see, Que Sera Sera’ “

From childhood friendships and puppy love, the Whisperer has wondered about the difficulty in predicting the outcome of relationships. As a seventeen year old, I could have sworn that I had found the perfect girl. She would work through my school with confidence as all eyes would follow her; she had eyes with an oriental slant, said she loved me and made me feel like a King, right up until the time she left me for an undergraduate. I found out the hard way that except you’re like the writer, Alexander Pope, who peaked very early, teenagers do not often end up in long-term situations with their ‘true-loves’. We met as adults and I couldn’t believe how little I felt. That wasn’t the real thing.

The song, ‘Que Sera Sera’ is not for those who have doubts about their relationships from the onset. Often, many start relationships knowing they will crash into the abyss before half a year runs out. If you suddenly decide after a month from the kick-off of your relationship that the musk of your partner would be better if masked by a very powerful deodorant, this song is not for you. If you can’t walk at the same pace as your partner, you walk a little in front or a little behind so they don’t realize you’re the beauty walking with the beast, it’s not a Que Sera Sera moment. If you find yourself staring after your partner’s friends, unable to tear your eyes off a particularly scrumptious one, you know you’re in for the short haul. Que Sera Sera is for those who have found true beauty, who have stumbled like Ali Baba, upon that cave which holds magical properties that can change lives forever. Yet they know deep down, that life being what it is, sometimes curve balls will come at the very moments when you are least expecting surprises. So one lover in the song asks the other, ‘will there be rainbows day after day?’

There are relationships people enter knowing they would never exchange it for all the oil in Siberia. You find someone who calls out to your heart even without words. Your eyes speak volumes across rooms even when many others are present. He (or she) knows exactly when you are silent because you hurt, and this person will swallow pride repeatedly, to make up with you so you both do not lose what you have found. The Whisperer has seen and experienced this, as many others have too. There really is true beauty in the world. But one day, life intervenes, the ‘reality’ of the situation hits you in the face, the next work transfer comes in, the next job offer across the Atlantic, the parent who says you are of different religions, the guardian who says you are of varying economic backgrounds, and suddenly, the pot of gold at the bottom of the rainbow is not as attainable as it once was.

There are countless ‘perfect’ relationships broken and scattered across the continents because they couldn’t stand the complications of life, ‘perfect’ couples who ended up in the arms of others for the long run. Now this will open up a new debate. Is there only one perfect mate for you in the two and half billion potential partners that exist on this planet? Won’t there be people as nice if not better than the one you have lost or might lose? That is not the subject of my discourse. My point is that when you find this person, who makes you see the world through new eyes, there is no one else anywhere on the planet at that particular point in your life. The most generous, best-looking, suave people will not do it for you at that point because you have found that one who helps make time stand still as you two move alone through the earth, at peace with the world, loving each other, looking, savouring, basking in the sun and being in harmony with the universe.

There are moments when we wish the world would remain still, that we are forced to move, to continue with life as we know it. Still, there are ways one can beat life at its own game. If you follow your heart (and be sure it is your heart you follow, not some hazy concept you have of love) you can build a new reality. But there is no one who has fought a duel with life that has not paid a price. Not one person. The dancer or actor, on any continent who decides there is only one profession for him must be prepared to starve for a while, that ‘while’ being relative. It may last for a few weeks or many years. However, if he decides he will go for it at any cost, he must ready himself for the worst life can throw at him and have faith it will all turn out right. There are many bankers who have not found fulfilment at work and many actors who have.

It is the same with affairs of the heart. If you find THE relationship, you must be prepared to look life full in the face and stare life down (and that is a very, very hard thing to do). You must be prepared to create your own future so you have space for this one thing. If the circumstances all just fall in place for you, you are indeed a blessed person; if they don’t, help the situation. “Not only strike while the iron is hot, you must make it hot by striking”.

If one is not prepared to do this, then you must be ready to sing, “Whatever will be, will be”. The wind does not blow for those who have no destination to sail to. Amor Vincit Omar, the Latin maxim says. Love conquers all.

2009-05-10T21:31:00.000-07:00

The Girl Whisperer

as published in

the Sunday Guardian of April 5, 2009

BRIGHT EYES AND OTHER PERSONAL STORIES

The time is 4am and it is dark outside in the Whisperer’s world. The curtains are drawn up to catch draughts of cool air and it is the hour to do some reminiscing, to go back in time and place memories of the past against the facts of the present and the possibilities of the future. A close friend asked me a short while back if I wasn’t worried about disclosing personal details of myself in the newspapers. She said I had courage in writing the way I do. The way it used to be, it appeared as if I never got personal, but the Whisperer has had too many adventures not to share some. I sometimes think my life has been the stuff adventure stories are made of, like pages torn out of a Mark Twain story, and it has been that way since the early years of childhood. In my first form at secondary school, my English teacher gave me a name, “Huckleberry Finn”. I think it had to do with my dusty feet and general outlook on life. I was only ten.

At that age, I became great friends with many great people even though we were all runt-sized at the time- Toyin Zollner, Harry Moradeyo, Akin Olusanya, Kelechi Ejiogu, Obioha Otuokere, Joseph Ikunna, Seyi Eniayewu; and then into the A-Level days where I met Alfred Adebare, Segun Ewuoso, Sola Adebiyi, Gbadebo Olanrewaju and many, many others.

In those years, and into adulthood, I lived life as I thought was right. If these disclosures will stop my fellow citizens from making me the Minister of all matters feminine, so be it. I do not intend to leave the earth like the Roman Emperor Nero did, saying “What a great artist dies with me”. By the time I’m finished whispering, you’ll all be aware of the extent of my ‘artistry’, and gained from it in many ways. Some would be sure not to make the mistakes the Whisperer made; others would have had laughter brought into their lives on grey days.

Maybe this whispering is some kind of penance for the mistakes I have made in times gone past, when I could so easily have made the world a better place for those I was with. It might also be for some reading, to understand there is another side to every story and sometimes the truth has three or more sides, depending on perspective. ‘Walk a mile in my shoes; before you accuse, criticise and accuse, walk a mile in my shoes’ was a song my eldest sister, funmi, loved to sing to me, when I was a child.

A few years back, while I was studying for a master’s degree in law at the University of Lagos, I met a young woman, everyone called Bright Eyes. She was an undergraduate in the same faculty and had come to my attention through another young woman I had a special interest in, and through the friends of that ‘special one’.

The group that made me realise there was a new girl worth noticing, was a year ahead of ‘bright eyes’ in the faculty, made up of very good-looking females in their own right but it seemed as if all their waking moments were filled with thoughts of this new arrival and the ‘threat’ they felt she constituted. She was a ‘fresh’ face in the faculty who apparently had no idea that other queens ruled the turf she had decided to call home. It had been a long time since I’d seen an assortment of young females so engrossed with the life of another and it proved a great source for many interesting scenarios. Their waking moments were filled with ‘Bright Eyes did this’ and ‘Bright Eyes wore that’, so the man-yet-to-be Whisperer looked out for Bright Eyes. When I found her, I understood the reason for the agitation. She was stunningly attractive (I do not use this description lightly), usually wore little or no make-up, her hair was always woven without any extensions (very few people are that self-assured) and she moved with an air of total confidence.

Everyone called her ‘Bright Eyes’. Why? It might have been because she had eyes as clear as a baby’s, but whatever the reason was, ‘Bright Eyes’ had come and she was there to stay. She weathered the storm of b*^@~y females, became immensely popular in the faculty and we became good friends. It always amazed me to see how self-controlled she was. It might have had something to do with being Head Prefect of her school before University but Bright Eyes always gave little room for error.

We learnt to accommodate each other’s whims and caprices, had great fun being friends, time flew, and we parted ways but I never forgot her. Apart from being one of the most gorgeous people I ever knew, she had a beautiful heart and one never quite forgets people like that.

The years flew by, roads leading unto other roads but one day the Whisperer’s vocation carried him to a major Nigerian gas company. And there, walking through the door was ‘Bright Eyes’, unchanged through the years. I had stumbled onto her place of work; she, still as self-possessed and beautiful as before; I...well, I had become the Whisperer. Many things ran through my head as we talked. How time flies when we aren’t looking; how it is important to stay in touch with those that matter to you; why we should tell those we care about that we will always be there for them, whether we see tomorrow, or not for another ten years.

I am glad I met Bright Eyes again. The old adage says ‘twenty children cannot be playmates for twenty years’. Maybe. But we can give it a try; we can give it our best shot, we can determine we will not always surrender to what life tells us.

This is a story of friendship, of finding again all those people that once mattered to us, who have since long gone. May your Bright Eyes walk through the door again very soon. May there always be beautiful reunions in all our lives.

2009-05-09T23:33:00.000-07:00

Jinta and Laspapi philosophise. South London - April '09

2009-05-09T23:10:00.000-07:00

Click here for laspapi's review of The National Theatre of London's performance of Wole Soyinka's "Death and The King's Horseman" directed by Rufus Norris and published in the Next Newspaper of 25 April, 2009

2009-05-09T22:32:00.001-07:00

Top Photo- Giles Terera as Olohun Iyo in "...Horseman" (National Theatre London- April '08; Middle Picture- Tony-Award Winner-Katrina Lindsay, Dance Choreographer - Javier De Frutos, laspapi; (Bottom Pic)Nonso Anozie as Elesin Oba in Wole Soyinka's "Death & The King's Horseman" (April 08)

2009-05-05T01:32:00.000-07:00

Wole Soyinka's Death and The King's Horseman- Directed by Rufus Norris- April 2009- National Theatre, London

2009-04-30T09:54:00.000-07:00

Gbanja Roulette - A Stage Play written and directed by Wole Oguntokun.

Two flatmates...Their relatives...in a deadly game of infidelity and disloyalty with the ultimate jackpot.

Venue- Terra Kulture

Every Sunday in May

Tickets- N2000 each

2009-04-04T07:53:00.000-07:00

Theatre@Terra presents 'Anatomy of a Woman', the humorous stage play on gender relations.

One Woman. Three suitors. An over-bearing Aunt.

Starring Kemi 'lala' Akindoju, Nkiruka J. Ossamor, Olarotimi Michael Fakunle, Sola Robert Iwaotan and Gbenga Adekanmbi.

Written and directed by Wole Oguntokun every Sunday in April at Terra Kulture, Tiamiyu Savage St, Victoria Island, Lagos.

Time- 3pm & 6pm

Tickets- N2000

2009-03-30T02:33:00.000-07:00

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Guardian

of Sunday March 29, 2009

FEMALE HURRICANES

In the banking industry, there is a phenomenon known as ‘Hurricane Cecilia’, and legend says this hurricane who heads one of the country’s mega banks hit the industry like a force of nature, hence the nickname; taking what was just an average outfit and turning it into an enviable organization.

Why does the Whisperer remember her? A while back, as I sat at a dinner organized for the patrons of the Muson Centre, the ‘Hurricane’ swirled in, surrounded by a phalanx of aides, secretaries and assistants. A noticeable thing was that all those who were with her were men; suit-wearing power-types, the kind that puts fear into you if you can summon the courage to ask a bank for a loan or if your loan return-date is overdue. All these men were kow-towing, showing the highest level of respect to her and one was carrying her handbag. Read the rest of the story before your feminism kicks in.

I’d never seen a man carry a woman’s handbag no matter how powerful the woman was, and an affluent-looking man at my own table shook his head and sighed at the spectacle without saying a word but his message was clear, ‘What has the world come to?’ He probably held his peace for a number of reasons; he owed the ‘Hurricane’ or intended to owe her. The first rule to attaining true affluence is knowing when to be quiet.

The Whisperer fancies himself a learned man yet that scenario gave food for thought. One of the most powerful women in the country had her bag carried by a man. Yet, that scene would not have disturbed the sensibilities of the men in that hall if it had been an affluent man’s briefcase carried by his female aide. Not one man would have blinked an eye-lid, but the reverse was played out and it irked many, but not this Whisperer. That day, the ‘Hurricane’ broadened my horizons; people who are powerful, no matter what gender, will have their briefcases and handbags carried. Finis.

So what is it about a powerful woman that might be difficult for the average man to handle? I have known a few personally and at work; Bolanle Austen-Peters, Hafsat Abiola-Costello, Alhaja Roli Raliat Daniju, Funmi Iyanda, Agatha Amata, The Ibru sisters, Mo Abudu, Kate Henshaw-Nuttal... The one underlying theme that runs through all is an air of confidence. A bravado that leaves the insecure... well... insecure. Without an exception, they are audacious and dare to go where many cannot. Generally, they are very likeable, caring people (there is an exception to every rule and this list has its own as well) but the sense of assurance they all have might be unpalatable to the insecure man.

