Lagos to Accra on ABC Transport

Ecowas Passport in Hand | Emeka Okereke

Where will I begin this one? It's a few days after Christmas and the days are rushing towards the new year with lesser activities than before Christmas. I am in Lagos. Christmas for me has been sort of a laid-back one, more of reflections about life and its twists and curves. Naturally I was on the other side of things when it comes to all the high-sounding celebrations.

But then an opportunity came, an idea struck. I could go to Accra for a few days rather than get stuck in the monotones of Christmas here. What is it like in Accra now? As a Trans-African being, a border-being so to speak, it was not at all an unwelcome thought, one that is likely to see the light of the day in action. Besides, Ghana has always been the much contested neighbor of Nigeria, and events constantly affirm that.

What I did not immediately settle for was the fact that this was going to be a road trip. I considered flying, but given that everything during Christmas is double the price, it was not even thinkable to buy a plane ticket one day before travel, considering that my budget is such that does not allow for some crazy maneuvering, this is the point I always dreamt I was as rich as Michael Jackson (but if I continue like this, I will surely match his craziness someday).

So the nearest option, was going by road in the good old ABC transport, the only known road transportation company that plies this Trans-African route. In conversation with a friend, who is of the same age grade, he told me that when he was young, he could remember his dad coming home  from the neighboring countries clutching an ABC transport ticket. ABC has been in operation for 19 years. They have managed to work their way into the way of life for most Nigerian road commuters. Immediately I got excited at the prospect of going by road on board this thriving transport company.

I got to the Amuwo Odofin Terminal at 6.30 am, it was already swarming with travelers. They were quite organised with lots of porters assisting the passengers to weigh and tag their bags. My journey was more  a result of some acute restlessness, so I am neither exporting nor importing, just carrying few clothes but most importantly, my portable office, laptop, iPad, phones and most naturally my camera. This time I am rolling with my G12, trying to keep the journey as simple as it can be.

At 7.25 am, check-in starts. It was systematic, easy, in the next 15 minutes the engine of the 52-seater Marcopolo had been engaged, another five minutes it began to pull backwards out of the parking lot. But at the same time, the prayers kicked off by the in-bus pastor, who prayed and washed the the bus "with the blood of Jesus" and prayed that as the bus moved forward, so would our business, our life and our success, to which most people echoed "Amen."

And I pondered prayers: it seems to me that most of the time that we pray to God, it is to ask something from Him! How about the aspect of worship? That which is just about thanksgiving for the mere fact of being alive and having the luxury of asking favours. Is it not said that He has already given us all things? That what is left now is for us to muster faith as tiny as a mustard seed and all can be ours? And does faith not come from work, everyday activities in and to the name of God? Does it come from high-sounding demands and petitions? I must say that it is in all these prayers and attitudes towards God that man's lack of faith and conviction in God is most revealed. We do have a conception of God as the greatest of all powers, but as human beings, is He only useful when we do not have or cannot fathom any other solutions to our problems? I wonder if there will be so many churches if we are not so abjectly poor. The poor want to be rich, the rich are afraid to be poor, and in-between these poles there are thousands of churches, defining one God. But hey, this is just one man's opinion, I stand to be corrected.

My thoughts drifting…..

Now we have meandered our way to the border, in-between I was multitasking, pinching away on my iPad, twitting and chatting on my phone to justify my sudden journey to some close ones. I had my earpiece deeply stuck in my ears, as Nas was blasting away, "I know I can be what I wanna be, if I work hard at it." Nas is an artist I respect greatly; when he sings, I just don't dance, I listen. At 11.15, we got to Seme border. But before that, the attendant took us through a crash course of what we should expect at each border. He spoke impeccable English and French, and afterwards he asked if there was anyone who did not speak any of the two languages so he could speak in the person's local language. I wonder if that was a joke or if he has truly learnt to speak the local languages of these regions. We got to Seme, our passport was handed over to the attendant, we stayed in the bus while they took care of the formalities. In less than 45 minutes we were on our way. For me, such stress-free border crossing is somewhat unusual, considering that in the Invisible Borders trip every border is a bottleneck. Most times because we refuse to pay all the backyard money and that meant more delays, more stress. This time it was unreal, but on getting to Hilla Conji, the border between Benin and Togo, we had to come down and traverse the border on foot.

Togolese Border | Emeka Okereke

The Togolese border was quite busy, I could not tell exactly why this was so, neither could I figure  out why changing Naira to Ghanaian Cedi was much more feasible, and even cheaper there than at the Ghanian border proper. Also one gets the impression that things were much cheaper in Togo than in the two countries flanking it on both sides. One could still buy things with the Nigerian Naira, the Ghanaian Cedi and of course the French CFA. It is intriguing how borders become a mishmash of those entities they tend to demarcate. Soon we were done with crossing into Togo with no further drama except that this exodus-like crossing was accompanied with buying food and drinks for the rest of the journey ahead.

Now we were back in the bus, I decided to take a nap…

I woke up because apparently my neck could no longer take my sitting, or should I say sleeping position. For lack of something better to do (or better still, to cure my acute restlessness), I began to read Victor Ehikamenor's "Excuse Me". First few pages and I was already lost in his world of twisted humour that has you fixing the pieces of childhood memories together in order to make it a whole experience again. As a wanderer with many encounters of life, it is easy for one important experience to overlap the other as remarkable events fight for front row seats in my life. Reading Victor's descriptive reality of a Nigerian childhood had me relishing my own childhood over again, and during those moments I was lost to what was happening around me, I was back 20 years ago or more in time, when as a child you lived life never knowing that it would turn out this demanding, you had wishes and fantasies, but you never thought that the actual process of getting you to the acme of those wishes will turn out to be the most remarkable events rather than the final fulfillment of the events itself. The process is the fulfilment, rather than the outcome of the process.

