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Non Fiction Fiction: Baba Dudu (a short story)

Iya mi tied her oja like a true Yoruba woman going into battle; if you know nothing about the Yoruba and their women, just know that there’s no storm that’s ever been brewed like that of a Yoruba woman’s. When the head-tie (oja) is taken off the head and used to hold the wrapper, it only means one thing… IT’S ABOUT TO GO DOWN!!! Iya mi might not have gone to school, but this 60s grandma knew that she had rights and she would not allow anyone mess with her family.

It was the 60s in Ibadan, Nigeria. A time when the country was newly independent, and headmasters and teachers had their due respect. The flog was used to bring justice on those who ‘deserved’ to be disgraced. I can’t tell you anymore because I didn’t live it but I am told that the air was cooler and the prices made more sense. It is in this time that the Dada family lived. Somi and Bomi’s mother had gone to the United States to get her Master’s degree, while their father was working at First Bank and taking good care of the family. They went on picnics, took trips to museums, and played in parks. In a nutshell, whatever was fun, they did it! Iya mi, their paternal grandmother, helped take care of them and also spoiled them senseless. Life was smooth sailing for the sister duo, Somi and Bomi.

Somi was two years older than Bomi but the two were an inseparable pair. Somi always took care of Bomi making her eba and ewedu while Bomi was ever faithfully by her sister’s side whenever she was ill to ‘help’ Somi finish her food before the adults came back to check if Somi was eating. Somi also took care of Bomi at school. Although Bomi was very little, her mouth was the sharpest of them all. She never hesitated to use her venomous tongue on Jolomi, the tall lanky Baba Suwe’ skinned boy in her class who she had cheekily nicknamed Baba Dudu because he was ‘as black as charcoal’. Jolomi hated when Bomi made fun of him and would try to beat her when she called him Baba Dudu. Bomi would run to Somi’s class for protection while yelling “Baba dudu ti n bo” (Baba Dudu is coming) and Somi would keep Bomi behind her and wait for Baba Dudu. When Baba Dudu got to Somi’s class, he would be disappointed that he couldn’t get his revenge and walk back to class with his tail behind his legs. This Tom and Jerry duo continued like this till Somi graduated from the school. Unfortunately for the Bomi, she was still stuck with her cheeky attitude and smart mouth. With no protection, Bomi tried to avoid Baba Dudu as much as she could; however, old habits die hard and soon enough, the tiny eight year old would soon have her last duel with Baba Dudu.

It was Thursday and the whole school was looking forward to the fast approaching and blissful weekend. Bomi’s joy was however disrupted by Baba Dudu who she had successfully avoided since school started 2 weeks ago. Before the morning assembly started, everyone usually went to class first to drop their bags. In the time it took to get to school, drop your bag and line up on assembly, you had to make sure that your uniform remained spotless, your socks was as white as snow, your shoes were glistening from being polished the night before and your hair, teeth and nails were clean and tidy. Amazing that even your teeth had to be ‘tidy’, isn’t it? It was like they knew where each tooth had been and if anyone was out of place, ‘o ma je egba ni yen’ or to put it lightly, ‘the flogs’ were coming to get you. While Bomi was putting her bag on her seat, Baba Dudu stepped on her shoes and socks leaving a nasty brown dirt stain on her white socks and a dusty imprint on her perfectly polished shoes. He pretended as if he didn’t know what he had done and went on his jolly old way while Bomi tried to salvage the damage. She used her hands as a wipe for her shoes and dusted off the stain on her socks. As much as she tried, the damage was done. The bell rang and Bomi braced herself for the impending punishment for uncleanliness.

