African Dance

Have you listened to Amapiano? Man! The log drum hits different. It irons out emotions on its threshing floor. When faced with those gentle persistent hills on a morning jog, the log drum pushes me forward, it gives me resolve. As my heart races and my lungs expand for air, the log drum keeps my feet in motion with its sequence: one-one, two-two, one-two, two-one, five-five, a hundred. “You can do it!” I go. 3 miles, 4 miles… nice! 

The African drumbeat speaks and African’s love rhythm, it is magical. Rhythm reaches deep into our souls. It gets people going. I listened to the drum beat in Jinja, by the Nile River – the translation of the rhythm in to language was not lost on me. The drummer layered sensual sentences into his beats – you listen and know, then you watch people dance – the communication is complete. It is crazy. 

But have you also noticed that most traditional African dances are racy? I guess there are only a set number of body parts that can groove. I had never thought about it until uncle J came for an evening chat with my parents. This was the era when Congolese dance videos saturated UTV – Tshala Mwana and Pepe Kale disorganized Uganda. My mom was appalled by all the movement, dad couldn’t be bothered but uncle J, a little tipsy and free of all inhibitions grabbed the elephant in the room. 

He said, “But you know African dance has always been about …” he started naming body parts. Mom sprung from her chair; uncle J was known to have little restraint with his language. She closed the door with the hope that the heavy words flying from his mouth would sail into the open air and dissolve somewhere beyond the gate. But uncle J was not done, he kept on talking. They moved to the veranda.

On the veranda, they could engage in further conversation with a bit of privacy or so they thought. As it turned out, my bedroom was adjacent to the veranda so when uncle J begun to speak and with the influence of alcohol raise his voice, it carried without restraint through the open windows. It settled on the beds, the heads and the ears of anyone in the room. Suddenly mom remembered the windows to my room were open, every syllable pushed its way in. She slammed the shutters muttering something about mosquitoes. I was seated on the bed, not quite dotting the “I’s” and crossing the “t’s” in uncle J’s sentences but mom’s antsy behavior drew my attention and I listened in. Uncle J was quite on a roll about legs and backsides. I had never before considered the “Bakisimba” and "Nankasa" as anything more than a cultural dance. Ah! Then I looked at “Ding-ding” and saw a pattern of human expression saved by raffle skirts and long flowing bitenge. 

Mom was at a loss, the words flew where ever they willed, no doors or windows would stop them. 

She resigned and in the next breath as if waiting for her to calm down, uncle J swiftly moved on to politics. She called for one more round of hot water for the Ajono. 

Before long, dinner was served, the news was read by Baale Francis (RIP) and uncle J was ready to head back to his home fully satiated. 

Oh the things that come to remembrance. I think these are signs of aging. :-)

A walk in the woods

Neighborhood pond - Photo credit Mrs. O

I took a walk this morning.

There was a nip in the air - nothing a light jacket could not handle.
I turned one corner and rounded another, everywhere beauty called; In the flowers budding, the cardinals and robins singing, twirling around branches and twigs.
I came to a pond.
The sun gently gazed upon its surface, calm and peaceful.
The sun turned to the trees and they glistened, their leaves shone like honey droplets, sweet and golden.
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What is it about the trees and the sun that makes artists turn to verse? 🤔

Saxophonist at the Farragut North Station

 

I enjoyed listening to this young artist play his saxophone. Great way to wind down the day.

Wole Soyinka visits George Mason University

Wole Soyinka reads from his work at George Mason University

Lakunle:"Let me take it"

Sidi: "No!"

Lakunle: "Let me" (seizes the pail. Some water spills on him).

Sidi: (laughs) "There! wet for your pains. Have you no shame?"

Lakunle: "That is what the stew pot said to the fire"

Opening scene from The Lion and The Jewel a play by Wole Soyinka

For weeks this script run its course in our home. Our lazy afternoons were spiced with rehearsals as my sister incorporated us into a mini production. She had been selected to act the role of Sidi in the play, The Lion and The Jewel. Sidi is the beautiful belle in llujinle village being wooed by Baroka the village lad and Lakunle the educated young man. As she weighs the two potential lovers, the influence of education on African culture spills through the lines.

