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A Teacher, Her Girls And A Lifetime Of Excellence
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Iphigenia Efunjoke Coker, first Nigerian principal of Queen's College, Lagos, first Nigerian principal of any Federal government institution, and renowned teacher and trainer of girls turns 80. She shares the story of her glorious life and times as well as her many recipes for succeeding as a teacher
NEVER has altruism been so richly rewarded as in the case of Iphigenia Efunjoke Coker first Nigerian Principal of Queen's College, Lagos. So many years after retirement from active practice of the profession after her heart, her former pupils continue to be an important part of her life. Sample: She is to report at Queens College on October 1st, 2004 at 12 noon for the celebration of her 80th birthday, with no contribution from her or from her biological family. "I have been told that I have nothing to do with the celebration except to be present. My girls have taken me over," she concludes with a proud smile.
"My girls" include four female judges, first female head of NICON Insurance, first female secretary of ECOWAS, doctors, lawyers, bankers, professors, high-flying
business women, top civil servants, captains of industry and many earth-shaking names on the Nigerian socio-political terrain. Beyond the confines of femininity, her former pupils also include respected technocrat and Presidential Aspirant, Olu Falae, Pastor Professor, Moyibi Amoda, retired colonel and dental surgeon, Jimi Oshisanya, retired Air Vice Marshal, Bayo Lawal, retired Air Commodore, Kola Falope, former Managing Director of National Bank, Odunayo Olagundoye, Deputy Director, Federal Radio
Corporation of Nigeria, FRCN, Tunde Ayegbusi, among many others.
How did Coker make her way into such resounding glory? She says; "I have always wanted to be a teacher. I was not interested in money or cars. I was only interested in teaching and training the young ones. When I was asked as a child what title I would like after my name, whether B.Sc. or B.A., I always said what I wanted was just 'teacher', my name, and teacher after it as title. That was all I ever wanted to be.
"I was not interested in going to secondary school or doing school certificate. All i wanted was to go to teacher training college where I thought I would learn Principles of education, methods of teaching, child psychology and all the other things which could make me a good teacher. My first day as a teacher remains one of my happiest days on earth".
Ask Coker what the best profession on earth is and you will get a very predictable answer. Her mother had told her, so many years ago that "teaching is the best job on earth. It carries God's blessings." The daughter now says, " I am sorry for those who take up teaching as a stopgap. Whoever wants to be a teacher must be ready to put everything into it. And the rewards are plentiful, in heaven and also here on earth. One is what I am getting now. The girls are getting ready to have my 80th birthday celebrations. They look after me, because I looked after them when they were young. As a teacher, I worked tirelessly, ready, besides my normal class, to give extra lessons, help small groups and even individuals. I loved teaching so much I wished I didn't have to be paid for it. It was a living as well as a love.
"Your pupils appreciate you, not when you are training and correcting them, but when they are older and understand better. They will then know that you were acting in their best interest. That is when they will love and appreciate you. But if you are a part-time teacher, and you think the children don't understand what they are doing to them now, trading and wasting their time, when they are older, they will understand it, and resent you for it."
One of Coker's recipes for success as a teacher is in the form of a quote, which she often shares with teachers and aspiring teachers. It says:
'Desirest thou the teacher's work?
Ask wisdom from above
It is a work of toil and care
Of patience and of love.'
"You cannot teach without having these qualities", she concludes emphatically.
Recognition of her efforts has also been one of the rewards of her labour of love. In February 1979, she was conferred with a national award: Member of the Order of the Federal Republic, MFR, by the then Head of State, General Olusegun Obasanjo, in appreciation of her immense contribution in the field of education. The award citation described her as "a dedicated teacher, moral tutor and respected educationist, and a pace setter in emancipation of Nigerian womanhood, a woman of unusual talent, who dedicated her career to the service of her nation in the supervision and training of young ones"
Apart from their love and care, many mementoes of gratitude from her pupils still warm her days "To this day, I still have the plaque my girls presented to me when I was leaving Queen's College. It says, 'To us you have been for 14 yrs, mother, teacher, staunch defender. Words too insufficient to express our appreciation.....As you make your graceful exit, here with us you leave behind, memories of all your efforts, indelible footprints on the sands of time' I still have that plaque. It is an important treasure."
Cokie, as she was nicknamed by Queen's College girls in her days as PQC, remains a staunch defender of youths, both male and female. On the general charge of delinquency made against them, she rises up in their defense. "I condemn society's charge of delinquency against them as gross injustice. Nigerian youths are what adults have made them.
"Into what society were these children born?" she asks. "Into a society lacking in discipline, where money, however ill-gotten, is the only essential, all moneyed people sedulously courted: into a society abounding in dishonesty of every kind, lacking in integrity, abounding in robbery, drug-taking, cultism"
Cokie draws on long years of experience as a trainer of youths to declare parental neglect responsible for many of the ills found among Nigerian youths. She says, "Most reprehensible is parental neglect, self-centered parents being interested only in freedom to enjoy themselves. Children are no longer provided with homes, only residences, and as parents are not around to train them, the children bring themselves up as best as they can, with disastrous results. Parents give no rules, and where or when they do, these rules are nullified by lack of enforcement.
"Compounding their crime of abdication of duty, parents overwhelm their children with money, to buy their love, and worse still, plead for a sparing of young wrong-doers, 'temper justice with mercy', they say. Are they aware that this attitude means aiding and abetting or championing criminal tendencies in the future leadership of Nigeria?"
Of the much touted decline in education standards, she says, "I am not really sure about the word decline, because there are areas in which education has improved. Many more subjects are taught now, so there is a wider spread of knowledge. The only problem is that schools don't operate as they should. Many teachers are Naira and Kobo teachers who don't care much about the subjects they teach. They let the children do what they like with little supervision. There is little interest in bringing up children in proper ways. The subjects are many, but not well taught. Teaching has become a part time profession. There are no full time teachers anymore. Teachers are now part-traders, part-teachers. There is no such thing as dedication as we had from our teachers when I was a student, and which we gave our students when I was a teacher. Everything now revolves around money.
" I think it is the general trend. People are more interested in material things. The richer you are the better you are to people. My goal, in my time, was to teach and train. The idea of wealth never entered my head. I focused on teaching and training my pupils. These days, emphasis is now on how wealthy people are. Children also get this from their parents. Parents no longer have time for their children. Children are not looked after at home by parents, or in school by teachers."
