Ojeikere: Fleeting and Captured Moments

In 1970, Johnson Donatus Aihumekeokhai Ojeikere, otherwise known as J.D. ‘Okhai Ojeikere (Nigerian, 1930–2014), made Fro Fro, the point of departure of this short text. Storyteller and lens-based artist Jumoke Sanwo reads this image, produced during Nigeria’s nationalist drive and considers Ojeikere’s subjects and their unapologetic defiance.

In 1970, Johnson Donatus Aihumekeokhai Ojeikere, otherwise known as J.D. ‘Okhai Ojeikere (Nigerian, 1930–2014), made Fro Fro. His earliest dated work in the collection, this image, along with Two in One Piko (1970) and Brush Eko Bridge (1973), were featured in the 2014 MoMA exhibition A World on Its Own: Photographic Practices in the Studio.1 These three works, all of which are now in MoMA’s collection, are consistent with Ojeikere’s compositional approach of using a diptych format to show his subjects both from behind and in profile.

In Fro Fro, the point of departure of this short text, the female subject’s identity is obscured—according to Ojeikere’s signature style. Like all of the images in his series on hairstyles, it was shot from slightly above, with the emphasis on the subject’s crown, conferring importance on her hairdo. Ojeikere insisted the images are not portraits, but rather “views that reveal the hairdo as object, its form, material and structure.”2 His focus is the hairdo’s sculptural qualities, providing the viewer with a sweeping view—much like what a hairdresser in a salon would see. The images appear as visual representations of what Zaza Hlalethwa describes as that “fleeting but prized moment when hair braiders stand behind a client with a mirror to show them the completed look from behind.”3 First they hold the mirror posteriorly, and then move it to either side, giving the client what is, in effect, a panoramic view of the hairstyle.

Shot predominantly with a Hasselblad or Mamiya camera, Ojeikere’s hairstyle series, which he began in 1968 in the city of Lagos and worked on until his passing in 2014, weaves an intricate labyrinth of stories reflecting modern yet nuanced sociocultural expressions of his female subjects—among them, friends, church members, wives of friends, and later on, anyone with a traditional hairstyle who was willing to be photographed.4 He was inspired to shift his focus to documenting the cultural life in Nigeria through portraiture during a road trip with his friend Erhabor Emokpae in 1967,5 when he turned to immortalizing fading customs such as the traditional hairstyles and elaborate head ties worn by women.

Ojeikere had relocated to Lagos in June 1963 from the city of Ìbàdàn, where in the thick of a hyperculture and nationalist drive instigated by cultural actors in the city shortly after Nigeria’s independence, he had sharpened his photographic skills. Amid the national modernist movement driving for indigenization in the late 1960s and 1970s, his defiant subjects went against the trend of wearing wigs, or straightening and/or perming their hair to European standards, choosing instead to adopt the more traditional styles predominant among women in the “hinterland” as a statement to make space for the local.

Ojeikere described hairstyling as a “collective endeavor, one that reveals the traditional skills of the women in that society, created by one person, worn by another, and photographed by a third person.”6 In Fro, Fro (1970), the diptych format enables the viewer to see both the side and back of the sitter’s head and hairdo. Her hair is divided into six “lines,” a style colloquially referred to as òjò npetí (the rain cannot beat the ears), woven in the traditional dídì olówó, an ancient braiding technique that dates back to 500 BCE and can be seen on Ife bronze heads.  

Head, possibly a King. African, southwestern Nigeria, Ife culture. 12th–14th century. Terracotta with residue of red pigment and traces of mica, 10 1/2 x 5 11/16 x 7 3/8 in. (26.7 x 14.5 x 18.7 cm). Kimbell Art Museum, Fort Worth, Texas. Photo: Wikimedia Commons

These idealized portraits show the intricately braided hairstyles worn for centuries by women from Ile-Ife—considered by the Yoruba to be the legendary cradle of humankind—and that spread across western Africa. As Titus A. Ogunwale has noted, from the Republic of Benin to Ghana, Mali, Nigeria, and Senegal, the “regional differences in hairstyles are quite strong, sometimes permitting an observer to geographically identify a woman.”7 In similar regard, in Igboland, the hair symbolizes the marital status of women, with the Ngala, the traditional bridal hairstyle, signifying the bride’s pride and elegance. In 1968, during the Nigerian civil war, hairdos became a symbol for women confronting the unrealistic expectation that they will marry. A new hairstyle named di gbakwa oku (marriage and husband can go to hell) emerged among the women in the region known as Biafra in what Christie Achebe describes as “direct response to an environment that demanded old ways of doing things, even as circumstances were rapidly changing.”8

