I f H"*! 
! 
^ «? ^ HI tfh. 
H 
1 GLENDORA
D
D
estiva I on the Road 
Jahman 
Anikulapo 
IX hours of flight aboard 
a Lufthansa craft began 
at 11.55pm on Saturday 
October 12. The twelve 
versatile Nigerian performing 
artistes were full 
of trepidation about the 
prospect of their current 
performance tour of Germany but fortunately 
the three-man directorial team had 
past experiences to draw on - performances 
in Italy (1987 and 1992) on the platform of 
the Kakaaki Arts company. Richard Lang, the chief strategist of the 
entire AFRIKA PROJEKT '96 and architect of the present grand cultural 
exchange with Germany was restless too. He reviewed action plans 
regularly with the directors. 
The team arrived Frankfurt at 6a.m and ran into a haze of cold 
that rammed into their memory the insistent warnings of Richard and 
his good wife, Cora about the kind of weather to expect in Germany, 
and the type of dressing to take along. 
Personally, I remembered Cora's words: 'if you don't take warm 
clothes with you, thick socks and strong tennis shoes, you will die of 
cold, I tell you Jahman.' Yet, the Frankfort cold was more than we 
bargained for. The five ladies in the team cut a pitiable sight. Dancer 
Christie Okougbo, who against all warnings wore a nylon blouse was 
African Quarterly 
on the Arts 
Vol 2 No 2 GLENDORA ...
freezing while our song-bird 
Stella Ayanlade already appeared 
set to take ill. 
But the bowel of an aesthetically 
pleasing Frankfurt airport complex embraced 
us warmly. Its heaters seemed 
turned on at the highest. Hence, sorting 
out arrival protocols — immigration, 
customs, quarantine and baggage collections, 
were pleasant. The cast had 
little to worry about, anyway, as Richard 
took effective control of the protocols. 
Richard concluded the rites of 
arrival, booked our connecting flight to 
Munich, a one-hour flight duration. 
Unfirm Steps 
At 8.15 on a smaller Lufthansa 
aircraft we headed for Munich. Unlike 
the one that brought us from Lagos, this 
flight was an all-white affair except for 
two black heads. But we ourselves dotted 
the canvas of white. Stella's traditional 
hair-do shuku stood out in the sea 
of silvery hair curls. 
This flight however broke the communal 
spirit with which we set off from 
home. Unlike in the previous flight, members 
of the group were scattered in 
sitting arrangement, because as Richard 
informed, 'all the seats had been 
booked before we made our booking.' 
At Munich we rode in two airport 
shuttle buses. Within me I querried the 
rationale behind the bus ride, for the 
distance from the aircraft to the arrival 
hall was actually less than a two minutes 
drive. We could have walked and saved 
ourselves the unnecessary anxiety that 
followed— 
ard as we joined the others at a corner. 
the project consultant. 
'Are we complete?' asked Rich- 
'Yes, I think so', said Ben Tomoloju 
'But, where is Saidi?' became the 
chorus of virtually every other member 
of the team. 'Could one of us have 
disappeared so soon?' Our eyes travelled 
around the flamboyant environs of 
the airport, deepening burrows creas- 
African Quarterly 
on the Arts 
Vol. 2/No. 2 
ing our foreheads. 
Just then Saidi, the lead drummer 
appeared behind a massive glass partition 
on the other side of the hall. He had 
actually proceeded to the next hall ahead 
of others. 
'We have to stay together, from 
now on. No individual movement. Stay 
within the group' remarked Richard in a 
gentle but serious tone. 
Thereafter we proceeded to join 
the drummer on the other side of the 
glass hall. The revolving automatic glass 
doors obeyed the command of the moving 
bodies, one stopped abruptly trapping 
one of our ladies. 
'What's wrong?' asked Jide 
Ogungbade, the artistic director And 
Richard quickly explained: 
'Please nobody touches the door 
Otherwise we don't go from here. It 
works on its own.' 
.. .Glasses everywhere! The whole 
airport complex is built of glass, no 
wood or brick in sight. Strange, but 
impressive! The mass of glass accentuate 
the picture of permanent motions 
around the complex. Human traffic is 
reflected to an extent that everywhere is 
full of movement. 
