Lest I be misconstrued as the proverbial "roadside robber who snatches away the goods that belong to someone else," I must start by expressing my appreciation to Dr. Falola for showcasing me in this most intense manner I (or anyone else for that matter) could ever imagine. I would have to muster a billion dollar publicity stunt to procure this level of global exposure or at least wait for my name to appear in the obituary section of a local newspaper before enjoying such artful and unparalleled proclamation. Yet, I am alive and well visiting with my daughters and son in Los Angeles, CA when it pleased the heart of a noble man to give me an unmerited honor in manners befitting monarchs. Needless to say, I am grateful.
My opening statement above may have denied a non-native user of the Yoruba language the depth of what I intended to communicate, but in reality, I am trying to simply be a grateful servant, not a social bandit who feels an inordinate entitlement to the rightful possessions of others. Let us face it: there is no way I could possibly express, in my slow, mortal tongue, anything remotely possible to capture the feeling that brewed right from the depth of my heart when in the middle of the night a few days ago I woke up to read the tribute skillfully penned in my honor! Even if I were a business-mogul politician, a tele-evangelist or a mega-church minister, I could neither be charismatic enough nor fiscally endowed to pull off a public relations scheme capable of giving such rancorous applause to my humble life profile. I am still overwhelmed by its shock effect, and the after-shocks are still in the making. I truly mean it!
As if all that were not enough, I have also been reading a barrage of congratulatory messages sent to me and/or Dr. Falola, or posted on various discussion groups, leaving me even more overwhelmed. Were my head to be filled with the contents of sand, it would still swell big; and even if my eyeballs were crafted with pebbles and stone, they have to give way to a free flow of tears. If I may give my reader a quick peek behind the veil of my recent history, I have to say that the only silver lining in the sudden death of my brother, Dr. Aderemi Afolayan, just three weeks short of one decade ago today, was the permanent removal of the cumbersome taboo of "Okunrin kii ke" (A man never cries) complex from me. Through my brother's death, I have learned that a free flow of tears is indeed an affirmation of humanity, invincibility, and mortality. I was not in any way surprised that Ojogbon (Oloye) Falola's write-up provided me another ticket to that three-tier vehicle of humanity, invincibility, and mortality. I am still in that mood. Most unfortunately, however, the only phrase left in the Yoruba syntax to express my appreciation is, "E se, mo dupe o," a phrase that seems like an underwhelming expression to an overwhelming proclamation! I should, then, complement the Yoruba phrase by borrowing the lines of the famous poetic invocation of Frank Dempster Sherman just to attempt a celebration and appreciation of the hand of magnanimity that Dr. Toyin Falola extended to me through his write-up, by saying:
It is my joy in life to find
At every turning of the road
The strong arm of a comrade kind
To help me onward with my load.
At every turning of the road
The strong arm of a comrade kind
To help me onward with my load.
And since I have no gold to give,
And love alone must make amends,
My only prayer is, while I live-
God make me worthy of my friends.
And love alone must make amends,
My only prayer is, while I live-
God make me worthy of my friends.
As someone who has hung around academia for much of my adult life, I am still flabbergasted at the thought of the unfettered automaticity with which Ojogbon Falola wrote this essay. How did he do it? He and I had a casual conversation and I had no idea what triggered the curious conversation but in less than six hours, he wrote what remains a proclamation only "a mouth sweeter than salt" could render, and doing so in this classical tradition of a quintessential griot! I could not but ask, "Where did this come from?" May your spring of knowledge never grow dry, Ashe!
Having said all that, I would like to add, at the risk of being robed with the cloak of false humility, that I would be riding on what the Yoruba call "the roach-horse" with the harness of a mere thread or be the most celebrated megalomaniac (Wèrè Tútù in the Yoruba lexicon) if I pretend to deserve any of these accolades. Yes, my parents may be worthy of them; so could many of my elders, my friends, my teachers, my pastors, my siblings, my wife and children, my other relatives in Oke-Awo, Iresi, Shaki, Ibadan, Ile-Ife, Oshogbo, and even a good number of my students over the years. It is not an impossible feat to accomplish down the schooling lane of life, but I'm not there yet. God knows I'm not there yet. If there is any resemblance of anything in me that mirrors some of those saintly words of the mega-intellectual Falola, they are a mirage of God's glory and His ultimate investment on my life – nothing more, nothing less, and nothing else. For this I would only regurgitate the motto of my revered high school, Baptist High School Shaki, by saying, "Gloria Semper Deo" (To God be the Glory)!
