The Art of Friendship: Art from the East, the West, Europe and Nigeria - An Exhibition of Works from Asia, Europe and Nigeria

World Music Day celebration at the French Institute, Abuja - June 21, 2012

The French Cultural Institute in Abuja celebrated the World Music Day on June 21, 2012. These photos were taken at the event.

Ozugbo, Ozugbo - a story by Jide Atta (Part 2 of 3 parts)

This bloody village! I am back to it. Twelve years it has been. 12 years! I know them, I know them all. Some watched me grow, others we grew up together. I hate them, all of them. I remember the taunts, the sneers. The bastard son of a harlot they called me. Well, the son of the harlot was back now, back to take his revenge. 

I always wondered why my mother never married any of those men. They came at all hours of the day, some were huge, some were short. I didn’t need to be told to go outside, as it was an excuse for me to roam the village and go play with other children. 

It was on one of those trips that I met Tiemo and Tamuno. I had wandered to the beach to watch the other children swim in the sea. I didn’t join them. I was scared of the water. I sat on the rack stack and watched the older ones dive in to the water to the squeals and laughter of the others. This was the rack stack that grew to be a makeshift jetty. The jetty on which I am standing today, after 12 years, and barking orders at the baggers! Everyone in the village knew Tiemo and to an extent Tamuno. There was this particular girl, Abigail, who always smiled at me and beckoned with her hand for me to come in to the water. I liked her. She was always kind to me whenever our paths crossed in the village or in the many playgrounds of the young. Tiemo was the village hero among the young ones in the Tekuni age group. I admired him and tried to get him to be my friend. He always ignored me and would throw his head away anytime I greeted him or laughed at a joke. Tamuno would always stand up to him and ask him to allow me to join in their play - to which he would refuse. With an aristocratic air he would arrogantly remind me of the need to go on a journey to find out my real father. 

‘’Of course’’, he would say, ‘’I don’t know where you will start because even the sea does not know’’.

This hurt, especially as it was done in the presence of Abigail. It hurt me so badly that I would just run away, crying and clutching my tattered overcoat that my mother had seized from one her visitors who refused to ‘settle’ her. To my small, naïve mind, I always wondered what ‘settle’ meant. 

‘Ozugbo Ozugbo! Bastard child’’, they would repeat constantly. I still remember the accompanying laughter and taunts of the other children escorting my every step as I ran. Somehow, somewhere in the taunts of the children, a voice would shout at them to stop it. It was the voice of Abigail. How I loved that voice. It was the only thing that kept me going back to the playgrounds. No taunt would deter me from seeing her play or hear her talk. 

As I ran home I concluded in my mind that I had to go and look for my father. If only to prove to that son of ‘okporokpo’ that I wasn’t a bastard as they called me. ‘Uncle wonda’ was still around. I could hear his voice as he talked to my mother. Her pearly laughter rang out from somewhere within our shack of discarded ‘chemical bags’. This was the big polythene bag used by oil companies to hold and transport chemicals for the drilling activity. 

Abigail, I would never forgive that bloody Tiemo for her death. I had left the village two years before. It was one of my mother’s visitors who told me about the army and encouraged me to join the army. He even bought me the forms. I went to Depot Nigerian Army for three months. It was hell on earth. I wonder how I survived that training time. I guess it was the tough times I had gone through before coming there. Well, I survived and after that I was deployed to Liberia. I thought of her throughout my stay in Liberia. Perhaps that is what kept me going. I had only one plan, to come back and ask for her hand in marriage. It was the right thing to do, the only thing to do. That bloody Tiemo stole her away from me and led her to her death. But I was back now, with more money and power than any of them could imagine. As the head of security for Alcove Oil operations in these parts, I could do to them anything I wanted; they were all under my boots. There were no rules of engagement or superior officers in the army to control me. Besides no one would ever believe them, it would be their word against Alcove Oil. 

‘I ask again, where Is Tiemo?’

I know you all know where he is, or at least one of you does. That one of you should tell me now. Tamuno where is your cousin Tiemo? I know you saw him three days ago. Tell me where he is and no one will get hurt.