We were still in Togo, and as I looked out the window, I saw CIMTOGO, my guess was that this is the Cement Company (but a play of words in my head likened it to "Cemetery Togo"), a gigantic building looking like a grotesque structure especially in the backdrop of the dusty harmattan atmosphere. There was a slight standstill, but this was because the road was being constructed by of course, the Chinese. They have come to be known as the Road-makers. The image that comes off is of the same cliché: local workers spotting their helmets and their Chinese boss, usually a little man, tight-faced (makes you wonder what will happen to that face if by an act of God he smiles), pointing or talking out orders to his workers. Sometimes it feels like by mere watching you could even sense the reluctance on the part of the local workers to carry out the orders. I wonder how they eventually get by, Chinese is a tough language to speak (and they are not that interested in making a big deal out of spreading the beauty of their language through cultural schemes like the Germans and French do), yet they are constantly working with Africans who obviously cannot be bothered to speak Chinese on their own soil even though their daily bread depends on it. But somehow, they get the job done, they pave the way. They are everywhere, not just roads, they also built the Africa Union complex in Addis Ababa, and will be running it for two years.

Ehh, chale! This China thing, it is also drawing the interest of what is left of Europe, mainly Germany and France, then India, soon it will be the United Arab Emirates (I doubt that though, except if oil turns to ice under the ground, or if the West runs out of ideas that they would love to duplicate). It made me wonder how slavery and colonialism happened. Was it not an accident? Was it not just a bunch of explorers who came, saw and thought they could conquer? When they took an elbow and saw that it was met with little resistance, they decided to take an arm, and then eventually both arms, then at some point, thought why extract salt from the ocean when we can take the ocean? Then they took all the body in large quantities, across shores. Can we not see the handwriting on the wall? That history is pushing to replicate itself? Africans, as you make your bed, so will it decide who eventually lies on it, whether you or someone else. Shikina!

We got to Aflao border, the last for the day, I have always loved this border, in the past we had so many good things to say about this border, the Ghanian border officials are just too good to be true, they are straight to the point, no delays, no shouting no maltreatment of any kind, but most importantly corruption is greatly curtailed at this border. So I was at all not surprised when we were asked to come down for our luggage to be manually checked by the customs, we performed this task with no hassle. It was time to buy some Ghanian sim card, I did and in matter of minutes I was hooked on to the internet! I continued my tweeting and all the Facebook updates. It was dusk now, coming into Ghana we just gained one hour, so it was about 5.30 pm while it says one hour more on my wristwatch which was still set to Nigerian time.

 

The Chinese and the Worker | Togo 2012 | Emeka Okereke

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--> We forged ahead towards Accra, as if the bus attendant knew, it was time for some comic relief, our very own Nigerian comedians, from the popular comedy show, "Night of a Thousand Laughs," graced the screen for the rest of the journey, Basket Mouth, AY, Gandoki, I go Die, Aki & Paw Paw, and many more. It was laughter all the way as we watched them make jokes out of very daunting issues, making us laugh as a better alternative to crying. The depth of their art is hidden in the safe confines of comedy. I respect these guys, they have made this industry lucrative and relevant from nothing, and they keep perfecting it, taking it far beyond the shores of Nigeria, insisting that our ways of being and living be seen as just what they are: "We be who we be, take am as you see am".

At about 7.30 pm Ghanian time, we arrived in Accra, and people began to alight in a good mood and I could hear a woman somewhere in the bus exclaim, "Thank God for Journey Mercies o". Yes, Thank God for a first time experience that was really worth it. ABC Transport is a pioneer in that dream of building a Trans-African Transportation that will encourage Trans-African dealings and exchanges. They are amongst those elements of our society working on a daily basis to make this a way of life which it will become for us all in no distant future.

Diary of a Border-Being , New York.

Somewhere in Between. Lagos, 2012

 

I have been in New York for two days. Just before arriving here, I got back from a seven- weeks road trip from Nigeria to Gabon. I was still fresh from the journey, barely 24 hours in between my return and my take off to New York. I am in this buzzing city now; everyday waking up to the liveliness of a city that never sleeps. Sometimes I wonder, who are these people? Everyone to his or her own, paths and streets are packed with people, using the same space, living the same moment, yet one could be millions of worlds apart from the other. Running to something, shopping for something, buying pleasure. Nothing is for free, even giving is not a given. Someone said to me, “I think we have run through ourselves”, meaning I guess, “I think we have ran out of ideas”. Ran out of ideas. But that’s not the worse part. We have run out of reasons for which we are running. Evolution is cool, innovation encouraged, but when at the detriment of human relationships, when everyday we get lonelier, yes we get used to loneliness. When everyday we get more afraid, we get used to fear. And as we pursue happiness, with our heels to the back of our heads, happiness is just one step ahead.

Who are these people? What do they want? Do they want something, or are they fuelling the hell they set-up for themselves? Well all these can be justified by the fact that humans should always be in constant activity. Yes, constant activity. But activity or de-activity? I think they are the same but of alternate end.  Are we in activity or de-activity? Yes, we are here to undo ourselves. But the final result ought to be happiness, and if you are sad, miserable, depressed, afraid, anxious, bitter, jealous, greedy, gluttonous, war-mongering, malicious while you are at it then something is just not right. There must be something to show for all of these toiling – something much more than the self-exertion to keep up with appearances, something more than a 15 minutes of fame, something sublime and noble, the prize after the race. Something worth running for, something we should be running to. So you see, the running is not the problem. It is not the worse of it all.

