Under the thatched helmet of our creative mind, made of raffia fronds and intellectual cadence, sits a bevy of eggheads holding palm wine jugs, frothing with condensed prime nectar. Nearby, village griots are in conclave to anoint a fledgling elder into the commune of philosophers.
Sixty-Five is not exactly ancient enough, but Toyin Akinosho is deep in wisdom and depth of norms to qualify to savour the sacred entrail of a deer and sip the last drop of the sacrificial palmwine, as propitiation and prayers are being chanted.
Robed in Ofi-Kembe and Sanyan foliage to match, the initiation is consummated by the intermittent thud of the pestle on mortar against the rumble of robust Gangan, Omele, and Iya Ilu. Chorales, as sweet as sugarcane, filtered into the air to sanctify the hut for purity and service. The shrine is serene and solemn, safe for the chirps of crickets from the nearby shrubs and the thud of pounded yam echoing from the next hamlets in preparation for Odun Egungun to propitiate the gods of rebirth.
Toyin bears the incision of his ancestors despite his protest that his Christian Priest will not approve of such heathen deeds. The elders administer the stroke of gbeere in deep incision, which neither the pastor nor the traditional elder will endorse. His midnight junkets and escapades to haunts that are not Biblical, nor hailed in Genesis, through Revelation.
The enigmatic personae began the defiance for analysis from the heydays when he plied his trade as an exploration Geologist in Chevron Petroleum, one of the country’s biggest oil producers. On the sidelines of his daytime employment, he ran regular columns in daily newspapers and specialist magazines, some virtually.
Yet at nightfall, Toyin transforms like an owl into an amphibious, effervescent creature of the night, in prodigious production that belies his scientific specialisation.
Still at night, he transforms nocturnally and magically into a behemoth of mega capacity. He is often ferried about town by a visibly sullen, but loyal driver at his beck and call at irregular hours of the day and night, while he conducts other business of a respected critic. Also at nightfall, he becomes fully transfigured into a full-fledged Editor-in-Chief/Publisher of Africa Oil & Gas Report, AOGR, which is one of the most authoritative trade magazines on the African continent. The big wonder is that he produces such a quality magazine with a very skeletal staff and support.
In its nightly ritual, the owl trades its supermarket at the New York Stock Exchange. Fortuitously Toyin trades in the market of elevated ideas and academia digging deep into cultural syntax and synonyms to interpret riddles of hunters’ lore and myths of the jungle and sacred spirits.
In between these junkets, Toyin waltzes and juggles hybrid tempos and tunes. Perchance, in the response to Afro Jazz strain or the responding Fuji recoil of Kwam 1 or the fiery Afrobeats of Davido and Wizkid of the resurgent conflict of Kollington Ayinla in love fest romance with Salawa Abeni or Pata Pata song by Mama Africa in the cry for freedom from apartheid South Africa, Parade of Icons in the literary allusions spanning broad firmaments, attest to the affinity of Toyin Akinosho in condensed scholarship, calm and brilliant as a journalist, commentator, public intellectual, analysts, compere and livewire of many creative endeavours. He religiously relishes and ravages creative ghettos, with the ease of a Reverend father in the Monastery, at worship and penance. Early in the day and into early evening, he could be found in a potpourri of artistic caravans and communes, in the nooks and crannies of Lagos, while not debating and swilling wine with tech junkies of the Oil and Gas variant.
The puzzle is how he reconciles the diverse ventures so seamlessly! But that is the essence of Toyin, whom we fondly call ‘Poblisha’. He is the intellectual backbone of our endeavours at the Committee for Relevant Arts, otherwise known as CORA, which has been running impactful ventures for over 34 years as the eminent Secretary-General with his soul mate, Jahman Anikulapo as Prog Chair. One of the enduring programmes of CORA is the Lagos Book & Arts Festival, LABAF, an 8-day extravaganza of creative programming contents which successfully combines intellectual exploration and scholarly interrogation of deep themes.
As the intellectual spine of CORA initiatives, Poblisha packs a powerful, yet effective aura like a spent dynamite fuse that seems potentially lethal but ends up being inspirational.
Ever so affable and friendly, but in social extension selective in style and lifestyle, initiation into the Council of Village Elders is in progress. In our spiritual cocoons, the fragrance of history parades the hamlets with memories of past heroes and rituals in appeasement spun to the spirit of Obatala and Ogun. Accompanied by echoes of ritual drumbeats, that recall totems and figurines immersed in tropical symbolic glory like poetry, sculpture, dance, riddles, songs, jungle tales, war heroic and proverbs, and mystery redolent of a footpath that leads and uncovers the wealth and beauty of Africa epitomised by the glory of 19th century Mansa Musa (1280-1377) of Mali Kingdom, conquest by also 19th century Chaka Zulu (1787-1828) of Zulu Kingdom, the warlord.
