Bola Ige remembered, 10 years on

Last night at the Muson Centre, Lagos - children and grandchildren of the late Bola Ige - slain Attorney General and Minister of Justice who justice has so far eluded - on stage with the cast of Odia Ofeimun's dance-drama 'Nigeria the Beautiful' after a performance to mark the 10th anniversary of Ige's death. With them onstage are some of Ige's loyalists: Segun Osoba, Chief Bisi Akande and Prof Adebayo Williams.

Bola Ige was killed on December 23, 2001 in Ibadan, the city from which he once ruled as Governor of the old, larger Oyo State.

Activities marking the 10th anniversary continue till December 23, as follows.

- Lecture today December 21 at 11am at Premier Hotel, Ibadan, to be delivered by Rauf Aregbesola, current governor of Osun State. Title: 'Political Violence and Assassination: Implications for the Future of Democracy in Nigeria'.

- Performance today December 21 at 7pm at Trenchard Hall, University of Ibadan - Bola Ige's play, 'Kaduna Boy'.

Thursday December 22

- Candle light procession at Ibadan, Osogbo and Esa-Oke.

- An evening of Poetry, Dance, Drama, Music & Documentary at the Ige Compound in his hometown, Esa-Oke, Osun State. 8.30pm.

Friday December 23

- Rememberance Church Service at St. Pauls, Esa-Oke.

- Reception & Party featuring Bola Ige's favourite musician, Lagbaja.

Chistopher Hitchens 1949-2011

Above, the Christopher Hitchens memorial page by Vanity Fair, which announced his death from oesophegeal cancer yesterday. British Deputy Prime Minister Nick Clegg was quoted by the BBC as saying, "Christopher Hitchens was everything a great essayist should be: infuriating, brilliant, highly provocative and yet intensely serious."

My longish tweet, posted yesterday

Yes, Christopher Hitchens could be infuriating. I was a major Dianaphile. Yet, no more than about a year after her death, Hitchens had a programme on British television that ran against the mood of the time.

Unlike Camille Paglia's reverential, icon-making 'Diana Unclothed' aired before the death of the Princess of Wales - Hitchens tore Diana to shreds. He didn't stop there; he poo-pooed the outpouring of grief of the British public over the late princess as one of the embarrassments of the age, a new low in the culture.

Here I was watching this while still wearing my cloak of mourning for Diana. I couldn't believe it. I saw Hitchens' programme as one of the first strikes in the Diana Demystification project that held sway in British society in the years to follow, a not entirely unsuccessful one.

We were subjected to the revisionism that would have Diana's adoring millions believe that their affection for her was grossly misplaced. Dianaphiles became muted voices, the way was paved for the grudging acceptance, or indifference to Camilla Parker-Bowles. Diana had gone to her tragic grave. The world moved on.

But watching Christopher Hitchens marshall his argument all those years ago, I was astonished at the gall of the man. He even had the Bee Gees' song 'I Started A Joke' play in one segment. Diana started the world laughing, then crying; oh if only she knew that the joke was on her - was the point. What about respect for the dead? I kept wanting to ask.

Oh but the brilliance with which he argued his case. I hated Christopher Hitchens' argument, but I loved the way he argued it; and watched, riveted, to the end.

It's impossible to get round to reading all the worthy material that's been published on Hitchens in the last 24 hours alone. Of the few that I've read, I loved Ian McEwan's the most.

Christopher Hitchens: 'the consummate writer, the brilliant friend'

The next morning, at Christopher's request, Alexander and I set up a desk for him under a window. We helped him and his pole with its feed-lines across the room, arranged pillows on his chair, adjusted the height of his laptop. Talking and dozing were all very well, but Christopher had only a few days to produce 3,000 words on Ian Ker's biography of Chesterton. Whenever people talk of Christopher's journalism, I will always think of this moment.

Consider the mix. Chronic pain, weak as a kitten, morphine dragging him down, then the tangle of Reformation theology and politics, Chesterton's romantic, imagined England suffused with the kind of Catholicism that mediated his brush with fascism, and his taste for paradox, which Christopher wanted to debunk. At intervals, his head would droop, his eyes close, then with superhuman effort he would drag himself awake to type another line. His long memory served him well, for he didn't have the usual books on hand for this kind of thing. When it's available, read the review.

