Dreams are Alive - From the Diary of a Border-Being

Rush Hour Paris #paris #parisien #metro #mornings #borderbeing (from instagram series) © Emeka Okereke

For the past two weeks I have had an impossible itinerary (a word I have used a tad too often lately). I have been criss-crossing continents and cities to an extent that I am oblivious to the components and intricacies of space and time. Now I am in Paris. I always think of Paris in a love-hate manner, never conclusive of  what I make of the city. At most, I am constantly aware of my affection for this city. It was the first city I visited and lived in when I came to Europe. It formed my first impressions of Europe, of the West, of the white race. And if one would go by the adage that “First impressions matter most”, then one might as well summarise any expression of disdain or scepticism for this city as a mere secret admiration. But “matters most” does not necessarily imply “loving most". I would say that Paris was where my consciousness and insecurities of being regarded as the “other” became tangible and for that it will always remain the city that matters most. 

So whenever I am in Paris, it feels like a second skin, as if I have been walking the streets all my life, riding the underground for eternity. The smell in the air is distinct and outrightly familiar. My French immediately jumps out of the box of my vocabularies unannounced and no matter how long since I last spoke French, it comes all rushing back with no décalage between thoughts and words.

I wonder if I would love to live in the city again or maybe it holds something more precious than the practicality of being grounded in a particular place. Perhaps it embodies an experience I would rather associate with in an abstract manner than through the day-to-day routines of living in a place. This same reason makes it ever more sublime when I connect with friends and colleagues with whom I shared impacting times. For me meeting them again is usually more than what it implies. It carries within it that tenderness and sensitivity tied to the experiences of having lived in Paris. I do not think I could say the same for any other city - not even Lagos. If I should digress a bit to reflect on Lagos:  Lagos is a place like no other in the sense that it renders the feeling of being at home. It is definite in its function. I do not for once doubt my place in it, no matter the circumstance. I feel grounded in it, even if my stay was only fleeting (which is usually the case). This tendency towards permanence brings about the non-relativity of space and time as regards to my affinity with Lagos. It does not matter how much or little I spend there, this sense of permanence grounds me.

I am tempted to bring Amsterdam into the stream of comparable cities. Amsterdam is another city where I have tangible ties, in straight terms, a family. But there is something about the city that constantly purges me of all connectivity to it. I have many times tried to understand this, and the furthest I have been to conclusion is that I find it difficult to fit into a place where there are too many lines intended only to put people in line. I strongly believe that it is against free will. In everything, there are usually thin lines between opposites and this thin line is where the ingenuity of a person’s freedom ought to flourish. It is in negotiating these thin lines in order to find balance and harmony within a given context that the creativity of spirit is unleashed.  When there is a desperate struggle to make this thin line stark, bold and literally discernible by common sense usually based on economic undertones, then it is a recipe for the bondage of the soul. When everything is ordered to the letter, what then is left to intuition? It might seem in the surface that all is well and smooth, living a safe life. But is “safety” not as indulging as “fear”? This incompatibility with synthesised mode of existence and the constant search for the true purpose of being is what leaves me in a perpetual state disconnection with Amsterdam. However my only anchor becomes my family, the only thing I cannot close my ears and wish away.

Back to Paris. I am now at St. Lazare station, a connection point for so many metro lines and suburban trains and currently a huge shopping mall project resembling that of Les Halles in the centre of Paris is on the way, what I found interesting is how the on-going construction has forced the people to navigate the spaces differently from how
I have always known it, there is a bit of an “incoherence” in movement and more likelihood of intersections, bumping into things and each other - at least if only it could lead people to look around rather than look ahead as they walk.

