We’re Nollywood

We’re Nollywood

Nollywood represents Nigeria, typically. Not just because we consume with ease, its productions, but because it shows us as we are, bare, sometimes without artistic clothing.

Some of the productions might be cheap and the storylines trite but who cares! There is a growth level, visible by the world media. The likes of CNN have done special features on the growth and contribution of people like Ms Peace Osigwe who abandoned law and other classic ventures to set up platforms to encourage the movie hustle. Ms Emem Isong left the bank and got herself a leather boot and borrowed money to beautify the pictures and the stories we see on screen.

With enviable assistance from Ghana, quasi-pornography comes by easily. Some ladies can’t just keep a piece of clothes on their alluring bodies, especially in the heat of the light on set. They just have to drop it and grab the lips of the nearest actor and kiss the life out of it until the end credit dances away, before our eyes.  

It’s over one hundred days since school girls of the Chibok community were abducted. It took the production team of a certain media outfit no time to come up with a flick entitled “Missing Girls”. Amazingly, it has a first and second part. I have a salient part of me reiterating that a third part would be released in less than a month. It must have been a hit. But miraculously, the girls haven’t been rescued. The stories, I am sure, is that of speculations and the running around of soldiers in the famed Sambisa forest.

Whether the story is that of the missing school girls or of the situation of the country, the fact that the plight of a people is on the big screen, whether shot with a camcorder or with a mobile phone is commendable. It doesn’t matter. It is exciting to watch the stories on screen. The comical characters make life easier. Mr John Okafor is my favourite. I like him so much I had to get his mobile contact. He is on my Whatsapp chat list. I haven’t said a word to him, but I like his display pictures. It makes me glad to see him that closer to me.

Nollywood is a formidable industry. Although without fixed studios, independent filmmakers are fighting against all odds to tell stories that are indigenous and close to us. It is relief from lies of Hollywood and the much political incorrectness and the depiction of concepts that are not western as though they are from lesser people. Nollywood is creating employment, daily. Visit Lagos, Asaba and Enugu. The hotels are fully booked. School girls leave the classroom to become stars. They often make it there, after screaming of some indecent approaches from some directors. But who wouldn’t? There are just so much flesh, available. Ms Linda Ikeji displays studio pictures of some these actors on her blog and they could be so racy one wouldn’t mind being an actor, just to have a closer look at the heap of flesh.

There are several awards platform, annually, rewarding the struggles, home and abroad.  The excellences of these creative people are getting wide attention. And in the forthcoming week I can bet my life on the fact that there would be a movie entitled Ebola Virus. Yes. You read that correctly. It is a communicable disease that is sweeping wildly across West Africa. There are messages everywhere.

Every day, on BBM and Whatsapp, I get a buzzed to be careful or join in the fight against the dreaded killer disease. But my acceptance or rejection of such invitation isn’t my focus. My concern is on the Nigerian-ness of Nollywood and the psyche and way of receiving and distributing information. When the movie would eventually be released, it would be comical, I swear. It would be watched. And if there is a message in it, it would get to a special class; that may not be able to maintain cable TV subscription.

If the state government pays salary, civil servants would head to a local store. They would get bootlegged copies of the films and savour it with delight.

Nollywood represents a time in our history when we make a product, consume it, and without fear of critics, sell it abroad. A friend of mine gets hundreds of copies of Nollywood films each time he visits Nigeria. He returns to Canada with it. His family members like it. It doesn’t matter the flaws, the actors are stars. They are on billboards, on TV selling products. What the government cannot do, Nollywood is doing with pride.

When a stone is thrown at Nollywood, it bounces at us. We are Nollywood. We are what it mirrors. Our conversation is what it puts on the big screen. The way the wives are maltreated, the way the house-help is abused, and beaten and fucked and made pregnant and thrown out of the house into the street where he eventually gets lucky, finds a man who thinks she is cute, marries her and magically sends her entire family abroad, that’s the way it is shown, raw and captivating.

It doesn’t matter. It is keeping the people entertained, informed and hopeful. If Nollywood makes a pathway despite piracy, then there is hope for the country. I have attended the AMAA twice in Yenagoa, and I can say that we have succeeded in making our own stars, our own heaven and our own eyes to view them according to how we want it.  

Bura-Bari Nwilo has a diploma in Screenwriting from the New York Film Academy. He writes from Nsukka, Nigeria.

He tweets at: @BuraBariNwilo 

Writers Workshops in Africa

Writers Workshops in Africa

Traditional publishing in Nigeria is obviously on a speed lane to oblivion, just like everything indigenous. The Nigerian gods left too. They are seated idly, enjoying air-conditioned compliment in British museums. They, too, know that there’s a time to leave behind all that a man started. What we have today may be tagged rascality. The adjective ‘traditional’ became necessary to be specific of the nature of publishing that is being referred to, the one which provided royalties and other fine packages associated with writing. This may include reading tour, entering for prizes,

and of course, speaking at events and lectures.