This glass business, explained Richard 
is yet an exclusive aesthetic of the 
Munich airport. A part of the runway 
flies above a very busy highway, so that 
planes could be seen taxing directly 
atop of vehicular traffic. 
Of all to disappear, and cause us 
our third major anxiety...the long blue 
bag of Ben Tomoloju bearing some of 
our most important costumes and props. 
Twenty minutes of waiting and the bag 
would not come in from the conveyor 
belt. 
Every other bag emerging from 
the belt's hollowness seemed to resemble 
the blue bag. Ben's face got oily suddenly 
and bore a deep frown... 
'Ah, ah... look our boxes,' announced 
Richard. Behind us a big 
wooden box bearing drums and other 
materials for the stage set had come up 
through the lift — it was too big for the 
belt - and was being trolleyed down the 
hallway by a huge-chested guy who must 
have been cursing in his mind the owners 
of the monstrous, heavy box that indeed 
looked out of place amidst the flurry of 
cute leather bags littering the sides of the 
conveyor belt. 
Richard met the big guy and announced 
that the guy has said he was 
charging us 10dm (N500.00) for every 
15 minutes the box rested on the trolley. 
We were all alarmed. So much money 
for an ordinary trolley that you get for the 
whole day just with a bribe of N20.00 in 
Nigeria. I remembered another of Cora's 
words: 'Germany is very expensive. You 
pay for everything, including water.' 
But then, Ben's bag is yet to be 
found and that means for as long as we 
waited for it, we could be running a bill 
on the trolley. What to do? Crosscheck 
all the luggage tags, in preparation for 
lodging a formal complaint in the luggage 
office. Richard sorted it out, tore it 
offthelumpoftagson his ticket, handed 
it over to Ben. 
'You get to that office (pointing 
behind us) and wait, they will attend to 
you. The rest, let's go.' Ben strolled off 
eastward, with a confidence that marvelled 
me. The rest of us passed through 
a gate, which indeed should be aptly 
tagged, Gate of No Return—actually it is 
marked 'No Entry' on the other side, 
which means once you pass through it, 
you can't go back into the luggage hall. 
In fact, there were these two stern-faced 
security men in mufti who eyed everyone 
entering. 
Just then a soul-lifting occurrence: 
we walked out of the gate into the arms 
of a sixtyish couple, Huber and Antonie 
Konrad. Surprise, surprise... the Mayor 
and first lady of Haag, an ancient but 
very popular Bavarian village about 
twenty kilometres from Munch. Haag is 
the home of Hans Laschinger, a most 
significant Bavarian folk musical artiste, 
who has spent over four decades of his 
career documenting the old Bavarian
folk music and dance for the purpose of 
restoration, preservation and promotion. 
Of all honour, a troupe of African 
artistes full of expectations and anxieties 
about what Germany and its people 
would offer on their very first cultural 
mission, being welcomed into Germany 
by the head of one of the most profound 
of the old Germanic civilisations! It surpassed 
all our dreams. 
The Konrads had gladly resolved 
to accompany Hans to the airport to 
welcome us because Hans, the blind 
hero of the Bavarian cultural revivalism 
is a most significant son of Haag. Hans 
had granted the request by Richard Lang, 
his friend of many years, to play host to 
the group of Nigerians. He had enthusiastically 
awaited this day. Now we were 
here. The Konrads modestly dressed were 
full of life in spite of their age, stepping 
gingerly into the bubbly youthful rhythms 
of the Africans as they embraced them. In 
their smattering English, the Mayor and 
his wife gave a very quick and short 
history of Haag and the Bavarian people. 
The Konrads stayed with us in the 
lobby of the airport for almost 30 minutes 
as we expected the arrival of our huge 
wooden box. The problematic box kept 
Richard Lang running helter skelter, making 
enquiries, trying to ensure that the 
box arrived on time. Within that interval, 
the Mayor and his wife got to know more 
about the troupe, on a rare occasion of 
exchanges. Ben offered a seat but they 
declined. 
'No, we stand', they replied flashing 
an even broader smile. 
Humility apart, I wondered that at 
their age they could stand the stress of 
waiting. 
Richard emerged from behind the 
glass walls, embraced and spoke briefly 
with the Mayor, his countenance bright 
as he announced loudly: 
'Hey, my friend Hans is waiting for 
us in the bus. This is great! Hans is a very 
big musician of the Bavarian tradition 
and culture. Very popular in Germany. 