(Click here to read the PART ONE)

Abuja Literary Society to hold national poetry competition - July 6 at the Transcorp Hilton; N100K for the grand prize winner; everyone is invited

ALS, in collaboration with The African Poet, announces the National Poetry Slam, Fri, 6th July 2012, @ the Transcorp Hilton Hotel, Abuja at 6pm. Minimum N100K prize for the winner! Pre-register free at: abujaliterarysociety@gmail.com, or TAPG fb page. See rules below.

RULES FOR SLAM POETS
1. Poems can be on any subject and in any style.
2. Each poem must be an original piece written and performed by the author.
3. No props.
4. No costumes.
5. Performances are timed and should not exceed 3 minutes; the last round may be 2 minutes.
6. No musical instruments (leave the drum set home) or pre-recorded music.
7. Each poem may only be used once during the competition.
8. Poets prepare 3 poems in case they move to the 2nd and final rounds.

RULES FOR SLAM JUDGES
1. Judges are selected at random from the audience (no experience needed); they’re given score cards.
2. Five judges are used and each is asked to leave his/her personal bias at home.
3. Judges are asked to rate 50% on performance (presentation) AND 50% on content of the poem (was it well-written, did it make sense - doesn't matter if you agreed with the content).
4. Scores are from 0 (lowest) to 10 (highest), using decimals to reduce the chance of ties - (“0 infinity” is not a number, honest)
5. At the same time, judges hold up one score (e.g.: 5.6, 8.7, 9.8, 10.0) when asked by the Slam Master.
6. The Slam Master then announces the poet's scores from each judge out loud. An average is arrived at by totaling the poet’s score and dividing by 5.
7. Where there’s a dispute at any time during the Slam, the Slam Master’s ruling is final. No appeals, except to the Slam Master, are allowed.

RULES FOR SM & TIME KEEPERS
1. Slam Master ballots to decide order of presentation.
2. Time Keeper(s) deduct 0.1 point for every sec of exceeded time.
3. Time Keeper(s) announce, through the Slam Master, any exceeded time and the deduction after the judges have raised and announced their scores. The penalty is then deducted from the total score.
4. The bottom 1-3 contestants are eliminated (NOT killed o!) in each round.
5. The winner of the final round is announced last – first announce the 2nd Runner up, 1st Runner Up, then the Slam Champion.

RULES FOR AUDIENCE
1. Slam is fun, bear that in mind.
2. Applaud or boo any judge whose score you do not agree with.
3. Show your appreciation of the performance poetry – you are permitted to roll on the ground, jump to high heavens, scream your head off or cry bitterly (perhaps after hearing a brilliant poem you have been trying to write yourself for 10 years!). As you rejoice or weep, remember ALS will NOT be responsible for any destruction of venue property.
4. Volunteer to judge.
5. Where there’s a dispute at any time during the Slam, the Slam Master’s ruling is final.No appeals, except to the Slam Master, are allowed. That’s why he is the Master of the Slam!


Ken Ike

(ASHOKAFellow) Slam Master
abujaliterarysociety@gmail.com

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ABOUT ALS

ALS meets every 1st Friday of the month at Transcorp Hilton Hotel, 7p.m; Second Friday @ Silverbird Entertainment Centre Abuja 7pm, Third Friday @ Salamander Cafe, Abuja.

BookJam holds every Last Friday of the month at Silverbird Entertainment Centre Abuja 6pm

Abuja Poetry Slam (performance Poetry competition) holds in March, June, September, and the Grand Slam will be in December. 

Special Guest writers will normally feature at the First Friday readings @ the Hilton. Special workshops, retreats and exchanges are part of our programmes. 

ALS can help you with manuscript editing ,organise a book presentation, marketing or special literary nights/events.

FMI, SMS: Chinelo: 08067958680; Ken: 0803-155-2555; or Victor: 0803-311-7246.

Summer Day Camp for children from 6 to 14 years old at the French Institute

This summer from July 3rd to July 31st, the French Institute of Nigeria opens its ‘Summer Day Camp’ for children from 6 to 14 years old, mixing French classes and various activities like sport, fine arts, etc.

Classes will take place twice a week on Tuesday and Thursday from 9am to 1pm. The classes are for ages 6 to 14.

The day camp will mix French classes and creative and fun activities. The first two hours will be dedicated to teaching French (basic vocabulary and emphasis on oral, 18hours in total for the month). Activities in French (games, painting, drawing, singing, sport, etc) will take place the remaining two hours.

