Nigerians who are old enough will surely recall the source of the above title. For others, I ought to narrate its origin. Fortunately, early this year, I delivered a lecture at the University of Ibadan, where I made a passing reference to the true owners of that copyright. Here is the relevant section:

“At the passing of a short-lived dictator, his successor decreed two weeks of mourning, two weeks during which the nation went into a coma. Even the television and radio stations closed down – nothing but martial and funereal music was played, while churches and mosques took over the abandoned air-waves to drown the nation in suras and canticles of lachrymose outpouring. A very sharp group quickly formed something that was called the National Mourners Association – clever lot! While the nation was quarantined and bogged down in the orgy of lamentation, they were touring the world, sponsored by government, to take the gospel of anguish to every corner of the world that boasted a Nigerian diplomatic mission.”

Yes, that was at the death of General Murtala Mohammed. But now, we turn to address the latest progenies of that association, operating in a different clime and context, but cacophonously enmeshed in variations on that ancient tune.

When that day comes that individuals encounter hostility over their sensibilities in dealing with loss in their own way, privately, away from public eye, with or without symbolic public gestures, then we are witnessing the end, not simply of plain civility, but of civilization, and the enthronement of Fascism. It is not the intolerance and excess of a moment’s excitation, but of a cultivated arrogance and will to imposition, one that attempts to dictate the private responses of others to shared events. Once again we are confronted with the Nigerian phenomenon of the egregious appropriation of what is not on offer and thus, is not subject to dispute. Where frustrated, these claimants reel out chapters from their Book of Imprecations.

Let it be stated here, for the avoidance of doubt, that I am a solid believer in the collective rites of Farewell. I believe in Ritual. Humanity is often assisted to reconcile with loss in a collective, and even spectacular mode. The choice to participate or not, however, belongs to each individual, including even those who arrogate to themselves the mission of imposing on others their own preferred mode of bidding farewell. These self-righteous clerics are dangerous beings, especially where they flaunt the credentials of secular learning and gather in caucuses of presumed Humanities. From the herd, the mindless Internet fiddlers for whom the landing of a planetary probe, or a medical breakthrough is simply distraction from fraudulent internet mailing, nothing less is expected. What menaces the collective health of society is when the deserving highs of intellectual application of the former, become indistinguishable from the loutish low of the latter.

I do not pander to the expectations of the sanctimonious. I can absent myself from any event, for reasons that are personal to me. I can absent myself as the result of a mundane domestic situation, as legitimately as from a visceral rejection of occupancy of the same space, at the same time, in the same cause, with certain other participants. I may absent myself for the very reason of my disdain for that breed which is certain to cavil at the very fact of my absence. Such specimens pollute the very space they claim to honour. Sputter and rage they may, but even the most illustrious of that ilk cannot control that choice, neither will they be permitted free passage to encroach upon, and abuse the private spaces of human responsiveness.

I shall speak to them directly: your psychological profile is commonplace. It is not the honour to Chinua that agitates you, no, it is your own self-regarding that seeks to be reflected in the homage to a departed colleague. It does not take a psycho-analyst to recognize this phenomenon of greedy acquisitiveness, even of immaterial products. Like emotional parasites, you feed off others, but you have never learnt to value what others give, or be thereby nourished. I recognize you, atavistic minds – was it not your type that once disseminated an unbelievably primitive accounting for Chinua Achebe’s motor accident? Here goes the story, for those who seek light relief from ponderous unctuousness:

What happened was that I found myself unable to return to Nigeria for a Colloquium in honour of Chinua’s sixtieth birthday. My dramatic mind immediately scrambled for some striking manner of compensation. So I telephoned a business friend who had some agricultural connections in Delta State and told him: find the chunkiest, spotless ram in Delta State – all white or all black, but a thoroughbred of striking physique. Find a leather pouch, tie it to its neck with the following message and deliver it at the venue of the Colloquium. I no longer recall the exact dictated wording, nothing inspirational, just the usual felicitations and injunctions to turn that ram into asun for general feasting.

Those who attended the event will recall the grand entry of the gift - as reported by one and all, including the foreign visitors, and Chinua’s reported reaction, seated on the podium. He shook head and said, “Typical of Wole”. The ram was then led off to meet its destiny at the hands of the gathered. (As a side note, it was I who took a gift away from his seventieth at Bard University – a sobering flash of time past that resulted in my ELEGY FOR A NATION. I had that poem re-published to mark the day of his funeral.)