Hans waited to give us his warm 
welcome. He could not see, was suffering 
from a genetic eye disease that 
claimed his sight and that of his sister, 
beautiful Margaretta. Yet came all the 
way from Haag with the Mayor to receive 
us. 
At 2oC Munich was not particularly 
a pleasant host to the crew of Afrika 
Projekt 96. The severe cold contrasting 
sharply with the very hot weather we left 
behind at home. Joke Muyiwa gave a 
shout: 'Ha, otutu yi le o' (This cold is 
severe). She seemed to unseal the lips of 
other members of the team. 
Norbert Young: 'Chei, see Taxi. 
Na Mercedes dem dey useless like this.' 
Lara Sodunke: 'Abeg, no make me 
think o.' 
Omokaro Okonedo: 'No worry. 
When I get back (to Nigeria) I go go tell 
the Ambassador say I know from where 
he buy im car.' 
Everybody laughed. Making it to 
the side of the bus we heard a powerful 
accordion tune waft out from the bowel 
of the bus. Hans, the blind minstrel was 
at work and he was doing it with all his 
inner strength and zeal. His finger moved 
dexterously on his shimmering silver accordion, 
his head tilted to one side. Soga 
our multi-instrumentalist perched himself 
beside Hans, grabbed his keyboard and 
sneaked into Han's tune with a mellow 
back-up. Thus began a jam session which 
saw two musicians providing inspirational 
music for the rest of us. The twosome 
broke into an African spiritual 
medley led- by Soga and backed by 
Hans. Jide Ogungbade, a gifted evangelical 
singer broke into Ben Tomoloju's 
Odo misan were. The jam session took 
on a vibrant colour, uniting two divergent 
musical traditions and genres. 
The session ended but a disappointing 
note surfaced. The ladies were 
unusually silent, forcing Jide to chide 
them: 'Pleasesing now. Oya Lara, Stella.' 
No! The girls were inexplicably 
silent and sullen, as if unsure of themselves. 
For me, this was shattering. I 
couldn't reconcile the many nights of 
noisy singing and chanting of hymnal 
songs back there on Red Street, were our 
camp was situated, with this current timidity; 
or was it standoffishness^ Christie 
and Agnes gazed endlessly through the 
window. 
But Jide would not give up as he 
picked up song after song, backed by 
Soga, myself and Saidi. I prayed that 
Ben would join us to strengthen our effort. 
Now I remembered the lovely singer 
Salome Ikuologbon, who in any case 
ought to have been in the team, as she 
had always been on other projects involving 
the Kakaaki fraternity. During 
Italy'92 while touring Italy with Tomoloju's 
Mujemuje and driving between Turin 
and Chieri where an international festival 
of theatre was holding Salome and 
the Kakaaki collective sang throughout 
the journey, from 10pm in. the night till 
the following morning. Next time, we 
had to have Salome with us, I resolved. 
Presently Ben came into the bus 
with Richard having sorted out the 
wooden box. He illuminated our singing 
with the llaje spiritual — Olorun mi iwo 
ni masin titi aye (My Lord, I will worship 
you forever). Their performance was 
animated as the entire bus trembled to 
the power of Ben's sonorous vocalising. 
Hans and Soga abandoned abruptly a 
low tone discussion to which they had 
escaped in frustration, since no song 
would come from our girls; they resumed 
works on their instruments. 
Song flowed after song as the bus, 
driven by a young lady, Monica snaked 
its way through the impressive road network, 
heading toward the outskirt of 
town enroute Haag. Ben broke into 
Benin royal songs lifted from Aratasin, a 
dance drama he had packaged for the 
Atlanta '96 outing by Nigeria. 
His entry solo on the song ushered 
us into our first sight of rural Germany, 
Deggendorf Langenshut, a vast canvas 
of greens. This was a half kilometre to 
Freising, famous for its brewery. The 
atmosphere was foggy and so all the 
vehicles on the road put their headlamps 
African Quarterly 
on the Arts 
Vol. 2/No. 2 GLENDORAr
on. The peace of the environment was 
affective. Trees were robed in the 
colourful garb of autumn' in transition. 
