A Journey through Ikere-Ekiti with Niyi Osundare
- By E. E. Sule
- Published April 4, 2009
- Features
- Unrated
E. E. Sule
E. E. Sule is the pen-name for Dr. Sule E. Egya. He teaches Creative Writing, African Literature and Modern Literary Theory in the Department of English & Literary Studies, University of Abuja, Abuja FCT, Nigeria. He is the author of Impotent Heavens (a collection of short stories); Dream and Shame (a collection of short stories); Naked Sun (a volume of poetry); Knifing Tongues (a volume of poetry); The Writings of Zaynab Alkali (a critical book, co-authored with Umelo Ojinmah); In Their Voices and Visions: Conversations with New Nigerian Writers (a book of interviews), and What the Sea Told Me (a volume of poetry). His poems, short stories, literary and scholarly essays have appeared in journals, e-journals, anthologies and literary magazines in Nigeria, the USA, Germany, Spain, India, the UK, Senegal, etc. He has read his works to audiences both in Nigeria and abroad. In 2007, he had a nine-month writing residency in Senegal where he worked under the mentorship of the world class Ghanaian writer Ayi Kwei Armah.
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Having driven for about twenty minutes, we arrived at Amoye Grammar School, Ikere-Ekiti. As I stepped into the school compound, the rocks rose and welcomed me. It was the brotherhood of the pyramid-shaped Oroole, its imposing stare on the school (See Osundare’s poem, “The Rocks Rose to Meet Me”). This was where our dialogue began. A lively, bouncy Osundare took me round the school, showing his former classrooms, his dormitory and bed space, the fields, the house master’s apartment, and the office of the very revered principal, the late Chief Sammie Fal Adeniran. What did he keep remembering about Amoye Grammar School? “Chief Adeniran was a great and dedicated principal, a rare disciplinarian. He moulded us into what we are today. He never spared any act of indiscipline. He taught me Latin and I performed very well.” Osundare remembered that when it was time for light out in those days, he had a contraption in which he hid his lantern and read in order to satisfy his insatiable quest. It was a terrible offence to be seen with light during the light out. But he thought he outsmarted his tough principal because he was never caught and punished. However, many years later, Chief Adeniran told him, “I used to see you disobeying the school rules by reading when you should be sleeping.” Astonished, Osundare replied, “But how come you never punished me?” Chief Adeniran, now old, chuckled and said, “Though you were disobeying the rules, I was proud of you.” Given his love for books, Osundare ended up as a library prefect, carting away most of the prizes in his class, earning distinctions in all but two of his eight subjects. His scores in three of his subjects were reported to be among the best in the whole of West Africa.
As we drove out of Amoye Grammar School, heading towards the township, Olosunta, the most awesome of the rocks in Ikere-Ekiti, loomed in front of us, taking the shape of a crouching elephant from one angle, the shape of a standing buffalo from another angle, and a massive, indescribable shape from some other angle, as we drove through the town. Till today, Olosunta is worshipped for its spiritual might and ability to shelter the community from external aggression. “It attracted different subgroups of Yoruba people to Ikere because they needed its protection,” Osundare revealed. Before going to the foot of Olusunta to pay homage, we went to St. Luke’s Primary School, where a tender Osundare started school in 1953. A huge, ancient block stood, fenceless, no less a rugged metaphor of the annoying decay in Nigeria’s educational sector. Beside it to the right, a block in which Osundare had his primary five, had collapsed, the fallen blocks in utter submission to abandonment. What Osundare remembered about St. Luke’s Primary School was his primary five teacher, Mr Bezi, who was a marvellous embodiment of knowledge, love and compassion; and his participation in the school band as the leading drummer, proving himself the son of his father. He also sang and acted in plays, drawing the admiration of parents who usually attended the speech and prize giving days. How did he feel seeing his primary school in this bad state? He became sober, saying, “Our government has killed education. I wished I had money to renovate the school.”