 I have come down to meet Qudus Onikeku, the Nigerian contemporary dancer, and a very good friend. My years in paris were scattered with impressive moments shared with this young man. He comes with a defiant energy, always at a boiling point. Over the years, as he matured, he learnt how to choreograph this energy to a successful end. Did I mention he is a choreographer of contemporary dance? As is always the case, whenever we meet, things happen. Dreams begin to hover around in the air, and soon enough they become tangible. Today was no different. There we were sitting at one of the two Starbucks coffee located in St. Lazare. We were upstairs and we took our position in such a way that our view became a constantly moving parisian traffic made up of people and cars intersecting at zebra crossings. We talked about everything, of course beginning with our views and philosophies. He talked about his recent inclinations which is the Afroparisian Network - an utopia of a project that renders a big picture of injecting new life into the the dynamism of arts and culture in France and beyond through the proactivity of black culture.

Somewhere during our conversation, we  touched upon pre-colonial values. Lately, I have been occupied with the question of pre-colonial knowledge, not as a nostalgia into a consciousness that was never lived, but rather in order to understand and therefore articulate a direction towards this ever sprawling energy hovering around in continental and Diasporan Africa. we all know by now that something is brewing within the black race and culture. It is obvious that what has come to stay has been unprecedented. what seems uncertain and a great deal fuzzy is the direction towards a constructive purpose. Energy is energy, and like a double-edged sword has the tendencies to strike down its bearer. It is also transient, that is to say it moves on or moves away when not put to use. Therefore the urgency at hand leans heavily on reflections as regards what direction to put this energy to use in such away that through black culture a new Utopia can be added to the attributes of universality while proposing a route to the freedom and thorough independence of the black race. In the long wrong all race will be independent of the other, and if one race should be dependent on the other, then it will be done independently.

Qudus narrated a brief epiphany he experienced just a few days ago when he attended a friend’s wedding in Toulouse. This friend is from a traditional french Family and the marriage rites took place in a Catholic church with all the rites performed to the fullest from the church to the after wedding ceremony. Qudus said he just realised that this feels familiar to him. It is the same weight, importance and symbolism given to marriage in the Yoruba culture, the only difference is the most obvious which is that they were invoking traditional french culture of sharing and humanity but also that of the Catholic - something that has become rare in any setting in a place like Paris.

I have decided to use Qudus’ experience as if it were mine because it greatly resonated with my intuition about this matter. So many times I too, have experienced this sought of differences between the provinces and cities especially but not limited to the European context.

What does this say to us Africans whose first hand experience of Europe is usually the big cities where all human values have receded to be replaced by a quest for survival and haste towards the grave as an end?

The Europeans we find in most European cities are those who by the virtue of a realignment of their values towards other ends, have moved away from the traditional culture of their people that once embodied the humanity of a given people. They throw away the deficiencies of these traditions without retaining its sublime attributes. They threw away religion along with the possibility of spirituality that could have been found therein. And over time, things become more and more distorted especially when economic deficiencies are answered with the gluttony of consumerism.

This is to  say one thing, if we Africans must contribute anything tangible, we must come to the basic level of objectivity and for us to do that, it is important we are grounded in our culture, drawing from the implications and symbols of precolonial knowledge and philosophies because more often than not this knowledge attests to a universality that has been greatly down-trodden if not completely lost elsewhere in other cultures, especially in the cultures of the so-called developed world. Furthermore we would be operating from a point of weak foothold if we do not ground ourselves in the meanings and symbols of our precolonial knowledge. It is only when we return many steps backward can we eventually retrace it with a conscious understanding of how we got here.

The nuances in the relationship between the white and black race are too many and too interwoven to be dismissed solely as the product of man’s wickedness to man. I believe that there  was something of universality lost to humanity, and it now falls on our shoulders to find that. How or what involved the atrocities of this loss of universality to humanity is something we can continuously debate until we are at our wit’s end, but it will never move us any inch forward if it is not done for the purpose of rediscovering lost values by taking an objective inventory of events. All nostalgia to the past aimed solely at pointing fingers will yield only barren results.

I will conclude by saying that the average African should see a rediscovery of pre-colonial knowledge as a necessary requirement for the journey towards free will, which when attained will propose a new way of being not just for the black race, but for the world at large. It will not seek to impose itself nor validate its position, it will simply pull all that is human together, in unity and fruitful exchange, and by the same nature is reinforced. 