. Teachers of today certainly have more than a few lessons to learn from Efunjoke Coker. Far from being a lowly, lack-luster profession, teaching has always given class and panache to Coker. In December 1975, she was one of the thirty leading women in Lagos who hosted Coretta Scot King, wife of American hero, Martin Luther King Jnr. The first Nigerian principal of Queens College, and indeed of any federal government institution in Nigeria says, "PQC was a very important assignment, and I remain very thankful about it. I thought it was a huge responsibility and I showed God gratitude by spending all my time teaching and training the girls. That was all I did. I had little time outside Queen's College."
How was this devotion and dedication to duty married with being a wife and mother? Coker says, "It was very difficult. I was on duty 24 hours. I lost my first son and lost another baby after. I only had Remi for whom I didn't also have much time."
"Apart from her pet subject: education, another sure way of getting Efunjoke Coker's attention is by talking about the city called Lagos. Though of Egba stock, Coker is an 'expatriate Egba', haven been born in Lagos, on Monday, September 29, 1924, at 118, Bamgbose Street. Her father, Bankole Soluade, was one of the sons of Kusimo Soluade, an early teacher of renown, who was baptized Laurenco Rufino. He worked at the Treasury Department of the Secretariat for many years before he resigned to set himself up as an Auctioneer. Her mother, Aina Soluade, a teacher, was the daughter of Senhor Izidro de Souza, a merchant and highly regarded pharmacist. Kunle Akinsemoyin's book, "Who are Lagosians?" quotes Senhor Izidro de Souza's house, 12, Taiwo Street, as where Lagos Catholics used to gather for prayers on Sundays, before the priests came.
The then Efunjoke Soluade, thoroughly bred in Lagos, was a real Lagos girl. She says of Lagos boys and girls of her time, "We were smug. Why not? Lagos and only Lagos was Colony, while the rest of the country was Protectorate. Lagos was the home of the Firsts and Bests in Nigeria: First Secondary Boy's and Girl's schools: CMS Grammar School, 1859 and CMS Girl's School, 1860, first Federal Government Secondary Schools: King's College 1909, Queen's College, 1927. People residing outside Lagos Island, belonging as they did to the Colony, were nevertheless cheekily tagged "ara isoda", meaning "people from across": and boys,- more so than girls,- priding themselves on being better dressed, were ready to poke fun at the less-well-turned-out from outside Lagos. Girls, more modest, silently rejoiced in the sophisticated wardrobe needs supplied by Au Bon Marche and mail orders from England. Lagos provided every known need. Who, then, would not be happy and contented in a setting which boasted the availability of every comfort, every amenity? Lagos, to us, was a paradise, and our pride in her found expression in the song: "Ko ma s'ilu ti a o f' Eko we", Meaning "there is no just land to compare with Lagos"
"Lagos was clean and beautiful. The gutters were clean. Street cleaners swept the streets and scrubbed the gutters so clean one could see right to the bottom. There were waste disposal sheds located at convenient distances from houses. There were incinerators, public toilets and water pumps. Health and sanitation received proper attention. There were sanitary inspectors called wole-wole for individual house inspection, bupa-bupa or health officers who gave mass inoculation or vaccination, maja-maja or dog catchers who rid the streets of stray or unlicensed dogs. Illumination, which was provided by streetlights at night, gave beauty to the Island, in particular to the Marina, while the moonlight gave the Victoria Beach a touch of the unreal, a fantasyland.
"The population was nothing near what we have now. We knew every other person, knew their families and agboles. We were satisfied and contented. Affluence meant little. There were two big families: Darocha and Doherty, and we used to play games wondering which was more wealthy. People were honest as well as industrious. Houses were left unlocked, without undue anxiety. People could walk about at any time of the day or night without molestation. Messengers of banks and commercial houses could be seen carrying money trays with piles of coins arranged in different denominations along Broad Street or Tinubu area without any fear whatsoever."
Despite the glamour and comfort of Lagos, many-a solid character was formed within its gates. Discipline was the watch-word, says Coker
"In Lagos, young girls were not allowed to go out at night after 7 pm. when street lights automatically came on. So wherever we went, we always struggled to be home before the lights went on. When we were older from 16, 18 or 19, we went to parties but had to get back by 9pm. Boys and girls were not allowed to mix. We met at parties and dispersed thereafter. Boyfriends could not visit girls at home. Young boys wrote love letters, which were always written "in the garden of love" and addressed to "the golden key of my heart". They contained a list of the young lady's attributes. I received one, which celebrated my marvelous steppings, elegant clothes and smooth face.
"Our parents placed a lot of emphasis on discipline. Everyone was conscious that good behaviour was expected at all times. Rules were numberless: don't make noise, don't borrow, don't waste, don't lie, don't bring other people's things into the house etc. If you were caught by a family friend or a relative in a misdemeanour in the street, the person had the right to reprove or even to punish you
"We were happy as children. Something was always being celebrated. We had weddings and birthdays. We also used to have wake- keeping when old people died, singing songs which we all knew. These songs were introduced by the saros, as Sierra Leoneans and Gambians were known. The saros were disciplined people. People used to be afraid to live with them. They were a no nonsense people and we respected them. Parents sometimes threatened their children with sending them to live with saros because they were considered firm in discipline."
How was Efunjoke Coker's character moulded? Which individuals contributed to make the fine young lady the woman of character she was to become?
She says, "My mother who had been a teacher, and who, along with my paternal grandfather, who was also a teacher, must have influenced my choice of teaching as a career. Top of mother's precepts were comportment and propriety: sit straight, knees together or cross your legs, walk straight, don't slouch or you will develop a hump, dirty nails and peeping bra or simi proclaim you slovenly. Her other often repeated admonition was 'Count your Blessings.' Don't consider those who you think are better than you, but those who, you know, are worse off, and you will be happy and thankful to God"
"Another great influence was my immediate brother, Jola, who seemed so superior, knowledgeable and wise. I think he hated the sight of me when I was little, until I was 13, when he changed and started taking care of me. Before then, any attempts at getting close to Jola were not only rebuffed, but discouraged by taunts and derision. He made fun of me because i could not speak English at the time and also because I had pock marks on my face from smallpox.
" Growing up days brought no respite from Jola. To him, I had become "long shanks", all arms and legs. But after the transformation, I became the recipient of constant attention and affection. He would engage me in long discussions in which we would exchange information on school activities and other topics of mutual interest. He extended the frontiers of my knowledge with talks on the lives and lifestyles of film stars, information substantially reinforced with gossips and briefs in the weekly 'Film Goer' and other film magazines. He took me on regular visits to the cinema house. Popular film houses in our time were the Rex, the Royal and the Capitol, all on Lagos Island.
