I’ve tried singing a few times and it’s been s-o-o-o helpful. Anybody who knows me very well, especially my mirror, would tell you I don’t sing often. Unless, when I want to scare my landlord from coming to increase rent. Or when I want to “drive” my neighbours out of the compound. Those are the kinds of wonder singing does.
Well, those are not all. It’s also good for blood pressure; ask King David and the Psalmists. Or even Donald Duke, the young governor without pimples. You see, singing is the only thing left after you’ve cried tears dry – in distress. That’s why the Israelites sang aplenty.
Most times, when I’m so broke and madam comes with a list as long as Etinan marriage requirements, all I do is sing. And the problem is over. You know why? Once I start singing, everyone runs away – rats, chickens and my list-wielding wife. They just can’t stand the sound. Well, it’s not that I sound too loud. It’s just that my enemies complain that I sound like a mix of Baba’s throat-clearing and JJ Okocha’s LG song. But never mind them, they are just jealous!
Anyway, I’ve been considering singing as a career, but no recording label would accept me. Do I really need them? All I need is a video camera. And if my younger brother won’t, I’ll sing and operate the toy myself. That’s what everyone does these days. Check it out, everyone’s singing – including my little girl: “Daddy is a naughty girl, iya –iya –o.”
There’s a song for everyone. And for everything. Song of love. Song of unemployment. Song of insecurity. Song of corruption – including family board appointments. Song of mismanagement – from Aso Rock to NFA Glasshouse. Song of executive pen-robbery. Song of illiteracy. Song of legislative blackmail. Song of swearing Bible or Quran. Song of sycophancy. Money song. Song of economic hardship. Song of 2007 election. Song of fuel price hike. Song of fuel price strike. Song of despair. A song to protest. A song in distress and depression. A song to console. A song to lift the spirit!
When CAF denied Okocha the Footballer of the Year Award for a third time running, the guy took to singing as a “career.” When the Actors’ Guilt, sorry, Guild, banned some actors/actresses, they suddenly blew our eardrums with noise. Sorry, they call it singing. From RMD, Rita Dominic, Segun Arinze, Omotola Ekeinde, Desmond Elliot, Saheed Balogun, Pat Attah, Sam Loco-Efe, Nkem Owo, to Genevieve Nnaji. Even Ashley Nwosu suddenly started learning to write songs. But it’s alright. They only reacted to a situation – to console themselves. Rather than lament, they filled their time with noisemaking, didn’t they? It’s just that there was no class monitor to write their names for corporal punishment.
Anyway, hardship produces singers as many as Obasanjo’s fuel price hikes. Check out Ajegunle. And my village. No! The entire nation is now one huge choir. Even Lateef Jakande sings: “…we have never suffered as today…The paradox of it all is that the wealth of this country has never been greater than what we have now.” Different songs in distress. Songs of lamentation. Songs about bad government – which sound better in vernacular, sometimes inducing soothing laughter. It’s never translated into English, except on placards. The type my grandma carried the other day.
Ah! I was shocked to see the old woman defy arthritis to carry placards. Eket women, in Akwa Ibom, sang in protest round the city. Oil song. And they danced, too. Not Lagbaja’s “konkobello” that Obasanjo did at Obudu Ranch. The women marched; a “dance” of protest. Grandma on the lead. You could even “hear” her singing on the pages of the newspaper. If you looked at the picture hard enough. As she struggled with the pain of arthritis, it looked as if she was actually dancing.
But that pain couldn’t match the oil devastation of land and man in Eket. “We have been subjected to double dose of suffering from the effects of the oil exploration and exploitation activities on our husbands, fathers and children,” they sang. That’s a refrain in Niger Delta, these days. Children, sing with me. One, two, go: “We can’t fish; we can’t farm. We have no roads; we have no sea; we have no land. And we don’t even have the oil that has laid our land waste.” Again; again…!
You see, recording companies actually told me to go drink oil. As a remedy to my croak. But I can’t get oil anywhere. Every oil, I’m told, has been “swallowed” by our Oil Minister – the General. He sells some at whatever price and nobody must question what he does with the money.
While growing up, I heard somebody finished secondary school and got a job with an oil company. But when I grew a bit more – I’m still growing – I couldn’t find a job in an oil company. In fact, I couldn’t find a job, anywhere. Neither could I find any company “doing” oil – whether crude or refined; groundnut oil or palm oil.
The Eket women protest-song rings loud across the country. It’s the cry of every mother, watching her child suffer in starvation. Under an oppressive regime. It’s just a prelude to the main thing. The Labour and civil society choirs are already humming the tune. Soon, the whole nation would erupt in one massive cantata!
It’s the same old song, anyway. We’ve sung it for long now. Many times over, since 1999. The masses now know every word of every verse, offhand. No need for a church hymn book or the big one containing Sacred Songs and Solos.
As usual, the conductor is Adams Oshiomole, the only “president” who gives order and every Nigerian obeys. When Adams “sings,” even LASTA and FERMA officials abandon their highway-fight to “dance.” Since there won’t be vehicular traffic, they won’t have to “control” anything. Ah! But won’t the police starve? Strike song means no N20, abi? And when a policeman is starved of even the N20, he too must join the strike, kwo?
I’ve been assured that the strike this time would be different. Even Baba “swore” – by Ifa, Bible and Quran – that he would join, I heard. He’s a member of NLC, isn’t he? Emm! Sorry, I thought the Farmers’ Union was a labour organization. Anyway, all I know is that Obasanjo must be an NLC member because I saw him singing “Solidarity forever,” at NLC rally, sometime ago. With a fez cap longer than his achievements in office. And a tummy struggling to free itself from the T-shirt. That’s right! Even Baba sings!
Baba must join strike. He can’t fly out this time. If doesn’t before the strike, he would have to wait for it to end. You see, even the FAAN workers, pilots and airspace managers would be in their bedrooms trying to produce more kids they can’t feed. Even Uffot Ekaete would join that strike, I swear. Forget his swan song –“we don’t have the mandate to reduce fuel price.” That sounds a bit like my daughter’s nursery rhyme. For God’s sake, can’t Ekaete speak English? Why does he always repeat his lines, like a stammered? I’m aware that in singing you could repeat lines, but any song that has only the “chorus” must either belong to Yoruba Juju music or Igbo Highlife. But shall we ever forgive Ekaete’s repetitive song? I know his village. There, I was told, singing isn’t a strong point in his family.
Each time Obasanjo increases fuel price, Ekaete leads a delegation, just to go and listen to Oshiomole’s grammar. Then, he would rub his bald and announce like a ‘broken record’ – “We don’t have the mandate…” Stop! Why did you bother to come? I thought somebody used the word: “negotiation”? To negotiate implies readiness to shift ground, abi? Why is Ekaete-led “negotiation” always stalemated from the beginning? It’s a silly ritual that’s not in the dictionary. Too predictable! Like a programmed machine. Ekaete’s song is too monotonous. Like his boss’s only democracy dividend – fuel price hike.
When a song gets too offensive, repetitive and monotonous, it losses appeal. And when a government insists on singing such a song to its people, the result is uproar. A protest! A counter song. For deliverance! Amen!
- First published in Saturday Sun of Sept 10, 2005
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