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Literature/Writing AdsRe: Jenda: A Journal Of Culture And African Women Studies. Interview With Tess Onwue by Charlzzwolf(op): 2:22pm On Dec 28, 2021
Azuka Nzegwu: Your play Shakara: Dance Hall Queen was featured as a major broadcast
by the BBC World Drama Service for the Fall 2004 season. What impact did it have on your
work in terms of interest and readership? In addition, The Missing Face was staged off-Broadway in the Woodie King Jr’s New Federal Theatre in New York City in 2001. Finally, The Reign of Wazobia was adapted into film. From writing, to performance and reproductions, and now to film, how do all this media continue to move your work forward?
Tess Onwueme: Quite simply, the multiple media features tend to amplify the soul and
scope of audience reach for the creative work beyond the confines of the local to the global
community. As the author, initiating the original signal, you’ve given birth to an orchestra,
and the exciting with polyphonic rhythms and tunes. Both your joy and word gain distinct
amplitude, resonating beyond the borders of time and space.
Azuka Nzegwu: Your work has been widely adapted for teaching in schools and universities. Can you speak on the impact of your works in academic institution, curricular, scholarship, and learning? What does it mean that the work is widely available?
Tess Onwueme: In writing, you initiate a call to your world by inviting a kind of social dialogue about identifiable experiences and concerns regarding that world; to elicit and excite
the needed action/response to grow insights and society. It’s especially rewarding and invigorating if, and when, you get heard. More so, if you’re credited with being the carrier of
ideas that infect, inoculate, or provoke those who hear you to choose to respond, write back,
rewrite, or amplify your voice by forging symphonies, counterpoint rhythms and polyphonic
(con) texts in their pedagogy, curricular teaching offerings and scholarship. In all, you see
yourself growing; magnified.
Within that unfolding creative landscape, too, is the inherent dynamic that the writer is
implicated, vicariously, by the Word. For once uttered, spoken or written, the writer no
longer owns the word. That is shared. You’ve signed a contract with the public. And your
word exposes you to (or before) the public; and you’re not left in the glare of the public. The
word is no longer yours, alone. Now you cannot claim it, alone, or hide. For those who contribute to it (as scholars, teachers, critics, etc.), in one way or the other, do share in its harvest with their peculiar vested interests as co-creators. In writing thus, you’ve summoned an
orchestra; each one playing the tune as s/he finds fit. Whichever way the response to tune,
you’ve already ‘authored’ a communal dialogue that can travel anywhere, far beyond you, as
it’s gone public: signified and broadcast by the word, “publication” or “publishing.” The
more people (academic and public) tune into your circulating word, the more it’s amplified.
The writer, too, grows along: for good or for bad, to swim or sink with the word.
Azuka Nzegwu: You once said, “I sing loudest when I am silent” and “I write to kill silence.” To sing loudest when you are silent is a powerful statement, so is writing to kill silence. How do you continue to sing and channel the voices of Africa and African women as
the Professor of Global Letters? How do you break the silence?
Tess Onwueme: Writing has been my voice––the megaphone I so badly needed, especially when I couldn’t speak, in marriage. Whenever I’ve felt stifled, choking and needing to ventilate, writing has come to my rescue: providing me with the safe haven/security, authority
and agency to speak and be heard in the world about the relegated, elided, and forgotten
global poor, particularly Africa and Africana women––like Shakara with her under-class
mother, and the irrepressible Wazobia, charged against patriarchy in my plays with the
eponymous titles. The topography of my creative writing and scholarship/lecture around the
world is occupied by that Pan-African ethos resonating with women, weaving and quilting
their experiences and concerns, as the writing provides me with the redemptive drum voices
to save me from drowning, in silence. Beyond that, it lifts me to that boundless territory and
to anchor something of my own, defying all (and even marriage!) set to render me mute and
nobody. With being heard – to the extent of even winning tall awards and recognition for
speaking thus – I’ve been marked as somebody, uplifted and armed with the strident word
talisman, to break silence! Then breathe. For becoming what I am, today, I owe much to
writing.
Then what does writing have to do with silence? A lot! Contrary to conventional suppositions, silence is not the absence of word or sound. Indeed, silence, may signal the presence
of words rumbling, gnawing, crunching and churning inside, awaiting that salient moment to
erupt into sound/action. The actionable sound/word may appear delayed or muted on the surface, while internally scripting its own dynamic (coup) action. Such is the character of silence that awaits action to birth into creative (con) text or script – poetry or fiction or drama
– following its own peculiar season of gestation. While waiting to be born, visibly, for the
creative artist, the words are ‘singing’ inside!
Azuka Nzegwu: Do you still write? Are you working on a new book project?
Tess Onwueme: I do write, still. Though the creative product may not be physically visible,
for now. Indeed, writing is not only scripted on paper, but also in the womb of the
head/mind. Ideas, once implanted, take their time to grow, with varying gestation period to
birth. I’ve been pregnant with animated ideas, begging to be born sooner than later. But in
this last decade, especially, Life has been much in the way: writing me, sometimes, crunching the time I make to write. Meanwhile as my fingers are waiting, itching, nibbling ideas.
Watching life’s stormy weather to pass over, though, the outsider cannot perceive me fingering the word; writing, in silence. I see tomorrow staring before me. With 60 years behind
me. Gone. Knowing that time is vapor, I must stand, not bend. Not still. For tomorrow’s
screaming now, pushing my fingers to deliver that memoir that’s been yelling inside me for
so long. I cannot but answer the call. Soon!
Literature/Writing AdsRe: Jenda: A Journal Of Culture And African Women Studies. Interview With Tess Onwue by Charlzzwolf(op): 2:21pm On Dec 28, 2021
But the new age here-and-now writer breed empowered by revolutionary techno-crazy
magic is democratizing all that by leveling access to scripting and disseminating the word.
What more, it’s openly enhancing the erstwhile missing or forgotten ‘presences’ (of women),
creating such potent paradigm shifts, empowering women now to go on the rampage with
the facebook/twitter, massive communication with related “loose canons” social media, afflicting today’s world theatre with viral word/power. In this emerging (global) landscape,
women, too, have, and can readily claim the word, with the remarkable agency and authority. Indeed the bourgeoning African woman writer today is aggressively “possessing” the titillating “secrets of joy,” to trump Alice Walker here, as she’s ignited to name the “winners”
and “losers” in today’s critical creative spaces.
Ironically though, this is not to say that women have become kinder or gentler to their
fellow women writers and critics, within the politicized spaces of the word power and naming in today’s unfolding contentious “demo-crazy” landscapes. As critics/scholars women,
too, are in, and do negotiate the business of power and authority to their own self-advantage.
Apart from the unifying mantra of women “sisterhood,” have you noticed that women are
sometimes the legendary Achilles Hill for their fellow women? The intra-gender politics
(and poly-tricks!) with in the female tribe often get in the way of harmony and solidarity in
their home-front (especially as female peers normally do not readily hold out their hands to
embrace successful female peers, but would often wince and curse their own stars for letting
(an)other female to be born, at all, to share, and worse still to dare to eclipse them with insurgence at the spotlight. One Anioma-Igbo saying does say it all: ogbo n’uke––
trouble/tragedy reside with peers!
Azuka Nzegwu: Some of your works include What Mama Said, Tell it to Women, The Missing Face, and The Reign of Wazobia. Where did those stories come from? How do you find
your stories? Or do they find you? Please, talk about your creative process.
Tess Onwueme: The creative process is a two-way traffic: stories find me, much as I find
them. And we share this symbiotic relationship. I do live in history. And I live in art, too.
The stories (in)forming my works come from life; the world we live in. The artist in me
sees, hears, feels, smells, and sometimes touches all that’s perceived in my local and global
environment. As a living witness and active participant in the world, I smell the onion of life
in its varied mutations and manifestations, for good or for bad. Because the flavor often persists, dominating the air, I cannot but breathe as I inhale or exhale it depending on its impacting power on my senses. Same way with many realities, events, happenings and stories
surrounding or assaulting the senses everyday – for example: the unfolding calamity and human carnage by ISIS in Syria, Boko Haram in Nigeria, as dramatized by their senseless abduction of over 290 Chibok Girls – who committed no other offense than just being in
school to quench their hunger for education to attain viable citizenship. There’s equally the
virulent exhibitionism of the privileged few “sucking” the life-blood of the massive poor,
and gloating in their predatory capitalist affluent bloat at the expense of the victimized and
impoverished. Daily, these unfold before us, inviting themselves into our lives as they surge
into our consciousness, then take residence within us, and refuse to go away. The “resident
history” thus meeting the artist inside (with coded interventionist sensors or sensibilities)
will keep churning, reviewing, interrogating the matter as the ideas grow in the womb of the
mind, until they are born/delivered for public view through any chosen narrative/form.
Azuka Nzegwu: As a four-time Drama prize winner of the Association of Nigerian Authors
for your works, The Desert Encroaches (1985), Then She Said it, A Play (2003), Shakara:
Dance-Hall Queen (2000), Tell It To Women: An Epic Drama (1995); as well as multiple honors such as the Fonlon-Nichols Award (2009), Phyllis Wheatley/Nwapa Award for Distinguished Black Writers (2008), the Martin Luther King, Jr., Rosa Parks, Caesar Chavez
Distinguished Writers Award (1989/1990), and the African Distinguished Authors Award
(1988), can you speak about what the award did for you? And second, does award play a
role in fostering and creating a lasting legacy of your work with the larger public?
Tess Onwueme: No doubt, it does. The award illuminates you with commendable achievement, and therefore, puts immediate spotlights on you, as I noted earlier regarding a related
question.
Azuka Nzegwu: In 2010, you became the University Professor of Global Letters at the University of Wisconsin. Having moved beyond a Distinguished Professor to Professor of Global Letters, you had compared it to being crowned “Nze” or King? Given that few African
writers hold such name position, what does it symbolize for you? What does it represent to
you? How have you used your position to open doors for other Africans?
Tess Onwueme: My 5ft 7ins physical height ensures that I’m nimble enough to swiftly
walk, run or fly without being easily noticed or caught. But to be elevated to 50ft plus height
among my peers? Ha! Such an extraordinary feat does have its peculiar stings and drawbacks. And you start to wonder: where now do I go or can I go without instant visibility?
Without being noticed? Without the zillion and more eyes calling, inviting, laughing, cheering, chiding, demanding, or admonishing me to lean or respond in myriad directions? Consequences of the glaring spotlight on you, burn inside, making you sense your loneliness, as
you stand, alone, in the crowd. Dancing. Alone, in the vast universe! Then sudden panic- attack takes over. You’re overcome with feeling stripped, unmasked and insecure with the
fathomless fear of expectations. Overawed by the assiduous twists and turns, you feel small.
Tamed. Intimated by the brassy titanic arena, now yawning or staring, in your face. And you
sigh: they’re waiting to measure my every (in) action, motion, utterance, and even silence!
Can I make it through? What next?
Azuka Nzegwu: In 2014, the Wisconsin State Senate and Legislature along with the University of Wisconsin created the Tess Onwueme Archival Collection at the University. This
marks an important progress in your already impressive list of achievements. What did the
Declaration of a Proclamation meant to you as a Nigerian born and bred author?
Tess Onwueme: For me, it’s nothing but a fabulous fairytale. For any writer that kind of archive emblazoned with your name is synonymous with having a permanent reserved seat for
you in the pantheon of writers to be remembered and canonized. And with your words chiming in the coveted company/space of the immortals like Shakespeare, Achebe, Angelou, Ngugi, makes one wonder, really: who am I? Humbled and intimidated by it all, mine is,
quite simply, to take a bow and beam in my own little corner, watching my image being
framed/mounted in the roll call of those who wrote, not to be lost or forgotten. To this, my
heart quietly chuckles and sings, Amen! And Amen! And Amen!
For anyone with a grain of humility, the archive engraved in your name is like being
‘crowned,’ or immortalized, in a way. And to physically witness it – this grand ultramodern
showcasing/erecting of a tombstone – with the majestic performance and reception marking
it all? Ha! Frankly, a gnawing feeling chills it all––making you feel like you’re present,
watching a movie, about you, the subject as actor-participant-audience, all at once. An eerie
pricking of mixed pride and mortality blended with the legendary evanescence of the hereand-now pokes you, deflating it all, with haunting advance echoes of certain valedictory
benediction to be said on your behalf when it’s all over—the life. Then the accompanying
summons and invocations of that final curtain call as you listen to the eulogies with a quiet
song that nudges your belly, slowly sprouting in your heart. You watch with wander, the
scintillating exit flute melody: “So here present is me, really…pieces of me, now already being gathered and glued together? Ah, Life! You end with a sigh!
But a voice, inside, swiftly counters. Count your blessings with smiles! How many in
this world have the exceptional privilege of witnessing a preview performance of their own
funeral; watching themselves being ritually canonized with that kind of permanent presence
that only immortals like Shakespeare and Achebe and Angelou and the like enjoy? My hand
quietly answers to the taunting questions with a sign of the cross. Lucky me! Now being
born-again and seated in my own (small) corner of reserved seat, marked ‘not-to-be-forgotten: To God Be The Glory! My heart simply chuckles, in awe.
Azuka Nzegwu: The State Department appointed you the Public Diplomacy Speaker/Specialist in their program for North, East and West India. A big part of that is to make “make
friends for America.” Why India? What kinds of things did you do as a speaker? Did that increase your exposure?
Tess Onwueme: India was purely the choice of the appointing authorities of the State Department, and I didn’t have a hand in it, at all. The engagement was part of the innovative
“people-to-people” diplomacy designed by the State department to enhance the US international image and mutual understanding in chosen nations. For the engagement I was preoccupied with a tightly packed lecture circuit organized for me as keynote speaker on various
subjects by the US State Department officials in India. However in my navigating the vast
landscape of Indian academy and public, it became evident that my creative drama had, indeed, preceded me; it had found its way and gained significant company in academic circles
in India. In this regard, I actually came to meet university teachers and scholars who were
already teaching or engaged in doctoral dissertations on my work. A memorable example
was my encounter with the respected Dr. Kanika Batra––who at the time was engaged with aspects of my creative writing in her dissertation at New Delhi University. Consequently she
traveled all the way to Wisconsin once I returned to the USA in order to interview me for insights towards completing her doctoral dissertation. What more, I encountered highly
renowned Indian writers/scholars like Professor Sukrita Kumar-Paul (poet and Professor of
English at New Delhi University) also interested in my work.
In particular, I do recall my auspicious meeting with Professor Shiva Prakash––who interviewed me for their prestigious journal at the Indian School of Drama, and who has since
remained in close contact. A prolific Indian poet/dramatist and Dean of Humanities at
Jawahral Nehru University himself, Professor Prakash was so provoked by my drama that he
mobilized the acclaimed Tamil expert, Dr. Kumaran from Kerela South India, along with Dr.
Rejederan, Head of the famous Indian National School of Drama, and Sanal Edamaruku,
President of the famous International Khatakali Center in New Delhi, among others, to direct my drama on stage as showcase for the Indian audience. The result was the exciting
multinational and bilingual production of my play, Shakara: Dance-Hall Queen in Hindi and
English in North India in 2010.
Azuka Nzegwu: There was the Tess International Conference: Staging Women, Youth,
Globalization, and Eco-Literature. The conference, which was devoted to your work was
held in Abuja, Nigeria in 2009 by international scholars. How have you been able to maintain relations with colleagues and writers in Nigeria? Did they continue the conference?
Tess Onwueme: Maintaining relationships with colleagues in Nigeria, and elsewhere, generally poses its own peculiar challenge, as people are engaged with numerous personal and
academic activities that exert their special pressures on the limited time, energy, and resource. Despite this fact, I must count myself lucky to still have a number of writers, scholars and directors who remain interested in my work and continue to engage them in the
Nigerian, international schools and university and public arena. Since that conference, a
number of my plays have been staged across international borders, including Shakara:
Dance-Hall Queen, which was featured to critical acclaim in New Delhi, India, in 2010. And
just a couple of months ago (in August/September, 2015), the ABU (Ahmadu Bello University) School of Performance and Theatre in Zaria staged an exciting production of my play
Tell It To Women––as their annual show-case theatre project that was also chosen to mark
my sixtieth birthday, and thus provoking significant news media features reviews by The
Guardian, Leadership Newspaper, and Daily Trust in Nigeria.
Literature/Writing AdsRe: Jenda: A Journal Of Culture And African Women Studies. Interview With Tess Onwue by Charlzzwolf(op): 2:20pm On Dec 28, 2021
Azuka Nzegwu: What does it mean to be a Nigerian writer in the Diaspora? How did your
culture shape your work and voice?
Tess Onwueme: Being a Nigerian Writer in the Diaspora means: Hard Work. Perseverance.
Diligence. Starting all over from the scratch, if you must. Integrity and Dignity. Excelling
beyond the conventional expectations. Exceptional Performance, just to be heard, maybe
recognized. Retooling. Steadily striving to turn an ordinary into the extraordinary. Growing
the hunger for improvement. Defying complacency. Heightened skill/competence. Staying
atop your craftsmanship. Being distinctive or distinguishing the Self from the crowd. Standing tall, wherever and whenever. Venturing into spaces, “where angels fear to tread,” and
blazing a new trail or landmark, whenever/wherever possible. Above all, being and remaining YOU and true to yourself. Not leaving your dance to dance someone else’s dance, as my
Anioma-Igbo people say. In all, know thyself! Be thy (own) self: not just any other, or wanna be! Be not afraid to fail! And failing, pull up and dust yourself. Don’t stay wallowing and
groaning in what was, or could have been. Think/See what is, then invest more in what can
be.
Then regarding Culture and me? See Culture already framed above as my “inner eye,”
“third eye,” and voice.
Azuka Nzegwu: You were a mother while you worked on all three of your degrees. How
did you balance motherhood with your education? Tess Onwueme: “Balance” is too neat a word in this regard. Let’s say that all through I was
“joggling” to manage education/schooling and motherhood, with the related bigger factor –
“wifehood” – which tended to suck out the very best in you in the service of husband with
the patriarchal in-law hegemony––ever squeezing and touting their claims of entitlement and
ownership over you. For me, perhaps, mothering five children and toiling to earn three seminal degrees, and while struggling to keep a full-time job to ensure regular food on the table,
could have been easier managed, if, and if…I also didn’t have to navigate the ever-present
“landmines” of those imperial patriarchal customary domestic masters. In the circumstance,
how could I ever “balance motherhood and education,” except really to keep on skipping the
ropes and joggling this and that, from day to day? And what more? In the entire period, I
was teaching and working to grow my life and career as a scholar, too. Then to enlist in the
uncharted territory of relocating from teaching, writing, and scholarship in Africa to the
yawning belly of America (and as a single parent with my five little children in the late
1980’s!) meant that I had to start over, altogether. How then could it (or anything for that
matter!) be easy?
Azuka Nzegwu: Having taught in Africa and the United States, how did you make the transition from teaching to writing, and ultimately to a scholar? Or is writing always been a part
of you?
Tess Onwueme: I must confess that “writing chose me,” quite early, long before I knew or
saw it coming. I found myself writing my pain, my thoughts, my dreams, my laughter, my
interrogation and responses to all around me; starting way back in my junior year in secondary school at Mary Mount College––following that “whiplash”/”backlash” from peer
envy after I won the coveted Merit Scholarship Award for Academic Excellence in Bendel
State Secondary Schools in 1971. The resulting agony of forced “exile” and alienation imposed by my peers and playmates, who branded me a “celebrity” provoked the outpouring
and writing of what turned out to be my first poem: “The Stinging Tongue.” From then on, I
could “sing” – anything – in my writing, through my writing, and with my writing. From age
16, I’d found my voice: and progressively the Writing became my “Voice.” And I claimed it
(privately)—this medium that had chosen me and wouldn’t leave me. Neither would I. Even
after I got married at 19, and way into my autumn season now that I’ve turned 60.
I’d ever latch on to it––when I couldn’t speak, especially in marriage. Whenever I felt
stifled, choking, and needing to ventilate, writing has not only provided me with the safe
haven/security and window to breathe through the word to the world, but also enabled me
with the authority and agency to speak, and be heard. So that by saving me from being
drowned in silence, writing amplified and magnified me. It’s given me something, a
forum/place/platform of my own, especially when the tyranny of patriarchy in marriage rendered me a “nobody.” With being heard – and even winning award and high recognition for speaking thus – I’ve earned a named spot and place of my own, to become somebody; bigger. For this I confess – that for becoming what I am today – I owe much to writing for arming me with the megaphone, to break silence!
Then in 1978, it broke another boundary: took me to a new stratosphere. While a junior
undergraduate student at the University of Ife, I took a turn: a leap from poetry to drama!
The product of that apprenticeship was providentially titled A Hen Too Soon to be later published in 1983 as my first play. The Broken Calabash followed in 1984. And then The Desert
Encroaches (which later won the Association of Nigerian Authors (ANA) Prize in Drama in
1985 incredibly exposed me to the glare of the national literary world, and beyond. Henceforth, my writing/voice had become uplifted to go beyond my “private” confines and opened
a window into the limitless professional stratosphere/marketplace.
Azuka Nzegwu: In 1994, you were appointed a Distinguished Professor of English and of
Cultural Diversity at the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire. What did you do as a Professor of Cultural Diversity? What did that entail?
Tess Onwueme: My appointment in that capacity was two-pronged: (1) As Distinguished
Professor of Cultural Diversity, and (2) Professor of English. The primary mandate, however, was hinged on my service as Distinguished Professor of Cultural Diversity, as underscored in my appointment letter: “to serve the role of catalyst for infusing Cultural Diversity
throughout the University Curriculum.” The emphasis in this regard was more in terms of
diversifying the curriculum than anything else. As a dictated system-wide and institutional
obligation, I had to become the emblematic icon for envisioning, creating, and initiating the
desired building of bridges among academic colleagues across disciplinary boundaries. At
the initial phase, I devoted significant effort in leading, organizing, and inspiring faculty to
engage in system-wide seminar workshops on Cultural Diversity––while prompting them to
consciously think about and appreciate the notions/meanings, pedagogies and insights for
valuing and integrating diversity as enriching ways of seeing and knowing in thinking and
teaching their courses. The next phase involved mobilizing and leading faculty in the creation and development of interdisciplinary courses––which often involved diverse faculty
interests and knowledge from history, geography, political science, psychology, sociology,