Our story is only beginning. On the way back from that celebration, Chinua had his accident and was flown to the United Kingdom. At the first opportunity, I made my way there and called up the High Commissioner, Dove-Edwin, who was certain to know the hospital location. It turned out that he also planned a visit that afternoon, and he agreed to give me a ride. We waited – I was joined by two others – waited, and waited, then a phone call came from him that the visit had been called off. The High Commissioner would explain why, on arrival – over a promised dinner, as compensation.

That explanation was this: Dove-Edwin had received communication that some of “Chinua’s people” – a university professor among them, who was named – had pronounced publicly that “Chinua should have known better than to accept a spotless ram from his enemy” – yes, that was the word used – “enemy”. I verified this report from various other sources. Later, an alternative diagnosis surfaced: “Chinua had been too long away from the chieftaincy politics of his hometown, otherwise he would have realized that the title that he took was coveted by some others – and these were deeply steeped in traditional psychic combat”. In short, those rivals “did him in”. Both diagnoses competed for dominance for a while, petering out eventually.

Before the promotion of that alternative cause-and-effect however, Dove-Edwin had re-scheduled, and we had a most bracing, optimistic afternoon with Chinua. Yes, our patient was eventually told the cause of the earlier postponement, and he had a good laugh. On my return to Nigeria, I could not wait to take the opportunity of a public lecture to invite all desperate enemies to please send me their rams of choice – spotless, spotted, piebald, striped or nondescript – so I could treat starving writers to free meals in my home for the rest of the year. And I promised to taste a piece of each ram before serving.

Yes, it is that same breed that continues to sow poison in the minds of the susceptible. Alas for you, it so happens that some of us insist on our own way of commemorating, of being there, even when absent. You, by contrast were never there, however ostentatiously you position yourselves at the event, or at vicarious gatherings to denounce, attribute sinister motivations, and inseminate hate against those whom your pedestrian vision cannot see. Your very loudness proclaims your absence. You were always absent. You will always be absent. So, this communication is not really meant for you but for those potential almajiri – whose minds you corrupt daily with your jeremiads in that accomodating madrassa known as Internet. As a teacher, I lament your failure to use the opportunity of the passing of a revered writer to turn your younger generation in enlightened directions. You have chosen instead to coarsen their sensibilities and breed in their minds misunderstanding, suspicion and above all – hate!

You will have understood by now how I have come to view you as no different from the homicidal clerics who arm youths with kerosene and match, cudgel and knife, a few Naira in their beggars’ bowls, and dispatch them to set fire to structures of comradely cohabitation, of reflection, of mind enlargement, and destroy communities of learning. Your gospel of separatism goes beyond the geographical – in which I have not the slightest interest! – but the humanistic. The difference is in the weapon – in your case, poison, mind corrosion. The means – Internet, and its wide open, undiscriminating generosity. That is where you lay spores of poison, and doom future generations to a confinement of human relationships within the darkest corners of the mind.


You are beyond pity. Kindly absent your selves from my funeral, when that event finally intrudes.
Wole SOYINKA

You will always be absent. So, this communication is not really meant for you but for those potential almajiri – whose minds you corrupt daily with your jeremiads in that accommodating madrassa known as Internet. As a teacher, I lament your failure to use the opportunity of the passing of a revered writer to turn your younger generation in enlightened directions. You have chosen instead to coarsen their sensibilities and breed in their minds misunderstanding, suspicion and above all – hate!

You will have understood by now how I have come to view you as no different from the homicidal clerics who arm youths with kerosene and match, cudgel and knife, a few Naira in their beggars’ bowls, and dispatch them to set fire to structures of comradely cohabitation, of reflection, of mind enlargement, and destroy communities of learning. Your gospel of separatism goes beyond the geographical – in which I have not the slightest interest! – but the humanistic. The difference is in the weapon – in your case, poison, mind corrosion. The means – Internet, and its wide open, undiscriminating generosity. That is where you lay spores of poison, and doom future generations to a confinement of human relationships within the darkest corners of the mind.

