A Plagiarized Poem

By

Obododimma Oha.

Next level
Of hardship
Of pain
Of death

Next level
Sorry
Next devil
Sorry
Next evil

Now you know
When government farts
You say God bless you
When opposition farts
It is terrorism

And I tell you
I don't know how and when and where
To end
This plagiarized poem...

Seeing Fiction as Fiction: Nollywood and Our Unfortunate Superstitious Selves

By

Obododimma Oha

One had an encounter with the reach and power of Nollywood films while on a taxi at Legon, Ghana.  The feeling that Nollywood may have gripped the whole of West Africa, and even the deep South of Southern Africa, may first sound like a mere speculation, but while in that conversation with my cheerful taxi driver at Legon, I had to start thinking about it seriously. The taxi driver’s observation stimulated my mind to race from Plato’s theory of mimesis through Abrams’ The Mirror and the Lamp to the folk contribution made by my ancestors in the form of the proverb, “Ka e jiri nwamkpi maa atụ, a sighị agụ buru ya” (That a he-goat is used in citing an example, is not to suggest that the leopard should devour it). The taxi driver said: “Chei, you Nigerians could be bad, very bad”! I was shocked at his boldness and forthrightness, but summoned courage, between anger and curiosity, to ask him why he said so. “Don’t you see what you do in your films? Heartless killings here and there! Many rituals involving human beings! Charms, even among educated people!” I laughed and laughed and laughed. At a stage, he did not know whether I had gone insane or I was laughing at his  driving or whether he had said something funny. As far as he was concerned, he was certain about what he just said and could cite a couple of Nollywood films to support his claim. I  reassured him that he was driving well and that what he said could be seen as the street perspective, but that I looked at it differently. I told him that a Nollywood film involving human ritual and killing was mere fiction, and was like the fiction of Efua Sutherland’s Edufa. However, people get carried away while watching the film, and may think they are watching real-life occurrence! Well, he was surprised, just as I was. I thought that, maybe, he felt that I said that to defend or protect Nigeria, since I was a Nigerian being flogged  in a clean taxi by a Ghanaian, and must be looking for a way of escaping!

But the encounter narrated above set me thinking about how many people who watch Nollywood films may be thinking that fiction is reality and that the situations in the films may, in some way, affect our behaviours, especially fears for our safety in a Nigerian world. Could it be that, in consuming these films that feature superstitions, we unconsciously become more and more superstitious so that reality begins to mimic fiction (instead of the other way round)? How does the frequent consumption of these films on rituals affect our interpersonal or even inter-group behaviours? I think that this demands a well-planned study, with a sensitive experimental design, or at least, a correlation, for I am beginning to speculate, like my Accra taxi driver, that these films may be injecting a behaviour into us, consolidating fears, dividing families, and setting one group against another through their simple metanarrative of seeing is believing!

But this may be a simplistic way of looking at the problem. Why, in the first place, do some film makers go for scripts that present these ritual killings and superstitions? First, they are businesspeople. They could just be exploring and exploiting what the audiences (or customers) might predominantly prefer. If two million (ignorant) people are led to believe that what they are watching is reality, or satisfies what they prefer to watch, good for the business. Who cares about cultural nationalism and patriotism? African cultures are a huge carcass and businesspeople (and not vultures) can feed on it to their liking!

In other words, the focus of the films is based on the film-makers’ study of the market: its preferences, desires, and what constitute a hot hamburger! There maybe, of course, newcomers who want to rush in there, to have a piece of the hot hamburger.

But, as one Igbo proverb says, “Ewu nụ na ibe ya amụọla, ọ n’akaghị aka,” (When a goat hears that her colleague has littered, she would go into premature labour). Goats of Nollywood (Is that too hard?) may rush in because one Nollywood film-maker has made a great success with a ritual film. But, as another proverb says, “Oke soro ngwere maa mmiri, ọ kọọ ngwere, ọ ga-akokwa oke?” (if the rat joins the lizard in dancing in the rain, when the lizard gets dry, would the rat get dry?). Of course, many newcomers dancing with Mr. Lizard in the Nollywood rain are shivering with cold!

Further, apart from this search for a fertile ground, there is also the exploration of aspects of local culture, to maintain friendship and grip on the African cultural market. As businesspeople, major Nollywood film-makers should know how to maintain their territory. Some businesses have territories; even airlines have their routed which are rooted in divide-and-pocket. Nollywood film-makers may be negotiating territorial control through exploration of "sellable" stories.

Some film-watchers in Nollywood that are already carried away by what Hollywood features predominantly may not like this. Those submerged in high crime (of the Al Caponne type), or lady in trouble delivered by a cowboy who is a stand-up guy, science fiction explorations of space and crime fighting that is exemplary, may be looking for some reinvention in Nollywood to accommodate their interest. Major Nollywood film-makers looking for a way of doing something different in a crowded market, might start engaging some aspects notable in Hollywood, which entails crossing of territory or inevitably being swallowed up by major Hollywood marketers through patronage and repurchase.

Fiction will remain fiction in the film industry and may end up becoming one way of measuring the cognition of backward societies – those still living in the Hobbesian state of nature and could easily mistake fiction as reality, opinion as fact.

So, Who Eventually Becomes Lionheart?

By

Obododimma Oha

I had desperately sent a WhatsApp message to my movie supplier, saying I needed even a bad copy of Genevieve Nnaji's Lionheart. The film was making waves on Facebook and I had even joined in speculating about Nnaji’s cultural roots! I needed to watch the film, to be able to pontificate on it. And so, I was greatly relieved when the reply came saying copies were available! I had to show up earlier than arranged, to make sure there was no excuse. I got the film and rushed home to watch it!