From Accra With Love (Part 1)

Ordeal of a Wanderer | Indecisive Moments | James Town, Accra 2013

It suffices to say that i am in Accra as I write. Yesterday we were out to Tawala beach where we convened as part of the IB Accra Project workshop. The idea is to have a sort of laid back afternoon reading and discussion around the works of some important thinkers and contributors to the African Critical Theory. We did - we read the likes of Reiland Rabaka, Mia Couto, Bonaventure Ndikung, and Emeka Okereke.

We opened up on the topic of what is African? We deliberated on various point of views as to what Africa is, and what makes us Africans. Indeed, it was an interesting conversation session. I could invariably term it a feedback session for myself. It was rewarding to hear a few people caught within this African reality talk about how they perceive themselves in it. Take for example, Samuel Kolawole talked about finding the human essence rather than what labels we give to ourselves, be it African or whatever. Therefore to him Africa is a term still unresolved and to an extent, irrelevant in relation to his human essence. As he spoke, I reflected thus: but what are the constituents of this human essence? And what propagates these constituents? 

As I quietly listened to the participants share there various views on the matter, my thoughts took various twists and turns. I began to make a difference between Africa as a place, a group of people or cultures, and Africa as a deliberate philosophical construct. Talking about the later, it is true that the attempt to define Africa has in no way affected the former, or change it's meaning that much (No amount of definition, redefinition or reposition could displace Africa from its location, or negate already confirmed traditional customs). But what this attempt at definition has succeeded in doing is that it created a perception by which everything from this location, this group of people this string of cultures, is seen - a box of stereotypical partitioning so to speak. And over the years, indeed centuries, this perception have been deliberately nurtured, invested upon by other groups of people who needed this perception as to be at advantage in detriment of the perceived. 

Therefore, today when we assert that we do want to take part in "telling the story of Africa", What this invokes is that we want to become stakeholders in creating, nurturing and investing in the manner by which we are seen and perceived by all peoples of this world. It is of secondary preference what we are called, whether African, Nigerians or People of the Bantu tribe, what we ought to focus on is the implication of what we are called, what this means when called thus. This emphasis on a "deliberate construction of perception" is very crucial because up until now people of African origin have had little or no chance in making their perception of themselves the yardstick for how they are seen, positioned or referred to, especially within a context void of self-defence and apologetic validation. 

Talking about the human essence, can we have a human essence, if we do not first embark on a deliberate  deconstruction of those perceptions which have interwoven over the years to become the primary constituents of our "opportunities and struggles"? Can one talk of a real discovery of the human essence within the African reality without endeavours at making that mountainous step towards undermining the skilfully woven perception, indeed doing away with the glass prism which over the years, have distorted the view of a particular kind of  place, people, and culture?  Furthermore should this not lead to our becoming lead players in the construction of a self-conscious perception which on the long run would culminate in the longed-for identity?

The question then is: How do we go about this?

Reflections on "Return to N'djamena"

Emeka Okereke with photographers of Photo Cam Tchad collective, during the workshop session in N'djamena. IB exhibition at Institut Français Tchad. Photo by Robin Riskin. IB 2013

We have just returned from N'djamena after a very intense but super exciting 12 days. As some of you may have seen from all the postings on Facebook, the project was exciting and very well received by the N'Djamena public.

The public engaged with the images displayed in a profound and unpretentious manner. They equally identified very much with the concept of Invisible Borders. What was intriguing (I believe, to them) was the fact that the exhibition featured mostly images from N'Djamena, but also Khartoum, Addis Ababa and a bit of Lagos and Abuja. From the feedback we picked up, the audience were able to situate themselves within the reality portrayed by the images. They identified familiar places, but were also able to project their imagination beyond as a result of the "openness" of the images and their tendency to depict occurrences in the public spaces of African cities. The N’Djamena audience was able to identify with the familiarity of places; people and structures proffered by the images, while at the same time relished the unorthodox gaze suggested by the works.