Cleanliness is next to what …?” the headmaster asked. To which he got an echoed reply from the teachers and students, “godliness”. At that point, all the teachers went through the lines and inspected each boy and girl to make sure they were spic and span. No excuses were tolerated and as Bomi expected, she was pulled out of the line. It was so humiliating! She walked to the front of the assembly and faced the school with the other dirty girls and boys while mentally preparing for her own share of strokes. “Five strokes of the cane each”, the headmaster announced. One by one, each boy and girl got their five strokes with the option of taking it in the butt or the palm. Bomi had strategically made sure that she was the last on the ‘dirty’ line so that the headmaster would have already dissipated most of his energy on the others before he got to her. “Where are you taking it?” the headmaster asked as if he was a doctor asking his patients where they would rather be injected. Bomi stretched out her left hand revealing her small palm; she wasn’t going to take it in the right because she knew that she would have to write notes in class. She also had to protect her bum because she was going to be sitting on her wooden chair during classes. In that moment, Bomi felt like a nervous patient waiting to feel the thin injection poke her skin followed by the rush of the medical fluids making their way into her veins. Kpa! Kpa! Kpa! Kpa! Kpa! , the sound echoed in the silence as each stroke came down on her palm. While enduring the pain of the cane, she could feel the eyes of everyone on the assembly judging her. The probably thought that she was the type of girl that didn’t wash her clothes before she wore them. She wasn’t! She wasn’t a dirty girl! Although she tried her hardest, the combination of the pain from the cane and the humiliation of being thought of as ‘dirty’ got to Bomi; The tears she tried hard to suppress, broke out of the mental dam she had built and started to fall. The fact that she was crying in front of the whole school added to the humiliation which made her cry even more.

The bell rung for break time; Bomi’s anger had been slowly brewing and she was determined to give Baba Dudu a piece of her mind. Immediately the teacher left the class for the staff room, Bomi walked up to Baba Dudu and demanded an apology. “Baba Dudu! You made my shoes and socks dirty this morning! You better say sorry. E wo ori e bi burnt pancake (look at your burnt pancake head)”. With that, Bomi stepped on his shoes and ran. Baba Dudu chased her around with his belt up in the air ready to lash the little pest that had insulted his complexion so many times. Bomi ran as fast as she could but her short legs could not save her from Baba Dudu’s leather belt. He caught up with her and with a swoosh from his boyish strength, his leather belt landed on Bomi’s arm and left its imprint there. Bomi stopped running and examined the swollen imprint on her arm. “Look at what you did!” she screamed; She stormed straight to the teacher with her throbbing arm, determined to get justice.

Immediately Bomi got back home, she ran straight to Iya mi to report what had happened, showing her the evidence of the injustice she had suffered. She made sure to exaggerate the pain that had subsided before she had gotten home. Luckily the swell was still big so her acting looked genuine. Iya mi removed her oja, tied it to her waist and exclaimed, ‘A ma de school e yen l’eni!’ (That school is going to feel our presence today!). Bomi followed behind Iya mi, who was determined to get justice from the highest authority in the school – the headmaster. Iya mi never went to school but she knew her rights. No one dared to mess with her and her grandkids, the world be damned if some bully would scar her baby and not be punished. She entrusted her little bird with the school and they had allowed this to happen; hell hath no fury like Iya mi’s oja.

“E wo nkan to shey si apa owo omo mi! Baba Dudu abi ki lo n pe! …Wo ti so n pe o ti ma n waja e te le. Egbon e lo ma n gba” (look at what they’ve done to my daughter’s arm! Baba Dudu or what’s he called! …They’ve told me that he’s been bugging her for a long time. Her sister was her savior). The headmaster told Iya mi that he would take care of the situation and apologized for the trouble. He assured her that Bomi would be safe.

The next morning, all the students strolled into the lines like they did every day. After the devotion was done, the headmaster announced that there would be no inspection today, instead everyone was instructed to stand at attention while Otunba, the school pianist played the school song. Everyone knew immediately that someone was about to be disgraced and flogged in front of the whole school. The headmaster was very theatrical and insisted on having music playing before he made any important public announcement. When the music finished playing, there was complete silence. You could hear the beating hearts of all the kids that had done something naughty the previous day, as well as their silent prayers to be good if they were not the ones that would be flogged today. “It pains me to hear that in this establishment where we teach you to respect and honor your neighbor, someone here has taken upon themselves to be an oppressor to his fellow student”. As the headmaster took a long pause, you could hear the sighs of relief of the naughty girls on the girls’ lines, as well as the increasing beating hearts of the naughty boys on the boys’ lines. “Jolomi Adekunmi! Step out at once!” Baba Dudu, who was at the back of the line because he was one of the taller boys, made a long walk to the front of the school with his head down.