I shall.

Christy Essien-Igbokwe goes home

Tony Okoroji holds a burial programme with the late Christy Essien-Igbokwe's image at the singer's funeral on Saturday September 10. Next to him is talk show host Bisi Olatilo.

Nigeria's 'First Lady of songs was buried with much pomp on Saturday September 10, after a week of commemorative activities including celebrity football match, a divas concert and a lying-in-state at the National Theatre. A funeral service was held the day before the burial, at the Archbishop Vinning Memorial Church in GRA Ikeja, Lagos, attended by the great and the good. She was laid to rest in Awka, Anambra State on Saturday September 10, and among those in attendance was the state governor Peter Obi, Akwa Ibom governor Godswill Akpabio and Senator Chris Ngige.

Some images from the 2 days below, courtesy of the Christy Burial Committee.

Funeral cortege for the 'Seun Rere' singer on the streets of Lagos, Friday September 9.

The widower Edwin Igbokwe in pensive mood as his late wife's coffin is brought into the Archbishop Vinning Memorial Church in Lagos.

Singer Onyeka Onwenu, Bisi Adeleye-Fayemi (wife of Ekiti State Governor) and Orelope Adefulire, Deputy-Governor of Lagos State at the Lagos funeral service.

Flautist Tee Mac, actress Clarion Chukwurah and singer Stella Monye in the church.

Fela's children: Femi and Yeni Kuti attended the service.

Saturday September 10: a young boy and his gong in Awka, as he prepares to sing for the late Christy.

Pomp and ceremony: procession in Awka, Anambra State, ahead of the burial.

They tried to make her go to rehab - she said No, No, No

Amy Winehouse, troubled singer of the great 'Back to Black' album and the now eerily prescient hit single Rehab, found dead in her London flat today at 4pm local time.

It's been years in the making. We kind of saw it coming, and one should grieve at the loss of a unique talent. But Winehouse didn't love herself it seemed, didn't pity herself, didn't feel any gratitude for the immense gift God in his arbitrariness, gave to her.

I'm reminded of what George Michael, himself a troubled survivor, once said in a public plea to Winehouse: "This is the best female vocalist I've heard in my entire career and one of the best writers, so all I can say is, 'Please, please understand how brilliant you are'."

It was all for nought, including the efforts of that Daddy she immortalised in 'Rehab'. The single electrified everyone when it came out, young and old, white and black. I saw black teenagers in London using their pocket money to buy the 'Back to Black' CD. They turned away, at least for a while, from formulaic American RnB and Hip-Hop and all those saccharin, manufactured UK boy and girl bands to nod along to Winehouse's You Know I'm No Good and Love Is A Losing Game - and saying, 'Wow, this is real music!'

They told one another about her, like some great new religion the light of which you must see. But those teenagers, impressionable though they were, saw the singer's life splashed in the papers daily and quickly grew embarrassed, knowing they had better not be like her. For how do you adulate a train wreck?

Rehab was her most memorable song of all, even if the lyrics proved to be too frighteningly true. Her demons required her to "always keep a bottle near". And as the singer sank into an ever darkening abyss, all who had seen in her the birth of a new Billie Holiday, learned to turn away from the horrific vision. Pity.

The behatted character in the video below is Blake Fielder-Civil, the addict with whom Amy Winehouse embarked on an all too destructive marriage, and the inspiration for much of the angst-ridden material in Back to Black.

Once more with feeling, join the over 7 million people who've viewed 'Rehab' on YouTube - and let's hope Ms Winehouse finds peace, finally.

Obituary: BBC, The Guardian, The Telegraph

The Way of the World

A week, it turns out, is a long time not just in politics but in the media, as the 168-year-old News of the World (I hesitate to do a link) closed up shop with its last edition today after a lifetime of lurid headlines. I remember some case years back when someone accused NotW or its sister daily, The Sun, of trading on the very "fabric of people's lives". Now it appears the NotW at least, also traded on the very fabric of their deaths, for what can only be described as graveyard scoops.

During my England years, there were crimes that the whole country suffered together, to a lesser or greater extent. A child goes missing and TV bulletins and newspapers are full of the alarming news. Tearful parents plead for the child's return in emotionally charged press conferences. Everyone can identify with the mother especially and the whole country prays for the return of the missing child; and the longer it takes, the more hope thins for the child's safe return.

