This morning seven years ago, I’d gone hiking up one of the Shere Hills (Moses Mountain, Zarazong) in Jos East with Dr. Babajide Agboola. I was skinny and fit once upon a time. True talk.
By the time we came down six hours later (it was a 3 hour trail), there’d been some civil crisis in #Jos. I had to take a very long detour with a brave okada man, skirting past villages beyond Rayfield, through quiet deserted roads, linking up at Sibancho junction then Old Airport to get to my house in Hwolshe which was normally less than 30 minutes away.
I miss those times when I could do stuff like three hour mountain treks. I miss my hometown, for its beauty and for what it used to be. Some say nostalgia keeps us focused, but can we not have nostalgia without the loss?
So, this one is for #Jos and for #Plateau. This one is for #PlateauTheBeautiful #Nigeria
Qudus (left) and troupe performing at a show.
“Culture in my own opinion isn’t and can’t be for sale, to the highest bidder, culture is supposed to arm the proletariat, as to what is worthy of their actions, should be able to raise consciousness and empower people beyond the need for bread and butter, should be able to be a powerful sector for the reengineering of our value system, should be able to be a teacher like Fela Kuti said, culture and tradition should be a major signifier of our underlining philosophy as a people, who still has a lot to do with self imagination, and it is up to the culture people to make the power people understand this in ways at which they understand the importance of education, of security, of good roads and other sectors in which they invest heavily, without any question of how it adds to the gdp, because they know it does, in an abstract way.”
My poem, “The Names of Continents”, was performed @transpoesis End Violence, Empower Women poetry performance in #Kigali last week. It was read by Amina (in the rose blouse) accompanied by the guitar. Many thanks to Dr. Andrea Grieder and her team.
I stand in the street in the crowd with my aunts and sisters, we cause
Tremors and our leader who looks like my mother unties a child and
Feeds it from her own breast while the world of lies falls silent. She says—
Africa and Asia and America and Europa are named for women because the World
Itself is a woman, words for “seed” or “boy”, “song” “rain” or “man” from our womb is birthed
For there can be no words without sound and women are the sound and the soundness
Of all creation
From, The Names of Continents.
“Aure! Inna ni fa na gaya muku ba zan auri kowa ba sai wanda nake so. Kun san zamani ya sake. Kuma yanzu ban ga abin da zai hana ku ba ni shi ba. Yana da mutunchi da natsuwa. Ba abin da za mu nuna musu. Kuma daidai muke tun da yana da asali,ba za ku yarda in zabi na kasa da ni ba?”
(My translation.) “Marriage! I’ve told you all that I will only marry who I love. You know the world has changed. There is nothing to stop you from letting me have him. He is selfless and a gentleman. His family is as equal in honour as ours. We are alike in temperament, give me a reason why you would deny me someone who loves me?”
Hafsatu Abdulawheed’s So Aljanar Duniya (NNPC, 1980). Present reading.
Today I picked up a book by a much older friend of mine and caught the translation bug.
This is the opening paragraph (and my translation attempt) of Hajiya Hafsatu Abdulwaheed’s So Aljanar Duniya, one of the earliest Hausa language fictions by a woman. It was published in 1980 by NNPC, Zaria. Feedback on the translation is welcome.
Hajiya is my second mother, she’s mother to my law partner Asiya Ahmed. Also journalist Kadaria Ahmed’s mum.
It’s a delight to get to her story, this chronicle of love between a Fulani girl and an Arab she is in love with. The first paragraph draws me in.
Perhaps I will also natsu and work on a translation? The book is a novella really.
Hung out with a friend of mine, Xu, today.
Learned again how, when you meet a woman, you should hold off from thinking first how pretty or intelligent she is.
Think first instead of her scars and where she’s been, what she’s seen, and how she’s still here, glorious and thriving.
These women are more resilient than we are. Salute to these women especially.
“There is a time in every man’s education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must take himself for better, for worse, as his portion; that though the wide universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given to him to till. The power which resides in him is new in nature, and none but he knows what that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson, from On Self Reliance.
I first read this essay in my teens, from something called The American Reader published by the United State Information Agency. It was my first introduction to America.
This essay, this part, has always given me something akin to goosebumps. Perhaps in my writing, I think, I shall someday touch the essence of Life in the way Emerson has done here? I think, if one manages this, how can it matter the things we are wrong about and the things we do wrong?
Suddenly, you can’t do it anymore. Playlists are sentimental spaces. This one is from just before a stormy period. All the damage is done now, all ways. The wind and the rain owe me nothing. Yet, beyond the devastation, there is half of hurt and sadness beyond what words can say.