AFRICAN PROVERBS: On Money, Wealth, Riches and Poverty

Source: http://www.siliconafrica.com/100-african-proverbs-i-always-keep-with-myself/

1. Make some money but don’t let money make you. ~ Tanzania
2. Poverty is slavery. ~Somalia
3. One cannot both feast and become rich. ~ Ashanti
4. The wealth which enslaves the owner isn’t wealth. ~ Yoruba
5. Lack of money is lack of friends; if you have money at your disposal, every dog and goat will claim to be related to you. ~ Yoruba
6. Dogs do not actually prefer bones to meat; it is just that no one ever gives them meat. ~ Akan
7. Money can’t talk, yet it can make lies look true. ~ South Africa
8. You become wise when you begin to run out of money. ~ Ghana
9. Having a good discussion is like having riches ~ Kenya

AFRICAN PAINTINGS: Children

AFRICAN PROVERBS: On Beauty

Source: http://www.siliconafrica.com/100-african-proverbs-i-always-keep-with-myself/

1. Ugliness with a good character is better than beauty. ~Nigerian Proverb

2. If there is character, ugliness becomes beauty; if there is none, beauty becomes ugliness. ~Nigerian Proverb

3. You are beautiful because of your possessions. ~Baguirmi Proverb

4. Patience is the mother of a beautiful child. ~Bantu Proverb

5. Judge not your beauty by the number of people who look at you, but rather by the number of people who smile at you. ~African Proverb

6. The most beautiful fig may contain a worm. ~Zulu Proverb

7. It is only a stupid cow that rejoices at the prospect of being taken to a beautiful abattoir. ~African Proverb

8. There is always a winner even in a monkey’s beauty contest. ~African Proverb

9. An ugly child of your own is more to you than a beautiful one belonging to your neighbor. ~Ganda Proverb

10. If you find “Miss This Year” beautiful, then you’ll find “Miss Next Year” even more so. ~Nigerian Proverb

SOME AFRICAN TRADITIONAL ARCHITURES

AFRICAN PROVERBS: On Family.

Source: http://www.siliconafrica.com/100-african-proverbs-i-always-keep-with-myself/

1. A family is like a forest, when you are outside it is dense, when you are inside you see that each tree has its place. ~ African Proverb

2. A united family eats from the same plate. ~ Baganda proverb

3. If I am in harmony with my family, that’s success. ~ Ute proverb

4. Brothers love each other when they are equally rich. ~ African proverb

5. Dine with a stranger but save your love for your family. ~ Ethiopian proverb

6. There is no fool who is disowned by his family. ~ African proverb

7. Home affairs are not talked about on the public square. ~ African proverb

8. If relatives help each other, what evil can hurt them? ~ African proverb

9. He who earns calamity eats it with his family. ~ African proverb

10. The old woman looks after the child to grow its teeth and the young one in turn looks after the old woman when she loses her teeth. ~ Akan (Ghana, Ivory Coast) proverb

11. When brothers fight to the death, a stranger inherits their father’s estate. ~ Ibo proverb

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AFRICAN PAINTINGS: Family

Source: Pinterest.com

Source: Pinteres.com

Source: Pinterest.com

Source:

http://www.fineartportfolio.co.za/south-african-artwork/jen-adam-african-art-young-family-ja-263a

AFRICAN PROVERBS: On Wisdom

Source: http://www.siliconafrica.com/100-african-proverbs-i-always-keep-with-myself/

1. Wisdom is wealth. ~ Swahili

2. Wisdom is like a baobab tree; no one individual can embrace it. ~ Akan proverb

3. The fool speaks, the wise man listens. ~ Ethiopian proverb

4. Wisdom does not come overnight. ~ Somali proverb

5. The heart of the wise man lies quiet like limpid water. ~ Cameroon proverb

6. Wisdom is like fire. People take it from others. ~ Hema (DRC) proverb

7. Only a wise person can solve a difficult problem. ~ Akan proverb

8. Knowledge without wisdom is like water in the sand. ~ Guinean proverb

9. In the moment of crisis, the wise build bridges and the foolish build dams. ~ Nigerian proverb

10. If you are filled with pride, then you will have no room for wisdom. ~ African proverb

11. A wise person will always find a way. ~ Tanzanian proverb

12. Nobody is born wise. ~ African proverb

13. A man who uses force is afraid of reasoning. ~Kenyan proverb

14. Wisdom is not like money to be tied up and hidden. ~ Akan proverb

AFRICAN PROVERBS: On Unity and Community

Source: http://www.siliconafrica.com/100-african-proverbs-i-always-keep-with-myself/

1. Unity is strength, division is weakness. ~ Swahili proverb

2. Sticks in a bundle are unbreakable. ~ Bondei proverb

3. It takes a village to raise a child. ~ African proverb

4. Cross the river in a crowd and the crocodile won’t eat you. ~ African proverb

5. Two ants do not fail to pull one grasshopper. ~ Tanzanian proverb

6. A single bracelet does not jingle. ~ Congolese proverb

7. A single stick may smoke, but it will not burn. ~ African proverb

8. If you want to go quickly, go alone. If you want to go far, go together. ~ African proverb

SHORT STORY: The Rain Came

 By Grace Ogot

(Please not that this short story by Grace Ogot has been further shortened for our readers)

The atmosphere in the village was tense and confused. Every one moved aimlessly and fussed in the yard without actually doing any work. A young woman whispered to her co-wife, ''if they have not solved this rain business today, the Chief will crack''. They have watched him getting thinner and thinner as the people kept on pestering  him. ''our cattle lies  dying in the fields,'' they reported. ''Soon it will be our children and then ourselves. Tell us what to do to save our lives, oh great Chief. So the chief had daily pray with the Almighty through the ancestors to deliver them from their distress.