This exhibition in N'djamena afforded us the opportunity to learn a thing or two about interacting with the public within a specific context. It revealed to us the importance of "returning" to places, the city and people where the actual works were created during the past road trips. The people get to interact and connect with the work on a much more intimate and tactile level. Our preoccupation since the last four years is to understand and arrive at a method of using art as a tangible means of social intervention.

In Tchad we had a glimpse of that possibility: The Invisible Borders Road trip will be loosing a limb if at the end of it all, we do not get to show those work in the context they were made. In as much as it is very important to reach the rest of the world through exhibitions in far-flung places and online interactions, the indispensability of a return to places travelled cannot be over emphasized. This is the so-called building of Networks. It is even more so when the exhibition comes two years or more after the road trip. This interval in time leaves room for memory to play its role. The immediacy of the road trip finds its completeness in the return that should incorporate exhibitions, workshops, and other activities aimed at engaging the public using the works created in the past as a tangible reference. With such a pattern, it wont be too long before the results of such strategic knitting of exchanges becomes significant and a force to reckon with through out the continent.

During these 12 days, we had a workshop with the budding Tchadian photography collective known as Photo Cam Tchad. These photographers are in the process of coming into "being" but they had already set out on a good foot under the supervision of Abdoulaye Barry, a more established Tchadian photographer who has already instilled in them the ethics of specificity and categorizations into themes and body of work. This quality gave their endeavours a structure that enabled the audience understands their intentions where the quality of the images failed to do so.

The parent theme for the workshop was Urban Mutation, an attempt by photographers to document the transformation and resulting evolution of the city of N'djamena - a phenomenon that is in perpetual   replication across major cities in Africa. The artists see a duty in documenting this volatile process of change taking place in the city, a rapid progress to what would be the N'djamena of tomorrow.

Before the arrival of Invisible Borders, the collective had already began working on this parent theme, taking N'Djamena one district after the other. Each person has his or her own theme and subject they worked on. During the workshop, which lasted for about 8 days, we deliberated on the implications and significance of imagery in the African context: Photographers are writers of history and memory. On the other hand, with the advent of digital photography, we see a tremendous increase in the number of commercial photographers, and a rapid decline in photographers using photography as an art form and social engagement.

This of course can be attributed to the desperate need for survival and the uncertainties of making a living out of being an artist/activist. But, when this acute sense of survival is removed from the equation, what is left is the heavy truth that, history is likely to repeat itself again - a history of "Africa with no history" - if agents of imagery (and this extends beyond photography – I will add writing, film making, performance etc.), do not recognize and indeed put to use this power to preserve our histories through a tactile engagement and a subsequent reflections about the happenings of today.

I am of the opinion that, for Africa to see any real progress, the people must be sensitized and educated. The real invention then lies on what form and content constitute this sensitization and education – sensitisation and education towards what? The answer I believe is "towards self-reflection". Towards asking questions, profound questions about what constitute the occurrences within one's immediate environment. This self-reflection will induce as sense of worth in oneself, which will invariably materialize on the immediate environment as well as the one's neighbour.

The spaces and occurrences (the coincidence of spatial arrangement) depicted by photographers are only a materialization of the inward state-of-being of those therein. I am of the notion that every object, every line, every crack on the wall, and every footstep is a photographical depiction of who we are. In this sense, it is no coincidence, but choreography of a collective be-ing. In the same light, the photo object becomes not just a frame on the wall, but a landmark for journeys through our existence and those of others - more so when the photographs are viewed in retrospect, when it has accumulated debris of time's content.

As we use the space, and allow ourselves be nourished (or repulsed) by its ambience, we take part in a collective performance of designing that space. Everyone and everything related to that space take part in this perpetual art of spatial design, and hence the one with camera, a pen, or just his/her body.

Therefore social intervention through photography and other equally strong forms of artistic expression is not as abstract as it may sound, especially when weighed with the same scale as valuable contributions towards the progress of the society and the improvement of the standards of life of all peoples. All life is first conjured in the workspace of the mind (at least as far as humans are concerned), and every endeavour that aims at affecting mind-space, is not only essential, but inevitable in the rehabilitation of our already misguided sense of purposefulness and harmony.