I lived through many such national human tragedies in Britain: Sarah Payne, Jamie Bulger. I waited with everyone when Holly Wells and Jessica Chapman, angels in Manchester United T-shirts, went missing. Flying into Tampa, Florida 10 days or so into the crisis, I was heartbroken to learn from a US news network that their bodies had been found back home.

So it was with murdered schoolgirl Millie Dowler, whose carefree face in news bulletins showing her at the ironing table I still remember. And it was the revelation that the News of the World hacked into her mobile phone for her voicemail messages while she was still officially missing, that proved to be the last straw. All in the name of scoops. The paper deleted her messages so the inbox would not fill up, giving relatives false hopes she might be still be alive, not to mention the clear hindrance to police investigations. NotW similarly meddled with the phones of the July 7 London bombings and their families.

The UK Guardian broke the news of the Millie Dowler hacking on Monday July 4 and by the close of the week, the NotW was history. The British public had long tolerated politicians and celebrities being hacked but drew the line at ordinary victims of crime, and good for them.

The Independent: One Shocking revelation - and the paper was gone

Timeline on the News of the World phone hacking scandal

Columbo passes on

---- Obituary: Peter Falk
*

Twins Seven-Seven, 1944 - 2011

News broke today of the death of Twins Seven-Seven, the great avantgarde artist of the Osogbo School, one of those that rose to prominence through the now historic art workshops organised by Ulli and Georgina Beier in the town on the River Osun in the 1960s.

Twins Seven-Seven - so self-named because he was the sole survivor of seven sets of 'abiku' twins born to his mother - had been known to be ill for some time; and in recent days some in the arts community and in the media had become increasingly concerned. Just yesterday journalists were beating anxious paths to the University College Hospital, Ibadan, where Twins was being cared for in the Intensive Care Unit. Family members rebuffed the journalists; the artist's children had apparently said they did not need anybody's help to look after their father, or so reporters were told; and the family did not want Twins' condition mentioned in the press.

Some handwringing in certain quarters as to what to do - afterall, Twins Seven-Seven was a world famous artist, a national treasure that long ago ceased to belong to his family and children alone, a UNESCO Artist for Peace. In any event, it was all too late, for today, death settled the matter.

His ex-wife, textile artist Nike Davies-Okundaiye, confirmed the passing. His last television appearance may well have been the recent CNN African Voices special on Okundaiye, a programme that did Twins Seven-Seven a bit of a disservice, in my view. African Voices neglected to mention the iconic name that would have chimed with thousands of people: Twins Seven-Seven. "Also an artist" was Christian Purefoy's casual reference to him, almost as an afterthought. And with that an artist of greater power was reduced to a mere footnote in Okundaiye's story.




Twins didn't do himself much of a favour in the programme either, he didn't know how, a lifetime of wildly creative eccentricity will do that to you. "I don't marry any woman older than 20, at my age," he said at one point, to the viewer's incredulity. His best years well behind him, he seemed to fancy himself a babe magnet still. "It's now I know I [was] very, very handsome," he said. But it's not so hard to see how women would have flocked to this prodigiously talented artist (singer, theatre performer, dancer, sculptor and painter) in his heyday. I remember reading an account by someone that visited his polygamous compound when Nike Okundaiye was still with him. The visitor remembered Twins-77 as a man loaded with animal magnetism.

For me, Twins Seven-Seven was one of the great culture icons of my youth. As a youngster in the town of Ijebu-Ijesa in the 1970s, the impact of three people on the culture reached us, though we were far from the scenes of their actions and reactions. The sacred trio were Fela, Susanne Wenger and Twins Seven-Seven. Their names reverberated all around us. I didn't even know Twins painted - who at my age had ever heard of 'Visual Art' then? His fame seemed to reach an apogee around the time of FESTAC '77, the year Fela released the rebellious 'Zombie' which all of us kids sang, knowing full well soldiers of the Nigerian army were the 'zombies'. We loved 'Zombie' even more because it had been banned. I was in Lagos that same year and the spirit of FESTAC '77 was in the air, which helped amplify in my young mind the myth of the man who also bore the numbers 7-7 in his name, like he was specially made for those brave times.