Instead of calling the family together and giving them the news immediately, Lambong'o went to his own hut, a sign that he was not  to be disturbed. Having replaced the shutter, he sat in the dimly lit hut to contemplate.  It was no longer a question of being the chief of hunger-stricken people that weighed Labong'o heart . it was the life of his only daughter that was at stake. At the time when Oganda came to meet him, he saw the glisttering chain shining around her waist. The prophecy was complete. ''it is Oganda, Oganda, my only daugther, who must die so young! Labong'o burst into tears before finishing the sentence.

The chief must not weep. Society had declared him the greatest of men. But Labong'o did not care any more. He assumed the position of a simple father and wept bitterly. He loved his people, the Luo, but what were the Luo for him without Oganda? Her life had brought a new life to Labong'o's world and he ruled better than he could remember. How would the spirit of the village survive his beautiful daughter? ''There are so many homes and so many parents who have daughters. Why choose this one? She is all I have.'' Labong'o spoke as if the ancestors were there in the hut and he could see them face to face. Perhaps they were there, warning him to remember his promise on the day he was enthroned when he said aloud before the elders, ''I will lay down my life , if necessary, and the life of my household to save this tribe from the hands of the enemy'', ''Deny! Deny!'' he could hear the voice of his forefathers mocking him.

Never in his life had he been faced with such an impossible decision.  Refusing to yield to the rainmaker's request would mean sacrificing the whole tribe putting the interest of the individual above those of  the society. More than that. It would mean disobeying the ancestors, and most probably wiping the Luo people from the face of the earth. On the other hand, to let Oganda die as a ransom for the people would permanently cripple Labong'o's spirituality. He knew he would never be the same chief again. The word of Ndithi, the medicine man, still echoes in his ears. ''Podho, the ancestor of the Luo, appeared to me in the dream last night, and he asked me to speak to the Chief and the people,'' Ndithi had said to the gathering of  tribesmen. ''A young woman who has  not known a man must die so that the country may have rain.

While Podho was still talking to me, I saw a young woman standing at the lakeside, her hands raised above her head. Her skin was as fair as the skin of a young deer in the wilderness. Her tall slender figure stood like a lonely reed at the river bank. Her sleepy eyes wore a sad look like that of a bereaved mother. She  wore a gold ring on her left ear, and glistering brass chain around her waist. As I still marveled at the beauty of this young woman, Podho told me, out of the women in this land, we have chosen this one. Let her offer herself as a sacrifice to the Lake monster! And on that day, the rain will come down in torrents. Let everyone stay at home on that day lest he be carried away by the floods.''

Outside there was a strange stillness, except for the thirsty birds that sang lazily on the dying trees. The blinding mid-day heat had forced the people to retire to their huts.

When Labong'o stood to address his house hold, his voice was hoarse and the tears choked him. He started to speak but, words refused to leave his lips. His wives and sons knew there was great danger. Perhaps their enemies had declared war on them. Labong'o's eyes were red and they could see he had been weeping. At last he told them. ''One whom we love and treasured must be taken away from us. Oganda must die''.
Labong'o's voice was so faint that he could not hear it himself. But he continued. ''The ancestors have chosen her to be offered as sacrifice to the lake monster in order that we may have rain.''

They were completely stunned. As a confused murmur broke out, Oganda's mother fainted and was carried off to her own hut. But the other people rejoiced. They danced around singing and chanting.
 Oganda is the lucky one to die for the people.
 If is to save the people, let Oganda go.

In her grandmother's hut Oganda wondered what the whole family was discussing about that she could not hear. Her grandmother's hut was well away from the chief's court and,  much as she strain her ears, she could not hear what was said. ''It must be marriage'', she concluded. It was an  acceptable custom for the family to discuss their daugther's future marriage behind her back. A faint smile played on Oganda's lips as she thought of the several young men who swallowed saliva at the mere mention of her name.

The lean figure in the door way startled Oganda who was rapt in thought about the man she loved. ''You frightened me, Grandma'', said Oganda laughing. ''Tell me, is it my marriage you were discussing? You can take it from me that I won't marry any of them.'' A smile played on her lips again. She was coaxing the old lady to tell her quickly, to tell her they were pleased with Osinda. In the open space outside the excited relatives were dancing and singing . They were coming to the hut now, each carrying gift to put at Oganda's feet As their singing got nearer Oganda was able to hear what they were singing:
 If it is to save the people, 
if it is to give us rain, 
let  Oganda go. 
Let Oganda die for her people, 
and for her ancestors.

Was she mad to think that they were singing about her? How could she die? She found the lean figure of her grandmother barring the door.. She could not get out. The look on her grandmother's face warned  her that there was danger around the corner. ''Mother, it is not marriage then.'' Oganda asked urgently.  She suddenly felt panicky like a mouse cornered by a hungry cat. Forgetting that there was only one door in the hut, Oganda fought desperately to find another exit. She must fight for her life. But there was none. She closed her eyes, leaped  like a wild tiger through the door knocking her grandmother flat on the ground. There outside in mourning garments, Labong'o stood motionless, his hands folded at the back. He took his daughter's hand and led her away from the excited crowd to the little red-painted hut where her mother was resting. Here he broke the news officially to his daughter.

For a long time the three of souls who loved one another dearly sat in darkness. It was no good speaking. And even if they tried, the words could not have come out. In the past they had been like three cooking stones, sharing their burdens. Taking Oganda away from them would leave two useless stones which would not hold a cooking pot.

