A tale of Nigeria's "FIRST FAMILY"

May these words that fiddles with my heart find its way out without overindulgence, may each word at which the tip of my finger secretes mean exactly what i mean, i look up to the heavens, perhaps i will neither want to sound too wise nor too foolish, at times when i think about my words they don't come out as i wish, other times when i write my words without thinking, they tend to match my exact thinking when i'm not writing .

15 months ago when our humble president, Umaru Musa Yar'Adua was being sworn in as our newly 'demo-cratically selected' president, it did not in any way shook my harden hatred for politics which is the sole reason why i get so much interested in it, i wonder if this syndrome is a generational thing, anyone conversant with Fela's lyrics will agree with me that the two tyrant closest to Fela's mouth was Obasanjo and Yar'Adua, but in case some of us don't know, the Yar'Adua he refers to is not our humble president, that was his elder brother, that was the major reason why i became so much concerned by our new president. So as usual i quickly ran to make my research on this new angel that could be worst than our known devil that just left us in pieces. 

It was with mixed feelings i decided to start following his activities in order to build up my own idea of who he is, which will not be influenced by anything i might have read about him, his strategy of declaring his wealth on june 28, 2007 was a remarkable one for me, his stands against Soludo's naira re-denomination, the several Governors who served with him before 2007 were being charged by EFCC. And his stout clinging to the rule of law were altogether ringing positive bells in my head. As opposed to the time of his nomination where he was an obscure figure on the national stage, and a mere "puppet" of Obasanjo, a jeje man who could not have won the nomination under fair circumstances.

Few meters away from ASO ROCK, i bend down to pack a handful of sand, i walked two meters closer and watch the sand carefully slipped off my right palm, then i silently say to myself in a witty voice, "i'm in the process of modifying this sahara" my words are exacts and they are here like every other thing close to us, they can be criticized but a rose is rose and still a rose.

Not long after, revelation began to come to the space i occupy, i came across the Shehu Musa Yar'Adua Foundation's proposal to a project they were putting in place around 2003, check out the Board of Trustees 
H.E. Chief Olusegun Obasanjo (GCFR), Chairman
H.E. Atiku Abubakar (GCON), Vice Chairman
H.E. Umaru Musa Yar’Adua, Trustee
Mr. Yomi Edu, Trustee etc.
Going through the proposal began to make me feel like going to toilet with what the budget looked like, and the whole list of individuals and capitalist Nigerians that was involved in the project.

Then i went on with my research, but now with a quite biased mind, brothers and sister, here are facts to my fears and skepticism for this "First family" driving our nation entity.
In 2000, during Yar' Adua's administration as governor in Katsina, Katsina became the fifth northern Nigerian state to adopt sharia, where a woman, was sentenced to death by stoning for committing adultery...
His father was briefly the National Vice chairman of the National Party of Nigeria.
Yar'Adua's daughter Zainab is married to Kebbi State governor Usman Saidu Nasamu Dakingari. Then i'm wondering is it really suppose to be a family heritage? Then the biggest shock. i present to you Musa (jrn) Yar'Adua

Shameful, shocking and sad, or how else can one describe it…? Just in case you were wondering if these pictures were taken from a Nollywood blockbuster, please open your eyes very well. Much more than one of the hottest reality TV shows around, these are real life of Musa (jnr) Yar’Adua, one of the youngest sons of the "First family" living life to the fullest right inside the Presidential Villa Aso Rock. In case you still doubt the possibility of such pictures.perhaps i need to draw your attention to the credibility of their source – Sahara Reporters (www.saharareporters.com). Musa is on facebook and these are his cool profile pictures.

When Mr Fix Nigeria wrote an article titled “Who Can Rescue This Rogue Republic?” some said, this guy has come again. The same sentiment was creatively captured by Tolu Ogunlesi in his parody titled “The Audacity of Kenya: An Obama Tale”, everyone replied 'this is hilarious' and when i wrote "Nigeria comment çava", some say why should i portray Nigeria's image in such manner. You see, Nigeria is a very interesting country. Just as you are optimistic about real change coming, you are taken aback by the emergence of one depressing scandal. Now, what can one make of this? A true picture of the Nigerian Dream? God forbid! But sadly enough, this happens to be the real picture of what is happening today in our society. 

Imagine this happening in Aso Rock, under the roof of our president, a man who has made so much effort to promote the principles of rule of law. But is this not a rule of lawlessness. What kind of example is the "First family" portraying to other Nigerian families? That these are the privileges of a member of the “First Family”? Are there even more revealing facts that we have not seen? Who knows? I doubt if Abacha’s sons would have conducted themselves like this at such a young and tender age. 

Today, our media personnel roar over the censorship bill that is about to be passed at the National Assembly, and i wonder, why the stress, even when we had the freedom to say whatever, what were we saying that is more than KOKOLET and YAHOOZEE? Where were the media when the president himself endorsed the Yahoozee track in Abuja, oh we have to wait for CNN or Oprah Winfery to talk about it so we can revolt and make rally over nothing. 

This is a country where poverty and hunger almost reign supreme. A country where thousands of people die of not having, And here, in Musa Yar’ Adua’s room in Aso Rock, is an unimaginable and flagrant display of our national cake. Why won’t we have armed robbers roaming Nigerian roads? Why won’t we have our young men doing Yahoo Yahoo? Why won’t we have militants kidnapping and blowing up oil wells? Or why won’t other politicians in government and their families, loot the treasury? and to borrow Idiare Atimomo's satire, "This Dam Will Soon Collapse". 

Again, I am just musing to myself...

Celebrity my FOOT !

Guys sorry, i know i should be sending you gists from kinsh and not still bother you with my laughable thoughts that won't just let me be, you know me now, when everything is alright, i don't feel secured, well we can still imagine this to be a gist but from my weary busy head. 
Hajarat called me few days before i left for kinsh and as we do as usual, during our midnight calls that last for over an hour, we gist about everything from the last time we dropped the phone till the second before the phone rang, so to cut the gist short, she gisted me about her school mate, who brought up a certain issues pertaining to dance, so my baby said to her "my fiance is a dancer" then she became curious to know about this dance genre called Contemporary dance, since my baby knows practically everything about me and we talk a lot about anything including the arts, so she started giving her a low down of the kind of things i get involved in. 

• So here we get to the basic reason for this note, after her explanation, the girl now said "so your husband is a celebrity, how are you coping?"
  

Celebrity my foot!

If there is one person on this earth that could claim to really know who i really am, then it must be Hajarat, hear her response "well, to start with, he doesn't see himself as one, and i don't see him as anything but my Qudus" beautiful right?... i don't know why the thought of this celebrity thing came up to my head again here in Kinshasa, i spoke to myself, "i think celebrity is meant for the TV no? those that appears few times on tv doing some very remarkable stuffs like Big Brother, like the movie stars and television actors with lead roles on prominently scheduled shows, High-ranking politicians, national television reporters, daytime television show hosts, supermodels, successful sport personalty. etc. Is that not what celebrity means?" Then i quickly ran to my dictionary.

celebrity |səˈlebrətē|
a famous person.
• the state of being well known :

I though i was wrong until sources from Wikipedia claims that "A celebrity is a widely-recognized or famous person who commands a high degree of PUBLIC and MEDIA ATTENTION."

ahhh! i thought... possibly i am a celebrity, since i got 1280 friends on facebook that increases by two to three daily, shown once or twice on some local, national and international TV and News Papers, i got few stuffs on the search engines, ahh Qudus, why have you been this naive? You are a celebrity... lol

                   Celebrity my ass!

This celebrity culture that doesn't involve paying any dues in Nigeria, you just buy the damn title, i mean normally... People of talent would work hard to create something--something written, something painted, something sculpted, something acted out--and it would be passed on to audiences. but with the rise of these fantasized "reality" TV shows, the audiences have been turned into the creators and social instruments needed. The alleged stars of these "reality" shows (especially Big Brother) have become famous not for doing or having some special talents, but merely for being... wow, how privileged and grateful they must be!

