|
Song, Drama, and Wit in Children of
Koloko
by Amanda Grants
 children of Koloko marks out at initial reading as something of a childhood
story of innocence. But it really isn�t. What we have are character
types presented by the author through the central character, Yoyo,
and other bohemian adjuncts of the central personage such as Dickie
and Buff.
So we have three youngsters who
are negotiating their passage into adulthood and
are keenly aware of the deficiencies of their environment and
themselves. These are therefore some kind of social critics but not
in an aloof, self-righteous manner. They are both participants in a
drama of social transition and psychological awareness. The result
is a kind of growth. But while the society records painfully
slow imperviousness to change, the pace of psychological growth of
the hero predictably outmatches all his contemporaries.
Yoyo is a kind of interrogator engaged
in dialogue with society. He dilates quite understandably between
outright rejection of the generation of his fathers and leaders such
as Dogomutun and Fathead. In 'The News' we see him defending public
ridicule of his society which the likes of the
politician, chief Dogkiller, had visited them through his actions of ruining public
resources.
Koloko is a dramatic short fiction in
the sense of its spontaneity of progression via the impetus of
dialogic discourse �a salient and unique quality in the writings
of Chin Ce as in �The Bottle� (Masks 2001). This interaction
of dialogue and songs serves to convey deep social entrenchments
such as the public song at chief fathead�s house warming ceremony:
�When we eat, when we drink/ Food, wine for family sport/ Let them
see, let them hear/ This is better life for rural
hunger.�
Fathead�s speech at this celebration
reflects the false confidence tricks of the privileged elite class
and the false logic of those who admire them and aspire to material
accomplishments without the corollary of basic intellectual
discernment. �Koloko mma mma o! I salute you
all. Our elders say that gbata gbata is a language
that has two faces. It might mean good, it might mean disaster.�
(88) In this drama of social and communal
acquiescence, tradition is made culprit by Fathead�s use of local
wisdom in two proverbs, one: -that �gbata gbata is a
language that has two faces; it might mean good, it might mean
disaster� and two: �it is from the home front that all
training must take off�� with the English equivalent of �charity
begins at home�� Of course these are mere cheap social rigmarole.
The women folk who applaud him are unlike the modern enlightened
liberated folks. We may later see some
rising liberated assertions in the younger generation represented by
Tina and her mother, but only briefly.
The Koloko women of Fathead�s
generation, through their songs and dances, are active connivers in
a degenerate social order. The second song betrays the degeneration
of art for the mere purpose of personal or communal indulgence. To
support Fathead�s self-dominant dialogue, the women improvise a song
from an Anglican hymn. We are shown an admixture of spiritual
irreverence from poorly synchronised traditional and Christian
religious forms: �The millionaire cometh/ See the millionaire
cometh��(90) But in both cases, particularly
the latter, are inversions of their intended meaning. With communal
epithets and witticism, Fathead justifies extravagant lifestyles and
social ceremony -actions that are the bane of real communal
progress. The society applauds in another intent, as long as they
are participants of the crumbs of the table. In their haste to
satisfy their palate, even custom and restraint can be thrown
overboard. 'Now how do we begin?' Maika the palm wine seller asked.
'A hungry man does not waste the time on proverbs when the real meal
is before him. De Tom what do you say?' (90). In the social
dramatic, cheap and vulgar wit interact freely.
'Hey be careful how you cut the meat�
like you don't have any bone in your wrist. See�see that
one.'
...
'Whose name does he bear?' someone
followed.
'Don't you mind these young boys of the
end age.'
'No manhood in between, and no
bones.'
'It's too much mischief with the
girls.'
'Ha! Ha! Ha! (91)
The bane of a society is when it questions
little of all thrown at it as long as
its appetite is indulged. And this, the thrust of Ce�s narrative fiction,
is the
bane of the children of Koloko.
|