"Archbishop Leo Hale Taylor also helped me a great deal when I first became Principal of Queen's College. He knew much about ministry matters which I did not know. If I did anything wrong, or attempted to do anything wrong, he would correct me immediately. On one occasion, while still acting principal of Queen's College, I said, 'As I am now principal' 'No,' he cut in sharply, 'you are not. You are merely acting and must wait until you are made substantive. Then you have the power.' Mentor, confidant, friend, his death left me considerably bereft, but his words continue to live with me and to influence my life; 'Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Get on with it"
And how has Coker been getting on with the 'it' called old age? How does it feel to be 80?
"It does not feel anyhow, only that i feel weaker in my body. That's all. I am happy to be going through the experience. I used to love old people. I looked after my mother who died at 92 and my brother who died at 82. I like the experience of being old. I pray for good health, which I am thankful I have. I have longevity on both sides of my family, except for my father who died at 65, which was rather young for their family. People on both sides of my family live to their 80s and 90s. I have one sister alive who is 88. Old age is not and must not be made synonymous with dowdiness and slovenliness. It is no excuse for letting oneself go. Dignity must be preserved.
"Exercise is very important along with lots of fresh air, good food, including lots of vegetables. I think solid fat is not good for elderly people. I suffer from arthritis, which gives me a number of don'ts; such as alcohol, red meat, citrus fruits, and whole milk. I love African food, such as amala, ewedu, ila, moin moin, fresh fish and nice, fresh palm wine, which is almost impossible to get now.
"My old age is saved from constant contemplation of the distressing situation in the country by some of my old pupils and a few others who call by telephone or in person to check on my welfare.
" I acknowledge, with gratitude, the singular gift of the ability to produce something worthwhile, my autobiography, titled My Life and Times, at an advanced age, that is, very close to that last stage of life so powerfully portrayed in Shakespeare's immortal line: "Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything"
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Ancient Kingdoms, Hills of Yams and a Charming Monster
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The result of a study of 65 countries published in The
New Scientist, a British Magazine, says the happiest
people in the word live in Nigeria. I am not
surprised. I live in Nigeria and I am happy!
With a population ranging between 130 and 150 million,
Nigeria is the most populous country in Africa. One in
every two West Africans is said to be a Nigerian, one
in every four Africans a Nigerian, and one in every
five black persons a Nigerian. Located between the
equator and the Tropic of Cancer, her immediate
neighbours are Niger to the north, Cameroon to the
east, the Atlantic Ocean to the south and Benin to the
west. Nigeria sits on a total land area of 356, 557
square miles, about twice the size of California, and
boasts of 530 miles of coastline.
The people are warm and friendly. There are about 250
tribes and sub-tribes in Nigeria and as many languages
and dialects. The major tribes are the Hausa/Fulani of
the north, the Igbo of the east and the Yoruba of the
west. For ease of communication, the official language
is English. Nigeria was a British colony until 1960.
The climate is even warmer. Temperatures in the south
usually hover around 90 degrees F., while in the
north, it ranges between 60 to 100 degrees F. There
are two main seasons. The rainy season is usually
between March and November. The dry season takes up
the rest of the year, while a little Harmattan creeps
in usually between December and January. This is about
the only time it gets cold in Nigeria. So should you
be visiting Nigeria around this period, you may need a
sweater.
And why not? There are many reasons to visit Nigeria.
You definitely want to see where the happiest people
in the world live! Besides, Nigeria has huge resources
in cultural, ecological, beach, marine and wildlife
tourism. For the business minded, Nigeria, Africa’s
major oil producer and the fifth largest supplier of
crude to the United States, also boasts of 90 other
mineral products and 36 percent arable land. The land
literally flows with milk and honey.
Now, those letters on the internet. “I write
respectfully to solicit your assistance in an urgent
confidential matter. I am the son (daughter, wife,
lawyer, banker) of so and so who died in a plane crash
(usually along with all other members of his family
apart from the one writing the letter) or who was
executed for taking part in a coup. The deceased left
a secret box of diamonds or gold bullions or has a
huge sum of money in a coded account…….” Another
specimen of letter usually claims that some money
which had been allocated to a dormant project by
government, or some oil allocation forgotten because
of frequent changes in regime is waiting to be scooped
up by a lucky devil, which is you! Get real. Why does
it have to be you? Scams don’t happen to real people.
You have to get under the table to take part in under-
the- table games.
If you are on the lookout for good clean business,
opportunities abound in agriculture, mining, oil and
gas, construction, health care, tourism and
hospitality, manufacturing, science and technology,
art and entertainment, banking and many other areas of
business endeavor. Nigeria also offers investors a
low-cost labor pool and the biggest domestic market in
Africa. You will be surprised what you will find if
you look in good places.
Should you find yourself in Nigeria one of these days,
be assured that Nigerians love foreigners and are very
tolerant of them. If you happen not to be black, happy
cheers of “oyinbo” (white person) will greet you
everywhere you go. The Nigerian on the street cannot
make the distinction between Caucasian, Latino,
Italian etc. If you are not black, then you are
‘oyinbo’. Whatever you are, wear your tag proudly
while it lasts.
And if you are black, lucky you! You simply melt into
the crowd, that is, until you open your mouth and your
accent gives you away. The trick here is to stay as
quiet as possible and let ‘mum’ be the word. Even
then, the Nigerian on the street is intrigued by the
fact that this fellow who is as black as himself is
actually from the white man’s land. They are curious
about the black ‘non native’ and would usually welcome
them with open arms.
Like you have to be a Roman in Rome, you have to obey
certain rules to be on the safe side here.
Don’t wear a money pouch on the streets. Nigerians
know what you have in there. One dollar translates
into about 130 Naira (local currency) You will be
amazed what a few hundred dollars can do for the
average Nigerian. The green note is much sought after.
Don’t flaunt yours! Don’t dangle your cell-phone carelessly on the
streets. Keep it safely tucked into the confines of
your bag or pocket, far away from prying eyes and
thieving hands. The mobile phone is one of the most
theft-prone objects on the streets of Nigeria. There
is an active market for pre-owned handsets, if you get
my drift.
Zebra crossings are rare and alien. Many motorists do
not understand them even where they exist. The only
zebras Nigerians know of is game-meat, a real
delicacy. Please don’t be a zebra. Wait for traffic
flow to ebb before you cross the street.
The flea market is not the best place to visit without
someone who speaks the local language, understands
exchange rates and can help you to drive a hard
bargain. Talk slowly and clearly. Make yourself heard. Don’t
assume everyone can decipher your accent. Like
Africans “have an accent” here, you have an accent
over there.
Sample local delicacies carefully. Among the Yorubas
of Western Nigeria, pepper is the king of spices. It
is credited with medicinal qualities. A local saying,
Emi tio jata, emi yepere, simply says he who shies
away from eating pepper makes himself vulnerable to
illness. Should you be afflicted with a burning tongue
during a culinary adventure, please don’t drink water.