In the immediate reactions after the death, Deji Toye called Twins "the rock star of the Osogbo Art School", as indeed he was. His fame for us at a point in time, was on a par with Fela's. He had the plaited hair long before Urban Black music discovered corn-rows; he lived life in fast-forward.

Grown up, I became aware of Twins Seven-Seven's achievement as a visual artist; and have seen at least four of his pieces sold at Lagos auctions in the last year alone. I came to understand why he held adults and children in thrall all those years ago; and why his death is such a huge loss. A massively imitated artist, he stayed ahead of the pack and remained unique. In his fantabulous painted woodcuts, I see the world of D.O Fagunwa, Amos Tutuola, Asiru Olatunde and Ben Okri.

Okri may have written about Azaro, but Twins Seven-Seven - born Taiwo Olaniyi Osuntoki - was Azaro personified. Editing a feature on the artist about a year ago, I decided to make it the cover story. On the cover, I wrote: Magical Realist - for that is what Twins Seven-Seven was.

Photo by Akintayo Abodunrin

Tayo Aderinokun... 'the poets grieve'

Tayo Aderinokun (left), managing director of the Guaranty Trust Bank, who died in London earlier today, was a major art patron. His longstanding support for the arts culminated in Yinka Shonibare's 'Nelson's Ship in a Bottle' sculpture, sponsored by Aderinokun's bank and unveiled in London's Trafalgar Square in May last year. He is here shown with London Mayor Boris Johnson and Shonibare. May Tayo Aderinokun rest in peace.

Toyin Akinosho on Aderinokun
“Of all the banks, the GTB, under his watch, put the most into those aspects of the arts that are non-commercial. He did better than the once-a-year little drops that Fidelity (Bank) put into writers’ workshops.”

Ben Tomoloju
“It’s a painful loss, so much that it has destabilised strategic assets of our cultural expression because he was a great benefactor of the arts both nationally and internationally... I am aware that the entire Aderinokun family has made one great impact or the other to the advancement of the Nigerian artistic heritage. His eldest brother, Eddie Aderinokun, is a highly respected poet and literary activist. Another, Kayode, is a notable poet and both were Vice President of ANA national and chair ANA Lagos respectively at a point in time.

“The late Tayo was all along a committed patriot and financier of various aspects of the arts. You will recollect that with his corporate status, he backed a pan-Nigerian poetry festival from 2009 to 2010. So the community of poets grieve profusely on this tragic turn. We wish the family, friends, corporate associates, especially the GTBank family, the fortitude to bear the loss. It’s also a personal loss.”

Photos: College Hill


Update 15 June, 2011

PEN Nigeria
Tayo Aderinokun – Adieu Ultimate Art Patron and Gentleman
PEN Nigeria Center joins the entire Nigeria arts community in commiserating with the Aderinokuns on the transition of their illustrious son Tayo.
We of the Pen Nigeria are expressing our heartfelt sympathy to his immediate and extended family and his business empire, especially in Guarantee Trust Bank, in this trying moments in the hope that our shared grief would reduce the impact of this colossal loss.
We bear this grief in the consolation that death is certain and that the impact of Tayo’s short but fruitful life as a giant in a small world of art entrepreneurship and patronage, will, for generations yet unborn, be a shining example.
We remember Tayo fondly as the quintessential gentleman of the arts and ultimate business colossus whose legacies would be etched permanently in our collective heritage. In a clime where art patronage and its quality are weak, Tayo exemplified the exemplary both in humility and commitment to all that he held dear.
His contributions to the Nigerian literary scene bear testimony to the ideals and objectives of PEN International and its Nigerian Centre.
We know we have lost him in person and physical form but we have gained him in ideals and ideas.
Our prayer is that the family, immediate and extended, culturally and economically be granted the fortitude to bear his huge loss.
For and on behalf of PEN Nigeria Centre

Ropo Ewenla
Secretary General

Ulli Beier

Concerning the epochal passing of Ulli Beier on April 3 at the age of 88, I feel the words are better left to those who can say it best. Many rose to the challenge, and there was an avalanche of writings in the Nigerian press in the first few days, perhaps reaching an apogee on Sunday, 10 April (the man having been cremated the Friday before).