As Baba Dudu stood facing the rest of the school, the headmaster continued. “If someone offends you, you report! Jolomi here took the law into his own hands and beat his classmate BLACK AND BLUE! The older students rolled their eyes a little because they knew that the headmaster had a knack for exaggerating stories. “… Jolomi did this all because his classmate who is half his size, called him BABA DUDU”. A wave of laughter broke out among the students followed by a bunch of authoritative shushes from the teachers. After the silence was restored, the headmaster announced that Baba Dudu would be given twenty strokes of the cane by Mr. Makinde, the science teacher notorious for his painful lashings, while four senior boys carried him so that he would be lying flat in the air. The rest of the day would be filled with whispers and gossip about Baba Dudu and Bomi.

Bomi ran out of the car to hug her sister. Iya mi and she had packed up chocolates, biscuits, juice, and Jollof rice with dodo (fried plantains) and fried chicken for Somi’s visiting day at the boarding school. While they all sat at the table to catch up, Bomi told Somi how Baba Dudu had been disgraced on assembly and gloated that he never disturbed her again. Iya mi was happy to see her girls together, safe and happy.

Authors Note: I don’t have a lot of experience writing short stories, but I decided to give this a go. I would really appreciate some feedback. Please don’t just say you liked or hated it. Tell me what you liked and what you didn’t? Was the story easy to follow? What part confused you? etc. Thanks for reading and love the arts!

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LitiTalk: An interview with artists

Hello! This is my first interview session for my new interview series, LitiTalk! Tell your friends and neighbours! I have started this as my own way of supporting the arts and meeting other amateur and possibly professional writers and artists. If there’s anything more exciting than a creative work, it’s meeting the people behind them. In my first interview, I sat down with amateur writers. Aisha Saludeen and Aniyeloye Adekunle after reading the first part of a story they collaborated on titled “Deceit”. While Kunle did the writing, Aisha was there to lend a creative ear. It’s a simple story told vividly in a way that makes it relatable.

Aisha Saludeen is 19 years old from Lagos, Nigeria. She is currently a student at the University of Bradford and plans to to to graduate school to study either Economics or Mass Communications. She loves reading novels, talking (which is probably why she is currently an intern at Top Radio 90.9, Ikeja, Lagos) and watching movies. One of the people that inspires her includes Folorunsho Alajika, a Lagos business tycoon involved in the oil, fashion and printing industries and was ranked 24th on Forbes list of Africa’s 40’s richest with an estimated net worth of $600M.

Aniyeloye Adekunle is also 19 years old from Lagos, Nigeria. He will be 20 in October (but still not old enough to drink in the United States). He graduated from Covenant University today (7/26/2013). Congratulations! His hobbies include writing, music and thinking (a David Hume perhaps!). He is inspired by Warren Buffet and  Bishop David Oyedepo, his chancellor and according to Forbes, “Nigeria’s Wealthiest Preacher” with an estimated net worth of $150M. According to Kunle, the Bishop’s teachings have been a ‘blessing‘ to him.

N.B. This interview has been slightly edited for clarity and cohesiveness. K refers to Kunle and A refers to Aisha.

Me: What exactly would you say that your story is about?

K: Okay, lol. Well, it’s basically non-fiction; about a family… more like newlyweds. Years later, the husband ends up cheating. Got the wife wondering, confused, sad… but she sucked it all up and pretends that nothing happened. (the story) talks about lies, deceit, cheating and all the ills of “being in love”

Me: In the story, although Foluke (the wife) is more vocal, the reader gets to know more about what’s going on inside Daniel’s head. In essence, the reader gets a male perspective on cheating (at least in this part). Is there any reason for this?

K: Lol, no reason at all. I never expected it to turn out that way. I only did that writing in respect to the normal way cheating is portrayed. It wasn’t something I planned, more like a ‘freelance’.

Me: What do you mean by the normal way cheating is portrayed?

