viewpoint
|
A Nation's
Identity Crisis |
|
By Reuben Abati
The Guardian
Sunday, June 21, 2009 |
You may not have noticed it: Nigeria is
suffering from an identity crisis
imposed on it in part by an emergent
generation of irreverent and creative
young Nigerians who are revising old
norms and patterns. And for me nothing
demonstrates this more frontally than
the gradual change of the name of the
country. When Flora Shaw, Lord Lugard's
consort came up with the name, Nigeria
in 1914, she meant to define the new
country by the strategic importance of
the Niger River. And indeed, River Niger
used to be as important to this country
as the Nile was/is to Egypt. We grew up
as school children imagining stories
about how Lugard in one special romantic
moment, asked his mistress to have the
honour of naming a new country in
Africa. Something like: "Hello,
sweetheart, what name would you rather
give the new country that I am
creating?"
"Let me give it a thought? ....Awright,
how about Ni-ge-ria darling?"
"That would do. That would do. How
thoughtful, my fair lady? You are
forever so dependable"
And the name stuck and it has become our
history and identity. But these days,
the name Nigeria is gradually being
replaced by so many variants, that I am
afraid a new set of Nigerians may in the
immediate future not even know the
correct spelling of the name of their
country. For these Nigerians whose lives
revolve mostly around the internet and
the blogosphere, the name Nigeria has
been thrown out of the window. Our dear
country is now "naija" or "nija". What
happened to the "-eria" that Ms Shaw
must have thoughtfully included? The new
referents for Nigeria are now creeping
into writings, conversations, and
internet discourse. I am beaten flat by
the increasing re-writing of the
country's name not only as naija or nija,
but consider this: "9ja". Or this other
name for Nigeria: "gidi". There is even
a television programme that is titled "Nigerzie".
In addiiton, Etisalat, a telecom company
has since adopted a marketing platform
that is titled: "0809ja." Such
mainstreaming of these new labels is
alarming.
This obviously is the age of
abbreviations. The emerging young
generation lacks the discipline or the
patience to write complete sentences or
think through a subject to its logical
end. It is a generation in a hurry, it
feels the constraints of space so much,
it has to reduce everything to
manageable, cryptic forms. This is what
the e-mail and text message culture has
done to the popular consciousness. Older
generations of Nigerians brought up on a
culture of correctness and compeleteness
may never get used to the re-writing of
Nigeria as "9ja". Language is mutatory,
but referring to the motherland or the
fatherland in slang terms may point to a
certain meaninglessness or alienation.
What's in a name? In Africa, names are
utilitarian constructs not merely
labels. Even among the Ijaw where people
bear such unique names as University,
Conference, FEDECO, Manager, Heineken,
Education, Polo, Boyloaf, Bread,
College, Summit, Aeroplane, Bicycle,
Internet - there is a much deeper sense
to the names. But the name Nigeria means
nothing to many young Nigerians. They
have no reason to respect the sanctity
of the name. They don't know Flora Shaw
or Lord Lugard, and even if they do,
they are likely to say as Ogaga Ifowodo
does in an unforgettable poem: "God
Punish you, Lord Lugard." Eedris
Abdulakarim summarises the concern of
young Nigerians in one of his songs when
he declared: "Nigeria jagajaga,
everything scata, scata"
The post-modernist, deconstructive
temper of emergent youth culture is even
more manifest in the cynical stripping
to the bones character of today's
Nigerian hip-hop. It is marked by a
Grunge character that shouts:
non-meaning and alienation. On my way to
Rutam House the other day, I listened at
mid-day to a continuous stream of old
musical numbers from 93.7 Radio FM.
Soulful, meaningful tunes of Felix
Lebarty, Chris Okotie (as he then was),
Mandy Ojugbana, Christy Essien-Igbokwe,
Onyeka Onwenu, Sony Okosun, Alex O, Ras
Kimono, Majek Fashek, Evi Edna-Ogoli,
Bongos Ikwue, Veno Marioghae, Uche Ibeto,
Dora Ifudu, Mike Okri, Dizzy K. Falola,
and Tina Onwudiwe. Onyeka Onwenu sang;
"One love, keep us together". Veno
Marioghae sang: "Nigeria Go Survive".
Even in the romantic offerings like
Chris Okotie's "I need someone, give me
your love", or Felix Lebarty's "Ifeoma,
Ifeoma, I want to marry you, give me
your love" and Stella Monye's "Oko mi
ye, duro ti mi o", or Tina Onwudiwe's
award-winning "Asiko lo laye". there was
so much meaning and polish.
This was in the 80s. That generation
which sang music under its real names,
not abbreviations or slangs, was
continuing, after the fashion of T.S.