For centuries in societies across Africa, the practice of hairstyling has held sociocultural import as a marker of age group, social hierarchy, and the individuality and communal leanings of women. Women usually had their hair styled by friends or older relatives, and were sometimes paid to make intricate hairdos for others—in makeshift salons in private bedrooms, on verandas, and in courtyards. Hairstyles were made by women for women as a social activity, revealing the traditional skill sets of women. In Yorubaland, traditional hairstyles are, according to Marilyn Hammersley Houlberg, considered “the liveliest sculptural representation, communicating contemporary life.”9 The women sit on the floor, often on traditional eni mats, placing their chins on the knees of the hairdressers, who are seated on apotis, a special stool fashioned for domestic use. As the hairdresser plaits or weaves her subject’s hair in a traditional or sometimes contemporary hairstyle, they discuss personal and social matters.

The hairdresser uses her ojú inú (inner eye), which bestows the ability to divide the hair into sections, without recourse to tools, while exhibiting symmetry and balance to achieve a certain harmony and aesthetics. Beautifying hair is an obeisance to orÍ-inú (inner head), a practice of commemoration preceding spiritual festivals, and the celebration of deities such as Yemoja, Osun, Sango, etc. As Babatunde Lawal explains, “The Yoruba have created a wide range of hairstyles that not only reflects the primacy of the head but also communicates taste, status, occupation, and power, both temporal and spiritual.”10 Hair is regarded as a marker, differentiating humans from other species, and referred to as edá omo adáríhurun, which translates as “species with a full concentration of hair on their heads,” a term used to denote our species.

Plaiting Hair in “Kolese” Style, Nigeria, c. 1958. Courtesy The Nigeria Nostalgia Project

It is within this context that Ojeikere’s Fro Fro emerged, the first in what became a series of more than two thousand images chronicling the late photographer’s observation of Nigerian women’s hairstyles, which he described as serving a dualistic purpose of “ethnography and aesthetic” documentation.”11 Fro Fro, Two in One Piko, and Brush Eko Bridge capture fleeting expressions, gestures, and style, documenting the three-way exchange between the hairstylist, her female clients, and Ojeikere, the photographer, for a later audience. These images in MoMA’s collection represent a sliver of how the artist viewed modernity and deployed photography to represent what being modern meant to the women he photographed.12

In reproducing the images contained in this text, the Museum obtained the permission of the rights holders, whenever possible. If the Museum could not locate the rights holders, notwithstanding good-faith efforts, it requests that any contact information concerning such rights holders be forwarded so that they may be contacted for future editions.

Published on Museum of Modern Art- MoMA Post notes on Art in a Global Context 23rd February 2022.

© 2022 Jumoke Sanwo

Many come in, holding all their belongings in a 'Ghana must-go', starting small, often with menial jobs...

No Condition is Permanent, Abridged

Daily at 5:30am the muezzin’s melodic voice streams through the loudspeaker from the Ganiyi Inasa Mosque, calling all musulumi in the Bolade/Oshodi community to the morning prayer. Adeniran Baderin begins his day as soon as he hears this call. He has been a Molue driver for the last 20 years,starting his morning routine by walking through the narrow path, which leads him from his house, to where the Molue is parked. Baba Ola, who has been his conductor in the last 10 years, joins him. As the morning rush begins, Baba Ola's voice calling passengers dominates the soundscape. Aji, a member of the NURTW, making his way to Iyana-Ipaja bus stop was the first to board. He is an ‘agbero’ and collects toll for the NURTW, Aji whispers in Yoruba, ‘Chairman owo polowo mi’ to Adeniran who signals for him to sit down, while he continues to call out for passengers. 

Adeniran considers the daily interaction with passengers one of the advantages of the Molue, unlike the near automated Lagos bus rapid transit (BRT) buses, he allows commuters who are unable to afford the N50 bus fare, ‘to stand’ without paying. He believes one day they would be able to pay, or maybe even reward him in other ways like Aji does. He is serving a purpose, keeping the workings of the local transportation system organized. 

