africa – The Establishment https://theestablishment.co Mon, 22 Apr 2019 20:17:33 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=5.1.1 https://theestablishment.co/wp-content/uploads/2018/05/cropped-EST_stamp_socialmedia_600x600-32x32.jpg africa – The Establishment https://theestablishment.co 32 32 A Vanishing African Art Gets Poised For Posterity https://theestablishment.co/a-vanishing-african-art-gets-poised-for-posterity/ Wed, 19 Sep 2018 08:04:33 +0000 https://theestablishment.co/?p=1753 Read more]]> Adire, the traditional Yoruba textile craft, is finding new life with a new generation.

When she was seven years old, Nike Davies-Okundaye lost both her mother and her grandmother. It was left to her great-grandmother—the head of the craftswomen in a village in Ogidi in southwest Nigeria—to bring her up and teach her the craft of adire. Ogidi is one of the major centers of adire production in the entirety of the country.

Adire is a resist-dyed fabric which is created by applying wax, string or rubber bands to keep the dye from penetrating the exposed, open areas. Traditionally worn and produced by Yoruba women of southwest Nigeria, adire is a delicate and time-consuming process that can be traced back to the nineteenth century.

Primarily a female domestic craft, adire derived from two Yoruba words—adi (to tie) and re (to dye). It’s not unlike the methods used by its hippie-modern sister-fabric known as tie-dye. But unlike it’s psychedelic brethren, producing just five yards of adire is painstaking work and can take up to three weeks or more.

Every day after school, Okundaye’s great-grandmother would teach her how to separate the cotton from the seed, how to make cassava paste—called adire elekois—and using a chicken feather, apply that paste onto the fabric to create the intricate patterns of Adire that are passed down from one generation to the next.

Adire was originally produced to make use of old hand-woven materials (kijipa); when a garment or wrapper grew faded, it could be redyed. When the missionaries came to Africa, they brought imported calico and it was used for adire, explains Professor Dele Layiwola in their book, Adire Cloth in Nigeria. These days craftsmen buy (mostly imported) cotton and apply the adire patterns onto the existing fabric.

“But no one wants to do it anymore,” sighs Okundaye—now 67 years old—on a sunny weekend afternoon. She is sitting across from me at her gallery, which is located on a peninsula close to the lagoon in the bustling city of Lagos.

“It’s just too much work and the money is too small.” Hailed as the “Queen of Adire” Okundaye is the most famous proponent of this Nigerian textile tradition, credited for making it known—and celebrated—by the outside world. But despite its creeping popularity in the West, its future remains uncertain. 

Nike Okundaye at her gallery

In the afternoons, Nike Art Gallery—West Africa’s largest gallery and a center of Lagos’s buzzy art scene—spreads quietly across four floors, boasting more than 15,000 paintings, sculptures and textiles all crammed together; it’s more a museum than a gallery.

But by evening, a steady stream of visitors, tourists, artists, and her protégés come to learn the art of adire from “Mama Nike” and the space thrums with voices and laughter. Weekends at Nike Art Gallery are unique and draw people from all over the city.

With Mama Nike presiding, young artists from Lagos and surrounding towns share stories of their work over food and drinks; it’s a way of dipping into Nigerian art and culture, with performances of music, dance and masquerades unfolding throughout the evening in the large gallery.     

“I was born into this tradition,” says Yemisi, a 25-year old adire artist from Lagos whose grandmother is a master artisan. “It was easy for me to pick up the technique, but I’m also training in painting as I can’t sustain myself on adire alone.”

Though the history of the craft is difficult to trace, adire—originally prepared only with locally grown indigo—is thought to have started in the 1800s. The tradition of using indigo for dyeing cloth however is thought to be at least a thousand years old in West Africa, according to scholar Jane Barbour whose book from 1971, Adire Cloth in Nigeria, remains an authoritative text on the craft.

While adire flourished in the first half of the twentieth century, it started to decline in the 1950s along with Nigeria’s indigenous textile industry, which was wiped out when cheaper imported cloth flooded the market.

The decline of adire is often linked to the rise of ankara, the hugely popular, brightly colored wax prints that have come to symbolize African fabric around the world. Ankara has a troubled colonial legacy, and ironically is not African at all.

The wax prints came into the African continent from the Netherlands in the nineteenth century, when the Dutch created a mass-produced version of Indonesian batik. These days, cheap copies of ankara are primarily produced in China.

Okundaye is warm and energetic, and always dressed head to toe in wrappers and headscarves emblazoned with the exquisite and striking adire patterns created by her own hand. A vital part of her craft she explains, is the sharing of its methods.

Okundaye has trained thousands of people in the art of adire by holding free community workshops at her art centers in Oshogbo, Ogidi, Abuja and Lagos, for the last two decades.

“I see it as a way of saving the art, so it’s not something our grandmothers once did,” she says.  “I also think of it a means of solving poverty. People who have no means of livelihood can be taught adire to make a living for themselves.”

But all of this is not possible, she explains, without creating proper infrastructure to support the industry; the government needs to actively invest in its future.

Despite Okundaye’s dedication to passing along the adire artform and its burgeoning presence on the more conventional fashion scene, she remains skeptical about the future of the textile tradition and has slowly modernized her methods to accommodate the lagging interest.  “When I saw that people weren’t buying adire fabric anymore, I started transferring the patterns on the fabric to the canvas, using pen to make the same designs that we used to paint with feathers.”

While adire is largely a forgotten and dying form in its country of origin, the ancient craft from Nigeria is making itself known in Western fashion spheres. In April this year, noted author and feminist Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie was invited to address graduating seniors at Harvard College, and she boasted her adire excitement on Instagram, heralding a newfound cache for this Nigerian handiwork:

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

“Honored to be the Harvard University Class Day Speaker 2018. And I felt fully like myself in this lovely Adire dress by The Ladymaker.”

For Adichie, wearing adire is a conscious choice and part and parcel of her activism; she launched “Wear Nigerian” last year to support local designers from her homeland.

Until just a few years ago, not many had heard of adire outside of Nigeria, but that’s slowly changing. Today adire is enjoying a coming out moment and boasts global icon enthusiasts including Michelle Obama, Lady Gaga, and Lupita Nyong’o.

For a clutch of young Nigerian designers catering to the fashion conscious around the world, adire’s rich history is a compelling selling point to consumers; the craft is indigenous, difficult to produce, rare, and every pattern is a unique form of storytelling.

“Adire was once dying out due to the cheap textile alternatives coming from the east,” says Niyi Okuboyejo, founder of the menswear label Post-Imperial. “But many young Nigerian designers are now embracing it. The method appeals to several global markets as we have several retail doors in Japan, France, England and the US.” 

Okuboyejo is of Nigerian-descent and based out of the United States, where he has found a following for his adire-inspired formal and office wear.

Post-Imperial production and product shots

“A lot of the symbols in adire have meaning and when put together could serve as a platform for storytelling,” he writes me in an email. The patterns in adire are a tapestry of the rich old stories of Yoruba culture, the myths, the history, the folklore, and the rituals.

“It is just one of the many traditional textiles that we still have. As it has done for Post-Imperial, it can serve as a tool to create narratives for the Black designer (especially one of Nigerian descent). Africa is the last frontier of new ideas due to so much untapped concepts and narratives within it, and adire is part of that.”

For designers like Okuboyejo and Amaka Osakwe (named “West Africa’s Most Daring Designer” in a New Yorker profile)—her label Maki Oh is entirely inspired by adire and a favorite with celebrities—the fabric represents pride in African and black heritage.   

Okundaye, meanwhile, is planning for the future in case adire’s current en vogue moment begins to fade like so many fashion trends tend to do. She plans to open a textile museum in Lagos later this year; she has already collected all the fabrics she wants to exhibit. “It will be the first of its kind,” she says, “a place to see all the textiles of Africa.”

She pointed towards her adire paintings.

“You can put this on your wall and remember the vanishing art.”

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Hollywood’s Strange Addiction To Bad African Accents https://theestablishment.co/hollywoods-strange-addiction-to-bad-african-accents/ Thu, 12 Jul 2018 02:30:04 +0000 https://theestablishment.co/?p=464 Read more]]>

What we’re hearing isn’t Africa, but Hollywood’s imagination of it.

Imagine Africa. Please, take a moment. More than likely, a panorama of poignant images has appeared in your mind. Something scenic. The lone baobab tree at sunset. Something tragic. A dark skinned, short‑haired child with flies swarming around her face. These images inspire you to be grateful for what you have. More than likely, these visuals are products of Western design. And like a moving subject captured in a flip-phone camera, these images of Africa and African people are often distorted.

Hollywood films about Africa are just that: results of the Hollywood imagination, divorced from reality. Carefully crafted frames and soundbites only too eager to exploit the ignorance of the common viewer, someone who has little to no knowledge of Africa, who is willing to think of the continent as one, homogenous place, instead of home to dozens of countries and thousands of cultures. A viewer who is, most importantly, not African, and will not challenge the images that have been presented to them.

In Curtis Keim’s book Mistaking Africa: Curiosities and Inventions of the American Mind, the Professor of History and Political Science at Moravian College asserts, “There is nothing wrong with entertainment, of course, except that this is where we pick up our ideas about Africa.”

Perhaps one of the most pervasive of these cinematic errs endures in the pattern of historical failures displayed in American actors playing African characters, or more accurately playing at being African. It is not impossible for a non-African to play an African character. In fact, it is not always possible for an African to play an African character. African identity, like Blackness, is tremendous in its multitudes and spans vast geographies and cultures.

Still, films like Black Panther, Concussion, and Blood Diamond evidence a vast disconnect between the portrayals of African characters and the realities of African identity. And nowhere is this demonstrated more powerfully than in the depiction of African accents.


Hollywood films about Africa are just that: results of the Hollywood imagination, divorced from reality.
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When I first heard about the movie Black Panther, I was appropriately thrilled. Here was a movie about Black people, dark-skinned Black people, set in Africa. A movie that was not going to be steeped in tragedy, but was instead a proud homage to Afrofuturism. Black Panther was going to be one of those movies we were going to be talking about for generations to come.

And then I saw the trailer.

My god, those accents.

The accent of King T’Challa, played by Chadwick Boseman, was supposed to be a South African one. Xhosa was allegedly the King’s native tongue. What I found instead was an over-exaggerated inflection, a strange slip into self-parody of a South African. My reaction was similar to what several Ghanaians in Accra experienced during the film’s premiere. NPR’s Tim McDonnell described some audience members to “have found [the accents] forced, vague, and unconvincing, with heavily articulated consonants and a grab-bag of speech patterns from Nigeria, South Africa, and the Swahili-speaking countries of East Africa.”

Of course, it is only fair to note that the accents depicted in the film were not meant to be carbon-copies of South African accents. Barbara McGuire, the dialect coach for Black Panther, believed the overlapping of American accents and African-voice training could help convey the “mix of tribes that are in Wakanda.”

It’s insulting to believe that American accents are ideal conduits to showcase the diversity of African accents. These pseudo-American-African accents were constant reminders of Hollywood’s deep misunderstanding of African people.

The most horrendous example was arguably Zuri, played by the very talented (if not in this film) Forest Whitaker. Previously, Whitaker had played the infamous Ugandan President Idi Amin in the Last King of Scotland, though I do not remember rolling my eyes at his performance in that. Zuri’s accent was roundly mocked on Black Twitter, like in this Spongebob Meme. Pay special attention to the spelling.

