Sean Jacobs's Blog, page 435

Trailer Takedown N°2: Namibian Short Films

The Namibian film industry is a busy one, often occupied with producing nature documentaries for the likes of National Geographic and Blue Planet, German TV films, NGO information films on subjects like education and HIV, and commercials. In recent years, however, there has been an upsurge of short films by Namibian filmmakers due in part to increased funding by the Namibian Film Commission. On Thursday December 12 in London, AfricaAvenir and Friends of Namibia screened four of these films. Because they are difficult to access, those of us who couldn’t be there have only got the trailers. Here is the trailer takedown of the films that were shown, plus a new short film in full.

My Beautiful Nightmare

The summary gives us this scant information: “A young woman bruised by the city, dreams of escape and the freedom of her childhood.” The trailer certainly gives us some snapshots that manage to convey a sense of urban delirium. The nightmare comes across, though it’s less clear where the beautiful comes in. Perhaps in the film’s sound, which in the trailer is striking.

Dead River

This is the only film on the roster set during Namibia’s past and appears to do so through the forbidden relationship (initially friendship; possibly romantic later on) between a white girl and black boy. It also looks to be the only one set on a farm rather than in a city. There is a lot of silence around Namibia’s apartheid history, and it is not often common knowledge that Namibia was ever under South Africa’s apartheid rule. While I doubt it’s a subtle story, there is a lot of potential for a film which takes common themes, like forbidden love and family loyalties, into new contexts.

Try

Money, sex, violence. If that didn’t push it home, the music should tell you this looks to be chock-full of drama. Add in some universal themes of “love, friendship, family, loyalty, revenge and the serendipity of life” (as the summary tells it) on top of the ensemble cast and I’m guessing we’ve got a narrative that covers a lot of stylized ground about Windhoek life.

100 Bucks

Seeing ’100 Bucks’ and ‘Try’ side by side would be interesting, as they seem to have a lot in common, weaving together the stories of multiple disparate characters in Windhoek. The ’100 Bucks’ trailer has a lot of indoor shots and might take us away from the streetscapes that dominate the ‘Try’ trailer. More than anything, this trailer is seductive like a prototypical first date: low lighting, music crooning, lots of meaningful looks and not too much talking. I like it.

For those of us that missed these films, here’s ‘Everything Happens for a Reason’, found entirely on YouTube. This 14-minute Namibian short film was done as one long take. According to the director, they had one day to shoot and finally got it right as the sun was going down, giving it particular lighting to great effect. It also features really good opening lines:

We embarrassed Nelson Mandela

I have really been struggling with feeling numb about Nelson Mandela’s physical death. Part of that is because I have felt for months now that his spirit had already gone and that it was just his body which remained–I presume kept alive artificially. I had therefore already mourned in my own personal way.  Now, I was seeking the comfort that can come from feeling part of something bigger than myself. For me that is not religion but the sense of community that you can feel when surrounded by people that have some shared political/social/emotional beliefs and ideas. I attended enough mass and minor meetings as a child so that although I was never an active member of the community of struggle activists the rituals and theatre of that struggle shaped how I celebrate, mourn and feel the things that others might get from religion.

When I first heard that Madiba had died I was close to the Cape Town City Hall so I drove there expecting (more hoping) to find people there to connect with; it was after all the site of his first speech as a free person in 1990. Instead all there was, was a lone cop car parked opposite City Hall. No candles, no flowers, no people.

Disappointed I drove on but returned the next day hoping that the memorial event there would trigger the emotions I had last felt regularly at the many civic events of the early 1990’s: The moments when Mandela and other political prisoners were released from detention, the unbanning of the African National Congress, the first elections, the inauguration of Nelson Mandela as the country’s first legitimate President.

Later at moments like the memorial service for Phyllis Naidoo – all those events shaped by the United Democratic Front, the ANC, the negotiated transitional government, people who had some shared ideology, beliefs, history and narrative that I could relate to.

Again I left the Parade disappointed and still feeling numb, but hopeful that the official State memorial service at FNB stadium would be the moment I could feel part of mass emotion–a shared feeling–even if mitigated by the TV screen.

Thursday, December 10th, came and went. Instead of feeling sad I got up from my television screen feeling angry and betrayed. The memorial was embarrassing. It felt as if we had been disrespectful to the person Madiba was and to the legacy he had given to us.

The event was a bureaucratic and  a political ticking boxes exercise without soul, without gravitas, without theater and without the sense of humanity and community that we as South Africans used to be so good at conjuring. Although I would be amiss to not mention the exception of Archbishop Tutu who tried to get the audience in the stadium to come to order and come together, using his special blend of disciplinarian and joker.

I felt like we had lost our ability to generate theater, the theater of the mass event, by selling out the responsibility of choreographing our moment of national unity to an organization that tendered for the money to organize it and won because it ticked the right boxes on a tender document.

I am not naive enough to think that moments of community unity happened spontaneously. People were organizers, many described themselves as activists, they were cultural and political workers. We had structures that thought about how to orchestrate events, often with limited time and resources but lots of thought, imagination and creativity. We chose the images to put on to posters and t-shirts, we selected speakers that could rouse the crowd, we put on theater performances and had people that had the voices to lead the tone deaf and the talented in song.