I had a discussion with a friend one day, a hurricane in her own right. My conclusion was that an unsure man might be afraid of a woman like her. The sort that wakes you up in the morning to say she’s on her way to Abuja to sort out her work. All the notice you get is fifteen minutes. You cannot object, or do anything but mutter under your breath, because she was self-made before you met her and except you’re willing to meet all her needs, an unhealthy proposal at the best of times, you had better let her get on with her work.

It is a well-developed, secure man that can overlook this independence, a very secure man; or a kept one who dares not ask questions. However, there are men who understand it is only a matter of time until they’ll be where they want to be.

Men should take a hint from the Whisperer, that we all cannot have the same measure of success, at the same time. Some arrive at the gates of success before others. If your partner arrives there well before you do, don’t let it emasculate you. I learnt a long time ago, the truth of Henry Thoreau’s views on non-conformity. He said ‘the fact that a person does not dance at the same pace as his companions does not mean that there is something the matter with him. He might be listening to a different drummer’. We all dance our way to success in different ways, and therefore arrive at its doorposts at different times.

A man who allows a hurricane’s success disturb him will lose all sense of well-being and contentment. He will be unable to sleep and will treat each disagreement as a slight and personal insult. He will read meanings into the most trivial of things and banality will become his creed. You must remember that when envy sits on your heart in relation to matters concerning your partner, the relationship is finished. If you’d rather not have a hurricane as a partner, this is the time to look for the type without ambition you have always fancied. There is a type that does not push or add incentive to be a better person, one content to remain where she is for the rest of her life. Unfortunately, not only does this sort keep herself down, she weighs down whomsoever she is with too.

The Hurricanes themselves must be wary of what success turns them to. They say you never know which man is going to become an alcoholic or skirt-chaser until he has enough money. For many self-righteous men, it is a lack of funding that keeps them so. The same goes for women. You never know who’s going to become a harpy and a virago until she becomes successful. Then she looks at you down her nose and tells you where to get off.

The Whisperer, fortunately, has no single bone of envy in his entire frame. He may have an eye that speculates on the female form a bit longer than others do but envy is not a Whispering vice. We have all been given gifts, blessed with talent from birth in diverse ways. Take yours and run with it and create your own hurricane.

2009-03-30T02:14:00.000-07:00

ANOTHER DAY IN THE LIFE OF A LAGOSIAN

Pic 1- laspapi poses on a commercial motor-bike on the way to a meet on Victoria Island after leaving his car at another end of the Island. Traffic!!!

Pic 2- The back of a bus. Painting shows a weeded-out gun-slinger/armed robber/vagrant psychotic waving guns around as a woman flees.

Pic 3- English is not my mother-tongue.

Pic 4 - The Nigerian Police Force joins in the War Against Indiscipline.

2009-03-25T23:22:00.000-07:00

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

March 22, 2009

The Players Club

In affairs of the heart, there are many people all over the world who play and have been played. For the uninitiated, we shall define the player as a person who speaks of, and does loving things to his or her partner, whether prospective or substantive, without serious intentions. That last line means ‘whether the player has acquired the target or otherwise’. Pardon me, but the lawyer in me breaks out from time to time.

Players can be of either gender and of any age. The young male player may be a college student or a working professional. To this one, the world is his oyster. He is awakened to the immense possibilities females have to offer and he takes this opportunity with open arms. Excuse the pun. He may be brash or quiet, gentle or aggressive in his approach to life. This young male is the least skilled in the cadre of players but this is on account of age. There are some things that can only be learnt through experience. The female equivalent of this player might be good at ‘multi-tasking’ too. The Whisperer has met young women who have more than one partner and are able to keep the different parts of their lives separate. The undergraduate who has a boyfriend in school and is also dating a ‘man from town’ is a perfect example of this. Each partner hears her say ‘I love you’ and in some deep recess of her mind, she might mean it but her aim is to keep juggling for as long as she can, until the house of cards falls, if ever.

I once knew a girl whose boyfriend used to be a friend of mine. She was the one who first approached him, a fact the Whisperer has no problems with. There’s no problem with being direct if you want something. He was rather well known then and she picked her target well and they started a relationship which appeared to be going along well but there was this little problem. She was a student and he worked. He would say goodbye to her in her hostel at night, the ever-conscientious boyfriend and she would hit the night clubs a few hours after. As an aside, the night-club frequenters get there well after midnight. Even if you laid siege till midnight, you would never catch a partner who is inclined that way. He later found she was running other relationships simultaneously with his. He would go home and she would get into the car of another fellow and park in some quiet corner of the school. If you have a playing partner and you know in your heart (we always do but refuse to face up to it) that the stories you are told, don’t fit together, take a long walk away from the relationship. We make excuses all the time for those we think we love. My friend found out of how he had been deceived when his girlfriend fell out with a female friend of hers. That female told him things about his girlfriend that made him physically ill. It is important we choose the right partners.

Just in case there are men reading this article who think females are the only ones capable of deceit, the field is an open one in this matter.

A female undergraduate (It’s undergraduate day today) met this nice young man who was home on holiday from England where he lived. He told her he loved her and all the other things men say to women. On one of his visits to the country, he told the girl, who loved to boast of their relationship, that he had to go to his hometown. Loving girl accepted his story and sent him along his way with flowery kisses. The next Saturday, as she and her friends sat in her room listening to the radio, they heard someone call into the radio station to wish a couple getting married that day, congratulations. It was her boyfriend’s name that was called. He had come into the country to marry and the undergraduate was a plaything for him.

The girl who had been played, fainted, and her friends had to revive her. But they say ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’ The scorned girl and her friends plotted against the day the fellow might return to see her. He must have had some kind of active sixth sense because he never showed up again. But a close friend of his, who was married, did. And the girls exacted their vengeance on that one. There are few things more dangerous than a cloud of girls in their hostel. They are in their element and you might lose your dignity if you fall into the wrong hands.

So they cornered the friend of the player who swore he knew nothing of the evils his mate had committed. The girls slapped him around a bit, swore they would openly disgrace him and then made him pay a ransom for his release after detaining him for more than four hours. He staggered out of the female hostel at about midnight, his wallet considerably lighter. And then remembered he had another hurdle to face, his wife waiting at home, wondering where he was. So he rubbed his hands on the earth around him to give a dirt, soiled look, deflated his own spare tire and when he got home, told his wife he had lost a tire on a bridge and had not been able to replace it for a long while.

There are times when a player gets played. When a person who feels he has life exactly where he wants it, underestimates a partner. I had a relative who felt he’d found a girl he could walk all over. She was about two decades younger and professed her love and her willingness to serve him forever. So he invited her to England where she was meant to be his wife and she took off once she landed on those shores. Apparently she had been biding her time. I felt pain on his behalf too and wondered why he didn’t see it coming.

The Whisperer assures you that if you look closely, you will know if a person truly loves you. The eyes never lie.

2009-03-25T23:14:00.000-07:00

TICKET OFFER

Best available tickets usually £30, just £10.
When booking on 020 7452 3000 quote 'Travelex' or enter promo code '1753' online. Valid for performances between 1 and 9 April.
Tickets are subject to availability

2009-03-20T23:04:00.000-07:00

Death and the King’s Horseman

By Wole Soyinka

Nigeria 1943. The King is dead, and tonight his Horseman must escort him to the Ancestors. Set against the conflict of indigenous and invader, Nobel Laureate Wole Soyinka’s extraordinary play uses the Yoruba custom of ritual suicide and the transition from the living to the dead to examine the power of human will. This vibrant production boldly celebrates the rhythm of Yoruba customs through dance, drumming and storytelling.

For those of you who care to remember, laspapi was the consultant to the National Theatre (UK) Crew (consisting of Rufus Norris, Katrina Lindsay, Javier De Frutos, Peter Badejo and Sabine Lemaitre) which came down to Nigeria to research this Soyinka play. The crew and laspapi travelled to Ibadan, Oyo town, Abeokuta (to shop and see Soyinka), Badagry and the more ethnic Lagos Island markets.

The play will continue at the Olivier Hall of the National Theatre in London until May. For the Nigerians (and friends of Nigeria) who miss the ol' country, this is a must-see. It promises to be a different experience.

Check out exclusive rehearsal photos:

From 1 April

Travelex £10 tickets.

2009-03-16T11:58:00.000-07:00

CNN's Lagos

2009-03-16T11:51:00.000-07:00

When CNN Lied

by

Wole Oguntokun

published in the Guardian of Monday, March 16 as 'CNN documentary misses new face of Lagos'

I was on my way out of the house two mornings ago when I heard a reporter on the Cable Network News (CNN) mention ‘Lagos’. I stopped to listen. It was a story on the worst places for expatriates to work in the world, and apparently, Lagos topped the list. The report was based on Business Week’s findings and other places mentioned included Riyadh in Saudi Arabia and some city in India but we had pride of place as the very worst host of all the world’s countries to expatriates.

The reporter, some fellow whose name I can’t recall at the moment, told the CNN desk anchor he was trying to reach an expatriate in Lagos who would talk about his experiences here. He didn’t forget to throw in a jibe when he said the difficulty in reaching that expatriate confirmed his theory about the state of affairs in Lagos. According to the reporter, the issues in Lagos included severe crime, horrendous traffic and many other major problems.

He finally got through to the Lagos expat and it turned out to be Roland Ebelt, the Managing Director of the Nigerian Bottling Company, makers of Coca-Cola, an expat who had been resident here for eight years. Roland Ebelt didn’t put a foot wrong once, saying the city wasn’t as bad as some painted it, and he actually had had a good time, majorly, for almost a decade. When asked what his greatest challenge in Lagos was, Ebelt said it was the housing issue. Now, that made me smile. Apparently the M.D. of Coca-Cola has difficulty with finding a home. Would that be not finding a house with Olympic –sized swimming pools?

As the CNN report on Lagos went on, pictures of the city were shown, overhead shots of cluttered-up roads, clumps of bananas in busy markets and hundreds of dirty, cracked feet, “moving in despair.” When skyscrapers were shown, the lenses of the camera had heaps of refuse in the foreground. One can only make wild guesses as to the underlying reasons for this approach to the issues in Lagos. To add some spice, a shot of some East African city was added. How did I know that wasn’t Lagos? All African faces might look the same to the CNN editor who spliced the tape, but we know who’s who when we see them. The skin hue and shape of head were East African, the landmarks in that particular shot were not recognizable to any Lagosian and the vehicles had registration numbers alien to Nigeria. Not the most intelligent piece of editing I’ve seen in my life.

I’m no expatriate but I should give CNN, Business week and their employees a crash course on Lagos. The city is divided into three islands adjacent to each other and the mainland. All expatriates are based on two of the islands; Ikoyi and Victoria Island and they rarely leave those places. Those two islands contain some of the finest homes and landscapes on the continent. Expatriates in Lagos live in paradise. The foreigner, particularly the Caucasian-type, is treated like a King here; by the law enforcement agencies, the citizens and in the market place. The respect given to the expatriate borders on subservience and this phenomenon arising from some of the most street-savvy people in the world would be a worthy study for sociologists.

It would be a bad argument and an immature one, to point back to CNN’s home country and say, ‘and you too’ and that land has many of its own “and you toos” but Lagos should be painted in its own colours, and not through the eyes of prejudice. The traffic in Lagos, if any these days, is caused by the government’s on-going renovation of old roads and bridges and the construction of new ones. The huge swathes of new roads all over Victoria Island (where the Expats live and work)is a good example.

The congestion of Oshodi market shown in the CNN report is now no more, cleared of all impediments to traffic by the authorities. Objectivity requires that you tell a story as it is. A report deliberately skewered to tell the reporter’s own bias is dangerous and makes one wonder at the truthfulness of many of the stories told.

Severe crime directed at expatriates is almost non-existent. Which criminal is going to come against the heavily-fortified and well-guarded work-places and homes of the expatriates in Ikoyi and Victoria Island? The CNN camera should have shown some of these homes and estates. The expatriate in Lagos moves off the islands only with armed police guards. Some have been known to drive against traffic (illegally) on one-way streets, something impossible to do in their homelands, but there’s very little you cannot get away with here if you are an expat. Maybe that approach to the report would have been a better one. A friend once refused to give way to an ‘expat vehicle’ driving down the wrong way with an armed escort, telling the ‘expat’, “you do things here you could never do in your home-country and malign this land when you leave.”