To Olosunta we went next. It was so imposing that we could see it from any side of Ikere-Ekiti. And magnetic too; it drew us closer to itself. When we went closer to it, I stood small before it, trying to remember when I saw such a massive rock last. We moved uphill to a nearby smaller rock called Ugele at whose foot wrestling matches used to take place during Ogunoye festival in those days.
After my dialogue with the rocks, we moved to Osundare’s family house, a storey building that had seen better days. “When my father built this house, storey buildings were rare and fashionable here,” Osundare explained. Osundare’s room and his father’s were upstairs, and his mother’s was downstairs. Now none of the Osundares lives in the house; it is rented out to tenants. In front of the house was a waterway, a stream bursting out of Olusunta during rainy season, flowing into river Osun after which the poet Osundare was named. I could see the stone-wall Osundare’s father had constructed to prevent the stream from overflowing into his house.
I was interested in seeing River Osun, the giver of “life” to the poet Osundare. (Really, the meaning of Osundare is “Osun has vindicated me”). Sadly, it was dry season and I could only behold the lean flesh of the great river which also enjoyed worship from the community. Any particular relation between the river and the poet? “When I was growing up, my parents did not allow me go near the river; they feared that Osun would take me away from them. That’s why I can’t swim, and would have lost my life to Katrina. But my mother tells me that if not for Osun I wouldn’t have escaped Katrina.”
We detoured to the palace of the Ogoga, the Oba of Ikere. I noticed some vandalised houses by the streets. We had been told in Akure the day before that Ikere-Ekiti was just smarting from an uprising. The youths had gone on rampage, demanding the head of the traditional ruler and other prominent people who acceded to what the youths thought was a clever way of denying Ikere-Ekiti its robust College of Education. Governor Segun Oni, the Governor of Ekiti State, had established a state university of education to replace the college of education and some sons of Ikere-Ekiti did not foresee the ruse therein. The college of education, seething with students in thousands and offering Bachelor Degrees in some courses, had far better economic, social and political benefits than any new specialised university that might not have more than one hundred students. The youths sought the heads of the Oba and some Ikere elders who were complicit with the governor.
That was why we met a deserted Oba’s palace, with gun-totting police scowling at us at the gate to the Oba’s palace. They had a superior order not to let anybody in. But from where we stood, Osundare pointed at the seat of the Oba, the statutes around him, and a room upstairs where Ulli Beier, the German scholar and catalyst of modern written Nigerian literature, used to stay whenever he visited Oba Adegoriola who was one of his important friends. Behind the palace was Okeruku, the place of the red earth (read Niyi Osundare’s “Meet Me at Okeruku”). The earth and the houses here were really red, distinguishing the neighbourhood from any other in Ikere-Ekiti.
Thereafter, we drove to Ado-Ekiti, just twenty minutes from Ikere-Ekiti. It is the capital city of Ekiti State, housing Christ’s School in whose abode Osundare wrote his first award-wining poem. Although Amoye Grammar School remains Osundare’s favourite, it is Christ’s School that gave him the opportunity to discover himself as a poet, a dramatist, and a teacher. He came to the school from a “bush school” (in spite of the intellectual pundits of Amoye Grammar School), but had a result better than anybody else’s. He would revive the school magazine to the admiration of his teachers and fellow students. He would act lead roles in the open air theatre modelled on the traditional Greek theatre. He would take part in the writing of the history of the school, a job given to him because of the tremendous writing skills he had displayed. He would be given his first job, which was to teach in the school. And, expectedly, the college would give him a scholarship to study English at the University of Ibadan. Were there other scholarships apart from the one offered by Christ’s School? “Oh yes. Amoye Grammar School insisted they would sponsor me, but Christ’s School’s offer came first. I wrote a carefully worded letter to Amoye, although late Chief Adeniran was disappointed. He understood. Also, I got a federal government scholarship which I turned down, even though my friends urged me to take it. I thought it was unfair to take two scholarships at the same time.”