So why didn’t we use those people to stage manage one of the most important moments in our country’s history, which was supposed to celebrate the life of one of our most important citizens–why did we put it out to tender to the lowest bidder?

We betrayed his memory by not having images of his life and our shared moments of history being projected onto screens around the stadium.

We let him down by allowing poor speech writers dictate hollow chronologies rather than meaningful messages.

We have sent him off angry by disrespecting the great vocalists of our country who gathered on stage to sing for him and for us but were unable to because they didn’t have microphones or proper sound.

The people booed–maybe because they were disillusioned by our new political leadership. But definitely because they were not held by and swept up into the theatre of the mass moment.

They were not given an event which was choreographed politically and stage managed to hold our imaginations, lift our souls and stir our spirits.

We, the people, were not given the stage to join our voices in song and dance and celebrate together, as we usually do at moments like these.

We allowed our proud tradition of coming together with sound, image and emotion to be taken over–by a company that tendered to provide a service and profit from it.

And I am embarrassed that I let this happen.

The Day Jacob Zuma Lost Control of the Party?

One way of looking at Anglican Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s words at the end of the farcical Nelson Mandela’s memorial service is that of an angry patriarch embarrassed by the actions of errant adolescents. The other is that the archbishop was stepping into a void that used to be filled by the larger-than-life figure of Nelson Mandela. In the absence of the towering Madiba, and the presence of little mutinies that wouldn’t be doused by the drizzle, the diminutive clergyman showed that South Africans are not a rowdy bunch, misbehaving apropos of nothing.

“I want to show the world we can come out here and celebrate the life of an icon. You must show the world that we are disciplined. I want to hear a pin drop,” the Nobel Peace winning clergyman said to the remnants of the 70 000 people who had earlier reduced ANC deputy president Cyril Ramaphosa to threats, begging and pleading. When president Jacob Zuma stood up to address a rapidly emptying stadium the heckles broke out again: forcing the organizers to drown out the protest by music (a new definition of protest music?).

The day began very early for thousands of South Africans who arrived at Soccer City in the early hours of the morning. Despite a downpour considered a good omen in most African traditions in this case rain almost ruined the hero’s send-off. For most of the day the sun never showed its face, remaining hidden behind dark, menacing clouds that continued to sprinkle a soft, unrelenting rain. By the time foreign dignitaries started coming into the stadium after 11am, it looked like former president Nelson Mandela might not get the send-off he deserves.

Large swathes of orange seats remained empty; the rain wouldn’t let up; the triumvirate of steel stages didn’t show any life; not even the two screens mounted high up provided a respite. They were as inanimate as the still figure of Mandela who looked out unblinking at the masses who had come to honor him. Where were images of the famous Mandela jive? Why were we not shown videos of Mandela with the kids? Or Mandela walking out of prison, Winnie Madikizela-Mandela by his side, hand victoriously held aloft? Or Mandela with his comrades-the men and women- who have been by his side since he decided to struggle against the dehumanization of his people? Is it possible that the unimaginative, unspectacular and unchoreographed organization contributed to the lackluster memorial service? Perhaps it was a confluence of a stodgy memorial presentation and the lingering discontent over the Nkandla splurge, the maligned e-tolls, the everyday exposes of corruption of inadequate governance and attention to poverty alleviation, education and health-care?

Starved of “entertainment”, cold and wet, the mourners’ (yes, that’s the word) mood was lifted when video images of former president Thabo Mbeki; Mandela’s widow Graca Machel; Zimbabwe president Robert Mugabe; United States president Barack Obama and his wife Michelle and other celebrities popped up on the giant screen. But when the images of Zuma were screened on the huge tablet, the temper of the masses below turned as dark as the skies above. “Boo! Boo! Boo! Boo!” the “Boo!” choir sang in a note that reached multiple, sustained crescendoes. The people who could have rescued Zuma never did.

ANC elder and fellow Robben Islander Andrew Mlangeni delivered a mechanistic speech barely audible over the stadium’s mediocre public address system. He rendered the idea of Mandela we all know: the picture of the icon that the 24-hour news channels have been feeding us. Nothing personal, no anecdotes, just the metaphor of Mandela.

It was left to United Nations secretary general Ban ki Moon to prepare the crowd for Obama’s rousing speech later on. Well-versed to the play of symbol and metaphor in African cosmology, the secretary general invoked the rainbow and its parents- the rain and the sun. Moon said:

In nature, rainbow emerges from rain and the sun. It is that blending of grief and gratitude that I feel today. I hope you will be able to see the rainbow soon. Through the rain of sadness and the sun of celebration, a rainbow is [in] our hearts.

He then ended his speech by “lala noxolo”, a gesture which buoyed the spirits of the audience.

Full speech here

Next up was Obama who, true to type, fired the masses with his oratory.

