Thursday, 18 March 2010

Nollywood movies/Memories of my mama

Nollywood movies/Memories of my mama

I've officially become a stan/addict of Nollywood movies. I just can't get enough of them!
For folks who are familiar with this genre, you've all seen the atrocious acting, the awful story lines, the sudden drop of audio et al. Nonetheless, I am totally addicted, as is my husband! In fact, I've started watching these movies online, as there is no Nollywood channel in Holland.

When I watch these movies, particularly the older women characters, I think about my mama; the drama, the joy, the emotions espoused within them. I then try to understand what she want through, living in an alien environment and trying to make good for her children in the belly of the beast.

Then it got me thinking... Let me rewind for a moment.

Last year, a really good friend of mine did some filming of me - it's part of her course for her Masters in documentary film. She filmed me in my neighbourhood and asked me about my childhood memories. I recited the below piece of poetry; I then started to write a piece about my mama - still unfinished. I will be finishing it off, but it's going to be long.

Motherless Child?

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child

seekin' that cord

to reattach

so that memories could solidly be matched

of eating:

Egusi soup and pounded yam on wintery weekday nights

fighting for that precious piece of chicken in red palm stew delight

eating black eyed beans religiously on Saturdays before visiting Ridley Road market,

where my mama preached to Oshun daughters, being embarrassed as their Yoruba accented timbres were raised higher, higher,

bartering for bargain prices to be pushed lower,lower...

Getting ready for church/Sunday school, and hearing the dulcet tones of Jim Reeves on the living room's gramophone,

sitting crouched over on the kitchen floor,

whilst the pale icon of Jesus Christ watched on in pitied bemusement, squeezed between my mama's thighs like a slice of lemon,

whilst ears pushed forward as I waited for the onslaught of the hot comb on my nappy crown

to become acceptable in the tabernacle of hallelujah/praise the Lord!

too many memories that I have digested,

but why do I feel like a motherless child, far away from home?

Taiwo Ogunnaike
© 2008

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