News that the beautiful daughter of the Chief was to be sacrificed to give the people rain spread across the country like wind. At sunset the  chief's village was full of relatives and friends who had come to congratulate Oganda. Many more were on their way coming, carrying  their gifts. They would dance till morning to keep her company. And in the morning they would prepare her a big farewell feast. All these  relatives thought it a great honor to be selected by the spirit to die, in order that the society  may live. ''Oganda's name will always remain a living name among us,'' they boasted.

But was it maternal love that prevented Minya from rejoicing with other women? Was it the memory of her agony and pain of childbirth that made her feel so sorrowful or was it the deep warmth and understanding  tha passes between a suckling babe and her mother that made Oganda a part of her life, her flesh? Of course it was an honor, a great honor, for her daughter to be chosen to die for the country. But what could she gain once her only child was blown away by the wind?  There were so many other women in the land, why choose her daughter, her only child! Had human life any meaning at all - other women had houses full of children while she, Minya, had to lose her only child!

In the cloudless sky the moon shun brightly, and the stars glitters with bewitching beauty. The dancers of all age group assembled to dance before Oganda, who sat  close to her mother, sobbing quietly. All these years she  had been with her people she thought she understood them. But now she discovered that she was a stranger among them. If they loved her as they had always professed why were they not making any attempt to save her? Did her people really understand what it felt like to die young? unable to restrain her emotion any longer, she sobbed loudly as her age-group got up to dance. They were young and beautiful and very soon they would marry and have their own children. They would have husband to love and little huts for themselves. They would have reached maturity. Oganda touched the chain around her waist as she thought of Osinda. She wished Osinda were there too, among her friends. ''Perhaps he is ill', she thought gravely. The chain comforted Oganda. She would die with it around her waist and wear it in the underground world.

In the morning a big feast was prepared for Oganda. The women prepared many different dishes so that she could pick and choose. ''People don't eat after death,'' they said. Delicious though the foods looked, Oganda touched none of it. Let the happy eat. She contented herself with sips of water from a little calabash. The time for her departure was drawing near, and each minute was precious. It was a day's journey to the lake. She was to walk all night, passing through the great forest. But nothing could touch her, not even the denisens of the forest. She was already anointed with sacred oil. From the time Oganda received the sad news she had expected Osinda to appear any moment. But he was not there. A relative told her that Osinda was away on a private visit. Oganda realized that she would never see her beloved again.

In the afternoon, the whole village stood at the gate to say goodbye and to see her for the last time. Her mother wept on her neck for a long time. The great Chief in a mourning skin came to the gate barefooted, and mingled with the people - a simple father in grief. He took off his bracelet and put it on his daughter's wrist, saying, ''you will live among us. The spirit of our forefather is with you.'' Tongue-tight and unbelieving Oganda stood there before the people. She had nothing to say. She looked at her home once more. she could hear her heart beating so painfully within her. All her childhood plans were coming to an end. She felt like a flower nipped in the bud never to enjoy the morning dew again. She looked at her weeping mother and whispered, '''whenever you want to see me, always look at the sunset. I will be there.'' Oganda turned southwards to start her trek to the lake. Her parents , relatives, friends and admirers stood at the gate and watched her go. Her beautiful slender figure grew smaller and smaller till she mingled with the thin dry trees in the forest. As Oganda walked the lonely path that wound its way in the wilderness she sang a song, and her own voice kept her company.

The ancestors have said Oganda must die.
The daughter of the Chief must be sacrificed,
When the lake monster on my flesh,
The people will have rain.
Yes, the rain will come down in torrents.
And the floods will wash away.....

A strange feeling possessed Oganda as she picked her way in the sacred land. There were strange noises that often startled her, and her first reaction was to take to her heels. But she remembered that she had to fulfill the wish of her people. She was exhausted but the path was still winding. Then suddenly, the path ended on a sandy land. The water had retreated miles away from the shore leaving a wide stretch of sand. Beyond this was the vast expanse of water. Oganda  felt afraid. She wanted to picture the size and shape of the monster, but fear would not let her. The society did not talk about it, nor did the crying children who were silence by the mention of its name.

The sun was still up, but it was no longer hot. For a long time Oganda walked angle-deep in the sand. She was exhausted and longed desperately for her calabash of water. As she moved on, she had a strange feeling that something was following her. Was it the monster? Her hairs stood erect and a cold  paralyzing feeling ran along her spine. she looked behind, sideways and in front, but there was nothing except a cloud of dust. Oganda pulled up and hurried but the feeling did not leave her, and her whole body became saturated with perspiration. The sun was going down fast and the lake shore seemed to move along with it.

Oganda started to run. She must be at the lake before sunset. As she ran she heard a noise coming from behind. She loooke back sharply, and something resembling a moving bush was frantically running after her. It was about to catch up with her. Oganda ran with all her strength. She was now determined to throw herself into the water before sunset. She did not look back but the creature was upon her. She made an effort to cry out, as in a nightmare, but she could not hear her own voice. The creature caught up with Oganda. In the utter confusion as Oganda came face to face with the unidentified creature, a strong strong hand grab her . But she fell flat on the sand and fainted.

When the lake breeze brought her back to consciousness, a man was bending over her. ''O...!'' Oganda opened her mouth to speak, but she had lost her voice. She swallowed a mouthful of water poured into her mouth by the stranger. ''Osinda, Osinda! please let me die, let me run, the sun is going down. Let me die. Let them have rain.'' Osinda fondled the glittering chain around Oganda's waist and wiped the tears from her face. ''We must escape quickly to the unknown land.'' Osinda said urgently. ''We must run away from the wrath of the ancestors and the retaliations of the monster.''