Now we came into a more 
colourful scape with the leaves wearing 
orange and rose drapes. Living quarters 
sprouted like dots in the vast land mass. 
Oba ugboriri, gh'oba, ghoba.... 
The heart of the bus palpitated to the 
pulsating refrains of the royal song which 
Norbert and Okonedo now energised, 
simulating the royal drum with intense 
hand clappings. It is the music of their 
ethnic root, anyway. 
Still wrapped up in the lure of lush 
flora, Ben branched off into the Hausa- 
Fulani folk song, Akwoi Wata Gar/aided 
by thunderous clappings led by Soga, 
Hans tapping on the frame of his accordion. 
The Konrads too were stamping 
their feet and clapping as Richard made 
obvious that he had better grasps of 
African rhythms. Monica, our female 
driver was nodding when Lara led the 
way into Ijaw land, singing Ogiri fie fie 
and Saara mabote (all from the Aratasin 
repertory) 
African Quarterly 
on the Arts 
Vol. 2/No. 2 
Freising was peaceful despite its 
huge name and desolate in spite of its 
fairly big population. In Freising is located 
the oldest brewery in the world, 
Weihenstephan now about 1000 years 
old. 
Water spirits joined us with Agnes 
leading us to sing Oluweri a riverine, 
fisherman's song of appeasement to the 
goddess of the fertility cult (also from 
Aratasinj. Ben led. Aja kubo, his evergreen 
llaje ballad taken from his 1987 
play Jankariwo. This is Richard Lang's 
favourite Yoruba song and he led the 
infectious response to the solo of Ben, 
stealing time out to explain the source of 
the song to the Mayor, his wife... Hans 
couldn't be bothered as he ground heartily 
on the keys of his accordion. 
Haag 
... flows in solemnly through the 
fluid melody of Aja Kubo. Time was 
11.20 am, a sign indicates that Freising 
is 12 kilometres behind us. Haag was 
sleepy, desolate, butsobeautiful. Houses 
trees, flowers, gardens. But where were 
the people? 
Richard: 'many of the people here 
are very rich. They work mostly in Munich 
but come here every night to enjoy peace 
in the village with their family.' 
Haag was so quiet that our loud 
outbursts in the bus were out of harmony 
with the environment. 
Meleegbe, another of Ben's classics 
sprouts out, just as the bus veers off 
to climb a gentle hill dotted by even more 
beautiful living 
quarters. The 
climb was to enable 
us turn off to the other side of the 
road. Outside, a signpost read 'Haag 
a.d Amper', meaning Haag village by 
the river Amper. 
1 1.30 p.m. We arrive Hans 
Laschinger's house. 
A vast but modest set-up compared 
to other houses in the surrounding. 
It is on a hill just at the point where the 
Moostrasse descends into a sleepy slope 
'This is the house you are going to 
stay', Richard announced as the bus
pulled up by the roadside and we descended 
into an even harsher cold climate, 
smoke belching out of our mouths. 
The bliss of the rural setting was however 
soothing. 
Richard quickly summoned a meeting 
of Ben, Jide, the Mayor and Hans to 
review the programme of activities for 
our, brief stay in the village. It is a tight 
schedule we have today,' he had warned 
us earlier. 
Still standing out there in the cold, 
a call-response choral rendition began, 
with Hans still backing on the accordion. 
We had been joined by the very warm 
middle-aged woman. Marqaretta who 
had driven seven kilometres from 
Moosburg, Richard Lang's village to receive 
us into Hans' place. Hans' friend 
and helper, Elizabeth was unavailable 
atthetimeof our arrival, even though we 
had been fore told about her great warmth 
and the fact that she had been expecting 
us, by Richard. 
Jide who after the brief meeting 
had been lecturing the Mayor and Monica 
and our female driver on the magic of the 
talking drum began to sing By the Rivers 
of Babylon. Everybody joined and thus 
began a carnival by the road side. Saidi 
refused to back the performance on his 
talking drum, saying he was afraid the 
cold might damage the delicate membrane. 
And if that should happen, we 
would be better off returning home The 
drum is the backbone of our performances 
That was why we devised a 
special wrap for it, anyway. However, 
clapping sufficed and the lonesome 
road linking Haag to other villages sipped 
deeply from the street performance. 
The Konrads excused themselves 
to go and prepare for a unique church 
programme scheduled for that night and 
in which they had planned a role for us. 
