Who’s on Trial?

It is no longer news that the shortlist of this year’s Caine Prize for African Literature is out. On the shortlist are Bombay’s Republic by Rotimi Babatunde; Billy Kahora’s Urban Zoning; Love on Trial by Stanley Kenani; Melissa Tandiwe Myambo’s La Salle de Depart and Constance Myburgh’s Hunter Emmanuel.
This is a review of Love on Trial by SO Kenani, hopefully I will be reviewing the other stories on the shortlist over the next few weeks. The stories shall be reviewed in no particular order.
Love on Trial is from a collection of short stories written in 2011 titled For Honour and other stories published for Random House by EKhaya.
The story is set in present day Malawi. It is about the African and homosexuality, international politics, foreign aid (aka charity) and religion. Ultimately, it is about the powerful West and powerless Africa.
The writer, SO Kenani weaves the tale around a young man, Charles Chikangwe, who was caught in a primary school toilet having sex with another man. This discovery was made by no other person than the illustrious Kachingwe, the village drunk. And like any lush who is worth his salt, he was able to milk the juicy scandal for every drop of local gin he could get by entertaining tourists with the story and taking them to the very place where the ‘crime’ had been ‘committed’.
The scandal, through word of mouth and then the press, eventually got to the authorities who promptly arrested the accused (without any other evidence than the word of a drunk), arraigned him and threw him in prison.
Surprisingly his father was supportive but, as expected, the Malawian government and religious bodies came out in arms insisting that homosexuality was ‘unnatural’, ‘un-African’, ‘devilish’ and that the young man only needed to ‘give his life to Christ’ and then do a ‘deliverance’ and all his troubles will simply melt away. A female friend of his even suggested that his ‘unnatural’ desires will melt away once he tasted the love of a woman.
The accused eventually went on trial, which was quickly wrapped up within one day and he was sentenced to 12years imprisonment. Of course there was only one witness, the infamous Mr. Kanchigwe who was suffering from a case of DT at that point in time, while the accused stood alone.
It is interesting to note at this point that Charles Chikangwe did not waste his breath denying the accusation he only wanted to prove that he had the right to love anybody, it was his choice.
While the Malawian government and most of its people were the villains of the piece, the international community were heroes. They breathed down the neck of the Malawian government and withdrew aid when they stubbornly refused to toe the line and release the incarcerated young man. It was a sad period in the lives of the citizens of Malawi.
At the end of the day the economy fell apart and this affected everybody, including the man that started it all, Kachingwe, who was unable to obtain his anti-retroviral drug supplied by one of the super-powers. A case of what goes around comes around I suppose.
Homosexuality in Africa is a very touchy subject. Recently, in Nigeria, the government passed an anti-gay marriage bill which led to public discourse and nearly split the Nigerian writing community into two halves, one side accusing the other of being homophobic, while the other side retaliated by calling the lot homosexuals.
A lot of writers ended up calling one another all sorts of other unsavoury names and some even went to the extent of ‘unfriending’ and removing people from their Facebook pages and groups.
This story is therefore relevant to the current situation in Africa. With a lot of African leaders coming out to state that homosexuality is an ‘abomination’ or something to that effect.
Ironically a few days ago, Joyce Banda Malawi’s new president declared that she was going to repeal the anti-gay law.
It is rather unfortunate that the story was not as tightly woven together as it should be. It dragged on a bit especially in all the parts that Kachingwe, the village drunk, appeared. There were too many repetitions and a lot of inconsistencies, which were especially glaring due to the fact that it is a short story.
For example when Charles was interviewed on live television it was as if the author zoomed into that part with a camera, the careful way every word and expression was documented contrasted sharply with the way other scenes in the story were described. Even the court scene went by so fast it made your head spin.
One major thing that baffled me about the story is the point SO Kenani was trying to prove by choosing to have the two men caught in a toilet, a primary school toilet for that matter. Are primary school toilets in Malawi that clean? Because I know for a fact that if anybody tried to have sex in a primary school toilet in Nigeria they would have gotten more than they bargained for.
Another thing that makes his toilet story unbelievable is the fact that the two men have been lovers for many years, does that mean all this while the two men have been having sex in public toilets? Or was it that they were so desperate to have sex that they threw caution to the winds?
The tale got fatalistic towards the end, the way the Malawian government watched helplessly as their economy fell apart beggared belief. As bad as African leadership is I doubt if a government will simply fold their arms and announce to their people that they are losing grip and have no intention of rectifying the situation.
Every character, from Charles Chikangwe to Mr. Kachinga, was flat and one-dimensional. They behaved predictably and we did not even get a glimpse into what made them behave the way they did. Everybody was a caricature. I would have loved to know why Mr. Kachinga decided to tell Charles story to the whole world (aside from the obvious of course), since both of them are from the same village, I’ll expect that there’s a level of familiarity between the two men.
Why did Charles stubbornly refuse to reveal who his lover is? Why was he so hell-bent on being the poster boy for ‘Ten reasons why coming out of the closet in Malawi is a really bad idea’? He had every opportunity to refute the allegations because his accuser is a well-known lush.
The fact that all through his tribulations the man Charles claimed to love so much he was willing to go to jail for did not even turn up once does not correlate with what we know of human nature. The absolute absence of the lover is totally unbelievable. Why was the man not even around to watch Charles go on air to put the noose round his own neck?
It was as if the story was designed specifically to reinforce the African ‘single story’ syndrome. Usually writers who engage in this kind of writing portrays her in a single light. Africa is a great mass of land full of hungry children with kwashiorkor impregnated bellies, tse-tse flies, tyrannical leaders, abused women, misogynists and more recently, homophobes and religious fanatics.
The superpowers came out smelling like roses while another African country has been put firmly in its place ... in Africa.