For the first time, I truly, fully understand the purpose of the cable television programme, ‘Studio 53’, showing the best this continent has to offer. Time after time, I have seen wondrous, beautiful places in Africa, Lagos inclusive, on Studio 53; things that would not make ‘a good report’ for CNN, and I’d rather no one gave me the example of its ‘Inside Africa’. If we don’t tell our stories, CNN will not.

The Lagos state government shouldn’t take CNN’s lack of objectivity and this rejoinder as proof of how well they are doing. As an example, every time I speed past middle-aged street cleaners on major express-ways and bridges, sweeping the asphalt with local brooms, I cringe. That is hard, back-breaking concentration camp labour, and no one does that anymore. Apart from Lagos. Get vehicles that can sweep the roads so these people are not put at risk daily.

There’s still some way to go and as you can see now, the whole world is watching.

2009-03-16T11:10:00.000-07:00

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

of March 15, 2009

Hakuna Matata

In 1980, a Kenyan Hotel band, ‘Them Mushrooms’ released that very popular song, ‘Jambo Bwana’ (Hello Mister), which had the phrase, Hakuna Matata, repeated in its refrain. In 1994, the phrase was given worldwide recognition through the movie, the Lion King, and in it, two characters, Timon and Pumbaa encourage the lion cub, Simba, to forget the worries of the past and live for the future.
All over the world, in every doctrine and creed and in most major religions, there is a matching philosophy, one that says ‘Don’t worry, be happy’, sometimes misapplied by those who might possess a disconcerting lack of ambition but always used by those who believe the ugly past should stay where it is.

There are other terms, ‘no sweat’, ‘no worries’, ‘ba wahala’ which have the same meaning. Bobby McFerrin’s famous song goes, ‘Ain’t got no cash, ain’t got no style; ain’t got no girl to make you smile...don’t worry, be happy’. The public speaker, Mike Murdoch has been credited with a line that lends weight to this world view. The line- ‘Don’t let the pain of your past, poison your future’.
There are many, the walking wounded, suffering from events earlier on in their lives, and even though they are in their thirties, forties and fifties, still bear the scars of careless statements and actions made by others when they were in their teens.

My dream girl when I was about thirteen and fourteen was called Rosemary (and here’s an eye-opener for the parents in denial reading this, your thirteen year old boy is dreaming of girls). I have no idea what she looks like now but I recall then, that I had this huge crush on her and would wave shyly sometimes when she passed. I stayed in the area of Surulere in Lagos then known as Shell Club and she, in one of the red-bricked blocks of flats off Bode Thomas Street.

One day, the greatest honour I could think of was bestowed upon me. My true love (even if she didn’t know it) invited me to her party; I’ve forgotten what the occasion was. I brought out my party outfit (at that age, you had to have a party outfit) and went along with my more socially savvy friends, the brothers Ayo and Segun Idowu. So there I was in my jeans (I suspect they were bell-bottomed) and a matching jeans waistcoat). Okay, you can laugh now, the Whisperer wasn’t born perfect, perfection came over time. So we came into this party and ayo and segun dispersed, leaving me to mingle as best as I could. I tried to be cool and unobtrusive at the same time. In my mind, Rosemary had recognized the chemistry between us and we would profess our undying love to each other. And then she spotted me, and walked from across the room with a wide smile on her face. What she said then, ranks among the ten most incredible lines I have heard till this moment, decades after. This girl who was my very heartbeat said, ‘It’s good to see you. Just wait a bit, someone your own height will come in soon.’ I wasn’t very tall as a thirteen year old and like other teens who suffered that ailment; it was a serious issue for me. But hearing my Helen of Troy say it, was a blow lesser people would never have recovered from. I managed to make it out of the party a few minutes later, without my friends and a humbled man (or boy) choose what your preference is; and went home to sleep.

Thereafter, I learnt the power of Hakuna Matata. You do not have a choice in the matter. You may be knocked down by circumstances beyond your control but you choose to stay down, roll in the mud or to get up. Those who will last the whole ten rounds in the fight will themselves to get up. Sometimes, the best revenge is living well. Hakuna matata should be your clarion cry. Be like the donkey that was thrown into a pit because his owner felt there was no use for him. People would come and throw rubbish in the pit but the donkey would shake it off, stomp on it, and rise a little higher. Someday, the donkey found the rubbish thrown into the pit had become a platform which allowed him to jump out of the pit and make his own way in life. Hakuna Matata.

Everybody is somebody’s fool. Someday, and it is inevitable if it hasn’t happened to you yet, someone will make a fool of you in the issues of the heart. This person will turn you into a blubbering child. You must remember one thing; if you do not pick yourself up, no one else can. It’s essential that we all remember, ‘It’s not who you love, it’s who loves you’.

Learn to laugh at yourself and the pain will go away. There have been other girls along the way, those who didn’t believe. Oh, but they do now, how they do now. It doesn’t matter if no one else has faith in you; the most important thing is to remember the lines of the desiderata that say you have a right to exist, to be happy, and to succeed.

Today, I cast my mind back to all those who had no faith, and I smile to myself and say, ‘if only you could see me now’. As the song goes, “Hakuna Matata! It means no worry for the rest of your days, it’s our problem-free philosophy”

I would like to wish you a future that is ruled by this philosophy, a future where you learn the ability to shake off disappointments like a duck shakes water off its back. I wish you the strength to rise after painful encounters, smile a little and say, ‘that was a mistake, but I’ll get on with my life now, being careful never to walk that path again’.

It’s a beautiful world out there in many ways. Let’s have fun in it.

2009-03-08T05:00:00.000-07:00

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

of March 8, 2008

DEEP THROAT

The title, Deep Throat, will bring back many memories to a lot of people, depending on your inclinations or former social habits. For those who are risqué and once walked on the ‘dark side’, it instantly brings to mind a movie that was made for adults only many years ago and simulated the senses in a manner many churches and mosques would consider quite offensive.

For the politically savvy, it recalls the fall of an American President, Richard Nixon, and the FBI deputy director who leaked his wrongdoings to the press (Nixon had been part of an enterprise that ordered recording devices be secretly placed in the offices of his political rivals and ‘Tricky Dicky’ as the more ungracious called him, had fallen when the deputy director code-named ‘Deep Throat’ clandestinely approached two writers for the Washington Post with this story of Nixon and his team’s illegal eavesdropping)

Nixon resigned and his political career went into a spiral. As an aside, forty years later, it would be impossible for a Nigerian President to be forced to hand in his resignation because he ‘listened in’ into his opponents conversations. Pause and think.

So back to the whispering. ‘Deep throat’ in this case is a spin-off and wild variation of the latter example I wrote; the hound you have a relationship with and then separate from, who tells the world real and imagined things about you, goes to places you couldn’t have envisaged and spreads wild tales, twisting some to suit his or herself. You have to be careful of this sort, for only gnarled and bent trees grow on the sun-blasted landscapes that are the minds of these kind of people.

We’ve all read stories of beauty queens who forgot their ‘first love’ and greatest supporter when ‘they ascended the throne’. Many of these scorned boyfriends who were there when the queen was still a gawky female are unable to accept their relegation to the backseats. They watch their former girlfriends hobnob with the rich and famous and then something snaps. From nowhere, boyfriend becomes a wild beast, cross-eyed with rage, decaying matter on his breath and then he loses his mind. The man develops a ‘scorched earth’ policy like some armies do, burning all vegetation that might serve as food and shelter for the former love. They tell stories; stories of forged academic results, of pregnancies, hidden children, drug addiction, wild nights, secret videos and the queen comes crashing down before the might of a deep throat.

You would think that with all the horrific examples that abound, people would learn; but no, when we ‘fall in love’, we expose every facet of our heart, and we often pay a heavy price. Let’s do some simple mathematics. How many people do you know that have found permanent love in their first relationships? How many in their second, or third? It takes a while (and there are some who go on to forty or fifty. It’s alright, you can’t shock me. I’m the Whisperer)

Now if the probability is uncertain as to whether your relationship will be a permanent one, why would you unearth issues that might affect your very life if placed in the wrong hands? There is nothing wrong with sharing your heart with your ‘love’. Just don’t share what might cripple you for life if the relationship goes sour.

Once upon a time, there was a girl who swore to a man she loved that they’d go to the ends of the earth together and he believed her. But she was very disrespectful, and the man chose to go his way. She refused to accept this and went everywhere; to his family, his office, his friends, spreading horrible tales while all he wanted was to be left alone. For many reasons, many people lack the ability to walk away with dignity and their heads held high. Another went to church to share information on another friend and would stand by the roadside when the fellow would pass and regale complete strangers with tales of his infamy. The men got them both to stop, because information sharing is a two-way thing and nothing works like an implied threat of counter-exposure from an angry ex-partner’s mouth.

The Whisperer also wishes to tell a truth. It’s not everyone you meet that is sound, mentally. Sometimes, it’s best for you to let people sort their issues before you embark on a voyage of love with only the two of you on a boat with an out-of order rudder and no land in sight.

I made the mistake of getting close to the mother of all disturbed people years ago. When I saw her for her true-self, I backed away rapidly but she pursued with ferocity of the kind only seen on the Animal Planet channel. Her stories about me were as crazy as they were wild and she went everywhere I had ever told her of. The Whisperer is notoriously quiet about himself, but this is because of these strange beings; it’s not everyone who walks on two feet that’s human. She found out she really knew nothing of me and the madness receded for want of fuel.

You must remember no one can hang you for keeping quiet. You can be loving and caring and share many intimate moments, but you must protect yourself until you know the person in your life well. People change as we do too and you might regret a moment of rashness after the dust settles.
However, there are the thoroughbreds that you need not be overly wary of. They aren’t those who tell you they’d never drag your name or reputation through the mud but those whose very natures abhor that kind of situation. There are male and female friends that I know who would die rather than subject themselves or others to behaviour so degrading but while you search out these people in your own life, be careful. Don’t go into any situation without checking out the possible costs to your person and reputation.

Only a fool tests the depths of water with both feet, is what they say. I believe.

2009-03-01T03:39:00.000-08:00

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

of March 1, 2009

The Millionaires Club

There are very few people who haven’t, at some time or the other, sat to ponder on why a partner who professes to love one so much, does so. We beat ourselves around the head. “Yes, she loves me, but is it because I’m comfortable?” “What if I didn’t own this car, or live in this area of town, or have this great job?” “Would this guy be crazy about me if my father wasn’t the Ambassador to Spain? (For the sake of those who might start calling to know the Whisperer’s connection to the diplomat just mentioned, the Whisperer randomly picked a nice-sounding job. He has no idea if Shrek is the Nigerian Ambassador to that country or Rafiki of “The Lion King”)

We get used to being admired for what we have become, unable to separate this from who we are, and sometimes, uncertainty creeps in, and in quiet moments, when the sounds of the television sets are muted and the car radio is silent, we ask ourselves what people really see in us. The beauty queen who has a host of admirers and tells her partner he should thank his lucky stars he has her, lives a life that some would term superficial. The Whisperer personally thinks good-looks are accidental; there are millions of very good looking people everywhere. It takes no skill, industry or brain-work to be born good-looking. What will often separate one from the rest of the pack is the power of the human mind and its level of development. We were at a surprise birthday party for a Nigerian television show-host when the Whisperer struck up a conversation with a ravishingly beautiful ex-beauty queen (It wasn’t Agbani Darego. That female can’t put a foot wrong in my opinion)

So this beauty queen and I got talking and the long and short of it was that she expected her husband or future partner, whoever the fellow would turn out to be, to take care of all her needs. She didn’t expect to ever work (or play, if you’re a dramatist) She was taken aback when I insisted both partners in a relationship should contribute to the home no matter how imbalanced the contributions are. It was apparent she had visions of lounging on couches fanning freshly painted, manicured fingernails for the rest of her life. She’s probably found someone to meet her needs, men are like that.

That original member of the Beatles, Paul McCartney, felt he had found true love again after his first wife and best friend, Linda died. He married the ex-beauty queen, who was meant to fill up the space his first wife left, but soon after, they had a fall out, and the new Mrs McCartney went to court to ask for a very large lump of his money and a few houses of his, to boot. I have no intention of causing Mr. McCartney’s former wife or her admirers any pain, but it has probably crossed the minds of observers that Sir Paul’s money might have been an underlying reason (no matter how minor) for that marriage. Those who make prospective partners sign pre-nuptial agreements might insist they have a defence in this case.