Hans' one storey place sits on a 
large basementconcealed from the main 
road by the steep of Monstrasse slope. 
The white house has an attic room panelled 
with well polished white wood. The 
Germans it seemed have perfected the 
use of wood in the shelter provision. 
The men would have to stay in the 
attic room called Ober Zimmer littered 
with sleeping bags, blankets and slim 
mattresses, obviously purchased newly 
for us. To get to the room, the men had to 
climb a 1 2-rung ladder, standing straight 
up against the wall of the dining room/ 
kitchen on the first floor. The ladies took 
a room downstairs, in the farthest innard 
of the ground floor. Norbert regretted 
that he wouldn't be able to drink as much 
as he would, for 'if man go get drunk and 
piss catch am for night, how he wan do? 
E go be suicide trying to rush down this 
Soga was fascinated by the various 
musical instruments and other accessories 
littering the room, mostly, Hans' 
collections from India and some parts of 
Europe where he had visited. These 
prompted our discussing the Bavarian 
music and culture with Hans, and we saw 
the driving force behind his life-long 
resolve to document the art; for as he 
said, what you see in the cities is not 
German culture, that is Western. The real 
German culture is exemplified by the 
Bavarian culture founded on a humanistic 
principle of art elevating man, promoting 
oneness and spreading the gospel of 
fulfilment. He regrets however that not 
much state-driven support is being given 
to the preservation of the culture. 
We went into the St. Johanness 
kirche, an old church with a very interesting 
story. Inside, it bears 15th century 
Gothic architecture and had only recently 
being renovated. The legend of 
the father of Protestant Christianity Mar 
tin Luther bestrode the church, as Richard 
was to relate the history of the Germanic 
tribe and their relationship with the former 
colonisers, the Roman Empire, detailing 
how in the 1750s, a German, Ceasar 
was the king of the Roman Empire and he 
ended up regaining for his people part of 
what they had earlier lost to the Romans. 
Outside, is a tall blue and white 
pole that is only a bit more shapely than 
a broadcasting antennae. 'What is 
this?' I ask, continuing 'I have seen it in 
almost all the villages we passed through. 
'It is called malbaum. You find it in 
every village and all these pictures you 
see on it are sculptural motifs representing 
all the trades and vocations you will 
find inthe village. So that by seeing ityou 
know quickly what kind of trade the 
people in that village engage in. Let's 
say you need a mechanic for your car, 
you will know whether you can get one 
here.' 
I was 
amazed. 'So its 
that functional,' 
ACK in Haag, I 
took a special note of 
the malbaum and there 
was a full figure of Hans 
blowing heartily on his 
trumpet. An attestation 
to the thoughtfulness of 
the people about information 
networking. For, 
to ask for a vocationer, 
no one, with the 'tree' 
needs go knocking on 
mation. 
Joke interjected. 'Yes', continued Richard, 
'even in Haag, you have it and 
Hans, our host has just had his picture 
added to the one in Haag, so you will 
know that there is a big artiste living in 
Back in Haag, I took a special note 
of the malbaum and there was a full 
figure of Hans blowing heartily on his 
trumpet. An attestation to the thoughtfulness 
of the people about information 
networking. For, to ask for a vocationer, 
no one, with the 'tree' needs go knocking 
African Quarterly 
on the Arts 
anybody's door; the tree 
simply bears the inforthe 
village.' 
Vol. 2/No. 2 GLENDORA
on anybody's door; the tree simply bears 
the information. 
We went to the Haag church in 
response to the Major's invitation, a few 
metres away, where we would witness a 
new experiement that the church was 
undertaking. 
We walked the distance and found 
that it was already filled up to capacity. 
We arrived just as a Rock music band 
invited from outside of Munich started its 
first number. 
The mayor was keen on our team, 
having listened to us sing some spirituals 
in the bus on our way from Munich. He 
thought that we would be able to see how 
they are blending tradition with modernity, 
by revolutionising the content of the 
church programme. They invited the Rock 
band to perform gospel as back up to 
sermonisation even amidst a conservative 
service. The aim, we were told was 
to provide something of interest to 
youngsters who were daily turning their 
backs on church. 