It is hard to eulogize any man–to capture in words not just the facts and the dates that make a life, but the essential truth of a person–their private joys and sorrows; the quiet moments and unique qualities that illuminate someone’s soul. How much harder to do so for a giant of history, who moved a nation toward justice, and in the process moved billions around the world.

Full speech here

As if told to go home, thousands streamed out after Obama’s speech. Was this meant to snub the president? Or that people enamored of glitz had had their intake of Obama’s stardust? Or was the inclement weather playing a part in the departures? Those who remained had to endure barely audible translations of speeches spoken in Portuguese (by Brazilian president Dilma Rouseff) in Spanish by Raul Castro and other global leaders.

When eventually Zuma stepped onto the podium to deliver his speech, the caustic atmosphere had grown heavier with sulphur and other noxious gases that the president could barely breathe. So heavy was it that Zuma’s initial presence was met with universal pandemonium that had to be rescued by music. When he eventually delivered his speech it wasn’t anything to take too seriously. Or to tweet. It was a workaday speech more notable for Mandela’s biographical details than anything else.

Couldn’t the president have told us the first time he met Madiba? Why didn’t he break into song and dance (something he is really good at) to pacify the throngs?

It was this abyss that Archbishop Tutu filled with a schoolmaster’s imagination and preacher’s charisma. “We promise God that we are going to follow the example of Nelson Mandela,” he declared. Will analysts look back at Madiba’s memorial service and mark it as the day, to borrow Yeats’ phrase, on which “all changed,” and Zuma lost control of the party?

* This piece is republished here with the kind permissions of The Con.

The problem with Hollywood Mandelas

Jessica Blatt and I wrote a piece for Al Jazeera America suggesting that more than the posturing of various rightwing and conservative politicians, what will be more lasting will be the mythmaking by Hollywood of Nelson Mandela. Of the 16 films which feature Mandela as a character, we make particular reference to two–”Invictus” and “Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom” (the latter being released nationally here in the US on Christmas Day)–that reinforce the particular brands of mythmaking and historical revisionism that have marred much of the discussion of Mandela in the days since his passing. Here’s the section on “Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom”:

… “Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom” covers Mandela’s whole life. Appearing now in limited release and set to open in theaters nationwide on Christmas, the film got what The New York Times called a “macabre assist” from Mandela’s death. It comes with the imprimatur of the Mandela family, has broken box-office records in South Africa and is being touted as an Oscar contender (for Idris Elba in the leading role). Critics have called it Shakespearean and praised the lead performances as astounding and magnificent.

We admit it’s a powerful film. Unfortunately, much of it is pure fabrication. Just this weekend, the Nelson Mandela Foundation, which archives Mandela’s personal papers, said the film contains numerous errors. Dramas take dramatic license, but the film strives for realism. (Most of the time, anyway. By the end, makeup artists have thickened Elba’s forehead to the point that he looks more like a Klingon than the Mandela of recent years.)

More important than the inaccuracies (and makeup malfunctions) is what the film erases. Among its elisions are the Cold War, communism (the South African Communist Party recently confirmed that Mandela was indeed a member, which had been something of an open secret for years), U.S. support for apartheid and the apartheid state’s sponsorship of so-called black-on-black violence in the 1980s and early 1990s. (In the film, it seems that Winnie Mandela, painted as an irrational, Lady Macbeth–like character, was the cause of the violence, which in fact resulted from clashes between forces aligned with the African National Congress and state-funded proxy organizations like the nominally Zulu nationalist Inkatha.)

Perhaps the most egregious misrepresentation, though, is that the film separates Nelson Mandela from the movement that produced him. In reality, the ANC — and the struggle it fought for social justice — relied on collective and collaborative leadership; Mandela was chosen by committee to be the international face of the movement. The film mutes Mandela’s main collaborators (Walter Sisulu, Joe Slovo and Oliver Tambo key among them) and collapses a complex movement into Nelson Mandela (good and forgiving) versus Winnie Mandela (bad and violent). Along with all the mythmaking around Nelson Mandela that has accompanied his passing, these films cement the idea that freedom is made by great, singular men. And everyone seems to think the days of such men are over. As Barack Obama predictably lamented, “We will not likely see the likes of Nelson Mandela again.”

The problem is, this gets it exactly backward. The fact is, movements make Mandelas, not the other way around.

Read the rest of the piece here.

Four Nigerien Women Musicians You Should Know

Women musicians in Niger are a notably socially conscious group. While they sing about the universally popular topics (like lost or new love), many of them also often use music to open a dialogue about issues in gender, health, poverty and politics. In a country where resources are extremely limited, these artists are producing diverse sounds in rap, hip-hop and soul. They both collaborate internationally, and draw on the traditions of the countries’ various ethnic groups.

If you’d like to check out some of the women musicians from Niger, start with the following four:

Safiath (Safia Aminami Issoufou Oumarou)

The work of Safiath (in the image above) is characterized by her rich, velvety vocals. She works in a wide variety of genres, as a solo artist, and also with the group Kaidan Gaskia.

Here’s one of her latest videos, “Tazedar”, sung in Zarma and Tamachek.