I haven’t been to South Africa. It is probably not doing well over there. Kenya’s brightest star is Kwani? Maybe Ghana and Liberia, Uganda and Algeria may have theirs. I haven’t won a travel grant yet. My scope is limited.  But in no distant time, when we go through the books; African classics, made available by this one-time European owned publishing houses, we shall realize how much we have lost touch with dedication to literature, publishing, and distribution, despite the internet and increase in technology.

Sadly, the alternative isn’t helping. Self-publishing and distribution are not synonymous terms. The writers who have made some headway are coming back to organise workshops to assist those who are within Africa. Over the past five years I have attended quite a handful of workshops. From the Garden City Literary Festival to the Wole Soyinka Foundation workshop for young writers, held in Lagos, I have struggled to gain a bit of the enlightenment that a writer needs. Have I had any fulfilment? I will have to think a bit thoroughly to find an answer.

I have attended a few workshops in Abuja. The Bold and Beautiful foundation had one that had an impact on me. In Yenagoa and other parts of Nigeria, I think I have attended a few more. I can’t recall some of them. They could be very stimulating but then, it is just a workshop. You learn nothing spectacular. The amazing part is that you fraternise with fellow writers and chart a new course for the generation. When there are bottles of beer in front of us, we empty our anger into the glasses and then move on too.  

Our generation is unfortunate. We are the same people who come online to talk against self-publishing and we are the same people who practice it more. For what do you call the publishing company where you have shares? It is the only way to save a dying craft. The writing and publishing world need some assistance and we are the people who can save it. I know a few people who go to Asia to print books, distribute it within their friends’ network and even when sales is poor, the joy that the mind has been emptied on to the pages of bound materials and distributed gives the writer some peace. My 2012 publication, a book of poems entitled Salute to Bori followed similar process. When I approached a publisher and there was no money, I risked my school fees and together, the work was birthed.

The Caine Prize and other prizes for African writing in Africa are doing tremendous works in seeing new writers discovered. When the writers enter for this prize, the Caine, especially, shortlisted writers have the honour of being published in an anthology. It is a splendid approach. It has helped a lot of writers. But I think the prize still battles with distribution. Aside the obvious that a few books get into the hands of the public and there is a reading tour, the books and stories die naturally, few months after the release.

The system that has sustained creative works for a long time has been the university. The trained critics debate the books and stories, write thesis on it and then the works keep being relevant. Students use it for projects etc. That’s how the likes of Walt Whitman become relevant to me. A work is fine but when scholarly discourses are written on them, they bring out new perspectives each time. I think the Cainze prize must involve leading private and government owned universities in Africa and department of English and Literature especially. They must find a way to fix the stories into the curriculum of these selected schools thereby stimulating scholarly discussions and review and deliberations. With that, we can place the young writers permanently in the line of scholarship and sustain their writings.

I met a friend recently who was part if the just concluded Farafina Trust writers workshop in Lagos, Nigeria. He narrated the task, the reading and the writing and it sounded same to me. The same process of stimulation but there is actually nothing more to that. Somewhere before the talk was concluded, he spoke with hope, that the members who attended the workshop wrote new stories and compiled it and of course, edited it and sent same to the organisers of the workshop which brought them together. Farafina has agreed to publish the collection. That’s amazing. That is what workshops are supposed to do. And that should not be the end. If some of the writers belong to universities, the platforms should be exploited. The school should find a way of studying and reviewing the stories and the collections. Writing should be kept alive in this way.

I was part of a group of young African writers selected under the Writivism umbrella. We were assigned to mentors who read and corrected our stories. The stories were then published online. These stories could have been made into a small book, distributed and used as forms of engagement of the young people. There is nothing that inspires like seeing your writing in print.

I taught at a 5-day creative writing workshop few years ago in Ebonyi State. The event was organised by the Ugreen Foundation and sponsored by one Senator Chris Nwankwo, from the state too. The organisers selected teenagers and we instructed them in short fiction writing. At the end of the period, they were given a time frame to complete a project of stories set in the state. When it was completed, a South African company found the fresh and promising collection interesting. ABIC Books, Enugu too took up the job of printing the Nigeria edition. The books were distributed to schools in Ebonyi State. The students whose stories appeared in the book were paid. They got the first experience as writers. And they were exposed to the fact that a writer is entitled to payment for anything that is taken from him, in form of story or poem. Though I didn’t get payment for my poems and the story in the book, I was glad the youths had their day.

Workshops in Africa can do more than the usual charade. They can make mini-stars from the energetic young adults who attend the workshops, with tall hope to be magically transformed. Their stories can be shared online. Ms Adichie and Binyavanga can use world influences to push the likes of the New Yorker and other internationally recognised magazines to make some of these workshop bright-stars a deal. It may not cost much. Mrs Kalango, of the Garden City Book festival can do more too in terms of collating workshop stories. It may just cost commitment. If there is anything worth doing it should be done well.

Bura-Bari Nwilo has a diploma in Screenwriting from the New York Film Academy. He writes from Nsukka, Nigeria.

He tweets: @BuraBariNwilo