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| Photo: Ema Edosio |
(saturday, april 13)
my
friend Lyndon gave me a journal for my trip to nigeria. on the inside
cover he wrote: create
fearlessly, love openly, make sacred spaces everywhere.
all this intersects with jelili's 'egungun method'. egungun may go
anywhere. there is no place egungun isn't allowed to be. this is
critical. nicole was here this week. she said she had been thinking
about the ulay and marina performance piece, relation in time, 1977.
we began discussing possibilities for here in lagos. women with hair
braided behind their backs. connected. public space. 4 hours.
obalende.
later
in the week we are talking and nicole speaks about wanting the
braiding to be part of the piece itself. so it happens, april 11,
thursday, obalende motor park. everything flows when there is trust
and action. i meet tope the day before the performance. she does
nails and eyelashes under the bridge. i explain the project and she
says she will gather the women to do the hair. we show up on
thursday (i bring the hair) and meet the women. they seem excited
about the piece but are not happy about standing in the sun to braid.
we explain that we are artists and the performance has to happen in
this place. just before we go to the place near the brt buses, one
woman adamantly asks for more money. she is annoyed. i speak with
the head woman who is dressed in this lovely pink. she is gorgeous
and friendly. i agree to pay more. they set up the chairs. we are
side by side for the braiding that begins at 2p.
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| Photo: Soibifaa Dokubo |
the
order of the chairs: deola ruby coco veronny wura
people
are watching us already. the braiding hurts. the women are not
gentle but they say “sorry”. veronny tells me how one woman says
(in igbo or yoruba) that she's lucky she got veronny because it's
only about 6 braids. my woman isn't happy because my hair is very
slippery. nicole later tells me that it hurts her head a lot. we
are both tenderheaded and the women braiding hair are ripping her
hair as they go. i am thinking it will feel so much better when we
get to stand. i can't wait. even before we are finished braiding a
group of men (city workers/lagos state something) come over. they
want money. they speak about how we should have taken permission to
be in this place. i have already given connor money to 'settle' them
if need be. they are harassing the women. i stand to speak with
them but they aren't even very interested in what i have to say.
veronny is amazing. at some point soon after this ruckus she says,
“no, i wouldn't pay them anything!” she is always so clear and
vocal. “we are artists. we have a right to be in this place for
artistic expression!”
these
words give me more strength. i know that public space is always
contested here. everyone wants to get paid. connor comes over and
asks how much i am willing to part with? he says they want 10,000
naira. i have only given him 2k. after veronny speaks i tell him
“nothing, do not give them anything.” i trust this will work out
and that we have a presence equal or greater to that of the men who
want a bribe.
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| Photo: Soibifaa Dokubo |
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| Photo: Soibifaa Dokubo |
we
started at 2p and by 3p we are finished with the braiding. while
getting our hair made, my favorite moments are:
(1)
two girls are watching us. blue checked school uniforms. they are 7
or 8 years old. one has her arm wrapped around the shoulder and neck
of the other. they stare from about ten feet away. they are in a
deep discussion about what they are seeing.
(2)
a group of schoolgirls in blues and skyblues gathers to our left. on
the pile of small stones. there are about 15 of them, 7-10 years
old, 6 feet away. they watch and discuss for quite a long time. they
give us energy.
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| Photo: Soibifaa Dokubo |
it
is time for the connecting to happen. our chairs are put into a
circle and the women begin attaching our braids. when it is time to
stand my neck is uncomfortablely hyperextended. i wonder if they have
connected us too closely. we adjust. it is uncomfortable. i will
settle into the discomfort and eventually the pain. we are five but
i can only communicate with the two right next to me. deola to my
left and veronny to my right. i start by facing the radio tower
direction. veronny says, “wow, this is powerful”. around 4pm
during the piece she asks if we can finish early. i am thinking 'no
way'. i tell her to go inside her mind. we have agreed ahead of time
to make small rotations in order to adjust perspective, move a bit
and also to give breaks from the direct sunlight. we speak only a bit
about it. “do you need to move?” we grab hands and slowly rotate
1/5th
of the way around.