Even those who got some talent, what do they do with it to inspire the "common man"? Is it not in this Nigeria where "celebrities" make fame and the next moment they are thinking of their own clothing line, which is suppose to be their "appreciation" to the 140 million Nigerians, isn't it?... as if those clothes will be dashed out for free, this same celebrity that will arrogantly snub the "common man" that bumps into him or her on the streets of Surulere or a road side shop at Ikeja, even to reply to emails on facebook becomes a problem, cos they know these guys don't need autographs.

 

That is how ungrateful and arrogant our "cele-brities" could be, have you even coincidentally met one on a normal day, in a normal venue (which is not looking like the galleria nor shoprite), and you fast forward to say an intimate hi ? don't be shocked if the reply you get is "Have we met before?". some of them will add you as a friend on facebook, the next moment they are sending you their latest video over and over again, dedicating the same track to you almost a thousand times... sorry i didn't come to join facebook to be part of your business strategy, anything going beyond or rather below human relation, please count me out. if i can send you my videos then i must be ready to chat with you or reply your emails, i think facebook is suppose to be a social platform.

They call them celebrity and they run to the market with it, abeg o, i don't want to be part of your revolution, if i won't dance, what do i do with this celebrity title? Form padi-padi coalition to oppress, or feel more important to the people that has similar problems to mine, so there will be another underground celebrity friend of mine who will organize givings and awards to valorize my talent and creativity, and in-turn valorize his own image as the organizer of a one-in-town event, that regroups mobs of "celebrities" which will only end up making me become too paranoid to travel easily within the streets of Lagos, on okadas, in buses or taxis if i so wish... even within the so called celebs, we still find them getting involved in this childish need to have the last word and show off... Then the public will have a love/hate relationship with me.

Ahh! is that what i'm going do with this title. becoming a spectator on the field where i'm suppose to be a player, what if i personally refuse to acknowledge this title? even if some won't agree with me.

CELEBRITY MY YANSH !

Are we really higher ANIMALS?

IF God has decided to make us humans, in His infinite mercies, isn't it fortunate enough for us? 'cos its not our doing that we appear to be a higher creature than the animals. However, it has been proven that we are as well animals, although higher animals, since animals are defined as any living organism that feeds on organic matter, typically having specialized sense organs and nervous system and able to respond to stimuli. Then I began to think about what makes us higher animals, I haven't gone far into the world of my sometimes absurd thoughts, before I realized that even the fact that I have posed this question, already justifies why I am a "higher animal", then I went further by putting my thoughts into consideration in order to valorize my solo argument.

This our ability to ponder over our conditions, thinking before reacting, our reflective ability over whatever we perceive through our sense organs, these elements that distinguishes man from animals, has later tend to kill our innocence and make us loose our sudden inner impulse that should manifest in all normal animals without premeditation or external stimulus. 

I argue with myself, if these crucial module that is suppose to be our argument for being higher animals, is not becoming the same element responsible for our troubles and malfunction-ness. Creating all sort of suffering for the world and all that exist in it to grapple with, i mean, this ability to choose - and choose well to kill the little harmless insect instead of letting it go, ability to have an ocean dreams, that will soon flood away the efforts of those with just ways and means and leave others with blood on their skins, so that tomorrow, we scream out the notorious phrase « we made it! ». Our ability to fight - to fight for our right and fight for our loved ones and deliberately decline our reasoning of its aftermath because its our celestial right, are we really higher animals? who declared us to be? 

The animal part of me wonders, what the so called lower animals must be thinking about us, "these senseless people thinks they know so much, look at what they are turning our world into" i wonder if a brother cow, will be one day intelligent enough to dream about the creation of something that looks like the Atomic bomb and Avtomat Kalashnikova (AK-47) to bombard his fellow cows, no i can bet for money that it won't do that, 'cos it got pride and knows what shame is, and thats what we don't have, no wonder humans are the only animals who weep. 

Have we taken time to listen to what the animals has got to say about us, cos we kept defining everything, because we know quite well that the monkeys has got no advocate, the tigers has got no philosopher and there is no intellectual in the animal world that could be their mouthpiece and communicate with us, to heal us of our insanity in order to put us back into track of our lost naivety, without being killed or displayed in a special wildlife park for weirdness and top ten wonders of the world.

Hopefully one day we shall get a redeemer from the so called lower animals that we have killed so many of their prophets, yet they are calm and you go study the animals and see the way they watch us insightfully, lets hope we get redemption from them and not a revolution cos the world also belong to them and a revolution is often borne out of a familiar force repelling a non familiar pressure. We can fool them sometimes but can we fool them all time ?

Well i still got this prey in my mind, with my preconceived monologue, are human being really higher animals?

Gist from kinsh

Arriving at the airport aleady gives some interesting botton about the kind of air I'm going to breath in the next one month. I wondered if it was (the film maker guy that invited me to work with his preselected casts) Djo's Influence that mounted up to making a full uniformed immigration officer to be the one that handed me my fake vaccination card that Made it possible for me to pass through without wasting so much time. He guided me like I was a VIP on a special mision until we got to the passprt control. The officer that attended to me collected my passport and the yellow form I filled in the plane, he crosschecked my totally filled passport with all sort of visas, congolese visa is the last visa that entered into my passport, so i have to make another one now. Anyway. He checked the form I filled and smiled. He asked if I spoke French I answered "oui" then he smiled again he said in French "so your profession is dance." I replied "oui je suis danseur" then we both smiled while he shook his head in disbelive I was still smilling when he added "you must be a very good dancer" I said "I think so..." He stamped my passport and proceed to meet my immiration officer that has been waiting for me, he walked me to another young man that later collected my baggage tag from me while I describe the type of bag it is, cos all I had to do was to sit in a corner and watch the over disorganized bunch of grown men and women that wrestled over baggage. I wonder if I was really in an airport or an open market for fish auction.

As I sat everything began to look real, some pungent smell of cigaret almost fell me from my seat and I tried to remember if the air hostess was not repeatedly warning in the plane that smoking and snapping were extreemely prohibited in the airport area. I coughed out discretely and only one phrase came to my mind "no one is BELOW the law" as I continue to smile over my phrase I saw another white guy joined the band of smokers and the greatest joke of the night was the guy that walked towards him to tell him that smoking was prohibited. I was filled with laughter I couldn't hold it, the poor guy was making some jest to indicate he wasn't the only one smoking, and I said to myself "is someone BELOW the law?" ahhh perharp only foriegners are, I have to be careful. Not long after then they brought my bag and waited a bit for my immigration officer to confirm to me that the car is out to pick me. I quickly stood up to join Patrick who introduced himself and we aproached the land rover parked at the car park, I remarked that outside was so big I couldn't help but to say it to Patrick who later finished the phrase I got in mind "Yes and inside is so small, you can never imagine from inside" it was like they got the land for free but had a little resources to build with.

Got home to meet Djo and Bruno in the living room of a quite cosy duplex, filled with jeeps, land rovers and maids, i was welcomed in lingala and Djo introduced me to Bruno the director of the atelier, so i was quickly served my dinner while we delibrated on how the work will go.

Day 2 in kin, i set out to watch Bruno working with guys, and also the tai chi teacher, i was trying t obe quiet as i do alwyes whenever i am in a new space, i was introduced to the guys and the encounter began quite slowly but i wasn't bothered, and before i knew it, they started asking if in know « Faustin Linyekula » who is like one of the leading voice coming from Africa in the global dance scene, i said of course i do but funny enough i have never met him personally so one on them told me he already told him about my coming, so he gave me his number, rang him around 4pm and to my disbelieve this guy was with me at 6pm, that was humble, someone that i have only read on journals, internet, watched on YouTube and other documentary films, could be this simple, i already liked him, and those who knows me knows the kind of topic i get quickly carried away with, this guy is one of my biggest reference in terms of African artiste who are not using this romantic name « Africa » in a vulgar way to get us reduced to « African artist » before we know it, we were already deep into argument and discussion on the general madness. 