And everyday, my tongue loses a taste bud. My nerves become more taut, tending towards lifelessness – a pre-death, death by the dose. I know I should be glad, some say I am privileged, last night someone called me lucky. Yes, I am all of that and more, but I am not luckier than those who are not writing from the 16^th floor of a plush apartment in Manhattan. I don’t feel that kind of luck. I guess I am lucky to be here and with all I see, and all I feel, and with all the sheer helplessness against mass inclinations, I still have a part of me that could ask this question: Where are we running to? And who is on our heels? To be alive is to ask questions. Yes, we are question-generating entities, an embodiment of questions of which the answers fulfills the purpose of our existence. Is it not by this that we evolve? Dissolve? And the world revolves? In this journey, those who ask questions will never lose their way.

These are my reflections on the morning of October 15^{th 2012}, while in New York. These are the ponderings of a Border-being

Diary of a Border-Bieng - Libreville Gabon

Traversing the Mist | Tiben - Cameroon | Emeka Okereke | IB 2012

This morning, I woke up at some few minutes after 5.am. My head was pounding with a slight headache and for the umpteenth time, I slept in my clothes with my wallet and keys in my pocket. But I woke up to the dawn of the morning in Libreville, and looked out the window. I was hit by a pleasant view accompanied by a pleasant feeling. That inner excitement that comes with being in a new place, the excitement of knowing who I was even though I didn’t know where I was. Sounds were a mishmash of speeding cars, and the crows of roosters, as if the city was in struggle with the countryside in attempt to determine which best represents it. But Libreville is a city of many facets. The rich are richer with the too-good-to-be- true cars and plush appearances, while the poor are very poor, minding their business mostly in the "quartier populaire" which is not the most popular part of the city.

Since we arrived here, I must say that there is, and has been something really strange about being here. I shouldn’t experience this strangeness given that I speak enough French to easily get around in a Francophone country. Yet, it feels like those moments where you are at your clumsiest. Perhaps this will straighten out. I don’t know.

When we arrived here the Nigerian presence and especially that of the Igbos was a shocker, the extent to which they have integrated. We spent time at  "La Gare Routiere" where they have their shops and daily business; we ate at an Igbo restaurant and mingled with some of them. We came to learn that the relationship between Gabon and Nigeria dated as far back as the Biafran war when many Igbo families fled to Gabon and did not come back after the war. Since then there has been subsequent generation of Igbo-Gabonese. A new dimension is formed from this circumstantial intermingling of peoples - it gave rise to " Francophone Igbos". This I find quite interesting within the discourse about borders. Borders are always there; an attempt to affect it only shifts it to another position in the map - be it the physical map or the socio-cultural. 

Borders are, at face level, what divides us. But profoundly, it is equally what brings us together to contemplate the possibility of co-existence. And in that process a third dimension is formed which in itself produces another demarcating line, another border, but at once, an intertwining of different people and perspective. Therefore borders are what they are: vague and immaterial as entities. It is not the end result of a process of demarcation and unification, but a function within that process. Borders are shifting lines that emanates as a result of the necessity to individualize, socialize or classify, but never the cause of it. This is why borders will be found everywhere and anywhere human beings make the attempt to transform or transcend existing state of being. It is like a double-edged sword and will conform to whatever form for which it becomes useful. Therefore, what is left to us is to decide to what use we could put this shape-shifting entity called borders, but never if we should ever use it at all. 

The Van is the Asset, The Access.

As we moved from one city to the other and then from one country to the other, one thing is more constant than any other: The van we are travelling with. In nowhere has it (the van) become more physical than in traveling from Nigeria to Cameroun and Gabon. It became a symbol for the impossibility that occupies the minds of many. Everywhere we go within Cameroun and Gabon, this huge 4-meter-long van of is imposing and difficult to be unnoticed, but much more is the Nigerian matriculation number of our vehicle. One could tell that for the Nigerians living in Cameroun and Gabon, Nigeria is a faraway home, one they can visit only after about 6 months of pre-planning and pre-saving. And for the Cameroonians and Gabonese, it is just that Anglophone country with their Anglophone brothers further away than France. 

We see the disbelief that shrouds their countenance when they spot our van in Douala, Yaoundé or Libreville. Some of them walk up to us to ask if we have truly travelled by road to these places or if we had to fly in our van by air. I am tempted to believe that the mere sight of our van must have caused a jolt of their sensibilities and their perception of proximity. I am assuming (rightly an assumption) that in spotting our van, they could now draw a line, a path, indeed a  road, in their minds from Libreville to Lagos. It becomes a possible line; a line, unlike a hypothesis, has every tendency to become tangible. This was made possible by the presence of our van than of us. 

In contemplating this, and the tedious and near-impossible nature of this traversal from Lagos to Libreville, coupled with the metaphorical importance of the van as a constant entity-in-motion harboring human beings who were bound to adjust to the events of the journey, the van becomes a Tunnel, a passage way for which it was possible to move from A (Lagos) to Point B (Libreville) in sometimes roadless conditions and we are obliged to adopt the van as a living space, sleeping and eating in it for about three days in a row. For me, it is difficult to see any interval in the journey from Lagos to Libreville; it is a single line knotted together by the constant displacement of the van.

Therefore the role of our van on this year’s trip has gone beyond a mere means of transportation, but in essence has become a symbol of that Trans-African line which in spite of all obstacles and challenges have managed to offer an alternative by which this journey becomes real and imagined.