This brings us back to our subjective definitions of love. Do our partners love us for who we are, for who we’ve become or for our potential? Do they love us for our family background or for our ability to propel them on the paths they have chosen to walk on through life? On the other hand, aren’t these external things; our potential, jobs, careers and vocations, financial clout, family pedigree an essential part of who we are? Can we separate these elements from our persons?

“Love me for who I am”, many of us like to say. Don’t love me for material gain or my ability to promote your standing in society. How do you perform this surgical operation, the separation of a man from what he has become. A father grits his teeth and with shoes and clothes practically falling apart, sends his child to one of the best schools in the world. That education becomes an integral part of the person you are, inseparable, and some people will love you for it (and for that smooth accent they have difficulty in placing when you talk)

Realists will argue that people must love you for something! They will say love cannot exist in a vacuum and they might have a good point. If people will love one person for his or her ability to sing, why can’t they love another because of that person’s ability to earn money? In this area of ‘love’, there is no black or white.

I knew of a young man once, who would shake his head from time to time and say he was glad he was not of wealthy stock because the scions from great homes and families would never be able to tell if their partners truly cared for them. The problem he had was the possibility the love shown might be based on more earthly things by the more pragmatic suitor. When I pointed out to him that his own success with the ladies might just be because he appeared to have great potential to become a financial success in the future, he was struck dumb for a short while.

At any time, people are caring for each other for a variance of reasons. There has to be something. An “I just love him” does not suffice to make a relationship. Bill Clinton told his wife at their first meeting he was going to become the President of the United States. That kind of confidence was great incentive to love the smooth-talking law student. He did become President which should make us commend Hilary Clinton’s ability to decipher nonsense from straight talk. I mean, how many people announce they are going to become President? Everyone has done that at least once.

As an aside, I’m going to build the African version of 20th Century Fox and Paramount Pictures. Love me now to avoid the rush.

2009-02-24T06:03:00.001-08:00

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

of February 22, 2009

THE LIMITATIONS OF THE WHISPERER

I parked my bike at a petrol station a while back, waiting to meet up with the dulcet-toned Kaka, the female voice in D banj’s smash hit, ‘Fall in love’. It was getting late and I looked out again and again at the major road that passed in front of the station. And then my phone rang, it was her and she was already there but couldn’t see me. I looked around, saw her and waved, and she began to walk towards me.

I ride a rather large motorcycle, a Suzuki 750cc called a ‘power bike’ by the everyday man on the streets. It’s a wild beast, and when riding, you can feel it pulsing, barely restrained from tossing you into the nearest gully. In the very early days of riding (I was one of those foolhardy enough to buy a bike before learning to ride), it threw me into a couple of walls; I bruised a few ribs, injured a forearm, damaged a shin, had a few other ‘minor’ abrasions and many escapes from being maimed. I thereafter, learnt the wisdom of wearing protective gear. You know the sort that makes you think Spider Man just sped past; a proper helmet, not the paint-buckets that some commercial riders place on their heads, black leather gloves with hard plastic etched on their knuckles, a jacket with protection over the chest area, the elbows, the forearms, the shoulders, the spinal cord area; and to cap it all, shin/knee guards, just in case I had an uncontrollable urge to smash my knees into the tarmac.

That night, as I waited for Kaka, I was decked out in the full ‘combat’ gear I just described, a sight to put the fear of God into little children. Our eyes met and she began to walk towards me, smiling and waving as she came. I noticed another female walking rapidly behind her and gesticulating, trying to catch up. ‘Old school friend’, I thought, ‘and Kaka hasn’t noticed.’

Kaka reached me with a smile and said hello and right behind her was her ‘friend’. I showed Kaka the female trying to catch her attention, a female about five feet and three inches tall, dark skinned, passable in the looks department and Kaka turned but showed no recognition. “I’m Shadé”, our new acquaintance said to Kaka, “and I want to get to know you”. I watched in amazement; it was dark, a time when people were hurrying to the security of their homes, there I was, seated like the angel of death in all that gear and this female standing about two feet away, was talking to Kaka as if I was invisible. “I saw you on the road”, she said, “and I liked your hips”. I swear that was what she said. Kaka and I were struck dumb. The girl continued, “Don’t embarrass me; I just want to get to know you. All I want is your number”. Kaka finally found the words to answer, “But I don’t know you”, however our strange guest was undeterred. “It doesn’t matter, we can be friends”. Kaka said, “I’m with someone here”, pointing at me and our new friend replied, “Him?” I knew I had to be in the presence of an alien. I mean, who goes ‘Him?’ when someone points out you’re intruding on a private meeting. This girl didn’t even bat an eye-lid at what I felt was my imposing presence. She acted as if I was a part of the scenery, just an extension of the filling station’s gate or some insignificant speck.

I thought it was time to play the alpha-male part and I addressed our intruder. “Hello, you can see she’s with me.” The rabid girl looked at me and fearlessly asked, “You?” She looked again at Kaka, “Don’t embarrass me, just give me your number”. This conversation was carried out in normal tones as if she was asking what the time of day was. I didn’t know what to feel; anger, annoyance, amusement or worry. One thing I knew however was this girl couldn’t be in complete control of her senses. There had been some compulsion, a driving force that had made her continue to pursue Kaka even though she could tell that her quarry was meeting with someone else. I don’t know how many girls would cross four major lanes at night to search out someone of their own gender and then pointedly ignore the fact that their attention was unwelcome.

I knew it was time to leave so I told Kaka to ignore her. Our new friend stood, slightly embarrassed, and then made her way out of the station. We stood shell-shocked, Kaka and I, and slightly spooked, there haven’t been many moments in my life much weirder than that.

I am the Girl Whisperer, a legend in matters concerning females (let those who will bay at the moon in annoyance at that pronouncement feel free to do so) but that was the first time I would see female on female action at such close quarters. Maybe my Whispering abilities on gender-related issues is limited to those between men and women. My circuits seem to crash when a girl decides another has taken her fancy.

There have been many times I have stood beside good-looking females (Eat your hearts out, I know many of them) and members of my own gender have cast longing glances at them. These men have given looks of frank admiration, smirks, leers, winks and even lustful looks but no one has ever walked up as I stood, completely ignored me and tried to start a ‘friendship’ with the person I was with, not caring who or what the person was to me. It took a female who apparently was in heat, to give me perspective and remind me that there is another side, a side we rarely get to see but which exists nonetheless.

There’s no art to seeing the mind’s construction in the eye, Mr. Shakespeare said.

I agree.

2009-02-24T05:47:00.000-08:00

Theatre@Terra presents 'Prison Chronicles', the story of a country...and its people...

Starring AMAA Award Winner Sam-Uche Anyamele, Future Award Nominee Nkiruka J. Osammor, Gbenga Adekanmbi, Sola Roberts Iwaotan, Olarotimi Michael Fakunle and Precious Anyanwu-Marcous.

Every Sunday in March 2009 at 3pm and 6pm

Written and Directed by Wole Oguntokun

2009-02-18T07:04:00.000-08:00

The Girl Whisperer

as published in the Sunday Guardian

of February 15 2009

An Open Letter To Ariyike

You and I met under the strangest circumstances. There had been a strong possibility that you would not be there that day, and we would have missed each other, like ships that pass in the night. Your name would have been mentioned by your friends as an aside, and I wouldn’t have given it a second thought, not knowing the beauty that was in your heart and the graciousness of your person, never finding out that you and I were truly meant to meet.
I do not believe in coincidences, Ariyike. I do not believe it is accidental that you wake up to think of a fellow one morning, and then as you step out of your house, there he is, way down the street, walking towards you, waving. Some things are just meant to be. You and I were meant to meet and to enrich each other’s lives through the beauty of our acquaintance.
Your eyes were the first things I saw that day at dusk, warm and friendly, laughing eyes, cheerful eyes. You stood and took in the unfamiliar landmarks, and as you looked at the newness of it all, I looked at you. I stood, bemused for a few seconds after I met you, for who is it, that has ever seen true magic and not stood in awe?
And then gradually, I got to know you better and understood that there was a great heart to go with that lovely person, and that heart had been through great pain before, but had recovered, had regained strength and still dared to look life full in the face. You are a curious mix of suavity and naivety; in one moment, seeming to have great insight into the most complicated issues in the world and in another, almost childlike in your vulnerability. From the first few moments I heard you speak, I wanted to stretch my hands out, hold you close and protect you from the troubles of the world. I still hear your voice in the mornings, your eagerness to start the day, your enthusiasm and your purpose. I can still feel your charm as we set out for the day, on another journey, hoping, believing that only goodness will come out of our endeavours.
I hear the contentment in your voice in the evenings, the satisfaction you would show at having had a fulfilling day, of meeting your objectives and goals.
There are differences between us, Ariyike, for there are no two people born of women that are in perfect tandem, but even at the same time our similarities and shared outlooks are striking.
You are who you are, confident in your personality and your background, as even I am, but there is a meeting point for us both, and that place is one we found easily; a place where there is no lack of ease, where the sun shines gently on the lovely flowers in vast fields and where we can sit and talk and think and muse for hours on end, unafraid that life might throw us a curve ball. You have shown me the truth in the saying that there is beauty in this world, just by your very existence.
The world can be a complicated place, a place where terrible things happen, where there are no rules of fairness and where pain comes easily to the undeserving. This may be true but I ask you one thing. Do not forget me, Ariyike, no matter how far you go, no matter how many rivers you cross. Do not remove my thoughts from your heart no matter how many mountains you climb or hilltops you descend from. Remember the wonderful moments, the few snatched moments where you and I , both, would both sit and reflect. When you walk the sun-bleached corridors of the world, remember he whom you laughed with as you sought the shade then. And in the days when the sun will set early and you will walk on those dark, grey and lonely roads, head down to protect yourself from the biting cold and you pass the quiet streets lit with the soft yellow glow from overhead lamps, give thought to him, that laughed and sang by your side, and sometimes touched your soft hair in very quiet moments.
I will remember you no matter where fate takes me or the winds of time blow my ship’s sail towards. I will remember the beauty of your heart, the wondrous workings of your mind, your kindness and the greatness which accompanied you like a halo.
In our march through life, you will meet other people as I will. Promise me, that you will create a place for me in your heart that no one else can take. Keep a small place for me there, a place you can go to, when the dark storm clouds gather and you will be absolutely sure of shelter and safety. Promise you will remember me when the skies are grey and when the sun breaks through.
When my footsteps are heavy on the roads I must walk on here, I will bring up my sweet memories of you, smile a little to myself and walk with a much lighter step. In the bleakest situations, I will remember I have you, Ariyike, I will remember I have sat and communed with you, I will remember I have made you laugh and no one, no circumstances, will ever be able to take that from me.

2009-02-16T03:09:00.000-08:00

2009 ANA LITERARY PRIZES: CALL FOR ENTRIES

Nigerian writers, at home and abroad, willing to enter their new works for the Annual Literary Prizes of the Association of Nigerian Authors (ANA) may do so now.

Interested creative writers should send six copies (6) of their entries (specifying the category being entered for) alongside a covering letter to the General Secretary, Association of Nigerian Authors, Suite 67, National Theater Complex, Iganmu Lagos. The entries which can be for any of the following categories must not have been entered before and must have been published between 2008 and 2009:

ANA/Cadbury Prize for Poetry $1000
(Published works only)

ANA/NDDC Flora Nwapa Prize for Women Writing N100,000
(Published works only)

ANA/NDDC Gabriel Okara Prize for Poetry N100,000
(Published & unpublished works)

ANA/NDDC J. P. Clark Prize for Drama N100,000
(Published & unpublished works)

ANA/NDDC Ken Saro Wiwa Prize for Prose N100,000
(Published &unpublished works)

ANA/Chevron Prose Prize on environmental issues N100,000
(Published works only)

ANA/Jacaranda Prize for Prose Fiction N50,000
(Published works only)

ANA/Funtime Prize for Children’s Literature (prose)
(unpublished works only, Ages 8-15) N150,000
Winning entry to be published by sponsor (Funtime Publications ) with a sign on fee of N250,000

ANA/Atiku Abubakar Prize for Children’s Literature N100,000
(Published works and picture books only; Ages 0-7)

ANA/Lantern Books Prize for Children’s Fiction N100,000
(Unpublished works only, Ages 8 - 15)
Winning entry to be published by Lantern Books

ANA/JAMES ENE HENSHAW PRIZE FOR PLAYWRITING(unpublished playscripts only)N100,000.
Playwright of winning entry to work with an experienced director for the production of the play.