economics, social work, foreign languages, literature and English, in teaching the same
course. This helped me to motivate the enabling academic environment to forge the needed
multidisciplinary knowledge, understanding, academic relationships with pedagogies derived from quilting/weaving interconnecting and interdisciplinary ideas, skills and intersecting routes identified in disparate courses. A related dimension of that appointment also involved the regular academic teaching in my specialty area of Literature in English, with emphasis in drama, Africana, Postcolonial/World, Women and Gender studies, like related professors of English in my institution and elsewhere.
Azuka Nzegwu: Dr. Sonja Darlington described you as the literary soul-mate of Chinua
Achebe, Wole Soyinka, and Ngugi wa Thiong’o because you have broken into their ranks.
She then goes to say that your works have “…become staples of international college and
university curricular in the twenty-first century.” Why soul-mates? Is there something about
African women writers that makes it difficult for people to recognize them and their
achievements within their own right? In some way, African women do not need to be soulmates to be recognized, as we are queens, mothers, warriors, and life giver. How do we retain that essence that is quintessential to our souls without being compared to others? Is
there progress being made?
Tess Onwueme: There’s been some remarkable progress in recent years – particularly in
this day and age, with the surge of a new breed of younger generation of African writers –
enhanced by today’s viral techno-power with the amplifying and magnifying blogger-twitter-pinterest-facebook-instagram glitz of the chattering social media millennium tribe––to
be instantly illuminated and catapulted into the entire global space.
Identified as a second generation African woman writer, I, personally, stormed into the
drama stage and came into view in the mid-1980’s—a time when the miraculous powers and
afflictions of the social media were all alien to my own generation, and those before. Recall,
too, that the earlier landscape for African female writers was rather scanty, blinking pioneers
like, Flora Nwapa, Buchi Emecheta, Zulu Sofola (Nigeria), Ama ata Aidoo, and Efua
Sutherland (Ghana), Bessi Head (South Africa), Rebeca Njau (Kenya), Nawal el Sadaawi
(North Africa), and Mariama Ba in a flash the francophone Senegal with So Long a Letter.
Like the one before, my 80’s generation was a world men claimed and appropriated as “a
man’s world”––where the dominant critical and creative arena was vocally preoccupied and
vested in the male from all around Africa. When I last checked, economic reality with the
sociopolitical barometer read that those who own/claim the word, also have/claim the power.
Simple! More importantly, they have the privilege/agency to decide and name the “winners”
and “losers,” marked beside their canonic esteem and hierarchy. How then could the
(un)equal power relations and dispensations not impact negatively on the African women
writers living in a man’s world?
Literature/Writing AdsRe: Jenda: A Journal Of Culture And African Women Studies. Interview With Tess Onwue by Charlzzwolf(op): 2:20pm On Dec 28, 2021
Like the “American Express” – wielding its potent money-power and urging its members globally, “don’t Leave home without it” – that African/Igbo in me is a beacon, lighting
my way and arming me with a zesty Cultural Express – that is heady, rooted, cultivated and
invested to insure and locate my cultural bearings as the revolving door to the local and
global community/marketplace. This way, I’m anchored on a solid rock/framework from
which to venture out and measure all else, so that I never get lost in the dizzying maze of
“globalization” with its consuming, fanciful, fast-melting hybrid syrup that is forged from
the crucible of sameness and anomy.
For though a “global citizen” and participant in the global culture, there’s that inner core
within me that’s textured, nurtured and shaped by my ontological Igbo/African identity. It is
the truest essence that inhabits me: my veins, body-frame and complexion––just as it tones
my laughter, my wailing, my writing/creativity, and also colors my eyes, way(s) of seeing
and smelling the world. What else can I say? I’m African/Igbo/Anioma. It defines me. I
breathe it. Drink it. Wear it. And so I exude it. Without that inner fabric, I feel naked.
Stripped. Lost. That priceless culture identity-fabric in me is beyond gold or platinum––How
then can I devalue and render it worthless, dissipate my energy in copying, aping, imitating
those who are so confused about who/what they are or wanna be? How? Insured and rooted,
thus, I’m culturally armed and empowered to claim, affirm my voice and place, standing and
strutting my African/Igbo/Anioma self-identity in any crowd. Because I know me, and
where I’m coming from, I’m guided therefrom, to know where I’m going. And you wonder
still how/why I “radiate an Igboness that is regal and grounded?” Ha!
Azuka Nzegwu: If culture is a significant aspect of being, how did you harness your culture
to develop as a writer?
Tess Onwueme: The above response already provides the answer to this particular question.
For it’s obvious that I deploy culture as my compass for navigating and interpreting the
world, not only in my personal, but also in my professional “writerly” life.
Azuka Nzegwu: You follow a tradition of African woman playwrights and dramatists. Who
inspired you to start writing? And why was drama the chosen vehicle for expression?
Tess Onwueme: I wish I could say that I was inspired by a woman playwright/dramatist.
But I can’t. One writer I can claim, though, as my “writerly” big brother is Ngugi wa
Thiong’o––whom I sometimes (perhaps, sacrilegiously in the gendered feminist/womanist
world today), frame in my mind as a “pioneer” feminist/womanist writer from Africa.
Among others, Ngugi is one notable African writer who has greatly employed his writing to locate and advocate for the downtrodden masses and women, and thus ideologically, infected my consciousness and pulled me to their side, as solicitor-advocate for their concerns and
quests.
I wish, too, that I could truly say that drama was my chosen vehicle for expression. But
I can’t: for drama seduced and chose me, instead. I can share now how and when I came to
find myself in the vast writing arena that etched for me a special spot in Africana/World drama, and to which I’ve stayed anchored. Perhaps it wasn’t an accident, either. For right in the
early stages of my life in the village, where I was simply a farm-girl – with no TV, radio,
boom-box, home-video, ipod, phone, email, facebook-pinterest-instagram-twitter tencho-info blitz – during our moonlight games in the 1960’s and 1970’s, as children, we delightfully
created, rehearsed, and produced our own music/dance, including the egwu aja dance-steps
to be publicly displayed and performed, publicly in peak annual communal ritual/festival periods, like the New Yam festival, the annual Iwu Carnival/Festival, as well as Christmas and
the New Year. At 8 years old, I was already a kind of local dance/music bandleader, as I’d
take the initiative to rave up and convert our nightly moonlight games and folktale sessions
by the fireside into mobilizing other little girls in my age-grade to create new dances/dancesteps. These communal ritual performances––with their expressive body-action as forms of
speaking/performing life matters in our world through song and dance from local music instrumentation––contrived from bamboo stick wedges, shekere/beaded gourds, metal gong,
udu/hollow clay pot and the like––constituted our local orchestra, and luring me to whet my
beak in ritual performances as drama. Thus without knowing or planning it quite early in
life, I’d become a drama initiate. As I led my adolescent peers to compose, create, rehearse,
enact, and publicly stage drama performances––long before today’s viral infectious epidemic of blogging, pinterest, instagram, with their cousins of blizzard alerts, breaking news,
tweeting the unimaginable from all nooks and corners of the universe beyond the speed of
sound! So unlike today’s new breed generation of African writers – who consciously go to
school today to learn to become creative writers, dramatists and performers – most writers of
my generation began writing as a “calling,” as many (like me!) were politically charged and
seduced by writing to speak to the nagging issues of our time.
Azuka Nzegwu: You won the Fonlon-Nichols award in 2009 in Literature. What was it like
to be recognized by your peers?
Tess Onwueme: (S)heroism afflicts and brands you with a complex; for good or for bad.
Much as the 2009 Fonlon-Nichols award in Literature was an extraordinary feat of recognition and accomplishment for me as a writer, it provoked certain vicarious ‘déjà vu’ gaiety
and animus in the power of memory for me. Why? Because I’ve been there, over and over
again, long before I attained the Fonlon-Nichols prize in Literature. For reasons that must remain masked in this context, I’d rather instead recall a certain implicating, exacting and
haunting scepter of victory, way back in my (teenage) past, than revisit the more recent Fonlon-Nichols award. Specifically, I hereby recall the startling moment I was declared winner
of the coveted Merit Scholarship Award for Academic Excellence in Bendel State Secondary
Schools during the administration of Governor Samuel Ogbemudia in 1971. A junior then at
Mary Mount College, Agbor, the unprecedented landmark honor/recognition exposed me – a
mere obscure village farm girl – and thrust me into the regional/national spotlight in such
significant ways that I became “visible” to the meticulous teachers, school authorities and
state government machinery, beaming photo-images of other “State Merit Scholars” with me
on the pages of The Observer state newspaper.
But then the honor produced a pretty dangerous whiplash/backlash for me among my
peers, who pelted and branded me with the nasty flashy “celebrity” tags that alienated/ostracized me as the new “untouchable.” The names put me out there – in a place far from myself
– as they taunted, stung, then exiled me from their midst. Worse still, my emergence in the
spotlight cost me my peace, my sheltered security, and even my most cherished friends—to
the extent that I prayed in vain for God to take away my Merit Award and Bring me Back
my playmates! And even more, I prayed for the return of my old self-effacing, inconsequential, insignificant, unassuming self. For though my peers and the world were seeing or discovering me then as “the new with stupendous magnified value in their eyes, to me, and me
alone, I was, and still remained true to my very modest “rootsy” village self; an ordinary
girl, with extraordinary potentials.
And nothing else! Till today – 44 years after my pretty rude awakening of being thrust
in the limelight – I continue to see myself as a ‘growing girl,’ needing more room to grow.
And do we stop growing, ever?
Azuka Nzegwu: Names are important markers. You were born as Osonye with an English
name, Tess. You sometimes use Osonye and sometimes Tess as the name of the author. Was
that deliberate?
Tess Onwueme: Yes and no. As I indicated earlier, from age thirteen in secondary school,
I’d been re-branded with the new name, Teresa––marking my new foreign identity and civilization in the Christian modern school. But this new reality never transferred to my place
and identity at home in the village, where I’d ever remain known to my world community as
OSONYE-OKENEM (OSONYE, for short). For at home in my Africa/Igbo/land, I was Osonye. At school–-the new theater of identity mutations for performing western identities and
socializing systems––I was TERESA: a “born-again” in some way, to become accepted in
my evolving new western world! Like the ankle-length oversized school uniforms and
housedresses we were compelled to wear in school, that TERESA, I had to put on (and take
off, too, whenever I could)! Years of trying and patching and learning to adjust to this ‘other
me’ eventually impelled me to start re-shaping, trimming, hemming, and cutting TERESA to
size as, TERRY, TESSY AND TESSA – until I finally had to amputate it to TESS in my
sophomore year at my alma mater University of Ife, Nigeria – thanks to Thomas Hardy’s The foreign name put on, shrouded the true me, inside––a child of defiance, as the
choice-name OSONYE implied. It also buried that cherished inner indigenous me that I
struggled to reclaim when I could. This in a nutshell is the sub-text of my vacillating, seesaw
appellations. Call it my tag of hybrid identity and ambivalence to mediate the conflicting
self––which remained resistant to assimilationist complex syndromes, arising from being the
fortune-child of, not two, but many worlds (re-branding or re-naming me as it pleased), and
demanding disparate identities, hitherto outside my agency and control. That I can re-claim
agency by (re)naming that self driven by a progressive nagging homeland hunger and psychic desire–to alter the acquiescent western assimilationist trappings––ensures a triumphant
cultural redemption with my indigenous identity relocation. More so now, as I grow older
and afflicted with the heightened fever of ancestral yearnings––especially in this New World
Order that defines and pulls all unto its western hegemonic ‘market-culture’ gone viral with
the fetish of capital and pop culture––my culture-cultic callings signal me to retrace my
steps and consciously, unapologetically reclaim my given name (Osonye); if for nothing
else, at least, to counter that assimilationist pull with its transforming mutations of Teresa to
Tess that stole, stifled and killed the Osonye that I once was, before being ‘taken,’ by the
west.
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Looking back, though, I can see that I became chiseled in the process: my steady strivings to learn to find my feet, then steps, within the jungle of responsibilities and expectations––as I raced here and there to snail-hunting, wood-fetching, water-fetching, cassava and
yam-hauling with all other myriad interminable races up and down streams, forests, and
farmlands, just to make life. And yes! I made it through, with no handouts or hand-medowns––while also struggling so hard to be allowed to go to school, which was deemed an
absurd luxury by those who owned me, then! That was the only reality/legacy I knew, up to
my early teen years––when, by the miraculous Grace of God, I sauntered into the Catholic
boarding secondary school. But Fate is funny; within weeks of my entry to Mary Mount,
the Nigeria-Biafra civil war of 1967-70 broke out. Again, I found myself wandering, alone,
abandoned on the wrong side, until… Well…that’s a story that must wait another day! The
above I’ve sifted from my maze of childhood memories and growing up––and which your The triumph of stumbling, falling, surviving, living, and rising through it all, not only
prods me on, but also assures that I stand, tall; even taller than I am––striding high with my
life’s calabash-full of water balanced on my head (and no shaking!); knowing that with the
healing grace of the Almighty, I have been through so many thorny hills and valleys before.
And whatever comes along the way, my heart quietly hums: this, too, shall pass!
Azuka Nzegwu: You were educated in Nigeria and received a Bachelors in Education
(1979) and a Masters in Literature (1982) from University of Ife, and then a PhD in African
Drama from the University of Benin (1987). How did that Nigerian education prepare you as
a person, and for the international arena and the acclaim that your work will receive over
and over?
Tess Onwueme: Like many in my time in the 1970’s and 1980’s, I earned my degrees at the
“Great Ife”––then internationally unquestionably renowned as the prime “citadel of
learning,” along with Uniben (University of Benin), Unibadan (University of Ibadan), Unilag (University of Lagos), UNN (University of Nigeria, Nsukka) and others as remarkable
centers of excellence. At the time, Education was not another mere commodity to be purchased by graft and instant “miracle centers,” as it’s becoming the absurd fashion nowadays.
In the words of my mother, who etched it in me to strive for the inherent value and essence,
“Education is Life.” You don’t toy with [your] life. Period. You worked for it and to uphold
that value. You cultivated it to earn and produce the knowledge required to ensure viable
professional life and citizenship in an emerging competitive world demanding proficient
professional skills, literacy, aptitude and expertise that shunned compromised integrity. Such
education prepared you as a “world/global citizen,” ready to take or earn your place and
role––never as a mediocre or class-class citizen, but to prove or showcase yourself among
the comity of the best-of the-best––anywhere in the world. That consciousness informed and
shaped the character of the educational system that prepared my journey with others into the
international arena––and foregrounded by the Nigerian educational system that still had an
enviable, unquestionable value and could match the very best, anywhere in the world. In the
last decade – particularly with the crumbling of infrastructural social structures – exacerbated by the meteoric rise of corruption in the last political dispensation––educational quality
has “tumbled” down like all other cherished values that have taken a nose dive in Nigeria; as
the “end justifies the means.” But now, “hope is on the way,” to right it all on redemption
course. With the steady new dose of the potent “Buhari Discipline” – injected to purge Nigeria of festering graft and greed with the mortal sins of inordinate ambition––rewarding mediocrity, cooking and dishing out degrees overnight, as they’re magically seasoned with fat
money in the faceless miracle centers! Desired Health will become the Education in Nigeria,
as before.
My academic colleagues and I in the 1970s and 1980s had our ample dose of the bitter taste of the “Almighty June” Exams at the then Great Ife and the University of Benin,
among others! The degrees we earned then were not cooked up, bought or stolen from these
erstwhile legendary prime institutions that could be measured against those from the very
best schools anywhere in the world––especially as a good number of our lecturers/professors
then were also trained in similar sterling institutions abroad.
Azuka Nzegwu: You once said that your mother was “…the architect of my life, the DNA
of my career.” Could you explain what you meant by that?
Tess Onwueme: Going down memory lane, I do recall a piquant moment that would ever
engraved in gold in my mind. On one of those rare moments when my ‘runaway’ mother
stole into my life, Mama gave me a foot to stand on. Her words: “Education is–Your life–
Passport. You hear me, child?” She stressed. “This School is your father. Your mother, your
friend, your all. Yes! Education will ever be the bedrock of your life-achievement! Lose it,
and lose yourself!” That was what Mama said to me in that miraculous moment when she
stole into the Catholic boarding school to see me, and to reinforce her injunction to me to
hold on tight, and stay focused in school. Her word was blood-transfusion I needed then
with the raging Nigeria-Biafra Civil War that was taking, swallowing and ravaging my
teenage peers––falling by the wayside to elope with the soldiers as a viable means of surviving the brutally grave adversities of the civil war. In her silence, or absence of wisdom, I
would have become today quite a pretty unheard nobody––landing hard on the concrete, just
as the numerous teenage girls left behind in my time, and even after. But Mama had chiseled
her word in me to ever remain the living rock and life beam, propelling and propping me up
to come this far––blooming in her word: rocking in Mama’s word, even at 60!
Azuka Nzegwu: You seem very rooted in your Igbo culture. It is in the way you carry yourself. Where does that confidence and assurance of self comes from?
Tess Onwueme: In the revolving stages of my life, every moment hums the Africa/Igbo inside me. Wherever I am, I envision Africa/Igbo standing, sitting, or moving. Africa is simply
not somewhere out there, a physical space/place or homeland 7,000 or more miles away. No!
Africa is Me. Wherever I stand or sit, is Africa/Igbo. If I excel, it’s Africa. If I make a booboo, it’s nobody but Africa. Hence I must stand, tall, taller. I have a duty to me: Africa. I can
neither afford to sell out nor get lost. Like the egg of my eye, I have a duty: I must protect,
cuddle and showcase it, as I grope to find my way and value in the world. If I let it go and
lose it to the precipitous waves of globalization, what else can I truly call my own to hold
unto? Therefore that rootsy African/Igbo “marker” you perceive is my “third eye”––a kind
of (cultural) sensor implanted in me socially, psychologically, and emotionally to filter
through the varying labyrinths of all that I encounter in the swift shores of today’s fuzzy
global culture. Or perhaps call it my “inner eye”––my enabling center-pivot to feel, see, hear
and breathe through the foggy fast moving world in its whimsical, complex interconnecting
dimensions.
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Biography
Tess Onwueme is a multiple award-winning author and eminent University Professor of
Global Letters at the University of Wisconsin, USA. Her prestigious literary awards/honors
include the Fonlon-Nichols Award (2009), the Phyllis Wheatley/Nwapa Award for Distinguished Black Writers (2008), the Martin Luther King/Rosa Parks/Chavez Distinguished Authors Award (1989/90), the African Distinguished Authors Award (1988), and the extraordinary four-time prize of the Association of Nigerian Authors (ANA) Award in drama, among
others. In 2007 the US State Department appointed her to the State Department Public
Diplomacy Speaker/Specialist Program for North, East and West India with the mandate to
make friends for America. In October 2014, she received the rare commendation with Declaration of a Proclamation in her honor by members of the Wisconsin State Senate/Legislature and the University of Wisconsin to mark the Tess Onwueme Archival Collection at the
University of Wisconsin. The 2009 Tess International Conference, which was exclusively
devoted to Tess Onwueme’s creative work, followed the prestigious Fonlon-Nichols Award
to her in Vermont, USA, in 2009. Her plays have featured in international academic and public stages in India, Sudan, Canada, the USA, the UK, Europe, the Caribbean, and throughout
Africa.
Azuka Nzegwu: You are as big as it gets. You radiate an Igboness that is regal and grounded. Where does that come from?
Tess Onwueme: Me? “…big as it gets?” How ticklish! Prodding me at once to sense my luminous worth––and yet, tempered by that nibbling recognition of coded vulnerabilities and
responsibilities: “To whom much is given,” they say, “much is expected!” In all, let me give
Glory to the Creator God for planting me as a viable seed in Africa/Igbo/land to take root.
Break through the soil. Sprout. And blossom into the global limelight with my soul steeped,
tossed, soaked or suckled in the sumptuous cultural essence and value. So I dare to plead
guilty as charged. And confess that my alleged radiance oozes from the power of God
Almighty––performing such epic kindness, and arming me with that magical wand of love
that keeps me glowing, gliding (through life’s swarming fleas and tse-tse flies!) as the
blooming insured, exuding the Grace and Mercy of my Creator.
Azuka Nzegwu: You were born Osonye Tess Akaeke in Nigeria to Barrister Chief Akaeke
and Maria Eziashr in Ogwashi-Uku, Delta State in 1955. You attended the Catholic-run
school, Mary Mount Secondary. Can you talk about your upbringing and your family life?
Tess Onwueme: This question is easily the most challenging of the many questions you have assembled. Why? Because on the surface, it appears so simple, and yet, it’s so complicated for me: just me…And I can only scratch it on the surface here. Indeed, I was born OSONYE––Osonye-Okenem: “if you like me, greet me, or accept me the way I am. If not, then
leave me alone!” That by itself conjures up the much bigger drama underlying stories of my
birth, which balk from baring themselves in this public forum.
Then, TESS: the “other me;” is the one (tasty fruit of identity) that I had to “pluck” and
claim for me along my journey to being processed and socialized as modern/westernized,
once I’d been “taken” by the Catholic secondary education establishment run by the Irish
nuns––and away from my childhood/adolescent roots in the Anioma-Igbo village of IsahOgwashi. The TESS was fashioned from TERESA. This was the new Christian name, emblem, or barge of identity that I had to learn to adapt to once I entered the Christian boarding
school, and was re-christened by Irish nuns, whose “holy” spirit automatically tagged my indigenous name as “pagan,” needing to be cleansed, refined, liberated and lifted from its heathen aura to become TERESA: the little flower of Jesus!
Your question also belies the implicating notion of my being born to “Barrister
Chief…” with the nuanced assumptions of being groomed or buttered in a typical affluent,
upper middle-class, westernized home, where I’d been marinated with the accompanying social seasonings of ‘ajebo’ and ‘aje butter’ syndrome. Far from it!
I was born the first child of struggling teenage-parent-squatters in tumbledown Isale
Eko, Old Lagos, Nigeria. From the time I was four years old, my young father “deposited”
Mama with my two siblings and me at his parents in the delta village, before he escaped by
boat to England to study law. The exacting patriarchal norms with in-laws, compounded by
the prospects of destitution, ensured that my 20-year-old Mother with an absentee husband
and three children, didn’t last long in the village. She fled–– leaving behind all that she ever
had: my two baby brothers with me, her “baby girl,” who had to grope to find my way
through the brash, tangled, thorny, snarling meshes of a village jungle. How does one become a mother at six? Well, ask me another day. How I made it through, I do not know. But
I did––a six year-old child trying to raise herself with two other kids!
Literature/Writing AdsCritical Commentary On Tess Onwueme's Drama By Professor Eugene B. Redmond by Charlzzwolf(op): 8:32am On Nov 01, 2021
“TESS ONWUEME'S SOULAR SYSTEM: Trilogy of the She-Kings—Parables, Reigns, Calabashes”