Written during and under the framework of Invisible Borders Trans-African Road Trip Project 2012.
 www.invisible-borders.com

Copyright: Emeka Okereke

Traversing From West to East

Veiled Stare, Central Market N'djamena by Emeka Okereke. IB 2011

Traveling has been a very important aspect of my existence. More so because it represents that phenomenon by which everything living is animated – Journey. To travel is to journey and in every journey there is a story. Stories take you on a journey from what or where you were to where and what you never imagined to be. There is a constant discovery of the limits and abilities of oneself. I say that life will be lifeless without the journey in and away from oneself.  To journey is to be the story while telling the story at the same time.

Recently, I travelled from Lagos to Addis Ababa in the company of a group of artists –photographers and writers from Nigeria, Ghana and Sudan. The whole idea was to travel by road under the framework of the Invisible Borders project. We ended up traveling by every means imaginable (except by train) as the adventure inevitably offered us more challenges and fun than we had envisaged while everything was still in Google Map.

We spent close to 45 days sharing the same means of transportation as well as accommodations, getting into each other’s skin and of course feeling the heat of never having a “personal time”.  As a backdrop, let me reiterate the whole idea of the Invisible Borders project. It was conceived in 2009 with the aim of uniting African artists mostly photographers but also writers and filmmakers towards addressing issues and limitation posed by the disjointedness of the continent as a result of the imposed borders. So every year, selected artists come together and embark on a journey by road, taking off from Lagos towards a specific destination in the continent. This has been consistently so since 2009, and so far there has been two editions. The journey that I am about to speak of is the third.

As in every other project especially the adventurous, there are numerous challenges, but the most significant of all in our case was the issue of security. This played a centre role in all decisions which led to this journey from the West to the East of Africa. We had to travel from Nigeria through Tchad, Sudan and eventually arriving in Ethiopia. These routes are conflict ridden from Nigeria to Sudan with Ethiopia being the most peaceful so far.

The challenge began with deliberations within the participants who were to make the journey.  A better part of these deliberations were based on deductions from a constant research in the media as well as accounts from some source regardless of if it were a personal account or hearsay. I personally, recall spending a great deal of time researching these conflicts.  Truth be told, it felt like all media agents, had already made up their mind on what and whatnot to report. As if there was some sort of consensus to say just one thing but in different words and different online platforms. It got me all the more excited, it was glaring and obvious that there is a story not being told, one that you will “never know if you never go”.  On countless accounts, I stumbled on websites of Countries like England, Canada, Italy etc., warning its citizens of the dangers of travelling to such places as Sudan and Chad and even giving them guidelines on what and whatnot to do in order to be safe. As an African, I reflected: what has this got to do with me? I am neither Canadian nor British; therefore these websites and “Safety Guidelines” are definitely not for me.

On this basis I made up my mind to embark on this journey contrary to all the hearsays even when they were “proven facts”.  There were also people – friends and well-meaning individuals who thought we had a death wish; that we were on some sort of suicide mission. But again I say as Africans about to embark on a journey by road in Africa through routes reported to be conflict laden, what other advantage do we have other than our African-ness? And if we do not put that advantage to work by trusting that we will find our way around this soil which gave our feet it’s shape, contours and textures will we not continue to be at the mercy of other people’s opinions? Then what right do we have to say we are Africans when we too look at our continent through external eyes?

When one considers that these media agents, these brokers of exchange between peoples of different realities, these middlemen who are propagators of everything negative about the continent as mostly telling the story as justified from an external point of view, then it becomes glaring that the story missing is that which is yet to be told by those who are internally involved with the continent. I do not think that my family and friends both Africans and non-Africans are wrong with their well-meaning advice, but it is also very important to understand from what mindset they are right. Could it be that they are projecting their own fears and not mine? I do believe that fear is a personal property and is only transferable as long as the recipient is vulnerable to it.

Of course this point of view is in no way an attempt to insinuate that there is no cause for alarm. Indeed there is, hence the need for precaution – no one wants to replace bravery with foolery. After all, as part of the precautions we decided to go by air from N’Djamena to Khartoum so as to avoid the Darfur region in Sudan of which we were not able to ascertain the level of the conflict in our favour. Arriving in Khartoum, or precisely just when the city came into view, none of us was in any way ready for what we were looking at from above  - that was the first practical realization of how messed-up we were in our heads with all the presumptions aided by the media.  Just that aerial experience, which at this point could even be termed peripheral, was staunch indication that we know nothing of Sudan despite our detailed research. We merely filled our heads with presumptions arising from the logical follow-up of a country whose conflict has been hyperbolized to leave anyone to be thinking anything good and positive of such a country or people.  This is also what most people in the Western countries do: they sit in their living rooms, legs crossed and read from a newspaper or watch from a television, they watch a programmed vision which at most is a twisted reality. Then they pride in being “up-to-date” with the “news” but in reality the news has been tailored to leave them stuck in the olds, in an outdated perception of Africa. Therefore, the so-called advancement “being-in-actuality” through the media is nothing but an illusion. Africans too are becoming like this especially when an incident that took place in Africa will first be reported in BBC, CCN or Aljazeera before it is disseminated by the local news agencies. 

On landing at the airport terminal, everything immediately became exceptional: the mere fact that it was one of the most sophisticated airports in Africa; that we were immediately able to connect to the internet and inform the world that “Invisible Borders team just arrived in Khartoum”; that there was a big signpost saying “Welcome to Khartoum… I hope you brought your Camera”; that just to be sure, we asked one of the immigration officers if we could begin to make pictures right from the airport and he said "yes!" were all too good to be true considering that we were in Sudan of all places!