K: To everyone, ‘men’ are portrayed as “alpha males” when it comes to cheating…like men cheat the most and females are seen as the “everly faithful ones”…which is not so…

Me: Since we’re still waiting for the second part of the story, is there any chance that we’ll see a deviation from this conventional view of cheating as a type of “male dominated sport”?

K: Definitely… to me, not only males cheat, all men cheat.

Me: So what inspired you to write about cheating? And not just cheating but cheating specifically in a marriage?

K: Well, I would say that it is more of a personal thing. Most of what I write is based on experience. If you read my blog, you would see that most of the things I post are either about being hut, or lied to or something. I sometimes just go through y timeline of twitter and see so many stories around and I try to pick up something and write about it. The story is basically inspired by personal experience. It has nothing to do with cheating in marriage. I just woke up one morning and sent Aisha a message. I was like ‘let’s write something about lies, deceit and cheating’. And she was like “oh, no problem”. I had what I wanted to write about, so it was easy. I only twisted it a little.

Me: Wow. That’s great that you are able to take something personal and write a universal story.

K: Lol, thank you.

Me:  Who do you relate better with in the story? Daniel or Foluke?

K: Lol, that is actually a personal question you know, but anyway it’s Foluke. I don’t want to go into details.

Me: Thanks for sharing that. So Aisha, you read the story and put it on your blog, which is actually how I read the story, what did you think about it.

A: yeah, Kunle’s really good and creative. I could understand and relate to what was going on in the lives of the couple.

Me: So did you think Foluke was right to forgive Daniel?

A: I think she was just trying to save her marriage, or she’s just so much in love with him.

Me: So what writers inspire you both?

A: Chimamanda Adiche inspires me a lot! She’s Nigerian and has gone far, her stories are captivating! Her novels make me want to be a professional writer.

(We share a little joke about the arts)

K: Mark Twain inspires me. My literature teacher made me love Mark Twain. I love the way he uses diction and figures of speech to create something amazing. Anyway, much of the credit goes to my Literature teacher. He made me realize my zeal for writing.

A: Mark Twain lomo (joke)

Me: Lol! So what other stories should we expect from both of you?

A: I’m working on a new story. I’ll upload it soon, so till then…

K: I’m also working on a write up too called “Faded Memories”.

Me: Any chance I can get the scoop on what the stories are about?

A: Lol, well, it’s about friendship and trust. That’s all I’m giving out. It should be put in two weeks.

K: A scoop on faded memories… err okay, it’s actually a random thought. It’s about letting go of memories that you consider happy memories because you’ve been betrayed by the person you shared those memories with.

Here is an excerpt from Deceit:

” You cheated on me? You were cheating on me! ” foluke’s voice rose into a shrill. Disbelief contorting her face.
Daniel was curled up into a ball lying on bed while Foluke towered over him. He felt lifeless shrinking inside himself after letting go of the secret that was poisoning his soul.
” And why did you have to tell me huh? So you can ease your conscience and dumped the misery on me! How can you be so selfish?” Tears cascading down her cheeks but on her expression was rage.
” You think I didn’t know. Do you think I did not felt it? Why tell me? Why not leave me with a benefit of doubt? I knew you never loved me but why be so vicious? Why confirm my fears? How are we going to live together now? You knew our families would never let us separate. Why did you have to destroy all my illusions? “
Foluke was sobbing now. Her anger spent. Daniel was not paying attention to any of her outbursts. He continued to retreat inside his shell.
Foluke sat on the foot of the bed. Grief racked her body. Both hands covering her face.
” I also know love. I also loved. Once. I was in love with someone before I married you.”She said softly now. Only pain echoed in her voice….Daniel surrendered to despair and resignation. The horizon seemed depressing but he knew he would be compelled to plod on as many others like him did.