I was offered a free ride because the driver that was supposed to come pick me was unable to understand our movement, so Faustin proposed to drop me, Getting home after my hang out with him and his family as well as Jean christophe and Eza possible collective, i thought it was a good idea that seems real cool to get home and just find food on the table, " ...oh my father, who art in heaven, give us this day, our daily bread different from the French fries. " it was spaghetti with vegetarian source and by the side was a small bowl of deliciousely smelling pepper source, i was feeling like an African man that i'm supposed to be, so i dipped my little spoon in it, cos deep inside of me i know, how much of an African i am, so as not to get myself disappointed but the pepper was just too hot. 

Today i understood what people try to impact on you, when they say "you will smell pepper" wow that source almost killed me, naturally i am not that guy that will go to the kitchen to pick up his food and remember to bring water along, so tonight was not in any way different, but the first spoon i placed on my hungry tongue, stroke my consciousness, spoke to my feet and i didn't know when my left hand was forcing a bottle of cold water into my cervical cord, oooppss it was like an action movie. I mean hollywood action not nollywood, the different electronic reggae fuji music that was banging in my head didn't make me hear when Bruno was repeatedly asking if i was ok, i managed to get my voice heard, because i thought that pepper has siezed my voice, so spoke so loud, « YES... YES I AM OK, » but i couldn't just lie till the end, so i added « but.. wow, this pepper is HOT » but man, i have promised myself never to waste food again, so i eat less than my stomach wants, so as to be exact for its need, so i started gulping the SPA- GHET-TI, i tried to put all my impulse and sence organ to purse, so i can dearly face the consequence when i'm done, 
Sweating like a goat even from the nose, my tongue felt swolen as if there was acid on it, water dropping from my eyes without having the feeling of crying, at a point i couldn't control the mucus dropping from my nose through my mouth, in actual fact it was like they work more than the series of cold water i have been gulping, " ...wooooow i will never try this again. "
I started feeling better but never stopped staring at my plate and thougth to myself « if someone wants to kill me, they should simply ask me to lick the remains in the plate, i quickly rushed to keep the plate in the kitchen before i get tempted to commit suicide ... lol.


its a gist so manage the typo errors...
Qudus Onikeku, reporting for bloggers and fakebookers
Stay tuned for more from kinsh.

My analyst told me...

My Analyst told me that I have ego problem, he said I need some attention, someone to probably save me from myself, the way he described it, he said i'm too much into my head, that i'm not easily led from my crazy ideas, and my tempers are just bizarre.

• I looked at him furiously, I tranquilly picked up the wooden chair I was sitting on and carefully stroke it against his shinning forehead, his glasses that were thickk enough to read my mind were broken into particles and all over the floor was filled with blood...
  

That was exactly what I got in mind for him, but I knew I wouldn't dare that, I just asked him “what's so strange if you found out that you're already a brainiac at the age of four ?”
I had a brain and that was insane, I had a dream and that was atypical.
He also refer to my ex's analysis of who she thinks I am, she said and he quotes “... he is that kind of guy that creeps upon a girl, make them feel loved and let them down when they begin to fall for him, we have been together for two years and he hardly say “I Love you” I think he also has that problem”

I picked up my phone, rang Hajarat to tell her how much I love her, miss her and promise to make the queen of my life...

My Analyst thinks he can put me in a box, so he can say “...alright this is who you are” but I get him so pissed, 'cos my complexity is not just making his job easy. I asked again “what will you do if you have a temperament that will not just let you be, I mean one that could just turn your five year old dreams of BLUE to RED in just one hour? A temperament that doesn't conform to any written rule, culture, nation, notion, religion, philosophy, profession etc. One that makes an African feel American at times when in Europe, or feels European when in America and something else when in Africa, one that makes a dancer wear the cap of a circus artiste, take up the job of a writer and critiquing, in the next moment making documentary film and writing poetry and making street art, and taking up the expertees of a sociologist and preaching the gospel of Islam, quoting Fela Kuti and the bible, and spends all day listening to Bob Marley and Obesere while socializing on facebook and soliloquise on the stage. Yet trying so hard to remain simple, 'cos i'm in the process of establishing my truth, accuracy and validation of something that circulates around my existence which i can never verify if it is right or wrong".

My analyst will not give up, 'cos he need to authenticate his hard earned degrees, my analyst thought he was accessing a young man who is pretending to know what he wants. NO, that's where he got it all wrong, because one thing I know is that I am a successful young man that doesn't know precisely what he wants but doing all he can to reject completely those things he doesn't want.

My Analyst told me I got an ego problem, I sat back, I was tranquil, fixed my gaze on him and I see smiles forcing their way out of my upper lips, I watch his lips dangle with passions like a performer of rap music, but this is a full grown man that knows his onion, meanwhile, I was long gone in my world of thoughts, I feel so high, I even touch the sky...

in Nigeria, we are allowed to be a dreamer.

In Nigeria we are allowed to dream, 
'cos what are we really left with
our best moments had been robbed, 
bargained for and mortgaged ages before 
the sad good news of our conscious birth. 
in Nigeria, ideas are not what we search for, 
we have them in gross, cos we permit ourselves to dream 
and enjoy the fruits of our ecstatic hard work 
only in the comfort or our beds.

Crying out the notorious phrase "This will be great" 
'cos from the moment we step our feet 
out of our illusive heavens, 
we face the daily reality again and unconsciously forget 
about those abundant dreams, until we get back to our bed, 
to begin another dream that will ease us of all the dailies 
of our daily lives.

then we have just one ambition,
and that ambition is to pester our long gone distant cousin
about joining him in the quest for a greener life 
than that of the Nigerian flag,
we compile the sweat of our hard earned money
and dream about the day we will leave...
our departure is not about leaving the country 
but walking away from these troubles of our life,
hoping that dreams come true across the Niger

When you become a Nigerian in the diaspora
you are still allowed to dream.
'cos you don't have much you are left with
Some moments in life, everything stops working 
as sudden as they started, leaving one in a complete stand still
you feel so lazily hard working and call yourself silly names like "Shit... Merde"
'cos nothing seems moving in the direction of your feet.

Then you've got just one ambition at this point
and that ambition is just to be where your heart is,
you dream of your return,
speak to yourself in loud voice,
in a very Nigerian way
words of self confidence in your hallucinatory 'home - coming" 
you raise your personality high with two stars,
you brag about how you alone will turn the town up-side-down 
and paint it all RED.

This is the sort of feeling that occupies my busy mind at times.
is it a dream? or an objective? or mere optimism?
Optimism itself, isn't it a dream, 
the song playing in the mind of the oppressed is for sure "optimism"
and that's what we are left with, 
for that is the only moment we are able to enjoy those things we miss
even if it is for a minute, we live that moment as robustly as we can
'cos we are sure of loosing that enjoyment in the next wind that blows on our sensibility.
Well i am allowed to be a dreamer. 'cos i am 101% NIGERIAN.

I don't know about other nations but i think there is a particular kind of dream that is very peculiar to nigerians, there is the issue of our aspiration that has been trampled upon by some few that makes us even dream of the very basics of life, like electricity and pipe borne water, you know the more tribulations you go through in life, it forms you, refines your sight and make you see just money in everything, money becomes the numero uno of our motivation, when poverty (not just financial) creeps upon you, you become vulnerable and anything goes, and in a situation where anything goes even your dreams go. 

A very personal anger is that of my fellow Nigerian dancers, there was a time when guys were aiming big, thinking of projects and how to make things happen both internationally, nationally and locally, but there comes a little shift in recent times, where guys makes "nice cash" through salsa dance, "reality" tv shows, music clips and animating for oil companies and banks etc. 

So "Success" in that definition can as well be another kind of dream killer, because when we had nothing we were quite young so we could do a lot of sacrifice but now guys are in serious need of meeting with daily expenses and responsibilities, so there is a huge rush for the daily bread and of course the money is coming but where are those dreams?

In Nigeria we trade dreams in exchange for anything, in which its popular demand is "material success" 
in the Diaspora i wonder if we even dream again, cos we never have the time... 

GUYS DEY HUSTLE FOR ABROAD.

Nigeria, comment ça va!

Nigeria, a nation richly blessed with poverty
a perpetual ignorant of her abilities due to her disabled condition 
for her metamorphosing sons, from man into homosexuals overnight 
raping her in broad day light.
she sells her offsprings to the vulgar opportunists.