A PATCHWORD OF WORKS

It was all
in my head
Just a part
of my dreams
Ramson Nouah
presidey
Genevieve
his wifey
It was all
my fault
For it happened
On my watch
multicoloured
blasts
Rocked
But not Aso Rock
When blood
thundered
Just like the sea
That straddled
My dreams
good luck was
Everything but...
rue ben
Re-wrote
his story
Die zenie
the djinnie
Handbags
Full of
dollars
It was all
in my head
Out of it
Deep inside
me
When Iwe – Ala
Banked the world
Paupers R Us
Pee eitch See Hen
Blinded
By
The light
Pastored
by
Taxless
tithes
It was all
about you
Not ever
about me
beggar-lee
Hunger-ree
Aki
got married
To Paw paw
his pretty
both of
them
OCCUPIED
My closet
the yoots
Older
Than
Baami
lay the blame
on me
for it happened
while I dreamed
it was all
about you
it was
never
about
me ...

The Score

I sent this in for publication in a newspaper but it was rejected and I thought, why waste it? so here we go. Script: Aremu Afolayan Director: Aremu Afolayan Cast: Saheed Balogun, Eniola Olaniyan, Olumide Bakare, Sunkanmi Omobolanle, Aremu Afolayan. The Score is an action film. The movie is about drug cartels and focuses on the story of two drug lords Mustapha (Aremu Folayan) and Kamoru(Saheed Balogun) and their long running battle for supremacy. Mustapha is an American(?) returnee who runs a drug cartel but is always stepping on the toes of a rival drug lord, Kamoru. Part of Kamoru’s cartel were two brothers. One of them made a deal with the police to become an undercover agent in order to shorten his prison sentence, he exposed Mustapha’s deals to the police which led to the death of some members of Mustapha’s gang. His younger brother confronted him about being a snitch and it led to a break in their relationship. Although it is an action movie the story of an actor who seems not to be able to keep his hands off women was also woven into the movie. The Cinematography was really good, there were many shots that went a long way in making the story bearable. There was no blurring that distracted the eyes. The screenwriter must be commended because the story was well tied together, leaving no dangling threads. However I cannot say the same of the director, there were too many loopholes. There was too much shouting, too many people pointing guns at one another unnecessarily and awful sex scenes. Watching some of the actors kissing was a painful process, they left you wondering if it will be wise to kiss anybody because you’ll be afraid that the person might just suck your face off. The close shots of the ‘kissees’ did not help matters in the least. Saheed Balogun was terrific in his role as the rival drug lord, making such a smooth transition whenever he switched languages that you wish he will just keep on talking and everybody else should simply disappear. One moment he is speaking impeccable English the next he is speaking beautiful criminal Yoruba. Veteran actor, Olumide Bakare also performed very well in his role as a ‘Sinator’ of the federal republic. He delivered his part flawlessly in spite of the fact that he did not appear in too many scenes. In a bid to sound Italian (or is it American ?) Aremu Afolayan ended up sounding like a Yoruba man forced to speak like a Hausa man. He totally mangled every scene he appeared in. I flinched each time he appeared in a scene. It was not only him most of the actors behaved like they were in a badly produced gangster Hollywood film. Which actually it was except it was a Nollywood production. There were too many shots of too many people swaggering aimlessly up and down a street. All the characters were flat. No reason was given