Among the pieces published last Sunday, Muraina Oyelami, the man who broke the news of a death in Australia from his base in Iragbiji and something of a living authority on Beier, wrote the moving tribute, 'Ulli Beier Akanji. Sun're O'. Mufu Onifade introduced a new weekly column with the piece, 'Ulli Beier: Unfulfilled dream of a true Africanist'. And Canada-based poet, Amatoritsero Ede, recalled meeting the man also known as Obotunde Ijimere in Germany circa 1996, in his piece, 'Ulli Beier: A Pagan Yoruba Man in Christian Bayreuth'. All the relevant pages are reproduced here. Toni Kan's piece is also here, although I don't think it's available online. Okechukwu Uwaezuoke also wrote something in ThisDAY on April 10.

I was struck by the dearth of photographs of Beier, precious few available, for a man that did so much to document the works of others - artists and cultures, especially the Yoruba. Very rarely must he have had cameras focused on his own face. Which gives the ring of truth to John Martin's words on Beier: "He is one of the great unsung heroes of art and I think his significance will only be really understood in years to come. Partly it is the fact that he took a back seat and was, rightly, prepared to duck out of the limelight in favour of the artists he nurtured, encouraged and promoted."

Death of Cleopatra

I was not blogging at the time of her passing on March 23, but the death of Elizabeth Taylor cannot go unremarked on Wordsbody, just as I could not but write a tribute, 'The Most Beautiful Star in the World', published on March 27.

In my tribute, I touched on my first real awareness of Elizabeth Taylor the cinema legend, whose persona in A Place in the Sun was perfection itself. That film stands forever, as a homage to youth, beauty and love undercut by their destructive impact on a tragic hero, played by Montgomery Clift - who would go on to live his own tragedy for real, a tortured genius to whose memory Taylor remained devoted for the rest of her own life. In the case of Taylor, my tribute, along with innumerable others, mentioned the ups and downs of a life lived for nearly 70 years in the blinding glare of white-hot fame. The thing about Taylor and others like Brando (Kirk Douglas is still ticking along, even making a touching appearance at the last Oscar ceremony, despite the debilitating impairment of the years) is that age does wither them. They don't live in the eternal perfections of Marilyn Monroe or James Dean, who died young.

As news of Elizabeth Taylor's death broke, there were some subtle shifts in Vanity Fair's definitive statement as to the famed beauty of the departed legend. First they wrote "No one has been more captivatingly beautiful". By the next day, it was "No one before or since has been more captivatingly beautiful". Yet sometime later, VF had settled on "No one was more captivatingly beautiful". It occured to me that Vanity Fair, which relies on the cooperation of still-living movie stars to feed the magazine's monthly Hollywood-worship, got a bit jittery and did not want to annoy current celluloid queens who would want to aspire to Elizabeth Taylor status in looks, if nothing else. But as Vanity Fair well knows, the jury closed on Taylor's violet-eyed beauty decades ago.

The gift given to Elizabeth Taylor was always an unfair one to which no ordinary Hollywood siren could aspire. That's why she was so perfect as the demi-goddess in 'Cleopatra'. In the hallway of my London flat, I still have on the wall a large framed poster of Taylor (acquired during the Elizabeth Taylor photography exhibition held at the National Portrait Gallery in London in 2000). In the black and white image, she is photographed during her Cleopatra period, judging from the hair, make-up and accessories. The tracheotomy scar on her neck is in full view, and she wears it with some defiance, like some badge, which adds an unexpected gravity to the picture perfect visage on display. The invincibility of an audacious beauty. Her face is implacable and her eyes remote, like an aloof goddess looking down on a mortal. Visitors sometimes observed, rightly, that the image on the poster made them feel small.

Before seeing on British television in the mid-80s The Love Goddesses (1965) documentary that called her "probably the most beautiful love goddess of them all" - I'd had some inkling many years before in Lagos, through a family member, then a Theatre Arts undergrad at the University of Ife, who spoke in superlatives about the beauty of one Elizabeth Taylor. I was deep in Marilyn Monroe et al by this time, but Taylor - I was like, who? He replied that if I didn't believe I should watch 'The King and I'. He made a mistake, since Deborah Kerr is actually the one who plays opposite Yul Brynner in 'The King and I'. Still, my egbon's assertion as to Taylor's looks and cinematic presence, proved true.