Discussing Aesthetics in The Trans-African Project. From the Diary of a Border-Being

Leaving the Container | Quadritychs | Accra Ghana, 2012 | Emeka Okereke

Reality can be synthesized

I am sitting in a moderately furnished apartment, in the living room precisely. There is a flower vase right before me, on top of my desk – with flowers, yes. Only that these flowers are synthetic and not the real thing. It got me reflecting…

The extent to which reality could easily be synthesized in a bid to approach or reproach its inherent substance…

For more than 20 days, I have been on the road, together with eight other participants; we are artists – photographers, writers, filmmakers and even one who simply calls himself a visual artist.  The project is called Invisible Borders, and as the name seems to imply, it is all about rendering the Visible Borders invisible, flattening it, blurring it, but in actuality, the experiences gathered after three years and three editions of the trip, suggests that the name of the project could be seen at most as encompassing different layers and aspects, or at worst, a very vague term.

Here we are travelling through borders by road from one African country to the other, starting from Lagos. We are stuck in our van, with our van, a box in every sense of the word. A box that seems pleasant to be in for the first-timers of the trip especially during the first few days but becomes something to escape from towards the middle and end of the trip, a van which dangles between extreme poles of being an asset and yet a massive liability.

I am forced to evaluate our position in all of this especially, when seen in the context that social-political membranes could be pierced through artistic interventions. In order words, art can become a tangible social intervention.

That brings me back to the flower vase standing before me now. And even though this vase is made of real glass, it carries a synthetic flower, a replica that by the intention of whoever placed it here should offer the same beauty, pleasure or whatever as the real flower. Well, perhaps it could, or at most suggest it. It of course can never be mistaken for the real thing, but its performative value can never be neglected either. It is an intervention in reality that could spark an argument, or sensitize one to a certain consciousness. This flower might not offer me the beauty of a real flower, but it might propel me to want to want to know the real flower, in this case, it (the flower) is not as synthetic as it comes off, especially by the virtue its metaphorical values.

I like to see things this way, the non-materiality of reality. The real is not in the substance but in the energy, which assembles the substances into existence. To that effect, our travel across border is beyond the physical act, no matter how sensational an adventure can sound or be. What strikes as most impressionable is the performative value of this journey. We are a fiction, in other people’s reality. No matter what we do, we will always be a pretense of that reality when seen from the point of view of those whose everyday existence we interfere or intersect with. But have we not by this intersection created a version of reality both for ourselves and for the others, a sort of a third dimension but something much more remarkable to both parties respectively?

Public Space, more of an intricate network

I am of the strong opinion that art practices and process should aim to reach out to the ‘everyday person’ and most importantly in the public space. But as we travel, I am compelled to reflect on what public space means. It is not so much the physical space as it is the social space of the people who occupy that physical space. Indeed if we should refer to the immateriality of reality, then it suffices to say that the physical space in itself is a derivative of the intricate networks of events, perception, personalities embodied by the people within the space – this is the real Public Space and every work that intends to exist or work with the public space must put into consideration or dialogue the everyday reality by which the physical space is a function. The physical space is a function of the social space and the social space is in turn a product of the immaterial radiations of those who occupy it.

Therefore, as we progress on this discourse surrounding borders, it becomes imperative not to undermine the performative nature of this intervention as a philosophical foothold and to inculcate it into the aesthetics of representation. Our objective therefore would be to constantly look for ways to present this project as an intervention within the everyday reality of the regular inhabitants of any given geography taking into account the element of spontaneity and improvisation, which are the core ingredients of uncurated interactions. 