My people: this is where the rubber meets the road. Sermonizing does not win any soul; love does. Holiness is not tantamount to being the Pope; it is being a Good Samaritan that lends a helping hand to someone else in turbulent times. Religion and religiosity have never straightened any crooked way or healed a broken heart; wholesome love does. Greatness is not measured by the volume of publications, the wealth of knowledge, the braggadocio of connections, or the amassment of wealth; it is only in painting others big, regardless of their sizes, and, as Jesus Christ exemplified, washing others' feet, no matter how dirty. What Oloye (Ojogbon) Falola has done here is, in my book, sacrificial on his part, and sacrosanct in its effects. How dare me not appreciate this? I would be a "jaguda" (the roadside robber) of the highest order. But God forbid! Thanks a million times. I am in awe of your kindness. May your Ori (the essence of human personality) remain intact and may he accompany you to greater glories.
Excuse my clichés, but it does not take a rocket scientist to figure out that the man Falola has the nobility of a saint because he has a way of canonizing a mere goat to look like a giraffe in a forest habitat packed full of great intellectual fauna. It is no wonder why he will forever be promoted. There is no option. I am very sure. It is not his child-prodigy intellect, which the Yoruba call "Ajantaala" or "Iwin," that suddenly catapulted him to this great height; it is by doing extraordinary things for ordinary people. My ardent prayer for Professor Falola and his family is that 2016 may be for him (and them) what I choose to call a "Magna Anno Messem" (A Great Year of Harvest). The man has been the lead horse, the strides of which have always encouraged the swift hustle of those lagging behind. Like the snarer's post (opa ebiti) that always falls forward, may it be "forward ever, backward never" for you; may your sun continue to shine brighter; may your moon continue to rise and never wane; and may you never cease to see beyond the horizon, a special grace denied to many a mortal.
Since Ojogbon Falola started and ended this superlative tribute by conjuring beautiful Latin maxims, I would like to return the same favor by saying, "Qui alios ipse promotus sed promovet in maius magnitudines" (He who promotes others is in himself promoted even in greater magnitudes). His action here, as it has been in many instances, underscores this age-long wise saying. Please keep it up!
As for me, like the Drummer Boy of old, I have no gift to bring to my Master but my prayer is that I may play my drum for my King, and play my best for humanity as long as my breath could hold! I have always enjoyed love and often embraced hope. In this season that epitomizes both, I wish everyone the best. If at all possible, let us show love. Just as proximity does not guarantee affinity with one held in disdain, so is distance no deterrent to the home of the one we love. Those are words of my elders, not mine. Love will defy time and diminish the effect of space. We just have to embrace love, cultivate hope, and discountenance disdains for others. Merry Christmas to all, Happy Hanukkah, and to my Kwanzaa friends, I say, "Habari Gani?" May we have a resoundingly peaceful 2016 and soar on the wings of eagles. Thank you!
Michael O. Afolayan
USA
--
--------------------------------From: Toyin Falola <toyinfalola@austin.utexas.edu>
To: dialogue <USAAfricaDialogue@googlegroups.com>; Yoruba Affairs <yorubaaffairs@googlegroups.com>
Sent: Tuesday, December 22, 2015 12:55 AM
Subject: Yoruba Affairs - Dr. Michael Afolayan: A Tribute
--Dr. Michael Afolayan: Arte et Marte!A Yuletide TributeBy Toyin FalolaDecember 22, 2015Rather than talking about my own accomplishments for 2015, and the grace of God that gave me the chance to outlive the year, I want to talk about Dr. Michael Afolayan. I want to offer this as a small gift of magna cum laude to a man inspired by the following ethos: labor, omnia vincit. A gentilis, he embodies courtesy and goodness, all wrapped in his body and mind, and the words from his mouth; an armigerous who parades with gentility instead of his coat of arms; and a generosus of remarkable distinction. He is an omoluwabi: He stands by his family and friends; he stands by Nigeria; he does not cheat or deceive; he says his mind even if the truth is unpleasant; and his honesty and courage are a visible display of strength. A good citizen, he calls Nigeria and the United States his two homes, and he obeys the traditions and laws of both places.His intellectual acumen and scholarly interests are extensive, covering the fields of education, African and African American Studies, linguistics, literature, and philosophy. I forgot to add Yoruba oral traditions! His life has been a long journey. As he gave a new name to himself, so did he begin the journey that led to his acquisition of a doctorate at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, a journey departing from the village to the city, a narrative of faber est suae. As the cutlass became a pen, more words were taken from English and other languages, and the motivation became grounded in a new motto of life: acta non verba. Let him speak for himself:My education, although overlapping, is four-tiered: (mid-1950s through late 1960s) - Informally and formally acquired growing up in the village community at the feet of elders, especially my parents and elderly siblings; formally acquired at schools in Nigeria (1960s through 1981) – Elementary and high schools (Oke-Awo & Shaki) through the university (University of Ife [now Obafemi Awolowo University]) culminating into a Bachelor of Arts degree in African Languages and Literatures Department (Yoruba); formally acquired graduate studies in the United States (1982 to-1994) – African American Studies and Linguistics from Yale University, and Doctorate of Philosophy in Education: Curriculum and Instruction from the University of Wisconsin-Madison; and informal learning through three decades of observations, close interaction and active participation in the social processes of the