In the effort to modernize the city's transportation,the Molue is gradually disappearing, and the nostalgic experiences Fela praised in his song 'Shuffering and Shmiling' are becoming mere memories. Adeniran reflects on the camaraderie of the Molue but anticipates its eventual removal from Lagos roads. He sees BRT buses reducing his trips on the Bolade-Iyana Ipaja route.

On the Island, the sounds of African gray parrots, pigeons and some early morning chattering from LAWMA street cleaners, heralds the day for Lola. She goes for an early morning jog from about 6:30 am along the Lekki-Ikoyi bridge, she lives at the Ikoyi end of the bridge, and meets up with her friend Juliet, who lives in Lekki Phase 1. The one-hour daily workout on the bridge is very important for her mental and physical health, and to kickstart the rest of her activities for the day. Oftentimes when she returns from her morning run, she settles on her balcony and takes in her view of Lagos, which overlooks what is left of the Ikoyi flora.

Lately, her neighborhood has seen changes due to the felling of century-old trees on Lateef Jakande Street, in a bid to expand the road. She just joined the ‘greener environment advocacy group’ in her community, just as she did while she lived in New York and she hopes to put pressure on the local authorities to preserve what is left of  the flora in her neighborhood.

There are many entry points into the complexities and realities of living in the city of Lagos. Inherently,the social-hierarchies across the city threaten to widen the 11.8KM gap between the island and the mainland. The unbreakable dynamic link across social strata ensures the island like a massive lung, breathes in and exhales daily the commuting mass of humanity that keeps it working.  Many start on the periphery and gradually move till they find themselves at the center. 

On the one hand, those who cross the bridge daily towards the island to earn a living, they are usually on the bridge as early as 4:30 am, and those who only cross the bridge towards the mainland, when they are heading to the airport. Both groups harness the benefits the city provides. Lagos with its estimated population of over 21 million, spread across 20 local government areas, and 57 local council development areas all on 171km2 of island and mainland dichotomies. 

The myth of opportunity, inherent in the commuting cycle of Lagos, exerts an almost irresistible pattern on the rural-urban migration statistics in Nigeria. Many come in, holding all their belongings in their ‘Ghana must-go’, starting small, often with menial jobs, from ‘Alabaru’, to apprenticeships, and selling all kinds of snack and merchandize in traffic, until some eventually become major players across the markets, from Yaba, to Alaba, to Computer Village. The night buses arrive daily, full of these anxious dreamers, those who have come to Lagos ‘not to count bridges’ but counting on the sheer number of its populace . As the buses make their stop, Ojota,Yaba, Ojuelegba,Iddo,Mile 2 and Awoyaya,... passengers are seen alighting from the luxurious buses. The Johnny’s Just Come (JJC’s) are often seen making frantic attempts over the phone to connect with their relatives, the ‘uncles and aunties’ who have come to Lagos before them and have now somehow ‘made it big’. Their ambitions are further fueled by the portrayals they see daily on Nollywood flicks,  characters  who come about ‘sudden riches’ within 6 months of arrival in Lagos, the JJC’s are determined to ‘blow’ and attain their version of the Nigerian dream by any means necessary.

 Lagos embodies aspirations, exploitation, and dislocations from Portuguese slave-traders in 1760, expanding local trade, to British annexation in 1861 fostering commerce and urban growth. Today, influxes of Chinese nationals aim to address infrastructural deficits, marking a shift in hegemony.As the big agbalumo of the country, the city keeps many spellbound, serving wonderment in huge doses, with unbridled kinetic energy, that keeps the city lit.

Published originally as a 'Think Piece' for the  Lagos: Ownership and Identities exhibition catalogue.  University of Lagos November 2020, Abridged version 2024, for the Who is Lagos? What is Lagos? Publication for the Institute of African and Diaspora Studies, University of Lagos in Collaboration with the the Africa Multiple, Cluster of Excellence in African Studies, University of Bayreuth, Germany.

Text #voicesfrom
 

Covid-19 Notes by Jumoke Sanwo

Now that power is shifting like a compass, forcing us to re-adapt, we are likely to chart a new course post Covid-19, from the ‘PhilantroCapitalist”, seeking a vaccine to save the world, to world leaders trying to dismantle years of systemic oppression and the obvious state of disparity between the Global ‘North and South’

My first experience with a virus was during an outbreak of ‘Kólí’ (Newcastle Disease Virus in Yoruba), in my mother's poultry in Ibadan in 1981. She had been rearing her chickens in preparation for that year's Easter holiday demands. I watched her, in her despair, as nearly all the birds died. I was just 4 years old at the time, but I did notice the care taken to dispose of the carcasses. Unbeknownst to us, there had been an outbreak of the avian virus in the city of Ibadan and many poultry farmers were impacted by this.