for why they are where they are presently in their lives. In this day of well rounded characters, it was a total disappointment. One other thing that bothered me about the movie is the way major characters disappear in the course of the movie. The first person to go was Sunkanmi Omobolanle, who played the part of Sean, Mustapha’s brother. After about three scenes the guy silently disappeared and you start wondering what happened to him. Not long afterwards the undercover policeman (played by Eniola Olaniyan) disappeared without any explanations. In the true Nollywoodian spirit about three major characters appeared towards the end of the movie and you’re not sure exactly what the point of bringing them in was because they spoke a couple of lines and the film ended. I guess it’s a new ‘major movie star waka pass’ thing. I must be frank that this film has a lot of potentials but did not fulfil any single one. With so many good actors that featured in the movie, a little tweaking here and there would have made it a blockbuster. Now to the things I learnt from this movie • It is not everybody that can act • I am not allowed to groan out loud too many times while in a cinema except I want to be thrown out

25 random things about me

1. I believe in God
2. I’m a drama queen …. I looooooove drama. I’m the queen of chaos … hehehe
3. I’m kwayzeeeeeeeeeeee
4. I have a cheeky 10 year old son
5. I totally believe that age is just a bunch of numbers (because I have loads of them)
6. I love watching cartoons and reading children books (shh don’t tell nobody)
7. I love dancing. I dance like a crazy 16year old.
8. I’m kwayzee about my son
9. I’m a very energetic person, as in I jump outta bed, sing while working and just generally zip around. I zip, I don’t walk. I’m an exercise freak
10. I don’t feel short, although I’m below 5”2 I still feel tall (maybe bcos I adore wearing high heeled shoes)
11. I love music, I’m a schizophrenic when it comes to music and reading
12. I read during church service, especially the boring bits. I’ve missed my bus stop on several occasions because I was reading. I read when I’m on a long trek, I read at parties, I read to avoid socializing with snobs, I read just because… I usually have, at least, three books in my bag at every given time
13. I’ve become addicted to jogging. I pray while jogging.
14. I used to be a chain smoker (2packs) now I’m totally over that addiction … I think
15. I’m street smart, very independent and adventurous
16. I love dancing with my son on Saturday mornings to very loud music
17. I sing in my bath (offkey baybee)
18. I’ve been blonde. I’ve been brunette .Right now my hair is black with brown tips. I’m thinking blonde again.
19. I believe money is like fertilizer … spread it and it will germinate
20. I hate injustice and believe that snobs are basically insecure people with inferiority complex.
21. I have loads of great friends
22. I can eat anything as long as it has stopped moving
23. I love beautiful shoes, sexy underwear, old and faded but comfortable jean trousers, body fitting tops and I so adore stilettos and bags (hint hint) 
24. I speak fluent sarcasm. I can be extremely cynical.
25. I can switch off completely from people who have truly offended me. It’s like switching off the light. I see them and it’s like I never loved them before. I don’t hate them, I just become totally indifferent to them and that’s the scariest aspect of my life. It’s eerie and I just don’t know how NOT to do it. Once that switch is off … hasta de la byebye 

The Filipino Connection (pardon my French)

Nigerians are crazy.