Anything, which cannot stand the force of change, must be uprooted or be blown into obliv­ion by the storm heralding the new season!

Ona (Broken Calabash, by Tess Onwueme)



The task of woman is to build—to create.

Zo (Parables for a Season, by Tess Onwueme)



How do you think you can snap the finger without the right thumb?

Omu (The Reign of Wazobia, by Tess Onwueme)

Does it widen our awe of Tess Onwueme's dramaturgical sorcery to know that, though still in her mid-thirties, she has "authored” five childrenr a Ph.D. in dramatic Literature, more than sixteen plays (ten published), and scores of intergenerational hook-ups, lectures, cultural re­unions, articles, choral/ritual performances, and poems? That her stunning plays, spun from the rich threads of West African culture, have enjoyed international premieres at the Bonstelle Theater in Detroit, the National Theatre of Nigeria, and tine First International Conference on Women Play­wrights in Buffalo, New York? Or that she was the first and only female to win the Drama Prize given by the Association of Nigerian Authors (in 1985. for The Desert Encroaches), and the first woman to act as President of the ANA? Perhaps…perhaps. What it does widen, however, is our apprecia­tion of a life committed, a life experiential, a life dramatic, and a life prolific. These lives, stitched into the kente of rich‑creativity, weave regal woman, familial/ancestral struggles, bidimensional sojourns, and truncated/recon­structed legacies (see Legacies, 1988) into joy- or pain-colored theatrical tapestries.

Certainty, The broken Calabash, Parables for a Sea­son and The Reign of Wazobia may be seen on the one hand as a trilogy. But they also may be enjoyed as distinct and self-woven fabrics of drama, adhering to their own pattern-frames of time, logic, space, and rhythm yet threaded into an ancient-to-current continuum made whole and healthy by belief system, mythopoeic ritual, parable, humor, satire, proverb, ceremony, soul-tossing conflict, and folkadelic webbing. Of this

dramaturge’s important work, Kendall, chair of the Department of Theater at Smith Col­lege, has noted:

Her plays not only bring the range and beauty of Nige­rian culture to an international audience, they create the artistic bridges crucial to the development of a multicultural educational environment. In Legacies, for example, she explores the links and breakages be­tween African-American and African peoples. In The Reign of Wazobia, she examines the intersections of tradition and ritual, the construction of gender, and the construction of “woman," in a framework which is par­ticular to Nigeria but which is pertinent to women in the U.S.A. and many other countries (correspondence, June I8, 1991)



Onwueme's cultural influences and aesthetic kinships may be said to span a good stretch of the Afrocentric, Eurocentric, and multicultural rainbow oral literature and Folklore, Elizabethan (especially Shakespearean and modem European drama. African and black diasporan expression. Among her literary soul mates are Wole Soyinka, Ama Ata Aidoo, Athol Fugard, Sam­uel Beckett, Derek Walcott, John Pepper Clark, Albert Ca­mus, Chinua Achebe, Toni Morrison, Anton Chekhov, Femi Osofisan, Ngugi Wa Thiong'0, George Bernard Shaw, Athol Fugard, August Wilson, Amos Tutuola, Gloria Naylor, Buchi Emecheta, Dennis Brutus. Alex LaGuma, Mariama Ba, and Sembene Ousmane.

Onwueme's plays, inside and outside this collection, transmit certain messages on both ostensible and figurative levels. Levels is a good word here, for upon entering Onwueme's dramatic "soular system," one is simultaneously engaged by numerous dimensions: feminine and feminist, tangible and ethereal, god and mortal, woman and man, she-king and he-queen, astral and physical, empowered and unempowered, democratic and fascistic, ancient and pres­ent, Afrocentric and eurocentric. (One must hasten to add, however, that her work is never so contrived or fragmented that it can be reduced to predictable polarities and duali­ties,) Add this: 'revolt of intellectual modernity against a decadent traditional value of the caste order" and "the indi­vidual conviction of insurmountability of genuine love for another person in spite of traditional and unholy attitudes of discrimination" (Introductory notes to the first edition of The Broken Calabash).

But what, ostensibly, are these plays -about"? For start­ers, they -dramatically" suggest a rearrangement of the world so as to strip it of male hegemony, class oppression, indifference to youth, needless war ("When, when, when will men learn to accept that they cannot gain peace from war?" Wazobia, The Reign of Wazobia), blind deference to elders ("Longevity is no measure of wisdom," Wazobia, Wazobia), counterproductive power struggles (especially in Parables for a Season and The Reign of Wazobla), and the "leprous grip of the disease of freedom"' (Metaphor for "whitebody"—Igbo euphemism for leprosy—and the oxymoronic role of white missionaries).

But the "about" factor has a flip side to it: herein the same images, folk webbings, faith structures, poetic testi­monials, ceremonies, combative dialogues, and semiotic soliloquies are employed, not in stripping a world (soular system?), but in rituals of cultural coherence, reclamation, rescue, and reconstruction. Within this context of therapeu­tic remythification, the She-King Trilogy (as I call it) is about tile healing salve of humor, as in signifying (“feet so long they can stand on the moon," Zo, Wazobia); the intrinsic value of women to men and women to women ("With or without man, make a meaning of your life," Wazobia, (Wa­zobia); the predominance of the proverb in African cultures as an educational tool ("A child who asks questions never misses the road,' Priest of Ani, Wazobia); the need for cross-gender collaboration and harmony: the a priori view of mother as Earth/Earth as mother ("Mother, you are deep like the Earth herself,' Zo, Parables for a Season); the culturally centered position of the black male child and the ominous historical threat to his survival ("Ah—world! / A black male child costly as a gem/ And I who longed for one since lost my twins to the slave raiders, to / be lessed with a male child...?" Old Termite, Parables); and in-evocable ties to past and land ("umbilical cords were buried right at the root of trees in this very soil,' Wazobia, Wazobia).

In this young playwright's mind's eye, African theater, the oldest in the world, burns full up with folk- and funk-spun energy, rich and robust giggle-humor, raw visceral movement, acrobatic intelligence, life-death intimacies (We live in the twin-fold of life and death," Wazobia, Parables), pageantry, town criers, griots, gods ("Sometimes the gods like to humor us in our shame,' ldehen, Wazobia), masks and masking ("We all wear more than one face at a time in this society," Ona, Calabash, conflict, ritual dancers, con­tradictions waiting to be satirized ("You Christians and your lord who forbids stealing and yet calls himself a thief (in the night)," Courtuma, Calabash), music, poetry, fetishes, shrines, body decorations, and festivals.