Meeting with our Sudanese friends and colleagues was the first introduction to the hospitality and warm-heartedness of the Sudanese people living in Khartoum. Ala and Faisal proved to be efficient hosts in all sense of the word. Despite all of this, we still remained a bit skeptical until the last minute. Some of us even thought it was all orchestrated to feel and look so considering that Khartoum is the seat of Government, so they will try as much as possible to keep it “cool, calm and collected”. Compare that to N’Djamena, where the president has been in power for some twenty years. Yes, he is one president who has tried to dislodge the idea that all dictators are bad. But by merely arriving at the airport in N’djamena, one already begins to sense that there is something really wrong about this country. The airport is practically in shambles and one wonder how it could ever fit into the standards of the international aviation industry, how any country can allow its national carrier to land in such shambles.  Then the president’s abode is not too far from that airport. It stands well protected with torrents of guards at every corner of the building (And I remember asking myself “does he have a private airport in his mansion? Does he not take off from this same airport every time he wants to travel abroad?”). Then comes the only monument worthy of praise, Place de Nation standing prestigely in the city Centre – but of course right in front of the presidents Mansion. Most of the citizens believe the president has their interest at heart. But as a visitor, it is so obvious this is not so, that this people have been cajoled into believing so.  One of us pointed out that the many bottles of beers and numerous bars for which their nightlife is greatly defined by is some bribe from the government to the Chadians in N’djamena.  When one walks the streets of N’Djamena, there is always this unsettling feeling; people are a tad too alert for comfort. You sense that they are not free people; they are just walking the street looking so. At every hundred metres there is a policeman or a soldier.

As photographers, going out to the street everyday, it was a struggle because you have to first of all fight off this mental imprisonment, and then when one eventually summons effort to lift his or her camera, you were immediately confronted! From the taxi driver, to the child on the street, it was constant hostility to the cameras! But in attempt to transcend that Invisible border, our attempt to make photos despite the opposition came off as a protest, a manifestation against this notion of “imprisonment”. It became more so when we were arrested at the Central market and held for six hours, just for making a photo in the market.  The fact that we were stooped from making photos for at least six hours did not stop our work for one minute, for amongst us was Emmanuel Iduma the writer who though without a camera was able to “capture” the experience in writing. In the future, Invisible Borders will concretise this idea of its participants being an admix of photographers, writers and filmmakers because at this point it proved the only way our work could not have been interrupted.

So our skepticism in Khartoum was well founded considering that we were flying in from N’djamena! But the sense of relief at experiencing Khartoum was a highpoint in the entire journey. It was at this point that all the excitement that will take us to and fro the journey came rushing in! Making pictures in Khartoum was of a blessed experience. The people were constantly receptive of our presence and moreover curious as to our purpose of visit. We had authorizations to make photos from the office of the ministry of tourism, but we never had to use it except when a policeman thought we photographed him.  Besides making photos, we had the opportunity (and luxury when compared to Lagos, Abuja, Jos or N’djamena) to have a lengthy conversation with our subject and share the photos with them through the display screen of our Canon digital cameras. Some of us (the ladies) even got gifts form those they photographed and shared with. I personally speak of this second dimension to our photographic experience – this gift of sharing and conversing with our subject after the picture was made – as the most priceless of all experiences of this journey. We would go on to experience more of this as we traveled from Sudan to Ethiopia. 

Mr. President, Military Cantonment N'djamena-Chad by Emeka Okereke

If I should then make a sub-recap of our experience at this point of reflection, I would say that contrary to popular opinion, we had the best time and liberty both in working and networking as we traveled from Sudan to Ethiopia, than we did traveling from Nigeria to Chad.

In Nigeria, the areas of conflict were mostly Jos in Plateau state and Maiduguri in Bornu state. The later happens to be the headquarters of Boko Haram as well as a site for some of their horrendous attacks on innocent lives, while the former is the battleground between Moslems of the Northern Nigeria and Christians of the Eastern region.  Abuja, the capital of Nigeria seems to be the laboratory for the experiments by Boko Haram and some people who lived there have been made the specimen.

In our chosen route, we had to drive through the heart of these cities, while spending nights in some of them.  In driving across Maiduguri, the city was like a collage of battlefield and residential town.  Soldiers were everywhere with sandbags at every corner of the city.  These soldiers were there to ensure peace. On our way back, we had to drive past Maiduguri by night! I was really impressed with the dedication of these soldiers. All night they stood in watch at practically every 500 metres, in the cold from the desert wind, sometimes sitting around a coal fire to keep warm.  Because of them, it was possible for us to drive through Maiduguri to Jos at 1 am in the morning.  Besides, they were nice and courteous, as long as we were cooperative. When I saw them standing in the road, in the dead of the night with nothing but dark forest to remind them of their location, I was forced to ponder on what would make the soldier chose a job like this, and why he was dedicated to it. Does he really believe in serving Nigeria and her citizen as his ideal quest, or is he just doing this for lack of something better?  It would indeed be more noble and satisfying if the former was the answer, but something tells me it is more of the latter because truly Nigeria and the way she is run by the elites leaves one with little or no cause to believe in nationhood.

As we journeyed across countries cities and tribes from West to East, we experience differences which were only highlighted by adopted cultures and mentality, but when it comes to indigenous ways of being, there is this feeling of oneness, this understanding that exist even when there is no understanding. Even when regarded as peoples of different tribes and languages – Ethiopia feels like Sudan, just like it could feel like Tchad or Nigeria, not of course in an absolute sense, but more by basic modes of existence and behavior. Often times, we hear one of the participants exclaim: “this could be anywhere in Nigeria!” There is that thing about the people of Africa, their modes of living, reasoning, “being” that makes Africa feel like one gigantic country but with countless tribes.  At this juncture, I am propelled to contemplate the existence of national borders; its relevance or better put, its detriments. Especially when we know how they came to be in the first place, that it was a result of nothing but a gluttonous scramble for the continent. Therefore should we allow these borders determine our relationship with each other since it has already outlived its usefulness?  Of course I am not proposing that the borders be physically eradicated but I believe we could reduce its importance to mere formalities while we continue our lives and relationships unhindered by it. For I agree with His Excellency, Ambassador Paul Lolo when he affirmed that it is a glaring fact that Africa is better off united than divided.