After taking a lunch of pounded yam in Ado-Ekiti, we drove back to Ikere-Ekiti. We went to St Joseph’s primary school where a burial ceremony was taking place. We were to meet his childhood friend, Femi Ogunmola, and many other friends who had not seen Osundare for years. I watched the poet prancing around with friends and well-wishers who liked him because of his intelligence and fame, but were not happy that he did not have a house in Ikere-Ekiti. Why didn’t the poet have a house in his homeland? “I don’t have the money. And even if I do, I cannot manage two houses at the moment. There are other things to do with money.” But it is a cultural demand. I provoked the Marxist in him. “Some of our cultural demands turn people into criminals. We have to do away with them while we stick to the ones that point the way forward.’
Although he does not have a house in Ikere-Ekiti, I observed the overwhelming respect he commanded among his people. He has instituted a prize at Amoye Grammar School (Osundare Prize for the Best Student in Yoruba and Osundare Prize for the Best Student in Science), and has continued to render assistance to the winners of the prize when they need it. His kinsmen have known him to be consistent in his crusade for service to humanity and social justice, even if they do not like its complexion.
As we drove out of Ikere-Ekiti, the sprawling town crossed by River Osun and bounded by incredible rocks, I suddenly desired to read all of Osundare’s volumes again, for I could hear the rhythm of his poetry in every corner of the town. I asked myself if there was any poet in Nigeria who had poetised and popularised his homeland like Osundare. Were his volumes of poetry not bigger than any mansion he had failed to build in Ikere-Ekiti? No mansions could have made Ikere-Ekiti as famous as Osundare’s poetry.
As we drove out of Amoye Grammar School, heading towards the township, Olosunta, the most awesome of the rocks in Ikere-Ekiti, loomed in front of us, taking the shape of a crouching elephant from one angle, the shape of a standing buffalo from another angle, and a massive, indescribable shape from some other angle, as we drove through the town. Till today, Olosunta is worshipped for its spiritual might and ability to shelter the community from external aggression. “It attracted different subgroups of Yoruba people to Ikere because they needed its protection,” Osundare revealed. Before going to the foot of Olusunta to pay homage, we went to St. Luke’s Primary School, where a tender Osundare started school in 1953. A huge, ancient block stood, fenceless, no less a rugged metaphor of the annoying decay in Nigeria’s educational sector. Beside it to the right, a block in which Osundare had his primary five, had collapsed, the fallen blocks in utter submission to abandonment. What Osundare remembered about St. Luke’s Primary School was his primary five teacher, Mr Bezi, who was a marvellous embodiment of knowledge, love and compassion; and his participation in the school band as the leading drummer, proving himself the son of his father. He also sang and acted in plays, drawing the admiration of parents who usually attended the speech and prize giving days. How did he feel seeing his primary school in this bad state? He became sober, saying, “Our government has killed education. I wished I had money to renovate the school.”To Olosunta we went next. It was so imposing that we could see it from any side of Ikere-Ekiti. And magnetic too; it drew us closer to itself. When we went closer to it, I stood small before it, trying to remember when I saw such a massive rock last. We moved uphill to a nearby smaller rock called Ugele at whose foot wrestling matches used to take place during Ogunoye festival in those days.
After my dialogue with the rocks, we moved to Osundare’s family house, a storey building that had seen better days. “When my father built this house, storey buildings were rare and fashionable here,” Osundare explained. Osundare’s room and his father’s were upstairs, and his mother’s was downstairs. Now none of the Osundares lives in the house; it is rented out to tenants. In front of the house was a waterway, a stream bursting out of Olusunta during rainy season, flowing into river Osun after which the poet Osundare was named. I could see the stone-wall Osundare’s father had constructed to prevent the stream from overflowing into his house.
I was interested in seeing River Osun, the giver of “life” to the poet Osundare. (Really, the meaning of Osundare is “Osun has vindicated me”). Sadly, it was dry season and I could only behold the lean flesh of the great river which also enjoyed worship from the community. Any particular relation between the river and the poet? “When I was growing up, my parents did not allow me go near the river; they feared that Osun would take me away from them. That’s why I can’t swim, and would have lost my life to Katrina. But my mother tells me that if not for Osun I wouldn’t have escaped Katrina.”