A sometimes overlooked aspect of Taylor's life, was what a great mother she was. She clearly would have had more than 3 biological children if Mike Todd had not had her sterilised after the painful birth of their daughter, Liza. She adopted a fourth child with her great love, Richard Burton. Not one of the children has ever gone to press - as in the tradition of dysfunctional Hollywood families - to speak of any troubles with their mother. None ever wrote a Mommie Dearest expose book, as Christina Crawford did of her Hollywood mum, Joan Crawford. Taylor seemed to have a genuinely close relationship with all her children till the very end, one of whom, Michael Wilding, looks strikingly like her and gave a glowing tribute when she passed, surrounded by her offspring. When all the husbands had fallen by the wayside, it was the children that remained. And the diamonds, of course; the old trooper, whether standing or in a wheelchair, dripped with her diamonds to the bitter end.

When Taylor launched her White Diamonds fragrance at London's Selfridges years ago, I noted one press report on her retort to an intrusive question about her love life (this was during the era of Larry Fortensky, the seventh husband and eighth marriage). "'That is a contrived little question,' she sniffed" - said one British newspaper. I also remember a much circulated appearance on the Oprah Winfrey show in the late 80s. To a personal question from the talk show host, Taylor had exclaimed and blurted out, with good humour, a decidedly British humour, "You cheeky burger!" Or was it "bugger"? Oprah squirmed a little and urged Taylor to answer the question "so we can all go home." I don't remember what the question was, or if Oprah got an answer.

Postscript to a scandal: Oft recounted in the days after Taylor's death was the scandalous beginning of her marriage to Eddie Fisher, who left 'America's Sweetheart' Debbie Reynolds and their children for his best friend's widow. Reynolds and Taylor were friends in later life and even appeared in a film together, the former paying tribute on her one-time love rival's death. As for Princess Leia herself, Carrie Fisher, she was quoted as saying last month, that if her father had to leave her mother in order to be with anybody, she was grateful it was for Taylor. Wow. And Eddie Fisher, when asked in later years about a contentious incident at the end of his marriage to Taylor (who he lost to Burton), replied, "The past is one son of a bitch." Aint that the truth.

I was a keen observer of Elizabeth Taylor's legend for most of my adult life. I watched the glorious 'flop', Cleopatra, up to 20 times - in one scene, an adoring Roman tells her, 'I have always loved you," and she, unmoved, replies, 'I have always known' - and whenever I caught A Place in the Sun on late-night British TV, I forgot about sleep and watched. I knew so much about Elizabeth Taylor, but I did not know her middle name was Rosemond, until she died. Goodbye Cleopatra, it's been grand.

Esiaba Irobi dies

Sad news
The poet Esiaba Irobi (photographed by me above in London on 1 April 2006) has died. He passed away last night in Berlin. This is all we know, for now.

• Update: Nnorom Azuonye on Esiaba Irobi

T.M Aluko passes on

We are hearing of the death of novelist T.M Aluko, author of One Man, One Wife (1959) and One Man, One Matchet (1964). A native of Ilesa, Osun State, Aluko died at 4.02am this morning in a Lagos hospital at the age of 92.

A fighter to the end despite a debilitating illness that left him paralysed down the right side of his body (he had to teach himself to write with his left hand), T.M. Aluko on November 9, 2009 launched his last novel, Our Born Again President, in an event attended by many including J.P Clark-Bekederemo, Segun Olusola, Michael Omolayole and Justice Kayode Eso (who had known the novelist from secondary school days in Ilesa Grammar School in the 1940s). The novel's launch came 50 years after One Man, One Wife. Poignantly, Segun Olusola sang a farewell song in Yoruba for Aluko on the day. Many would have known this was the last time they would see the author this side of the river.

The novelist is survived by his children, one of whom is baritone Tayo Aluko, famous for one-man shows including 'Call Mr. Robeson' and 'I Got A Home In Barack'.