ANA/NECO Teen Author Prize (prose) N100,000
(Published & unpublished works)

See below for specific guidelines

ANA/Mazariyya Teen Author Prize (poetry) N50,000
(Published & unpublished works)

See below for specific guidelines

GUIDELINES FOR TEEN AUTHOR PRIZES

1. Entrants must be students in any secondary school in Nigeria

2. Entries must be a collection or a single story of between 25 – 40 pages for prose, or between 25 – 40 poems for poetry.

3. Illustration (optional).

4. Accompanying documents are:

(i)Letter of identification from school principals on letter headed papers bearing name, signature and stamp with the entrants’ two passport photographs, name, school, age (attach birth certificate) (II)entrants admission letters; (III)current cumulative record of entrants’ academic performance (Junior or Secondary School); (IV)letter of consent from parents; (V)entrants’ email addresses and phone contacts.

5. Unpublished entries (in six copies) should be properly bound.

Deadline for the receipt of all entries for the 2009 ANA Literary Prizes is Teusday 31st March 2009. A shortlist will be announced in the first week of October, 2009. Winners of the prizes will be announced at the Awards Dinner in Minna, Niger State during the 28th International Annual Convention of ANA in October ,2009.

DENJA ABDULLAHI

General Secretary

ANA
26th January,2009.

2009-02-13T23:20:00.000-08:00

laspapi is looking for material to continue writing the Penile Monologues (A working title)...

Any males (or females) with issues out there? (Excuse the Pun).

Please send mail to laspapi@yahoo.com

2009-02-13T21:52:00.000-08:00

25 Random Things About Me.

(Was tagged on Facebook by Peju Alatishe. Thought I'd put it up here as well)

1. I don't drink tea or coffee or take custard, Quaker oats, macaroni, spaghetti.

2. I hate to carry long conversations in the mornings.

3. I'm a borderline tv/cinema addict.

4. I'll always read comics, I have a PS3 in my office.

5. EVERYTHING you really need to know, you learnt by age 12

6. I never smoked or drank.

7. Your blood are not those you are related to but those you would shed your blood for.

8. There is no one who knows what love is.

9. The world is full of talented, homeless people. Consistency is the key.

10. You'll succeed in what you're passionate about.

11. I have selective amnesia concerning sad things.

12. I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself.A bird will drop frozen dead from its bough without ever having felt sorry for itself - D.H. Lawrence.

13. I love history.

14. Amazing things happen sometimes which make me feel I was predestinated for some things (Hitler must have felt the same)

15. As a child, I wondered why people weren't all made of shiny steel so they didn't have to suffer pain or die terrible deaths.

16. As an adult, I'm still puzzled.

17. Sometimes I wake up and without forethought tell myself I will cease talking to someone (Some unconscious computing?)

18. There is no such thing as spontaneous combustion. The underbrush was on fire all the while.

19. I wept like a child when I heard Rashidi Thanni, my friend from childhood who roamed the streets alongside me on dusty feet had died.

20. National Geographic and the History Channel are dangerous to the thinking Christian.

21. You're dead if you take life too seriously.

22. I'd like to retire to a comfortable, spacious house, with a grassy frontage, lots of books, a well-stocked fridge, soft music and a large tv.

23. Sometimes I buy stuff from people because I feel sorry for them.

24. My default setting is not to give beggars money.

25. The world has many good people. Sometimes you have to remind them of who they really are.

2009-02-11T02:47:00.000-08:00

The Empire Strikes Back

I'd wondered for eons how people in Europe and America get scammed by some of the stupid scenarios painted by advance-fee fraudsters. But finally, I wandered onto nneoma's blog and read of a 'victim' who scammed the scammer.

Read the hilarious (and long) story here.

The picture's of the 419er, 'Joe Eboh', who met his match in an English man.

2009-02-09T03:45:00.000-08:00

Change-a-Life Foundation Launch

Lagos--February 6, 2009 -- The Change-A-Life project in partnership with the Lagos State Government has announced its plans to become formally institutionalized as Change-A-Life Foundation. The event will be televised live on Nigeria Television Authority (NTA) on February 21, 2009 between 7pm -9pm.

The project, which is championed by Ms. Funmi Iyanda, began in 2002 with the support of the former governor of Lagos State Asiwaju Bola Ahmed Tinubu. Sixty-eight people were awarded grants of N10,000 each for micro-businesses and educational projects.

Henceforth, Change-A-Life has been intervening in the lives of people when they need it most. One of the original beneficiaries of the scheme Ms. Sekinat Ayeyemi is now the current project co-coordinator. She says that “Change-A-Life is about people, regardless of gender, ethnicity or religion. It’s about changing the face of humanity one person at a time.”

With the continued assistance of the Lagos State Government, the project has evolved into a family support scheme for exceptional but indigent young people who come from one-parent homes. Over the years, Change-A-Life has affected 150 children and over 3000 people with its scholarship and health care support services.

Speaking about her motivation for the project Ms. Iyanda remarked “we were just doing what we thought was right at the time--helping hardworking people who just needed a hand—it is really about human dignity.”

After six years of operating as an arm of New Dawn with Funmi Iyanda, Change-A-Life, is being launched as a full-fledged organization able to accommodate more deserving youth and families with exceptional potential.

The Lagos State Government in partnering with Change-A-Life continues to show its support and commitment to the less privileged in the state.

Change-A-Life calls on all Nigerians to support the project by volunteering their time, effort and financial contributions. “We are asking everyone to get involved, it takes only one person to change a life.”

For further information please contact

Eniola Harrison
Phone: 08057710212
Email: eniola.harrison@gmail.com

2009-02-05T20:28:00.000-08:00

laspapi was made a consultant to the British Council and the U.K.'s National Arts Theatre. It's in anticipation of the upcoming run of Wole Soyinka's Death and the King's Horseman. The play will be produced for a mimimum of three months in England, starting April.

Since Monday the 2nd of February, some members of the crew and I have been to Abeokuta (2ce), Ibadan, Oyo town and Badagry. We returned to Lagos at the end of each day.

The crew's met with Professor Soyinka in his Abeokuta home, shopped for enough clothes and props for the show to open a well-stocked store and generally learned much more about the Oyo (Yoruba) culture and the play itself.

I'm looking forward to the production. In the top picture, the London-based Nigerian choreographer, Peter Badejo (O.B.E) who's part of the show discusses with the director of the production, Rufus Norris, and Sabine LeMaitre.

In bottom picture, seated from left, Katrina Lindsay, production designer and 2008 Tony-Award winner of best costume designer for her work in Les Liaisons Dangereuses, Olamipo Bello of the British Council, laspapi and Sabine LeMaitre try out their new hats purchased on the streets of Abeokuta

2009-01-30T06:48:00.001-08:00

THE DECONSTRUCTION OF ‘JENIFA’

A REVIEW OF FUNKE AKINDELE'S MOVIE

by Wole Oguntokun

AS PUBLISHED BY THE GUARDIAN OF FRIDAY JANUARY 30, 2009

There are no never-seen-before plots or sub-plots in the movie, Jénífà, no twists and turns that are unprecedented, yet the producer, Funke Akindele, succeeds in showing the truth of the adage that “Originality does not consist of saying what no one has said before, but in saying exactly what you want to say”. Through the protagonist, Jénífà whose name is a corruption of the Anglo-Saxon “Jennifer”, the movie succeeds in meandering through a potent mine-field of well-worn clichés and easily-recognizable situations, ending up as a box-office success, the kind of which has not been seen in Nigeria in recent times.

The movie in its two parts as is the weird way of all Nigerian movies now, tells the tale of a village bumpkin, Suliat, confident in her mastery of her hometown, Aiyetoro, until she is admitted into a University in the city of Lagos. Suliat’s ego is crushed time after time as a new student who discovers her brash ways are considered uncouth and vulgar by the more ‘refined’ city girls. She is adopted by three girls on campus, Ronke Odusanya who plays ‘Becky’, Mosunmola Filani (Tracy) and Iyabo Ojo (Franca). These three musketeers play their roles of opportunistic harpies to the hilt, and Suliat rapidly loses the freshness of a village beauty, evolving into a hardened undergraduate always looking for an angle.

With an array of mostly girl-actors, the cameras range across a university campus and into the city with the total number of actors and extras at about one hundred and five. This kind of numbers are peculiar to the Yoruba film industry, which is alive with alliances and collaborations ensuring that entire groups and caucuses back each other up in casting and technical matters if and when the need arises. There is a pecking order in this industry with the younger ones playing as extras until their own time and ‘freedom’ comes.

The acting sometimes bordering on the farcical, has many fine points, at least of the main actors, with the lead actor, Funke Akindele, apparently following in the footsteps of actors like the British-born Sacha Baron Cohen who studied to create and become the sometimes-vulgar but always very funny character, Ali G, and the equally funny but bumbling character known as ‘Borat’. Funke Akindele, who in real life is a smooth-talking graduate of the University of Lagos, slid well into the persona of ‘Suliat’ a.k.a. Jénífà, showing there had been back-ground work done. Her supporting actors, Ronke Odusanya, Mosunmola Filani and Iyabo Ojo match her in their portrayal of girls in a desperate quest for social relevance and financial security. Kola Olaiya and Tola Oladokun who played Sulia’s parents were well-cast with Kola Olaiya performing superbly as her father. If there ever was anyone born to a role, it must be Eniola Badmus as ‘Gbogbo Big Girl’ (translated roughly as ‘The embodiment of all big-girls’). Badmus, whose presence commands respect on the screen, and not only because she has more weight than the average female, plays a female-pimp that holds the viewer spell-bound with her self-assurance as the Lord of all she surveys on campus. Since Badmus’ performance, the term ‘gbogbo big girl’ has become common parlance in Nigeria.

Giants from Yoruba filmdom were there to lend a steely edge to a movie that might have been considered very light in their absence, with Jide Kosoko, Bayo Salami, Yinka Quadri and Yomi Fash-Lanso weighing in and making it a well-rounded cast. Other noticeable roles are played by Sola Asadeko as the wayward ‘Tutu’ and Honey Ikemefuna as ‘Bobo Ibo’.

Technically, the camera angles and shots are basic, the movie itself easy on the eye, not requiring any pretensions to high intelligence from its watchers. The translation of the Yoruba idioms and phrases to English on the screen, will not score anywhere near a hundred percent in accuracy, and the editing and sound are not always up to par (there is a spot where the boom microphone shows in the shot). Voice-level discrepancies can be heard from shot to shot, even when it is the same character still talking. However, even Hollywood blockbusters like Russell Crowe's 'Gladiator', had many errors in them visible to the discerning eye, including one where a mound of sand was heaped on the ground like a pillow so Crowe the star, could lie comfortably on the ground during a shot, and another where the engine powering a chariot was visible. All these were left uncut in the final movie.

Effort is taken in ‘Jénífà’ , however to have a fairly acceptable musical score and soundtracks.

‘Jénífà’ the comedy, suddenly takes a cruel turn in its Part 2 (which was most probably shot in the same period as Part 1). The style does not deviate from the age-old Yoruba formula for story-telling, where the story gradually unfolds to a didactic or moralizing climax, an end in which people pay for their sins, and the ‘righteous’ are rewarded for keeping to the straight and narrow.

Becky dies for engaging in anal sex, Franca for going to a party hosted by people who needed human fodder for rituals, Tracy loses her ability to bear children because of too many prior abortions and Jénífà is rewarded with expulsion from school and the HIV for her wayward ways. There is no escaping the wages of sin in this movie.

A lack of fluency in the English Language is an impediment to many Nigerian movies, often manifesting as a stilted delivery of lines and an obvious lack of ease in extended dialogue. The producers of ‘Jénífà’ easily overcome this obstacle by sticking to their first language, Yoruba, and manipulating it as they wish. It is a wonder to see language in flight, dipping and soaring in the mouths of experienced users.

This movie will not pass the test in the Western world on account of technicalities but it has found almost unprecedented acceptance in Nigeria, a kind unseen in recent years. The most obvious questions – Should we allow external standards influence our judgement of work or let the public, whether discerning or otherwise, make its own decisions? Can we set Hollywood or Bollywood as the pass-marks of a good movie here? If the people love a work, is cultural acceptability enough?