The next song, her bluesy and beautiful “Yaro,” inspired by an old Zarma song, and sung in Hausa, is about the sorrows of children facing mistreatment while living or working away from home. Safiath said she’s inspired to sing this song because the rights of children are “an issue that needs to be addressed.” Be sure to watch until the music picks up, about 45 seconds in.

Safiath has serious range, and has collaborated with other musicians from the continent. She recorded the soft, harmonious “Dans La Vie” in Burkina Faso, collaborating with Senegalese producer Ali Diallo, and hip-hop collective United Artists for African Rap (AURA).

*

ZM (Zara Moussa)

ZM creates catchy and sassy Sahelian rap. In one of her new tunes “Mes Ailes” or “my wings,” ZM sings about finding strength through music while going through a difficult divorce. Recently, she’s worked with independent Canadian music producer Teaville Bourque to record songs.

ZM also addresses public health issues in her song “Et Si” (“and if”), about the importance of giving blood. This song, sung in Zarma and French, references maternal health, a pressing issue in Niger. Woman who loose blood in childbirth can need blood donations to survive.

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Habsou Garba

Habsou Garba, a singer very popular in Niger, is profiled in the book Engaging Modernity: Muslim Women and the Politics of Agency in Postcolonial Niger. Dr. Ousseina D. Alidou of Rutgers University highlights what makes this singer so important and unique, analyzing her creative, dynamic record of subverting patriarchy and colonialism. As a child, Garba left an elitist French school to attend an Arabic-French madarasa (school), where she was able to sing. At the start of her career, Alidou writes, her emergence “as a famous public performing artist in Niger was of such political significance that she quickly earned a state appointment as a waged worker at the city hall”. Today, she’s enjoyed a dynamic career as a talk radio host and a singer. Her videos also feature the entertainment troupe Annashuwa, and cover a variety of themes including love, public health, and religious life. Alidou writes that the entertainment troupe Annashuwa is a unique “brassage given its multiethinic and multigendered membership”. They feature prominently in the video below.

Here’s another one of her energetic songs, produced by studio Seydey Haouchi.

*

Fati Mariko

Fati Mariko is a singer and song-writer who sings with the band Marhaba. She has been singing since 1986, she says, and does so “because its my destiny.” Her third album Inch Allah recently came out on iTunes and on Spotify. Try the tracks, “Erdi” (about cattle herding) and “Rigia” (about happy love). “Hôpital” was produced at the request of the National Hospital in Niamey; the lyrics encourage people to support and take care of the facility. This extended video features her singing, as well as long shots of Nigerien landscapes and daily life.

And this video (for reasons unknown apparently not accessible everywhere) from her first album, Issa Haro, features a song about the importance of the river Niger. She sings in four different languages.

This list is by no means exhaustive! Keep an ear out for music coming out of Niger. As access to technology and online resources increases in the country, hopefully so will the world’s ability to enjoy its music.

Remember to call at my grave: Madiba and John Dube

My condolences to the people of South Africa on the passing of our one and only Madiba; this great symbol of humility, who will forever remain the most genuine voice and the moral conscience of a continent in dire straits. I really hope that all of us, whatever our field of endeavor in life, will prove ourselves worthy of his shining legacy.

This December marks the 14th year of my involvement with the history of South Africa, both as a researcher and as a frequent visitor to a land I fell deeply in love with on my first trip with college students in 1999. At the core of my passion to understand and absorb the past of this brave nation lies a hidden challenge set before me by President Mandela in 2000, when he had his office send me a message saying that he himself did not know much about the Reverend John Langalibalele Dube, the man to whom he had paid such a resounding tribute on April 27, 1994, when he traveled to the Ohlange High School in Inanda (KwaZulu-Natal, where the picture above was taken) to vote in the first multi-racial democratic elections.

As the whole world was waiting to see him consume the first fruits of this long-awaited victory, he walked up to a poorly kept grave located behind the voting station (the Ohlange Chapel), piously stood in front of it and uttered words that surprised then and continue to surprise to this day many around the world: “Mr. President, I have come to report to you that South Africa is today free!” Mandela saluting John Langalibalele Dube, the first President-General of the ANC, the fighter known in his distant days as Mafukuzela Onjenge Zulu [The Zulu Storm that woke up the Nation], and on whose shoulder he and thousands of his comrades of the liberation movement had stood in the struggle that led to this victory over Apartheid, the most brutal form of colonial and racial oppression.

Receiving Madiba’s grave message about his inability to answer my interview questions, even as he was wishing me success in my research project, my great excitement and hopes for an on-camera chat about John Dube, to which he had earlier agreed in principle, were suddenly dashed. I was overcome by a terrible feeling of discouragement for I had suddenly missed my chance to meet in person such a giant of history. However, I regained my aplomb a few days later, once I realized that through this canceled meeting, Madiba had offered me a unique gift by admitting his ignorance, something that leaders and particularly often pompous heads of state in Africa rarely do. I told myself that if Mandela, at his age, did not know much about Reverend Dube, the first president of a party and movement he embodied in the eyes of the world, his message was an important call to me and to other young people to roll up our sleeves and dig out the information for everyone’s edification.

