Interviewing Don for the SUN

Yah! It was the same Don I told you guys I visited in Right for Wrong? Don, a senior staff of MTN Nig is the author of the novel, Delayed Not Denied. After the interview with him, I also did a book review on his novel. They were some of the few freelance stories I did for the Sunday Sun. Published in January 11, 2009.

Now sit back, pull a cushion (not trying to steal 2Face Idibia’s flow) and relax as you read through the abridged version of the interview. Enjoy the grub! I hope you might...

The time was 3pm, Ketu the venue, and the essence of such assignation is the literary modicum that is keeping you glued to this page. A tap, perhaps two, at the door saw it ajar with my host clutching to the handle. One hand battles to keep a phone to the ear, leaving a little girl in his trail as he receives a phone call, with eye contact as greetings.

My unfussy humility re-echoing a sense of social etiquette. My snickers quickly give way to release my feet to the terrazzo floor before beating a hasty entry into the tastily furnished sitting room. But that was not before acknowledging greetings. The banters were equally good after the long walk to keep the date. No one toys with the magnanimity of a host on impromptu arrangement. Boarding a bike to the venue was a no-go area, not after the law instituting the crash helmet.

Suave, baby-faced, clean-shaven with dandified meticulousness on a well sculptured physiognomy may make for the least adjectival superlative to describe this handsome writer. Perhaps, intelligence should count too, and Amaeshi does not disappoint in that department.

Initially set out as a memoir that was never meant for publication, Amaeshi’s debut novel, “Delayed Not Denied”, may not have taken a full swing to make a must read. Nevertheless, it surely has a way of gaining its own acceptability. Even this acceptance still astounds the author who revealed that he was yet to shake off his initial scepticism in publishing the book. “But really I didn’t set out to publish. I only had that inclination to write at that point in time. I was only expressing myself at that point. It was a kind of memoir sort of. I never intended to publish it until I was advised and persuaded to.”

The book is more of a life experience. It’s a factual thing.” He dragged for emphasis, “What we have in the book are really what happened but told in different light.”

Would you want to address the issue of Female Genital Mutilation (FGM) in the book? The question escaped; before it could be recanted, making it sound like it did not come out right. “Well, the female genital mutilation in the book is symbolic, portraying women as the down trodden. They don’t have the same right as their male counterparts. It’s more like an ego thing, trying to damage their self esteem. So, it should be looked at as a symbolic expression, not necessary what it is in the present day situation. One has to do a kind of exposition to further explain that issue on female circumcision in my book. Really, it should be seen as symbolic.”

Asked if he believed in FGM? The black colour leather upholstery squeaked to accommodate Amaeshi’s adjustment. And then he did it again as if pricked with a needle rather than conscience before offering an explanation to douse the fact that he might have been misconstrued. “If I didn’t tell you, you wouldn’t know. That’s why it’s good to do a kind of exposition on certain works. For me, it has nothing to do with my beliefs. It actually symbolises some other things, apart from what people can deduce from it on the surface level.”

As a young writer in the modern age, why did he choose to dwell on the primordial rather than tackle modern day issues? He had a quick answer. “Actually, the book was published in 2002 but I wrote it between 1995 and 1997. My inspiration was from my immediate environment then. It took me a while to get published because of my financial standing. I couldn’t publish until during my youth service in 2002. So, I think the setting has to do with where I was at that point in time, and I was at the village then.”

“For me, if you want to compare, what are you looking at?” He threw back rhetorically, suspecting a conspiracy when asked if he would want to juxtapose his work with Achebe’s. “Well, I don’t really see any reason for comparison. First, this is my first book and Achebe is a known writer. He has been there for a long time. I draw a lot of inspiration from his books as I enjoy reading them.” He offered, almost in obeisance to Achebe.

But don’t you think Achebe will not be comfortable knowing that writers dread to compete with him? The quip went in, making the youthful author to seek out a rebound on his earlier posture. “Anyway, it’s not for me to compare. I didn’t write to adopt his style. At the point I wrote the book, my only intension was to express what I felt….But if you are looking at the setting, you might discover that we both have the traditional rustic setting,” he offered, and at the same time smiled away with satisfaction.

But then, who would discuss Amaeshi’s Delayed Not Denied without picking out the male child factor in the book. Do you think it is still a problem in the modern day African society? The grilling went on. “Well, considering setting in that day and age, that was obtainable. But looking at it in this modern time, am someone who doesn’t make a fuss about things like that. Right now I have a daughter and if not for pressure, I would stop at that. And if my next child happens to be a girl I will stop at that, no matter what. So, for me I don’t think it’s an issue.”

Until the retreat from the venue, the question on whether Amaeshi who maintained the factuality of his work was the storyteller, Iheukwumere, whose destiny was delayed but not denied, was never considered witty. It does now.

Sometimes I derail…

Even as I write this, am already derailing. Am supposed to be exhuming my short story project and making it a novel, yet I seem incapable of doing that. In Busting my Nephew, I apologized for writing in late with a thoughtful promise of updating this blog regularly. But it took me longer than I perceived to put up something here after that. To write no be yam o, let alone writing a novel! I really don’t envy Achebe as a person. Not even his fame matters to me. I only envy all the prize monies the old man has garnered for himself all over the years. You see? Am derailing big time here. Why talk about Achebe?