The ‘problem’ with the critic always, (this writer inclusive) is that he (or she) always imagines he knows more than the public he writes for, and is the person best suited to tell them what they must like and accept.

At The Future Awards, the entire audience numbering more than two thousand, cutting across social strata and class structure stood to its feet as one and clapped all the way as Funke Akindele mounted the podium to receive the award for Actor of the Year primarily for her role in Jénífà , easily beating the Stage actor, Jennifer Osammor and the Nollywood actor, Mercy Johnson to first place. And that might be the final answer to all our questions. Let the people speak.

2009-01-30T00:42:00.000-08:00

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

of Jan 25 2009

The Butterfly Effect

This phrase refers to the idea that a butterfly’s wings might create tiny changes in the atmosphere that may ultimately alter the path of a tornado or delay, accelerate or even prevent the occurrence of a tornado in a certain location. While the butterfly does not cause the tornado, the flap of its wings is an essential part of the conditions resulting in the tornado. To put this in simple English, a butterfly flaps its wings in faraway Tibet and thereby causes a calamitous event in a little village in the Eastern region of Nigeria.

Cause and Effect. Do all our actions, no matter how insignificant, have far-reaching consequences in places we cannot even begin to imagine? Does a simple, nonchalant act have a ripple effect in the years ahead in some far-flung place? A young man has an idea one day after a conversation with a close friend of his. He will leave Kenya, the land of his birth and travel to the United States, he will seek greener pastures, try to make headway in this distant land. Things come together for him and he is able to reach the ‘promised land’. Though he faces initial hardship, he is able to father a son, who grows up, steadily, surely and by the time this son is in his forties, he has become the forty-fourth President of the United States. The tornado that tore across a mighty nation which started with a simple conversation between friends close to fifty years before, on a deserted footpath in a rural part of Kenya. Are you starting to get the picture?

You choose to take a left turn instead of a right and at the end of it; you see the result of a simple, natural act and its consequences. After my ordinary level exams, I decided to start my Advanced Level classes in the same school, Baptist Academy, and on the first day of resumption, I met a bespectacled young man, tooth slightly chipped in front, standing confidently against the wall in front of the Principal’s office. He appeared to be about my age and I later found out he was nine days younger than I was. This was the start of a major friendship, one of the most important of my life, and he played the most pivotal role in the choice of course I would study, law. I had no idea why he chose my school for his advanced levels but whatever led him there was the butterfly that flapped its wings and became the cyclone that hit my life.

While still in your late teens, you are woken by a friend one bright Saturday morning. She tells you she’s been invited to a party and because you have no set plans, decide to accompany her. At the party, you meet this smooth talking young man (and believe me, there are many smooth-talking seventeen year olds) who sweeps you off your feet and into a broom closet. A few weeks later, you suspect something is the matter with you. Your mother, who should really be named after the super-heroine, Hawk-Eye, looks closely at you and informs you with steel in her voice, that you’re pregnant. Are you starting to see the butterfly’s wing’s flapping in slow-motion now? It started with the friend who saw your picture in her photo album that day and decided it would be a good thing for you both to hang out. And then the catastrophe.

There are many simple acts we take for granted, not realising that nature abhors a vacuum and that for every act, there is a reaction, often times unseen but able to cause catastrophe if we are not careful. The student that picks up a book to swot in preparation for exams is creating a sequence that will lead him (or her) to success. The gift of a golf club to Tiger Woods at age two created a phenomenon, a golf player unlike any ever seen in this life.

Oftentimes, we cannot predict what the logical fallout of our actions will be. We have no idea if a simple hello will result in a life-changing situation many continents away but as much as possible, we should walk through life with our eyes wide open. As the Whisperer read somewhere many years ago, “He never wise and safe shall be, who shuts his eyes when he should see”

Your decision to unconditionally love a man who has made it plain you do not mean the same thing to him, is one in which you do not have to go far to see its probable results. You don’t have to be a soothsayer to realise it will only end in heartbreak and for just one of the two parties.

Often, we are a result of our childhood, our upbringing, a totality of the confidence given us by our parents and guardians when we were children or the insecurities they foisted upon us. Through the whole of life, the ripples of the past flow like the beginning of waves at sea, gathering momentum as they force their way to crash against the distant shores which will become our future.

Many of us are products of a loving gesture in our past (or a careless word). There is no word that falls flat, no deed that does not take root and become a stepping stone or an obstacle. I am the result of the many comics I read as a child and believe me when I say I read them all; Buster, Whoopee, Dandy, Tiger, Roy of The Rovers, Marvel Comics, DC Comics, , The War Picture Library, Tarzan and his son, Korak, Battle, Crunch, 2000AD and its fallout, Judge Dredd. Even the female comics, Mandy, Jinty, Tammy went through my hands. I can tell you how exactly the Fantastic Four got their powers, the episode in which Lieutenant Darkie in “Darkie’s Mob” lost his life and his last words, “You have won nothing, Nipponi”. I can tell you Nicholas Cage was no “Ghost Rider”, and Arnold Schwarzenegger no “Conan the Barbarian”. Both films were shams. Toby Maguire as Spiderman is a dubious choice and Stan lee, producer of Marvel Comics will live forever.

Now you get my meaning, the butterfly effect of all the Enid Blyton books I read led to a tornado. Femi Kuti’s life was shaped by his father’s influence. Let’s be determined to make our butterflies flap their wings properly and if by some chance, we have suffered for mistakes of the past, let’s make our minds up to turn these mistakes to our advantage. The Girl Whisperer salutes you.

2009-01-29T23:53:00.000-08:00

100 BEST BLOGS ON AFRICA

Got mail that this blog had been posted in an article on "100 Best Blogs for Learning About Africa"

It doesn't come under Nigerian blogs but under the 'Arts and Culture' segment.

I'm not sure what the parameters were but it feels good to be recognized. I have to return to my conscentious blogging days though. Having to write a thousand-word article for the Guardian weekly takes its toll as well.

2009-01-26T02:26:00.000-08:00

Theatre@Terra presents Sizwe Banzi is Dead, the classic stage play on the universal search for identity. Every Sunday this February at 3pm and 6pm, starring Sunkanmi Adebayo, Rotimi Fakunle and Segun Ogundipe.
Tickets N2000. Venue- Terra Kulture, Tiamiyu Savage St, Victoria Island.

2009-01-22T03:46:00.000-08:00

2009-01-17T08:33:00.000-08:00

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

of January 11, 2009

The Affairs of Men

Mr W. Shakespeare wrote a long while back that “there is a tide in the affairs of men...” When he wrote this in his dramatic work, Julius Caesar, he was talking about life generally and politics specifically. Today, the Whisperer writes of this in relation to the affairs that men and women have outside the relationships they are already committed to.

When I sit to watch CNN or Sky News or their nemesis, Aljazeera, one thing strikes me about all the news they pass on. It is that life’s issues are mainly divided into three main categories; Sex, Politics and Religion. Sex in this case would be all the issues that govern the relationships between men and women and that, is the Whisperer’s business. Politics, in my country and in the developed world as well, is often a charade; subterfuge, disinformation, misinformation, manipulations, you’re either a player or a pawn.

Why do men have affairs? Why is it so difficult for many men to be content with one woman? These questions have intrigued humanity since the beginning of time, from the King who had his eye on the Patriarch, Abraham’s wife, thinking her to be his sister, up till the present date. By the way, and before I go any further, there are many women who are not content with one man and have played the field as well, but we are looking at men today, and we shall keep our focus.

A man has a girl he professes to love and by all accounts, he does love her, being willing to move the world for her sake, yet he is caught in the throes of an affair with another woman. What is the root cause of this? Are men wired differently from women? Is there some kind of faulty (or deliberate) wiring in the DNA circuitry of the hunter/gatherer that compels him to seek mates all the time? Are these urges truly uncontrollable or are many men just base, bordering on bestial with their lack of control?

It is possible that there is a level of social engineering involved in this matter. From childhood, there are very few men who are reprimanded by those with influence over them, for keeping multiple partners. A male adolescent is expected to have many relationships, learning the ability to ‘multitask’ early, and many will grin with pride when they hear of the ‘wonders’ their young male relative is performing. As high school students, we would keep scores, counting how many ‘female’ representatives we had in schools around the state and country. At this time, it was highly unusual to have any form of physical intimacy, but the seeds of men playing the field without remorse were already being sown. As a fifteen year old, my mother would look speculatively at me and tell my much older sisters to my hearing that I would be a success with the ladies. Even back then, I already knew she wasn’t talking about just me and one special person. It was an invitation to hit the ground running when I came of age and I did. In some way, as with many men, there had been some kind of indoctrination. On the other hand, there are very few mothers who can laugh at the idea of a female child having multiple relationships.

Grown men have been known to have relationships with their maids, their au pairs, their friends, strangers met at clubs even though there is someone very special in their lives. It is not a shock to many people to be told that a man was caught with a woman different from the one he professed to be smitten with, and indeed, there are many women who would shrug and not give it much thought if told their man was caught ‘delicto flagrante’. The main concern of many women would be, ‘is he still in love with me?’, and ‘is he going to come back to me?’

Being privy to information given to me by others, the fact that sometimes two people can stand in a room like strangers and no one will be any the wiser that they had been intimate a month or a year before, fills me with wonder and assures me that there are people who get away with murder all over the world and we all have to be careful.

The chances are almost even, that would be one in every two, that a man will at some point look at another woman beyond simple admiration (This is the point when you lower this newspaper and contemplate your partner across the room) Unfortunately, and like the good Mr Shakespeare also wrote, there is no art to seeing the mind’s construction in the eye. You can’t tell who has a propensity to flit and float by just looking. As in all things, the taste of the pudding is in the eating.

Can spirituality help a man ‘calm’ down? Can faith that tells of a world governed by a higher power reduce the anarchic tendencies of some men? This question is asked on behalf of the many that must be thinking a man found in a church or mosque or some other faith must be different. Faith often encourages self-development and there is a probability that the same way medical doctors say faith can influence physical and mental healing, it can harness emotional wildness too though it is not every man of faith that has full control over his senses. However, for those who will not be using spirituality as a parameter for choice, there are self-possessed men all over the world too who understand the need for a man to have control and may be relied upon. My last word on this? Go with your gut feeling, your unction, your heart, (your head too, love must never be blind) in choosing your man and then keep your fingers crossed and hold on tight.

As an aside, I was watching ‘Saturday Night Live’ a few days ago and saw the host for that episode was Anne Hathaway, the beautiful, beautiful star of ‘The Devil Wears Prada’ and a few other movies. She joked in the opening that she had found a new boyfriend on the internet, a Nigerian ‘prince’ whom she loved very much and who was so caring that within a week of meeting her, he had asked for her social security number. She called him Prince Ochachuko Etete or something equally ridiculous and also said to show her love, she had sent a hundred thousand dollars to him. The audience laughed long and hard at the joke and I had to as well for the buffoons who fill the World Wide Web with insane letters have given us all a bad name. But then I thought, ‘Anne, how little you know. We are beautiful people, intelligent, smooth-talking and charismatic (The Whisperer uses himself as an example) and the vast majority of us do not practice advance fee fraud. The only thing we will steal from you is your heart if you ever have the privilege of getting to know us.

Someday, I’ll teach Ms Hathaway about the Nigerian man and tell you how it went, trust the Whisperer on this, but in the interim, make wise decisions about your choice of men. It’s your life and you must have the last say.

2009-01-06T15:23:00.000-08:00

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

of Jan 4, 2009

AN AFRICAN NEW YEAR

It’s just a few hours into this New Year and the Whisperer like the rest of the world believes it will be one that brings many beautiful things along with it. More than a decade ago, a friend, Dejo Fabolude’, wrote a poem titled an ‘An African Christmas’ and asked in it, “why dream we of Rudolph’s red nose...and fireside repose”, all the trappings of an English Christmas.

For me as a child, the Christmas season and the coming New Year were some of the nicest periods in my life. There was the quietness that pervaded at that period, the hustle and bustle of the city greatly reduced, and the goodwill you could actually ‘feel’ as you walked past or met with complete strangers. It was Christmas and the world was at peace. There were the greeting cards sent to families and friends everywhere, greeting cards with silvery glintz that caught the light and which you could feel if you rubbed a finger down the cover of the card. These things made the life of a child very pleasant. These cards held pictures of ‘Peter and Jane’ families at dinner, the dog asleep in front of the lit fireplace, snow heaped on the rooftops and on the roads, a warm glow from the street lamps with the yellow lights that drew arcs on the quiet roads, a warm glow that conditioned us to believe it was a time when nothing could go wrong. And nothing ever did. Christmas was magical for this child that would become the Whisperer. The air always smelt different at Christmas, cleaner, crisper or maybe it was just the fact that there were lesser cars in the city and the harmattan winds were at work. There were no cares and absolutely no fears, every child at that time knew he would live forever.