We detoured to the palace of the Ogoga, the Oba of Ikere. I noticed some vandalised houses by the streets. We had been told in Akure the day before that Ikere-Ekiti was just smarting from an uprising. The youths had gone on rampage, demanding the head of the traditional ruler and other prominent people who acceded to what the youths thought was a clever way of denying Ikere-Ekiti its robust College of Education. Governor Segun Oni, the Governor of Ekiti State, had established a state university of education to replace the college of education and some sons of Ikere-Ekiti did not foresee the ruse therein. The college of education, seething with students in thousands and offering Bachelor Degrees in some courses, had far better economic, social and political benefits than any new specialised university that might not have more than one hundred students. The youths sought the heads of the Oba and some Ikere elders who were complicit with the governor.
That was why we met a deserted Oba’s palace, with gun-totting police scowling at us at the gate to the Oba’s palace. They had a superior order not to let anybody in. But from where we stood, Osundare pointed at the seat of the Oba, the statutes around him, and a room upstairs where Ulli Beier, the German scholar and catalyst of modern written Nigerian literature, used to stay whenever he visited Oba Adegoriola who was one of his important friends. Behind the palace was Okeruku, the place of the red earth (read Niyi Osundare’s “Meet Me at Okeruku”). The earth and the houses here were really red, distinguishing the neighbourhood from any other in Ikere-Ekiti.
Thereafter, we drove to Ado-Ekiti, just twenty minutes from Ikere-Ekiti. It is the capital city of Ekiti State, housing Christ’s School in whose abode Osundare wrote his first award-wining poem. Although Amoye Grammar School remains Osundare’s favourite, it is Christ’s School that gave him the opportunity to discover himself as a poet, a dramatist, and a teacher. He came to the school from a “bush school” (in spite of the intellectual pundits of Amoye Grammar School), but had a result better than anybody else’s. He would revive the school magazine to the admiration of his teachers and fellow students. He would act lead roles in the open air theatre modelled on the traditional Greek theatre. He would take part in the writing of the history of the school, a job given to him because of the tremendous writing skills he had displayed. He would be given his first job, which was to teach in the school. And, expectedly, the college would give him a scholarship to study English at the University of Ibadan. Were there other scholarships apart from the one offered by Christ’s School? “Oh yes. Amoye Grammar School insisted they would sponsor me, but Christ’s School’s offer came first. I wrote a carefully worded letter to Amoye, although late Chief Adeniran was disappointed. He understood. Also, I got a federal government scholarship which I turned down, even though my friends urged me to take it. I thought it was unfair to take two scholarships at the same time.”
After taking a lunch of pounded yam in Ado-Ekiti, we drove back to Ikere-Ekiti. We went to St Joseph’s primary school where a burial ceremony was taking place. We were to meet his childhood friend, Femi Ogunmola, and many other friends who had not seen Osundare for years. I watched the poet prancing around with friends and well-wishers who liked him because of his intelligence and fame, but were not happy that he did not have a house in Ikere-Ekiti. Why didn’t the poet have a house in his homeland? “I don’t have the money. And even if I do, I cannot manage two houses at the moment. There are other things to do with money.” But it is a cultural demand. I provoked the Marxist in him. “Some of our cultural demands turn people into criminals. We have to do away with them while we stick to the ones that point the way forward.’
Although he does not have a house in Ikere-Ekiti, I observed the overwhelming respect he commanded among his people. He has instituted a prize at Amoye Grammar School (Osundare Prize for the Best Student in Yoruba and Osundare Prize for the Best Student in Science), and has continued to render assistance to the winners of the prize when they need it. His kinsmen have known him to be consistent in his crusade for service to humanity and social justice, even if they do not like its complexion.
As we drove out of Ikere-Ekiti, the sprawling town crossed by River Osun and bounded by incredible rocks, I suddenly desired to read all of Osundare’s volumes again, for I could hear the rhythm of his poetry in every corner of the town. I asked myself if there was any poet in Nigeria who had poetised and popularised his homeland like Osundare. Were his volumes of poetry not bigger than any mansion he had failed to build in Ikere-Ekiti? No mansions could have made Ikere-Ekiti as famous as Osundare’s poetry.