• Update: Aluko, dogged fighter

JD Salinger, 1919 - 2010

"If you really want to hear about it the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born. What my lousy childhood was like. And how my parents were occupied and all before they had me. And all that David Copperfield kind of crap. But I don't feel like going into it, if you really want to know the truth".
--Opening lines, 'The Catcher in the Rye'
*
"I'm aware that a number of my friends will be saddened, or shocked, or shocked-saddened, over some of the chapters of The Catcher in the Rye. Some of my best friends are children. In fact all of my best friends are children. It's almost unbearable to me to realise that my book will be kept on a shelf out of their reach."
--JD Salinger, b. 1 January 1919; d. 27 January 2010

• An aside on the business of Obit-writing; The UK Guardian has an obituary on Salinger, penned by a writer who died some seven years before him, here.

Goodbye Malaika

Miriam Makeba, photographed on a giant screen on Africa Day in Trafalgar Square, London - May 28, 2007

*

I told my sons: this may be your one and only chance - your very last chance - to see Miriam Makeba - MW

Miriam Makeba: 4 March 1932 - 9 November 2008

Epitaph for the Bully

(far cry from Auden)

When at last he died
Market-women danced in the streets

Instant owambe
Thick as amala
Redolent of gbegiri

Scornful of the new edict
Lawful crowds partied in the streets

Gege in fireworks
Jubilations at Agbeni
Feferities at Foko

Mournful they dared not be-cause
Awful Lamidi held the city to ransom

© Akin Adesokan

• For Chief Lamidi Ariyibi Adedibu, the godfather of Ibadan politics (aka the godfather of Amala politics) - who passed away on 11 June 2008 and according to Muslim rites was buried today, June 12, a not insignificant day in the fight for democracy in Nigeria.
• Read Tade Ipadeola's brilliant essay, 'Adedibully: a dinosaur's last dance' - published in Farafina 12, edited by Akin Adesokan,
• Epitaph for the Bully is used with permission.

Yves Saint-Laurent 1936 - 2008

"There is no one left to dress," Cristóbal Balenciaga famously said when he retired in the late 6os. He died a few short years later. The quote always comes back to me whenever an iconic designer goes off to the great catwalk in the sky, as if the supreme-male-diva decided - enough, there's no one left to stick around to dress. Yves Saint-Laurent who died yesterday aged 71, was among the greatest of the great couturiers. Design genius and long-term lover of Pierre Berge, Saint-Laurent it was who put women in smoking jackets, something the pant-suit-wearing Hilary Clinton would appreciate. Yves Saint-Laurent understood that fashion was the Opium of beautiful (not to mention rich) women, and he created a classic perfume to prove the point.

*Flanking Yves Saint-Laurent to the right of this image is the French actress Catherine Deneuve. The long-haired black model behind the designer on the left is his one-time muse, the Guinea-born model Katoucha Niane, who was found dead in the River Seine in Paris in February of this year.

Sonny Okosuns 1947-2008

Looking but a shadow of the immensely popular singer who once cultivated a revolutionary aesthetic, here's Sonny Okosuns as pictured by me on 12 August 2006 at the NMA Awards in London. The man who sang Fire in Soweto, Tire Ni Oluwa, Which Way Nigeria?... who chorused 'Namibia shall be free / Zimbabwe shall be free...' long before they were free, Sonny Okosuns passed away in Washington DC on Saturday 24th May.

• Sonny Okosuns is dead
• Dead at 61

Anthony Minghella's Precious Film

I was invited to the premiere of The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency, held at the BFI Southbank on Tuesday 18th March. But I had to be out of town on a course that I considered ditching in order to attend the premiere of the film, based on Alexander McCall Smith's novel and starring the lovely R'n'B singer Jill Scott; and directed by Anthony Minghella, who one would ordinarily expect to see there, as well as the stars. The course won the day and I missed the event. And how sad to learn that Minghella (director of films such as Cold Mountain and The Talented Mr Ripley) died on the very day of the premiere of his 'perfect' last film. How much sadder it would have been for those who did make the event.

.

Earlier tonight, BBC One showed The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency - a special Easter treat. Rest in peace, Minghella.