Rather, suck on a cube of sugar. It takes the burning
sting of pepper away.
Churches and places of religious worship abound. The
sermon may be soul lifting and moving. Traveler’s
checks and value cards may be accepted. The key here
is ‘don’t give to causes you don’t believe in.’ Nobody
is ever forced to give. God loves only cheerful
givers.
Don’t call older people by their names. Always use a
prefix. And don’t insist that younger people call you
by your first name. Allow them to use a prefix if they
insist. If your first name is Peter, you may end up as
Mr Peter in informal situations. Nigerians respect age
and achievement. They are often uncomfortable when
asked to waive traditional norms of respect.
If you are a woman, don’t be appalled if you are
referred to as ‘madam’. No harm intended. It does not
mean that you run a brothel. It is just a term of
respect.
Sex is not a regular topic of discussion. Open
displays of affection are not particularly welcome.
Nigerians like to keep what is private just that way -
private. You can hold hands, but anything further than
that will draw curious stares. Keep that to the hotel
room. A wise word for same sex couples: Don’t tell anyone
you are a couple. The sight of two men or two women
walking hand in hand or sharing a bed is not strange
in Nigeria. People will simply assume you are either
siblings or great friends. If, however, you let it be
known that there is more to it, you will become
objects of unnecessary attention and curiosity.
You will certainly want to savor Nigeria’s rich
after-hours entertainment. As in any other part of the
world, you need to know where is safe and where is
not. Some clubs are safe, some are not very safe. You
need a local to guide you. Let your ‘local’ be someone who is well known to you.
Nigerians are well traveled. You certainly have met
one. Be sure to hook up while planning your journey.
We are always happy to host old friends. Some tourism
companies and hotels also offer guide services. Avail
yourself of them if you do not know anyone in town.
Don’t just pick up anyone. A nice looking guy is not
necessarily a nice guy. Like Shakespeare wrote, there
is no art to find the mind’s construction on the face.
You may wish to avoid restive areas.
The Delta area has become unpredictable in the last few year. The
North accounts for the scariest news that come out of
Nigeria. However, religious uprisings don’t happen
everyday. Even when they happen, foreigners are never
a target. Beneath them are actually deep-seated ethnic
animosities and rivalries, which are not likely to
affect you, unless of course you were a Nigerian in
your previous life.
Shariah Law is practiced only in twelve States out of
the 36 States in Nigeria. All these states are in the
predominantly Muslim north of Nigeria. Shariah Law
does not apply to foreigners. It may, however, make
sense to enquire about local rules of decorum wherever
you berth. When there is no trouble, the North is a good place to
visit. Kano, Zaria, Kaduna, Maiduguri and Bauchi will
delight you with rich Arabian/Islamic architecture.
Colorful durbars hold around festive seasons like
Ramadan. The annual Argungun fishing festival is also
a crowd puller.
Abuja is the capital city. It is Nigeria, dressed in
her best clothes. Don’t assume you have been to
Nigeria if you have only been to Abuja.
The East is the center of excellence for technology.
Aba, Owerri, Nnewi, Umuahia, Enugu, Abriba, and Onisha
are some of the places to visit. The New Yam Festival
is also a must-see. Lovers of Chinua Achebe’s
literature may want to see where the ‘hill’ of pounded
yam was so high that the partakers could not see the
people with whom they were sharing it. The East is
also home to the famous Long Juju of Arochukwu.
In the South, PortHarcourt is a favored destination.
It is the seat of the oil companies. PartHarcourt is
chic and expensive. It stinks of petro-dollars.
Calabar is a serene historical city. You may want to
visit a fattening-room around here if you are short of
flesh. Who knows, you may even run into Charles
Taylor, Liberia’s ousted president.
The West also parades many interesting sights. Ibadan
is conservative and laid back. It is the seat of
Nigeria’s premier university and the biggest town in
West Africa. Ile-Ife is a must for lovers of Yoruba
history and religion. The Yorubas originated from
Ile-Ife. A visit to Ife is like a walk through
history. Oyo is the seat of ancient Yoruba
civilization. The Alaafins of the old Oyo Empire ruled
from Oyo. Oshogbo draws millions of visitors every
year for the Osun-Oshogbo festival, which is held in
honor of the goddess of the rivers. The Ikogosi Warm
Spring draws visitors to Ekiti State. The first
Anglican missionaries to Nigeria berthed in Abeokuta.
This is where you will find the famous Olumo Rock.
Nigeria’s President Olusegun Obasanjo, the
Nobel-Laurete, Wole Soyinka, and the late music icon,
Fela, are among Abeokuta’s famous sons.
There are many other interesting towns. Nigeria’s
first capital, Lokoja, sits on the confluence of
Rivers Niger and Benue. It is Nigeria’s fisherman’s
wharf. Some relics of colonial rule can still be found
there. Badagry was the point of no return for slaves
during the slave trade. Once a slave got to Badagry,
his fate was sealed. This is where to see chains,
shackles, padlocks and other left-overs of the
infamous trade. Benin-City is rich in culture and
tradition. Obaseki, the king who led a rebellion
against British rule was a Benin king.
But you have not been to Nigeria unless you have been
to Lagos. It is Nigeria’s version of New York. You
will hear a lot of stories about Lagos, but like
Nigeria itself, Lagos is a gentle giant.
Lagos is the pulsating heartbeat of Nigeria, a
happy-go-lucky city where anything goes. It is a
sprawling monster of about 15 million inhabitants
negotiating an existence in the midst of urban chaos.
It is the eye that never winks, much less sleep. It is
alive 24 hours with the good, the not so good and the
downright ugly. But if you don’t poke your hands into
the eyes of this giant, it will treat you with respect
and affection. Far from Eldorado, Lagos is no where as clean as San
Francisco. Ikeja is not Mission Street. The traffic is
certainly crazy. The sheer number of people milling
around will send shivers down the spine of the lily -
livered. But that is part of the charm of this
charming giant.
Fondly called Eko akete ilu ogbon, Lagos is the city
of the wise. If you don’t come to Lagos wise, you will
go away wise. And if you come wise, you will go away
even wiser. Lagos is addictive, by the way. Once you live there,
you don’t want to live anywhere else. If you stay too
long, you are likely to suffer withdrawal symptoms
when you leave. Stick to registered yellow- painted taxis when you are
in Lagos. Avoid buses. Most of them are rickety and
rowdy. Commercial motorcycles look like fun. Keep them
in the realm of sightseeing. They are an interesting
sight, no doubt, but be sure to watch them only from a
safe distance.
