Nollywood Dreams

As I write, I am watching a Nigerian film “My Wicked Uncle”. Like any melodrama worthy of its name, it features death, jealousy and cunning. In it, a man dies and his younger brother decides on an ingenious way to inherit his wealth: to sow the seeds of discord between his children and his wife. There is a beautiful introduction, a  jaw biting climax and a  successful denouement.  Such a plot would not be out of place in Hamlet. The same goes for Games Women Play which I watched an hour before- it is a solid tale of treachery, betrayal and the use of feminine wiles that likens itself to a Greek tragedy.

My experience belies the fact that it is tempting when thinking of Nigerian movies to only think about the end product- the mass produced DVDs which hold over 7 “movies” each, usually bought from a street seller on the corners of Harlem, Peckham and Accra. In fact, this is the image held by most of the snobbish bigwigs from the West, who held the Fespaco African film festival in 2007 and did not invite a single Nigerian film maker. They believed Nollywood to be the poor languishing relative in the corner, but in fact, truth was that Nollywood was unable to fit within its self imposed brackets of pseudo-intellectualism.

Truth is Nollywood is big. $236 million dollar big. The second largest film industry in the world big. Nollywood now produces more films than Hollywood, and is second only to Bollywood in terms of numbers of films produced annually. This is no easy feat for a cinematographic industry that began less than ten years ago, moreover for an industry in which actors and actresses often have very limited professional training, shoot from no fixed location, where filming equipment is minimal at best, where there is only one professional film studio and where minimal government support and investment exist. Nollywood manages to churn out hundreds of titles a year (over 800 to be precise) that manage to knock Hollywood blockbusters off the shelves in Africa, the Caribbean and in the greater black Diaspora.

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A Nollywood film shop

It is a modern day example of what Africa can achieve were it given the chance. Today, Nollywood (whose films are not commercially distributed) is responsible for a wave of entrepreneurship in Africa- the film industry employs over 300,000. Hundreds of thousands of men and women sell and resell popular titles in a vast distributorship network. Thousands of African men and women now have jobs as script writers, photographers and many more rent films and are involved in the sale and export of titles. All over the Caribbean and Western, South and Eastern Africa (I do not use the term sub Saharan Africa because I think the use of "sub" reinforces stereotypes) , women and men gather to be entertained by films such as Keeping Faith and Engagement Night. Although the stories are set in Africa, I am often am amazed at the universality of the themes and lessons- the role of the extended family, the triumph of morality over money and vanity, religion as a panacea. However, this is ultimately for-Africa-by Africa, a decidedly home-grown product, and the market is ripe.

Someone I know really grated on me by poking fun at these movies, emphasising that the standard was subpar and hinting that the people who watched them and enjoyed them somehow had questionable tastes. For someone like me, however, who savoured the early books of Samuel Selvon and Earl Lovelace and VS Naipaul primarily because the characters ultimately reflected my experiences, the reality is certainly different. I can only imagine the delight and the comfort that the African community feel when their own storytellers tell their own stories. For every Blood Diamond and Last King of Scotland, told from the voice of an outsider, there are now hundreds of DVDs recording everyday urban life in Africa- the supernatural, the romance, polygamy, economic struggles, rivalry- all told without pretensions and presenting a gritty unpolished truth. The painting may be crude, the hand may be shaky, they may sometimes shade outside the lines, but as a picture of the potential for business in Africa, it makes an indelible mark and is truly inspirational. These films mark a definite break in the over intellectualised didactic Francophone film making that often attempt to present Africa as a study and a sense of other. Africa has never been pretentiously serious. By letting the story triumph over the form, Nollywood appeals to us and unapologetically (and rightfully) so.

It is true that at times, the acting gives rise to pantomime howlers and the technical, sound and lighting skills are markedly amateur. However, even Hollywood, with its hundreds of years of cinematographic history behind it produces a vast number of shoestring films with amateur technology, bland chick flicks and action movies with predictable story lines based on its own popular culture (Kill Bill, Iron Man). Why is it then that when African cultural exploits take centre stage, they are immediately seized on and interpreted as being sub standard? A Nigerian government minister recently complained that there was a penchant to focus on voodoo, crime and advance fee fraud, and that this has harmed the image of Nigeria. Why do our own people indulge in perpetuating an inferiority complex- these films simply mirror some aspects of Nigerian life- a few even elevate to the level of social and anthropological criticism. Class conflicts, racialisation, tribalism and the struggle of immigrants in the West are all attacked with clarity and humorous insight- surely this should be encouraged.

I found it heartening that in a report commissioned by the World Bank and produced by economists Ismail Radwan and Pierre Strauss, I was able to see that the Nigerian economy is not driven by oil (18%), as is commonly perceived- but by industry, agriculture and the service sector. Creative industries lie at that crucial intersection between business, technology and the arts and are recommended as a key area in developing exports, creating jobs and driving the economies of developing countries.

The quality of Nollywood films would definitely improve if there was some investment in film making, training and production and if the legal framework could be ameliorated to protect the intellectual property rights of film makers. The fact that the African film industry has been underinvested is chicken and egg with the lack of availability and high quality.

