Writings of the general word's body

Showing posts with label Blogsville. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Blogsville. Show all posts

Monday, July 28, 2008

Down Botswana Way

[I] t was common place for the San/Bushmen to be referred to as Lesarwa/Masarwa; le-/ma- being the singular and plural in Setswana for a noun class that is mostly reserved for things. As time passed, it became politically incorrect to use such terms and now Mosarwa/ Basarwa are the correct terms to be used.

And not a lot of people outside Southern Africa knew that I'll wager. Want to know about the writing scene in Gaborone? What Lebo Mashile said in True Love SA? Or why the Media Practitioners Bill about to go through the Botswana Parliament will kill freedom of expression? Then Thoughts From Botswana, a blog by Motswana writer Lauri Kubuitsile, refreshes the parts Wordsbody cannot reach.

Monday, May 26, 2008

14th Street & Serenity


Here's a blog you should be checking out over the next few weeks. And thanks to Catwalq for drawing my attention to this web project, a sort of pass-the-baton story relay involving 12 bloggers-writers lasting about a month. The bloggers will write about something that takes place in the urban center known as 14th Street and Serenity Avenue. One starts the story, and the next blogger takes it up from there, taking his/her narrative cues from what the earlier contributor/s have written. Interesting. With contributors as diverse as Catwalq herself, our beloved UKNaija and the sassy Waffarian, there promises to be a variety of styles and perspectives. Something for everyone, so check it out.
The first instalment, 'Scorned', goes up on the blog today Monday.

Sunday, August 05, 2007

Tidbits

'Perf4ming his greatest hits 4 the last time' - or so the hype says. "You can't handle me," Prince reportedly told thousands of his fans in London's O2 Arena (formerly the ill-fated Millennium Dome) last week. It was the start of the musician's 21 day residency at the venue, and there's been nothing but blanket praise for His Purpleness in the papers. London's never seen anything like it. Prince played from 8.30pm till 3am, and he's charging only £31.21p for tickets - 31.21 is the title of his new album, which he's giving away free with newspapers. And this blogger can only watch in awe via the news reports. A historical Pop Culture event, and I've got no ticket!
~
And here's something that might interest the poet
Esiaba Irobi, whose recently published collection of poetry is titled, Why I Don't Like Philip Larkin. In today's Observer, a little snippet about just how much thought Larkin gave to his image. Published photos had to 'air-brush' him to achieve these desired results: "I am not bald, I have only one chin, my waist is concave." He who was all of the above!

In the wake of 2 great directors of European cinema -
Ingmar Bergman & Michelangelo Antonioni - dying on the same day(!) - a gently amusing little piece in Jasper Gerard's column about when the famous die all at once. CS Lewis and another famous fella were short-changed in death and didn't get the kind of obituaries they deserved in the immediate aftermath because they had the misfortune of dying on the same day as JFK. And very appropriate for funnymen, due hilarity about Frankie Howerd (of the Carry On movies) and Benny Hill dying at once. There is still confusion about which of the two actually died first. Enough about death...

This blog doesn't care much for Britney Spears, Robbie Williams or Courtney Love (Love says her mouth is 'wonky' but what did she expect, with all that needless surgery? Don't famous people get embarrassed? Some of them only vaguely resemble the people they were when they first started out) - but I have more time for Alec Baldwin right now perhaps than his ex-wife Kim Basinger does.
Still, since this is a blog, I didn't miss this piece (left) about how 'the other half blogs'.

Sunday, April 29, 2007

Talking 'Othello' with Teju Cole

I had a bit of dialogue with writer Teju Cole on his blog recently, about a posting he did on Shakespeare's Othello. How does a non-white actor play Othello without reinforcing the play's inherent racial stereotyping (I almost typed 'racial profiling', which is another kettle of fish entirely!).

Teju's blog is intelligent and thought provoking without stuffiness or posturing. Here's his
post on Othello. Some of our exchange, is excerpted below, with Teju's permission.

MW: I have read Kwame Kwei-Armah's & Hugh Quarshie (who has played Othello before, I believe)'s thoughts on this matter before. Reminds me of a review I wrote of a production of Othello at the Trafalgar Studios in London back in 2004 in which I also touched on Quarshie's essay (I'll see if I can dig out my review). The production starrred Nsello Maake Ka Ncube as Othello; see a poem I wrote about meeting his eyes during the performance, as one of only 2 0r 3 black people in an audience of 300 or 400.

The saving grace, if you could call it that, was that Anthony Sher's Iago was a Heil Hitler type sniggering over-the-top character you cannot identify with at all, whatever your race; problem is, Shakepeare intended that you dislike Iago, so nothing really new there. The setting was moved to something like second World War Venice; a few of the other minor characters were played by blacks actors. Still, this overiding question of race was overwhelming in the production, for me. And if you were to cut out stuff like: "These moors are changeable in their wills" or references to the "black ram tupping your white ewe" - you would not have the play Othello. I actually love this play, for the very reason that it is not just a great tragedy, but also because it discomfits me and discomfits the person next to me.

What I feel is that, the racial connotations of Othello changes depending on (1) where it is staged; (2) the racial composition of the actors; and (3) the composition of the audience. If you had a production of Othello in Lagos with Nigerian actors playing to a Nigerian audience, the emphasis on character rather than race as suggested by Quarshie, would come to the fore. Any other way, it remains problematic. And you can't have a white (un-blacked out) actor play him because Othello is necessarily black ("Happily, for I am black").