Over and again we show the world how ridiculous we are as a people. The country is being practically run into the ground by its greedy elites, a lot of whom I sincerely believe need psychoanalysis, because a set of people so determined to put their kith and kin in perpetual bondage and ensure they die of poverty must surely have deep seated psychological problems.

Unfortunately,none of our leaders come from outer space, it would have made everybody’s life easy to simply blame our failing economy, failed educational and health institutions on the Martians. These people are a part of us. Most of them are from poor homes like the rest of us, they suffered through the military regimes and their parochial ways like us. They were once our neighbours, friends and even family members before dabbling into politics. All you have to do is look at our president who lacked footgear while growing up.

So, one wonders why these our so-called leaders, who have suffered, like we are doing presently, from epileptic power supply or lost one relative or more on one of the death traps called expressways, they cannot put in reforms that will surely put this great country of ours on the road to greatness?

I believe I have the answers and these are my theories;

1. That we all inherited a psycho-pathological disease from our ancestors.

2. That this condition is triggered by power (no matter how small). 3. That it is intensified by the acquisition of wealth.

4. That this condition is called MEGALOMANIA.

According to Wikipedia megalomania is a psycho-pathological condition characterized by delusional fantasies of power, relevance and omnipotence. Just think about it, check out all the politicians you know who are presently in power.

That is not all Wikipedia says that other characteristics of this condition are an inflated sense of self-esteem, and an over-estimation by the sufferers, of their powers and beliefs.

If the above were not true, can someone please explain to me the rationale behind the employment of Filipinos as nannies, housekeepers and house boys by ‘Lagos Big Boys’?

It is no news that our ‘international’ schools are riddled with Europeans and Americans. The more Europeans or Americans working in your school, the higher the school fees you can charge. It doesn’t really matter whether these people are qualified or not, or whether they are known or unknown criminals, whether they can even speak the lingua franca of the children they are supposed to be teaching (which is English Language the last time I checked) as long as your skin is white and you speak with a funny accent barely understood by the ‘high class’ children you are teaching.

Now the ante has been upped, the true mark of class and good taste, as far as the jet setting cliques who apparently have more money than sense, is the possession of a Filipino servant.

In a country where most people cannot afford to eat 3meals in a day, they are bringing in illegal immigrants and pay them between $450 and $500 US dollars every month. This translates to about N60,000 naira, which they can never pay any Nigerian working for them in the same capacity.

But then why am I talking like this? What makes a Nigerian look more sophisticated, ‘Real Brazilian Hair’ or tying your hair with thread? Real Brazilian hair of course! Why spot your own kinky, unmanageable hair when you can buy hair off poverty stricken Chinese women? It is long and luscious, and will provoke the envy of all your enemies.

So it follows that you will make a final statement of the fact that you have class, good taste and money when a Filipino nanny holds your bundle of joy while you are spending hard cash at a big, expensive mall. It makes absolute sense to have a well groomed Filipino opening the door to your friends as they come into your home to attend one of those your tasteful parties, and have a Filipino chef prepare all those strange and amazing dinners everyone pretends to enjoy so much.

It all makes absolute sense!

A friend told me that the fad started because people were afraid that their children could be kidnapped by their Nigerian nannies. This makes even more sense due to the fact that ALL Nigerians are kidnappers and they ALL want to kidnap your child because you are the ONLY rich person around.