All Nigerian towns and cities have their taxis
painted in specific colors. Find out as soon as you
arrive and stick to them. The best ones are found in
taxi-parks. They are more expensive, but they are
safer. If you forget anything in any of them, you can
go back to the taxi-park and make a claim. Oftentimes,
your lost good will be waiting for you by the time you
get there. Surprise, surprise!!
By now you must be wondering why Nigeria seems to have
a bad name despite its many good sides. Remember, it
is the evil men do that lives after them, not the
good!
To contact Gbemi Olujobi: Email her at: goldenwura2000@yahoo.co.uk
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When saving a life is worth risking your own
A talk with lawyers on Nigerian stoning case
(Amina Lawal)
By Gbemi Olujobi
The names Catherine Mabille and Hauwa Ibrahim may not ring any bells. But to Amina Lawal, the woman who was sentenced to death by stoning for adultery in Nigeria, they ring more than bells. They mean life.
The two lawyers were in San Francisco recently on a dual mission: To launch Avocats Sans Frontieres (ASF), which translates roughly into ‘lawyers without borders’, and to increase awareness and support for the International Criminal Court (ICC), a world-wide legal system which has been ratified by 96 countries, but not the United States.
They succeeded on both fronts. About $5,500 in donations poured in during their three-day visit – enough to fund a two-week trip to Nigeria for two lawyers.
You may have heard Amina Lawal’s story. This peasant woman, 31- years- old at the time, was in her house on a hot, sunny day, suckling her eight-day-old bundle of joy, Wassila. Most days are hot and sunny in Lawal’s village, Kurami, in what is known as Katsina State in northern Nigeria. Recently divorced, she lived with her father, his two wives and numerous siblings in rural idyll. Then the bubble burst.
Some Islamic fundamentalists came to ask her how she came about a baby when she was not married. The fact that an unmarried woman had a child amounted to adultery under Shariah Law, a legal system based on the teachings of the Koran, which is practiced in twelve states in the predominantly Muslim north of Nigeria.
Lawal had no answers for her accusers. Anyone would be shocked and speechless if what they did in their bedroom suddenly became a matter of public scrutiny
Things took a bizarre turn when a police-man came and invited her to the police station. There, more questions followed. She was taken to a trial court on the 15th of January, 2002.
At the court, she was asked, “Amina, you have a baby and you are not married?” Her answer was “Yes”
That “Yes” was termed a confession, an acceptance of guilt. Her baby, Wassila, was taken as both a witness and an evidence of her guilt.
In March, 2002, she was convicted by a lower Shariah Court for adultery and sentenced to death by stoning. She appealed to an Upper Shariah Court, which upheld the unfortunate sentence. Lawal would be buried up to her neck and have stones thrown at her head until she died.
But the world was watching. So was Avocats Sans Frontieres. Founded in 1992 by a group of lawyers in Belgium and France, the organization supports and protects lawyers working on important human rights cases in countries where rights and liberties are threatened.
Hauwa Ibrahim was Lawal’s lawyer. This was an important human rights case in which both client and counsel faced grave prospects. While Lawal faced death by stoning for giving birth to a baby ten months after she was divorced, her counsel, Ibrahim, a Muslim woman, also from the north of Nigeria, was seen as challenging Islam and exposing it to ridicule by taking on the case. As far as the fundamentalists were concerned, she had taken sides with Lawal against Islam. The potential consequences for her were better left imagined.
“There were threats to my life,” says Ibrahim. “I received phone calls saying I should leave this case, otherwise, I could consider myself living (dead)” Some Muslim sisters approached me and said what I was doing was wrong, that I was trying to rubbish our culture and tradition, that I was disrespecting Islam”
That was when ASF stepped in. “We made contact with Hauwa Ibrahim and decided to go to Nigeria,” says Mabille. ASF was on familiar ground, having worked in many other hotbeds of human rights abuse, such as Rwanda, Burundi, Togo, Tunisia, Lebanon, Morocco, Bolivia, Israel, Colombia, Palestine, Afghanistan and Guinea.
A criminal and labor lawyer, Mabille is French and she makes it her business to show her face wherever human rights are taken to the guillotine. She has been in private practice in France for 25 years, where she is the Vice-President of ASF (France) and an attorney with the International Criminal Court.
Mabille has a passion for Africa and Africans. She is currently handling a death penalty case in Rwanda, which involves a Hutu government official. She also represents African immigrants in Paris in cases involving female genital mutilation. The Amina Lawal case was, therefore, just a normal day in her life.
“We found that it was very difficult for Hauwa,” she recalls. “We found her to be very lonely, isolated, an easy target. There was a death penalty. Amina, by then, had already been condemned. There was a big pressure on the case. We tried to work with her (Ibrahim) to understand what exactly the issues of the case were and how we could help. She was more or less working alone and we thought that was dangerous. It is easy to target one lawyer. When there are many lawyers working on a case, the hazards are diffused.”
Ibrahim says not much would have been achieved in the Amina Lawal case without the support of ASF.
“ASF is the only professional body that gave us (critical) international support,” says Ibrahim, who came to the U.S. a year ago as a Humphrey fellow with the Washington College of Law, but returned to Nigeria twice to represent Lawal.
“Apart from the professional support they gave, they also gave me airline tickets to go back those two times. Without their support, I would not have been able to make it, because I did the case pro bono”
Victory came on September 25, 2003, when the Shariah Court of Appeal in Katsina State ruled that the conviction was invalid. Lawal was discharged and acquitted.
Lawal’s victory was celebrated worldwide. Only a few weeks ago, she got married to a brave new man, not the one who got her pregnant with a promise of marriage, reneged on his promise and swore on the Koran that he did not know what she was talking about during her trial.
The swine was never convicted. Under Shariah law, a man can only be convicted for adultery if evidence is taken from four witnesses, each of whom must be male, adult, sane, reputable in society, and who must have seen the culprits coupled in the act at the same time. Hardly possible, since “the act” is rarely done in the open.
Baby Wassila, the witness and evidence of Lawal’s guilt has since grown into a bright-eyed tot and is set for adoption by her mother’s erstwhile counsel, now sister and friend. Mother and child lived with Ibrahim in protective custody while the trial lasted. Ibrahim has two sons. Wassila will be the girl of the family.
But the battle is far from over. Ibrahim is still working on 47 Shariah cases, involving amputations, public flogging and stoning to death. Concerns over her safety remain.
“The risk to her life is enormous” Mabille says. “In taking up these cases, she is a target for people who think she is against Shariah. We are close to her. We try to tell the international community that we are keeping an eye on her.”
Ibrahim, however, sees no risks, only possibilities and potentials, as well as a chance to give back what she fortuitously got: a good education and legal skills.