We were shocked witnessing the 
chaotic performances of a Rock band 
situated in the very heart of the altar. The 
first rock number stops, the elderly priest 
assumes the lectern and reads from the 
Holy Book, after which three young 
women gave testimonies. 
Then the band of five youngmen in 
tee shirts and denim jean* trousers strike 
out again performing 'Where is my 
Way' . There was no mistaking the 
Aerosmithian kind of charge up rhythms 
and rumbling guitar works laced with 
explosive drumming. The music is exquisitely 
loud and moving that I personally 
restrain myself from dashing out to the 
pulpit and dance it all out. However, I 
observe that in spite of the mood of the 
music, there is stillness in the full house 
typical of the usually penetrating concentration 
of German audiences. 
Berlin 
The forty kilometre drive from the 
airport to the hear' of Berlin was full of 
gists and quick plans orv our very first 
performance on the.tour. Sitting in the 
GLENDORA < 
African Quarterly 
on the Arts 
Vol. 2/No. 2 
front cabin with Matthias and Jide, the 
two directors, we ran through the 
programme for our debut. 
Expectation is high about the performance, 
warned Matthias informing 
that a lot of people were curious and the 
press a bit sceptical. 
'Two weeks ago, they staged 
Soyinka's recent play Beatification of 
Area Boy here and they had a bad press. 
They said it is folkloric, without the fresh 
theatrical idea or style', Matthias said 
infecting despair into one's heart. 'But I 
am sure we will be well received' Matthias 
reconsidered. 'I trust our production', 
Jide agreed. 
We stayed off the topic and joined 
the other occupants in the bus in admiring 
the organised chaos of Berlin as one 
mighty structure after the other assailed 
our sights. 
Berlin smells of history and it is 
very conscious of its recent historic profile. 
A huge banner with very bold and 
assertive letterings welcome our entourage 
to the Hebbel Theatre, which from 
outside has a rustic bearing. It is said to 
be over 100 years old. 'It is the dream of 
many European actors to perform on the 
Hebbel stage,' disclosed Matthias our 
guide who has worked long in the theatre. 
Calmly he noted: 'so we are lucky 
to be here. This is Berlin's most important 
and oldest theatre, with a lot of history 
behind it. All the important critics and 
media men come here and they can be 
very harsh in their comments.' My heart 
jumped again. Well, we disembarked at 
he back of the theatre building and 
noticed that there were several smaller 
posters announcing that'Rotom/Kakaaki 
groups from Lagos' would be performing 
at the Hebbel. 
We off-loaded, and were briefly 
introduced to the technicians who would 
facilitate our production. Everyone 
seemed to have noticed Inse Koepke, 
(The stage technician) a tall, slim girl, 
perhaps in her early 20s who in spite of 
her work dress looked elegant; her face 
like a sculpted piece. She particularly 
shocked me by her energy, after lifting 
alone our heavy iron box and putting it 
on the trolley. 
I glanced at our girls and felt 
repulsed by their pretences and undue 
call for attention. They wouldn't even 
help to off load our luggage, instead 
were clutching their chests. Then I noticed 
that Norbert Young kept starring at 
Inse. On the next day when we got to the 
theatre he wanted to learn the German 
EBBEL is an intriguing 
theatre. A massive 
auditorium with 
two upper sitting areas. 
The stage has depth, so 
much depth that we 
had to divide it into 
three parts for our 
performance. It sits 
about 600 in its cosy 
bowel which in spite of 
age still looks regal. But 
for an African performance 
with loud drumming 
and singing, it 
could be dyfunctional. 
words with which to enquire after Inse. 
Then he would be heard hollering: 'Wo 
ist Inse? Wo ist Inse?' 
We re-encountered the real 
Matthias during our very first rehearsal at 
the Hebbel. We had projected that he 
would allow us to run for him what we 
had revived of Oedipus after three months 
of break since our May performances. 
But we were quickly reminded of Matthias 
peculiar directorial style, which created 
frustrating moments at rehearsals back in
Lagos. Running the play holds no fascination 
for the director We were hardly 
two minutes into the first scene when, he 
stopped us That henceforth was the 
mode of the rehearsals. No problems 
though. We knew our director's style. 