Nigeria, a nation situated in the midst of illusion
deaf to the cries of her beloved visionaries
most intelligent intellectuals, 
that is only good for the benefit of other lands
because the intelligent ones at home 
are left with scamming machines.

Africa looks up to Nigeria
as Nigeria look down to the world
Nigeria musing over joining the up north
as she takes-in illusion
the World explains to Nigeria comment çava up north
but Nigeria is just a crippled nation, optimistically sitting on her ass
struggling to get unto her axis, struggling to get her center right

Nigeria, is just a notion, 
a customized dead giant in motion
a politically correct expression, 
a brand for amalgamation,
a geographical illustration.
Nigeria, seen from all angles yet we see the same.

Nigeria... hmmmm. yaaaawwwwnnnn!

Every man has got the right to decide his own destiny,
And in this judgement there is no partiality.
So arm in arms, with arms, we'll fight this little struggle,
'Cause that's the only way we can overcome our little trouble.

Yes brother you are right! I am very optimistic too 
but very soon we shall find out who the real revolutionaries are, 
cos i don't want my people to be tricked by those amongst us 
who are primarily concerned with material reward 
at the expense of ethics and revolution. 
In everyman chest, there beats a heart but 
i have fears hidden in my breast, i don't know why...

Nigeria, A nation blind to her disgrace
a nation of disillusioned adults
turning the whole town into a sex city,
pedaling at the same velocity since dawn
yet, a mob of celestial favors, youth, talents, work force, intellectuals
hopelessly anticipating the future in the punk way
Chauffeured by a playboy puppet, not woman enough to drive his home safely.

there are tears hidden inside of her, 
the world look at her with scorn 
and offering her a transplanted heart.
and they ask in a witty voice, comment çava Nigeria
for the world knows, she is just a brand new second hand.

With the thought of the 1960 Nigerian madness
I learn how to dialogue
with the thought of the future heroes I contribute to my world
with the grace of my parent I'm alive today
in the name of my family I thank you listeners, audience 
and readers of my poetry, Article and essays
in the name of my nation, I pledge to be humble
for the pleasure of many antagonizing folks, i promise to step aside.

US tour 1

The General Misunderstanding... Contemporary dance in Nigeria!

One of my frequently asked questions these days is "So, What is your plan after school?" or precisely put as "so, what is your participation in the ongoing development in Nigeria", although it is an ambiguous question to ask a young guy like me who is just about to leave The National Higher School of Circus Arts, a school that is considered one of the best in Europe, where one becomes a sort of "hot cake" after passing through this school.

The Ambiguity of my frequently asked question is that, i am a contemporary dance artiste, that, i'm about to finish from an art school, and musing over going to play a part in the ongoing development of my country, haha, that sounds more like a suicide mission to me, being a dancer and being a Nigeria, two things that doesn't go well together, well why am i complaining is it not my choice after all, because some will counter my stupid notion of dance in Nigeria by citing that "shebi Kaffy is a dancer, Ijodee is a dancer and they are both Nigerians and doing very well" The only excuse i have at the end of the day is that, our aspiration and pride is just not the same, i'm going to lay down my problems and you have two choices to choose from, either you will move with my stupid notion or urge me to seek alternative elsewhere, cos i don't usually sound patriotic.

I'm creating this kind of forum which i have tagged MAD HAUZ (Media And Dance), to see if i could ever settle with these questions that fiddles with my mind, to engage you all in a forum where the ignorance and general misunderstanding of contemporary dance in Nigeria can be settled, to update my own general understanding of the typical Nigerian society, which of course i cannot still claim a complete understanding of how things work and to also share my own vision for development.

To start with, i will give a very brief narration of a very recent wind that simultaneously swept over many nations of Africa, it is the wind of contemporary "African" dance, that came in trough the windows of the west (mostly French), the race began in the 80s, then it will be legal to say that contemporary dance in Africa has been around for close to two decades, it marked its debut in Nigeria, in 1994 to be precise and since then it has been growing with an unquenchable pace all over Africa, network is being set all over the continent, dancers started getting together and it is sounding very much like the eve of independence, and so it will also be legal to say that, it is the fastest growing contemporary art form on the continent, but i find it difficult to alter such a phrase in the Nigerian context.

Since 1994, Contemporary dance has only existed (officially) in Lagos and Ibadan, proponents of Contemporary dance in Nigeria has performed outside Nigeria or rather outside Africa than they've ever done in Nigeria, even at that, the audience for contemporary dance in Nigeria is usually fellow dancers, few other artistes, but more of the expatriates, it is still perceived as a foreign product, as a copycat of a western value, but i have no problem with that, it is new then it must certainly be chaotic and that will evoke a lot of agitations and contempt, but what i tend to have problem with is the circumstances at which it is being operated in most countries of Africa.

However, local critics has scolded us over and over for our sell off, then i demand of them to respond my questions, economically, are we able to meet up with our ends-meet, while performing our traditional dances that has presently been degraded to a tool to welcome VIPs at the airport and terminals, entertainers at wedding ceremonies, an element for filling the gap during "item 7"(Menu! Menu!! Menu!!!) at Unilever and Cocacola end of the year party. Legislatively, are we up to date? are we able to command respect by trying to keep tradition alive? i don't know if other dance practitioners feel good doing that, but i got my own dignity and pride to shield, and nobody can put me in a box. I am not holding anyone responsible for that, not even the government, whose idea of a dancer is a raffia wearing and spear carrying man looking very "African". Its all about the general misunderstanding.

The question i in-turn ask myself is that, does my notion of Home mean precisely being physically in Nigeria? are dancers really forgetting their cultural heritage, if some of them tend to do away with dance forms that has existed centuries ago, to be involved in some more creative tasks that conforms to today's lingua franca and becoming a vanguard that will shake tomorrow, i ask myself if there will be any logical development or cultural evolution, if we decide to stick to our root, which is suppose to make us grow and spread out more branches. The dance industry is not only about the dancers, it also about who is managing it, who is writing about it, who is making it popular for the audience to have a feel of it, a work of art is only completed when it is out there, if it is still in the studio, there can't be any dialogue on such art piece.

Now, talking about development, this is the part i feel capable of developing, there is a bi-annual meeting that rotates from country to country all over Africa, (just like the African cup of nations) it is called Dance -Africa- Dance (African and indian ocean choreographic encounters), it has never been brought to Nigeria and the only Nigerian that has ever won this price is Adedayo M. Liadi (Ijodee) and that was since 2003, the last edition was in Tunis between 1st and 8th of May 2008, i have had the opportunity to regularly attend this meeting since 2001, and i will tell you that Nigeria lags so much behind in all of these continental norm.

I am presently at the edge of bringing in over 130 professionals, cultural operators, journalists, film makers and art scholars into the city of Lagos in 2009 for EWA BAMI' JO, this is one of the initiatives i find very important for clarity and for us to well fix our gaze unto the floor as we go on with our encounters with the world, being able to go global but with our local consciousness. This initiative is about Africa, which as well stand a great chance of bringing the realities of contemporary dance to fellow Nigerian where my primary target lies. i want to begin a fresh movement that is very well poised, backed with intellectual discourse and powered by this present youth-quake spreading all over the continent.

For this logical development, i found it absolutely impossible for Contemporary dance to grow in a society such as ours, if the media is not educated on this dance genre, in order to educate the masses or be persuaded to cover it (for we believe that seeing is believing). However, it is when a precise representation of dance is made by whosoever is writing about it or presenting it on TV, that this general misunderstanding be eradicated, what i propose now is using this blog medium, to answer questions (those that i am capable of...) on contemporary dance, propose articles that has been written on dance in other parts of the continent and other links to such discovery.

To make my final precision in order to avoid another general misunderstanding, i am not doing this because i need fame or its look alike, (i like the kind life wey i dey live now!), so please don't suggest writing my story in the front page of a national daily (no harm meant), I'm not so much hungry for popular audience, its not about the audience now, its about you and us, the media and dance! because for me, it is a really sad thing that we've got just one dance critic on the African soil (Adrienne Sichel, who will soon retire by the way), so this is just to see if we could share something amongst ourselves as youth and who knows, you might be the next celebrated African dance writer and that will certainly be a plus to Nigeria.