“I see these threats to my life as mere challenges,” she says with a shy smile. “I look at challenges as a reason to proceed, not as a reason to retreat. I turn my challenges into my prospects. They add value to me. I overcome them and they become stepping stones, to move forward, not backward”
“I was attending a Nigeria Bar Association meeting in Ibadan (Nigeria), in 2002, when a lady, well covered in Hijab approached me and said, ‘Hauwa, I hate you. Why are you doing this? Look at what you are doing to Islam’
“I said to her, ‘Look, I respect your opinion. Maybe you are right to hate me, but maybe you should also listen to me more. These are the issues.
“We engaged in a long discussion, and by the time she was going away, I think she didn’t hate me as much as she hated me before the discussion. So, a lot depends on how you react to people and their strong feelings. We need to engage in more of such discussions rather than keep thinking we have a superior opinion.
“I learn everyday from extremists. They have their own opinion. They have something to offer, but there is lack of understanding between the two sides. That is the problem, and that is what we need to work on. We need to engage in constructive dialogue with them, bring them on board. That is the only way out for our country (Nigeria)”
Very brave words if you consider her background. Ibrahim’s village, Gombe, is small; about 2,000 or 3,000 people. Everyone knows who the other person is. They know very well that her father was one of the mullahs who called people out for prayers when he was alive. They must be wondering what the matter is with ‘this girl’ and thinking ‘this is not funny.’
But she says, “I do not take these cases because of what I am, a woman, a northerner, a Muslim. I do them because I come from this poor and humble background, the same background from which these women come, and I happen to have this small skill, the legal skill. I feel I am just returning to humanity what I have been given. So I try to do the job without sentiments”
As a Muslim, she sees that Shariah law can and should be a positive force.
“Shariah is all about justice, all about equity, it is for protection and that should be adhered to.
“We must have active involvement of all our leaders; traditional, religious, opinion leaders, coming out to defend Shariah, rather than allowing a small group of individuals, fundamentalists, to define it.
“We must insist that law is meant to protect humanity, to give human dignity to a person, to give worth to a person. We must look at law from that perspective; of doing good.”
She wants to see Shariah law codified and applied fairly.
“For me, the issue is that if anybody wants to apply any system of law, of whatsoever character, we must have it codified. Where you have a case such as the Amina Lawal case, where there is no procedure of law, it is a dangerous precedence. The uncertainty is too much.
“We cannot have laws that are uncertain. They mis-carry justice. The moment you stone the first woman, there may be no stopping of it. I cannot live with that, so I fight it. It is someone’s life, so let me also put my own life on the line to save it.”
Not all stories have happy endings like Lawal’s. “We had one case in Zamfara State (Nigeria)” says Ibrahim. “She was sentenced to be flogged for Zinah (sex outside marriage) and she was flogged publicly. It was supposed to be 100 strokes. But the man she alleged had raped her said that another man raped her. So they added 80 strokes to her sentence for Kazaf (telling of lies)”
Despite such discouragement, Ibrahim keeps going. She is determined to salvage what can be salvaged. “What keeps me going is where I am coming from, my background,” she says with a reflective frown.
“I was only privileged to be educated, by accident, and I feel I owe it to give back some of what I got.”
But for that fortunate ‘accident’ of education, Ibrahim could jolly well have been an Amina Lawal today. Girls were not allowed to go beyond elementary school in Gombe, as with most parts of northern Nigeria. By age 12 or 13, they had to be getting ready for marriage. Somehow, Ibrahim went to secondary school.
She sustained her education by sheer ingenuity. “I was hawking, selling fruits, peanuts, vegetables, anything that could be hawked. I would go up to the mountains to pick roots and come down to sell them for small money.”
The plan was for her to get married after secondary school. But something happened that changed the course of her life.
“I picked up a newspaper on the road and saw a university graduate with a four-edged cap. And I thought ‘I must be like that person. I cannot get married if I want to get more education”
So instead of getting married, Ibrahim went to teacher’s college. The money she had been saving to buy plates, spoons and pots in preparation for her husband’s house came in handy for her education.
She says, “To be educated, to be where I am today, is beyond what I imagined. There are many brilliant children out there who do not have the opportunity of being educated. That was the opportunity I got, and that is why I have a passion for giving back. That is why I must go back to Nigeria. I have fantastic job offers here in the United States and in many other countries out here. But I don’t belong here. I don’t fit here.
“When I talk to those children, I want them to touch me. I want them to feel me. I want them to know that I am one of them, that I also come from that same village. I want them to know that they can be better than me, that they have what it takes to be better than me, with education.”
Ibrahim is not only a pioneer in education; she is also a trailblazer in the testy field of marriage. Her husband is Italian. She is the first woman in her village or indeed anywhere in its vicinity to bring home a white suitor. Her mother thought she was crazy. No member of her family attended their wedding-it was seen as taboo. Today they have two sons.
But even her husband finds her ideas strange sometimes. He had wanted her to drop the Lawal case after she received death threats from fundamentalists.
“He thinks I am crazy,” Ibrahim says with another shy smile. “He says I can never change the world. And I always tell him that I am not trying to change the world. I am only trying to do my own small part. If I can change one life positively, I will sleep well. We all have a part to play.
“And he thinks because I have two young children, I should be more careful, so that they don’t kill me. He is always teasing me that I don’t know the difference between five thousand Naira (Nigerian currency) and fifty thousand Naira. But doing these cases free- of- charge is never a problem for me. I have no value for money, maybe because I never had money.”
Hauwa Ibrahim and Catherine Mabille may walk past you one of these days. You will certainly see one black woman and one white woman. Not your fault! No two women can be more different.
Beyond these physical differences, however, these are just two sisters, united to bring relief and reprieve to all who labor under the yoke of injustice. The same flame that burns in the heart of the African in colorful, flowing robes and tight braids, burns in the heart of the French sister in her smart western suit and short, boyish haircut.
Hear Mabille: “I decided to be a lawyer as a young girl. I was against injustice and I felt like struggling against it. Maybe because my mother was a Jew. She was in jail because she was a Communist. I didn’t know a lot of things about being a lawyer at the time. I was just against injustice. I didn’t know that fighting for good causes was so beautiful and fulfilling”.
They have glowing words for each other. The one for whom being a lawyer is a simple day’s work acknowledges the courage and sacrifice of the one for whom it is a suicide bid. The other recognizes the humanity of the one who bends over backwards to help where she could just shrug and walk away.
While Catherine says “Hauwa is good, very hardworking and dedicated, very courageous,” Hauwa says, “She is a human being. Do you know what it means when they say someone is a human being? Catherine is a human being.”