There you have it! Check out the story “Deceit” here:

http://memoirsoflostsouls.wordpress.com/2013/07/13/deceit/

http://ayeshaistwisted.wordpress.com/2013/07/13/deceit/

Follow them on twitter:  @Aishurr & @_kunle_A

Also Follow their Blogs: 

http://memoirsoflostsouls.wordpress.com/

http://storyofananonymousoutcast.blogspot.com/

http://ayeshaistwisted.wordpress.com/

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The moments when humanity disappoints me

Yesterday, I posted about a video that I believed that everyone should flag so that it could be taken down. I flagged the videos in as many places as I could find this morning and yesterday but it’s a shame that one the one I saw yesterday is still up. The little things always spiral and become larger issues. Please show your support and flag the “Harassed 4 short dress” videos so that they can be taken down. No  person deserves that type of humiliation. (if you don’t know what the video is about, the gist is that a girl wearing a short dress is harassed in public, a bunch of men follow her, raise up her dress revealing her privates.) No one deserves this! Take this video down. And I encourage other bloggers not to put this video up! You are condoning this behavior in some ways. The content you allow on your blog shows that ideals of your blog. I don’t know about you but the things that appear on my blog are the things that I support. Please take down this video and any video like it!

xoxo

Kofo.

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The beauty of silent story telling

In a world where things change in the blink of an eye, is it important to preserve and retain the things that are old? Is it necessary to hang on to the things that aren’t necessary anymore? Is new always better and the old just old? These are questions that no one can answer fully correctly. It always and will always DEPEND. It depends on what the old is and what the new is. But that’s a another story for another day.

Throughout my life, I have always been and I still am fascinated with the past. I remember always moving through my Grandparents’ home in Ibadan (in Nigeria for those who don’t know) and always hoping to discover something new (that was old). I loved that house!! I remember my adventures through my Grandpa’s old home office and sitting on his desk and pretending I was some big corporate lady who took no prisoners! Yes, I was pretty damn awesome! Anyway, I love discovering old junk; Not necessarily in a ‘I love to learn about wars and the political atmosphere’  kind of way but more in a ‘it would be so great to travel back in time and feel what they felt’ kind of way. This love leads me to weird places and this post is about one of them. When I was younger, I dreamed of being an Archaeologist… until I discovered that I had to know “sciency stuff”. EW, right! (haha just kidding, i like science but I just don’t love it. If all you had to do was cut stuff open, mix chemicals and stuff I would be down for that! Just don’t get too intense with the hardcore stuff!). Anyway, even though I can’t analyse pieces of bones to save my life, I dig through history in my own way– through stories and old junk in my grandmamas’ houses. The everyday stories about how people lived way back when are the ones that fascinate me. So you can imagine how passionate I am when I discover something about the past that I never understood fully or paid much attention to. Today I will be writing about the beauty of story telling through silent films.

My interest in this awesome but now unpopular form was sparked by a very random incident. There I was, reading my intro to communications textbook, after procrastinating and scolding myself for watching my umpteenth episode of Daria (the MTV animated show… gosh they don’t make simple things like that anymore *chanelling Grandma K ;)* ), when I spotted a curious picture of an old film.

The-Shiek

With my obsession with anything antiquated, I went on Youtube and looked for clips of this curious picture and this is what I found. (feel free to be weirded out, i just enjoy weird sh*t)

 

This video got me thinking about silent film as an art form and as a unique way of story telling. There is a beauty that silent film captures that is unique in a special way. With silent films, we emphasize our stories with our bodies, plots and so on. A lot of thought has to go into a silent film to make it successful. With silent films, the emphasis is on how you say something and not what you say. There is a sort of universality of listeners with silent films because it shows the story rather than tells it. With silent stories, the audience can imagine and choose voices for themselves. Because of this, the body becomes an avenue through which the story is told. Strange Attractor, a theater company that develops their play (I believe) through the use of the body, captures the spirit of storytelling through silent film in a weird way. Rather than write down the stories, the strange attractors create the stories through their bodies and from then on, thoughts, speeches and genius are born. I am not an expert on all things silent film but I do recognize this art form and hope to learn more about it as a means of telling stories. I urge all storytellers willing to experiment, to try their hands on this form and share it with the world.

NB: I’m not saying that the modern forms of films are not wonderful, I’m saying that there is a beauty that silent story telling captures that the world should appreciate.I hope that you have enjoyed your shopping experience at the story store. If you would like to contribute any form or type of story to the store, feel free to contact me!

Here are some videos with interesting insights on silent films: