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What Wole Soyinka Means to Me

August/September 2024vol8-no3
Soyinka

Illustration by Charles Owen for THE REPUBLIC.

THE MINISTRY OF ARTS / PEOPLE DEPT.

What Wole Soyinka Means to Me

A native daughter reflects on the life and legacy of a literary giant.
Soyinka

Illustration by Charles Owen  for THE REPUBLIC.

THE MINISTRY OF ARTS / BOOKS DEPT.

What Wole Soyinka Means to Me

A native daughter reflects on the life and legacy of a literary giant.

Support for this essay came from the Open Society Foundations Ideas Workshop. If you would like to support our work to make African ideas more accessible, email us here. 

‘Who, in a wide cultural perspective and with poetic overtones, fashions the drama of existence…’

— Official notation for Wole Soyinka’s Nobel Prize for Literature 

I first encountered Soyinka’s searing prison memoir, The Man Died—Prison Notes of Wole Soyinka, as a teenager in the late 1980s. It was revelatory, opening my eyes to the recent history of my own country, especially the Biafran War (1967 to 1970), of which I had little knowledge. It made me question why I hadn’t learnt more about it at school; why those around me rarely spoke of the war. Was it that adults were trying to shield us from these recent horrors? Soyinka’s harrowing account of imprisonment without trial, and the torment he endured, made me wonder how he managed to hold on to his sanity. It made me wonder about other such stories. It made me wonder how I might fare under such conditions. 

Beyond Soyinka’s bravery in the face of state oppression, what is also striking about The Man Died is the sheer artistry of the writing, an impression that only grew as I read more of his works. Whether in the grand tragedy of his classic Death and the King’s Horseman, the wry social commentary of poems like ‘Civilian and Soldier’ and ‘Telephone Conversation’, or the biting political satire of his latest epic novel, Chronicles from the Land of the Happiest People on Earth, Soyinka’s work displays a mastery of dramatic architecture, lyricism, and dark humour. I remember, as a university student, reading and re-reading ‘Telephone Conversation’, in which Soyinka’s virtuosic command of form and tone is on full display as he lays bare the racism of 1950s Britain.

When the landlady presses the would-be renter on the colour of his complexion as in ‘HOW DARK?’, Soyinka’s retort is a masterclass in sharp satire and irony: 

‘Facially, I am brunette, but, madam, you should see  
The rest of me. Palm of my hand, soles of my feet  
Are a peroxide blond. Friction, caused—  
Foolishly, madam—by sitting down, has turned  
My bottom raven black—’ 

Soyinka’s command of dramatic form and poetic language is also matched by his deftness in depicting—and excoriating—the charlatans, fanatics, and sycophants of this world. Whether in fiction or memoir, he wields a delightful scathing wit. Nigeria’s former capital, Lagos, for example, is described in his political memoir, You Must Set Forth at Dawn, as the ‘fetid tail of a strutting rooster.’ Yet Soyinka is equally capable of lyricism and it’s around this aspect of his writing that I find myself heavily underlining passages of his writing. Take, for example, in the said memoir, Soyinka’s evocative description of a road journey in the mountainous area of Nigeria’s Jos plateau (where I grew up): ‘in moments of utter sublimity, the road winds like a cummerbund around the sagging waists of clouds, slicing off the peaks and dipping vertiginously into bottomless basins, a trampoline strung across treetops on which you know the gods take their night’s repose.’ 

Soyinka’s work challenges and inspires me, defying easy categorization, much like the writer himself. 

THE MAN LIVES; SPEAKING URGENT TRUTHS

Ikú yá j’ẹ̀sín lọ—‘Sooner death than indignity’ 

— Wole Soyinka, Climate of Fear

Some years after reading Soyinka’s The Man Died, I read Edward Said’s Representations of the Intellectual based on Said’s seminal 1993 Reith Lectures. I was fascinated by this slim book and by Said’s view of the definition and role of an intellectual—namely one who is deeply involved in the world, but never co-opted by it, and speaks truth to power regardless of the personal consequences. Soyinka is one such public intellectual. Eleven years later it would be Soyinka’s turn to deliver the prestigious Reith Lectures, his entitled ‘The Climate of Fear’.  

Central to this lecture series, later also published as a book: Climate of Fear: The Quest for Dignity in a Dehumanized World, lies Soyinka’s insistence on the primary importance of human dignity—a cause he has championed tirelessly, often at great personal risk. Indeed, Soyinka has been an outspoken critic of tyranny in his home country and beyond. 