To contact Gbemi Olujobi: email goldenwura2000@yahoo.co.uk
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Gbemi Olujobi
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Far from home, a Nigerian journalist finds Fela's legacy alive and well in art.
Gbemi Olujobi, Special to The Chronicle
It is in San Francisco, thousands of nautical miles from my Nigerian home, that I learn for the first time that Fela was born Olufela Olusegun Oludotun. This gaffe is not usual for someone who comes from a culture that places a high premium on names. But many things were not usual about Fela. He was simply Fela to everyone, and you didn't bother to find out more. He was just there, all over the place, sort of ubiquitous, and you felt like you knew him inside-out.
Fela's music blares from loudspeakers everywhere on the streets of Nigeria, contributing in no small way to the aural cacophony for which Nigerian streets are (in)famous. His music carries a nuisance value along with its social relevance. You don't mind the nuisance, anyway. This is your favorite brother yabbing (denigrating) your worst enemy.
Fela's yabis, as his music is fondly called, is often directed at the common enemy -- government, its light-fingered officials and its bourgeois cronies.
Afrobeat is the religion of the masses. It is Fela's opium for the downtrodden. It offers both an escape from their woes and a means of getting back at the oppressor, with yabis (abusive jokes).
Fela was everyone's brother, never uncle or father. I doubt if he invoked such feelings in anyone. Even his children called him by name, simply Fela, like everyone else. No one called him daddy or uncle, despite the fact that he lived to be 58. Another unusual thing, in a society where age is revered and deferred to. He was familiar, in a funny way. If you didn't like his person or his lifestyle, you liked his music. If you didn't like his person, his lifestyle or his music, which would be strange, you liked him because he reminded you of your errant brother. You had the feeling you had known him all your life, even if you had never met him in the flesh.
So, I walk into the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, for the opening of the exhibition titled "Black President: The Art and Legacy of Fela Anikulapo- Kuti," feeling "this is something that has to do with me.'' Apart from being a Nigerian, I also share the same ethnic roots with Fela, being Yoruba. The Black President would probably have scoffed at this sentiment and dismissed it with an irreverent wave of his hand. Fela belonged to everyone who identified with him and with his music. Ethnic jingoism was not his style.
Still, this was as close to home as I could ever hope to get in San Francisco. So I strut into the event with my ethnic chip firmly on my shoulders, not minding Fela's pan-Africanism or pan-Nigerianism. "He was my brother, you know," I long to tell everyone. This is my show!
It is a typical Afrobeat gathering, eclectic and unpredictable. This is not your run-of-the-mill exhibition crowd. These are revelers, reveling in Afrobeat. Some are already in the orgasmic throes of Afrobeat, swaying to "Shakara Oloje" and other Fela evergreens, which serenade the background. They are dressed for the event in the unconventional and unlikely clothes "Abami" (the weird one), as Fela loved to be called, identified with. Some are in regular attire, however, the type Fela would have dismissed, with a snort and a sneer, as "colo" (colonial) and "follow follow" (following colonial tastes).
The air is thick with conviviality, but not with Igbo (marijuana). They could at least have burnt Igbo as incense, to appease the spirit of Abami.
I assume there are no Suegbes (uninitiated) here. Everyone should know what they are in for when dealing with Fela. I know what I am in for, so it doesn't bother me when I go for a snack and there is nothing left. A lonely burger stares forlornly at me from one of the trays. The other trays are empty, apparently from a siege by famished devotees of the Afrobeat creed, obeying the instructions of the ''Chief-Priest'' to the last letter.
Fela loved to be called the Chief-Priest. Remember, Afrobeat is the religion of the underdog, the have-nots. And this empty table is just the way the Chief-Priest would have wanted it, to underline the hunger, famine and general depravity that is Africa's lot.
The exhibition statement describes Fela as a political rebel, an outspoken critic of corruption, a spiritualist, unabashed sex-symbol, husband to 28 women, utopian visionary and musical pioneer. This would have elicited a wide, toothy grin from Abami.
The exhibition salutes these same attributes. A colorful array of artists with diverse styles and forms contributed. Fela was largely colorblind, as long as you could connect with the spirit behind the rhythm.
Trevor Schoonmaker, the moving force behind the Fela Project, writes in the exhibition catalog: "The artists, writers, musicians and intellectuals in The Fela Project are bound not by race but by a shared progressive ideology and creativity. Each artist and writer in this exhibition and catalog had a prior affinity with Fela and has examined in his or her work some of the cultural and sociopolitical themes that were central to Fela's life and philosophy. They represent a broad range of ages as well as artistic and geographical backgrounds, and come from countries as diverse as Burundi, Cameroon, Chile, Cote d'Ivoire, England, Germany, Ghana, Kenya, Nigeria, South Africa and the United States." Fela relished his broad-spectrum appeal. He really would have liked this.
Barkley Hendricks' "Fela: Amen, Amen, Amen" strikes me like a thunderbolt. An oil and variegated leaf on canvas, it depicts Fela holding a microphone, a halo around his head, with a burning and inverted image of Africa, bound with barbed wire, on his chest. This is an apparent homage to pan-Africanism, which was close to Fela's heart and for which he was idolized. It also has him clutching his famous groin, alluding to his scandalous sexuality, which many who idolized him sometimes found embarrassing. Fela certainly was phallocentric, without inhibitions, reservations or, indeed, apologies.
Many other exhibits also explore Fela's sexuality. I find Sokari Douglas Camp's "Open and Close Chop and Quench" quite exhilarating. A kinetic sculpture of wood, steel, cowries and electric motor, it depicts a "Fela girl" (dancer) in full glory. But on her head is inscribed AIDS, in capital letters. The message I get from this is that Fela's women, who formed an important part of his life and music, may have also been his undoing. They offered him a world of sexual pleasure and fulfillment (open) which ended his life (close). So, Fela chop (enjoyed) and quench (expired) through his women.
Moyo Okediji's "Fela and Ogun in Mythopia" follows Fela to spirit land, where he, hopefully, continues his enjoyment of heterosexual pleasures in the company of Ogun, the Yoruba deity of iron. Ogun, in Yoruba mythology, represents the basic primordial instincts, chief among which is propagation, sex. Ogun is male. He symbolizes masculinity and virility. He certainly would have been Fela's patron saint if this were Catholicism.
Satch Hoyt's "The Shrine," a sound capsule, draws a large gathering. Everyone wants to get inside it. Only one person can go in it at a time, so the queue is long. I don't make it inside, even though I try several times. I hear it houses 27 shrines, one for each Fela queen.