Eliot's description of "Tradition and
the Individual Talent", a pattern of
meaning that dates back to traditional
African musicians and all the musicians
that succeeded them: S. B. Bakare,
Victor Olaiya, Fela Anikulapo-Kuti,
Sunny Ade, Ebenezer Obey, Dan Maraya of
Jos, Osita Osadebey, Ayinla Omowura,
Victor Uwaifo, Geraldo Pino, Rex Lawson,
I. K. Dairo, Haruna Ishola, Yusuf
Olatunji, Inyang Henshaw, Tunji Oyelana,
Bobby Benson, Tunde Nightingale, and
even the later ones: Shina Peters, Dele
Abiodun, Y.K. Ajao, Ayinde Barrister,
Kollington Ayinla, Batile Alake, Sir
Warrior, Moroccco Nwa Maduko, Orlando
Owoh, Salawa Abeni, KWAM I (Arabambi 1
and please include his disciples- Wasiu
Alabi Pasuma et al), Oliver de Coque
(Importer and Exporter...), Ayefele,
Atorise .... But there has been a
terrible crisis in the construction of
music. The children, grandchildren and
great grandchildren of these ancestors
have changed the face and identity of
Nigerian music. As a rule, gospel
musicians, given the nature of their
form, sing meaningful lyrics, but the
airwaves these days have been taken over
by the children of "gidi","naija", "nija",
"nigerzie" and "9ja". I listen to them
too, but everyday, I struggle to make
meaning out of their lyrics.
Music is about sense, sound, shape and
skills. But there is an on-going deficit
in all other aspects except sound. So
much sound is being produced in Nigeria,
but there is very little sense, shape
and skills. They call it hip-hop. They
try to imitate Western hip pop stars.
They even dress like them. The boys
don't wear trousers on their waists: the
new thing is called "sagging", somewhere
below the waist it looks as if the
trouser is about to fall off. The women
are struggling to expose strategic flesh
as Janet Jackson once did. The boys and
the girls are cloaked in outlandish
jewellery and their prime heroes are Ja-Rule,
Lil'Wayne, Fat Joe, P. Diddy, 50 Cents,
Ronz Brown, Chris Brown, Sean Kingston,
Nas, Juelz Santana, Akon, Young Jeezy,
Mike Jones, T-Pain, F.L.O-RIDA,
Will.I.am, Beyonce, Rihanna, Ciara, Keri
Hilson, Jay-Z, Ace hood, Rick Ross,
Birdman, Busta Rhymes, Cassidy,
Chamillionaire, Soulja Boy, Young Joc,
Kanye West, R. Kelly, Kevin Rudolph,
T.I.P-king of the South, Ludacris,
Plies-The real goon, The Game, Young Rox,
Flow killa, Osmosis (2 sick), Flow-ssik,
Raprince, Bionic, Fabulous, Jadakiss,
Nas, Swiss Beatz, Dj Khaled, Maze, Yung
Buck, Maino, MoBB Deep, Lloyd Banks,
Olivia, Lady Gaga... Well, God Almighty,
we are in your hands.
And so the most impactful musicians in
Nigeria today, the ones who rule the
party include the following: D'Banj, MI,
Mode Nine, Sauce kid, Naeto C, Sasha,
Ikechukwu, 9ice, Bouqui, Mo'cheddah,
Teeto, P-square, Don-jazzy, Wande Coal,
2-face, Faze, Black Face, Dr. Sid,
D'prince, K-Switch, Timaya, Dj-Zeez, Dj
Neptune, Banky w., Big bamo, Art quake,
Bigiano, Durella, Eldee, Kelly Hansome,
Lord of Ajasa, M.P., Terry tha rapman,
Weird MC, Y.Q., Da grin, kel, Roof-top
Mcs, Pype, Niga Raw, Ghetto p., Kaka,
Kaha, Terry G, Ill Bliss, Zulezoo, Pipe,
Dj Jimmy jatt, X-project, Konga, Gino,
Morachi... Well, the Lord is God. These
are Nigerian children who were given
proper names by their parents. Ikechukwu
bears his real name. But who are these
other ones who have since abandoned
their proper names? For example, 9ice's
real name is Abolore Akande, (what a
fine name!), Tu face (Innocent Idibia),
Sauce Kid (Babalola Falemi), D'Banj (Dapo
Oyebanjo), Banky w. (Bankole
Willington), P-Square (Peter and Paul),
MI (Jude Abaga), Timaya (Enetimi Alfred
Odom), Sasha (Yetunde Alabi), Weird MC (Adesola
Idowu). But why such strange names? They
don't sing. They rap. Most of them don't
play instruments, they use synthetic
piano.
At public functions, they mime. They are
not artists, they perform. They are not
necessarily composers, they dance. The
more terrible ones can't even sing a
correct musical note. They talk. And
they are all businessmen and women. They
are more interested in commerce and
self-advertisement, name recognition,
brand extension and memory recall! They
want a name that sells, not some
culturally conditioned name that is tied
down to culture and geography. But the
strange thing is that they are so
successful. Nollywood has projected
Nigeria, the next big revelations are in
hip hop.