That day was born my motivation of the next 13 years, to answer a nagging question: What Would Mandela Like to Know about Dube, about his struggles and his hopes for his people? In a sense, the spirit of Mafukuzela (1871-1946), that had strongly connected with me at Ohlange, in January 1999, had clearly spoken to me through Madiba’s voice and through his humble admission that he could not offer anything of substance to a young researcher about the father of his own party.

In July 2005, I arrived in Durban with my first film, “Oberlin-Inanda: The Life and Times of John L. Dube” (2005, edited by A. Mueller, 54 min.), as part of the Official selection of the Durban International Film Festival. The then Consul General of India in Durban, H.E. Ajay Swarup, sent some of his staff members to attend the first screening and later contacted me with a request that I give him, and an important member of the Durban Indian community, a private showing. He explained to me that this person was very interested in my film, but had limited mobility due to a stroke. This person turned out to be Professor Fatima Meer, whom I knew as a close friend of Nelson and Winnie Mandela, and through the book she had written about them, Higher Than Hope. I was truly honored by this unexpected opportunity.

I was even more honored when, after watching the film with Consul General Ajay Swarup in her living room, she asked if I had a copy for Madiba, because she wanted to have one delivered to him by her nephew, who, she said, was Mr. Mandela’s lawyer and was scheduled to see him a few days later. At the same time, a communication with the other Indian Consul General in South Africa led to the film’s Johannesburg premiere, in front of a packed room and the presence of prestigious people such as officials of the Gauteng Provincial government, the family of Mahatma Gandhi, the late Mrs. Amina Cachalia, a life-long stalwart friend of Madiba, and Mr. Ahmed Kathrada, a Rivonia-trialist and Robben Island co-inmate for 27 years, to whom befell the honor of opening the evening.

In September 2011, “Cemetery Stories: A Rebel Missionary in South Africa” (2009, edited by D. Fucci, 57 min.), my second film, was screened at the Nelson Mandela Centre for Memory by Mr Ahmed Kathrada and other officials of the Nelson Mandela Foundation. Given that by then, Madiba was too old to sit and watch the film with everyone, a personal copy was sent to his residence. At the end of the screening, I was presented with a French version of Madiba’s most recent book, Pensées pour moi-même, a gift to which I reciprocated with Outcast to Ambassador: The Musical Odyssey of Salif Keita, the English version of my 2009 book about Salif Keita, the great Malian singer whose voice, according to Mr. Kathrada, had often brought a “Sunshine day” (dixit Osibisa) to sad Robben Island inmates like Madiba and himself. That day was truly a great for me!

Years have passed since my correspondence with the Great Man and I never had an opportunity to meet him in person. Now that he has passed on, I share with the whole world, a deep sense of loss but at the same time, I keep within me a certain sense of personal satisfaction that my research and three films on the Dube story were successfully completed in Madiba’s lifetime. My third film, “Remembering Nokutela/uKukhumbula uNokutela” (56 minutes, edited by Dominic Fucci), about the late Mrs Nokutela Mdima Dube (1873-1917), the last member of an overlooked but seminal quartet of pioneers in South Africa’s history (John and Nokutela Dube, William and Ida Belle Wilcox), had its world premiere in Minneapolis on November 17, while Madiba was still with us (see a review by Peter Rachleff here).

I hope that, where he is today, he is pleased with me, for the fact that I have succeeded in meeting the challenge he placed before me in 2000 to teach him personally, and the people of South Africa, what they wanted and needed to know about a distant chapter of their Long Walk to Freedom. May Nelson Rolihlahala Mandela find his place among the glorious ancestors (amaDlozi) of Africa and may all of us be vigorously possessed by his great spirit, once he is laid to rest in his home of Qunu!

I conclude with these prophetic words of the venerable South African poet, Don Mattera, written in the depth of the liberation struggle and that spell out, I believe, the spiritual essence of presidential candidate Nelson Mandela’s visit to John Langalibalele Dube’s grave on April 27, 1994:

Remember

Remember to call at my grave

When freedom finally

Walks the land

So that I may rise

To tread familiar paths

To see broken chains

Fallen prejudice

Forgotten injury

Pardoned pains.

And when my eyes have filled their sight

Do not run away from fright

If I crumble to dust again.

It will only be the bliss

Of a long-awaited dream

That bids me rest

When freedom finally walks the land…

Remember to call at my grave: Madiba and Dube

My condolences to the people of South Africa on the passing of our one and only Madiba; this great symbol of humility, who will forever remain the most genuine voice and the moral conscience of a continent in dire straits. I really hope that all of us, whatever our field of endeavor in life, will prove ourselves worthy of his shining legacy.

This December marks the 14th year of my involvement with the history of South Africa, both as a researcher and as a frequent visitor to a land I fell deeply in love with on my first trip with college students in 1999. At the core of my passion to understand and absorb the past of this brave nation lies a hidden challenge set before me by President Mandela in 2000, when he had his office send me a message saying that he himself did not know much about the Reverend John Langalibalele Dube, the man to whom he had paid such a resounding tribute on April 27, 1994, when he traveled to the Ohlange High School in Inanda (KwaZulu-Natal, where the picture above was taken) to vote in the first multi-racial democratic elections.