Then at the age of 7, I had chickenpox, and shared the experience with 3 of my siblings. My younger sister and older brother caught the virus at the same time I did, from my younger brother, who contracted the virus from his best friend Yé. Their bond was so deep, that whatever Yé had, we all had. After the chickenpox, we also caught measles and we had to somehow draw the line on this friendship, when my younger brother returned home after this, with mumps!

At the time, we were living in a neighbourhood, just behind Òní and Sons’ Children's Hospital. I remember vividly when we had chickenpox, my parents isolated us on the verandah to suffer privately the indignities and the incredible itch which came with the virus.

They allowed in only the fresh air streaming through the red brick vents covered by mosquito netting. We were covered from head to toe in a mix of calamine lotion and gentian violet. While this alleviated the discomfort, it also mitigated a further spread to our friends and schoolmates until the virus ran its course. We were shielded away from prying eyes, watching the world go by, mainly listening to the sound of wind rushing through the casuarina trees in our compound.

Prior to  limbo, I was introduced to the teachings of the contemporary apostle of mindfulness, Thich Nhat Hanh, from whom I made a mindful discovery of the concept of the state of neutrality, According to his teachings, the feeling is neither pleasant, nor painful, coming to the fore while we sit motionless, in this state, we become aware of all emotions that have been ignored, when we were busy doing other things.

In the middle of limbo, I began confronting some of the emotions I had ignored while doing other things, for example the role of artists in the age of globalisation; Yayoi Shionoiri opined, during a recent Instalive session, that the global Covid-19 pandemic is proving that artists are not outside the system. Beyond thinking about the aesthetics of pre/post- Covid-19, I am also thinking about the structures supporting artistic practice in Nigeria, the lack of safety nets for the majority, especially for artists at a critical time such as this. On a conscious level, the lockdown has provided room for a much needed reconciliation of social hierarchies; as we socially distance, as recommended by the WHO,... 6 feet apart, the virus pushes us to think about our 6 degrees of separation.

Looking out the window, while sitting and deliberating, I noticed a male figure just right behind the palm trees, pacing around the veranda in an angular white house. He was simulating movement, like a host of other Lagosians who feel trapped during the COVID-19 lockdown. He appeared to be using a sense of motion to exercise, or perhaps to counter the feelings of disorientation felt from prevailing uncertainties. However, many more are on the streets, despite the lockdown, soliciting for food or money to counter the disruptions to their daily source of income.

In trying to make meaning of this global pandemic, humanity is swooping in, confronting the starkness of needs. On the streets of Lagos, man must first survive hunger before he begins to confront the virulence of the virus; the dis-privileged, who rely heavily on daily wages, just want at least a meal per day . On the streets of London and New York, many also desperately search for and stockpile toilet paper. In a way, basic needs, even though universal are relative in their priority. In dealing with the resultant socio-economic effects of the virus, we must also confront the geopolitics of inequality, the evident failings of capitalism, and the limitations of structures, when there is a glitch in the system.

Within our different local realities,we have come to an awakening that our needs are far less than what we had earlier imagined. The late Obafemi Awolowo, in his autobiography ‘ My Early Life’, has alluded to the fact that until western civilization began to make its inroad into African societies through colonization, the people did not require too much exertion to provide food, shelter and clothing in these societies.

In our state of bafflement, especially during the lockdown,we are learning new terminologies such as ‘herd immunity’, ‘contact tracing’ and ‘social/physical distancing’; with the breakdown of the fabric of certainties, vigilante groups secure neighborhoods across the city of Lagos, as anarchy threatens to reign. 

In unison, hundreds of residents ward off the invasion of the ‘One Million Boys’, further highlighting one of the less obvious merits of unstructured societies.