We are masters of Improvisation

If today I were asked what exactly is contemporary Africa, I would first of all begin to talk of radiations, a kind of energy which flows through the continent like a continuous line. This energy, this radiation is indeed what a whole lot of people tend to coin words to define. It has been there from the onset, and no matter how time changes, it surfaces in myriad forms, it is ever constant and reinventive in nature, it permeates everything and everyone whose feet are rooted in the soil of the continent and thus has long since become our nature - subconsciously. This radiation gives rise to the shared reality of the people of this continent, but at the same time is nourished and fine-tuned by the struggle to circumvent unfavorable situations. It is what gives rise to the ‘arbitrary’ indefinable nature of existence in the continent. This energy is the unequivocal tendency towards spontaneity, the sheer extent of improvisation – that which flaws any form of predefined statistics. It is said that it is in Africa that the weatherman is always wrong. Why? Because naturally people live shoulder to shoulder with the moment and between two moments there are one billion ways of being. 

Living in this reality is like being in a space where everything is non-linear, shapeless, yet this is the shape because it works. It reevaluates the defined and invigorates the stagnated. It momentalises every interaction in such a way that it seems far-fetched to base one’s reason of action on the awareness of the past or the assumptions of the future. This however does not mean that people do not make plans but this planning is never incapacitated by predefined notions, every moment is a stand-alone regardless of the fact that one leads to the other.

If there is anything like contemporary African art, it is those creations that are cognizant of this element of spontaneity and improvisation, which tends to work with, and draw from it the possibility of alternative forms and aesthetics. Therefore “being African” is to blur the lines between possible and impossible rendering the very state of “being” indefinable.

This radiation, this energy permeates everything but manifests prominently through the everyday space of the African people – the public space, where all the drama of living and co-existing is symbolized. Consequently, our work over the years followed this trajectory and hinged on depicting the exchange, the interaction of people and things within the public space; looking at what might be dismissed as banal, but by the act of “putting a frame to them”, we extract them from the ordinary. Moreover, we are consistently conscious of the fact that no click is a waste as far as posterity is in consideration.

Therefore our approach to imagery goes beyond making “beautiful photographs” or the need to show astuteness in photographic skills or even capturing the “decisive moments”. For us, the real story – often left out in the quest for blatant headlines – is embedded in the indecisive moments. We are much more interested in how the approach to imagery mirrors the reality that we are immersed in, rather than how images define this reality.

We are in transition towards another era as by virtue of our present circumstance we perfect the act of improvisation becoming a master of it by the minute. In this energy, which is becoming ever assertive, we find the vestiges of stagnation and the wake of creative vigorousness. The African public space has come to symbolize that spirit of dynamism that is as a result of the playing-out of everyone’s creative attempt at survival. It has become the heritage of today’s struggle to transcend the limitations for which her people have always been defined. It has come to become our studio, our space of work and our core philosophy.

La Nouvelle Expression" is an image I created reacting to the spontaneity of the moment. The Chinese passing through the frame was never planned nor does the umbrella really belong to Landry but a passer by who then had to stand in the rain and wait for us while we concluded the image. We obstructed his reality albeit for some minutes, but this very act implies the crossbreed of reality discussed in this article.

Aesthetics, Presentation and Interpretation

In the past years, what has become challenging is not just the struggle to permeate the implications of borders, but also (1) in what ways to use the different media at our disposal to effectively question and invigorate discussions about limitations in Trans-African exchange (2) how to present and interpret the project in such away as to convey the true experiences of the journey as a performative endeavor for which the process of the journey is in essence the outcome.  

It is rightly said that it all began as a photographic project, but over the past years it has evolved beyond the term “photography”, as writers, filmmakers and art historians began to play a major role in the discourse.  This came with its challenges as many people continue to see the project as solely a photographic one, thereby neglecting or paying little importance to the literary and filmic aspect of the project. It is indeed deliberate that we have had only few exhibitions where we had to put up photographic prints on a (white) wall.

As we progress from one edition to the other, so does our experience, and we have come to the point where we realize that the idea of borders could act as a double-edged sword, therefore must be approached meticulously. It could easily play us against our dogma. The naivety that borders are something tangible and eradicable. We have come to realize that borders are what happen when an individual or a group of people decides to transcend the norm. Therefore the subjects of this project are first and foremost the participants and the very first intention to go beyond the norm – the act of becoming a fiction in other people’s reality using themselves as the proverbial guinea pig. Furthermore, there are those who we meet in their everyday reality – a crossbreed of realities occur and the offspring of this crossbreed is a circle of deconstructed dogmas and freshly acquired perceptions.  