As the whole world was waiting to see him consume the first fruits of this long-awaited victory, he walked up to a poorly kept grave located behind the voting station (the Ohlange Chapel), piously stood in front of it and uttered words that surprised then and continue to surprise to this day many around the world: “Mr. President, I have come to report to you that South Africa is today free!” Mandela saluting John Langalibalele Dube, the first President-General of the ANC, the fighter known in his distant days as Mafukuzela Onjenge Zulu [The Zulu Storm that woke up the Nation], and on whose shoulder he and thousands of his comrades of the liberation movement had stood in the struggle that led to this victory over Apartheid, the most brutal form of colonial and racial oppression.

Receiving Madiba’s grave message about his inability to answer my interview questions, even as he was wishing me success in my research project, my great excitement and hopes for an on-camera chat about John Dube, to which he had earlier agreed in principle, were suddenly dashed. I was overcome by a terrible feeling of discouragement for I had suddenly missed my chance to meet in person such a giant of history. However, I regained my aplomb a few days later, once I realized that through this canceled meeting, Madiba had offered me a unique gift by admitting his ignorance, something that leaders and particularly often pompous heads of state in Africa rarely do. I told myself that if Mandela, at his age, did not know much about Reverend Dube, the first president of a party and movement he embodied in the eyes of the world, his message was an important call to me and to other young people to roll up our sleeves and dig out the information for everyone’s edification.

That day was born my motivation of the next 13 years, to answer a nagging question: What Would Mandela Like to Know about Dube, about his struggles and his hopes for his people? In a sense, the spirit of Mafukuzela (1871-1946), that had strongly connected with me at Ohlange, in January 1999, had clearly spoken to me through Madiba’s voice and through his humble admission that he could not offer anything of substance to a young researcher about the father of his own party.

In July 2005, I arrived in Durban with my first film, “Oberlin-Inanda: The Life and Times of John L. Dube” (2005, edited by A. Mueller, 54 min.), as part of the Official selection of the Durban International Film Festival. The then Consul General of India in Durban, H.E. Ajay Swarup, sent some of his staff members to attend the first screening and later contacted me with a request that I give him, and an important member of the Durban Indian community, a private showing. He explained to me that this person was very interested in my film, but had limited mobility due to a stroke. This person turned out to be Professor Fatima Meer, whom I knew as a close friend of Nelson and Winnie Mandela, and through the book she had written about them, Higher Than Hope. I was truly honored by this unexpected opportunity.

I was even more honored when, after watching the film with Consul General Ajay Swarup in her living room, she asked if I had a copy for Madiba, because she wanted to have one delivered to him by her nephew, who, she said, was Mr. Mandela’s lawyer and was scheduled to see him a few days later. At the same time, a communication with the other Indian Consul General in South Africa led to the film’s Johannesburg premiere, in front of a packed room and the presence of prestigious people such as officials of the Gauteng Provincial government, the family of Mahatma Gandhi, the late Mrs. Amina Cachalia, a life-long stalwart friend of Madiba, and Mr. Ahmed Kathrada, a Rivonia-trialist and Robben Island co-inmate for 27 years, to whom befell the honor of opening the evening.

In September 2011, “Cemetery Stories: A Rebel Missionary in South Africa” (2009, edited by D. Fucci, 57 min.), my second film, was screened at the Nelson Mandela Centre for Memory by Mr Ahmed Kathrada and other officials of the Nelson Mandela Foundation. Given that by then, Madiba was too old to sit and watch the film with everyone, a personal copy was sent to his residence. At the end of the screening, I was presented with a French version of Madiba’s most recent book, Pensées pour moi-même, a gift to which I reciprocated with Outcast to Ambassador: The Musical Odyssey of Salif Keita, the English version of my 2009 book about Salif Keita, the great Malian singer whose voice, according to Mr. Kathrada, had often brought a “Sunshine day” (dixit Osibisa) to sad Robben Island inmates like Madiba and himself. That day was truly a great for me!

Years have passed since my correspondence with the Great Man and I never had an opportunity to meet him in person. Now that he has passed on, I share with the whole world, a deep sense of loss but at the same time, I keep within me a certain sense of personal satisfaction that my research and three films on the Dube story were successfully completed in Madiba’s lifetime. My third film, “Remembering Nokutela/uKukhumbula uNokutela” (56 minutes, edited by Dominic Fucci), about the late Mrs Nokutela Mdima Dube (1873-1917), the last member of an overlooked but seminal quartet of pioneers in South Africa’s history (John and Nokutela Dube, William and Ida Belle Wilcox), had its world premiere in Minneapolis on November 17, while Madiba was still with us (see a review by Peter Rachleff here).

I hope that, where he is today, he is pleased with me, for the fact that I have succeeded in meeting the challenge he placed before me in 2000 to teach him personally, and the people of South Africa, what they wanted and needed to know about a distant chapter of their Long Walk to Freedom. May Nelson Rolihlahala Mandela find his place among the glorious ancestors (amaDlozi) of Africa and may all of us be vigorously possessed by his great spirit, once he is laid to rest in his home of Qunu!