But where is Remi's shrine? Remi was Fela's first wife and mother of his first three children. Her good-natured reply to inquiries on how she felt about Fela taking 27 more wives is reported to be, "At least he is being honest now. He always had many girlfriends." Very typical of a Nigerian woman. She has been conditioned to accept whatever her man does with patience and fortitude. Long suffering is a virtue.
Wangechi Mutu's "Yo' Mama" celebrates Fela's mother, the irrepressible Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti, heroine of feminism in Nigeria and one of those who fought for Nigeria's independence. She is reputed to be the first Nigerian woman to drive a car. Fela is said to have inherited his indomitable spirit from her.
I grew up knowing Fela as omo iya aje' (son of a witch). He was said to have been his mother's favorite son. Many myths were spun around their famous relationship. It was said that Funmilayo had magical powers, which she used to make Fela invisible whenever the police came for him, which was quite often because of his posture as a social critic and his open use of marijuana. So invariably, as the legend had it, the police could only find Fela if his mother was not around to work her magic.
And on occasions when these officers found him, the legend said, Funmilayo would use her magical powers to remove Fela's hide and replace it with the hide of another person, so that when the policemen thought they were thrashing Fela, it was in fact another person who was taking the beating. You needed an explanation, really, of how anyone could take the many beatings that Fela took from law enforcement officers. It had to be something supernatural. So this story stuck easily.
Funmilayo eventually died for the love of her son. During an army raid on Fela's Kalakuta Republic, as he dubbed his abode, Funmilayo, then 78 years old, was thrown from a second-story window. She died soon after from the injuries she sustained. To this day, the sound of Fela crooning "dem kill my mama, dem kill my mama, dem kill my mama (they killed my mother)" still makes my eyes moist.
Here, like everywhere Fela's life is examined, it is the relationship with his women -- his mother, who molded his character and imbued him with his crusading spirit, and his queens, who contributed to the making of his legend -- that most draws me in. His sexuality is the most intriguing aspect of him. This is the part of him many people do not understand.
Fela was a musical legend, a pan-Africanist, a social critic, an iconoclast, a renegade and all that. But here again was a world-class lover of women and a husband of 28 wives, who often said, without batting an eyelid, that sex was his favorite pastime. Many would understandably see this as promiscuity. But I beg, as always, to differ on that.
My moment of glory comes when a middle-aged white woman turns to me for an explanation of "Lady Na Master,'' one of the most compelling pieces on display. The work, made of fabric on armature and wood, depicts 27 headless female figures on a table.
"What does this mean?" she asks me.
I explain to her that the work is a celebration of Fela's marriage to 27 women in one day. I notice that this has an effect on her, so I go on to regale her with more tales of Fela's legendary sexuality.
"Ouch," she says, twisting her lips in distaste. "He was so disrespectful of women."
"On the contrary,'' I say. Fela lived in a patriarchal society that glorifies maleness and worships manhood; where a woman is nothing without a man; where a woman must be married to be considered a real woman. Such a society actively encourages women to give up everything for the "fulfillment'' of male affection, defines a woman by her marital status and questions, in the most cruel way, her essence as a woman if she is not married.
So in his own, perhaps warped, way Fela, through his prolific sexuality, was merely alleviating what he saw as the woe of this horde of unmarried women who flocked around him. Once a woman became one of Fela's girls, as his dancers were called, it was certain that no other man would touch her. She was considered a prostitute. So what was the way out for these hapless females? How were they to get the fulfillment of male affection and the respectability of marriage?
Fela sought to give them sexual fulfillment and gratification by bedding as many of them as he could, every day. He sought to give them the respectability only marriage could confer upon them, in this society that insists that marriage is the ultimate, by marrying all 27 of them. He married all of them on the same day so that they would all be equal. In that way, there would be no senior or first wife to lord it over everyone else.
He may have spent and worn himself out to prove this point. He may have made himself controversial and even hated. He may have died from proving this point, of AIDS, but he succeeded in a way. After the marriage ceremony, the girls ceased to be called prostitutes. Instead, everyone started referring to them as Fela's Queens.
The white lady buys my reasoning, with a broad smile and several nods. She proceeds to pass the revelation on to the other bemused people who stand before the controversial work demanding an explanation. I am fulfilled. Mission accomplished.
Significantly, the artist, Yinka Shonibare, says of this work, "This piece is a celebration of the excess and the pleasures that Fela received from female attention. The title comes from Fela's song, "Lady." In the song, Fela celebrates the assertiveness of women. It has to be said that to contemporary ears, it may sound rather condescending, but in the context of a patriarchal Nigerian society, the song was a triumph, a pro-feminist anthem.
Sometimes you have to read between the lines. To the ordinary observer, Fela was certainly condescending and patronizing in his attitude toward women. But to the deeper observer, who can situate his actions within the context of a patriarchal, male-dominated society, Fela would come out as a champion of women.
By a stroke of providence, I happen upon Yemi Elebuibon, chief priest of Ifa, the ancient philosophy to which Fela turned for customary legitimacy in his weird marital adventure. Even in a polygamous society like Nigeria, taking 27 brides in one day was way overboard. The marriage was conducted by an Ifa priest. What better place to run into an Ifa priest.
Even seeing him from behind, I know this man is from home. Something is oddly familiar about him. My eyes must have pierced his soul through his back. He turns and sizes me up. I immediately notice the horizontal etchings on his cheeks, the tribal marks of Yorubas of Oyo stock. What a pleasant surprise. I bend my knees in greeting. He moves closer for introductions and pleasantries.
At first we talk about home and the many problems we have left behind. We transpose this event to Lagos and have a good laugh about what would have happened there. Something would have been gained, no doubt. But something lost, too -- either a wallet, a mobile phone or some jewelry -- to the area- boys (street urchins/hoodlums), who generally assume that anything that has to do with Fela has to do with them. On the other hand, the area-boys could declare it a work-free event, to honor "Baba" (old man/sage) as they fondly called Fela. He was their hero.
We talk about Abami. We reminisce on his life and times. We talk about his legacy. We are sorry that he died but happy that he has joined the "living dead" to hover over those left behind and guide their steps. We are happier that he lives on, in his works and in the hearts of those whose lives he touched. We pray that whoever did this exhibition for Fela will be richly rewarded. We declare Fela an authentic "living dead." We exchange more pleasantries and say goodbye, after beseeching Olodumare (the Almighty) to add to our own years, which is the customary Yoruba way of ending discussions about the dead.
Well, Fela, it's nice to know you are doing well over there! Sunre o Anikulapo (Sleep well, he that carries death in his pouch). Rest well, but don't sleep!
Gbemi Olujobi is a visiting journalist from Nigeria, an International Women's Media Foundation fellow who is with The Chronicle for three months. E-mail her at golujobi@sfchronicle.com.
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