Ok, first one. I seriously think am in the wrong profession. Or as my friends would tell me, in the wrong job. Writing. How can I be getting unrestricted pleasures from the fact that anybody who seemed to have read my write-ups calls me (if they do get to me or have my digits) to tell me they get literary satisfaction with my choice of grammatical leverage and appropriate language usage. That’s all? Nice write-ups but wey the money na?

No money in journalism. I agree. But shouldn’t I ve worked enough to buy myself a car at this stage of my career? Don’t answer, not your question. That’s the question I always ask myself. I have been in the mix for 5yrs now. Again, shouldn’t I’ve listened to friends and gone into banking, at least corporate affairs. They said there were openings but I chose to ignore them for the love of the pen. I love writing. It gives me power of creation. But now, I dey think twice o!

I derailed when I left the sciences for arts. Then I derailed again at the university when I was asked to choose between Mass Comm and English Language. Ok, I went for… see them, they want to know abi? Forget it! Ok, I will tell you. But not now.

However, I think the biggest derailment is going to school. Yes, forget your shock about what I just said. How many rich people are educated? Calculate the ratio na. If I had realized one didn’t need to be educated to be rich, I should’ve dropped out of school at JSS3 when the in-thing was to learn a trade as at then. Am sure, at this age I would’ve been controlling 4 shops and apprentices calling me oga. I th ink the sound of oga sounds appealing. Money wouldn’t have been an object the way it is now for me.

Y’all know I probably wouldn’t know how to read and write well. Right know, I can’t even remember any damn thing I was taught in junior secondary school. But from primary school, I can remember stuff. Never mind, who needs to know how to read and write when you can get the services of graduates and pay them with jokes? Isn’t that what salaries are worth? Jokes! They never seem enough no matter how much.

As I think all these things out and the steps I shouldn’t have taken, my mind flickers with nostalgia to the inevitable. Am about to get married soon, though I don’t have a serious relationship going. But when the time comes to walk the isle, won’t I derail again and marry someone not meant for me? Fear dey catch me o!

Busting my little Nephew

Apologies for not writing before now. My brethren, stress too much, especially when you are busy trying to get gossip that will make for irresistible read. Or I should blame it on the PHCN. Those guys surely know how to toy with the switches, so much that one doesn’t get to have electricity supply when one needs it. My desktop runs on that.

March 1 was my nephew’s birthday. But I hadn’t time to write on it till now.

The little boy, Gozie, just turned one but already in Primary 4, so it seems. Smart you would say, wouldn’t you? He’s in Primary 4 in the house re-arrangement department, or if you would be mild, Interior Décor. The little boy was so much in a haste to start his practice that he began walking at 7months. At 8months he had constantly made rigmarole of all the rooms in the flat. And before he was 11 months old, he had learnt the tricks of maneuvering the little blockage set for him to prevent him from getting into troubles with domestic items.

For instance, the centre table in the sitting room had long ceased to be at its rightful position. Isn’t it supposed to be at the centre as its name suggests? But it now forms a partial wall in front of the musical gadgets. Anyway, no problems. I think the guy likes the sound of music. He dances to hot beats like D’Banj’s “Igwe”, P-Square’s “Do Me”. In fact, anything hot on the beat interests him. Perhaps he could become a musician one day. And hopefully I will be around to affirm to his interviews when he tells them he started listening to music at a tender age. Isn’t that what all musicians say? “I started singing when I was …blab bla? I will tell them my nephew broke all records. He started before he was one. You need to see him demonstrate his steps in vertical dimension with hands flying up as if he wants to hop. That’s how my Gozie likes to dance.

Wait, perhaps the little boy may want to be a computer guru or a writer like me. Why my suspicion? I will tell you. The computer, formerly nestling comfortably at a corner in the room before the boy was born, now has its fair share of disturbances. He wants to type on the keyboard each time the objects catches his fancy. Its mouse has often found itself on the floor, causing it to be ruptured and replaced. Still, no problems, except that he may cause more scare being a writer than a computer wiz kid.

But I seriously suspect his dad, my elder brother, may not want him to be any of that, especially since I haven’t made it big yet. He bought Gozie a ball as soon as the boy started walking. Who wouldn’t, considering the mouth-watering endorsements and sign-on fees footballers get these days. Put on paper, a Mikel Obi plying his trade in England with Chelsea FC possibly earns more than what the whole of his community earns. That’s true! Check how much that lad earns per annum. But why football? Why not get the little boy a stethoscope to take after him? I mussed to myself. Hope my brother doesn’t get to hear my thought.

Don’t worry, we are still on course…the guy is barely one. He has a whole lot of his life before him. He has his choice to make when he’s of age. At least, his father and I agreed on that.

The in-thing now is that one of Gozie’s gifts for his birthday (a little puffed leopard-skinned-puppy with a “Wild about you” tag sticking out of its mouth) is scaring the shit out of him. At least, the house now knows a little peace as the toy gets placed at any corner or close to anything you don’t want Gozie to touch.

As I watched him run for safety each time he sighted Bobby (that’s the toy’s name), I smiled to myself “truly, it’s only the eyes of a child that fear a painted Devil.” Whoever said that must be right!

Wait! Strangers also scare him… what a kid! But with family members or known faces, Gozie could cause you more stress by following you around. He likes to play. Phat..phat..phat…that always heralds his foot sound on the tiled floor. And this is often!