Initially, I was disappointed and wanted to dismiss Nnaji’s film with a wave of the hand. After a very long attachment to Hollywood, particular high-crime series (in seasons) and first-class science fiction, Nnaji’s film appeared to me to be mere introduction: it seemed to me that, just as the film was about to begin, it suddenly ended! I didn’t like it and felt greatly disappointed. But I had to reflect on the story deeper to understand what was happening in it. It was a long reflection, and it only dawned on me as I was discussing the film with a friend. I took a different route in the discussion and it was as if the film was being replayed in my head, the key issues laid bare. I clearly understood why Netfix grabbed it with both hands. The film uses a very clever surprise element to shatter our common cultural assumptions about the female victim.

Here is the female protagonist, Adaeze, who is obviously committed to the success of her father’s mass transit business, unlike her brother, Obiora, who is wasteful and into hip-hop music. In the Igbo cultural setting, it would be some sort of disappointment for the son of a rich man to say he wants to be a musician. Although we have many successful Igbo musicians that could be used to debunk this, musicians in the Igbo culture are generally seen as ọfọọgeri (roughly translated as “wayward”) people. So, Adaeze was hs father’s only hope and consolation. Our first expectation is that he would make her his successor. But when he gets a heart attack and it is as if the company is riding rough waters to survive, he wants his younger brother Godswill, who is managing the Owerri branch, to head the company. This intensifies our grief... yes, Adaeze is about to be victimized, we would say. This is based on what we are quite familiar with in the treatment of women when it comes to inheritance in the Igbo culture. Worse still, Adaeze’s mother is in good terms with her uncle coming and clearly holds him in high esteem. We would naively conclude the they are dating, a wrong assumption again, based on what we have mentally fossilized as the behaviour of wives that kill their rich husbands in order to get closer to their boyfriends who may be gold diggers. In fact, this wrong assumption means that one becomes suspicious of the actions of Adaeze’s uncle, even when he means well. If he talks with Adaeze’s mother, you would look for evidence of his duplicity. If he comes to solidarize and talk with Adaeze’s father whom he addresses as “Odogwu," we search for that evidence in his moves and in his speech and his face. But we cannot find one and ... well, we decide that it can be postponed or searched for elsewhere. Is it also not informed by the stereotype of the extended family member as a breaker, something portrayed in Ukwa, another Nollywood film starred by Nkem Owoh? The fact is that postcolonial elite families in Igboland are gradually moving away from communalism, embracing individualism dangerously. It is only my husband and I and the extended family member is an intruder, held in great suspicion!

But the film, as a surprise element, shatters this myth. Adaeze’s uncle comes only to protect her interest. The very individual she trusts on the board turns out to be a traitor, another surprise! Her uncle proves his loyalty and dedication to the extent that he punches a man who thinks he could use her as a sexual pawn to grant a bank loan to the ailing company and is detained in a police cell along with Adaeze for it. It is as if to say to Adaeze: witness it firsthand. Secondly, the strategy of merger with another company from Kano which he initially suggests eventually turns out to be the solution to the financial problems of the company. When Adaeze’s father finally announces that Adaeze is the new CEO, he rejoices with her right away genuinely, as if to say: good, we have won, ; yes, the greatest surprise and relief! He is not the bad uncle we had assumed he is.  He is a good fellow and everyone is happy.  Even the hip-hop musician-son gives a special number to celebrate his father’s birthday (and his father gets to like it for it is a rich repackaging of the traditional ogene music! So, hip-hop artistes can produce something refreshing from tradition and make an oldie dance? That is another great surprise!

Our wrong assumption must have been informed also by the stereotyped roles mostly played by Genevieve Nnaji as a female victim in Nollywood films. Is this victimhood going to happen again? Yes; she suffers again, but is not really a victim. Her victimhood is deconstructed. We are made to see the other side of the coin. That, too, should warn us not to operate with a formatted mind, but to allow when it comes to cultural issues.

And, by the way, who turns out to be "Lionheart"? It is true that it is the name of the mass transit company. But in the story of the film, it becomes symbolic, a symbol for endurance. And so we are right in asking who exhibits enough endurance and bravery to be metaphorized as “Lionheart” in the film? Is it Adaeze’s uncle who helps the company to wade out of its dark waters and succeed? Is it Adaeze who suffers with the company, suffers emotionally until it succeeds, until she succeeds? Is it Adaeze’s father who started the journey, making what look like mistakes and making it possible for other brave people to manifest? I think the bravery and the success is shared. Success is better, sweeter, if shared like a cup of wine. And so, for me, Lionheart is the triumph of good over evil, especially when we have laboured for it, and it requires good planning and team-work, not the kind of suspicion enacted by assumptions that extended family is a monster poised to devour the nuclear family!

The New Libation

Our ancestors
Misled to mislead
Ndi nduhie
Come, taste the frothing fire
A shot of 501 in Alomo

When you taste more
You could get drunk
To barb our heads with blades of broken bottle

And so here, taste just a drop
It is too early
To get tipsy over experience

Don't ask for a cow
You never reared any
Never had  an AK-47 but a catapult

If we kill a cow for you
The bank account of an enemy swells
If we kill a cow for you
Night continues as day

If we don't give you a cow
You would kill your only son
Waging this war from Heaven or hellfire?

If we give you a cow
You can't even eat its shit
Kinsmen must fight over the meat:
Who is junior and who is senior!
Those only spared by AK-47

So, you see, a cow for the spirits is a war is a war!

By

Obododimma Oha.