Nollywood films not only serve as inspiration to other film makers from the continent and beyond as a mere business initiative, but are also an example and a reminder to us that we are the ones who should be telling our stories. Why should Joanna Lumley be taking us on a trip down the Nile? Why are BBC news readers and commentators explaining South Africa to us? Nollywood shows us that our stories are important, and the identity of the author is pivotal- only then perhaps we would see Africa and our cultural identities as they really are, and not as what others with preconceived notions expect them to be.

Review: The Thing Around Your Neck, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

My friend Francine, who sensibly chose to read English at Cambridge, knowing my insatiable appetite for novels, asked me to taste and see that Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie was good five years ago. I devoured Purple Hibiscus. Sated and ravenous, I only half heartedly digested Half of a Yellow Sun, because I felt that it did not reflect the brilliance of the first novel- maybe precisely because Purple Hibiscus could not be matched at all in the way it presented the fragrance, colour and texture of Nigeria.


I must admit that I was not a fan of short stories before this collection as I have always felt that they were perhaps a lazy man's (or woman's) way out of writer's block. Because I enjoy breathing and living and feeling characters I also dismissed them because I felt that there was no time to do so in a short story. In The Thing Around Your Neck, Adichie proved me wrong. She catapulted my prejudices towards the short story upside down, deconstructed my theories inside out, and then proved me wrong again.

Adichie in this collection is simply brilliant. Astonishingly, all of her stories are accessible and beautifully written; they are told with poise, in elegant prose, just as one would expect from a contemporary griot. I expected some "old ladies mutterings" of extravagant and unnecessary details, rather like lashings of mache and parsley over perfectly good chicken from an overenthusiastic chef, but this was pleasantly absent; this is a woman who is not wasteful with her ingredients. Her stories, all unapologetically Nigerian in background, context and flavour, are intentionally international and modern in their treatment of universal themes of displacement, grief, wonderment and struggle. Her characterisations are believable; her stories never end with the exclamation marks of implausibility, and her style is almost perfect: dutiful and unlaborious. Adichie's economy of words is deliberate and yet, she still manages to march along with a rhythmic cadence. I do not know how she does it.

The Nigeria Adichie presents is not the stereotypical Nigeria that you see in documentaries that typically depict Lagos, of lives obviously so poor and futile and desperate on the streets of an overcrowded city pregnant with corruption. It is not the Nigeria of Nollywood with Mr Ebu who deals in juju and first wives who cast spells on mistresses. Nor is it the new Nigeria that is now presented on the television programmes of the BBC and CNN- teeming with possibility (ie oil), just outside BRIC in terms of development, couched in fancy names such as "premium emerging markets". Adichie’s Nigeria is somewhere in between.

Her Nigeria is the Nigeria of contradictions- of academics whose wives visit them in their sleep and tickle their balls, of wives of rich Nigerian Big Men who are jealous of their husband's young lovers; of polygamous, monogamous, gay and lesbian Nigeria, of traditional and Pentecostal Nigeria, of matriarchal pride and incredible sexploitation, of the Hausa and Igbo, of ordinary men and women, cold immigrants and warm home. No topic is off bounds and through this collection we are brought along to witness the astonishing resilience and weaknesses in the cultural, racial and sexual dichotomies and to some extent, trichotomies that exist. This is second and third generation Nigeria, the Nigeria of the movers and shakers and doers and thinkers- a Nigeria which is staking its claim in the world. Adichie's protagonists' commentaries are sometimes humorous and irreverent, sometimes wise but always timely:

“There are things that are good if you don’t know”

“He spoke about a god, who had come to the world to die, and who had a son but no wife, and who was three but also one. ...Some walked away, because they had imagined that the white man was full of wisdom”

“Are you writing about your father?... NO because she had never believed in fiction as therapy. The Tanzanian told her that all fiction was therapy, some form of therapy, no matter what anyone said”

If this book had a fault, it would be that Adichie comes across as determinedly feminist. Her female protagonists are powerful, cunning, smart, and are able to form bonds that are natural, easy and strong. Womanhood and womanly love seem to feature as an unspoken undercurrent. Most of the men appear as side dishes, certainly dispensable, most times inspiring reproach: they are often impractical, predatory, fumbling and two dimensional. This is not to say that her approach is without merit, as it is possible that through her eyes, we are perhaps witnessing this malaise in male/female relationships and her challenge, therefore, of the natural hierarchy and of the status quo.

Although I am a natural sucker for an immigrant story and therefore love "Imitation", "The Thing Around Your Neck", “The American Embassy” and "The Arrangers of Marriage", my favourite story is "Jumping Monkey Hill" simply because of Adichie’s voice in it, and her method. She uses and improves the Shakespearean technique of the play within a play to construct a story within a story and then through this, manages to reveal yet more stories with grace and believability. Each of the stories resolve themselves, yet most of them stay with the reader, leaving us hungry for more.

It is perhaps telling that I have written this review before I have even finished the book. I felt compelled to share it. I am nervously on the last nibble "The Headstrong Historian". It already reminds me of Achebe’s Things Fall Apart.