Ditto:
for further info please visit the following link and have a different feel of what i am talking about.

www.ewabamijo.blogspot.com
www.movementrevolutionafrica.com
http://www.kuumba-survivors.com/peterbadejoobe.htm
http://www.artmatters.info/theatre/articles/dance2.php
http://www.ukzn.ac.za/cca/Jomba_2005.htm
http://biography.jrank.org/pages/2893/Acogny-Germaine.html
http://www.kinodance.com/participants.html

Boundaries of Criticism in “21st Century” AFRICA

It is incontrovertible to us right now that the supremacists and proponents of western civilisation has proclaimed Africa to be absolutely not part of the world map of thinkers and ideologists, Academic racism was pushed by white supremacists during the period when white people garnered great profits from slavery and colonialism. Which had the effect of attempting to deny and define the culture, history and ancestry of the victims of the profitable slave and colonial systems. Before i go far, i will state a handful of comments that will make it clear to us that the clichés laid down for us Africans has gone beyond repair, it is only left to us to turn them around and use them to our own advantage. Film maker and cultural historian Owen 'Alik Shahadah made a comment, stating that, “Historically Africans are made to sway like leaves
on the wind, impervious and indifferent to any form of civilisation, a people absent from scientific discovery, philosophy or the higher arts. We are left to believe that almost
nothing can come out of Africa, other than raw materials”, which can as well be turned inside out to their continuous need of ritualistic and primitivist contents coming out of Africa. A
Scottish philosopher and economist David Hume made an accurate comment to verify the genuineness of Shahada's statement, saying he is “apt to suspect the Negros to be naturally inferior to the Whites. There scarcely ever was a civilised nation of that complexion, nor even any individual, eminent either in action or in speculation. No ingenious manufacture among them, no arts, no sciences”.

Africa has been systematically detached from the rest of the world and we can now understand and see reasons why Africa can not continue to play the role that the world has specially left us with, in this civilization the higher man is rated higher based on his intellectual capabilities and the basic element used in measuring this, is either the arts or sciences. Without doubt Africa cannot claim a higher share in the sciences but that doesn't mean that there are no Africans or "Negros" in the front line of present day science and technology, but one thing that i am quite sure of is that Africans has a concrete stake in the discourse of arts, but not by engaging in cultural tourism or propagating the ways and believes of our fore-fathers.

The world look up to Africa with hope as much as they look down to it with despairs of their culpability, they treat Africa as another breed, different from the human race, it has become their mirror, but not looking directly at them selves, but looking at their humanity, a place where it becomes possible for them to carry out their humanitarian assignment, for them to continue to feel the human in them, then if we look at the world today, only the west becomes the architect of humanitarian initiations, they are the ones travelling around the world, adopting kids all over, they are the ones bold enough to give aides and save the lives of these Negros, saving them from themselves, they even show off their "givings" for personal gratification and surplus values, haven't you seen them use how much aide they've given in Africa for their curriculum vitae and Nobel price for peace? so they will look away from what could appear to be the solution to these problems, because from the moment that is solved, they won't have anywhere to go for their humanitarian pilgrimage, their children who has even gone to the extent of studying it in schools will have no more market to integrate after studying how to be useful to the petit negro.

It will be an understatement that is looking away from the truth, if we proclaim that the "love" the west has for Africa has not gone beyond humanitarian, The west that is doing all she could to encourage our melancholic moods and give shape to our thoughts, so that we could be matured enough to treat our own issues in our own primitive ways, therefore, an African thinker should only think about African issues, their scientist must only be busy, thinking
about cure to malaria and typhoid, staphylococcus and ring warm, they should be more keen about how to reduce the numbers of people dying with AIDS daily in every single houses in Africa, they should careless about vegetation, global warming is not their issue, that's the world's issue, so let the worlds talk about it, similarly our artists should concentrate on keeping our tradition alive, we should hold on to the part that has been heavenly bestowed upon us, that is, the entertainers bringing them freak shows so they can continue to get the exoticism coming from this special continent.

In this age of hybridity and mixing, technology and popular culture, If there is one perfect exemplification of the avant- guardist movement in which Africa is still being denied of, it
will precisely be in the words of Bell Hooks in his essay, Making Movie Magic, where he stated that “in this postmodern era which has been proclaimed as the era of nomadism, the time when fixed identities and boundaries lose their meaning and everything is in flux, when border-crossing is the order of the day, the real truth is that most people find it very difficult to journey away from familiar and fixed boundaries”. This then become where my own
criticism of the so called critiques who began to give shape to the academic look unto the African continent.

Since they are the organisers and sellers of meaning and information, much of which is now clear to us as sincere propaganda, that will automatically inform the reaction i will get
during my encounter with the common man on the street of Europe, as well as during their voyage to Africa, and since the market for finished goods and the centre stage for exposition is under their concierge, that has not given them the audacity to dictate what comes out of Africa, this ideological colonisation that is sweeping all over Africa in this 21st Century, must surely come to an end, i will radically condemn any so called critique or intellectual, sitting somewhere in France or England, one who wonders in his mansions, sipping his cup of coffee on the roadside café of Paris, or eating burger king on the broad ways of New york, one who spends profitable time in the comfort of his library, in front of his books that has been borne out the intellectual masturbation of “their own” homegrown intellectuals who has written about Africa in the 19th and 20th century from miles away, then want to extend this augmented truth of his across to us the offspring of this 21st century, coming out from the blues to tell me what is African and what not is African, passing the ecstasies of his present intellectual masturbation across the boundaries of his analytical capabilities, i will renounce all the so called festivals and awards and contests that presently exist on the African soil, the so called biggest platforms that produces “Africa's best”, these meetings that has been systematically
tailored and shaped for a surplus value that will suit the whiteness of the west, juried by the beloved and respected sons and daughters of the west, seconded by few of their ideologically
colonised black allies.

Not to radically condemn or castigate such initiations but to carefully put to table, to be weighed on different grounds, one that consciously knows what is coming in and also able to
appreciate two worlds, which is one aspect of our realities as Africans that can't be ignored, liking it or not is a secondary issue. Like every art form, critique itself evolve out of necessity, put into consideration and die afterwards, despite the conservative cry of “standards and identity”, there be no criticism of all time especially in the case of Africa, where things metamorphose with a desperate speed, will however be a landmark admission of the bankruptcy of the old critical vocabulary, confronted with ever-new and evolving forms of art.

Just as a case-study, It is absolutely unimaginable for me to accept that a dance piece such as Heddy Maalem's Rite of spring be condemned under the shadows of insecurity and evading the truth we don't wish to bear, because that is the only thing that makes us uncomfortable even while in the comfort of our very well conducive theatres. The discourse of colonialism and slavery in Europe has been cunningly arranged in layers under the ground, buried for ever and never to see life again, in Europe, we can talk about everything subordinate to that, but not to go undisguisedly into this part that hurts and could arouse anger and agitation from the
side of the offended. In the works of Heddy Maalem, one could be just if we proclaim his controversial approach and frontal presentation of Africans before their identified adversaries, as “the manipulation of dangerous substances”, asking the interdicted questions, speaking the vulgar language to the very ears of the priest who is also a silent dealer in this specified trade.

Based on the revitalisation of this concealed veracity, will then be the crucifixion of anyone who is going to step into the shoes of the betrayer, then emerges the question of political and
cultural identity, question of manipulation, question of colonial exposition of Black bodies, i shake my head in irritation, whenever phrases of such breeze through my ears “The piece is not
bad, but looking at it from the political point of view, it is not correct, because he (Heddy Maalem) is not African”. Thank God its not politically correct, because that is where my own interest in a genuine work of art lies these days, i won't want to be the advocate of Mr Maalem, but i could also justify my advocacy for this piece because i performed in it, and i will tend to refuse the name i am being indirectly stamped with by accepting this self-cheapening contract, but by making it clear that Heddy is first an Algerian before being a French, the shocking death of his father in the wars of Algeria has augmented his fears and quest for constructed identity, and if we claim that Algeria is not part of Africa, then i don't know from where we are drawing the line.