The popularity of these films suggests that what Hollywood deems culturally acceptable does not always mean culturally accurate. The bizarre speech patterns found in Black Panther not only detracted from the strength of the film, but were a constant reminder of Hollywood’s perceptions of African people. If we can create a fictional accent for Wakanda, of course it was created to match Western perceptions of Africa. It would be easy to say that these accents were too difficult to be learned properly by Boseman and Whitaker, yet is that not the responsibility of actors to master their craft and the roles they have accepted? And if that were the case, why was the role of the rebellious leader M’Baku, played by Winston Duke, lauded by Nigerians worldwide? Duke’s Nigerian accent was so convincing, Konbini’s Daniel Orubo found numerous Twitter users who believed him to actually be a native of Igboland.

Beth McGuire, Black Panther’s dialect coach, is one of the leading specialists on actor-training in African accents. In her interview in Slate, she described working closely with the main actors to create their new voices. McGuire states, “I kept thinking of the 9-year old Xhosa kid in South Africa. That was my audience.” It is difficult to believe this view was one shared by many other major players in the production of Black Panther. McGuire credits director Ryan Coogler with understanding the importance of mastering the character’s dialects. However, McGuire also notes how difficult it was to get adequate time training the actors. She revealed, “Well, I gotta tell you, what time they could give, they would. It’s just everybody wants a piece of the time.” If those besides Coogler held McGuire’s same belief, would there have been more careful dialectal training for the actors?

Like Black Panther, films like Blood Diamond and Concussion exploit the ignorance of Western audiences. Will Smith’s cartoonish portrayal of the maverick Dr. Omalu is the worst of all. In fact, his accent is so terrible that I have yet to complete the full trailer of Concussion because I would rather hold on to what respect I still have for Will Smith. In her Slate interview, McGuire, who is a White woman, calls Will Smith’s performance “racist.” A scene from the film was memorialized in the only way that gigantic missteps from Hollywood can be remembered — in an hour-long video of Smith-as-Omalu, a strange Dr. Jekyll amalgamation of bad acting and worse dialectical training, repeating the words “Tell the truth.” However, Smith was nominated for a Golden Globe for his role.


I have yet to complete the full trailer of Concussion because I would rather hold on to what respect I still have for Will Smith.
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Blood Diamond is another film about Africans with high acclaim and unconvincing accents. When I finished watching the film I was sure they had not consulted one Sierra Leonean throughout its entire production. Their take on Krio, the West African lingua franca, was babble. I wondered how the film went into production, and then I remembered the big names behind it. Leonardo DiCaprio played racist/white savior writ large Danny Archer, and while some adored his Rhodesian accent, others found it lacking. Djimon Hounsou’s Sierra Leonean accent was nonexistent.

Perhaps cynicism was at play, with no one believing it was necessary for his accent to be accurate when Hounsou’s character, Solomon Vandy, comes from a country with a population of fewer than 10 million people. I highly doubt critical Sierra Leoneans was American director’s Edward Zwick’s Hollywood’s target audience.

DiCaprio and Hounsou were both nominated for Oscars in 2007.

Beyond the accents, what is most disturbing about the film is its other distortions, and its leaning-in to the enduring trope of the Barbaric African who is prone to random bursts of rage in need of a (racist) White savior. As Keim stated in his book, “Movies, too, teach us our African stereotypes.” These stereotypes have more connection to race than anything else.

After being honored for his seminal role as Martin Luther King Jr. at the 2014 Santa Barbara International Film Festival, Nigerian-British actor Daniel Oyelowo reflected, “We as Black people have been celebrated more for when we are subservient, when we are not being leaders or kings, or being in the center of our narrative driving it forward.” Oyelowo was referencing what he and many others believed was a direct snub against Ava DuVernay’s film Selma during Oscar season. Four years later, Black Panther became one of the most-watched films in the world, bad African accents, Black royalty, and all.

In order to end inaccurate and one-dimensional depictions of African people in Hollywood, there needs to be a serious reckoning with those that hold decision-making powers in film production. We have seen stereotypes and misrepresentations play out again and again in media, a direct result of not holding producers up to a higher standard.

Hollywood must invite non-Westerners to the decision-making table, and require better training of its actors to properly portray African people. And is it really so controversial to find a well-trained actor from that country to play these characters?

Or heck, just call Winston Duke — he seems to have it down.

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