Hebbei is an intriguing theatre. A 
massive auditorium with two upper sitting 
areas. The stage has depth, so much 
depth that we had to divide ft into three 
parts for our performance. It sits about 
600 in its cosy bowel which in spite of 
age still looks regal. But for an African 
performance with loud drumming and 
singing, it could be dyfunctional. 
Its accoustic is boxed up, so that 
the sound keeps circulating within a 
restrained orbit. Our singers and drummers 
had problems coping because the 
sound travels into the box almost 60 feet 
above, gets trapped in there releasing a 
late feed back. 
Rehearsal resumed in the theatre 
at about 7pm, but still we made little 
progress because it was frequently interrupted 
by the director's interjections. 
very warm and handsome friend, Frank. 
His hair style was Afro and cute. Frank 
would speak Yoruba very fluently at the 
slimmest contact with it. In less than 10 
minutes, he had the right intonation and 
his diction was good. 
us with confidence on the prospect of our 
performance being well accepted. Sitting 
through segmented rehearsals of 
Oedipus he rushed back stage, congratulating 
us and thanking us for bringing 
such a 'good show to Germany.' 
Guido and Christina arrive with a 
Frank is the first German to imbue 
Matthias seems more relaxed this 
Monday morning. The cast members are 
expecting the opening night. The rehearsal 
is more relaxed and enjoyable. 
'Waow, they have destroyed our 
stage.' lamented the dancer Christie, 
when she saw what he had been done to 
the gate that cost us so much money and 
energy to build in Lagos. 
Gabi, spouse of Matthias, a theatre 
set designer who had with Uwe 
Wagner visited Matthias in Lagos in the 
last week of his six-week stay in Lagos, 
has dismantled the gate we brought from 
Lagos and sawed out of it something else 
— two thin poles with a more perfectly 
finished arc crown. Once mounted, the 
gate shines brilliantly under the stage 
light, while the thin poles seem to have 
reduced the visual impact. 
We concluded the morning rehearsal 
on an inspiring note. Matthias 
smiled for the first time since yesterday, 
whistled and did a bit of body wriggling. 
I remained on the set with technicians 
as they laboured to complete their 
jobs. The entire cast is contemplative. We 
are confident of a good premiere at the 
Hebbei. Matthias' words haunted our 
souls: 'You have got to give your best. 
This is the most important of our shows. A 
lot of people are looking forward to 
seeing you.' 
With the pep talk which followed 
Matthias' we got set... 
And PRONTO! 
The production was over and the 
ovation just won't stop. The house which 
had remained absolutely muted thoughout 
the 80 minutes of Oedipus erupted in 
loud clapping. We are on the fifth call! 
Even Richard Lang, our most critical observer 
gave us a good score. 
'You guys surpassed yourselves'. 
He repeated this for most of the 360 
kilometres to Chemnitz Dresden for our 
next set of performances. 
Oedipus at Hebbei was quite an 
experience but it was riddled with performance 
anxieties typical of premieres, we 
had also been told that Chris Funke, the 
dreaded Berlin and in fact German theatre 
critic was in the house. Our performance 
at Hebbei had been largely sponsored 
by the Deutschen Theatre which, 
unable to accommodate us in its busy 
schedule had requested the Hebbei to 
host us. 
And so to Chemnitz we proceeded. 
Matthias was too overwhelmed by his 
success (the press actually swarmed 
around praising him) to drive, although 
he claimed that he was too tired and so 
would want to sleep through the journey. 
Lang took the wheel. 
African Quarterly 
on the Arts 
Freezing on the 
Mountain 
We found ourselves enwrapped 
in the bowel of a vast cave that is Heidelberg. 
Mountain heights glanced down 
menacingly at us as if aiming to gobble 
us up We were esconced in the warmth 
of our bus, excitedly gyrating to the 
Highlife-oriented beats of Fela. Our bus 
pulled up in the compound of the'Eine 
Welt Zentrum' (One World Centre) and 
some of us jumped down. In same breath, 
they rushed back into the bus — the cold 
in Heidelberg was fiercesome, unsparing. 
Thereon every one was handicapped 
as they tucked their arms under 
their warm clothes. Teeth clattering and 
caps drawn firmly over the ears. 
Simone, the small and agile 
woman who administers the centre 
sprinted out of the theatre and rescued us 
from the cold as she herded us into the 
relieving warmth of the diminutive auditorium.