I conclude with these prophetic words of the venerable South African poet, Don Mattera, written in the depth of the liberation struggle and that spell out, I believe, the spiritual essence of presidential candidate Nelson Mandela’s visit to John Langalibalele Dube’s grave on April 27, 1994:

Remember

Remember to call at my grave

When freedom finally

Walks the land

So that I may rise

To tread familiar paths

To see broken chains

Fallen prejudice

Forgotten injury

Pardoned pains.

And when my eyes have filled their sight

Do not run away from fright

If I crumble to dust again.

It will only be the bliss

Of a long-awaited dream

That bids me rest

When freedom finally walks the land…

Nelson Mandela Did Not Walk Alone

In the early 1990s I was teaching Economics in a fifth floor classroom at Khanya College in downtown Johannesburg. During one of my early lessons at Khanya I was in the middle of explaining supply curves when a roaring sound from the street below began to disturb my teaching. I tried talking louder but the roar from the streets grew too powerful. As the sound reached a crescendo, my students got up and went to the window. I joined them there. This was my first exposure to the mass democratic movement. I had been on many demonstrations in the US but what I saw in the streets below was totally different.

These protestors were not students or lifelong agitators like myself. These were workers, carrying their union bannners-street cleaners, drivers, metalworkers, miners, domestic servants, hotel waiters. In the US workers were quiet, almost invisible. Yet with great joy and fervor these South African proletarians were demanding, as they had for decades, an end to apartheid capitalism. Over the next few years, I would join their ranks on many occasions, gradually learning the songs, the chants, and the high kicks of the toyi-toyi.

During the past few days as the world has reflected on the life of President Nelson Rolihlala Mandela, these ordinary South Africans have been largely absent from the media accounts. We have witnessed a rapid re-writing of history where the struggle spearheaded by the mass democratic movement that marched past my classroom has been collapsed into the special personal determination and charisma of one great man and, at most, a small circle of people around him.

Having spent six and a half years in prison myself, I have the highest regard for Madiba. But he did not take his long walk to freedom alone, nor did he succeed because of some American-style rugged individualism. Madiba was a product of his traditional Xhosa community in the Eastern Cape. He was also a product of a hateful apartheid system that propelled him to envision a loving, inclusive alternative. But most importantly, Madiba was a product of some of the most profound social movements of the 20th century. From the ANC Youth League of the 1940s all the way through to the United Democratic Front and the Mass Democratic Movement of the 1980s, he was surrounded by thousands of people grappling with the complexities of changing a hateful system and constructing a society based on participatory democracy and sharing of wealth. That long road to freedom which Madiba walked was a crowded highway bursting with masses of creative, energetic, dedicated and vastly intelligent people. Madiba drew on their strengths to rise to his special heights. So when we remember him let us not swallow the iconized version of an African giant, but instead keep in mind all those who walked that road with him, without whom he never could have undertaken the journey.

When Miley Cyrus met Nigerian parents

It is very likely that Miley Cyrus will end up somewhere in a number of “best of 2013″ lists, for reasons many still struggle to understand. Maybe for culturally appropriating ‘twerking’ and making it popular with white suburban kids in the US, and probably beyond. At least it was not the South African “pro” twerk team. Miley  even managed to inspire the American-based Naija Boyz (remember them? Here and here are reminders) for their take on Miley’s “Wrecking Ball”:  ‘Wrecking Ball – African Remix’. It’s a spoof that both mocks Miley and takes on a bunch of stereotypes of strict Nigerian parents beating their kids around because of their Miley-inspired behavior.

You could read it as the Naija Boyz critically taking on American/western influence on Nigerian youth. But the guys were probably just having lots of fun … and Miley happened to make people laugh and inspired them.

A Brief Cinematic Guide to Mother of George

Since last AIAC reviewed Mother of George in September, much has happened in the life of the film that warrants a more fine-grained analysis of its endless cinematic offerings. The National Board of Review just named Mother of George one of the year’s top 10 indie films, and the week before that, Applause Africa awarded director Andrew Dosunmu (Restless City, 2011) the African Diaspora Award for Best Film of the Year. The film has also screened at the BFI London Film Festival, the Film Society of Minneapolis/St. Paul’s inaugural African film festival, in Stockholm, San Sebastian, and more.

Before we get into some of the cinematic nitty gritty, here’s a quick snapshot of the film (see Shamira and Steffan’s articles for more comprehensive overviews): Mother of George tells the emotionally penetrating story of Nike (Danai Gurira) and Ayo (Isaach de Bankolé), a newly wedded Nigerian couple living in Brooklyn, struggling with the profound internal and external pressures of not being able to conceive. As in society at large, the brunt of the burden and blame falls upon the woman, and this ultimately leads Nike to a decision even she thought was unthinkable. What follows is a complex and nuanced exploration of the questions and limits of what one will do for love, as told by a captivatingly unorthodox filmmaker. Here’s a trailer:

From the first note of Yoruba wedding music that opens the film, the viewer is plunged into a world of shimmering golds, deep indigos, textures felt with the eyes, smells sensed through sound. Nike herself always wears colorful head-to-toe wax print outfits, never failing to leave the house without a gèlè (Yoruba, “scarf”) wrapped around her head. Even as her situation becomes more emotionally wrought and a change in fabric accompanies a major change in her life, she holds fast to color and to the hope that it symbolizes. The simple act of self-adornment allows her to provide for herself what no one else in her life can, and it allows her to cling to a sense of identity even as the people and events around her put it into question.