Onwueme has meticulously and brilliantly restitched many of these traditional and modern elements into plays that are temporally cyclical, thematically modal ideo-rhythmically intricate, and histrionically edifying, in these woman-and god-centered tapestries and murals. On­wueme's workswornanship, reminiscent of sister-scholar­artists like Zora Neale Hurston and Katherine Dunham, is re­vealed as consummate and whole. Like her foremothers (and forefathers), she probes the deep ancient underpin­nings of culture, character, image conduit, and ritual. Such probings have taken her into the multidimensional worlds of myth breaking, mythmaking, and myth merging. As an African-Nigerian-Igbo-woman-feminist-artist, Onwueme in her life and history has been, at least on one level, conflict, configured by colonialism, tribalism, imperialism, racism, sexism, stereotype, and classism. In The Broken Calabash, The Reign of Wazobia, and Parables for a Season, she reimages, reforges, reshapes, renews, and reinvents woman/human societies for the stage.

The women in this trilogy are all ascending. Involved women. Evolved women. Evolving women. African women with themselves, their men, their children, their families, their neighbors. Extended families. Black folks. Though there are forces that would devolve—and, if possible, dis­solve—them. Through drama (life-mirrowing), Onwueme lifts these women, helps them—and their men—resee and re­ceive themselves as ancient, traditional, and reenvisioned citizens. Woman as king; man as cohort; the sin of too much father-love—a tragic, stifling love—for daughter in Calabash; king-mother roles in Aniocha-Igbo society; the clash of his­torical myth and revolutionary-intellectual modernity; re­adapting precolonial mother-daughter relationships to contemporary needs and values; harmonizing African inde­pendence, pan-Africanism, and Afrocentricity with cross-cultural black consciousness (again, see Legacies). Such are the major themes and major schemes of Onwueme as she manipulates vision, canvas, stage, village, festival, campus, chorus, sitting room, masquerade, symbol, sign, etymology, anthropology, ethnography, mythology, xylo­phone, gong, ekwe, dente, high life, music, birth, death, and marriage. Hers is a multicultural theatrical spectrum that encompasses the Afro-Indian-Greeco-Roman-Hebrew-Christian -European continuum.

In Parables for a Season and The Reign of Wazobia women who by law or tradition have rightfully ascended to the kingship—even if only temporarily—are being under­mined by men, occasionally by women, and sometimes in the context of cross-gender plotting. One of the male strate­gies is all too familiar to African-American villagers, the divide-and-conquer pattern. lyase, who plots with Idehen (Iago?) against newly crowned she-king Wazobia, notes:

We must catch the lion by getting hold of its cub. In spite of avowed solidarity, women are women. You can­not rule out petty jealousies among them.

Throw a grain of maize on a brood of chicks. Grip the hen as they cackle for the booty, (Wazobia).



But as the plot and plotting thicken, as the men “hold their meeting to unseat Wazobia," the wise elder stateswoman Omu directs the women thusly:

Together we form this moon shape. Lie in ambush sur­rounding the throne as the men emerge. We, together in this naked legion, will salute them in our natural state. Taunting their eyes with their own shame. This naked dance is a last resort women have had over the ages. If our men force us to the wall, we must use it as our final weapon. Unusual problems demand unusual solutions. (Wazobia)

In Onwueme's soular system, women cannot be reduced to a group of quarreling chicks. Instead, they induce and sus­tain bonding, express solidarity, and when tempers flare and there is a call for vengeful violence, Wazobia reminds them of their mission: “Women peace! Peace Spill no blood! Ours is to plant seed-yams. Not blood to feed worms." This young king/queen knows that the song (the word, nommo, songi­fied naming) is the thing. 'Traditionally, one exorcises ugli­ness and expiates evil and bad feelings through the use of song and callings (as in blues). So Wazobia steadies her sisters (and us) with this war-peace cry:

"Sing, women! Stand firm on the soil! Sing! Sing!
Literature/Writing AdsEau Claire Woman Considered One Of Africa’s Leading Female Playwrights by Charlzzwolf(op):
Born into African culture, your name, your family and your sense of place are highly valued. For Osonye “Tess” Onwueme, the name “Osonye” means, “If you like me, accept me the way I am. If not, leave me alone.” And she’ll tell you that with her broad smile and ever present happy laugh.

It’s part of her African identity that she brought with her when she arrived in the United States. Onwueme was granted the opportunity by winning the International Literary Award in 1989 and along with it a teaching academic fellowship. For the past 23 years she has live in Eau Claire. Specifically for Onwueme, UW-Eau Claire created the position of Distinguished Professor for Cultural Diversity. Since 2010, she has held the special title as University Professor of Global Letters, and Professor of English in recognition of her growing influence as a playwright. This named position is held be only a few eminent writers in the U.S.

When Onwueme arrived at UW Eau Claire she brought with her clout as a prominent African playwright. “My work, my plays, my writing take me all around the world, and so in a way I’m like a culture ambassador, for UW-Eau Claire and for the UW System and for Wisconsin and for America.”

She teaches a course on Women in African Literature and begins her presentation with the African Ebu greeting, “Kwenue.” Her students return the greeting. On this particular night, she offers a glimpse into her work called, “The Reign of Wazobia.” It is an Onwueme original play about women in Africa. The main character, Wazobia, begins to question why women are held back, while men are privileged to do as they please. Wazobia defiantly organizes and mobilizes the women to rebel against the men.

This African playwright’s compositions come from the heart, and the heartache of a personal narrative that fuels her writing. She tells the true story of how her mother ran away when Onwueme was just six years old. She was fleeing from an abusive, failed marriage. “I know what poverty is, and I also know what it is to experience abuse, and violence and oppression and suppression. I have lived these experiences. Maybe that’s why I’m much more passionate and I have a keen eye for justice and for equity.”

In colonial Nigeria, she was one of a few from her village to attend a Catholic boarding school taught by Irish nuns. With high school behind her, it was off to college at the University of Ife in Nigeria. This is where she would first meet an influential professor. Wole Soyinka was the first black person to win the Nobel Prize for Literature. He inspired her and Onwueme remembers the day she began to feel the voices of her characters. She said, “It was like a new door was opened. I had written a play and I was really happy, so happy, overjoyed from then on, I started writing plays.”

Dr. Osonye Tess Onwueme’s name is now etched alongside other contemporary African writers she is proud to call her friends. She will tell you she is in a very privileged league with the older generation of women writers like Maya Angelou, Alice Childress, and Sonja Sanchez.

In 2016, in an email, Onwueme learned she had been nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature. The most prestigious literary award in the world. “I felt very humbled, I felt elated and a heavyweight of responsibility as well,” Onwueme remembers. In the end, she did not win but another famous writer did. Bob Dylan is also an idol for Onwueme. She remembers in high school back in Nigeria listening to music from the West. She admits she loved his music. When she found out he had won, she said, “To God be the glory. I’m happy.”

A collection of Onwueme’s lifeworks are now housed in the UW-Eau Claire archives. In recognition of her accomplishments, the State of Wisconsin passed a proclamation in her honor. Even with all the high praise, Onwueme will tell you, “I remain me: simple, rootsy, (laughs) rootsy, striding and walking tall in my African identity anywhere I go.

And she’s not done yet. She’s working on a play called “The Devil and his Christian Wife.” She can’t help but tell you the title with a smile and that indelible, infectious laugh.

Literature/Writing AdsTrending News: "Tess Onwueme At 66: Blooming Radiance" by Charlzzwolf(op): 3:56pm On Sep 11, 2021
Emeritus Professor
Tess Onwueme--- the globally known, celebrated African pioneer, foremost female playwright and endowed chair "University Professor of Global Letters" & Professor of English at the University of Wisconsin, USA---who just turned 66, was pleasantly stunned by a group of happy professors and scholars who respectively wrote their PhDs on her creative drama.

From far and wide, the gleeful scholars flew in, unannounced and armed with these memorable images, into the author's serene, spectacular Abuja rockvilla to honor their creative mentor, intellectual and professional inspiration, erudite educator, and decades-long global activist/ advocate for the endangered environment, poor women and the girlchild, youth and the global masses exploited and impoverished by globalization, along with the progressive degrading cultural norms and values today.

Literature/Writing AdsTess Onwueme: Early Life & Education by Charlzzwolf(op): 4:45am On Apr 06, 2021
She was born to the Akaeke family in Ogwashi Ukwu, present-day Delta State, Nigeria. She attended Mary Mount Secondary School, Agbor, and it was while she was in her third year in secondary school that “Poetry found her roaming the world of learning, and would not leave her, thenceforth.” Her creativity grew, offering her the safe space and unique communal home to voice and break her silences. It would blossom into the flourishing drama universe that’s engendered and marked Tess Onwueme’s enduring place and seminal contributions to contemporary World Literature and Drama. At 19, she got married shortly after her secondary education—and at 28, was already the young mother of five children, while also attending the University of Ife (now OAU) where she graduated top of her class with both the Overall Best Performance and the Faculty Prize for the 1979 BA/BSC degree examinations. In 1982, she earned an MA in Literature degree from the same institution where she’d become a teaching faculty member from 1980. Her family’s relocation for new teaching positions at FUTO in the far away Owerri eastern part of the country, led the young mother and academic into completing and earning her PhD in African Drama from the University of Benin. The remarkable feat of her rare accomplishments and success in this regard was not missed by the prevailing media/press highlights, exemplified by the front-page news caption: Tess Onwueme: Mother of Five Bags a Ph.D. in English! (National Concord, Monday, February 1, 1988).
Dr. Tess Onwueme combined her academic teaching positions at FUTO and Abia State University, Okigwe, where she served as a Senior Lecturer. In that period, too, Tess Onwueme initiated and directed the FUTO Theatre Troupe––thus becoming the first woman in Nigeria (and maybe Africa!) to pioneer and manage an active popular theatre troupe that received invitations to perform at the National Theatre in Lagos, and also toured major cities in the country for performances of her plays. The National Theatre stage production of her play, The Broken Calabash was especially popular, leading the National Television Authority (NTA) to broadcast, nation-wide, their featured film adaptation of the drama for the Nigerian Independence Silver Jubilee Celebration in October 1985.
In 1989, Tess Onwueme made history, again, when she won the 1989/90 Martin Luther King, Jr. Caesar Chavez Distinguished Authors award, following the 1988 stage productions of her award-winning play, The Desert Encroaches in New York, and The Broken Calabash in Detroit, respectively. These significant American stage features of her drama not only opened the doors of America to her with the accompanied university teaching position but also the opportunity for permanent residence in America with her five young children that she brought with her and had to raise as a single parent in the American new world/ home.


www.tessosonwueme.com
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LiteratureRe: Dr. Afam Ebeogu's Publication On Mythic Imagination In Tess Onwueme's Drama by Charlzzwolf(op): 4:58pm On Apr 05, 2021
Once on the throne, Wazobia mobilizes the womenfolk and talks them into the apprehension of their roles in society from a new perspective. They begin to see her not just as another ephemeral regent but as a “new dawn,” a “maiden king,” and a king who must reign long. Bia, one of Wazobia’s ardent female supporters, say to a colleague:
But for Wazobia, you’ll not be standing firm on the ground. You would have remained, touched away, rejected today like pudding without wrap. (17)

We do not see Wazobia making new laws or instituting new socio-political structures which elevate the status of the womenfolk, but it is assumed that she does all these things, as suggested by the powerful rhetoric that bears witness to her intentions:
Women, that is the task before you
To set the hand of the clock aright
To move time, not allow time to move you . . .
It is our time to till. It’s our time to tend
That we may be planted on firm soil. (22)

Even the Queen mother, the Omu, who originally stands on the side of tradition with the menfolk, is shaken out of her ignorance and soon casts her lot in with this new “female” King who “rules by decree.” After a powerful speech by Wazobia, the “Queen mother of the tribe/First among women,” capitulates to the phenomenal charisma of Wazobia. As the stage direction indicates:

Slowly, the OMU is beginning to relax her stern face, and gradually she becomes so persuaded that by the time WAZOBIA makes the last state-ment, the OMY’s face has thawed out completely into a smile and she spreads her hands encompassing all the women who have risen in unison

to form a circle around her. All the women break into a triumphant song. (34)

Henceforth the menfolk are forced into a defensive position, and rather than match Wasobia’s logic with counter-logic, they degenerate into despicable schemers and intrigue-makers in order to topple Wazobia. They are not united, however, and even while they scheme against the “king,” they also scheme against each other for a possible succession to the throne. Here the playwright uses the technique of reductionist char-acterization to alienate the chiefs of the kingdom from the sympathy of the audience. Ben when the menfolk assemble and decide in the name of tradition, to present Wazobia with the steaming calabash of herbs as ritual symbol of rejection by the whole community, they do not earn the sympathy of the audience, since their leaders have already been presented as unprincipled and self-seeking. Even so, the men are likely to win the day, since physical strength, the basis of their chauvinism, is on their side. The womenfolk, however, play their trump card, which again is provided by tradition by using their bodies to freeze the men into inaction
Suddenly the cock crows. Women from behind the throne sound their war-cries. Led by the OMU, they advance, naked and in unison, from an arc behind WAZOBIA. The men are so shocked that they retreat, stagger and freeze in their stupefaction. (55)

This scene is a feminist master stroke: where the women lack physical strength, their naked bodies, their natural state, do the battle for them. In such a state they dance around their new messiah, Wazobia, holding hands and swinging their waists, then carry her shoulder-high. Amidst the shouts of “Long Reign WA-ZO-BIA,” the “light lingers” and finally fades into a blackout. The play ends in an unmistakable victory for the women, and a triumph for Wazobia.
It is instructive that, after Wazobia’s coup, her reign is sustained by mythic symbols fashioned by a patriarchal consciousness. For example, the village square, where a great deal of action of the play takes place, “comprises the shrines, containing the Ikenga and the Ofor” (1). The Ikenga is “a wooden staff and shrine signifying manhood [and] great achievements,” while the Ofor is “a symbolic link between the dead


ancestors and the living” (51). These mythical symbols are used for ritual performances in which men are usually chief celebrants; the Ikenga and the Ofar, institutionalized only by the menfolk, are thus both male-oriented, the one embodying a cult of masculine success and the other a symbol of ancestral continuity which is ensured only through male progeny. Wazobia allows these symbols to deck the ritual ground from which she launches her war against the very values which they represent. The success of Wazobia is therefore mythical. Each morpheme in her name means “come” and symbolizes a call to all Nigerian women to come together and fight against a dominant culture of male chauvinism.
Legacies
Onwueme sustains the tradition of feminist defiance in Legacies, her latest play published in 1989. In this play, as in The Broken Calabash and The Reign of Wazobia, a “mythic and ritual structure” informs the action.4 Indeed, the single-location setting of the play is grotto situated in a community named Idu.5 Idu is a mythical kingdom that features in a number of Igbo folktales, especially in communities around the Niger which either trace their origin to Benin or had, in the historical past, experienced the sovereignty of the ancient kingdom of Benin. The Idu of the play is therefore a mythical African community, and if it happens to be Igbo, it is because it serves the author’s purpose best, enabling her to evoke mythological and legendary associations which are properly indigenous to Africa. Beyond that, it also enables her to root her setting in a culture with a specific cosmology and values upon which an argument for an authentic African world, vision and history can be based.
It is to Idu that Mimi and her son Uli, African Americans who were born in America and nurtured by American values, go in search of their roots. Initially they find it bizarre and fearful, for Uli, Idu is like something out of the dream, a mythical location that is real only in his mother’s brain. But for Mimi, the strong-willed African-American woman, Idu is a dream that must be given reality, a land of promise that holds real meaning and legacy. An she is right, for Idu turns out to be a ritual ground suffered with music, dance and a haunting atmosphere of chthonic presences affirming the essence of a humanity in vibrant communion with a cherished past. The presence of Mimi and Uli threatens
to disrupt a significant rite of passage in progress, an initiation into manhood. The chief celebrant in that rite is none other than Elozie, Mimi’s husband and the father of Uli, who had emerged from America years back. Through a fast-revolving web of dramatic irony, suspended on weighty rhythms of highly evocative verse, the author weaves incidents of recognition and estrangement: a husband beholds his wife and denies her; a son beholds his father, detests and then embraces him; a mother-in-law beholds and treasures a daughter-in-law and a grandson; and a community offers sacrifices to the gods for an addition to their number. Above all, husband and wife reconcile the two halves of a cultural whole split years before, and that great moment of illumination reveals a terrible secret: the couple are siblings of the same father. But Onwueme does not allow this relation to cause irreparable damage, for abominations become what a culture declares them to be. Thus, the inadvertent acts of the past do not hold the present for ransom.
The quest motif is typical of mythic stories, but this subject matter is not what gives Legacies its uniqueness. Thematically, Onwueme merely reinvigorates monumental but familiar echoes of an epic search for one’s ethnic roots, whether they resonate from an Alex Haley or a Lucky Dube. But she gives the treatment of her material a stamp of uniqueness through the feminist haloes which the play radiates. The protagonist, Mimi, is a woman. She dares to reject her American present and embarks on a search for a past and a future Africa. She holds fast to an eternal dream despite real difficulties. As she tells her son:
We’ve come a long way
Son
It’s a long road to life
Living means BECOMING
Hoping to become
What we want to be
And CAN BE!!! (7)

Mimi must get hold of her dream and stretch it, and even her unwelcome presence in Idu does not daunt her. She stands firm against the hostility of what turns out to be her family in Idu. Until the scene of recognition where she reveals that Elozie is her husband. Her strength of endurance
is epic, and when Elozie falls back on machismo in his attempt to cow her silence, she shields herself with the Ikenga, a symbol of the masculine strength and drive which her iron will demonstrates. Then she proceeds, in the near martial rhythms of her evocative verse, to assure the man that things would no longer be as they have been in the States, where he could brutalize her. Now she stands firm on the soil of African mother-hood, where her image “shines/To reflect the face of tomorrow” and “the blood binds their navels. The eternal bond of motherhood” (72). It is true that Elozie subjects Mimi to the indignity of being branded an osu, an outcast, which symbolically identifies her with her American rootlessness, but she has made her point. Anene, Elozie’s mother, eulogises her as a kind of messiah whose epic endeavours earn her the panegyrics of an African mythical princes. She is the
Ebony
Beauty of the Forest
Soul of the forest
Ebony whose dark essence
Mocks termites
Ebony whose body
Laughs aloud at the untutored hand
carving the history of the land. (65)