The One World Centre overlooks 
a gigantic mountain rise whose base is 
lined by a scenic lagoon that even in 
calmness bears witness to a lovely picnic 
site. The Centre is part of a three-dimensional 
complex, also including a twostorey 
shopping mall atop a cafeteria 
opening to the main road, but concealing 
the auditorium behind it. In the rear 
of the theatre is also another mountain, 
all accentuating the feeling of our being 
hugged by hieghts. A blissful feeling 
nonetheless! Sitting only about 300, the 
auditorium has intimacy. 
The stage is a peculiarly small 1 6 
& 16ft. But has far more lighting than the 
two cinema halls in the Nigerian National 
Theatre, Lagos put together. 
To situate the floor plan for a 
performance of the play Amona on this 
small stage space was trying. Just making 
that decision alone took almost one 
Vol. 2'No. 2 GLENDORA
hour of debates, trials and mock settings 
before we arrived at a manageable 
design. 
Paul, the technical director in the 
theatre and I got into an argument over 
the appropriate place to put the sound 
amplifiers and monitors. He wanted 
them down stage left, in full view of the 
audience and would have none of my 
argument that that would jeopardise the 
run of the play, especially si nee we were 
already constrained by the little space 
available after mounting the set. I had 
my way. And then fresh problems! 
There is only one entrance door to the 
stage and there is no gangway as such, 
except a staircase to the left side of the 
auditorium linking the stage. So we 
had to experiment with creating more 
entrances right on stage, further cheating 
into the little space we had left in the 
acting arena. 
held the next day. 
normal Amona set. It worked. 
second standing ovation. 
facilities that taxed our imaginations awaited us 
in the Frankfurt Hof, Mainz where our last show 
nations awaited us in the Frankfurt Hof, 
Mainz where our last show on the tour 
pieces on the improvised sets and did 
many 'knocking together' just to realise 
something close to the fragments of the 
the 2.25 minutes play in 1.52 minutes. 
The audience comprising largely youths, 
the typical rock music concert, crowd, 
among them students and young school 
leavers, fell in love with us. This was our 
on the tour held the next day. 
We mounted our three textile 
We played intimately, and ran 
This crowd was particularly exhilarating 
as the members seemed to 
respond to every line, including the 
deeply poetic and metaphoric rendered 
by priest Amona. And it was not difficult 
to see why- tthis crowd has seen performances, 
literary sessions and exhibitions 
from virtually every part of the 
world. 
• A new edition of Alrika Projekt billed lor 1998 recently 
commenced audition and rehearsals in Lagos with a 
premiere ot Femi Osofisan's adaptation of Mark Frisch's 
Andorra scheduled for February and a new play A Horse 
on My Back developed from the story submitted by Mike 
Ugorji, a university of Lagos undergraduate also 
scheduled for performances in April. Both performances to 
to tour Germany in October. 
Again, not being a normal theatre 
structure, One World Centre lacks 
facilities such as platforms, flats, set 
props etc. Simone however helped us to 
convert their numerous tables into platforms 
and flats and we achieved the 
near impossible. A similar situation of 
inadequate facilities thattaxed our imagi- 
H<^ • ORAL HISTORY 
O •LANGUAGE 
a. • POETRY 
• TRADITION 
MODERNITY 
RELIGION 
IDENTITY 
MUSIC 
DRAMA A 
GO 
» GAIN, not being a normal theatre structure, 
One World Centre lacks facilities such as platforms, 
flats, set props etc. Simone however 
helped us to convert their numerous tables into 
platforms and flats and we achieved the near 
impossible. A similar situation of inadequate 
- * A bi-annual journal of con- 
/"'''| |! \ temporary thought on the 
p Yoruba world view 
All subscribers should make cheque payable to 
GLENDORA INTERNATIONAL 
16, Skelley Road 7471, Watt Avenue 
London E15 4BA or Suite 109-253 North 
U K Highlands. CA95660 
An additional $7.00. £5.00 pel issue ($14.00. £10.00 
Per yr) should be added lor Airmail. Postage and 
Handling Mease allow 6-8 weeks tor delivery 
NDIVIDUALS: INSTITUTIONS 
North America - S30 North America - S40 
^.ur°Pe - £20 EurOpe • . £28 
N' 9 e r i a • N2000 Nigeria • N3000