An artiste that goes nude on a stage has nothing to worry about, it is the eyes watching that then decide if they have a problem with that or not, and that is the question they have to deal with, that is the way to cultivate the audience's look to contemporary dance, so being nude on stage is something and making a striptease show is something else. In the words of the Congolese choreographer and philosopher Zab Maboungou, where she asked the derogatory question “what are you looking at when you look at African dance? and if its still the black body you are looking at, well this may get very boring in the end” so if me being BLACK poses a problem to any eyes watching me out there, it remains his own identified problem, and this is truth that most of us don't like to bear, as i have understood that we all have our self esteem to keep high, we all have need to deliberately denigrate the other in order to magnify our superiority, being it from other race or not, man will continue to be man, and nothing will be
inhuman in our acts, racism is a matter of history and i think we still need more centuries to settle with that, i accept that i could be a racist, and i think this is a first step, i know that i
have a racist part of me and this is what i have to deal with, to let go and live a bearable life with others, but my fear is for those i see daily in the media, trying to intellectualise and
making politics out of a common problem, not admitting that we are humans, and supremacy and jealousy will forever reign in the minds of every individual.

In other words, if i decide to bring in another case study like Kettly Noel, whom the critique of our adversaries proclaimed and awarded one of the leading voices coming from Africa, an Haitian who has sincerely adopted Mali without questions of manipulation. I'm not going to intentionally condemn her work that appears “very African” because of the grotesque images she plays around with, her exposition of trancelike gestures and non-believed rituals that is just a mockery of the real, that will make any conscious African of this century blush, but my interest is just to place the like of Kettly Noel to juxtapose the works of Heddy Maalem, and we will see clearly that lies become clearer when it is placed beside a truth. Like every good art, it should be critiqued above the bias of racial differences and economic imbalance, above talent or lack of talent, but based on what it can do and at what level its subject has arrived at convincing its audience, it will then not be acceptable that a banal piece of art, be recompensed for its coming from Africa, I refuse to subscribe to any institution that goes around, carrying banners and flags, screaming "I'm black and proud" in this 21st century, i say farewell to post colonialism, are we going to be colonies for ever? Its not about pride, gays will proclaim gay pride for they are fighting to resist a major pressure that seem to be different from their own kind of breed, but the pressure we are presently faced with in Africa is no way different from our race, the ism that i am grasping with is not about colour or race, it is a thing of the mind, regardless the body type or skin color the body is putting on, this ism that seeks to reduce me to a mere jester or one who practises non- believed rituals on stage, one who seeks to reduce my thoughts and enslave my aspiration, so that my reflection about the world be limited to where my economic capabilities is levelled. I am sincerely a racist against idiots, no matter the colour, I'm allergic to game people who seeks to mortgage our future for their own gratification.

One of the images that creators, dancers or performers of contemporary dance in Africa tend to pass across to us is images of the real, springing from the sincerity of their experiences or
history, but what the audience in me will not want to see is, giving me or re-staging to me all the dailies of my daily life, I'm not opposed to that but if a performer or choreographer will
ever attain that height of bringing reality on the stage then he (or she) must really be “ready” to climb the mountain he is anticipating, he can't afford to play around that, it is illogical
for me to see an African creator, anticipating African realities on stage, fabricating a sort of documentary of the real, when our sincere job is only to mirror and make a sincere fiction out of the real, because what could be of more interest to the audience is the ability to see something decoded, a re-invention of the real that has been re-imagined in a creative way at which the audience is familiar with and yet far away from. That's what makes any art piece so compelling. Visionary filmmaker Stan Brakhage declares that “slavish mirroring of the human condition feels like a bird singing in front of a mirror. The less the work of art reflects the world the more it is being in the world and having its natural being like anything else.” he went on by saying “Film must be free from all imitations, of which the most dangerous is the imitation of life.” This is true of not just cinema but also for dance and other artistic expressions. This is the point where the Occident misplace creative performance with the documentation of our reality.

Sing-around-a-rosy.

Sing-around-a-rosy.
This Theater is full of roses.
singing a song of people…

Walking down the rails,
Sailing across the seas.

I hear an echo, It is a call,
A call from a mother
A mother of ideas,
and
curator of secrets,
Peopled by the natives of my origin
It is a call from my homeland.

Sing-around-a-mosey
this stage is full of mediocre

i dance to a rhythm
I hear an echo of other peoples
A people sucker of our pipes,
Seeker of our green grassy grounds
A people of humanity… NOT,
Who knows not humility,
With a heart of stone gold

I dance to a rhythm of a people
Whose sea chants babel
Audible echoes.
The celebrants of life
Even, of DEATH!

Sing-around-a-prosy.
This pond is full of proses.

One of the surfers of the earth wisdom.
I declare, I belong.
We write about the rite.
We create, they cry.
These feelings I get,
Disorderliness in man.
This allergy I have got.
Lairs, -mongers, foes and game people?

How do I move?
How do I dance?
How do I write?
And for WHY do I?

Sing-around-a-foxy.
This fund is flu that freezes.

I can’t dance. trapped all over.
Our patron, a couple of fresh blood-mongers.
our friends, a bunch of foes.
And I swear not to be a prey.
Why is man in here
Running after fiction?

I just need a stage to be seen.
Maybe I’m wrong.

Once again I’m out of my mind.
And this time I promise its over.

Sing-around-a-posy.
this dais is full of poses
we all fall down anyway!

I'm afraid,
i need someone to save me from me
perhaps i'm a cliché to me
for i feel i can be everything,
but inside of me
i hear a sad song singing it to me
that i am everything BUT a good song.

This lousy temperament
has woken the vultures from their den,
the sorcerers that seeks fresh blood
to endorse their faraway melodies.
i have seen the swift movement
of their gracious steps,
i am aware of these curious eyes,
looking out for me...

Sing-around-a-cosy.
This field is full of roses.

...and i cannot just close mine,
will it above my aspirations and
forget who i want to be,

i am at the borders of bearing
the burdens of my boyhood,
arrange them in order of preference,
for i can smell the dazzling odor
of the sun rays tenderly putting light
on my feet.

but with my index finger
pointed to the heavens,
i swear i want nothing...

and nothing to succeed me.
Sing-around-a-rosy.
This Theater is full of roses.

(c) Qudus Onikeku.

Living between paradox and paradise

Living between two realities that seemed really different and contradicting sums up to form prison walls around ones’ existence. Imagine a Yoruba - English speaking - Nigerian residing in France, complication of identity and imprecision of which language or culture to think, to pray and converse with one's (self) inner mind and the conflict of which philosophy to incorporate to life generally, those closer will seem very far away, those far away will in turn be the ones closer, when people speak around, just their echo could be perceived because they are quite far away from your reality. and how does one deal with that.

To better complicate the issue lets take me as an example, a swinger between being a student who is suppose to operate with a constant juvenile energy and on the other end, a professional artiste whose melancholy depresses him more often than ever, two characters which are quite distant to the other, a dancer whose body is imbued with movements and emotion to confront and remind the audience of the reality of the world they live, filling every moving second with poetry but also an acrobat, a circus artiste (entertainer), taking the colors of sorrow away from the soul of the audience, taking them on a journey, away from the reality of the outer world, sometimes a clown and sometimes not so far from a savage.

Today I feel like starting up a diary, to say all I want to say, to myself, because in here in my little apartment, there is none to listen or say my mind to, so I write it out, perhaps it stops me from standing in the center of a thick forest one thick sunny day and screaming the hell out of my voice or slamming myself against my concrete enclosure, I speak my mind, I let my mind ascend above the four walls of this earth to search and bring back distant, exotic brick with which I seek to fabricate a better endurable world within this world.