Roi Kwabena 1956 - 2008

It was with great sadness that I learned today, regrettably late, of the death of Dr. Roi Kwabena, poet, activist, editor and all round writer. I was on the same programme with Roi Kwabena at the London Poetry Festival, held at RADA, London, on 23 August 2006. He took the stage much later than me and gave an arresting performance, delivering uncompromising political poems that made listeners sit up with their backs straight. I wanted to talk to him as soon as the event was over, but the programme was still on and it was late and I eventually had to go. Kwabena later contacted by email, asking me to send a poem or story for inclusion in Dialogue, the journal he edited. We exchanged email correspondence off and on; and met perhaps for the last time on 16 May 2007 at the October Gallery. He had pictures taken of himself with several artists, including me (I was looking the worse for wear on the day in question). He was going to publish these in a future issue of Dialogue. He joked that he tended to put pictures of himself with writers in the journal, all with the same caption: "The editor with -"; "The editor with - "

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Roi Kwabena was born in Trinidad but he saw the black predicament as one. A true African.

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This below, from a tribute by Andrea Enisuoh

Yes he was an artist: a poet, a musician, a storyteller etc but that never overshadowed what he really wanted out of life. ‘Art is a part of struggle,’ he told me, ‘It is our form of expression, a way of seeing our face in the mirror, whether it be visual art, music literature or any other form.’ Quite simply what he wanted was liberation for his people - physical, spiritual and economic liberation. Something he had been fighting for almost all his life. He was just 14 when he published his first poem, Why Black Power?

I remember asking him once what he thought formed his ideals – and kept him going, ‘I grew up in a very eventful period,’ he revealed, ‘I grew up during the Civil Rights Movement, a time of people being lynched and shot. I’ve lived in Sudan, Ethiopia and Egypt. I’ve met and worked with great ancestors such as Walter Rodney, Maurice Bishop and Eric Williams’. He reeled off other names too, like Betty Shabazz and Stokely Carmichael. I knew then that the spirit of art and activism coursed through his veins.

Born in Trinidad where he was immersed in political and cultural activity, Roi came to Britain in 1985. For a long time he based himself in Birmingham where between 2001-2002 he was the city’s appointed Poet Laureate. Though he still spoke fondly of the city and was always promoting their rich arts scene to those that were not aware, he continued to travel extensively and in the mid-nineties even returned to Trinidad to serve in its parliament.

As a performer he utilised a distinctive style of dialogue, drama and rhythm that enthralled people of all ages. He published numerous poems and spoken word CDs that covered a multitude of subjects. And as a mark of his commitment to the arts internationally he founded the magazine Dialogue that celebrated indigenous cultures around the world.

It was last year, at the opening of the International Slavery Museum in Liverpool that he was given the credit that many believe he deserved when he featured on a wall celebrating the world’s black achievers, past and present. It was a proud moment for him. I often teased him later that I was sitting in the presence of greatness.

Even in poor health Roi’s commitment to the arts shone through. At one stage just out of hospital for treatment for pneumonia and clearly still not well, he rushed to North London to host an evening with dub-poet Mutabaruka, it was something he had committed before falling ill and didn’t want to let anybody down. That was one of the last times I saw Roi, he looked thin and weak and I told him he should be resting. ‘I’ll rest later.’ was his reply.

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May he now rest.

Don't you just hate to see talent wasted?

"This thing grabs hold of us again, in the wrong place,the wrong time, and we're dead."

-Heath Ledger

as Ennis Del Mar in Brokeback Mountain

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This reminds me of the death of the beautifully named River Phoenix. After giving us Ennis Del Mar in the ground-breaking Brokeback Mountain, and having the gall to take on a role that already carried the inimitable stamp of Jack Nicholson - The Joker - in the next Batman film, Heath Ledger was on the cusp of greater fame. His best, really, was yet to come. 2 years ago, Ledger attended the Oscar ceremony with his Brokeback co-star, Michelle Williams, the mother of the very young child he now leaves behind. He parted ways with Williams only months ago. At the Oscars, Ledger had been nominated for Best Actor for Brokeback Mountain. His portrayal in the film was described as a "career defining role". That career will not now happen.

This year's Academy Awards nominations were announced only earlier today. Next month - if the writers' strike allows the Oscar Ceremony to go ahead - Heath Ledger's face and name will be on the roll call of Hollywood's recently departed. And being only 28, his will be an unkind cut indeed.

Overdose or Suicide? The yarn will spin now and forever more. Ask James Dean.

I wasn't even particularly a fan of Heath Ledger, though I loved Brokeback Mountain. Nor was I into his brand of 'good looks'.

It just grieves me to see potential unrealised, promise denied, talent wasted.

• Heath Ledger - in pictures