These borders pose unnecessary bottlenecks, but more so because the leaders of our respective countries – our fathers in whose sense of judgment and conscience lies the future of the toddlers of today and those unborn – have chosen to make this of secondary importance. But if only we can understand the pricelessness of knowledge especially in the wake of globalization, then we will immediately realize that there is something priceless lying on the other side of the walls which we have erected for ourselves for whatever reason, be it for protection or in a bid to assert our identity. And it is in our best interest that we explore what lies on the other side. True human development can never be achieved in isolation, more so when this isolation is from immediate neighbours.

In nowhere was the essence of such concept as Trans-African exchange felt than in Addis Ababa, which also happens to be the headquarters of the Africa Union and has been so since the time of OAU (Organisation of Africa Unity). Coupled with the history of Ethiopia as the only non-colonised country in Africa, therefore equipped with a strong sense of African-ness, one might be pushed to assume that they would be experts on matters that relates to Trans-African exchanges. But it is indeed the contrary. In as much as they are very hospitable and of calm temperament, their sense of independence has naturally lead to some sought of isolation from the rest of the continent – that kind of isolation that one can readily experience in places like Sao Tome. 

Therefore while we were in Ethiopia, we realized that our presence was not of a common place as one might be tempted to think, but something that the Ethiopians were just beginning to open themselves to, namely: that hunger to share and exchange with people from other parts of the continent. This hunger coming from the Ethiopians was what made our visit more significant than we had ever imagined. It was readily felt in all nooks and cranny, from the photographers who worked with us to the journalists who reported the project. They were practically confessing “ this project aimed at the integration of Africa is the first of its kind for us”.  Not that these ideas have not been over-flogged on various platforms both inside and outside the continent, but to them it was the first time they experienced it is such practical and tangible form as traveling by road from the West to East of Africa just to prove a point on Africa Unity.

Besides Aida Muluneh, the director of the Museum of Modern Arts Addis Ababa, who played the host for the project and  grand presentation, there was also the Ambassador of Nigeria to Ethiopia, His Excellency Paul Lolo whose high regard for the project was a staunch prove of the point made above. I will also mention the enthusiasm with which the former Ethiopian Minister of tourism Mr. Ato Hapte Sellasie received us and the project; but also the crowd that showed up for the presentation at the Museum. 

The whole idea of the 2011 road trip was to make Addis Ababa the apex of the journey. But little did we know that, this would come to be as a natural consequence and not as a premeditated strategy of the project.

Ethiopia may have been the headquarters of OAU since 1963 and that of AU since 2002, but it was glaring that the majority of Ethiopians were yet to understand what that really implies. OAU and AU have only been evident behind close doors of Conference structures and occasionally jam-packed hotels as a result of visiting political delegates, but it has never penetrated the sensibilities of the average Ethiopian.  It is only beginning now, through practical and tangible projects such as the Invisible Borders Trans-African Photography project and the Addis Ababa Photo Festival . Projects heralded by ordinary citizens of Africa who believe that by using themselves as the proverbial guinea pig, others of their generation and reality might be inspired to walk the walk towards Africa Unity.

The Cunningham Street Meeting, Piassa- Addis Ababa by Emeka Okereke

It will be pretentious to insist that a bunch of artists traveling every year by road will bring about the big change so needed as urgent as things are.  But we set out on this journey bearing in mind that our aim is to inspire others of our generation and predicaments to join the cause.  To adopt the words of Kemi Akin-Nibosun, one of the participants of the 2011 edition: “let us be the catalyst and let Africa be our canvas” for which we paint the story that will eventually become our history. To take that further, I will add: “let us use the space and let the space use us”.  In this light we are convinced that the Invisible Borders project and the concept it propagates is a landmark by which we can behold that long-awaited era of a new Africa free from self-destruction and destruction  enforced by external entities.

In all the countries visited, there is a common denominator: the zeal and passion of this generation to join minds together in working for the benefit of all in the continent. We sense this in form of a defiant energy – that which refuses to be bridled by existing norms. It is true that with the state of things in Africa one can only speak of this energy as existing in only a few Africans when compared to the entire population. But despite that, it testifies of a window towards a new era. We should capitalize on this. We must capitalize on this if history will not repeat itself for the umpteenth time! 

When I say this, I do not in anyway place our ability to achieve this in the hands of our respective governments. No, gone are the days when we offer ourselves as humble subjects to our governments only to be short-changed over and over again. No, our government will listen to us, not by us screaming at them, but through our actions they will be inspired to right their wrongs for it will be glaring that they will become redundant if they do not join this sweeping energy. We will continue to demand that they live up to expectations, but we will not do that with hands crossed and waiting for them. They need to be inspired by us. We are calling on our prodigal fathers to answer to that responsibility so that the nobility that once belonged to fatherhood might be restored.  

We will not stop in our quest to build a Trans-African Africa. It is not for now, it is for when now will become  then.

Transcending "Africa"

Beautiful Obstacle by Emeka Okereke. IB 2011 (Lagos - Addis Ababa)

In several terms, Africa has been bombarded with various nomenclatures in times past in efforts to define and sometimes cup its complexness. With vast stretches of lands, landscapes and intricate networks of people, making up one-sixth of the world’s population, that are constantly evolving, it is indeed understandable that it makes for concision to coin singular terms in order to abbreviate this ever dynamic continent and all that comes with it.