I write of my desired world in words of optimism; aiming thereby to reduce the massive mass of this pessimist world on my shoulders, rediscover my woebegone personality. In this world, loss of self is often expressed as vexation. Anger is the element of attempt to re-crystallize the slowly dissolving self of the oppressed, anger builds a slow and carefully progressive relationship with one and creeps upon one silently until one day. That day, when it will explodes in an assured violence, leaving one in disbelief of ones own capability of being vicious

- I want to recover my lost self - now that I have became conscious of the fact that I had not really had a self to express in the world, that self has flown away with the migrating birds the day I realized that I am enchained, impotent of my own free will, this chain enslaves not so much the hand and feet as it does to the mind, what is left here is nothing but a mass of soulless fellow only to be revived by a witch doctor, a helpless ass sitting inactively in front of a Broadway cinema, gorgeous hair, dress to kill - kill to dress, but... with tearful eyes and saddened soul; an empty box filled with rubbish and garbage of human development, and a pirated machine that only resembles human being but unable to say NO when it is most needed.

i am aware of the curious eyes staring at me, i close mine, i willed it over the walls of this world to other places. Free. i dream of standing under the stars in my world, where the rain would be falling, there would be nothing else: just me and rain and stars and my feet, i will trust my legs, i will run and just run, my legs will decide when and where to stop - Sometimes the anger leaves one as suddenly as it appeared; then one enter a state of tranquil acceptance. Realizing the absolute puerility of anger: it was nothing, absolute nothing but acid, cancer, eating away ones bowels in the dark.

One accepts the inescapability of ones fate; and with that, I have learnt the craft of cunning, I have learnt ways of surviving - surviving the mindless banality of the walls of this pessimist world around my optimist world and finally, the strong man is not that who has got the most vicious virtuosity but that who has been able to kill his anger when it is most predestined.

Photographers are certainly NOT artist !

Here is an interesting argument i engaged my dear friend Adeoye Adewale in, few weeks ago, and we made a deal to put our argument into essay and see what others says about it, Adeoye is a remarkable scientist, one of the best in present day Unilag and has a wonderful reflection over the arts, so read his ground breaking argument and let me know what you think.

This simple essay attempts to discuss on a rather difficult topic, namely, does photography qualify as an art or an art form? While I cannot claim to possess the force and tact of an art critic who in these days of specialisation qualifies to render opinions on such subjects, I wish to refer my reader to the natural rights of the layman to estimate values and substances in these nontechnical fields; these are apparently subjects of opinions and of the mind, and it is in this comfort I go ahead with my arguments.

It would be immediately necessary to clear certain definitions or stances with the reader in order to foster understanding and a good relationship with him. I make to assert that "art is definable." This point is extremely important and cannot be overemphasised, if everything is to be understood. And why shouldn't it? Why shouldn't it be definable? In order to prevent such hideous speculations which take roof under sentimentality and emotions, unlasting expression-states, this axiom becomes not only responsible, but the only way to constructive development in the subject of art. The nonstimulation often witnessed with the arts (as opposed to the sciences) carry the effects of over-sentimentality, weakness to define or inability to recognize forms, and lack of critical art analysis and reviews. So, reader, we shall do away with all such foreign thoughts and set out to make certain postulations about art and its forms:

1. Art is definable and tangible
2. Art is accessible and analyzable

Also it can be said of art that it is an evocative singular and thorough exercise of the mind and body, and a complete realization of individualism. And of course art may the other things, which don't necessarily exclude the above mentioned points.

In recent times however, an emerging form claims to suitably express individuality. That it can insist on artistic quality and tangibility however represents a quite disturbing leap in its claims. This form consists in the “artist” observing his immediacy (note immediacy) and by aid of an electronic device capture this in still form. It is called photography and with its many proponents across the world seeks to grace the art podium and make merry with such established art forms as painting and sculpture. There are many ways to look at this, one of which consists of sentimental review or its equivalent in the outpour of emotion/thoughts by the observer. To grapple to such “proofs” and insist on the qualification of this form through results obtained by such means betrays irresponsibility, for there is always a reaction to that superficially observed. It’s no more such shows as those which constantly play on the streets or in one’s room; watching a marketwoman display her wares or call to buyers also creates such feelings in the observer (of which he is surprisingly most often quickly emptied) and yet says nothing of the marketwoman and her wares as objects of art. It is important to note this.

Thus, I insist, the worth of an art object is intrinsic and clearly isn’t only apparent upon its evocation of feelings in the observer.
Photography proponents claim the uniqueness in shots make a scene, the ingenuity of the photographer in capturing a still moment which most often can’t be repeated add substance to the act itself, but they seem to forget that even under their own rules, any one shot irrespective of time, space and form can be sufficiently interpreted as art. Should art then lose its form only to satisfy the definitions of a few? It follows that the outcomes, these shots, are hardly tangible/unique, and thereby insufficient as art forms

An argument which very well raises the greatest doubt about the artistic quality of photography resides in the common realization that art is design and by design I certainly do not mean craft or its relations, but willful and conscious participation in the eventual form and state of an outcome. It is only too obvious that the photographer has his home in fortuitousness and the likes. Many a work begs on suddenness in order to realize force, which they do have at times. It is no news many a photographer are often bailed out, in some sort, by a tiny fleck, an unplanned twist, just at the flash of the bulb, what they eventually hold to in substantiating their results. Art, of course, is more than accident and has been for years a relative companion of science in hardwork and toil.

My feelings are, that the mid-20th century decadence in thought and action, represented grossly by the American hippiedom, the craze for sport, unguarded excercise of liberty, and the rebellious teenager, mutated in accidental and quick expressions and eventually stabilized seeking honour, taking eventual forms and consolidation in the acknowledgement of false for true, creationism for science, capitalization for end-of-history and photography for art.

There is resistance however and in the same thread, much of Hollywood hardly qualifies as art. Thus, it surprises how much thought is given photography. As pointed out earlier, that intrinsic in photography is immediacy points to its transitoriness. It suffices to watch (supposed craftily) and only thereafter capture the still, perhaps even irrationally, once the name is made. This makes a mess of real work. 
Of course, photography does well in informing, serves well as news-items and as a result can enjoy classification under headings of whatever names, except of course art.

I am indeed a layman in these things and so, though I show mistrust, 
can be lightly convinced. For the proponents of photography or her apologists, it isn’t sufficient to tell away my arguments as opinions or views of one simply complementing the grand whole. Rather, a return of arguments proving the inherent artistic substance of photography, if it should exist, must be tendered. So, the ball lies in your court.

(c) Adeoye Adewale

UP NEPA in the City of light!

This darkness...
This energy of life,
This darkness...
These happy people,
This darkness still keeps our humanity alive
and brings us close to the destructive human nature.

sounds of generator,
clamored claps
sounds of effected silence
in this city,
we celebrate life.
In this city,
we even celebrate electricity



UP NEPA has crept gently
into the bowels of our society
and became a permanent bastard
every home can't avoid,
even those with noise making machine
that generates power,
it reminds us that if
Nigerian Electrical Power Authority
can metamorphose into
Never Expect Power at All.
then, anything can happen.

UP NEPA is still our most popular hymn,
even if PHCN threatens to be
a Company that Holds our National Power.

*** UP NEPA ! ***
is not just another phrase in Nigerian context,
it stands for hope and alternative ways of survival
it reminds us of our cool tempered anger
it remind us how much of a failure our leaders are
it reminds us to always put on our full light on the highways
it reminds us of a basic amenity that we don't have
which has become our permanent fascination.
it reminds us to always remember
even if the solution is not vivid yet.


Just on the other side,
across the Mediterranean
on the same meridian
lies the city of light,
another city with a different velocity,
Harbourer of towers and skyscrapers.
still, we wonder how come they
haven't put some light in hidden spots,
mounting on the high towers
won't still afford them seeing these.


Not too good for Paree
This homosexual city
wanting to be a voyager between two;
Finding the sisters romantic and
the play boys sexy
what a way to think.

They killed their kings,
starved the servants,
slaughter their sons and
pray no more to the popes,
we can as well feel the rythms of their mind
screaming and humming to the sounds of UP NEPA
but unable to let it out,
its a pity for their city
we can't stop to love.