veronny
speaks to me and nicole. she is vocal about the pain and exhaustion.
i feel responsible but i am only one of five. i don't ultimately
have the power to stop the piece even if i wanted to. her words
begin to make the exhaustion worse. i tell her to be quiet, to try
that out. we are perhaps pissing each other off. i go into my mind.
at around 4:15/4:30 i am looking between the radio tower and the brt
buses. i am beyond pain and fatigue. my eyes are no longer people
watching. they are taking in everything and nothing. i am this
piece, these 5 women, i am these artists, i know in this moment,
post-pain, that i can go on forever. it is like running, my 3 mile
mark, now i can go all day. it's decided. my neck is still being
pulled back by the weight of the hair. i adjust in small shifts. it
is painful. i try to make myself more comfortable, knowing that
perhaps i will make one of my sisters more uncomfortable. i can't
see them or talk to check in. i have to trust that they will take
care of themselves.
i
see my sister and brothers arrive in the audience. and efiom burns.
it gives me such strength to see familiar faces. they are witnesses
to this. to my life. to our presence. they will remember this one day
and i can go to them for the story if i need to confirm it, just to
know that it happened.
i
don't want to write about the australian guy who was videotaping
because that is not an important part of the story. and it is not
what i want to focus on, though if i let myself his presence will
leave a bitter taste in my mouth. he is filming with a huge mic and
windscreen. at first i am happy to see more cameras--the archive of
all of this is so important. but he doesn't respect the piece itself.
he asks to interview me. he is excited. i say, “at 6pm i will talk
to you.” he is up in our faces with his camera. unlike ema and
soibifaa, he does not respect the power of the piece. at one point
he says, “i don't know about you guys, but i'm having a great
time.” no more white people archiving (i did not invite
him by the way). connor tells me how the meaning of the piece
changes with his own presence as a white man. and also this
australian dude. people think it is a shoot for an advertisement.
this is good information. but connor also tells me how one gentleman
says, in yoruba that “this is ours” meaning “this is for us
nigerians, these artists speak to us.” this is more important.
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| Photo: Soibifaa Dokubo |
after
the performance olu translates as i speak with a yoruba woman about
the meaning of the piece.
i
ask a schoolgirl what she thinks. we have a lovely conversation.
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| Photo: Soibifaa Dokubo |
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| Photo: Soibifaa Dokubo |
the
evil men ask for money again when the performance is over. 100,000
naira. i am prepared to give 5k max though first i want to know what
for. 100,000 is such a ridiculous request--pay
us men in uniforms for your creative presence in this public space.
this is rubbish. when he asks for 100k a switch goes off in my head.
we have been at this performance for 4 hours. we have stood in the
nigerian sun for 3 hours. we are beyond exhaustion and i know nothing
can touch us now. i feel a calm, clear fury.
“100,000
for what? i will not give you one penny!” the anger rushes through
my entire body. “i am nigerian! we are artists. we have a right to
be here and express ourselves!”
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| me and 100,000naira man Photo: Soibifaa Dokubo |
i
refuse to give even one cent. i am furious. crowds gather. more
uniformed men emerge. soibifaa, the photographer, isn't taking any of
this either. he is taller than all of them. he hands his camera to
olu (i think). he is beyond ready. people must express themselves.
and there are lines that get crossed. i have seen tons of loud
arguments here in lagos. people must express their anger. the only
actual fight i have seen was among schoolgirls. we must leave this
place. we go to freedom park. it is difficult pulling the guys out of
the confrontation. i want us all to be safe. i trust olu and
soibifaa. i am also angry because i want them to leave this argument
and come drink beer. i trust that the performance will not end badly.
we take care of each other. nothing can touch us now.
***