The fees for the 5 weeks are 16 000 NGN only.

For more information, don't hesitate to contact the French Institute at 0805 9478 456, or check their website www.institutfr-nigeria.org or send email to: coordinatorstudies@institutfr-nigeria.org

Oginigba - a story by Jide Atta

Jide Atta, at the Abuja Literary Society
reading held on May 25, 2012, Silverbird  
Entertainment Centre, Abuja, Nigeria.
Photo by Araceli

Oginigba 

-a story by Jide Atta

They came at dawn. I should know. I was awake gathering my nets and preparing to go out on the days fishing trip when I heard the noise. I heard them before I saw them. There were lots of them. They were jumping out of the gunboats before the boats even reached the shore. I turned and ran. There was only one thought in my head, my grandmother, and my cousin Ebi. 

I knew who they were, I had seen them before. The whole village had seen them before. But they normally didn’t come this way. Normally it would be the helicopters, then the trucks. There were never any boats, and they were never this many of them. Something was different this time, I could sense it.

I was close to our home when the gunshots began.

What was going on this time? What had we done wrong this time? How come our small village of mostly fishermen and palm wine tappers had to bear the brunt of the so-called struggle for our freedom? And then it struck me! Tiemo! This invasion must have had something to do with his surprise arrival three days ago. He looked haggard with long, dirty and unkempt dada.

Tiemo, my cousin, who caused the most pain to my grandmother. Youthful, handsome Tiemo who the old folks said brought bad luck to his parents. His mother died while giving birth to him and, a week later, his father surprisingly fell from a palm tree. As a little boy, he was always the leader of the gang, dictating what prank to pull and on whom.

There was this particular incident when we were given the beating of our lives, courtesy another Tiemo prank. Tiemo had become fascinated with the village shrine and on the eve of the ashi festival decided we should relocate the totem. Yes, I was terrified but I was excited about being able to touch that totem we only saw in public during the festival, but which we had been seeing during our regular trips to spy on the shrine. We took the totem, when the chief priest went into his shack with Pa Willy’s new wife. They always went into that shack three four times daily. Tiemo had one time gotten close enough to peep into the shack and came back giggling, refusing to tell us what he saw, insisting that we were still kids. 

We hid the totem in Olotu’s hut. He was the village drunk, and we were sure no one would suspect our involvement. 

We were wrong. 

I had always heard that palm wine tappers saw everything and knew everyone’s secret. Well, we had no idea that Papa Preye saw us, followed us to Olotu’s house and went to tell our grandmother. We didn’t know why we were beaten that way by mama. We didn’t think it could possibly have had anything to do with the totem. Mama is a very strong woman. With one hand she held on to Tiemo and me, and with the other administered continuous series of slaps with such dexterity that, if Ikopu the village drummer had seen her, he would have turned the colour of rotten fish with envy. 

That was the Tiemo I grew up with, at least until Abigail. I wonder how or when he saw her, but that was Tiemo. It was said that he had eaten a dog’s legs, because he was always up and about. Something about him changed. He began to pay a little more attention to himself. He even started combing his hair! This was Tiemo who always wanted to have dada like Majek Fashek the musician. 

Everyone in the village knew them, Tiemo and Abigail, always walking hand in hand everywhere they went. She changed Tiemo, made him less of a prankster. She also separated him from me and the rest of the gang, and I resented her for it. I and Tiemo were brothers. Who was this girl with whom he would rather spend time with than hang with us?

Then it happened. 

No one claims to know how it started. But we knew that suddenly oil – black and smelly like when palm kennel fell in dying fire – was leaking from the pipelines that ran behind the village school toilet and from the stand below our rickety makeshift jetty. That jetty is over fifty years old. The oil company had promised to build one since over forty years ago, before I was born. It was the immigration point from our village. Everybody that came and went from the village by sea had to go through it. Legend has it that after the oil company that laid the pipeline had built a rack stack for the pipes that they used, people converted it to a meeting place for discussing happenings between the workers and fishermen. One by one, each would bring a frond of palm or any piece of driftwood or metal pipe remnant and connect to the stack against the rack. The rack kept getting higher as the tide gradually ate below it and took residence deeper and deeper along the shoreline. I always wondered how one could walk for almost a mile out in to the sea and the water would only be chest deep at most. For us, we would use it as a diving place. Our tiny feet scrambling up and then, posing like Eupele, our African Games champion from the village, we would dive into the sea amidst squeals of laughter from the smaller kids who would only watch with admiration. That is how it became the commanding point for the leader of the pack that arrived in boats that day. 