''But the curse is upon me, Osinda, I am no good to you any more. And moreover the eyes of the ancestors will follow us everywher and bad luck will befall us. Nor can we escape from the monster.''
Oganda broke loose, afraid to escape, but Osinda grab her hands again.
''Listen to me Oganda! Listen! Here are two coats! He  then covered the whole of Oganda's body, except her eyes, with a leafy attire made from the twigs of Bwombwe. ''These will protect us from the eyes of the ancestors and the wrath of the monster. Now let us run out of here.''
He held Oganda's hand and they ran from the sacred land avoiding the path that Oganda had followed.

The bush was thick and the long grass entangled their feet as they ran. Half way through the sacred land they stopped and looked back. The sun was almost touching the surface of the water. They were frightened. They continued to run, now faster, to avoid the sinking sun. ''Have faith, Oganda - that things will not reach us.''

When they reached the barrier and looked behind them trembling, only a tip of the sun could be seen above the water's surface. ''It is gone! It is gone" Oganda wept, hiding her face in her hands.
''Weep not , daughter of the great Chief. Let us run, let us escape.''

There was a bright lightening . They looked up, frightened. Above them black furious cloud started to gather. They began to run. Then the thunder roared, and the rain came down in torrents.

AFRICAN PROVERBS: On Leadership

Source: http://www.siliconafrica.com

1. Peace is costly but it is worth the expense. ~Kenyan proverb

2. War has no eyes ~ Swahili saying

3. When a king has good counselors, his reign is peaceful. ~Ashanti proverb

4. Peace does not make a good ruler. ~Botswana proverb

5. There can be no peace without understanding. ~Senegalese proverb

6. Milk and honey have different colors, but they share the same house peacefully. ~ African proverb

7. If you can’t resolve your problems in peace, you can’t solve them with war. ~ Somalian proverb

8. When there is peace in the country, the chief does not carry a shield. ~Ugandan proverb

9. Speak softly and carry a big stick; you will go far. ~ West African proverb

10. He who thinks he is leading and has no one following him is only taking a walk. ~ Malawian proverb

11. An army of sheep led by a lion can defeat an army of lions led by a sheep. ~ Ghanaian proverb

12. He who refuses to obey cannot command. ~ Kenyan proverb

13. A large chair does not make a king. ~ Sudanese proverb

14. A leader who does not take advice is not a leader. ~ Kenyan proverb

15. If the cockroach wants to rule over the chicken, then it must hire the fox as a body-guard. ~ Sierra Leone proverb

AFRICAN PAINTINGS.

Source:  http://artlife.co.ke/collecting-contemporary-east-african-art/

Source: http://insideafricanart.com/artists/

Source: https://www.saatchiart.com/art/Painting-Zebras/223457/2313917/view

Source:

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/372180356683143462/

MAKING A CASE FOR POOR READING CULTURE IN NIGERIA

 By: Olawale Oluwadahunsi on: July 16, 2014
In THE NATIONAL MIRROR Arts, Arts and Lifestyle, Culture >http://nationalmirroronline.net/new/making-a-case-for-poor-reading-culture-in-nigeria/

Reading culture in Nigeria is at its lowest ebb, and experts are worried that this portends a dangerous omen for the countrie’s future. Read how the tidal wave could be fought to a standstill in this piece.

If the future of Nigeria will be anything close to projections in terms of education, reading is one formidable tool that the country cannot do without.

Reading books is like a journey because it takes one beyond time and space. Reading challenges and agitates one’s mind. It shifts one’s paradigm and places before one a possible and preferable future and re-orients people’s mentality.

Recent interviews with celebrities like Taiwo Ajai-Lycett, and Yemi Blaq give a clear picture of what the culture of reading they imbibed from their childhood has done to them.

Mrs Taiwo Ajai-Lycett explains that “Books were in high regard just like films such that we look forward to read new books every week”, and in consonance, Yemi Blaq says “I love to read a lot; reading was fun to me. As a result of that, I have a lot of materials to read at home. Today, much reading has made it easy for me to communicate with a lot of people around the world, especially on different subjects. It always amazes people how I am at home with different subjects. I usually tell them that I learnt it when I was growing up”

If reading is such a wonderful experience armed with adventurous and scintillating benefits, then why is Nigeria not imbibing the culture?

In Nigeria, a study carried out 2004, reveals that 40 percent of adult Nigerians never read a non-fiction book from cover to cover after they finish school. The average Nigerian reads less than one book per year, and only one percent of successful men and women in Nigeria read one non-fiction book per month. The same study showed that 30 million Nigerians have graduated from high school with poor reading skills.

A writer, Matthew Ujah-Peter, with The Reading Culture book Club reiterates the decadence of reading in Nigeria.

“When a book expo or book fair is organised by some institutions and organisations in the country, amazement and disappointments are at its peak as there is low turnout of people in such events.

Every year the Lagos Television (LTV), the Nigerian Television Authority (NTA), the Christian Bookseller Association ( CBAN), Committee for Relevant Art (CORA), The Nigerian Book Fair Trust (NIBFT), FARAFINA and recently, the Rainbow Book Club, Port Harcourt, organise book cantred events like book fairs, art and book festivals, book expo. But how many Nigerians make out time out of their ‘’busy schedule’’ to attend these and savor the arrays of books on display?

The lack of interest and apathy shown towards such events here in Nigeria is a clear testimony to the fact that most Nigerians do not place much value on books and reading. There has always been low turnout in most of these events compared to such events in other climes”.