Such terms as Pan-Africanism—which was a derivative of the much-coveted Afrocentrism and a product of the European slave trade—had, for a long time, paraded the consciousness towards African unity or more expansively, Afro-unity. Black consciousness, whose most loquacious proponent was the South African activist Steve Biko brewed by the events of apartheid era, is another which tends to align with the same aim—all geared towards moving the black race and continent towards a new identity unbridled by the straps of Western interventions. Lately, the Cameroonian philosopher Achille Mbebe, in an attempt to offer an extension to these thought processes unravelled new perspectives through Afropolitanism.

One thing central to these terms as they evolve is that they seem to be hinting at the values of exchange between Africa (both as a race and a continent) and the West (more as an ideology than a race). At first it was in staunch opposition to Western ideologies and a retracing of roots within the continent, followed by a call for a conscious acceptance of the values embedded in these roots as legitimate rather than them being a sub-civilisation. Most recently it hovers somewhere between taking those values as the fundamental kernel, without any need for justification or validation while reaching out to other cultures. Now, Wole Soyinka’s “A tiger does not proclaim his tigritude” could well read, “A tiger does not need to proclaim his tigritude to dine with a wolf.”

This gradually points to the fact that gone are the days when ignorance is detrimental only to the ignored. Like a boomerang, it is bound to alienate those who do not strive to become a part of the knowledge pond in which every race in the world strives to bathe mutually, without necessarily proclaiming their respective tigritude. This is the outgrowth of the increasing interconnectivity of a global world. Beyond that, it also signifies that Africa or African or Black- whoever of today will be very difficult, if not impossible, to summarise with any pre-saved template of a definition of Africa, especially not a template synonymous with external perspectives. This holds true even for those who live in the continent and have never set foot outside it—those purported to be “very African”.

In the art sector, which I would like to speak about specifically, it is as if one is stuck in time with all the talk of “African art.” The term African art or African artist, as it is used today whether connoting art or artists from the continent, is now in a state of dormancy with a lack of movement or life, as if stale. More so because it is like a box, romantically decorated from the outside, with which we strive to contain many variables in constant motion that seek to break out from their confinement. Perhaps it would have been appropriate to talk of Africa a century or even decades ago with the same set values that we tend to define it now, but can we also talk about this “Africa” with all the events recorded in the belly of its history without in fact projecting the past verbatim to the present? Should the definition of Africa not take into consideration the transient forms by which its core manifests today?

In a conversation with the Berlin-based, Cameroonian curator Bonaventure Soh Bejeng Ndikung, he made a point that the term “African artist” is still valid in every sense and is not in itself perishable. He continued that one must not reject the appropriateness of the term for the sake of a few (whose pseudo- or non-knowledge of Africa offers only a nose view). While I agree with this notion, I believe that more vigor and activity has to be injected into the term not by a redefinition, but by a re-evaluation. The Africa of today is constantly undergoing change, and not just changing but reaching beyond limits set by pre-saved definitions. It is indeed in the continent’s nature and that of its people to defile statistics and pole projections. A city like Lagos with its 17 million inhabitants is among one of the many fitting examples of such transcendence, but also Congo’s Kinshasa, Cairo, and even Sudan as a Nation State. This characteristic of “going beyond” the preordained is as a result of unplanned pressures and tensions from all angles on the quest for survival and sustenance. They are equally met with unplanned solutions, which invariably escape the charts of analysts.

Therefore, rather than talk of the African artist, I propose that we talk about the Trans-African artist. The prefix Trans- by definition connotes “going beyond”, “transcending,” and in some cases implies a thorough change. It suggests dynamism and vigour—that from which something unpredictable emanates. It equally implies crossing back and forth, like in an exchange, and wherever there is exchange, a boundary is traversed into unfamiliar spheres where another dimension takes on existence. Although this term has been used mostly in relation to economic factors as it pertains to particular geographic structures such as in the case of the Trans-African Highways—roads constructed across the continent by the African Union in collaboration with The Africa Development Bank aimed at promoting trade in the view that it will consequentially alleviate poverty, it could equally apply as a metaphor for the method of artistic exchange, or any other exchange for that matter, in Africa today.

It is important to lay emphasis on this idea of exchange as a distinctive quality of Trans-Africanism. Here I want to mention that the Trans-African Highway, which, for the sake of analysis, we could adopt as a physical symbol of exchange, was never promoted during the colonial plague. It was far more advantageous to have an Africa that the colonizers could define according to their gains, and it is no new knowledge that any chance at African unity or even exchange was greatly shattered during the power ping-pong played during those decades. Therefore, as we propose to carry this term over to the arts, one begins to see that is implies building artistic highways, bridges, and links with one another. It implies an Africa unhindered by any form of border or location, whether physically, in thoughts or in ideas of creative processes. As Achille Mbembe duly noted:

These states and borders were mere fabrications, there is really in the strictest sense nothing in them that would have us exalt them... it is imperative, therefore, to do something different if we want to breathe life back into Africa and in so doing revive the possibilities of the survival of art, philosophy, and aesthetics that will surely contribute something new to the world in general.¹

The Trans-African artist is the artist whose sensibilities transcends or goes beyond the pre-saved definitions of what constitutes art from Africa. They draw inspiration from exchange between peoples of diverse tribes and countries within the continent without having to contest, compare, or seek validation for these sensibilities. They do not seek a definition of Africa in their African-ness because Africa is what they make of it and not the other way round. Trans-Africanism is the ability to transform African-ness into fluid forms that need not be defined. It is not an outside covering, but an inside mechanism of networks and exchanges. Therefore gone are the days of long pens writing about Africa from New York and Paris without having ever set foot on the continent—no, boots must get dirty first. There is no African art if it all depends on the whims, taste, and even the political knowledge of a curator or collector in Paris who neither understands nor partakes in the reality in which the artists create these works, whether she or he is French or French-Senegalese.