You are beyond pity. Kindly absent your selves from my funeral, when that event finally intrudes.
Wole SOYINKA

wellmax:

My favorite paragraph, but who's WS referring too na?

wellmax:

My favorite paragraph, but who's WS referring too na?

eGuerrilla: It is the slim balls who have never stood up or fought for anything noble that Soyinka trained his sights on here.
Yes, I am referring to the able-bodied Nigerian - young and old - who defaults to a state of paralysis and mind-atrophy, when the conscience gets exercised a bit. This vocal and at once inept group are easy to recognise, because their peculiar mind-set, like smoke, is difficult to conceal.

amakenny: But has WS any excuse for not attending CA's funeral?

amakenny: But has WS any excuse for not attending CA's funeral?

4Willywilly: Wole Soyinka should be happy that his friend is called Father of African Literature.

Ola Johnson:
Don't cause a scene you won't be fit to play in, young man. Be warned.

4Willywilly:
Ola Johnson this is last time am warning you, don't you have respect for your Elders.

Ola Johnson:
Don't cause a scene you won't be fit to play in, young man. Be warned.

masu: Abstention from a colleague's funeral, is it a sign that one is generating LOVE among the living; or a sign that one is generating HATRED among the living?

anyway I love WS but he should be man enuf to speak direct words to whomever he talks to next time.

dozzybaba: Methinks these are the most sensible words you've ever typed on NL. . I tot you were gonna flow wit dat guy, really thinking about bringing out my olive branch....but let's see.

Thursday 12 November 2009 14.53 GMT

[size=14pt]Achebe rejects endorsement as 'father of modern African literature'[/size]

Nigerian novelist says he resists the tag 'very, very strongly' because it obscures the role of many other writers.

Nigerian author Chinua Achebe has spoken out about his dislike at being labelled "the father of modern African literature".

The author of the multi-million bestseller Things Fall Apart, Achebe was given the label by Nadine Gordimer as he was awarded the Man Booker International prize two years ago; it has been frequently used both before and since. But the author said yesterday that he "resisted that very, very strongly".

"It's really a serious belief of mine that it's risky for anyone to lay claim to something as huge and important as African literature ... the contribution made down the ages. I don't want to be singled out as the one behind it because there were many of us – many, many of us," he said when asked about the title.

Achebe was speaking to the student newspaper of Brown University, the Brown Daily Herald, before a welcome event at the university as he joined the faculty as professor of Africana studies. He will be overseeing a new initiative at Brown, the Chinua Achebe Colloquium on Africa, which the university said would be developed "in keeping with his life's work to foster greater knowledge of Africa".

Achebe said that the idea of the colloquium would be "to take issues that come up". "Today Africa is a continent of issues wherever you look, and so I thought the best thing to do now is not to limit ourselves to one or two or even three issues, but to look at Africa bursting with problems and find out what we can do in each case," he told the student paper.

"For instance, the issue of governance, which is a major problem – presidents that do not want to retire when their terms are up, elections that are rigged, violence at elections ... Whatever we are doing, we're not doing right. Nigeria has been independent for nearly 50 years and look where we are."

Achebe, 78, is the author of numerous novels, including Arrow of God, A Man of the People and Anthills of the Savannah as well as his 1958 debut, Things Fall Apart, and a wide range of short stories and poetry. He is also known for his essays, with his 1975 piece An Image of Africa: Racism in Conrad's Heart of Darkness savaging Joseph

Conrad's novel as "thoroughgoingly racist".

His new book, The Education of a British-Protected Child, is a collection of autobiographical essays reflecting on his upbringing in Nigeria, and is due out from Allen Lane in January in the UK. The publisher described it as "a vivid, ironic and delicately nuanced portrait of growing up in colonial Nigeria and inhabiting its 'middle ground', examining both his happy memories of reading English adventure stories in secondary school and also the harsher truths of colonial rule". Its contents "span reflections on personal and collective identity, on home and family, on literature, language and politics, and on Achebe's lifelong attempt to reclaim the definition of 'Africa' for its own authorship".

lawbabs:

When the elders talk, they don't talk in full. A smart chap would understand though!

by Ola Johnson(m): 4:49pm
lawbabs:
When the elders talk, they don't talk in full. A smart chap would understand though!

Abo oro la n so fun omoluabi, to ba de inu e a di odindin.