I’ve been struck by the breadth of Soyinka’s political activism which has spanned the globe—everything from challenging British immigration policies, to championing the anti-apartheid movement, protesting racism in the United States and condemning the illegal Israeli occupation of Palestinian territories while supporting Palestinian rights to self-determination. In 1986, Soyinka used the occasion of his Nobel Prize lecture, entitled This Past Must Address Its Present—a lecture whose content and title remain relevant today—to confront the international community on its passivity in the face of the suffering and oppression under apartheid in South Africa. He goes on to directly challenge the world to take concrete action against the regime: ‘We are saying very simply but urgently: Sever that cord. By any name, be it Total Sanction, Boycott, Disinvestment, or whatever, sever this umbilical cord and leave this monster of a birth to atrophy and die or to rebuild itself on long-denied humane foundations.’ 

I learned more about Soyinka’s deep connection to the African diaspora and his expansive worldview in 2021 when we spoke together as part of ‘Conversations Across the African Diaspora’, a series I hosted for the Museum of the African Diaspora in San Francisco.

As far back as I recall—which is all the way back to primary school lessons on something called the Slave Trade—I have never been able to absorb the notion of an African continent defined solely by saline waters. It was both an intuitive and objective reaction. This has affected much of my political thinking and relationship with the Black presence in the Diaspora, their cultural retentions from Africa and their socio-political struggles, especially in racist enclaves such as the USA. 

Soyinka has been at the vanguard of speaking up on vital issues of justice and human rights, often long before they’ve captured global attention or become fashionable—issues ranging from environmental conservation to looted African art. And sometimes, Soyinka’s moral and intellectual commitment are also joined by an equally powerful adventurous spirit. Having read about his escapades to Brazil to steal looted art—the Orí Olókun, the bronze head of the sea god—and bring it back to Africa, I asked him about it in our public conversation. His response was stern, albeit with an adventurous and boyish twinkle in his eye: ‘You know, that word “steal”—I don’t like it. I went to recover the property of my own people.’  

It was due to my deep admiration for Soyinka as a global public intellectual and my desire for others to learn more about him and his writings, that soon after moving to San Francisco, I made it a personal mission to bring him to speak at the prestigious City Arts and Lectures Series. At the time, the series featured leading figures from the world of arts and ideas but had showcased very few, if any, speakers from Africa. It took three years for this to happen, much longer than I expected, but by the time it did in 2006, Soyinka’s Reith Lectures had been released as a book and his public lecture was enthusiastically received. 

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MAJESTIC BEARING, MISCHIEVOUS SPIRIT

‘I don’t feel my age. I can’t put a figure on it. Each time I recollect how old I am, I feel embarrassed…’

— Wole Soyinka 

The most vivid image that I carry of Soyinka comes from my well-thumbed copy of his prison memoir. On the cover is his profile view in black and white between his name and its haunting title—The Man Died—writ in triumphant sky blue. Each time I see him, even from a distance, he seems to be holding that same pose with head held high, a concentrated look, and the faintest flicker of a smile. He has an unmistakable presence, accentuated by his trademark white afro—Einstein white but neater and thicker, his soft white curls forming a near-perfect ring around his head. Others have had or attempted variations of such afros; Don King, Angela Davis, and Cornell West amongst them, but Soyinka’s is unique. There is something lion’s mane-ish in its splendour, judge’s wig in its precision, yet the style lends him an air of youthful, defiant pizzazz—elegant, regal, and supremely dignified all at once. 

In addition to his afro halo, Soyinka’s voice also stands out—in a literary sense, obviously, but literally too. ‘That voice!’ as his fellow Nobel Laureate, Toni Morrison, once described it to me. It is a rich baritone, deep and eloquent, made for the theatre. Morrison also spoke of having ‘elegant talk’ with Soyinka and I knew what she meant. Soyinka speaks with an old-world formality, uttering sentences that seem to rise straight off the pages of great nineteenth-century novels. His diction is precise and deliberate, almost theatrical in its delivery as he lands with emphasis on key words, pauses occasionally for effect, and draws out his vowels to lend gravity and import. There is also a stern, no-nonsense aspect to Soyinka’s voice that perhaps contributes to the nervousness sometimes felt by those in his presence. 

I remember the first time I spoke with him in person, shortly after he came off the stage at San Francisco’s City Arts and Lecture series. I had been championing him for this series for so long that when it did finally happen, I could hardly contain my excitement as I approached where he sat, exuding a quiet majesty, waiting to sign books. I introduced myself and then struggled to summarize quickly, knowing he had little time, what he and his work had meant to me over the years. I also recall the palpable anxiety, one evening in Lagos in 2014, when Soyinka was inadvertently omitted from the sizzle reel for the inaugural Etisalat Prize for Literature, a prize for which I had the honour of serving as a judge. The fear of the organizers, phrased in feverish email exchanges, was that we had committed ‘a grievous slight against a venerated elder.’  

For all that his voice booms and his demeanour can seem somewhat stern, I have always found Soyinka, outside of large gatherings, to be a careful and attentive listener. In September 2021, a few days after the release of his novel, Chronicles from the Land of the Happiest People on Earth, I remarked to him over Zoom that his book had touched me in a number of ways. ‘Why?’ he asked simply, genuinely curious to learn more. In that same conversation, he listened intently as I shared my concerns about the audiobook narration, which I felt had not done the work justice, especially regarding the Yoruba pronunciation. Rather than immediately blaming others, he reflected thoughtfully on how he might have better guided the selection of the narrator. Nevertheless, like me, he felt strongly about the need for his work to be presented authentically, and he was resolved to address the issue.  

In email, on the phone, or over Zoom, Soyinka (‘Prof’ as I call him) is warm and funny. I always look forward to his email replies, often one-liners laced with a tinge of wit, a clever or unexpected turn of phrase. For instance, when I wrote to ask if he might attend the launch party for my book Between Starshine and Clay; Conversations from the African Diaspora, in which he features, his response was succinct yet playful: Invite to book launch—Great pity. Must pass up this opportunity to taste literary jollof, sizzling hot!  

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HIS WORLD, OUR WORLD

‘Friendship to me is what saves one’s sanity, friendship is seeking nothing, no advantage from the other person, but always knowing that it is there, that it’s assistance if you need it. And you simultaneously are ready any time. It’s almost a mystical thing.’

— Wole Soyinka 

Soyinka’s influence has been acknowledged by a wide array of artists from fellow Nobel Laureates, Seamus Heaney, Derek Walcott and Nadine Gordimer, to younger generations of writers I’ve known; from Ben Okri and Ayọ̀bámi Adébáyọ̀ to visual artists Victor Ekpuk and Victor Ehikhamenor and many more. Others have gone even further, inspired by Soyinka to make their own unique contributions. In this respect, I’m particularly struck by the story of legendary publisher, Margaret Busby, who told me she was inspired to compile her groundbreaking anthology, Daughters of Africa after noting the dearth of women’s voices in Soyinka’s acclaimed Poems of Black Africa. 

My own father, who is only three years younger than Soyinka, has drawn inspiration from Soyinka’s work too, especially his memoirs, a few of which we’ve enjoyed reading together. In a sense, Soyinka has become a surrogate guide to parts of my father’s own childhood and young adulthood. During animated phone conversations, my father has shared second-hand stories he’d heard about Soyinka’s fraternity and his friendship with Christopher Okigbo, my dad’s Classics and games teacher at Fiditi Grammar School in Nigeria. Having also studied in Britain like Soyinka, my father can readily relate to the experiences detailed in poems like ‘Telephone Conversation’, chuckling knowingly as he recalls the days of ‘No Blacks, No Dogs, No Irish.’ And recently, as I revisited The Man Died, I discovered that Lee Abbey International Student Hostel—where my father has served on the board for decades—provided shelter to the badly beaten journalist whose tragic death inspired the book’s title. 

Soyinka’s deep friendships, including those with former schoolmate Femi Johnson (an actor and businessman), journalist and Newswatch Magazine founder Dele Giwa, and lawyer and politician Bola Ige—to whom Soyinka dedicates Chronicles from the Land of the Happiest People on Earth—have also left a lasting impression on me. The importance of such connections was beautifully illustrated during our public conversation at the Museum of the African Diaspora, when another of Soyinka’s close friends and his former Cambridge student, Henry Louis Gates Jr. (aka ‘Skip’), joined the discussion via Zoom. The conversation took a lively turn when I mentioned the wonderful photograph I’d seen in Morrison’s home capturing the two literary giants together. Soyinka spoke with awe of Morrison’s ‘genius writing’ and shared how she’d taught him the expression ‘to knock one’s socks off.’ As Gates chimed in, the story unfolded further, a moment of levity and joy that showcased the interconnectedness of great Black lives across years and nations—a testament to the deep friendships Soyinka holds dear: 

Gates: Wole, my very serious question is, what was the name of the restaurant where Toni Morrison took you to knock your socks off? And what wine did you drink when your socks were being knocked off? 

Soyinka: […] The restaurant was a bit of a disappointment. And I told her, number one, they didn’t use peppers. That was the main problem. It was an African restaurant, and the food was probably good, academically, yes, but no peppers. Now Skip, can you imagine somebody knocking my socks off without any peppers? 

Gates: For shame! 

Soyinka: Toni fell down on that. But at least she left me the expression. So, I’m grateful to her. 

Gates: On Monday, Wole and I will be having dinner in New York. And Wole I want you to pick the restaurant that Toni should have picked. And I want to unveil something if you can bear with me Sarah. [Skip proceeds to show off a cabinet full of chilli sauces introduced to him by Soyinka and to speak about them before he turns his attention to his wine cellar dedicated to Soyinka who also introduced him to wine]. So, off to Cambridge and Soyinka introduced me to wine and chilli peppers and Indian food, all at the same time. So my mouth is on fire. I’m getting drunk. I’m trying to understand these chillies and that’s the real education. That’s the real story of our friendship without a doubt. 

Soyinka: Right on⎈

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