Ultimately Mimi is identified with all the efficacious plants in the mythical botanical garden of Idu, which harbors all the herbs that purify the African body and spirit and forever keep free of vermins. Uli [the black ink that never fades], her son and link between the present and the future, is the high-priest attending this garden and identifying the potent herbs (113-14).
Significantly, the values which Mimi has always stood for are the very values which the Masquerade (the mythical voice of the dead temporarily reincarnated in Movement Five as Meme, the father of Elozie and Mimi) affirms. As the spirit gives Uli a lantern, representing the ever-luminous path into the future, he instructs him to “[r]etrieve the spirit of a mother/Chased like a hen into the night” (103). For, in the words of this eternal voice of wisdom,
So long as woman remains
As string to tie
the navel to the umbilicus
Will the young
Be born alive, not still,
But wax strong in solid roots. (104)
The lamp guides Uli on his journey into the mystic wood or herbs and illuminates his inner vision. He returns with the plants which, when squeezed into Mimi are revealed as brother and sister and Uli is, therefore, the child of an incestuous relationship, the family’s crises do not develop into a tragedy. The song of Meme that ends Movement Five is not a dirge but a song of reunion. As the song gets louder, Uli triumphantly lifts up the new bronze Ikenga, the mythical icon of a future vibrant Black civilization, and “Anene now resolute spreads her arms and gathers them all as a hen would gather her brood” (123). Mimi is not a women shouting mere feminist slogans and rebelling against male chauvinism. She is Mother Earth herself, in whose sands every new-born baby is first “washed” in the Igbo tradition. She is a mythical symbol of endurance, vision, optimism and regeneration \, the feminist factor that validates the masculine dynamism which the Ikenga represents.
Tess Akaeke Onwueme is not a radical feminist, but in all of her plays, especially the three discussed in this essay, she devotes considerable attention to feminist themes. Her plays are best appreciated against the background of the Igbo culture from which she liberal draws her material. Like many good writers, she is an idealist, and it is this idealism that attracts her creative sensibility to the potential of mythology. Placed at the service of her feminist interests, the mythical lends itself to an art which rises above the banality of mere ideological proselytizing. She takes a careful look at traditional African (Igbo) institutions and sees in them authentic materials which, though often institutionalized by retrogressive patriarchy over the years, can be put to good use for the cause of positive change. She is an artist who deliberately throws stones into ponds in order to cause ripples.







Notes






1. These plays include: Ban Empty Barn and Other Plays, (Owerri: Totan Publishers Ltd., 1986); The Desert Encroaches, (Owerri: Heins Nigeria Publishers Ltd., 1985 & Ibadan: Heinemann, 1988); A Hen Too Soon, (Owerri: Heins Nigeria Publishers Ltd., 1983); Mirror for Campus, (Owerri: Headway Publishers Ltd., 1987); and A Scent of Onions, (Owerri: Total Publishers Ltd., 1986).
2. This issue of the ancestral continuity is the thematic preoccupation of John Munonye’s fictional trilogy: The Only Son, (London: Heinemann, 1986), Obi, (London: Heinemann, 1969) and Bridge to a Wedding, (London: Heinemann, 1978).
3. In this paper, we used to word “myth” to mean not only an imaginative creation by man, supported with all the sacred paraphernalia of culture practices so as to assume the status of a legitimate order which must not be violates, but also an imaginative projection into the future which, though not based on empirical evidence of the moment, is still symbolic of a desired objective believed to be realizable. For the exploration of the various dimensions of the mythic imagination, especially the African creative writer and his use if myth, see Isidore Okpewho, Myth in Africa (Cambridge: Cambridge U P, 1983), 155-221.
4. The relationship between myth and ritual is ably discussed by Lord Raglan in “Myth and Ritual,” in Myth: A Symposium, ed. Thomas Sebeok (Bloomington: Indiana U P, 1965) 122-35
5. M.A. Onwuejeogwu undertakes a brief but insightful historical and socio-anthropological treatment of the relationship between some Igbo communities and the kingdom of Benin (Edo) in his 1987 Ahiajoku Lecture entitled, Evolutionary Trends in the History of the Igbo Civilization in the Culture Theatre of Igboland in Southern Nigeria (Owerri: Ministry of Culture, Youth & Sports, 1987) 34-35. It is often postulated that the quasi-divine kingship and institutions in most of these communities portrayed fictionally by Tess Onwueme in The Broken Calabash and The Reign of Wazobia was as a result of Benin (Edo) imperial influence. But Adiele Afigbo’s historical insight into the matter renders the debates as to why greatly influenced
whom politico-ritually, the Edo (Benin) or the Nri (Igbo), immensely speculative. See Adiele Afigbo, Ropes of Sand: in Studies in Igbo History and Culture (Ibadan: University Press Ltd. & Oxford U P, 1981) 58-63.



Work Cited



Amadiume, Ifi. Male Daughters, Female Husbands: Gender and Sex in an African Society. London: Zed Books Ltd., 1987.

Humn, Maggie. Feminist Criticism: Women as contemporary Critics. Sussex: Harvester, 1986.

Onwueme, Tess A. The Broken Calabash. Owerri: Totan Publishers Ltd., 1984; Ibadan: Heinemann, 1988.
____. Legacies. Ibadan: Heinemann, 1989.
____. The Reign of Wazobia. Ibadan: Heinemann, 1988.
LiteratureDr. Afam Ebeogu's Publication On Mythic Imagination In Tess Onwueme's Drama by Charlzzwolf(op): 4:58pm On Apr 05, 2021
Feminism and the Mediation of the
Mythic in Three Plays
by Tess A. Onwueme

Afam Ebeogu

Imo State University, Nigeria

Tess A. Onwueme has published ten plays.1 In three of them, The Broken Calabash, The Reign of Wazobia, and Legacies, she explores the specific issue of the dehumanizing status of women in Nigerian society, while in the others she employs the idiom of satire with its less demanding plot strategies, linguistic decorum and rigid characterization to deal with a variety of other concerns. This study focuses on some of the facets of a variety of other concerns. This study focuses on some of the facets of feminist commitment that recur in Onwueme’s work. In order to explore Onwueme’s deft handling of her craft and ideology, we must articulate the cause for which she fights, the conventional tactics with which the cause is usually fought and her conformity with, or deviation from, these tactics.
The characteristics of contemporary feminist perspectives on literature include an exploration of the fate of the female protagonist against the historical background of dominant patriarchal values; an insistence that the feminist writer and her protagonist’s behaviors, thoughts, and language be predicted on unique natural qualities determined by their biological quotient; the often deconstructive imperatives which enable the feminist critic to arrive at meanings other than what is obviously denoted and connoted by the writer, a demand that the work of the feminist writer be explored against the background of psychoanalytical theory in order to uncover the nature of societal
repressions that engender a distinctive feminist perception of the world of women; an examination of lesbian tendencies born out of women’s unapologetic affirmation of their right to derive sexual satisfaction outside of the constraints of male chauvinistic ethic and morals; the recognition of the ideological affinity between Marxist ideology and the feminist cause; the inevitable advent of Black feminist sensibility in the face of an overgeneralized female comradeship which ignores the particularity of the Black experience in contemporary social history; and the imperative reexamination of myth criticism over the ages in order to expose the fossilization of ideas, symbols and archetypal interpretations by a critical sensibility grown and nurtured in terms of the male psyche.
The above constitutes a large part of the feminist cause. But in spite of the workshops, group solidarity and project syndrome that have characterized the feminist movement, especially in Europe and America, in cannot be said that there has emerged a single model designed to inform a global feminist creative of critical enterprise. For example, the African-American feminist movement, but Black African feminism, while reflecting a good many of the characteristics of the European and American varieties, tend to hold an independent posture based on the notion that the cultural background that gave rise to the subjugation of women in Africa is quite different. Ifi Amadiume, basing her argument on socio-anthropological research, insists that gender roles were not as sharply defined in traditional African societies as they were in the Indo-European world. She also argues that the advent of colonialism introduced into African gender relations male/female dichotomies that were in many ways alien but which have, in time, eaten deep into the fabric of indigenous African gender ethics, ultimately creating a complex amalgam that is neither quintessentially African nor characteristically European.
A study of the three Onwuene plays mentioned above reveals that she is not a feminist generalist, but an African writer attempting to explore the dilemma of the African women from an African point of view. She argues that the Nigerian women has been marginalized for ages. This marginalization is a result of the myth of sexual superiority created and furbished by men in order to justify their monopoly over the good things
of life. Men have used their brute physical strength as an instrument of intimidation against women, and mythicized into a status of inferiority aspects of women’s natural biological endowments. Thus, the inferiorization of women gave rise to certain psychological predispositions and a complex of social, economic and political disabilities in women which men have perpetuated through the ages as sexually inherent.
Yet Onwueme argues that traditional political and socio-cultural institutions, essentially erected by men as mythic structures of domination, have built-in mechanisms for women to identify these traditions and institutional structures and use them to liberate themselves. Theirs is a fight not for a reversal of roles, but for a balancing of such roles; not for the denial of natural endowments, but for the utilization of such endowments in achieving self-fulfillment, equality and respect.
The Broken Calabash
In The Broken Calabash, Onwueme’s first significant attempt at a feminist aesthetic, the author organizes a coup d’état around the Idegbe custom, a traditional Igbo institutional set-up constructed essentially to satisfy the ethic of a male-dominated culture, The institution of Idegbe is a practice whereby a young lady who is an only child is denied marriage and compelled to remain in her father’s household to procreate. The children born by this young lady become her father’s. Alternatively, the lady may “marry” another woman who would the procreate for her father’s household and becomes a “female husband” by role. In either situation, the Idegbe arrangement insures a man’s obi or ancestral continuity.2 Behind the practice is the fundamental principle of male lineage. It is expected that the girl who remains in her father’s household and lawfully procreates without a legal husband, or the one who “marries” another woman to perform that duty, will bear a male child who would then inherit the property of the “grandfather” and perpetuate the name of the family.
Ona, a university undergraduate and modern woman, finds herself in the situation of the Idegbe in The Broken Calabash. But she has a lover, Diaku, whom she expects to marry. Her parents do not allow her to fulfill
her wishes, and she loses her lover to a girlfriend. Ona does not leave matters at that, as many traditional Igbo girls would. If her father cannot stand the scandal or disapprove Ona’s claim, so he commits suicide, tragic note on which the play ends. Ona, the instrument of Onwueme’s feminist protest, turns a mythic arrangement into a mythic reality and leaves her father to stew in his own jucies.3
Onwueme’s coup d’état is a deft one. She recognizes the literary legitimacy and the mythical stature of the material she is handling. The archetypal complex between a father and his daughter is properly rooted in African traditional cultural practices. To lift her play above these commonplaces, the author deploys, and in some cases overdeploys, the dramatic irony of situations and words by situation the events of the play in the ritual framework of the Ine festival, which is a festival of ritual cleansing before the harvest of the new yam, the Igbo king of crops. The festival is dominated by verbal and non-verbal satirical practices, during which all members of the community who have been found morally wanting are brought to public ridicule.
The dominant mood of the play is therefore comic, but Onwueme creates an ironic situation where the tragic events in the Courtuma households are acted out against the background of the comic imperatives of festivity. Ona is a woman in bondage, and her bewilderment and loss of faith in the gender status quo of her culture are tragic; the festive ritual background of the play is an expression of the spirit of freedom but that same cultural setting sustains the mythical structures that enslave women. The playwright is determined to highlight this ironic situation and often brings together disparate moods which do not synchronize. This explains why Courtuma never cuts a tragic figure even if the circumstances of his suicide evoke a significant dose of pathos.
In her attempt to build up and sustain a chain of ironies which would vitalize her archetypal theme, Onwueme deploys the resources of rhetorical ambivalence, especially while handling the relationship between Ona and her father. We are made to accept that the love between the two is filial but at the same tie we are not relieved of the consciousness the Courtuma’s appreciation of his daughter is amorous,

even sexual. “But my father—he can go to any length with me. My father will do anything to keep me and make me happy,” says Ona, and when her friend, Ugo, reminds her that her father cannot marry her, she replies, “If it were possible, he would . . .” (6). Elsewhere, Courtuma assures Ona that she means more than a daughter to him: “I . . . am your father and will always be father of your children generation after generation, even from my frave” (19). Perhaps the most powerful indication of Courtuma’s unconscious desire to have carnal knowledge of his daughter is revealed in a dream in which he utters:
Ona! I am your father. . . . I will confirm—you with my own oil. Life-giving juice to anoint you. I, who gave you life. I can give you the cream and seed of life. Ona! Stop! Don’t go Don’t do it. Do you doubt my power? (31)
These are the words of a jealous suitor, not of a father and it is instructive that the dream takes place while Ona and her lover, Diaku, are about to steal a moment of love-making. Here the playwright is unmistakably utilizing Freudian psychology, as Courtuma’s repressed desire manifests itself unconsciously in his dream.
Ona perceives in the Freudian relationship between herself and her father the potential of elevating a psychoanalytic possibility to the status of a social reality. An ostensibly filial bond is allowed to metamorphose into an alleged incestuous relationship which, in the eyes of the very culture the instituted the practice of Idegbe, is abominable. If Ona’s accusation of her father appears callous, she would be prepared to defend it: she is confronted with a cultural practice that is entirely robs her life of meaning and, in her fight against the system, she is prepared to deploy every resource at her disposal, including her education and intelligence. As she says:
You people have a very ambitious murder-plan. You will not only slaughter me on the alter of your decadent tradition, but would also want another female head. I say—to hell with you tradition. Homestead! Norm! All. Let the wind blow—Let the shaky homestead be blown. Any-thing which cannot stand the force of change must be uprooted or be blown into oblivion by the storm heralding the new season! (43)
Ona’s posture is defiant and characteristically feminist. To argue that she is callous is to argue in favor of a cultural system based on a myth
of male superiority which robs the woman of the right to make her own conjugal choice. Even if a girl decides not to marry but remain in her father’s household and raise children, as some modern self-reliant women are doing today, it should be her own choice and not the imposition of a “decadent tradition.” But thanks to that tradition, the feminist protest does not destroy the Anioma (Igbo) people, for a culture that instituted traditions like Idegbe constructed at the same time a sociological mythic weapon with which that very tradition can be assailed. In this regard, The Broken Calabash is a precursor of The Reign of Wazobia, Onwueme’s most African feminist play thus far.
The Reign of Wazobia
The Reign of Wazobia is also based on a ritual structure, through which is quintessential, sublimated, life-enduring mythic content is enacted. The cyclical pattern of the play is signaled by the foreshadowing of the end in the prologue as a way of emphasizing the continuity of life in spite of events that may have transpired within the rhythmic structures of the seasons. The action is set near the end of the mourning period for the late king of IIaa in the Anioma Kingdom, a time to install a new kind. The king-regent, Wazobia, is holding tight to the reins of power, and the menfolk assembled in the village square, a mystical meeting place between the living and the dead and between gods and men, are attempting to ritually force the “women-king” into capitulation. Wazobia refuses to budge and thanks to her mastery of theatrical gesture and rhetoric, conducts the cast and the audience into choreographed flashback, which constitutes Movement One, so that we can learn how the conflict started.
Three seasons back we witness how Wazobia was crowned king-regent at the beginning of the festival of Ifejioku, during which the great Igbo yam-god is propitiated before harvest time is ushered in. We understand through Wazobia’s democratic selection as King-regent that tradition is responsible for temporarily place her on a throne otherwise reserved for men. From Movement One, we are piloted through the Movement Six, amidst a carefully structured operatic ambience that consistently foregrounds the ritual base of the play’s action. In the process we are confronted with Wazobia, an educated and intelligent woman of
iron will, who is as agile as the tiger (Agu), which is one of her praise epithets. Wazobia browbeats men and coaxes women, and her language is a masculine and figurative as befits a king. Her rhetorical competence is disarming, and where she fails to intimidate with the measured impact as her assertive speech, she is sure to persuade with the ethical appeal of her flawless logic. She is a revolutionary firebrand, and would date the unimaginable. She submissively allows tradition to install her as “King” in a culture of male dominance and patriarchal values, but refuses to let the same tradition push her off the throne. Once on the throne, she carries out a palace coup and sees her advent as an opportunity to reverse the gender discriminations which her culture has institutionalized over the years. She musters the women on her side, and by the time the play ends, there emerges the new myth of a women king-regent, who succeeds in holding fast to the throne and mesmerizing the menfolk into abject ineffectiveness.
Onwueme’s creative device is the destruction of a socio-political cultural myth with the artificial myth constructed around a feminist ideology. The Igbo culture of Anima is male-dominated: only men are installed kings on a permanent basis and only men can become chiefs. The political institution that makes decisions is run by men and the values by which successful citizens are recognized, such as the title if Digi [Husband of yams] for a man who is innumerable barns of yam, are male-entrenched. A man is a hero because he is a mighty hunter or a smith. A man who is able to pummel a wife to submission is considered masculine and the praise poetry of the culture is built around achievements possible only for the menfolk by virtue of their physical strength as males, their social role as husband, their cultic functions as the link between the living and the ancestors and their socio-linguistic role as the formulators of the standard phrases with which acts of perfection and propriety are assessed in the society.
Wazobia is out to debunk all these male-centered values. Her first act is an attempt to stifle the royal drummer of praises, who is then compelled to eulogize Wazobia in the very panegyrics hitherto preserved for the men:

I, Wazobia
Am the masquerade
Who dances the hot step of the new day
The finger which laps the soup
When it is hottest
While the men scrape it from the sides
The lead masquerade who
Speaks many tongues. . . . (5)
LiteratureAcclaimed Playwright Tess Onwueme Delivers The Ala Keynote Address In San Diego by Charlzzwolf(op): 8:50am On Mar 16, 2021
ACCLAIMED PLAYWRIGHT TESS ONWUEME DELIVERS THE ALA KEYNOTE ADDRESS IN SAN DIEGO, APRIL 2002.

www.tessosonwueme.com
www.tessonwueme.com
www.writertess.com

LiteratureRe: Folon Nichols Award Acceptance Speech by Charlzzwolf(op): 7:33pm On Feb 25, 2021
In my work, I’ve also repeatedly raised such dust to project, not just the dis-membered body and soul of Africa with her far-flung and estranged Diaspora since the black history’s hemorrhage with the Middle Passage, respectively re-membered/recreated in Riot in Heaven and The Missing Face?