People could not fish, could not farm, and nothing could be done. Emissaries were sent to the oil company, but weeks later, the oil was still leaking. The fishermen and the farmers decided to go to the company’s camp to protest and get them to do something about the leaking oil. I went with them that day. I was excited. My life had been boring without Tiemo but here was a chance to get some fun. 

When mama heard that I was with the protesters at the oil company camp, she sent Tiemo to come and drag me home. As usual, Abigail followed him. 

The oil company camp looks very different from the rest of our village, barbed wire fences, floodlights, well cut grasses, paved roads. I overhead one of the men from the village saying this was how America looked like. We all believed him. Even the smell of the place was different from the one that came all the time from the water just over the copse of palm trees and washed our village. The man said that they sprayed perfume in the air all the time and that the gods loved to sit just on the other side of the fence in the European quarter. I dreamt of America. 

There were armed men at the gate who refused us entry and ordered us to turn back. Some of the village men started turning away. Was this why I had come? To be turned away like a leper? I wanted some excitement; I wanted to smell a bit of America a bit longer. So I picked up a stone and threw at the guards, then they started shooting. 

I was shocked, and filled with fear. I started running. I hadn’t run too far when the shooting stopped. I turned and I froze at what my eyes beheld! I saw Tiemo covered in blood, screaming. He was sitting on the ground holding Abigail as she lay covered in a pool of blood. I walked in trepidation towards him and stopped. All around, men of the village were wailing, some were injured, most looked dead. Was it guilt, was it cowardice, what was it? I couldn’t tell, but I couldn’t bear the sight either. I turned and ran.

That was ten years ago. 

Tiemo disappeared after then and we never saw or heard from him until three days ago. Of course we had heard some stories. We had all heard of Commander T. 

As I got to the house, the soldiers were there already, and they were pushing mama, Ebi and everybody from their houses to the village square. I joined the line and walked there with them. 

A man who seemed to be in command was pacing angrily as we got to the square. He spoke into a radio briefly then picked a megaphone, turned and faced us all. Where is Tiemo? 

I froze! 

(To be continued)

Editor's Note: Jide Atta is a strategy consultant with bias in operations. He has been a member of the Abuja Literary Society for years where he has anchored many of its programs. He has a life long mission to mentor creativity in all forms.

21st June 2012 is World Music Day: Celebrations in Lagos and Abuja (Free Entry for all)

IN LAGOS

Goethe-Institut Nigeria, together with Alliance Française Lagos and Bristish Council Lagos, invites you to the World Music Day 2012.

Date: Thursday, 21st of June 2012, beginning at 5 pm

Venue: The New Afrika Shrine, 1 Nerdc Road, Agidingbi, Ikeja, Lagos (FREE ENTRY)

Musicians from Europe and Nigeria would render melodious jazz, pop and indigenous music during the evening. The highlight of this musical event is a performance by the German Jazz band ‘Hyperactive Kid‘. Registered guests would also have the opportunity to perform during the open mic session. Towards the end of the concert there will be a jam session among the musicians.

IN ABUJA


On Thursday, 21st of June at 8pm, the French Institute will celebrate the International Day of Music with concerts of King Faji, the Speed Band and other pop singers. This year's theme is 'The Pop Years'. On that occasion everybody is invited to come dressed up as 60s or 70s style. A professional photographer will be there to take pictures of you if you wish. When the concert is finished, a dj will continue playing music until late in the evening!

Entrance is free and open to all. Don't hesitate to share this info with your friends!

Furthermore the Institute is hosting the festival of Barclays Ayakoroma's Plays until Saturday night (Plays every evening at 6pm. Gate fee: 2000 NGN adults, 1000 NGN students, 500 NGN for children). See details below.

And as always the Institute is screening a French movie with English subtitles every Friday!

A busy French month!

The French Institute is located at 52 Libreville Street, off Aminu Kano, Wuse 2, behind M. Biggs or visit their website www.institutfr-nigeria.org.