These things happen at random, and at a pace that could never be likened to a normal routine – we are constantly in roller-coaster mode. We make plans and we counterplan, to an extent that haphazardness becomes our orderliness. It is never realistic to see the trip as one definite thing, it encompasses everything, failure compliments success and vise versa. It is where “wrong” is not easily written off as the opposite of what is right, but could be seen as its precursor or its consequence.

When we travel on the road trip we see flashes of images and not one single photograph or two, therefore it is completely impossible to talk of a selection of images in this context. How can we “freeze” a moment when we are swamped with infinite moments?

"Sometimes the image made does not justify the experience lived, and this amounts to a certain frustration, the shortcoming of the camera, the lens, the view and the limitations of materiality: the window screen shielding you from all the expanse out there, the van constantly moving and bumping, your position displacing at 100 miles per hour (and so are your thoughts) - all of that is lost to the click of the camera. Therefore the indecisive-moment images tell the story much more than the decisive.

The true nature of the African Space is that swarming with unquantifiable moments carrying in each one of them an integral part of the people’s existence and by that, their history. Therefore, every click of the camera is history in the making.

In photographing the “banal”, we tend to focus on those tiny moments, which give the "headlines” their backbones. Our concept is basically simple: to highlight the everyday interaction between people and the space that they occupy, and with time and consistency we would have created an anthropological archive of how people shared in their various modes of co-existence – the beauty, the harmony as well as the many contradictions"

The installation of the Invisible Borders show at the Biennale Benin 2012. View 1

The installation of the Invisible Borders show at the Biennale Benin 2012. View 2

The near-best form of presenting this project so far would be an installation that depicts a performance of imagery rather than a succession of meticulously curated photographs.  We are not interested in the photographic nature of imagery but in its performative nature, that which suggest the process as an important precursor to a conclusion, there will be no conclusion without the process, which lead to it, there will be no decisive moment without the myriad indecisive moments sandwiched in between.  We ought to make installations that convey that feeling of being overwhelmed with images upon images as we experience from the interior of the moving vehicle, but more so because this is the reality of the African public space.

This became the inspiration for our installation at the Biennale Benin 2012, where we came up with the idea of recreating a suggestive replica of the interior of the van as we have experienced it during the trip, using the relics of the actual van since we drove in the van from Lagos to Cotonou for the festival.  The installation also featured reconstructed objects that we were obliged to use (or things that used us), such as the road signs, the checkpoint barricades etc. There was equally a large plasma screen on which images and texts from the artists were displayed in a loop - flashes of images after images, with texts. The display was comprised of the actual photographic works by photographers, photo essays that were a joint venture between the photographers and the writer Emmanuel Iduma, as well as photos of participants while on the trip. We created a “pool” of images, which tend to convey a feeling of being submerged in the experience of the trip through images rather than emphasizing on the individual approach of the artists.

A note from my diary on evening of the installation reads thus:

“We are much more interested in conveying the feeling and atmosphere within the van as we journey thousands of miles traversing landscapes and people of immeasurable numeric, that feeling of wanting to take in everything in a gulp of a click yet the picture falls short of conveying anything close to what is lived. How can we convey this particular experience, which transcends the photographers’ ability to settle on a particular frame, a particular scene out of thousands?”

Having said this, it is therefore imperative to understand that we aim to go further than the act of image-making, but to seek ways to put them to use as a performative tool, to set in motion its ability of being a strong implement of sensitization. We are constantly asking the never-ending question: How can photography be used in such a way, as it becomes a tangible act of social intervention rather than art for art’s sake? How can also “seeing” with the eyes carry the entire body along?

I believe that this is the stage we find ourselves today. We do not lack the energy nor the vigor to create or be inventive, what we need in abundance is the sensitization towards myriad forms this creative energy could manifest.

I believe we will head in the direction of an answer when as photographers; we begin to perform images, rather than make them. 

© Emeka Okereke, Accra 2013

 

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