Can’t you hear the sighs and screams beneath their Silence? And what are the implications of silence? According to an authoritative source, “Silence goes beyond the absence of sound. For socially, it is a sign of the overbearing memories that burden us…”

And you wonder about the topographies of silence in my work? I’ll show you the undulating and unfolding landscapes of the silence of the Invisible framed in my work.

Of the many Culture Shocks I’ve had since coming to America, one that still stands out is the reference or naming of the Land/Earth as “Dirt” in American popular parlance. How could the Earth/Mother/Land be simply Dirt? Any wonder then why they rape her–as they did Africa, tearing her apart in their (in)famous scramble for Africa with the partition, as they treat her like Dirt, then Dump her as Dirt, their own waste product? In daylight robberies, they batter, trade, Auction, soil, siphon the belly of our Land, our world--just as the traditional Chief, Ethiope in the unholy alliance with Atlantic, the Multinational Oil Director, and Kainji, the Government Official, all joined at the hip, for their own self-interest to maximize the accumulation of Capital as dramatized in my play Then She Said it.
--Two decades ago—precisely in 1985—I signaled the first stage of this menacing Environmental threat in my dramatic publication of the Desert Encroaches.

And what about the Nuclear waste? How do we classify it?
As healthy food and nourishment for the sizzling Land? And for us? Where is their dumping ground today?

Just recently, on February 18th/19th, 2009 The UK Independent world, and the Nigerian This Day newspaper respectively raised a new alarm with the caption: “UK Toxic Waste Dumped in Nigeria and Ghana.”

But who am I to speak for her, this raped motherland? For when the Earth speaks with fury, talking back to us as she does these days with her sudden eruptions—through tsunami, volcanic, hurricane, and related eruptions, she leaves no one second-guessing her. Yes!! She frosts, yawns, swells, rolls, or roars to say aloud that she cannot take it anymore. Yes, the tired mother groaning with the bruised and torn vulva of the land doesn’t talk; she yells. So who am I to speak for the abused Mother/land?

But as a conscious daughter of the combustible flaming Niger-Delta---with the natural gas flaring for so many decades now, with the heart, body, and soul of the rural communities in the battered and plundered Land burning 24/7, and with none with needed voice to say ENOUGH!!—yes! what then should my role be, but to reaffirm her, openly shout her pain, this Mother/land, turned MURDER-LAND?

Since I have no such political power to stop the carnage, I’ll just latch on to this one space, this one crucial forum that I can control, to speak, to protest, to rebel, to scream, to save, to heal, to resurrect whomever I can—in my drama? Can’t you see? That:


1. The Environment is not merely the physical space we own or appropriate by imperial force or will or coercion euphemized as Colonialism. No!

2. That Our Environment reflects and embodies the land, our Land. With our soul and body rooted in that Land. Like the invisible umbilical cord linking and securing us to the very root of our being and essence, our Land/Environment is us. It embodies what we eat. What we breathe. What we have or don’t have because some, the avaricious few, appropriate it to themselves at the expense of many others.

And simply stated:

Who profanes our land, profanes us. Who steals our land, steals us—body and soul. Who pollutes our land, pollutes us––in their myriad mutations of: corruption, avarice, cultural, political, economic injustices added to the plagues of social class with patriarchal customs and traditions privileging some against others—like those imposed on women’s liberty and identity in Africa and related societies.

And so I have this for your Take Out or Take Away as that sums up our “Market Culture” of today.

***One thing is certain: we cannot mass produce this Land, our Earth. But we, can of course, mass-produce Nike Shoes in those seething China and related sweat shops—with many being held in economic hostage—Yes, we can mass produce Calvin Klein Jeans and shirts and Automobiles, build skyscrapers on land, and maybe even clone the likes of us, animals? But the Land, our Land? I think not. Of course the powerful can expand and claim Land that they do not own through genocide against the American Indian, the African, Iraqi and any other they feel powerful enough to subdue. But no matter what, Land is one solid gift from nature that we cannot reproduce. No matter the scientific feats we brag about, Land is a fixed Quantity; a Limited entity. We just cannot clone Land. Period!

Isn’t that cause for us to care and take caution to save and cherish it thus? Well…think...So how are we working for peace and justice? How? With the deluge of inequities in our world. With some eating taking more than their fair share and being so bloated in their loot as the oil and natural resources glut in their greedy gut? With this how can and will the Land, our Environment be whole? How can the bleeding (Mother)Land heal from the perennial plagues in both our local and global communities today? Think. Just Think about it for the health of our Land, our Environment.

And finally we turn now to other salient dimensions of my dramatic vision.

Come. I’ll show you the emaciated lean and hungry starving or mangled bodies of the Invisible with the muffled voices moaning or throbbing through the landscapes of my drama.

See them. Hear them--the impoverished mothers like Omesiete (in my play Shakara Dance-Hall Queen, 2001; 2006), Niger, Benue (in my Then She Said It, 2003), Sherifat, Yemoja (in my Tell it to Women, 1995; 1997),

Come. Feel the livid pulse of the cynical and despairing, disgruntled, disillusioned, unemployed youth–like Oshun, Koko, Obida (in Then She Said it), Shakara and Dupe (in the play of that eponymous title, SHAKARA)--all pushed to the edge and ready to market their nubile bodies as commodities sold to the highest bidder, along with
their unemployed jobless able-bodied and hollow colleagues––like Faith, Justice, Freedom and Equity (in No Vacancy);

Come. See their tired mothers, too, scratching the bare earth to feed and survive in their land––ironically the same land that is richly endowed, flowing with oil and natural gas resources––but where they’re sapped and sucked dry by the rich powerful transnational forces__like Oceana, Atlantic, allied with the decadent local corrupt leaders and elites like Ethiope, Kainji, Madam Kofo (in Shakara), and
determined to keep the underclass exploited, oppressed, silenced, violated, just like their land, siphoned by the powerful interests depicted in What Mama Said and Then She Said it, and Shakara: Dane-Hall Queen, or like Jefferson Lugard and Stanley Livingstone in Riot In Heaven.

And What about the impoverished powerless ants, termites, lambs, the goats, the pigs, the down-trodden citizens of the allegorical Why the Elephant has No Butt, who are trapped and suffocating from the (geo)poly-tricks of wealth and power by the rival mighty powers of the Elephants, the Lions, the Bears, the Hyenas and their ilk in a variety of (con)texts: The Desert Encroaches, Then She said It, what Mama Said, and Why the Elephant Has No Butt.

I know them. Hence I write them. Frame their lean, lined, and contoured faces of the ‘dissed’ Invisible that I stage in my work.

I know the tenor, color and character of their pain. For I hear it.
I hear the groans, shouts, and screams beneath their silences. It is the color and character of their screams that I dramatize/represent in say, Omesiete, Shakara, the underclass youth restless to wrest her sordid life from the gripping jaws of poverty. Failing, she yields her own body to the vampires of the marketplace.

So think. Is hunger or starvation by the impoverished masses not an urgent moral failure and socio-economic crisis for our leadership?

If mass hunger or poverty isn’t a WMD, then tell me what is. If silence imposed on many in the face of persistent wrong isn’t classified as mass Torture or masked WMD, then tell me what is. Or is there a Statute of Limitation on what should or shouldn’t be regarded as WMD? If so who determines it? Just the “DECIDERS”?

So WHY CAN’T WE CLASSIFY HUNGER & POVERTY AS WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION, WMD with so many stifled by it in Africa, Haiti, India, Indonesia, etc today? Which WMD is a bigger threat to us in the septic metropolis of Africa, Haiti, the “slumdunks” of Mumbai, West and South-South Chicago, Newark, the Watts of LA, Brixton in London, Ajegunle, Mushin, Maroko of Lagos, Nigeria, with the festering Favellas trimming the glittering inner belly of the luxuriant tourist attractions of Ipanema, Copa-Cabana of Rio de Janeiro in Brazil, and elsewhere?

In short, can we expand the notions of Human Rights, Freedom, and Justice to include the pandemic of hunger—these pandemic lacks-- lack of water and power, lack of good roads, lack of jobs, lack of essential commodities, lack of money, lack of hospitals, and when they’re there, lack of drugs, and oh, the interminable abyss of the lack and lacking, and even where there are only their corpses or carcasses of the visible monuments exist as most stare blankly at the dying patients who need drugs that are either beyond their reach, or have simply disappeared into the loaded and bloated pockets and Swiss accounts of the privileged few .

And if the massive corruption that kills merit to benefit the privileged and opportunistic few at the expense of the majority is not an equally insidious threat, indeed, a WMD against the health of the body and soul of the (mother)land, then tell me what is?

So my people, you can see now where I’m coming from? Yes! I need answers to questions that remain unanswered. And that is Why I Write To kill Silence. Yes!! I write to prick you here and beyond to help me find the answers these questions that choke and burn my gut. Period!

And to prove it, you’d let me share brief excerpts from two my plays, THEN SHE SAID IT, and SHAKARA DANCE-HALL QUEEN. WILL YOU? (www.tessosonwueme.com)
LiteratureFolon Nichols Award Acceptance Speech by Charlzzwolf(op): 7:33pm On Feb 25, 2021
Dr. Tess Onwueme wins the Fonlon Nichols prize for contributions to World Literature and Drama. (www.tessosonwueme.com)

TESS ONWUEME' S ACCEPTANCE SPEECH FOR THE FONLON- NICHOLS PRIZE IN LITERATURE.


FOLON NICHOLS AWARD ACCEPTANCE SPEECH: FINAL DRAFT

Delivered by Professor Tess Onwueme on April 17, 2009 (6-8pm)
At the 35th ALA Conference, sponsored by the University of
Vermont, at the Sheraton Hotel, Burlington, Vermont, April 15-19, 2009.
(www.tessosonwueme.com)


ACCEPTANCE SPEECH: FOLON NICHOLS AWARD




My people, I hear you! Yes! So much so that your loud acclamation now prompts me to make this confession. As a good student of Prospero’s Caliban, let me simply say that I’m flabberwhelmed. And overghasted! Can’t you see I’ve turned radio-active. Going beyond hot flashes to having power surges? And I have you all to blame for this, this my blazing joy of transformation. Your eloquent nods inspire me now to walk on water. I salute you! Especially those who conspired to arraign me here to be acknowledged and honored by this Distinguished body of scholars and writers. And you know, what? To you, you enablers, making me fly so high now and soar above, I’ll put you on notice in the manner of the Big Brother Idi Amin, “I shall retaliate! You hear me? I will retaliate!” But for now like the true daughter of Africa, Nigeria and the Anioma Igbo world that I am, I rouse you to affirm with one voice: Kwenu! Kwenu! Kwenu!

And yes, I hear you…Calling me to Duty. So here I stand. I accept! I accept your offer of the Fonlon Nichols Award. I accept this grand honor simply not as an insignia of my own valorization in stepping to the steep height or pinnacle in the roll call of literary Divas or giants, but as my own special call to duty. My mandate to rise up and be counted in the ranks of veteran vanguards of Truth and Justice, exemplified by––Bernard Nsokika Fonlon and Lee Nichols—these men of steel whose uncompromising spirits in the face of wrong, with them speaking Truth to Power, both inspire and inform this award as an enduring legacy to us.

In receiving this cherished award, therefore, I’m mindful of this one fact: That I’m not alone anymore. For I am acutely aware that I stand on the broad shoulders of literary giants and truth seekers—like the irrepressible brother, Ngugi wa Thiong’o and Sister Nawal el Sadaawi, respectively interrogating, digging ever deep into the murky, toxic rubbles of our world, still reeking with the raped, decomposing, mutilated and battered body of Africa—and her women in particular--to exhume the buried and distorted body of Truth and Justice in the swift boats of today’s techno-crazy world.

On this subject I’m reminded of a car sticker I once read with the apt inscription:
“If you want Justice, You must work for Truth.” Are we, really?

And wasn’t it that indefatigable sister Sadaawi who gave us her luminous insight on the subject when she noted that: “Nothing is more perilous than truth in a world that lies?”

With your blazing barge of honor, you, this distinguished body have branded and marked me worthy to mount the treasured heights reserved for those elders brimming with knowledge, authority and power. You have armed me. Yes! To breathe with my fingers. To Speak with my pen. To Drum with my pen, knowing that words are coals on fire.

Indeed to my mind, To Speak Is To Risk Being Heard; And/Or Charged.

And simply put: In Writing I aim to kill Silence!

For anchor here, I’d like to invoke that Swedish man of letters––Per Watsberg––in his assertion that “words are instruments of power (Watsberg, 2005).”

Now that you’ve hired me to follow the footsteps of Fonlon and Nichols in their irrevocable advocacy for the rights of the many who have no power, no place, and no voice to claim/assert their dignity and identity lost, stolen, or denied, I accept your job offer to serve the role of Solicitor and Advocate for the oppressed. Because I, too, in my own limited creative cocoon, have been undergoing the requisite audition for this challenging job description that you’ve assigned me.

And it is not without costs. Indeed, I see the tantalizing tight strings attached. I see them, and sigh deeply to fill up my wheezing/limping lungs for the bigger journeys ahead. With your call, your thousand and one ears tuned, sifting through and weighing every word I utter or write, along with those myriad eyes riveted and beaming on me now, I feel the spotlights, prodding me onto the feverish world-stage. So where now can I hide? Where?

When I stand now in the marketplace of ideas, sensing my glowing anxieties, with much trepidation, I see me armed with smoldering coals in my palm, empowered by you. And you expect me to play and act with caution now, when you’ve tattoed me with the scorching torch of truth and justice brandished by Folon–Nichols? Haba! How can you put sizzling coal fire in the hand of a child, and urge her to carry it with care? You see? See me now caught in the crossroads. In relishing this new-found flora and aura of power, I must confess that I feel stripped of my long cherished cloak of privacy and innocence as your probing eyes have branded me with the odd mix of flickering fear, and pride and daunting affirmation of this given cause that I must champion?

Like a naked Diva, I sense my own vulnerabilities now from this sudden emergence in the glare of your searing light, at once projecting and imposing their own new responsibilities.

And am I ready now? Yes! Because you’ve charged and armed me with your flaming torch of honor and knowledge, I know now that I’m on the right course, and therefore, must persist in Writing and Staging the Invisible in my work.

Indeed for over two decades, within the lonely acts and scenes of my creativity, I’ve since made it my business to Write and Stage the Invisible in my creative work as a viable channel/forum to give them a voice—and STAGE A HEARING FOR THEM.

And just Who or What constitutes the Invisible in our world—our African world especially? For this I take umbrage in the sizzling insights of the Japanese American writer, Hiyase Yamamoto who insists that:
“Invisibility is an Unnatural Disease.”

Invisibility, an unnatural disease? In what way(s)? Just how many such ‘unnatural diseases’ and disasters are plaguing our world today––especially Africa…our Africa? Many. Myriads, I’d say. For the Invisible are those Voiceless, Powerless, Disillusioned, Dis-empowered, Socio-Economically and Culturally Displaced, Dislocated, Dehumanized, deracinated, and indeed—Dissed—or Dumped.

The Invisible are those identified and tagged by our own Ngugi as the 80%/majority who live below “the breadline standard.” The Invisible are those groveling in poverty, and wallowing in the margins of power and privilege, pushing them beyond dysfunctional into desperate acts of survival.

For these Invisible trapped in theescalating, choking cancerous fumes and furnaces of today’s globalization, urbanization, corruption, hunger, socio-economic, cultural and political drought that kills and pollutes the polity with the Land/Environment. Of the massive unnatural diseases and disasters killing and maiming so many, Poverty leads the pack, reigns supreme, for it not only holds a “Permanent Residence” in Africa with cousins in other Third Worlds, but brazenly wields its unruly unchallenged power as alternate generic “Weapons of Mass Destruction” or WMD, for short.