The air is thick with the buzz of Lagos market banter, and time slides rigorously away on the busy highways. The news of the bomb blast rent the air, further thickened by the tragedy of broken limbs and broken dreams. Terrorism, and kidnappings, Ritual murder, hunger, and pain pervade the land and Poblisha is perturbed by the reign of terror. He sees tattered children roaming the streets without shoes on an empty stomach. They clang their plastic and metal, begging bowls, menacingly on the streets. Their feeble hands and bruised legs, dangling, painfully. Somewhere, the music of Kwam 1 breaks from a nearby record shop, and Toyin sees the faces of the urchins brightened to the lewd lyrics of Portable. The music distracts them momentarily from the chaos on the street. Even the policeman and LASMA officers dodge from the scorching sun, head to sip pure water from the hawkers of groundnuts and bananas. Poblisha soaks in the spectacle, despite his fixation on matters of governance and state policy. He is fixated on the inconsistent gap of the exchange rate of the dollar, in relation to the naira, that keeps jumping and spiraling like the dancing waist-beads of Iya Kosiba, whose stall is in danger of demolition by Environmental Officers of the Local Council, for failure to pay the latest levies and bribes.
Poblisha is too sophisticated to understand the nuances of the streets, though he empathises with their pains, from the economic perspective of having painfully paid 50,000 (fifty thousand) Naira for a 50-gallon keg of diesel oil for his generator earlier in the day. and last Friday.
He mused about inflation in the economy and made a mental note to ask Jahman, his supposed street-wise friend and companion, about the current price of stockfish and vegetables at the Oshodi market. Both being elitists are somehow too remote to keep track of the cost of everyday utility items relevant to the daily survival strategies of commuters boarding Danfo bus from Obalende to Iyana Ipaja, of the suburban exit of the Third Mainland Bridge. But Jahman is more preoccupied with the rising cost of Uber transport from Ikeja to Freedom Park more than the cost of meat in the market, because he eats only fish, when he occasionally spared the time to eat at all, between running virtual classes for students in Europe, and assisting Professor Wole Soyinka through representation at dozens of events, both in Lagos and other parts of the world, occasionally, he humours Publisha by ruminating over the latest press release from the Presidency about, the stern warning against the threat of a street demonstrations by the labour union, protests by students and grumbles by journalists over the hike in the pump price of petrol at the filling stations, especially the inflated prices of flight tickets to Abuja and international destinations. They argue vigorously and agree to write articles in the newspapers and also publish them online for the benefit of the masses, most of whom are more concerned about high rental rates, hovels, than the high school payment fees, and the soaring cost of flight tickets to London and Paris.
Mama Joy is trying to calm her wailing daughter within the cramped space inside the Danfo bus heading to Akowonjo, where she runs her milling and grinding machine business on the roadside fringe of the Akowonjo market. This could not have come at a worse time, because the landlord has given her family a quit notice to vacate the room where they live or barely exist on meager resources at the dilapidated fringes of Badia Village. Mama Joy’s husband, a tailor, has just been retrenched from a factory job because his employer could no longer continue production, consequently, upon the high cost of running the factory, as the cost of using the generator has become too exorbitant. Besides, imported second-hand akube clothing is cheaper than the products of their local factory. Pastor Festus has reverted to sermonising in the local church, as a pious evangelist, than making clothes for the local congregations of worshippers.
Holding court at the makeshift tabernacle to pray for help from above, while Mama Joy is grinding the corn grains into paste to create Akamu, as a basic meal for Joy, the lean nutritional value notwithstanding, life goes on. At least they feed better than the Chukwuka family next hovel.
The Poblisha is notorious for his mega contributions to Arts and Culture in Nigeria, especially the creative ventures. Though he does not dance well or sing sonorously too often, he participates in creative-related activities like carnivals, art exhibitions, seminars, festivals, debates, research and development, museums, libraries, archives creation and promotions, both physically and virtually, around Nigeria and globally.
Meanwhile, Poblisha is currently consumed by trying to fashion out a suitable theme for the approaching year. Towards this, he has read dozens of books and toyed with several possibilities and themes, discarding some, while ruminating on others. The exercise is both private and near secretive, nearly similar to the conclave to elect a pope. At some point, he consults Jahman, who is fiercely competitive and possessive of the intellectual property of the theme-making.
At last, a truce is called at a flamboyant ceremony, and the theme of the year’s LABAF, often referenced as the “biggest culture picnic on the continent of Africa,” is announced to the intellectual firmament.
The crowd was elated that a new theme for the coming year had been announced in the glare of the paparazzi media. Both young and old, especially the young stakeholders, retire to wild celebration. And they all wish Poblisha, a happy birthday for ushering into reality another frolicking year of Literary and Creative Bazaar.
***Aderinokun, poet, businessman, is chairman of CORA Trustees