“Two husbands are better than one;
So also vice-versa,” this sixty-something year old woman informed me in Ile Ife.
In indigenous Yoruba systems, I still grew up to witness polygamy–when a man had several women, and when a woman engaged several men.
I just gave a talk titled “Performing African Art: Image, Motion, Text.”
Picture shows I talk a lot with my hands (funny). Lecturing also becomes a performance art, entailing images, motion and texts.
On my way to the Murtala Muhammed Airport.
Checking out, US bound.
We will find out what happens in Nigeria after elections this Saturday.
Nor be me dabaru 9ja
Akinwumi Isola (1939-2018).
One of the greatest.
The only Honest Man
I was 19 years old in 1975 and an undergraduate studying painting at the University of Ife when my friend, Augusta Akusu-Ossai, took this picture of me.
The attire I’m wearing in the picture is typical of what I always wore in those days: a long adire (batik) top that I designed and sewed myself, and the baggy pants of that era.
Happy Valentine’s Day, my friends. I love you all minus none.
Me, here, painting away on a beautiful Valentine’s Day, seven years ago.
Wèrèpè má so mọ́.
Devil bean weed, stop producing seeds,
Èyí tó o so lésǐn,
The seeds you produced last season
Baba ẹnìkan ò ka.
If you went to the University of Ife in the late 70s or early 80s, can you identify anybody in this picture?
A museum is doing a research on the work of Munio Makuchi, and wants info from anyone in this picture, or anyone able to identify someone in the picture.
This morning, in my African Diaspora Visions class (an art history class that I teach at the University of Texas, Austin), a student from Trinidad and Tobago said, “In a hundred years, everybody in the world will be a Nigerian, or have family ties to Nigerians.”
In 2001, homesick, I returned to Nigeria after staying away for nine years in the US.
My destination was Ife, and I lodged in a hotel in Lagos for the first week. I used the hotel rental car, with a hired driver, to run errands. One day, the rental car driver who drove me around Lagos, said “Prof, why not just buy a car instead of spending all your money on car hires? Don’t you plan to stay in Nigeria for a couple of months? It’s best for you to get a fairly used car.”
My phone rings and, recognizing the name of the caller, I pick up the call. It is the wife of a friend living in Nigeria. I say the usual, “Hello,” but there is no response. There is a faint conversation in the background. She is discussing with her friend.
When I was a kid between the ages of three to ten, my friends and I were fond of watching Lọ́baníkà, an egúngún masquerade that performed regularly once a year in my neighborhood at Iremo in Ile Ife. Lobanika’s annual act was the highlight of the entire community, and we always waited with joy for the week when Lobanika performed to the delight of all and sundry