When asked about the source of his aesthetic inspiration, Dosunmu cites the color palettes of Yoruba ceremonies and deities like Ogun and Shango; paper-to-film imaginings of books like Amos Tutuola’s The Palm Wine Drinkard; depictions of Africans in Byzantine era paintings; Tuareg indigo. “I wanted to get into 2 million years of history that has been robbed in the past two centuries. How can we decolonize colonial images [of blacks]?” And so he imbibes an issue as old as humanity—bearing a child—with history as old as humanity, from Africa, the cradle of humanity.

Yet he never loses sight of the specificity of Nike and Ayo’s case. We see this clearly in an otherwise ordinary scene where Nike is alone hanging laundry on the roof. And what should the backing track be but a brooding and tumultuous opera piece by Strauss? It is an outwardly ordinary but inwardly monumental moment of internal reflection for Nike. As Dosunmu pointed out in a post-screening Q&A session at the Film Society of MSP’s African film festival in November, this scene also harkens back to an earlier one in which we first hear an orchestral Strauss piece. In that scene, it is Nike’s wedding day, supposedly the happiest day of her life, marking the beginning of a new chapter with her husband and (expected) soon-to-be family. The wordless laundry scene, then, suggests a folding back of thought on old memory and the ironic contrast between life and expectations then and life and expectations now. This kind of musical juxtaposition occurs not only within motifs but also across the numerous motifs throughout the film. “What is the contrast,” Dosunmu asked himself and the audience during the Q&A session, “of [Tuareg goje music] with Strauss? […] What does it provoke?”

Certainly one of the more provocative choices Dosunmu makes outside of music is the tightness of his framing and its focus on the expressivity of individual characters via parts—a curled hand, a downward glance, the feet of two friends. In one-on-one scenes, we often only see one of the speakers in the frame for the entire duration of the scene. Dosunmu explains, “I think what you don’t see is a lot more interesting than what you see. It’s the subtleness. It’s the unspoken. […] Why do we necessarily need to be on people’s faces when they talk? Why not their hand? My hand is a lot more expressive than my mouth.” The effect is a sort of reverse-engineered attention-directing, in that we end up focusing on what we are trying to see perhaps just as much as what we do see. It is a challenge then to the viewer to imagine the space, objects, and sounds not shown, to try to find a way past what is immediately before them. It can feel maddening as a viewer used to wider shots and more direct information about characters and surroundings. But that’s exactly it. Dosunmu physically makes the viewer feel and try to work through the myopia and claustrophobia that Nike is experiencing.

If that weren’t evocative enough, Dosunmu, with the artful hand of award-winning Director of Photography Bradford Young, experiments heavily with filtered images. Often, when the audience does get the chance to see two characters’ faces at the same time on the screen in conversation, it is through a window at Ayo’s restaurant, or in a mirror in Ayo and Nike’s apartment. It feels like eavesdropping, yes, but it also feels like the window or mirror is a physical manifestation of the distance between the interlocutors, that their conversation is being distilled through some kind of barrier that prevents them from truly understanding each other.

The creation of and experimentation with blurred images also serves to reinforce this sense of obfuscation. Sometimes the blurring seems purely aesthetic, as in one particular close-up on Nike’s hands washing dishes. Colors and shapes wash into one another as the sharpness of different edges appear and disappear. Other times, the soft focus seems to mimic the lack of clarity in the lives of all the film’s primary characters. And for Nike especially, it embodies the sense that pregnancy, by whatever means possible, is an idea as abstract and fuzzy as it has ever been. Even when, or particularly when, she has made the irrevocable decision upon which the whole story turns.

Mother of George is a goldmine for cinematic dissection, no question, and no question, much here has been left out. But it’s also important to remember the discourse it generates about what infertility means, along with all the social and cultural implications that individuals, families, and entire societies create surrounding it. Exactly what those implications are may depend on one’s milieu, gender, socioeconomic status, etc. However, one thing is certain, and it is that the inability to get pregnant continues to invite stigma and shame for those trying to conceive. Through constant manipulations of portraiture and imagination, Mother of George offers a unique look at one woman and her Nigerian immigrant family’s experience of this issue. Their story, as Dosunmu puts it, “is something that is culturally specific but universally accessible.”

Mother of George is currently screening in various cities across the US, as well as at the International Film Festival of Kerala. Not all showings are listed on the Mother of George website, so be sure to check your local cinemas. There is no other imminent release apart from the US. Oscilloscope, Mother of George’s North American distributor, recently announced that the film will be available on Blu Ray DVD, February 4, 2014.