“In Nigeria, public awareness is still very low and attendance is also painfully low as most of these events are attended only by a few. Book shops are rarely patronised by most Nigerians and libraries are seen as a place for those studying for examinations and researchers. Indeed the level of interest shown by the average Nigerian towards books and reading still leaves much to be desired”.

Another possible reason is because most Nigerians see book reading as cumbersome and prefer to be entertained with beauty pageants, films, and the use of ICT devices.

President Goodluck Jonathan lamented the negative impact of internet and the social media on the reading and writing culture in Nigeria, saying that Federal Government which has been doing everything to reverse the dwindling culture, may be compelled to re-launch “Bring Back the Book” programme.

According to the President, “It often worries me in terms of how to increase our writing culture in our country these days of internet and text messages that people don’t like to write long sentences again. I know people like these are used to reading very short things; they didn’t have the interest to read the novel that we used to read in our days. I don’t know what the association has been doing”

Executive Director, Institute of Media and Society, Mr. Akin Akingbulu said another factor that contributes to poor reading culture is the prices of books which are on the high side.

“In our days, you could pick a Chinua Achebe’s or Wole Soyinka’s book for just N150 if you wanted a novel to read. But now the prices have gone up. You get to a book store and you are asked to pay N700 or N800 for a book. So the affordability becomes an issue to many children who would have wanted to read,” he said.

He added that the Nigerian environment has also contributed to the reduction in reading culture among youths. He noted that the young generation sees the leaders pocketing so much money and breeds the feeling that there is always a short cut to making money.

Bad as the situation may seem, there is a way out. Mr Nkannebe Raymond, an educational observer says all the there must be a synergy among the family, the government and organized private sector as they have a great role to play in bringing back the book on people’s mind, in the development of young writers who are mostly avid readers in order to engender the performance of men and women who believe in the paradox that the pen is mightier than the sword.

Viewers can only end up practicing and advancing the kind of life style that greet them every now and again as they switch their T.V sets or tune in to various radio stations and who are these viewers? The notion that whether one reads or not cannot change the situation of things has been crested in the gullible minds of all and particular mention must be made of the youth population who we are told are the leaders of tomorrow.

TV and radio programmes every now and again, bother us with content that bother on the promotion of other skills with the influential private sector coming in to sponsor and advertise its products and in the process, make stars and celebrities of the participants at the end of the day thereby, leading the gullible minds of the youth into believing that its greener on the other side.

Parents should guide their wards into reading anything that comes their way irrespective of subject and give out prizes where tenable at the family level in order to encourage and serve as incentive to others. The school system cannot be left out in this. They should make reading and short story writing a part of their syllabus in order to propagate the trend and help in catching them young.

The government at all levels should sponsor literary works of young writers and consider aspiring writers for publication as the dream of every young writer is to ne published. Literary clubs and publishing houses like Farafina Books and a host of others should be partnered with in helping to harness the literary deposits untapped in our population and excellence awarded where it is attained. Literary/writing workshops/book reading seminars should form the agenda of the education ministries and adequate funds released to ensure its actualisation while keeping corruption at its lowest ebb.

The organised private sector must be encouraged to extend their charity and supposedly reward excellence in the areas of reading and writing as it forms part of their corporate social responsibility.

Exterior of the National Library of Nigeria, Yaba, Lagos

SEFI ATTA

Born in Lagos, Nigeria, in 1964  to a family of five children, Sefi Atta attended  Queen's College, Lagos, Millfield School, England and graduated from Birmingham University in 1985. She also trained as a chartered accountant.  Her father Abdul-Aziz Atta was the Secretary to Federal Government and Head of the Civil Service until his death in 1972, and she was raised by her mother Iyabo Atta.

In 1994 she moved from England to the United State with her husband, Gboyega Ransome-Kuti, a medical doctor, and son of Olikoye Ransome-Kuti. Sefi who currently lives in Meridian, Mississppi, founded the Lagos-based production company Atta Girl supports Care to Read. A program she initiated to earn funds for legitimate charities through staged readings.  While working as a CPA in  New York, Atta began to write. She graduated from the creative writing program at Antioch University, Los Angeles in 2001. Her short stories have appeared in literary journals such as World,  Missisipi Review and Los Angeles Review.  Her books have been translated to several languages.

Nigerian-born Sefi Atta’s short stories have appeared in journals like Literature Today, Los Angeles Review and Mississipi Review and have won prizes from Zoetrope and Red Hen Press. Her radio plays have been broadcast by the BBC. She is the winner of PEN International's 2004/2005 David TK Wong Prize and in 2006, her debut novel Everything Good Will Come was awarded the inaugural Wole Soyinka Prize for Literature in Africa

Novels;

•  Everything Good Will Come, (Interlink Books, 2005 ).
•  Swallow, (Interlink Book, 2010). 
• A Bit of Difference, (Interlink Books, 2012).

Short-story collections
News from Home, (Interlink Books, 2010).

Radio plays 
Some of her radio plays are:

• The Wake, Smooth FM, Lagos
• Makinwa's Miracle, BBC Radio
• The Engagement, BBC Radio
• A Free Day, BBC Radio

Stage plays
Her stage plays includes:

•  The Cost of Living, Lagos Heritage Festival, Terra Kulture, Lagos
• An Ordinary Legacy, The MUSON Festival, MUSON Centre, Lagos
• Hagel auf Zamfara, Theatre Krefeld, Germany
• The Engagement, MUSON Centre, Lagos.
• Among others.  

