Èrò Ni Gbẹ̀gìrì

Ebenezer Táíwò Adéẹ̀kọ́ | 1918-2000 My father, E. Táíwò as he was called by many, left his home town at about the age of eight with something like a second grade education in his pocket. I am talking of Òdoláamẹ́sọ̀ of late 1920s to early 1930s. First, he moved to Ìjẹ̀bú Òde (Metropolitan Ìjẹ̀bú) to live with his uncle (the late S.J.O. Òtúbúṣẹ̀n, alias Bàbá Télọ̀) who realized quickly that schooling was not this boy’s thing and sent him further away to Lagos (!) to learn carpentry, one of the newer (historically speaking) building trades. After finishing his apprenticeship successfully and working for a while in Lagos, he followed the call of other relatives to move further away to Kano, in the “land of the Hausa” as we used to refer to Northern Nigeria generally even in my own childhood of the 1960s in south western Nigeria.  At the end of WWII, during which he worked as a rifle carpenter in Kano, he returned south to Ìbàdàn, where he lived the rest of his life....

1: This is to join the trending online discussion of the necessity of smashing monuments erected in memory of slave-trading, cultural, historical, and political leaders in Africa; Nigeria, more specifically. 2: These efforts, led by scholars, are aimed at educating one another on the bloody deeds of "national" heroes in the trans-Atlantic trade. The call has centered mainly on public monuments dedicated to some of these slave trading Africans. I agree with the questioning. But there are some quibbles that I consider important, and which I believe must be discussed. 3: Pulling down monuments in Lagos, Kaduna, Legon, Ibadan, and other locations that have such ought not be construed to be of the same import as knocking down statues of rabidly pro-slavery, irremediably racist, anti-Black, 19th century secession leaders in the US. Bringing down statues of racist slave traders in Liverpool and other ports is motivated by opposition to the enduring legacies of the anti-Black racism ...

 | A Gathering of Feet | Photo by Tòkunbọ̀ Ọlálẹ́yẹ́ 1: Èrò kan ti ńjẹ mí lọ́kàn fún bí sáà mélòó. Ọ̀rọ̀ náà dá lórí ìfunpè àkíyèsí, àti ìfura, nípa ìlànà ìgbáyé ati ìgbàyè tí à ńpè ní Yorùbá lónìí, pàápàá ti àwọn aṣáájú ẹlẹ́sìn àti aláṣà nínú ìrísí yìí. Ẹṣin akitiyan tí mò ń wí jẹ mọ́ ìṣẹ̀ṣe. Bó bá dọ̀rọ̀ ẹ̀sìn, ìṣẹ̀ṣe ni. Èdè sísọ, ìṣẹ̀ṣe Yorùbá ni. Bó bá di ẹ̀ṣọ́, ìbáà jẹ́ ti ara, ìbáà jẹ́ ti oun mìíràn, ìṣẹ̀ṣe ni. Bó jẹ́ ìṣèlú, ìṣẹ̀ṣe yìí kan náà ni a máa ńké pè. Díẹ̀ lásán ni mo kà sílẹ̀ yìí. Ìṣèṣe sì kọ́ ló ńdà mí lọ́kàn rú. Ìhà tí àwọn oníṣẹ̀ṣe kọ sí ìṣẹ̀ṣe ló ńkọ mi lóminú nítorí pé, wọ́n ti sọ ìṣẹ̀ṣe fún’ra rẹ̀ di ká-bi-yín-ò-sí, wọ́n si fi òté bó-ṣe-wà-látètèkọ́ṣe dí i lẹ́nu.  2: Èmi a máa bá àwọn oníṣẹ̀ṣe jiyàn lọ́pọ̀lọpọ̀ látàrí wípé wọ́n mọ odi àsàmọ̀sì yí abala oríṣi ìṣe kan ká, wọ́n sì pè é ní ìṣẹ̀ṣe. Abala tí wọ́n mọ odi ká náà kìí fọhùn, kìí fèsì ìbèrè láì fara ya, kì...

Question 1: Is there a reason philosophies of exceptions and categorizations of life arrest considerations of time at the moment that the meeting of two humans--the optimum number in such models of society--occurs?

A little over a month ago, after watching an episode of Bob Hearts Abishola, my older daughter and I went into a conversation about Generation 1.5 of African immigrants in the US, that is, those whose parents (the .5) were born in another country. (By the way, the show is worth watching for the generally sensitive way--Uncle and Aunti often come close to the edge--it makes fun of the pressure of alienation, assimilation, and other matters of precarious immigrant life. The Yorùbá code-mixing is consistently good, and the same goes for the English subtitling. The near total exclusion of racism is troubling, I must admit. But this is not a full review of Bob Hearts Abishola.) The episode I am referring to here deals with the unnoticed considerable stress that the very young Délé (Travis Wolfe, Jr) suffers internally from the extent he goes to conceal his talents and interests in choreography from his mother who seems hell bent on shoehorning the boy’s future into a life ...

Pius Adébọ́lá Adésanmí: Photo by A. Adéẹ̀kọ́ It’s been a year ago now that I read anybody refer to me as “ọ́ga miì!” Death ensured that Pius Adésanmí will never call me that again.  That ritual began nearly 20 years ago when I first emailed him in anger—he was then at Penn State University—after reading his, to my mind, brash, unfriendly, evaluation of Ngũgĩ wa Thion’g’o’s hard left politics of literary language. He looked up my work phone number (I was then at the University of Colorado, Boulder), called me up, and we ironed things out. He “confessed” his “sins,” was absolved, and as penance—that is what I told him it was—he sent me a signed copy of his book, The Wayfarer & Other Poems .   In 2014, when Professor AbdulRasheed Na’Allah, the founding Vice Chancellor of Kwara State University (Nigeria), asked me to direct the Abiola Irele Seminar in Criticism and Theory, he instantly approved my recommendation that Pius Adésanmí be hired and made the director i...