A black actor playing Othello in a largely white cast to a largely white audience may unwittingly validate racial stereotypes. But I am of the view that it is a darn sight better than Laurence Olivier "blacking up" to play Othello, something that was once the norm. And since Shakespeare himself wrote the part for a white actor, the very notion of a black actor taking over the role is a subversion of sorts, and that pleases me. And when we think about it, some great black cultural icons (Paul Robeson, no less) have played Othello. Quarshie himself shows from his essay that he had ruminated so much about the role that (though I never saw the production that featured him) one cannot doubt that he approached the part with a great sense of responsibility. What is needed, are talented black actors with the presence of mind and self awareness to help them transcend the stereotypes.

We must carry on seeing productions of Othello, because I see shades of the moor and the societal factors that made and broke him, all around us everyday. Quarshie's examples of Dodi Fayed and O J Simpson (him especially; who lived in a white world only to embrace his blackness on a rap for the gruesome murder of his wife, someone that was a consuming passion to him - poor Nicole, God rest her) were on the ball, and I noted this in my review. I added to Quarshie's list a black boxer (I hesitate to name him still) who wasn't such a good pugilist but was adored by the British public because he was (maybe still is) the kind of black man that made whites comfortable, reinforced their sense of racial superiority. He wasn't clever, he knew his place, he made black people cringe in their seats (Caribbean or African, I am yet to meet a black person who was proud of this guy even in his glory days). The boxer was greatly rewarded for his modest talents when better black British boxers didn't fare so well. Crucially, he had a white wife. Since he's been divorced, the facade seems to have been blown and the boxer is now just a pathetic loser, though rich. So there you have it.

Othello is all around us. Long live the play, "flawed" though it is.

~ * ~ * ~

TC: Though I'd assent to some judicious editing of the play's text (it's controversial but, like Quarshie, I don't believe in being enslaved to the text--and how many people do full length Hamlets anyway?), I also hav to say a black actor in the troubling role is a damn sight better than Lord Buttermelt done up in blackface.

Blackface is its own thing, full of rotten history, impermissible to anyone except, perhaps, to teenage Japanese girls who are so far off the kooky scale they aren't any of our business.
See...

Your poem of Nsello reminds me, Molara, of one time I went to see Seamus Heaney give a talk in New York. The audience was large, but only two of us had the touch of the tar-brush, just me and another, older, man.

Five minutes before the event started, I was in my seat. The room was almost full. That was when two white women walked across the room and said to me, "Could you please do something about the air-conditioning." Wit failed. And all I could say in response was a prosaic, "I'm here for the poems, too" and thank the gods these fools hadn't approached Derek Walcott instead.

~ * ~ * ~

MW: "Could you please do something about the air-conditioning"?!

What a cheek! I'd have to say they're a lot more polite and reserved in England, to say such.
Derek Walcott, ehn? You were in esteemed company, mai broda.

An English colleague who worships black Jazz gods told me he's noticed some serene sense of joy that shows upon the bearing of black jazz musicians when they spot their kind in the crowd during concerts at the Queen Elizabeth Hall or such places, since the audience is mostly white for these shows. I admire white audiences for turning up purely for the love of the arts (they turn up for Malian & Yoruba musicians too and clearly enjoy themselves, even as they don't understand the lyrics). There's been a slight increase in black attendance for Nigerian/African artists in recent years - but I remain baffled as to why blacks generally stay away.

As someone who goes to art events a lot here in London, one regularly feels like an endangered specie in the audience, especially in the theatre (must be even worse at the opera, though I must confess I'm as guilty as the next woman when it comes to opera!). Your skin colour suddenly becomes so magnified. You wear it loose on you, like an oversized cross. And it's so lonely. Then think how it is for the black player who can't find anyone he/she can identify with in the audience.

Much as any player loves to play to all of God's children, it helps sometimes if you can get that specific identification allowed by your kind. That was what happened when Nsello saw me in that audience. The loneliness of the black in Elizabethan period Venice was in that theatre filled with white people in 2004. I felt some racial angst. It wasn't just about Othello anymore; it was about me too.

That's what I love about theatre. The danger.

Monday, February 19, 2007

Found Blogs

  • What do 'Future Nigeria', 'Sons-and-Daughters', Funmi Iyanda's New Dawn talk show and a novel called His Father's Knickers have in common? - read Chude's Blog and find out.
  • Because she posted a one-year rememberance to the late soul singer David Lynden Hall - and many other reasons you best find out yourself, read Jola Naibi's blog.
  • And you can never have too many blogs on Nigerian writing and such like, so why not check Uzezi out?
  • And there's Vera's blog. Why? Because she's 'Verastic'.

Monday, August 28, 2006

Found Blogs

And how about this one....

At the beginning there was a huge drop of milk

I reflected on these words this morning, surrounded by my books, the embodiment of my hopes, as well as the expression of what I want to grow beyond, a life where books and ideas are the most intimate companions. My bed is huddled in a corner and almost fenced in by piles of books. I gaze at them and they remind me about the sacrifices I am undergoing in being here in England, sacrifices occasioned by the opportunity to study here, but which has led to an upheaval in my life of such magnitude that its is clear that the distortions of reality represented by the description of the master of paradox of whom it is said that “He is so tall that only the tufts of his hair can be seen” are clearly at playBut within the arena circumscribed by these books, by this reversion to bachelorhood, I hope to realize dreams that till now have been aborted by untoward factors.