...every man has his own vanity. A village joker used to say that if a woman were to be cut in two, he’d take whichever part had the waist. If I were to choose between the story and the prose of a good book, I’d choose the latter—the juice. With movies, I’d choose the acting over the story. Good acting is when you cannot tell the actor apart from the character; when acting is so real as if a secret camera were hidden to catch regular people leading their normal lives—like when you watch “24” and wonder if those guys were actors, or real CTU agents doing their thing and getting filmed. 

 

The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind—a memoir, now a film. Chiwetel Ejiofor is Trywell Kamkwamba, the Malawian father whose teenage son, William Kamkwamba, exploited the wind and generated electricity, solving drought and famine. A father who, though  initially, even fiercely reluctant, finally gave his only bicycle to be cannibalized for a schoolboy’s dream.

 

Ejiofor is a poor farmer and there’s no single doubt about it: his energy, looks, emotions. So dissolved into his character is he that, at first, I fail to recognize him. His home, the village, the people—nothing seems like it’s a movie. His wife, Agnes—played by the popular Senegalese actress, Aïssa Maïga—looks, in every detail, the image you know about that kind of woman in your village. Photography replaces dialogue in many parts, such that you see rather than hear the story. I find myself clapping as I watch the movie last night.

 

It is a familiar story of African grit but, undearneath, also a story of the politics that has kept the continent in darkness: that of its democracy as a conspiracy of thieves. But acting makes all the difference, validating the acclaim that has attended the Ejiofor movie. Reminds me of Nollywood.

 

The major Nollywood challenge, in my view, is not infrastructure—which can be explained away in terms of funding. Acting is the beast here: where Olu Jacobs grunts his way through an entire career, and Pete Edochie speaks the way no one speaks in real life. The same goes for nearly all the rest: they bring stage-drama performances into every movie, so much that it FEELS like they are acting, like they are playing, literally. Sadly the drama-stage acting tradition has become entrenched and is now too late to change. Even the audience now understand and compensate for missing emotions most times. 

 

Colour is good, as is gele, Ankara, heavy makeup and the new obsession with cinematography. But can we really have the basic called good acting? Maybe that is why only about 5 of our actors have made it to the global stage. Maybe good acting can improve our Oscar aspirations. And it doesn’t cost a lot for a start.

 

*~keeping it real with Salem Ezeorah.*

Many things went through my mind as we were on the return transit. "What if this good Samaritan didn't show up?". "What if we got attacked like Osas and his group?", So many questions that I don't want to feed answers to... They keep erupting irregularly that I really got tired and decided to give it a final stop. Once in a while, the abrupt breaks applied brought me to consciousness, away from the mental circus. Many videos have emerged on the internet about migrants who lost their lives on the way to Libya. I wondered what were their last wishes or thoughts on the point of death. What exactly happened? This is a clear answer to many of such questions. The Sahara desert is not merciful to careless migrants. This route is full of dangerous situations and probability of survival is almost close to zero. When you might have gone too far to the point of no return, you will realize that Exhaustion from heat stress and dehydration kills. The few that passed through this system become hardened and face life with no iota of fear. When they arrive in Europe, they are ready to survive on any condition. 

I really felt lucky with my group just as Osas got away with his. I was not happy on the other hand because our dream of reaching Libya and then Crossing into Europe was aborted. Osas, a very tall handsome fair Benin guy recounted his ordeal when he tried to cross to Libya three years ago. Him with his group went further than us, almost close to crossing into Libya before a tribal force raided them. They were all rounded up at gun point and tied up, legs and hands and were to be sold to other groups of traffickers along this dangerous route. The leader of the raiders had to move ahead with his members to search for prospective buyers while keeping one of them to look after us. "He was handed a sharp sword and ordered to slaughter whoever tried to escape in Arabic language", Osas said. However, that particular Arab guy wanted more from his victim. He saw a beautiful lady among the captives and wanted to eat from her bosom. " She resisted his initial advance until I spoke to her in Benin language to cooperate and find a way to pin him down for us to attack and be set loosen", the narrator chuckled and continued. " He made another move and she fought again until the watchman dropped his sword and overpowered her with both hands roughly moving over her sensitive parts, leading to his unzipping and throwing caution to the winds, she showed her tied hands for him to untie in order to allow him better access cum pleasure and he obliged, cutting her loose. Then he continued his rough romance with lesser resistance" She immediately kissed him and caressed his shoulder and neck, then drew closer to his ear and bit him on his left ear. We all struggled to move while they were in a tight fight and fell upon both of them. She gripped him tight and held him while we all used our teeth to tear him apart." Osas bowed his head and said " this is the first time I came face to face with death and I felt no guilt because of self defense, in killing our assailant" She had to cut them loose and they took the sword and ran backwards, never to continue on that route.