The Invisible Borders Trans-African Photography Initiative takes its cue from this re-evaluation. It is a project whose essence lies in promoting exchange and building links between artists and artistic processes within the continent and beyond. It is dedicated to nurturing photographers, writers, and filmmakers with a consciousness towards the dividends of exchange and networking within diverse cultures and people. This concept only takes the African continent as a departure point, but is not in any way limited to it. For those in the diaspora it calls for a rejection of brain-drain and blind integration as a dangerous disease but, better still, embraces the schizophrenic nature of multi-experiences as an advantage in the human advancement. This relives the deduction made by Mozambican writer Mia Couto:

The ambivalence of African intellectuals, politicians, and artists must be viewed as something positive…It is a foundation that may well contribute to the invention of an identity conceivable only in a dynamic and changing manner. Being inside and outside as well is an advantage in a world whose borders are eroding. ²

The concept of Trans-Africanism attests to the non-linearity of the human experience and the elasticity of human capabilities. Instead of reinforcing borders through clinging to an identity for fear of losing oneself, we ought to see ourselves as work in progress, constantly in motion and activity, and finding ourselves in each other’s identity, a communal identity so to speak. In as much as my view is inclusive of all humans and all races, I strongly stand by the fact that it falls on Africans (artists or not) to encourage this exchange greatly amongst themselves in order to continuously consolidate that which constitutes the core values, for charity which begins at home will never leave the stomach foodless while parading its goodwill abroad.

There are many projects operating in/from Africa and Europe that are mostly founded by Africans whose activities echo the attributes of Trans-Africanism. A few of them include: the Pan-African Circle of Artists (PACA), Nigeria; Art Bakery, Cameroon; Art Moves Africa, Belgium; Mobility Hub Africa, Belgium; Creative Africa Network; Appartement 22, Morocco; Doula Art, Cameroon; Centre for Contemporary Arts Lagos, Nigeria; The Addis Foto Festival, Ethiopia; Kuona Trust, Kenya; as well as artist-led projects such as “Do We Need Cola Cola To Dance?” by dancer and choreographer Qudus Onikeku. These endeavours are pointers towards a new era in Africa’s art scene where the parameters of artistic processes are recorded and evaluated by activities from within the continent rather than from lofty heights of external intellectual misappropriation. And despite the odds against the survival of an independently flourishing art industry, these artists and art operators keep up the good work. 

Footnote:

1. Achille Mbembe, "Afropolitanisme", Le Messager, Decembre 2005

2. Mia Couto, "Africanidades: Las identidades huidizas", in Emergency, coord. Alfredo Jaar (Leon MUSAC/Actar 2005)

Article first Published by: 

1. The New Museum, New York in the exhibition Catalogue: The Ungovernables, Feb. 2012 

2. Savvy Art Contemporary Art Journal (Berlin) 3rd Edition

Sao Tome: Island of Greens and Decay

Distant Decay (from the Series: "Sao Tome"). Sao Tome, 2011. By Emeka Okereke 

Sao Tomé. Until only a few days ago this Island has been somewhat of a miniscule dot on the map of my consciousness. I have heard of it, even managed to spot it in the map a few times, but I usually gloss over it with enough interest accorded to an obviously not interesting subject. Today, I am here. Invited by the biennale of Sao Tomé and Principle. A biennale initiated by the artist, João Carlos Silva and curated by Adeleide Ginga.

I am self-obliged to walk the streets, discover its contours and create work out of the interaction between this space and people. As always the case, in the first two days, I was detached, that feeling of not knowing what to make of this new location. But as time went on, I began to acclimatize with the place as my eye guided my mind, uncovering layers over layers of reality embedded within this wild vegetative Island.

It is a small Island with only 180,000 people. Coming from Lagos where this figure can barely match the population of an average street, it felt as if I was on “pause” – everything moving slowly and forcing me in that pace. It is an island where nature dominates. Everything man-made seems to be engulfed by the freshness of nature. There are more trees and forests than people and due to this, the people have a unique relationship with nature. Food is abundant because the land and plants are far from barren. All year round the trees produce all kinds of fruits. It is an Island of immense greens. Where only the thought of the concept of selling “bio” foods at acutely exorbitant prices becomes immediately ridiculous.  Every tree churns out fruits by number, plantains, bananas, Guava, Cocoa, Cocoa nuts, Palm nuts, avocado, tomatoes, pepper, cassava, potatoes, mangoes, oranges, grapes and much more.

I was told that Cocoa used to be the main export but today this has shifted to the traditional herbal medicine from roots and plants.

The feeling that one gets from this place is that the Island sustains its people and will continue to do so as long as there is sunshine and rain (the later being too frequent that an umbrella is a more valuable asset than a pair of shoes). In the way of material acquisition, we do not see much. The cityscape is plagued with old dilapidated building of obviously Portuguese architecture. One could tell that much has not been done in terms of an independent advancement since its independence from Portugal in 1975. 

The buildings are chipping away with every passage of time, with no scheme towards preservation talk more of restoration – they just stand there obtrusively like phantoms of a colonial past, creating a picture of people meandering through “beautiful” shacks and rubbles.

But all of this is perfectly cocooned every inch of the way, by the freshness and liveliness of the many plants and trees and no matter where one stands, a glance to a far horizon reveals sea, a perfect reminder that here, one is circumvented by the Atlantic.

The images I made during the few days I spent in this Island, is an attempt to seize the mood of this place, and how it conveyed to me a certain form of serenity and confidence in just being in tune with nature.

To see images from this project click here