 Awards and Recognition

• Macmillan Writers Prize For Africa, shortlist, 2002.
• BBC African Performance, 2nd Prize, 2002.
• Zoetrope Short Fiction Contest, 3rd Prize, 2002.
• Red Hen Press Short Story Award, 1st prize, 2003.
• Glimmer Train's Very Short Fiction Award, finalist, 2003.
• BBC African Performance, 2nd Prize, 2004.
• PEN International David TK Wong Prize, 1st Prize, 2005.
• Caine Prize for African Literature, shortlist, 2006.
• Wole Soyinka Prize for Literature in Africa, 2006.
• Noma Award for Publishing in Africa, 2009.  

ORCHIDS: A Story Suffering and Courage

BOOK TITLE:  Orchids: A Story of Suffering and Courage
AUTHOR: Thierry Manirambona
PUBLISHER: Pauline Publication Africa/St. Paul Communications
No. OF PAGES: 94 pages
ISBN: 9966-08-651-X
YEAR PUBLISHED: 2012
REVIEWED BY: Matthew Ujah-Peter  
 
''March is in full swing. The mornings are so cold. The flowers have blossomed and the grass is growing, luxuriously green. At night, insects flocks to the lamps, and especially to the candle in my room. It rains often at night, so softly. It rains for so long that the drops seep into the drinking earth. Behind my window are beautiful, happy flowers. The tinkling of evening bells fills my room; faraway birds-calls breaks the silence. And close by, in the trees, from leaf to leaf, tardy raindrops joins their predecessors, dripping in shimmering silence unto the leaves carpeting the ground.
I am so weak. I am too weak to get water for papa's orchids. It is so cold outside, but I cannot find the strength to get out of bed to shut the window.''

When you look at the dailies each morning at the news stand, you are depressed by the figures - figures that represent lives of real human beings but snuffed out, not by natural disasters or accidents but by fellow humans who believe that there is noble purpose to their acts. As Roberts Czerny remarked in the foreword of this book, '' I look at the numbers. I count the zeros. The more zeros I see, the more shocked I feel, or depressed and helpless, or perplexed. But people are not zeros.''

The Orchids is about one of the people behind those zeros: Lucille. Lucille didn't die during the genocide but she was a victim who lived long enough to tell her own side of the story. Lucille is a real person with real experiences of sufferings and pains brought about by atrocities and senseless killings by fellow humans. But the story of Lucille is not about sufferings and pains alone. It's also about bravery, courage, kindness and triumph. Anytime you read or hear news of sufferings from distance lands or from nearby lands about figures of the victims with a few or many zeros, it's about people like Lucille - people with vision and ambitions, people with hopes and dreams - who are behind those zeros.

Meet Lucille as she takes you by the hand on a journey through her world of innocence, beauty, love pains, shame, and the triumph of love and faith. Born in 1982, Lucille comes across at the beginning as your average young African girl growing up from childhood to womanhood but the genocide that took place in the land of her birth in 1994 when she was only twelf changed all that.

Lucille will tell you of her experience and ordeals as she and her family moved from place to place to escape the throes of death.  Lucille also tells of her quest to make meaning out of life in the midst of the sufferings, dislocation and hopelessness that were the natural fruits of wars and genocides like the one that took place in April 1994 in Rwanda. You might cry a tear or too as Lucille enraptures you with her descriptions of her native lands, her love of literature and as she expresses her deepest feelings with her poetic prowess.

The Orchids is Thiery Manirambora's effort that helps the reader go on a journey alongside a real person who had seen it all and who knows the hell and horror of human suffering brought about by hatred, prejudice, racism and violence.

Beginning from chapter one, The Good Old Days, Lucille relates her story from childhood experiences in Byimana, Gitarama, southern Rwanda to chapter twenty seven - the last chapter titled  Into Your Hands, Lord... where she tells of friends in school when she was only a girl of eight growing up. She recounts her ordeals in Rwanda, Congo, Burundi and back to Rwanda as she ran in the company of others from place to place, lands to lands, to escape the throes of death.

Some of the most touching parts of The Orchids are the poetic ways Lucille expresses her thoughts and feelings. To one of her late female friend Assia, she expresses her feelings with this lines:

Assia, your eyes are ocean of friendship. On each shore of your gaze, there are words that sail over to the other side. Chirping birds swim airily in the clouds and inscribe paths in the middle of the desert. Migrating birds flee the winter of my heart for the warmth of your eyes. At the bottom of your silence you will see path that lead straight towards a new year. No matter how hard it is for you to believe it.

Lucille at the end challenges us all to rise above and beyond cruelties that life throws at us. She is the example of the heroes that resides in each one of us. She urges us to fight on as far as there's breath in our nostrils - to fight on and fulfil the beauties that lie within and ahead of us all. The Orchids will leave you re-evaluating your attitudes to living, obligations to fellow suffering humans and the overall big picture.

This is one book that will take you on an emotion-filled tour of the life of a young woman who knows what it means to suffer, to love, to be loved, to lose loved ones to war and to lose one's home to an unneeded and meaningless fight. A young woman who will tell you her side of the hell that broke loose over 20 years ago in the Land of a Thousand Hills. This is the story of sufferings and pains and of courage and of resilience.

DEBORAH AHENKORAH

Deborah Ahenkora

Written By Jemila Abdulai On Wednesday, September 07, 2011 @ http://www.circumspecte.com

It's my great honor to introduce this young lady to those of you who might not have heard of her, and for those of you who have, to hopefully share one or two things that you probably didn't know about Deborah Ahenkorah and her journey so far. The Visionnaire Series begins.

Privilege Vs Responsibility
At 24 years, Deborah Ahenkorah is living proof of the heights a person can reach just by trying.