Or, isn’t that the monster we invented a name for since 911?
Are these destructive forces-- tagged as Weapons of Mass Destruction ––or WMD––Thanks to the then American reigning “DECIDER” and emperor, ever-ready to wound and silence any voice of dissent with swift “pre-emptive strikes.”

Why then is it politically incorrect in our world with such growing inequities and disparities to wage counter-insurgency acts targeted at liquidating the menace of crippling poverty with its mounting fatalities, ---quite ironically--in the midst of affluence?

Can’t you see the aggressive and metastasized cancer of AFFLUENZA terrorizing many--especially now, now, in these turbulent times and states of massive unemployment, hunger, starvation, with their deadly cousins of corruption and injustice?

Is Poverty a WMD? Could it be? And why not? Well, my people, help me to ponder this question that’s been dwelling in my work with its undying mutations and metamorphosis since the late seventies. In play after play-- from The Desert Encroaches, through Ban Empty Barn and Other Plays, Cattle Egret Versus Namma, Then She Said it, and What Mama Said, to name a few—I have been marinating this question, by writing and staging the invisible as my chosen subjects, by creating a viable public space for them to vent, and thus give them the much-needed voice by “staging a hearing for them.”

Can’t you hear the sighs and screams beneath their silence?

In these contentious arenas, can’t you see and hear me sifting through the chaotic rubble of noisy modernity in today’s globalization, with its victimizing, deforming, mis-informing and transforming malignant toxic impact on so many powerless, voiceless, marginalized, confined or crushed in the stampede for power and capital--to help me discover, frame the experiences and concerns of those left behind the gateways of power and privilege?

Can’t you hear them…the unemployed and jobless, marginalized and impoverished and despairing and deracinated, deformed and dissed…with the greedy few amassing and cuddling the wealth of the Earth just to themselves and leaving the majority burdened and sore from the pain of neglect?

These reckless ruthless powers choke and prey not only on the people but also on the Land—our Environment. In broad daylight these brazen powerful interests still rape our Mother/land? Siphon her. Drain her. Suck her dry. And left gasping from the glut of our oil in their gloating gut? And just as the Niger and Benue rivers, with their estuaries, empty into Oceana, the Atlantic Sea as depicted in the allegorical What Mama Said and Then She Said it?

Come. Let me take you on a brief excursion of my own creative writing to show you now. Come. See flashes of the Invisible—humans, like damaged goods, littered in the landscapes of my drama. Come. See the dumped and ‘dissed’ Invisible that the indomitable Franz Fanon dubbed The Wretched of the Earth in both their local and global (con)texts in their daily struggles for clean water and clean air and food and identity and dignity in the toxic choking edges or bottoms of the blistering capitalist “Market Culture” of our world today, as labeled by Cornel West.
LiteratureOsonye Tess Onwueme - Staging Women, Youth, Globalization, And Eco-literature by Charlzzwolf(op):
Osonye Tess Onwueme (www.tessosonwueme.com)
Staging Women, Youth, Globalization, and Eco-Literature
International Conference University of Abuja, FCT Abuja, Nigeria
November 11-14, 2009
Host: The Vice Chancellor University of Abuja, FCT, Nigeria.

Osonye Tess Onwueme, Distinguished Professor of Cultural Diversity and English at the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire, is currently, one of the best known and most prolific women playwrights of African descent. She is a winner of several international awards, including the prestigious Fonlon Nichols Award, and a major Ford Foundation research award. She was recently appointed to the US State Department Public Diplomacy Specialist/Speaker Program for North, West, and East India.
This conference focuses centrally on Tess Onwueme as a playwright, scholar, activist, and producer whose works explore a wide range of social, political, historical, cultural and environmental concerns of Nigerians, specifically, women, youth, and people of the Niger Delta, as well as Africans on the continent and in the African diaspora. We encourage individual paper and panel proposals which address various aspects of Onwueme's works, including, but not limited to, those delineated above. Below are additional possible suggestions of broad topics: Feminist theories and the drama of Osonye Tess Onwueme; Onwueme in dialogue with the African Diaspora; Onwueme, activism and iconoclasm; Women, nation and the post-nation in Africa and across the Atlantic; Women, gender, and power; Onwueme and the Nigerian Niger Delta;

Onwueme, drama and oil politics; Onwueme and eco-politics/literature; Onwueme and performance/production; Postcoloniality and survival; Urbanity and the nation; Politics and the Youth; Mothering and modernity in Onwueme's drama; Culture, tradition and the nation in Onwueme's drama; Language and aesthetics in Onwueme's drama; Onwueme: interrogating globalization; Onwueme's drama as dance; and Teaching Tess Onwueme's plays.

www.tessosonwueme.com
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Africa's Groundbreaking Pioneer Female Playwright.

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Africa's Groundbreaking Pioneer Female Playwright.

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Africa's Groundbreaking Pioneer Female Playwright.

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TESS ONWUEME WITH MAYA ANGELOU, TONI MORRISON, TERRY MACMILLAN, MARIE EVANS, NGUGI WA THIONG'O, NAWAL EL SADAAWI, WOLE SOYINKA, SONIA SANCHEZ, ALICE CHILDRESS, BUCHI EMECHETA, AMA at AIDOO.

Homepage for Tess Onwueme: www.tessosonweme.com

Africa's Groundbreaking Pioneer Female Playwright.

LiteratureTess Onwueme Among Nobel Prize In Literature Nominees by Charlzzwolf(op):
www.tessosonwueme
What do music legend Bob Dylan and UW-Eau Claire’s internationally celebrated playwright Dr. Tess Onwueme have in common?

A lot, as it turns out.

Both are so accomplished, respected and influential in their fields that they were among the recent nominees for the Nobel Prize for Literature.

Dylan won the award in October, but Onwueme says she’s still in a state of elation — and shock — knowing that she was among those nominated for the honor, which often is described as the most prestigious literature award in the world.

“It is a miracle to be in this pool,” says Onwueme, UW-Eau Claire’s university professor of global letters and professor of English. “It was most unexpected. The first couple of weeks after I found out I was in a state of disbelief. I was giddy with joy. Many of my idols haven’t won it so it was unbelievable that I was being considered.”

Onwueme was nominated by an international team of highly acclaimed writers and scholars with supporting documentation from European, Asian, African and American scholars.

She learned of the honor last summer when she received an email from a well-known Indian writer stating that he, with the support of many others, had nominated her for a Nobel Prize.

“I stared at the message in disbelief; I was trembling,” Onwueme says of learning about the nomination. “His message landed like a thunderbolt, the kind of thunderbolt that ignites life and sparks joy.”

One of the most celebrated and prolific women playwrights from Africa, Onwueme is the only four-time winner of the Association of Nigerian Authors drama award.

In addition to having published more than 20 plays, she has received numerous grants and international literary honors and awards, and her work has been the subject of dozens of scholarly works.

But it was the prestigious 2009 Fonlon-Nichols award, given only to the most significant black writers, that Onwueme believes may have led to the Nobel nomination.

“This award for literature moved me into that category of writers who could be considered,” she says. “Some notable writers who have won this award have advanced to become Nobel Prize nominees.”

While she’s used to her work being honored and she’s proud of the many accolades that have come her way throughout her distinguished career, nothing compares to knowing that she now is part of what can best be described as a very elite club.

She also knows with the honor also comes a great deal of responsibility.

“I’m overjoyed and electrified, but with this comes the responsibility that goes along with receiving such gigantic recognition,” Onwueme says. “This is like being 1,000 feet tall — you can’t hide. My words now must be chosen carefully because they will be heard and once spoken cannot be taken back.”

Since 1901, the Nobel Prize in Literature has been awarded annually to an author from any country who has, in the words of the will of Alfred Nobel, produced "in the field of literature the most outstanding work in an ideal direction.”

The Swedish Academy decides who, if anyone, will receive the prize in any given year.

Nominations for the Nobel Prize in Literature can be made only by people the Swedish Academy has deemed qualified and who have been invited to submit nominations.

The names of the nominees and other information about the nominations will not be revealed by the Swedish Academy for 50 years, which means that often people who’ve been nominated never know it.

Onwueme found out only because the lead nominator chose to tell her, since they had been teaching and staging a number of her plays in India.

In the nomination materials shared with her, the scholar describes Onwueme as the “tallest female literary figure in both African and American Black Drama with her over 20 published plays that have gained increasing demand and notoriety in academic and public stages and classrooms around the world.”

The nominator goes on to note that a number of Onwueme’s award-winning plays, like "Shakara: Dance-Hall Queen," have been translated into Hindi and performed in both Hindi and English in New Delhi.

The nomination also notes that a growing number of teachers, protégés, scholars and performers are studying, teaching, writing and performing her dramas.

“Tess Onwueme is an unmistakable contagious voice of inspiration, who writes with such exceptional passion and commitment in her tenacious advocacy for the marginalized youth, women and the poor, as well as the environment in the global society today.”

That the lead nominator is a well-known writer from India, not Nigeria or America, is especially meaningful to her because it means her work is being recognized and celebrated in the global community, Onwueme says.

Onwueme first visited India in 2007, when she was part of a U.S. State Department Public Diplomacy Specialist/Speaker initiative in the region.

Her writing, which focuses on the politics of social injustice, inequality, class and caste systems, resonated in India, where people are experiencing many of the challenges of feeling powerless and voiceless.

“Poverty has no statute of limitations today,” Onwueme says. “People everywhere can relate to themes around the powerful vs. the powerless, along with today’s growing environmental ‘poly-tricks’ choking the university. Wherever we are in the world, we are grappling with similar challenges and concerns.”

It was during that visit to India that she first met a well-known writer who was surprisingly and extraordinarily familiar with her work.

At that time, he made a comment about looking forward to her someday winning the Nobel Prize in Literature.

“I took the compliment gracefully, but gave it no more thought,” Onwueme says. “It was like being told you were going to land on the moon.”

Little did she know that nearly nine years later, that same respected writer would be her lead champion when forwarding her name and credentials as part of a Nobel nomination.

“It’s been quite a journey,” Onwueme says of her career, which first brought her to the United States in 1988 when her award-winning play, "The Desert Encroaches," was featured on stage at the First International Women Playwrights Conference in New York.

That same year, her play, "The Broken Calabash," directed by notable playwright/director Dr. Von Washington, also was showcased on stage at the Bonstelle Theatre in Detroit.

The journey that illuminated Onwueme’s drama to American audiences led her a few years later to UW-Eau Claire, when she joined the university’s English department in 1994, and now to the elite group of writers who have been nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature.

“My joy in being nominated will chime forever,” she says.

Photo caption: Dr. Tess Onwueme is a recent nominee for the Nobel Prize in Literature.

Homepage for Tess Onwueme: www.tessosonweme.com

Africa's Groundbreaking Pioneer Female Playwright.
LiteratureMy Work Is Larger Than Any Female-centred Ideology- Prof Tess Onwueme by Charlzzwolf(op):
The Arts
By McPhilips Nwachukwu &Nwagbo Nneyelike

Professor Tess Onwueme is one of Africa’s foremost female playwrights and a Distinguished Professor of Cultural Diversity and English at the University of Wisconsin–Eau Claire, USA. The playwright, who has not only published severally, but is so globally studied was recently honoured with a new appointment as her university’s Professor of Global Letters.
(www.tessosonwueme.com)


An honour reserved for the most accomplished academics, the full-time tenured appointment was recently given to her in recognition of her “increasing prominence in the field of contemporary playwrights.”and comes with “a new contract and new duties” consistent with the high profile of the appointment.



In appointing Professor Tess Onwueme to this exalted platform, Dr. Patricia Kleine, Vice-Chancellor and Provost of the University of Wisconsin noted in a letter to the author of over a dozen award-winning plays: “You bring honor to the University of Wisconsin. It is only fitting that the university recognises your extraordinary talent.”



Onwueme has received many international awards, including the African Literature Association’s prestigious Fonlon-Nichols award in 2009. The award is given annually to a black writer whose works have demonstrated a commitment to democratic ideals, humanistic values and literary excellence in writing. She was also in 2007 , appointed to the US State Department Public Diplomacy Specialist/Speaker Program for North, West, and East India.



In this interview with Sunday Vanguard Arts, the Delta State-born and American- based playwright-cum-scholar drives the reader into the theatrical spirit of her art.



Perhaps it is this core thematic concept and ideology that I tried to imbue in the character of WAZOBIA embodied in my 1988 play, THE REIGN OF WAZOBIA. In that context, the young woman makes her proclamation as the visionary regent on a mission to transform her society for the better as she declares that:



We all, Man, Woman, Young, and Old are All Partners in Progress with each one connected to the other…



Before we go on Professor Onwueme, would you explain to us the implication of your new position as University Professor of Global Letters by the University of Wisconsin?



This means a named Chair or an Endowed Position in the university. It is professorial position of Prestige and honor bigger than all academic professors in the academic field.



Only one professor—now bigger than all other professors— can occupy that position of Special Honor and prestige.



In other words, the occupant of the meritorious post is like a ‘Super Professor’ in the university. By that, the institution has declared him as their PRIMUS INTER PARIS, “first among Equals” .



It means that the appointee has become a ‘ bigger’ name and symbol in one’s field or department. It also means that other full Professors look upon the awardee with awe, dignity, and respect because he has become a PROFESSOR OF PROFESSORS among them.



In my own special case now, it means that I am now in a very special and in an exclusive class by myself. I’ve gone beyond a Professor in the University to becoming a distinguished Pride and mark of honor and excellence in the global community as the institution’s UNIVERSITY OF PROFESSOR OF GLOBAL LETTERS



It is a very uncommon postion. Only extremely distinguished African writers and Professors like Chinua Achebe, Wole Soyinka, Ngugi wa Thiong’o, occupy such special named positions/chairs in American universities. From now on, I will not teach like an ordinary professor. I will teach much less from now on. And the position is permanent.



In summary, therefore, being named a UNIVERSITY PROFESSOR OF GLOBAL LETTERS is like being declared an ‘NZE’ or KING, or OBA, or EMIR, or ‘MUALIMU’, etc in the academic field.



Thus in my work, Ideology is simply not an end in itself; but a means to an end: to benefit all, male and female.



In Tess Onwueme’s dramaturgy there is this creative interest in gender based issues as seen in some of your plays like Go Tell It to Women, Legacies, The Reign of Wazobia and The Broken Calabash. In these plays you were categorical about gender sensitivity and empowerment. Do you think women are not empowered at all?



Power/Empowerment is relative. In some sense women are…becoming empowered. It’s a process that’s still ongoing. In some ways in women have gained some…some form of power today–say in Nigeria now–where more women are stepping into the political arena to serve their nation and community. The process was much less tedious and unrealistic decades ago, especially in the colonial and immediate post-independent Nigeria. In those contrived choking contexts, the colonial dispensation had privileged and crowned men solely as the newly educated westernized leaders/leadership, with the result that women grossly relegated to the background, crippled and silenced by the new system.



The women lost even some of the powers that were originally vested in them in the traditional society––say the Umuada, the Omu, the Female Husband, and the Male Daughter in my part of the Niger-Delta community where the gender-role was much more complex in the sense that a female could act the gender role of male, like the Idegbe (Male Daughter-cum Female Husband), whose modern dilemma and crises of identity conditioned by the conflicts between tradition and modernity are dramatized in, The Broken Calabash, and The Reign of Wazobia, respectively. Thus one can say that women have both lost and gained power as well. But it is not a finished process. The (modern) Nigeria/African/black, indeed, the world woman is on the march today.



She’s evolving. A new “shero”, she is. And she should get there, uninhibited, to fulfill her dreams not simply of equality––for it shouldn’t be a competition––but one that enables her strive to reach her ultimate and full potential. And in WAZOBIA’S term as the woman re-invents a new self as a viable “she-man” being. So who can silence her drums? She’s Nigerian. And she’s new and determined to make the most of her new world by leaving her solid not mere footprint, but landmark on it: her (mother)land!



Do you dream of a feminist theatre in Nigeria that can be devoted completely pursuing and championing feminist agenda ?



No! It is not just unrealistic, but too exclusive, and limiting for reasons that I already adduced earlier.



Many scholars see feminism as one theory and an ideology that would soon go into extinction.



What is your view about feminism in the nearest future, will it die a natural death or has it come to stay?



Those prophets of doom must be ready to kill and slaughter all women first, to ensure that that malignant ideology and prophecy comes true. The world is peopled by men, and women. So long as women exist, and persist, one must be concerned about their hopes, their aspirations, their pain, their laughter, their love, their failure, their success, and indeed, all that matters in women’s lives.



To me, all these appear at the centre of the term “feminist/womanist” that the anti-woman proponents have so mis-tagged and stigmatized and demonized. Men have women, and daughters, and mothers, and sisters, and oh, wives and women lovers! Perhaps until all these configurations of “woman” are killed off or exterminated like the perceived pestilence imposed in that term, then, I’m afraid woman and her affairs in feminism or womanism will, and should persist.



It is believed that feminist theorists and critics are not in harmony with their views on feminism, especially in terms of nomenclature. Do you believe this?



Again, I’d reaffirm what I noted earlier about these contentious terminologies and demonized ideologies.



Many feminist critics accuse the first generation writers who are mainly males of promoting patriarchal tendencies, but they seemed to be presenting the society of that time as it assigned those domestic traditional roles to women.



To some extent, yes. One can say that they were being true to their world that was “colored” by the male in his male-centered and privileged ideologies. But it is only a matter of choice. And they chose—those writers, chose on the side of their male counterparts.