This darkness still keeps our humanity alive
and brings us close
to the destructive human nature.
which reminds us that A Luta Contínua!
is a Portuguese language
that means precisely,
UP NEPA in Nigerian pidgin!

and by the time the revolution begins
we shall all scream UUUPP NNEEPPAA!!!
to break lose and be free of our shells

Unbelievable things i did as a teenager.

Growing up as a young lad who constantly aspire for vastness and success, even if it wasn't a deliberate act, the only thing I never for one day stopped thinking about was how to soar high and meet with the stars. Never imagine myself in any other position than the crown, perhaps it was my name that wasn't letting me be, Aderemilekun, crown soothe my tears. I carry out things that makes people doubt my age, I myself at a point was so scared of the pace at which I was moving, some moments in my life I imagine if I’d ever understood some certain things which seems to be the central aspect of my life now, I was growing up mostly with the time of those whose generation were a bit above mine, I happen to be one of the few teenagers that will face whatsoever scholar (that could be old enough to be ten generations before mine) in an argument that I’m so sure of. 

I listen a lot to elders that surrounded me, join discussions of whatsoever and I read wide, wherever I find myself, I am always the youngest but really sanctified with talent and for this reason I tend to attract people around not being cautious of it, I never believed, that perhaps one day I will ever have anything to do with a woman, my school was a single school which made me a complete foreigner to girls, I knew for sure one day I will get married but it wasn’t just in my negotiations then, for i wasn’t so wild about half raw barbecued snail and I detested the assault of loud music as well, so all these still keeps me under restriction of what my parent won’t want me to do, I try as much to be obedient, modest and respect others which I wasn’t acting out but was just part of me, and this aspect turns out to be one of the facet of my life I grew up with.

While in secondary school as a science student, I hated to read some certain subject but i only read them to pass exams, it could be important subjects like physics and chemistry but instead I prefer reading economics, history, literature, even as a science student and of cause solving mathematics which happens to be my preferred subject. I was always thinking of being an engineer one day, chemical engineer to be precise, I have heard my elder brothers and their friends discussing about how those working at oil companies in Nigeria and those off shore live extravagantly like there is no tomorrow, then I wanted to live and die as a rich man, so I began to nurture this half baked dream till I got to secondary school, strived hard to be in the science class after a lot of screening. 

I will admit that i was a science student by ego in my high school days, but very early i understood that it was mere deception, i knew that my place wasn't there but for courage and in order to retain my self-esteem, i remained a science student, so i could be counted amongst the best students, but paradoxically, the only memorable and significant phase and aspect of my high school days was the fact that i was an active member of the Music and Theatre art club as we call it then in Ijeshatedo boys' secondary school, so very quickly, because there is no much to say about that aspect of my teenage-hood, i left secondary school in 2000 to join the Lagos state coucil for arts and culture in 2001, as an artiste in residence (as they call it then), there it was i began to question my being, to ask myself about my place in this whole confussion, at the art council i begin to define the kind of artiste i dreamt of being, i wasn't alright with the energy that flows around me, i wasn't ok going to "work" everyday and just sleeping or playing draft and football, so far i have finished learning all the dances that existed there at that time. No more initiation, no genuity, nothing seem to me as art, all we did was a re-showcase of the same pieces that were created decades ago, for i won't even call it art. 

Though i was merely 17 years of age as at then but i have always wonder if we can ever produce another Fela Kuti in this 21st century, if another Bob marley could ever come to life, after seven months of making money i didn't even needed then, seven long month of running after politicians for tips and singing "Baba wa ni", seven months of improoving my footballs skills rather than my dance skills, after these seven long months of questions and no answers, i decided to quit all of a sudden, i disappointed my employer by disappearing without resignation, to re-appear at the Gongbeats arts, National theatre. Lagos, i thought perhaps, there i could improve, i could settle the questions of my inner mind to myself, i could at least be amongst artiste for life, for passion and not for money and survival, at the age of 17 my parents were still my guardian so i could take risks. 

At Gongbeat i learnt, i was glad, i became rooted with the basics and essence of African dance, this is a dance troupe that was not so much interested in going to animate events for Coca Cola or Nigerian brewies, not so much busy with Unilever end of the year party nor Benson and Hedges road shows as other troupes around did in their quest for survival, we were involved in more demanding traning, initiating project that takes time to develop and i was very glad, i said to myself "yes, this is where i will love to be if i come bak to this life". However, very quickly, i began to develop a need for personal expression, that was also one of the gains of me bieng a Gongbeater, my coleagues and senior colleagues were not getting any younger, so their interest began to shift, they needed to decide about what to do with their lives, going back to school was one of their priority but as i had never for once believed in the idea of a university education, but believes in self development and personal effort, i began to have little or less interest in dances that were created long years ago, i wanted to be part of a new voice, part of a vanguard that will shake tomorrow.

I started getting interested in contemporary dance, for that was the dance form that was in the process of development in Nigeria then, i attended practically all dance workshops that took place in Lagos between 2000 and 2001, i became very common at the French Cultural Center. Ikoyi, i was hungry for knowledge, i was impatient. The Alajotas came from ibadan for two weeks workshop, while they gave a performance at the end, i was anticipating their arrival. I, like many other dancers were present during the first day, but many amongst us were disappointed because usually the FCC pays dancers for being part of a workshop (one of my disagreement with them, they were part of the corruption of Nigerian dancers), since i was not so much hungry for money and the Alajotas had just brought food for my actual hunger, i hung on to them and enjoyed every bit of their presence, i was glad, and i knew that i was fulfilling a very strong need. 

The Alajotas performed "Onidundun" at the end of the day, this was the second contemporary dance piece i ever saw, it was sometimes in Janaury 2001, i was emptied after the show, full of vacuum, i wish to be on that stage performing with them not knowing that i was coming to be part of that piece. At the age of 17 i was employed by the Alajotas under the direction of Christopher Abdul in Ibadan, 120km away from Lagos, this was another season of encounters for me, my first work in Contemporary dance, i was to take the role of a dancer, in a trip to the African and indian ocean choreographic encounters in Madagascar (Sanga 2). The learning process was a challenge...

I shall NoT want.

The times we live in can be rough, I know

but i'm not ignorant to the fact that

mountains can be brought down to ashes 

lion can be called for a fight by insects, 

I have seen snail bold enough to challenge the horse in a race.

I have see Mountains ten times the skyscraper

yet subdued by man,

moon can be as far as kutuwenji

still was dared by man as he walks therein. 

here can be where my hope lies as I embark on my journey.

even if the storm threatens

and the heaven sent forth fire

i shall not want...

my passion will outshine my faith

my smile will overpass my pains

my vission shall overlap my dreams.

i shall not want...

i shall sleep and dream about my dreams

i shall aptly wake to pursue these dreams,

i have a dream that the summer does come 

but after the winter storm

and i shall not want.

Clamoured claps

I sing a song,
I dance to a rhythm,
I hear an echo,
It is a call,
A call from a mother
A mother of ideas, and
The curator of secrets,
Peopled by the natives of my origin
It is a call from my homeland.

I sing a song of people…

Walking down the rail,
Sailing across the sea.

I hear an echo of a people
A people sucker of our pipes,
Seeker of our green grassy grounds
A people of humanity… NOT,
Who knows not humility,
With a heart of stone gold

I dance to a rhythm of a people
Whose sea chants babel
Audible echoes.
The celebrants of life
Even, of DEATH!

Spilt milk.

We were the ones 

who felt libidos for the glossy shoes
offered by the west, 

without questions of maintenance.

Now that we've lost our virginity 

to our despots,
there is nothing like secondary virginity
all we've got left is to make the best use 

of our sexual appetite
and not to radically 

loose touch with reality
we just have to make the best 

out of our lost virginity
there is no profit in lamenting 

over a lost virginity.

Free will doesn't mean liberty 

and liberty does not give you freedom
as you express your free will, 

you should know that, 
it is a terrestrial property of all man 
liberty should not lead to your vanity 
cos it does't mean freedom to do what-so-ever
if the liberty of your wolf 

lead to the death of my free lamb 

I will exercise my free will 

and my freedom to take your life.