A native of the Eastern Region, Deborah grew up with her parents in Ghana’s capital Accra. She attended North Ridge Lyceum, and later enrolled at Wesley Girls’ High School in Cape Coast. Consequently, she proceeded on scholarship to Bryn Mawr College in the USA, for her university degree.

“I had no reason to want to come back to Ghana. I’m going to America, why would I want to come back to Ghana? But in the four years that I was in school various experiences, you know, switched my mind 180 degrees,” Deborah recounted.

According to the self-proclaimed adventuress who once hawked children’s clothing at the Makola Market in Accra out of sheer curiosity, her epiphany lay in acknowledging both the privilege and responsibility that came with her Ivy League Bryn Mawr education.
“I was trying to be a lawyer, make some good money, you know? But then it became really more than that,” she said. “It became: Look, like it or not your education gives you some privilege. What are you going to do with it?”
What Deborah did was to start an on campus book drive in 2007 in order to get more literature to children and youth across Africa. However she soon realized that the real issue was not a lack of books, but rather access to literature that Africans could actually relate to.

Deborah explained: “How was it an okay solution that: African children can’t read. Well, let’s get them American books to read because American people are writing their books? I felt that African people had to write their own books too.”

Thus begins the story of the Golden Baobab Prize.

Reading with kids at Accra's Mamprobi Gale Community Library 

Building Blocks & Shoe-String Budgets
Idea rooted in mind, Deborah sought out funding opportunities, including the 100 Projects for Peace. While she didn’t secure that particular grant, she did have a pretty good draft proposal which she improved upon and submitted for minor grants at her college. This time around, she got the money she needed.

Money in hand, the next step was to identify someone, a field supervisor, who would not only share her vision, but also offer guidance in implementing her idea.

Deborah found both in Rama Shagaya, a Bryn Mawr and Harvard Business School alumnus who, at the time, was was on the lookout for Africa-related projects to get involved in. Between them, the Golden Baobab Prize officially took off in July 2008.

“So I got some money, came home one summer, plugged myself in an internet cafe, and the goal was to start the first - okay well, at that time it wasn’t even that ambitious - the goal was just to organize this writing competition.”

Things didn’t turn out so simple. Golden Baobab needed a website, judges, and a good amount of publicity and promotion to reach the furthest corners of Africa. To top it all off, Debbie was still a full-time college student.

“I had no experience at web design. I had to build a website that summer,” Debbie remembered. “But it worked.”

With only 12 entries submitted that summer, and on the verge of writing off the literary award as a failure, Deborah received some invaluable advice from a mentor.
“One of the older mentors that I have was like, actually no. Since you run it you can decide whether it has failed or not,” Deborah remembered. “You can say this has not failed because I’m going to extend the deadline and put in more work to get more people to write.”And so she continued.
A couple of months later, the number of entries submitted totalled 76 stories from 9 countries, something Deborah describes as “a great success for something we marketed with zero dollars.”
She added: “What was interesting about the first year was that we were going to give 3 different prizes, $800 each. I didn’t have any of this money.”
To raise the funds, both co-founders dipped into their pockets. The book drive club which Deborah started at Bryn Mawr also helped raise $800 for one prize. The remainder was covered after Deborah “literally went around to people begging.”

                    Debbie with staff members of Playing for Change during the Echoing Green Final Interviews

Challenges, Motivation, and Personal Growth
According to Deborah, the key aim of Golden Baobab is to discover, nurture and celebrate promising writers of African children’s stories.
The fact that the prize is overseen primarily by a team of volunteers demonstrates just how passionate the organization is about its cause. Unfortunately, not having a full-time
Reading with kids at Accra's Mamprobi Gale Community Library

“My friends were just so supportive. People believed in it and they’d help out a semester, one year, whatever,” Deborah said. “But it just wasn’t consistent; because whenever someone new comes, you have to retrain that person.”

Nevertheless, Deborah believes Golden Baobab's impact is enough reason to keep striving on. Her favourite “success story” involves a lady who happened to be a librarian at one of the Canadian libraries Deborah frequented as a child in Ngoye, Krobo.

After having someone type up her story for her, the librarian, who didn’t know how to use a computer, broke down in tears when she heard she was a shortlisted candidate for the Prize during the first year.

Deborah said: “She sat down and she just cried. Here’s a woman whose read countless of books to children and never thought that her story could potentially be worthy of anything.”

“That’s when it hit me that oh goodness, this is not just me behind my computer at the internet cafe. This is actually writers and actually people with dreams and people with stories who want to tell these stories and who want people to read these stories,” the young entrepreneur said.

Aside helping make the dreams of others come true, the Golden Baobab Prize has had a profound impact on the co-founder herself. “Personally I think one of the most difficult things has been developing confidence in my ability to make this work, because this is not what I set out to do,” Deborah admitted.

With her mind set on being a lawyer, Golden Baobab first started off as a short-term project for Deborah. That she could handle. What shook her to the core however was when things evolved and started “getting out of control.”

“How can I, just barely graduated school, run a pan-African literary prize, you know, that is saying that it’s going to change the African literary landscape? What skills, qualifications do I have to make this work?” Deborah asked herself.
Apparently, enough. Three years down the line, Golden Baobab's Executive Director is coming into her own and acknowledges her role in making the Golden Baobab Prize what it is today.

“I guess my resilience and passion for it thus far is evidence that I can continue to take it places. And, I guess just with doing it for three years I’ve realized that actually I can do it a little bit,” she said.