Despite the identity crisis and the
moral turpitude that we find in
Nigeria's contemporary hip-hop, the
truth is that it is a brand of music
that sells. Nigeria's hip hop is
bringing the country so much
international recognition. All those
strange names are household names across
the African continent, so real is this
that the phrase "collabo" is now part of
the vocabulary of the new art. It speaks
to an extension of frontiers. In
Nigeria, it is now possible to hold a
party without playing a single foreign
musical track, the great grand children
of Nigerian music are belting out purely
danceable sounds which excites the young
at heart. But the output belongs majorly
to the age of meaningless and prurience.
The lyrics says it all.
Rooftop MC sings for example: "Ori mi wu
o, e lagi mo". This is a very popular
song. But all it says is: "my head is
swollen, please hit it with a log of
wood." X-Project sings: "Lori le o di
gonbe (2x), e so fun sisi ologe ko ya
faya gbe, ko ya faya gbe, file, gbabe,
se be, bobo o ti e le, wo bo nse fe sa
hale hale niwaju omoge, ha, lori le odi
gonbe, .....sisi ologe ki lo di saya o,
so fun mi ki lofe, o wa on fire o...."
Now, what does this mean in real terms?
But let's go to Naeto C: "kini big deal,
kini big deal, sebi sebi we're on fire",
or D'Banj: " my sweet potato, I wanna
make you wife, I wanna make you my wife
o, see I no understand o, cause I dey
see well well, but dey say love is
blind, see I never thought I will find
someone like you that will capture my
heart and there will be nothing I can
do....". Yes, we are in the age of sweet
potato. And so Art quake sings: "E be
like fire dey burn my body, e je ki n
fera, oru lo n mu mi. Open your hand
like say you wan fly away. Ju pa, ju se,
ka jo ma sere, alanta, alanta."
And here is Zulezoo, another popular
Nigerian musical team: "Daddy o, daddy,
daddy wen you go for journey, somebody
enter for mummy's house, person sit down
for mummy bed, person push mummy, mummy
push person, mummy fall for bed yakata,
daddy, o daddy, the man jus dey do
kerewa kerewa...kerewa ke" And Dj-Zeez:
"ori e o 4 ka sibe, ori e o 4 ka sibe, 4
ka sibe, 4 ka sibe". And MI: "Anoti,
anoti, anoti ti, anoti titi." And Konga:
"Baby konga so konga, di konga, ileke
konga, ju pa pa, ju pa, konga, ju pa pa,
ju pa, sibe".. And 9ice: "gongo a so,
kutupu a wu, eni a de ee, aji se bi oyo
laari; oyo o se bi baba enikan, kan, i
be double now, aye n lo, a mi to o,
gongo a so, oti so o, e wo le e wo enu
oko..." Or Tony Tetuila: "U don hit my
car, oyinbo repete, u don hit my car o".
Or Weird MC: "Sola lo ni jo, lyrics lori
gangan, awa lo ni jo". Sheer drivel. So
much sound, little sense. Is this the
future? Maybe not.
Most of the music being produced now
will not be listenable in another five
years and this perhaps is the certain
fate of commercial art that is driven by
branding, show and cash. But we should
be grateful all the same for the music,
coming out of Nigeria also at this time
in the soul, gospel, hip, hop genre: the
music that is of Femi Anikulapo-Kuti,
Lagbaja, Asa (there is fire on the
mountain/and no one seems to be on the
run/ there is fire on the mountain
now..."), Ara, Sam Okposo, Dare, Sunny
Neji, Infinity (now a broken up team),
African China, Alariwo of Afrika.... We
suffer nonetheless in music as in the
national nomenclature, an identity
crisis. A country's character is indexed
into its arts and culture, eternal
purveyors of tones and modes. Nigerian
youths now sing of broken heads, raw
sex, uselessness and raw, aspirational
emotionalism. A sign of the times? Yes,
I guess.
I find further justification in the
national anthem, many versions of which
now exist. I grew up in this same
country knowing only one way of singing
the national anthem: from "Nigeria we
hail thee" to "Arise o Compatriots". The
singing of the national anthem is
supposed to be a solemn moment. Arms
clasped by the side, a straight posture,
and the mind strictly focussed on the
ideals of patriotism and nationalism.
Stillness. Nobody moves. And the
national song is rendered in an
unchanging format. But not so any
longer. There are so many versions of
the Nigerian national anthem these days.
Same lyrics but different musical
rhythms. I have heard the national
anthem sung in juju, in fuji, in hip
hop, in Ishan's igbagbolemini, in
acapella mode, even reggae. I attended
an ocassion once, the rendition of the
national music was so enthralling,
people started dancing. Even the
photographers and cameramen danced with
their cameras. For me that was the
ultimate expression of the people's
cynicism. The prevalent mood is as
expressed by Dj-Zeez: "ori e 4 ka sibe,
4 ka sibe": an epigrammatic,
onomatopoeic, market-driven diminution
of language as vehicle and sign. What
kind of people are we? A dancing nation?
Dancing and writing away our
frustrations and caring little about
sense, in this country that is now known
as "naija", "nija", "9ja", "nigerzie," "gidi"?
more article |
|
|
|