Now that power is shifting like a compass, forcing us to re-adapt, we are likely to chart a new course post Covid-19, from the ‘PhilantroCapitalist”, seeking a vaccine to save the world, to world leaders trying to dismantle years of systemic oppression and the obvious state of disparity between the Global ‘North and South’,  the evident performative acts of kindness across  media platforms, heighten the disparities between the haves and the have nots; so, while we wash our hands, we also try to desperately wash our conscience from many years of active neutrality.

COVID-19 Notes by Jumoke Sanwo was published under Vienna Institute of Dialogue and Corporation (VIDC) kulturen in Bewegung “Voices from” Project

MOVING MOTION

My thought centres around motion, the art of moving,
I begin to ponder about the earth, as it remains still under my feet,
with each step pushed to new ways of engaging my space.
We are constantly in motion as beings,
We can be static or sometimes in-transit, but we move to feel alive.
I further engage in more thoughts about my continent Africa,
In the words of the great singer Enrico Macias
I have carried my country, and my continent Africa right there in the soles of my feet.

Africa moved, immobile
Stilled, walked backwards
Stopped, stalled but moved…

Mobility lingers in our thoughts,
Motion remains an illusion, fuelled by our ideas and relation to space.
We do not move, when we take steps as we are made to believe.
Activity does not equate movement.
We gather momentum, when we push an agenda to completion.
That is a call to action.

…Africa is moving;
Jolting, Dragging,
Slamming, Pulling
Just Moving…
Moving Motion

Circular motion allows us to be part of a globe without upsetting the balance,
Aligning ourselves to feel the rippling effects of machinations and indiscretions,
We challenge the sickness that accompanies our motion.
We seek to find the equilibrium like a planet about to exit the galaxy…
We struggle for gravity.

… Africa can move;
Struggle, Stumble
Steadies, Stable, Advances;
Moving Motion.

A lot has been written about the continent
Many wonder how possible it is to set sail centuries ago and not leave the harbour?
We analyse our predicament in the context that constantly shifts,
Like a mirage, our ideas remain an illusion; maybe because we are in motion, in translation.

© 2018 Jumoke Sanwo. All rights reserved.

Marzahn

Re-living experiences of times past, through daily validation of a history that needs to be forgotten.

I feel the motion in Marzahn stopped, energies resonating around the space relies on the past

You are not moving, because movement will imply the acceptance of failures of the past,

maybe an acknowledgment of the defects in an ideology.

You stay in our corner of the world, away from the likelihood of interactions.

You watch as the world watches you with keen eyes.

You thrive on exclusion and othering,

Relying on your inability to accept differences as the main criteria for effectively wading through a world that somehow has left you a few decades behind.

In the meantime, you enjoy the horticultural varieties in your “World Garden”; where you can seat in China and walk through Morocco, without the complexities of social contacts and geopolitics.

You potentially can change your narrative, and that of the world,

if you simply remain on the edge and let the world view your paved labyrinth.  

Marzahn Belin, © 2014 Jumoke Sanwo. All rights reserved

Untitled

The clanking noise

Heralds the coming from a gaol

I see people emerging

With no apparent anklets.

They assume freedom

Yet they are incarcerated.

There is festivity in the air,

Yet I see the carcass of their king.

The song changes to a dirge,

The town is solemn

The skies are bright

I can see the rainbow

The clanking continues, now with a rhyhm,

As the night approaches,

I turned away for I could see.

© 1998 Jumoke Sanwo. All rights reserved.

The Story of Creation

A roar awakens my soul,

from a deep slumber

Sleep from the dark ages,

An unconscious stage.

Though it was yet the breaking of dawn,

The rays were intense,

With the loud moan,

From beings from the jurassic.

The falling body

Completed the scene,

The story of creation.

© 1998 Jumoke Sanwo. All rights reserved.

Children of a lesser god

A specie endengered

By various predicaments

Famine, war and enslavement

I wonder going through life,

Is there Eden or does the maker exist?

A politician or a gringo maybe?

Was Lucifer of color?

Or a radicalist fighting against racism and oppression?

Have you ever wondered why he was “castigated”?

Was Adam of color or otherwise?

Why is it that black signifies evil,

And white a sign of peace?

A fight against the Kaffir, I guess!

The child of a lesser God.

© 1997 Jumoke Sanwo. All rights reserved.

To be or not to be,

A tumble down the slope or

A climb up the hill.

A walk in the park or,

A walk down the aisle.

The awareness age brings forth or

The innocence of childhood.

© 1997 Jumoke Sanwo. All rights reserved.