Thank God for Filipinos because they are ALL honest due to the colour of their skin and the texture of their hair. White denotes HONESTY and they would never do that kind of thing. There are no criminal Filipinos. The fact that they are working in Nigeria without proper papers does NOT make them criminals. The best part is that at the sight of your Filipino nanny, potential kidnappers would be so struck by terror, awe and lust that they will banish the thought of ever kidnapping your child.

At this point I’m even thinking why Filipinos? Why not French au-pairs?

Leaders emerge from the people, people deserve the kind of leaders they get.

Word of advice to job seekers; go bleach your skin, fix real ‘Filipino hair’ and acquire badly spoken English and a peppering of Filipino swear words and you might just get that juicy position as the snotty Filipino nanny taking care of future megalomaniacs.

...but a dream

I am but a dream in the sleep laden head of
an alien on a parallel universe
I am but a reality show watched by all
in the heavens above
I am but words spoken by the Supreme Deity
who lives on a misty Island
I am but dust crumbling slowly into the air
as each day passes by
I am you, you, in the very air that you
breathe in every day
I am but a speck in the eye of the Great
Watchers from Mars
I am you, you as you wade through me
with every step you take

Abayomi and I

… At five years old
“What’s the west of the stowy?” He asked staring at the pictures in the comic book
“The oko baba dudu first!” I said making a grab for the sweet.
He clutched it tighter, “Who is that man standing behind Spiderman?” He pointed at the comic.
“Oh he’s just there.” I said dismissively. “You promised to give me the sweet if I read the comic to you.” I said eyeing the oko baba dudu anxiously. In spite of the fact that I am three years older than Yomi he’s always one step ahead of me.
“What is this man doing there?” he repeated holding up the comic.
“How will I know? There is no balloon coming out of his mouth.” Then it dawned on me that Abayomi has no intention of giving me the sweet, so I made a grab for it . Abayomi gave the loud screech that always fetched our mother from wherever she was … I snapped my fingers at him. “I will show you! Mcheew!!” I know when to run …
“Wale! Biodun!!” he called his friends. “I have finished weading the comic. But you have to give me one oko baba dudu each before I tell you the stowy … is it me that said you should not know how to wead like me? … This is spiderman and the other one is emm… emm, …superfly…!”

… And then he turned eleven
“But why is your cousin not talking now?” Jide said, eyeing my ‘cousin’ who is dressed up in a black mini skirt with a pair of very high heels and a big afro wig.
“I told you she’s mute, she can hear you but she cannot talk.” I said smiling at my ‘cousin’ as she applied … no smeared… more lipstick on already blood red lips and added powder to a ghostly face.
“But that your cousin looks like Yomi.” Jide said staring at the huge boobs straining at the tee-shirt.
“Wo Jide, I’m tired of this jare, do you want a girlfriend or not? She will allow you touch one of her breasts, just pay up.” I held out my hand for the twenty naira. Jide reluctantly handed over his life savings to me, his eyes still glued to my ‘cousin’s’ balloons… “Are you sure she will let me touch th…the…them?”
“You can take your 20 naira back if you don’t trust me.” I watched with disgust as Jide started squeezing one of the big pimples on his face … no wonder he doesn’t have a girlfriend.
“Where is Yomi?” He asked as he dipped a finger inside one of his nostrils.
“He’s in Lagos.” I said haughtily. “Come back around 8.30pm, my cousin will wait by that door.”
“It will be too dark.” He whined
“You did not say you want to see a breast you just want to feel it, so you don’t need light. You have to leave now, mummy is back.” I said pushing him through the door.
“Good afternoon ma. Bye-bye.” Jide said as he ran off.
“Abayomi what are you doing in my shoes … my wig and my make-up?” Yomi stood up from the chair and nearly fell off the heels he was wearing.
“Get that muck off your face. Go and change. What’s that on your chest? The balloons I bought for Oba’s birthday abi? Don’t worry; I’ll get to the bottom of this later. I hope you’re done packing because the taxi that will take us to Lagos is waiting outside…”

… Yomi at 34
What fun we had in those days !