I have never seen a reindeer in real life, never met a white Santa Claus, never met actual elves or been to the North Pole but the peace that Christmas brings should be one encouraged to stay through the year. I am not entering into debate with those who say the Christ was actually born in September or March or some other month and therefore should not be celebrated in December. Those things mean little to me. I speak of the ‘spirit’ that flows through neighbours and strangers at that time and the hope that all have that the future will bring much better things.

However, even with all the beauty that follows the ‘greeting card’ Christmas, there is such a thing as an African side to it. The hustle and bustle that causes insensitivity is greatly lessened in this period and people once again allow their true selves to come to the surface. People are treated with compassion and the less-affluent are sought out and assisted. It’s a great time to be alive. The role of the communal spirit in the yuletide season in Africa is a very significant one, it’s a time when you may get help from the most unlikely places, when friendships are made stronger and love thrives.

What does the future hold for those in love or those who seek love? There are no sure answers to this, no time-tested methods that will guaranty life-long happiness; however, there are basic ways to avoid pitfalls. The first rule in your relationship in this New Year is not to operate under the delusion that someone else will ‘complete’ you. If you are an incomplete structure, you have no business allowing other people to inhabit your premises until you’re ‘safe’ to live in. There is no one person that can complete another human being, they can add value to your life as a person, bring great happiness to you, but your joy and sense of self-worth must come from within. The Whisperer is aware that there are people who go around, believing their next relationship will somehow transform them as persons and make their lives wonderful. There is no such thing, and all you do is prove a maxim that “It is every man’s inalienable right, the right to deceive yourself. No one can take it from you”. People who go around seeking their completion in others do disservice to themselves and the persons they end up weighing down. It is a truly developed person that should be in a serious relationship. In that case, the other party is able to benefit from the union. It’s quite simple, ‘be a radiator, not a drain’. When we go searching for the ‘missing part’ of us in others, we end up with more missing parts. A great part of life is about self-development and there is no Eastern mysticism in that statement. Develop yourself; make yourself a more attractive person, emotionally and mentally and the cards will fall in place for you.

Do not imagine also, that finding someone who’s right for you means the ‘work’ is over. As a matter of fact, that’s the point it’s just started. A relationship is a journey, not a destination and there are few things as difficult to synchronise as two people who come from different backgrounds and psychological make-ups. Even having a relationship with a night-owl if you are a ‘morning person’ can be nerve-racking and put strain on a relationship, talk little of someone you have differing issues with concerning finances, the position of the extended family in your lives and other life-threatening matters. A relationship must commence with both parties (the Whisperer is conservative and imagines there will be only two people involved) purposing they will work hard to make it right. Anyone who says relationships are a breeze hasn’t been in one yet.

Is there such a thing as the perfect mate? Is there someone so genetically modified for you that you will never be all-together until you are with this one person? I choose to think that there is no one person and the billions who have fallen in love with their perfect mates and been heart-broken can attest to this. You can find someone you are genuinely in love with, genuinely compatible with and then you can make it work. But the departure of this person will not end your life. I still haven’t met Nicole Kidman yet I think she and I will get on like a house on fire. There are different things that attract us in different people. The point is to find someone you thing you make good music with, and then hold on...very tightly. Love can be a bumpy ride.

May all your good dreams come to pass in the New Year.

2009-01-01T23:21:00.000-08:00

This New Year, Theatre@Terra presents Wole Soyinka’s ‘Camwood on the Leaves’, directed by Wole Oguntokun, every Sunday in January at Terra Kulture.

3pm & 6pm.

N2000

2008-12-25T12:42:00.000-08:00

Christmas Day in Lagos

A man sleeps in the doorway of a shop; policemen patrol the yaba area; 2 Northerners find simple pleasure in posing for a Christmas day picture.

2008-12-22T19:21:00.000-08:00

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

of December 21, 2008

Zero Tolerance

I’m not certain about the feelings the Governor of Lagos State evokes in the average law-breaker (which used to include half of the citizens of the state). Prior to him, most things went, most laws could be manipulated, could be side-stepped. If you felt like using the Marina as a toilet in broad daylight, in full view of all the expatriates and potential foreign holiday makers we keep trying to make tourists, you could. It was a captivating scenario to behold each morning. Row upon row of men, crouched low and engaged in their morning toilet, cigarette dangling from one corner of the month, rumpled newspaper in hand doubling as a fly-whisk and as toilet paper, but all that has come to an end now. He’s grown flowers there and his commissioner for tourism has placed a large boat at the end of the Marina, which they say is a hotel and restaurant. All of a sudden, there’s a man with an army on the streets, pulling down illegal structures, arresting people for driving down the wrong end of one-way streets, a ‘minor’ offence in previous times and horror of horrors, these law enforcement agents are asking for proof of tax payment. Yes, his internal revenue officials now roam the streets. There are residents of the state who are afraid if they go home for their holidays, they won’t be able to come back because Raji Fashola’s men will be stationed at the borders asking for tax returns. Just as an aside, that’s can’t happen, particularly in a state governed by a lawyer turned politician because there would be fewer acts more xenophobic in the history of Nigeria. Still, those who are afraid won’t be reading this newspaper. However, his ‘armoured’ vehicles proclaim the legend, ‘Zero Tolerance’ and it appears he is determined not to tolerate the nonsense that once reigned supreme in this city.

Personally, I am awed by the determination of this man and even though I am one of the ‘law breakers’ he has forcefully converted (I own a 750 cc Suzuki motorcycle, which you know as ‘Power Bike’ in lay terms), he has forced me to obtain a ‘rider’s card’, some form of licence with a personal registration number that permits me to ride a motorcycle and a ‘road worthiness certificate’ to prove my motorcycle is not a heap of scrap held together by wire. Which brings me to ‘Fashola’s army’ that’s in charge of enforcing these laws. The guys who issued the licence on Lagos Island are okay, but those he has put on the streets to enforce the possession of these things are some of the most clueless people on the face of the planet. They ask for the strangest things, hackney permits, local government stickers on private bikes, just the same way the maniacs from the local government offices used to try to ‘arrest’ you for changing lanes in traffic. I was chased once while I rode down a quiet road by a rabid man in a fluorescent green bib with painted-on words I didn’t bother to try to read, his only identification as a ‘government’ official. Hazy offences, manic enforcers; great laws, disturbed enforcers. The governor needs to add more enlightened men to the ranks of his enforcers.

Zero tolerance- Could you run a relationship with a partner that way? Give no room for mistakes, for errors in judgement? You catch her giving an admiring look to a sculpted guy whose muscles ripple under his shirt and you’re forced to unobtrusively try to hold in your own stomach. Upon your return home, you announce to her, ‘It’s all over. I saw the look that you gave him’. Zero Tolerance. You see she holds your good-looking, rich new friend’s hand for too long after a hand shake and you fiercely whisper into her ear even before the party’s over that it’s not going to continue between you two, because you can’t take her lascivious ways. Zero Tolerance. It’s a good thing relationships aren’t like the government’s laws. If they were, there’d be none left standing. The only way a government can get its business right is to be determined to enforce its laws at whatever cost. Pull down illegally constructed houses (Remember El-Rufai in Abuja), arrest military personnel that beat up a young female for not getting out of the way of their screaming cars on time, and apprehend army officers driving down the wrong end of a one-way street. I saw a picture of Fashola lecturing a sheepish-looking soldier once who had decided to take a shortcut because he was one of the untouchables. Yeah, maybe you could do that before the entrance of Fash The Cash as governor. Fashola’s busy repairing Lagos and he’s raising the money to do so anyhow he can. So all those who used to think obeying laws was only for when holidaying in the cities of Europe should be afraid. Be very afraid.

On the other hand, a personal relationship cannot survive on Zero Tolerance.

You cannot have a relationship in which you are not bending to accommodate your partner. Note that the operative word is ‘bend’ not ‘break’. Human beings differ, one from another, and the one sure thing in life is that your partner will err. You will consider some acts by your ‘dream partner’ as unacceptable and worthy of a relationship review, but you must think again. If you wanted to date the perfect person, you should have made a clone of yourself... or married your sister.

Now you see where I’m going. Sometimes, our rigidity does not allow us fully appreciate the beauty others can add to our lives. If we only give room for the fallibility of human nature, many relationships would be better. It’s often wiser to have done your ‘screening’ of your potential partner well before the relationship starts, and not halfway into the affair when your change to a sudden zero tolerance stance is inexplicable.

Remember, a personal relation is different from that of a government and its recalcitrant citizens. Love really does conquer all. Amor Vincit Omar.

2008-12-22T18:56:00.001-08:00

REDEMPTION CAMP

I drove into the Redemption Camp today, almost a decade after the last time I was there. The changes were enormous, sprawling edifices everywhere and accommodation for church workers and apparently any others the authorities see fit.

The planning is impressive and shows foresight. And it creates the impression of a city within a city, a place with its own government, far away from the anarchy that sweeps across urban centres like Lagos from time to time.

These houses among others, caught my attention but there were many other well-constructed places that weren't as expansive.

Outside the green house which reportedly is the accommodation of the General Over-seer, Pastor Enoch Adeboye, but which is still uninhabited, I noticed a female who appeared deep in prayer or meditation. As I drove back fifteen minutes later, she was still there, still concentrating, lips moving just outside the deserted house and it crossed my mind she was trying to reach her Creator in some way and felt that would be a good place to meet with Him.

And I remembered a story I heard thirteen years ago, of a woman who desperately wanted a baby, and wrote a letter to God. She didn't post it, but waited for a programme she knew Adeboye would attend and then slipped the letter under the door. Her theory- God would be where Adeboye was. Apparently, the letter was delivered because she was reported to have had the baby.

My name is laspapi and I make bold to say there are a number of 'church' leaders I contend are frauds. But I believe Enoch Adejare Adeboye even though I am not a member of his church. And this country would be a better place if there were more like him.

2008-12-18T03:43:00.000-08:00

A DAY IN GIDI 2

Took photos with my phone as I drove down to the office. Top pic shows the only structure left on the formerly crowded and claustrophobic space that once housed the Tejuosho market at Yaba. The 'Iyaloja' or female head of the traders stakes her claim on the new edifice she believes will rise up there again.

Pic 2 is a driving school's vehicle in the Casino Cinema, Yaba, area. Some of the vehicles used for potential drivers are really no different from this forgotten heap.

Pic 3- an alternative means of travel on the busy streets of Lagos. Laspapi owns a bicycle and motorcycle too.

Pic 4- a new approach to advertising Church programmes. This pedestrian acts as a living billboard as hundreds of his church members probably do. I wondered at perspectives and backgrounds as I studied him. I know I would never wear this to advertise a church. But why not? My education? My station in life?

Pic 5- A plastic skeleton on the Ojuelegba road tells of what awaits in its owner's shop.

2008-12-16T04:56:00.000-08:00

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

of December 14

Memories of another Day

I’m sitting up in bed, lap-top open, half-watching the muted television screen showing the Sky News broadcast and my all-time favourite news caster, Eamonn Holmes,a man who seems to exude pleasantness even though I have never met him outside a television tube. Today, my thoughts drift into the distant past and how things used to be. The greatest relationships were those that had no intimacy issues, no sexual undertones, and half of the satisfaction was just being able to say with pride that a certain person was your beau.

I spent a lot of my holidays in the staff quarters of the University of Lagos when I was in my pre and early teen s and so became friends with a lot of the kids growing up there at that time. I also seemed to have massive crushes on all those lovely story-book girls that lived there, and today a smile crosses my lips as my thoughts dwell on each one.

There was Ekaetté who stayed next door to our relatives there and was my first ‘girlfriend’. The manner of our ‘love’ for this then-twelve year old was such that I would get full like a person who’d just had a large meal just from watching her walk past. There were the sisters, Yemi and lola (Yemi, I hear, lives somewhere on the island now) Yinka, Mopé who became an engineer and the lovely iféchukwu and her equally beautiful sisters. Iféchukwu’s father would answer the phone in a deep bass voice, announcing his surname in two syllables. It took a secure youth not to hang up the phone after that voice. There were the sisters, Bunmi and Taiwo, Bunmi is a corporate big-shot now according to the newspapers, the snazzy Uzo who didn’t really stay on campus but was a great friend of those who did, and Tola, the student of Queen’s College who was my ‘school mother’. I thought Tola was the most beautiful school-mother in existence. I wonder where she is now and what she’s doing.