Winning the Echoing Green Fellowship
It’s been three years since the Golden Baobab Prize took off. Since then Deborah and her team have taken many bold steps in overseeing the annual literary award which has received over 200 entries since inception. They have also gotten literary giants like Ama Ata Aidoo to actively participate in their mission.
Debbie with staff members of Playing for Change during the Echoing Green Final Interviews

In June 2011, Deborah was named one of “today’s boldest social change visionaries” by Echoing Green; an acclaimed lending network with over two decades of experience in supporting ideas aimed at addressing some of society’s most pressing issues.

She applied for the Echoing Green fellowship after the application was forwarded to her – three days to the deadline - by Maya Ajmera, founder of the Global Fund for Children, which helps fund Golden Baobab through grants. Prior to that, a friend had forwarded the fellowship application to her via email. Her response? “Haha. Delete.”
“The funny thing is I was on the Echoing Green mailing list and had seen them sending the mail that people should apply for the fellowship. But it never even crossed my mind to apply for it. I was like, there’s no way I’m going to get this. This is for high rollers,” Deborah explained.
It would seem, however, that destiny would not take no for an answer. With the deadline three days away, Deborah spent an entire day contemplating whether or not to put in the needed effort. By day two, she was working feverishly on an application which many take months to complete.

While the Echoing Green application process was by no means painless, Deborah regards it as a very “powerful” experience which drastically shifted her thinking to the impact of the Golden Baobab. Through what she calls the “friendliest competition” she’d ever been in, she also got to network with likeminded individuals who “were just all so excited about each other’s projects”.

“It was a very empowering process for me in many ways and I didn’t think that I would even make it to the semi-finalist round, but that was okay because it had been a positive application experience,” she recounted.

But make it to the semi-finalist round she did, and as her mother rightly predicted, she sailed through to the finals as well. Ultimately Deborah was one of the final 15 fellows selected from 2,800 applications and initiatives.

“It was a very positive experience and, again, the competition was clearly top-notch, so nobody could be comfortable or confident,” Deborah said. “I certainly was not comfortable or confident and it was a huge shock to me when I realized that I’d been selected.”

With the generous support from Echoing Green, Deborah and Golden Baobab can kiss their shoestring days goodbye as they push on in their quest to rival the Heinemann African Writers series and change Africa’s literary landscape.

“I’m very excited because it’s going to open a lot of doors for Golden Baobab, and it comes at a time when I think Golden Baobab really needs that push,” she gushed. “It locks me in for two years so there’s no running away. It’s just going to mean a lot of really good things for Golden Baobab.”

The Golden Baobab Prize
So what exactly does it take to submit an entry to the Golden Baobab Prize? Well, first off, you have to be a citizen of an African state to apply and you can apply all-year round.

“It doesn’t matter what race you are, doesn’t matter where in the world you are, so far as you’re a citizen,” Deborah emphasized.

Stories accepted tend to be between 1000 to 5000 words and are reviewed in two separate judging sessions by a diverse panel of some of the best people in the children’s literature or African literature fields.

Entries which make it past the initial reading session and into the top 10 tend to “speak to any kind of person, not just literati.” In addition, they need to be solid stories.

“One thing that definitely we look for, I think, is just imagination, solid writing and a story that reflects something African. You know it could be uniquely African, faintly African, but a story that is an African story without doubt,” Deborah said.

There are two main categories for consideration: ‘Stories for readers aged 8-11years,’ and ‘Stories for readers aged 12-15 years’. In addition, there's a special prize for the most promising writer below age 18.

“This is a very exciting category. It’s one of those that I’m really excited about because this is identifying a writer at the beginning of their career,” Deborah explained.
She continued: “[It’s] saying that we see a lot of promise in you, you’re going to go places, and we’re going to try our best to help you go places and to help you not to lose your dream for writing.”
Ahmed Farah, a 16-year old Kenyan boy who submitted five stories to the prize in 2010, won last year’s “promising writer” title with Letters from the Flames. Set in his home country during the 2007-08 post-election crisis, Ahmed’s story is about an 11-year old Kenyan girl who writes letters to her dead father.

“It was written so convincingly in the voice of an 11-year old Kenyan girl,” Deborah exclaimed. “This is a 16-year old Kenyan boy. That spoke so much to us that who is this boy who dares to write as an 11-year old Kenyan girl?...It was exciting to discover him and his work.”

Debbie celebrating Golden Baobab's 2nd Anniversary
with Prize supporters in Johannesburg, South Africa.

In addition to winning the monetary prizes, winning authors and stories are connected with leading publishing companies in order to produce African books for children and young adults to enjoy.
Aside the obvious – writing and submitting entries to the Prize – Golden Baobab is on the lookout for support to “fully establish” itself. That said, if you’re – or know someone who is - a corporate sponsor, grantmaker, publisher, illustrator, writer or passionate individual who identifies with Golden Baobab’s mission and vision, you might want to keep tabs on Deborah and her organization via the
Debbie celebrating Golden Baobab's 2nd Anniversary
with Prize supporters in Johannesburg, South Africa.

“Our goal in ten years is good quality, beautiful written and illustrated African books in bookstores all over the world,” Deborah shared.

As someone who's already proven that she can transform an idea into reality, here's what Deborah has for African youth:
“My advice or word of inspiration would be that - so cliché - but just do it. I feel like a lot of people have really great ideas and stall on those ideas because they think they can’t do it. That was me. I thought I couldn’t do it, but I had to do it and then I realized that oh I can. And I don’t think that’s a unique story. I think we have the capacity to do what we want to do. If we would just do it, we’ll realize that we could.”

Thumbs up to Deborah and the Golden Baobab Prize! We look forward to many more exciting stories. All the best as you continue along your visionary path