And yet, there are exceptions. Think of a writer like Ngugi wa Thiong’o. Or Sembane Ousmane. These are two male writers in that same generation with our older Nigerian male writers. But they chose differently. Yes! Ngugi and Semebane (socialists, yes!) took sides: they made their choice on the side of women and the massive poor. And these men chose to be in a way, some of our leading pioneer African Feminists. Their chosen (feminist) ideologies are reflected in such works as Ngugi’s River Between, Petals of Blood, and in even A Grain of Wheat, as well as in Sembane Ousmane’s God’ts Bits of Wood, “Her Three Days, Xala ,etc.



Women are said to be the worst enemies to their fellow women, and so it baffles many people when they see people like you who have devoted their career in defense of womanhood. What is the source of your strength in the pursuance of this ideal?



I am not, have never been, and will never be a blind promoter of womanhood in that way. No! I cannot be a blind crusader or jihadist for woman. And the evidence abounds in my work. Woman must not be idealized. She must be seen, heard, projected, and portrayed in all her ramifications: as (un)holy as SHAKARA, and Yemoja and Sherifat and Daisy and Ruth (in Tell it to Women), LIBERTY and FREEDOM (in No Vacancy). In fact, the central conflict in SHAKARA: DANCE-HALL QUEEN surrounds the growing socio-economic class inequality between the privileged women, like MODAM KOFO, the drug tycoon/’cocaine jet’ and OMESIETE, her exploited laborer who also doubles as a nanny to Madam Kofo’s daughter.



Madam Kofo is metaphorically the money miss-road in the drama. Her values are at variance with the impoverished, Omosiete. Similar intra-politics define the relationships between Daisy and Ruth on the one hand, against Yemoja, Sherifat, Adaku, Tolue, on the other. Yes, women exhibit those unhealthy rivalries, toxic competitions, and demonic oppression of other women. And just imagine the oppressive mother-in-law against her stifled daughter-in-law? Over and over again in my plays, I exhume such contradictions in the ‘royal house of woman’ to show her, not as a saint or demon.



My emphasis lies in the fact that CLASS INEQUALITY (EVEN AMONG WOMEN) IS JUST AS DETRIMENTAL AND THREATENING TO WOMEN, AS that of GENDER INEQUALITY. It’s boldly coded in my creative work, including the socio-political allegory, WHY THE ELEPHANT HAS NO BUTT (2000).



To me, if as W.E. de Bois states that “the problem of the 20th century is the problem of the color-line”, I’d say that the problem of our 21st century is the problem of (socio-economic) Class inequality.



And the Religious?



Ha! That is a boiling hot potato/matter for another day!



With the awareness female empowerment has assumed, there are so many areas of endeavours women are still disempowered, for instance, in politics, it was not long we had the first female president in Africa in Liberia. Who knows when that will work in Nigeria as you can see that in PDP primaries the only female candidate Sarah Jubril has only one vote which means she voted herself ?



It’s sad that Sarah didn’t get any other vote. But I applaud her courage. To lift up herself and take a stand, whether or not people pretend to see her. Believe me, it takes courage to be an African woman. To rise. To strive. To dream. And march forward with one’s eyes on the prize; to get somewhere. Sarah tried. And more women should. The Nigerian/African woman is in the making: a great product in the making. And she will get there.



But look at a place like America. After more than two hundred years of independence, America, the celebrated land of freedom and equality and liberty is yet to elect a female president. I’m not saying that it will happen in Nigeria first. But we’re not too far behind either.



In some of your plays you deploy the use of animals, especially the female breeds as characters. For instance in The Desert Encroaches, such characters like Fox, Sheep, Hyena and Cow while the only human character is Officer’s Lady. Yet the only powerful female character is Fox. However, the characters enact North and South politics. What are you implying in that play?



Please my earlier response to the question of “intra-gender politics” between women. The Desert Encroaches (1985) is an allegory just like Why the Elephant Has No Butt (2000), satirizes these social contradictions, hypocrisies, and the marginal existence of many, suppressed, silenced, imposed on and unjustly stifled by a few–the mighty Lions and Hyenas (both male and female powers) against the goats, the sheep, the ants, etc.

Homepage for Tess Onwueme: www.tessosonweme.com

Africa's Groundbreaking Pioneer Female Playwright.
Education“contextualizing Tess Onwueme’s Distinguished Literary Accomplishments ” by Charlzzwolf(op):
Sonja Darlington, October 18, 2014 (www.tessosonweme.com)

Good Afternoon, Distinguished Guests. I am delighted to be here with you to honor the work of the eminent University Professor of Global Letters at the University of Wisconsin, Eau Claire, Tess Onwueme, whose materials, including letters, scholarly papers, and original manuscripts of plays are being donated to the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire Foundation and then to the Special Collections & Archives Department of the University of Wisconsin Library, where they will be accessible to scholars, students, and teaching faculty worldwide.
LET ME BEGIN
The following remarks about the playwright Tess Onwueme, born in Ogwashi, Uku, Nigeria in 1955 and educated at the University of Ife for her Bachelors and Masters Degree and then at the University of Benin for her Ph.D in African Drama,
focuses on her trajectory as a pioneering female playwright and contextualizes her work as a writer who for several decades dominated the literary landscape of Nigeria as the female playwright. During this time, she won many awards for her academic merits, among them four literary prizes from the Association of Nigerian Authors, the Fonlon-Nichols Award from the African Language Association, the Phyllis Wheatley/Nwapa Award for outstanding black writers and an appointment to the Public Diplomacy Speaker Program in India by the US State Department. She also held distinguished faculty positions at Wayne State University and the University of Wisconsin, Eau Claire and served as the first woman President of the Association of Nigerian Authors (ANA). Among the institutions that she presided as a faculty member are Imo State University in Okigwe Nigeria, Montclair University in New Jersey, and Vassar College in New York.
As a landmark figure in Nigerian literature, she is renown for being the “first radical female playwright in Nigeria and the second published female playwright of that country” (Udengwu 163) A very important aspect of her legacy, which includes more than 15 plays, is that she was the first to unabashedly critique the conditions that contributed to limiting women’s creative abilities in her society. She entered the Nigerian literary scene when men, such as Chinua Achebe, Wole Soyinka and C.P Clark-Bekederemo, dominated and were becoming legendary for creating a unifying identity that celebrated a Nigerian aesthetic. Their dramatic works emphasized a retrospective look at folklore and legends, so as to distinguish the more positive aspects of pre-colonial traditions and experience. At the same time, in literature Nigerian women were often voiceless and negative images were prevalent. For Nigerian women in the theater, the stage was a public space often controlled by political forces, which benefitted from stigmatizing women in theater as immoral or frivolous. As performers, their unequal treatment included many of them leaving their occupation when they married or became pregnant (Migraine-George).
According to critics Pius Adesanmi and Chris Dunton drama in Nigerian literature flourished since the 1960s, and by the late 1990s more than 500 plays appeared in print (12). As part of this remarkable legacy, Onwueme was one of only two Nigerian female playwrights, the other being Zulu Sofola, who experimented in the early years with the dramatic form and developed an international career. In 1985 Tess Onwueme won the Association of Nigerian Authors (ANA) award for her first play, The Desert Encroaches, which won significant popular literary attention (Obafemi 93). The allegory, in which the main characters are a parrot, dove, donkey, bear and lion, represents a clash of interests over resources among the world’s political forces in the North/West, the East and the South. Omofolabo Ajayi called this early work, along with A Hen Too Soon and The Broken Calabash thematically and technically ambitious. As precursors for her later plays, they constitute the “total theater in the tradition of classical African theater” (119), which includes the non-verbal arts of music and dance, an original form of African total theater.
Expression through music and dance are indeed integral to Onwueme’s theatrical performances. Choruses chant and actors sing, drum, and dance. As Ajayi notes, her technical devices are “replete with creative use of symbolic representations, metaphoric allusions, vivid imagery, masks, verbal puns, proverbs and comedy that drive the plot, enhance meaning and underscore the message” (119). In Onwueme’s plays, “the proverb is the horse of discourse,” and music and dance are the dramatic means by which she integrates the non-verbal arts and language into performances to make what has been called African total theater. For example, in the Reign of Wazobia the unmasking of Wazobia as the Queen of Idu, involves a whole community caught up in music and dance during the coronation rites. When she is being crowned, each subject dances in turn, and Wazobia majestically exclaims, “I am woman! I carve my own path” (121), while she commands attention by dancing as she is accompanied by drumming.
In her early years, by challenging the Nigerian literary establishment that adored Chinua Achebe and Wole Soyinka, Tess Onwueme broke through the glass ceiling, which had limited the development of many African women writers. With plays such as Tell It to Women and Shakara, which also both won the Association of Nigerian Authors (ANA) award in 1995 and 2001 respectively, Onwueme defied a field replete with male literary figures, a spat of early critics patronizing her talent, and a political climate that did not want to engage in women’s issues. These plays, rather than becoming a mere representation of Nigerian society and its politics, realistically depicted issues, such as the misuse of patriarchal power and particular social and economic circumstances that women found oppressive in their daily lives. For example, Tell It to Women examined the struggles of women’s groups and their activities, so that women’s roles as mother, nurturer, and homemaker came under scrutiny. In addition, the distinctions attributed to the categories of ethnicity, race, gender, and class became the thematic core for the scenes in which characters such as Daisy and Ruth (western educated city women) and Yemoja and Sherifat (traditional Nigerian rural women) squared off over the meaning of social progress and economic development.
As part of the second generation of Nigerian writers that included her mentor Femi Osofisan, Onwueme advocated for changing societal norms through protest, resistance, and activism. Her compelling dramatic works between 1983 and 2004 addressed issues of inequality among social classes, injustice among rural and urban citizens, and inequity among political and economic regimes. In more recent critical scholarship, her theatrical style has been compared to that of Bertold Brecht, because of her desire to disturb the complacent attitudes of her audience. By using the ‘Verfremdungseffekt’ or ‘alienation effect’ that Brecht championed, she hoped to evoke audience participation for the purpose of social transformation. As she herself has emphasized, “I feel that history is made, not by accepting history as it is, but people rewriting it” (Onwueme 1993, 11). In other words, she “use[d] art to transcend [it] for the sake of ethical awareness” (Over 178).
Of particular significance is the fact that Onwueme’s plays were originally written for the Nigerian National Theater and the Lagos university community, where she focused on women’s identity and on the multiple subcultures within Nigeria at a time of postcolonial liberation. According to Mabel Evwierhoma, Onwueme tackled issues of leadership in the newly independent African nations and exercised the “freedom [for a woman writer] to foreground herself in history, politics, economics, geography, poetics, and so on; to make a point in a Masculinist world” (43). Paradoxically, as she critiqued postcolonial governments, she also involved herself in community productions for the Theater for Development. This form of Community Theater was frequently coopted into promoting the work of government by both Nigeria and the West. Thus, while Onwueme resisted state power that asserted itself through the agendas and policies attached to specific development programs, she distinguished herself as a writer, director and producer of her own plays, as in The Broken Calabash and also responded to feminist trends in Workshop Theater as in Go Tell It to Women. As Kanika Batra has noted, Onwueme’s prolific dramaturgy, is remarkable for being located within the tradition of cultural activism that challenged the corruption of the Nigerian postcolonial government, while simultaneously celebrating indigenous women’s agency. Within the contextualized space of local Nigerian theater and as a Nigerian intellectual living and teaching in the West, she accomplished shuttle diplomacy.
Justifiably then, in a comprehensive study of Contemporary Nigerian Female Playwrights, Ngozi Udengwu states that “Onwueme has the singular credit of being the first Nigerian female playwright to radically review the image of women in her society” (161). Her female characters were what she called “sheroes,” women with ambition and potential. The robust quality of their dialogues and actions, informed by Onwueme’s sensitivity to complex issues of gender and class suggests her literary compatibility with colleagues such as Ngugi wa Thiong’o and Sembane Ousmane, with whom she shared a creative affinity to empower women and to depict the vicissitudes of the poor. Critics have argued, the complexity of Onwueme’s positionality on gender defies simple labels, because she opens up possibilities for her female characters to gain and lose social, economic and political power. As she herself has emphasized in a Vanguard Arts interview, “Woman must not be idealized. She must be seen, heard, projected, and portrayed in all her ramifications” (Nwachukwu McPhillips and Nwagbo Nneyelike). Thus, she is admired by many activists as well as scholars around the world for developing a strongly satirical voice that allows for social contradictions, political hypocrisies and the marginal existences of women to be examined.
Following the strong women characters portrayed in Tell It to Women and Shakara, in 2003, as a recipient of a Ford Foundation research grant, she wrote What Mama Said, a significant work about global corporate greed, which toured the Niger Delta. The play investigates the national and global politics of the region, which as the sixth highest source of oil in the world, has seriously harmed Nigerian people’s lives. In What Mama Said women challenged the multinational oil corporations that polluted the soil, air and water, and they held the corporate elite responsible for the mass deaths, high unemployment rates, and broken community trust. As a critic speaking to the importance of Onwueme’s work, Theresa Migraine-George commented in her book African Women and Representation that “more than any other African woman playwright, Tess Onwueme has relentlessly scrutinized the impact of global practices and ideologies on African communities” (157).
Finally in trying to place Onwueme’s remarkable literary work in a context that reaches far beyond local spaces and into the pantheon of significant literary figures of both the 20th and 21st centuries, one of my favorite descriptions of Onwueme is that of an artist who uses “language, imagery, allegory, symbols, songs, music and dance” so that, as Omofolabo Ajayi, says, “it all come[s] together like a complex jigsaw puzzle” (109). In the puzzle-like complexity of her artistic works, she has been adept at addressing issues in the fields of sociology, economics, philosophy, religion, literature, women and gender studies and also ecology. As part of the jigsaw puzzle complexity in her works, William Over notes that Onwueme’s relationship to her audience as well as to the characters in her plays is neither simplistic nor dualistic, but rather unfolds in complex battles among generations, religions, and genders.
He describes her characters as psychologically “among the most developed in Nigerian literature” as they engage in politicized dialogue and action (183). His analysis of Onwueme’s political dramas, published in Contemporary Justice Review, centers on the way in which she sought to empower women and promote political change for the purpose of social justice and human rights in the three plays: The Broken Calabash, Parables for a Season and The Reign of Wazobia. Aside from the attention by contemporary critics, such as Over, for her astute depiction of social justice issues, more recent scholars, such as Jeremiah Methuselah and Scott Slovic, have noted the importance of her ecological position in literature. In the 2009 World Literature Today Journal, Slovic chose Onwueme as one of five Nigerian writers to be recognized for her contribution to international environmental literature.
In particular, What Mama Said (2003) has been hailed by critics, including Maureen Eke, as a significant play based on capitalist business practices that have had a devastating human and environmental impact. With this work, Onwueme linked local concerns to larger global issues and reinforced her commitment as a community activist to engage in performances on stage meant to transform citizens into agents for change. The power of oil in the Niger Delta about which she wrote held many people hostage, include Ken Saro-Wiwa, the Nigerian writer and environmental activist executed by the Abache government for his outspoken criticism of the multinational petroleum industry. However, despite the horrific actions that led to such events, Onwueme is guardedly optimistic “that social structures can be improved fundamentally through solidarity movements” (Over 186).
In the Epilogue to What Mama Said, even though the brutal regime’s policies--- that of Sufferland, otherwise known as Nigeria-- destroyed many lives and caused an ecological disaster, Oshimi, the leader of the market women says to the chorus of prisoners, “You are now free. Let the world hear your stories. Tell your stories. Who can silence the drums” (195)? Clearly, Onwueme as done just that—tell her stories. She has drawn upon her skills as a gifted writer and honed her craft over 40 years, in order to communicate on topical issues that have brought her to the attention of local, national and international audiences. Her works have been performed in many locations, including Nigeria, Ethiopia, Sweden, and the US. And, students have read her plays at Cornell and New York Universities, Smith College and Beloit College, where I teach.
In terms of summing up her literary work, for her many plays and for her contributions as a cultural critic, distinguished professor, international conference presenter, and winner of numerous awards, I am one among many to recognize her exceptional achievements and contributions to World Literature and Drama. Tess Onwueme’s creative endeavors, have led some to call her the “Ibsen” of Nigeria and others to rank her artistic contributions with Toni Morrison, Anton Chekov, Albert Camus and Buchi Emecheta. It is indeed an honor to be part of this event today on October 18th, 2014, which celebrates the remarkable Archival Collection that represents her life’s work.
To conclude my remarks about your Distinguished Professor of Cultural Diversity and English at the University of Wisconsin- Eau Claire, I would like to leave you with a comment that Tess Onwueme made about what she considers the most important issue for our times, as it demonstrates her deepest ongoing concern. In her prophetic voice she said, “To me, if as W.E.B. Dubois states “that the problem of the 20th century is the problem of the color-line, the problem of our 21st century is the problem of (socio-economic) Class inequality” (Nwachukwu McPhillips and Nwagbo Nneyelike). Tess, all of us here today want to express our gratitude for the work your Archival Collection represents. Among the many accolades you have rightfully attained, you have contributed in the most significant way to a deeper understanding of the complex issues around class as well as ethnicity, race and gender with your unrelenting pursuit to transform dire circumstances into spaces for hope and action. Through what you have accomplished you have inspired us, and for your life’s work as a public intellectual and activist, we are most grateful. Thank you!

Homepage for Tess Onwueme: www.tessosonweme.com

Africa's Groundbreaking Pioneer Female Playwright.

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