Those were the glory days of love, friendship totally without guile and lacking any ulterior motives. For me, those friendships were genuine as were the professions of ‘love’. When I consider the subterfuge and manipulations of ‘grown-up’ love, the plotting and subversions, I long for the days when the grass smelt green and your friend really was one in word and in deed. Now, as in all other areas of life, these kids are scattered across many continents, some bracing for the harmattan winds, and others against the bitter cold of winter. Adulthood is funny, the time when you can make rational decisions for yourself, and more importantly, stand by those decisions. The environments we often create as a result of our adult decisions however are often ones that leave us in the bleak states we are forced to inhabit, states where we are forced to endure a lack of genuine love and friendship. Maybe it really is true then, that everything we needed to learn, we learnt in kindergarten. I cannot call to mind many friendships that are truer than those I found in my teens. It may be that the template is one that is developed at a very young age and as we grow older, our newer experiences make us forget we once knew the magic formula. Now I remember John Borough’s verse- ‘To his sorrow he learnt this truth, you may return to the place of your birth, you cannot return to your youth’.

I recall the problems that video cassette recorders caused by coming in two forms, VHS and Betamax tapes, and how VHS gradually won the war, bit by bit, step by step. And now with a wry smile, I remember that even these are long gone, assigned to the dusty heap of obsolete inventions, replaced by the DVD, and there is now an entire generation that never experienced the VHS.

In the corridors of my mind, I walk across the grassy lawns of the road that was known as Eni Njoku and then renamed Oritshejolomi Thomas. I stroll down the lonely, tree-lined roads that lead past the house of the quiet Orode, and come across that beautiful child known as Tayo, Yinka’s sister. There are many memories on these roads as I walk; the winged termites that would fly against the golden street lamps that illuminated the night streets, the click-clacking of the legs of crabs on tarmac as they came out of the marshy woods and marched down to some nameless destination. I remember watching the James Bond movie, ‘Diamonds are forever’ in the quiet, dark theatres of the University, and the long walk with my cousins back to their home.

One of the greatest things parents can do for their children is to help them have great childhoods through keeping friends that are true. As children, there was little or no wickedness in the things we spoke about and did. Sometimes in my mind now, when I come in contact with road rage, malice, rumour-mongering or some other form of ‘adulthood’, I make myself immune to these external onslaught by creating a shield that is woven out of memory. I remember the times we would sit by the lagoon and look out at the placid waters, and talk and make plans for a future we believed would be ours for the taking. I remember the comic books, ‘Buster’ and ‘Battle’ and ‘Crunch’, ‘Roy of the Rovers’, ‘Tiger’ and ‘2000AD’, and I know I will never stop smiling. Adults must never taint the lives of children by intruding in this period of development, where character is forged.

I may never be able to return, physically, to those great days, but I can sit and reflect and muse on the beauty of days long gone, and promise myself, that my children will have at least as much beauty as I found in my childhood and much more, if the Lord allows.

2008-12-16T04:46:00.000-08:00

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

of December 7, 2008

The Bluffer’s Guide to Romance

Years ago, I came across a series of books on bluffing. There were titles like ‘Bluff your way through journalism’, ‘...through literature’, ‘...through publishing’ and a few others. It struck me then, how many people go through many aspects of life, bluffing and calling bluffs. There are many synonyms for the word, ‘bluff’. They include ‘trick’, ‘con’, ‘fake it’, ‘deceive’, ‘lie’, and ‘pass off’. For the sake of this discussion, we’ll use ‘pass off’ as our alternative to bluffing.

In the Whisperer’s ‘days of thunder’, he pursued a female we’ll call ‘Short Wave’ or SW. He would drive across half the country if she beckoned, totally devoted to all her whims and caprices. This devotion on the Whisperer’s part brought about a remarkable turn of events. SW, the object of the Whisperer’s undivided attention, wasn’t particularly grateful for all the devotion. Time after time, she showed how little weight she attached to the affection she received. Once, after a particularly blatant show of disrespect by SW in which she had been asking after another man she admired in the presence of this writer who-was-not-yet-a-Whisperer, SW turned to him and said, ‘Women don’t like men who are too enthusiastic’. And thus, a phenomenon was born. There is nothing wrong with loving a man or a woman to the death, the problem is ensuring that love and affection is not taken for granted. Thereafter, the Whisperer, a quick learner even then, learnt a life-saving skill and SW learnt from the Whisperer she wasn’t a living goddess after all.

People, as a rule, rarely appreciate what is given to them on a platter and what they do not have to fight or pay a price for. Free tickets to shows are not as well appreciated as tickets paid for. A person who rarely falls ill (the Whisperer is in this category) does not appreciate good health as much as a person who wears the smell of hospital disinfectant like some others do perfume. The person who stays slim no matter what she eats, never fully understanding the joys of this as much as she who has to fight for every kilogram she sheds.

The people you meet on the romantic level and often, in other spheres of life are in some way playing a game with you. If you’re one of those who take life as a tragedy, here’s where your ears begin to emit smoke. But a game it is, no matter how you look at it. The would-be employer who tells you you’re free to answer your ringing phone in a job interview, the boss who wants to see how you react under pressure by not reining in a rude subordinate.

At every point in your life, there are bluffers all around you. The vendor at the market who gives a fantastic price for the product you so desperately need. Your need must never be apparent. And as in all cases of calling a bluff, you must be able to walk away no matter how painful it might be for you.

In romance and love scenarios, there are few people who totally appreciate partners who are so dedicated to them or seem to have no lives outside their partners. You must love your partner, it is true, but you must never forsake building your own life and improving on the things that make you whole, because of another. You, as a person, must be as totally free of hang-ups as much as possible so you can be of benefit to others. ‘He completes me’ is not the stuff of enduring romance.

The Bluffer is the person you meet, who is totally smitten by you upon the first meeting but refuses to show anything. You might be allowed to see a bit of it, but that will just be enough to show the promise of what lies beneath, not reveal that person as one capable of becoming a blubbering idiot because you are in the same room. Bluffers win all the time in issues of romance. When the Whisperer was taking a Masters degree at the University of Lagos, a beautiful undergraduate he had long admired and whom we shall call ‘Thanks-giver’ walked up to him and in the middle of the conversation, uttered the legend, ‘I have no boyfriend’. This was as direct as anything the Whisperer had ever heard. Yet even with the direct admission and ‘green light’ as the more pedestrian like to call it, there was nothing cloying about the Thanks-giver. She was as bright as she was beautiful and she never gave room for her feelings to be abused. You must have the ability to walk away from a bluffer. Not walking away for five or ten days, but walking away for all time if you recognise your feelings are being abused.

The Whisperer totally appreciates Aesop’s fable about the fox that couldn’t reach the delicious-looking grapes on a tree and decided they had to be sour. You must be able to call a bluff, wearing the look of a player in a game of poker. Like the song goes, you must ‘know when to walk away, know when to run’. Or when to hide your thoughts. The Whisperer bought a generator off a very beautiful young woman on Victoria Island very recently, neither having met or spoken before the actual purchase. The first impression was one of startling good looks and he looked at her well (the female form is of great interest to the Whisperer), head to toe, eyebrows to forearms to calves. And then the hood came over the eyes. It must always be standard operating procedure, to bluff, or call one.

Bluffers go far, and you will too, if you don’t wear your heart on your sleeve.

2008-12-03T03:08:00.000-08:00

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

of Nov 30, 2008

The Time Machine

Music is the closest thing we have to time travel. Sometimes, as we walk down a quiet road and hear the soft strains of a song we once knew, we are transported to another dimension, visible to those around us, but mind, heart, spirit are gone elsewhere, to the place where we first heard that song or where it first made its impact.

For me, there are many; there’s the Boys II Men song, ‘End of the Road’, which transports me back to the end of my youth service year in Akwa Ibom State and the young nice girl, Victoria, I knew there. Daughter of a Minister (of the gospel, in this case), she was a delightful person to be friends with. ‘End Of The Road’ was a song played at the farewell party organized for our set of Corp members that were finally leaving the state, a song that played as I danced with Victoria, leaving the world behind.

Oleta Adams’ ‘Get here if you can’ provides one of my saddest memories. It is that of the girl who had to leave me, when she relocated to another continent many years ago. Gabrielle’s ‘Dreams’ reminds me of the same girl, it was a song she loved very much and more than a decade after, I would still rather not listen to these two songs.

There’s the Jim Reeves song, ‘ This world is not my home’, which reminds me of my father on quiet Saturday mornings as I grew up, as I’m sure it reminds half the world of theirs, and ‘The Jamaican Farewell’ which recalls my sister, Bande when I was still a teenager and how she would painstakingly go over every line so I could get it right.

There’s ‘walk on by’ by Dionne Warwick, an all time favourite because it reminds me of one of the most beautiful spirits I ever met, Kemi; truly a sad song, but there was nothing sad about her. I first heard the song at her home and would request for it each time I visited. Years later, I would watch a programme that would declare it the ultimate heart-break song.

Then there is Shaggy’s ‘Angel’, a song that never fails to transport me to Gypsy Hill, home of my friend and brother, Edmund, who stood by me many years ago as a stranger in a strange land.

Today, I am transported back to my first day at the university because I remember two songs, Whitney Houston’s ‘All at once’ and ‘Saving all my Love for you’. It was October, I’d been admitted to study law and resumption was meant to be the next day but I couldn’t wait any longer and boarded transportation from Lagos to ‘Great Ifè’. It was night when I got there and a fellow I met at the disembarkation point in the school informed me that ‘Angola Hall’, home to new students, wouldn’t be open till the next day. He as well as his classmates had to be in school because of their practical classes. This fourth-year student of Agricultural Science, whose name or face I can no longer recall, led me with my large suitcase through the grassy fields of the sports centre, down and out of a little valley that separated Adekunlé Fajuyi Hall from the sports centre, and to the room he and his other colleagues had been stationed in. I wondered at the marvellous architecture as we trudged on, for indeed, Great Ifè is a beautiful school. As we walked past a few people playing and watching a table tennis game, a short lad broke away and danced around me, laughing at the fact that I was new in school. It was good, clean fun and even though I was very self-conscious, I was glad I was a student of the school. I never let a year go past after that, without ambushing self-conscious new students and making fun of them. Rites of passage.

That night, I sat in the midst of my new friends, all fourth-year students and watched quietly as they went about their businesses. After a while, I stepped out onto the corridor to stretch my legs and looked up to see Bomá Iruenè, my childhood friend and next door neighbour at my father’s, walking towards me. It was wonderful to see a familiar face in such unfamiliar surroundings. He, now a 2nd year student of International relations, told me he and another childhood friend of ours, Dokun , a 2nd year Political Science student, had ‘occupied’ an empty room (student patois for breaking into a room)and would be there until they could sort out their accommodation for the new year. Along came Dokun and we laughed and talked. We hadn’t seen each other in two to three years before that but we were not strangers. I thanked the fellows that had saved me at the bus-stop and given me the free use of their room and then followed Dokun and Bomá out. They showed me the school and then we went for a meal. Those who knew the ‘new bukateria’ where one could easily get food in those days would know how thickly over-grown the bushes that surrounded it could be after the long holidays. We got lost somewhere in the dark bushes that looked like a horror-movie set; big, burly Dokun shouting, ‘Don’t panic, don’t panic’ at Bomá and then himself, taking off like a hunted buck. We finally made it back to civilization, laughing at ourselves.

That night, as I lay in the dark room on the bed Dokun and Bomá had found for me, I listened to the sounds of the school, other people murmuring as they in turn prepared to lie down, listened to the rhythmic breathing of Dokun and Boma now long asleep and heard the voice of Whitney Houston from the music box in the room, sing quietly the songs, ‘All at once’ and ‘Saving all my love’. It was a new phase in my life, a new beginning, and my first day at University, an end to so many worries, and my heart was full. I still sit quietly when I hear these songs, taken back in time to that new beginning.

I wish you new beginnings that will lift you to higher and safer ground. And I wish you songs that will bring to mind many happy times, and loving people to share those happy times with.

2008-12-03T02:59:00.000-08:00