Our literature syllabus in the 90’s was strongly influenced by great African writers: Chinua Achebe; “Things Fall Apart”, “God’s bit’s of Wood”, “No longer At Ease” and Wole Soyinka’s plays: “The Trials of Brother Jero”, “Kongi’s Harvest”, “Death and The Kings Horseman”. These are the fathers of African literature. Writers who sought political asylum for communicating the perils in society through soft forms that made for good entertainment but also identified the glaring problems.
Plays by Wole Soyinka were on the UACE literature syllabus and on our book shelf. We laughed at his humor in The Trials of Brother Jero but noted the hypocrisy of so called preachers all around us.

As a literature student growing up in the 90's Wole Soyinka’s plays; "The Trials of Brother Jero" and "Kongi’s Harvest" were core to our Literature syllabus. We explored the themes of neo colonialism and the influence of Christian religion on traditional Africa. We discussed plot and structure; humor and satire as means of communicating the issues of society. Literature and English students all over the African continent read, laughed and pondered Soyinka's plays. More than the entertainment, our success depended on grasping these ideas and presenting them in the exam.

Wole Soyinka with literature students and attendees

As part of their International week, the Global Affairs department at George Mason University, invited Wole Soyinka for a panel discussion and a reading. I cancelled all plans for the day and got there as fast as I could. 30 minutes to the start of the event, the hall was nearly empty, I confirmed with the people sprinkled in the front seats that indeed I was in the right place. Publicity was poor, I could only imagine the scramble if Wole visited Uganda.

My eyes lit up as he walked onto the stage, his signature white hair filled his head like one big cotton ball. We clapped and sat in reverence, leaning forward to shut out any distraction. The 6 foot representation of academic success, acknowledged universally by the presentation of the Nobel prize for Literature in 1986. This African man, who broke stereo types and placed Africa on the map, showed that we too were an intelligent race.  

Akinwande Oluwole Soyinka, know more commonly as Wole Soyinka was born on July 13, 1934 in Abeokuta village Nigeria. He eagerly talked about his life events as though they were folk tales and we like grand children gathered around a fire at story time, sat attentively to drink in all the wisdom that we could gain in his presence. His humor transcends his work,

"I escaped on a motor bike through the Nadeco route" he said referring to the time he fled Nigeria which was under the oppressive dictatorship of President Sani Abacha.  He said Abacha pronounced a death sentence on him but he denied him the pleasure of hanging a Nobel laureate.

Prior to that Soyinka spent 22 months in solitary confinement because he protested the military dictatorship in Nigeria. No warden could speak to him, they were under strict orders to feed him and provide his supply of cigarettes. But an empty small room could not confine the numerous thoughts bubbling in Soyinka's mind; he turned the cigarette foils and toilet paper into mini writing pads, and somehow managed to manufacture ink. He turned his environment into allies - the mind is capable of incredible ingenious under pressure. As with any system, he found the loop holes and had his books smuggled into his cell where he wrote his poems in between the white lines. Now I know, experience makes a man. 

Wole Soyinka answers questions from an attentive audience

When asked about his favorite writing location he said it was his home in Nigeria. He added that any place and any time is a great to write but one needs to close out the world around and concentrate. This comes with a sacrifice he said, that means in many cases you will be the last to know what is happening in the world. He cited the time in 2001 when he was traveling to the United States and was so engrossed in his work when the plane landed in Buenos Aires. On inquiry as to why they were there he was told two jet planes had been hijacked and crashed into the twin towers - 9/11.

As for Africans in the diaspora he had one piece of advice "Don't lose touch with your home country". He recommended a visit for several months a year, to engage and offer free services in one's profession. "You can't lose who you are" he said

His humor, intellectual brilliance and awareness of the world around him shown through.

His poems were intellectual, some were hard to understand but I certainly got the sense that there were profound ideas being communicated. But listening to him read them out loud, made them more palatable.