American society.Review his own personal statement and you will see the process of multiple acquisitions of knowledge grounded in age-old values and beliefs in aggregating new skills through time and place. One sees the combination between the old and the new. In that brief description, he was carefully considering what to include and occlude. He wants to include tradition and modernity, and certainly occlude any backward characterization of the indigenous as atavistic and retrograde. If his decision is to become a US-based modernist, his intention is not to mischaracterize his past and to criticize his own people whose values may be bound by different paradigms. His Western education is not about redressing any past wrongs of his own people, but adding to his own resources and skills from other opportunities and sources. Those new ideas and knowledge actually work well as he unflinchingly supports the language and indigenous beliefs of his own people.His education has been non-stop. He is involved in providing quality education in both Nigeria and the United States, working hard to improve schools here and there. His stellar credentials have not only propelled him to the rank of a Professor but have also led him to serve as a distinguished administrator, once as an Assistant Director for Academic Affairs at the Board of Education of the State of Illinois. His repeated mantra is about responsibility: you and I as students must set goals, plan, work hard, exercise self control and self-discipline; and we must persevere. Labora et Ora!Répéter? Oui! Insuffisant? Okay, you want more. In that case, labora et ora, once again. He has worked as an educational consultant, as an Executive Deputy Director for a Center with interest in the promotion of Yoruba language, as the Director of the African Studies Outreach Program at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, and as a Language Consultant in Chicago. He has contributed his expertise to managing departments and programs within the university system, and he has managed academic organizations and conferences. He is widely published, and I have the privilege reading many of his works, most notably his 2007 book, Dilemmas of Higher Education in Post-Colonial African Nations.Alas, as important as his scholarship is, I am more interested in his being, his ability to see woeful data about Africa but rise beyond them to overcome pain, agony, rage and despair. Like you and me, he takes leadership and institutions as core values, but he sees morality as important. This "morality" can be characterized as the "ethics" of development. I would like to invoke the words of Professor Nimi Wariboko, a greater mind and talented scholar than me:Ethos concerns the operational morality of a people, their deepest presuppositions, the inner guidance system of their society that defines the mutual responsiveness of citizens to one another, that conditions the kind of relationships deemed appropriate between leadership and institutions, and evokes the necessary loyalty of citizens to leaders and systems. It is ethos that shows what is the "fitting" thing to do in a situation and the "proper" expectations, roles, and functions in any given environment. What is the "proper" thing to do by institutions or leaders requires what anthropologist Clifford Geertz calls "thick descriptions." Those morally formed in a particular society have the "thick descriptions" of any interactions at their fingertips. They orient their behaviors, legitimize their actions, and condition their spiritual energies.Dr. Wariboko is describing the very intellectual orientation of Dr. Afolayan. I can explain this integer, via its combination of "complete" and "whole" in its initial Latin formulation. It is a conscious choice, to live by ethics, as one could choose other alternatives, as in being crookish, untrustworthy or hypocritical. Dr. Afolayan's integer self-choice values the virtues of honesty: even if the dishonest steal millions, they and their gods have problems. I think it is Professor Abiodun Alao of the University of London who once told me the following proverb: "The one who can endure hunger has conquered greed". He has also conquered shame! Yes, to be morally upright is a personal choice. In this choice, Dr. Afolayan defines his beliefs, principles and values and keep them as his core. Integer can be seen and tested, and it is not subjective within the framework of the self, even if others pursue alternative behavior and morality. The ten commandments of Afolayan may not be your own ten, but we can only assess him by his own chosen ten. The authenticity of his being matches the authenticity of his lifestyle: Professor Afolayan is not just defined by his contemporary ethos but by his own inner drive and well-formed sense of direction, and more so by the disappearing ethos of omoluwabi.We have actually corresponded more by email and telephone than face-to-face. Our affinities developed not by the more common routine eye contact but by telephonic and cybernetic encounters. Of course, we have met physically and he once volunteered, within a few minutes of my asking, of driving me in his car from Madison to Milwaukee to meet with the family of my first PhD student in Austin. That was way back in the early 1990s and I will be surprised if he remembers that kindness, since his act of genuine kindness is routinized. Then I invited him to Austin last September, together with other great spirits, Abdul Bangura, the restless egghead who has garnered more honors more than anyone else; Emmanuel Babatunde, the cold water that troubles the hot; Akin Ogundiran, the gentle moving river that emits force; Malami Buba, the pyramid with massive content; Bayo Oyebade, the godly spirit who can command the mountain to shift its location; Augustine Agwuele, the walking encyclopedia; and Anene Ejikeme, the "Queen" of African knowledge.Alagba—as I call him, since his seniority has disqualified me from calling him by Michael, a name that he actually self-baptized himself with—has the grace of an elderly verandah man who sits quietly and watches everyone, reminding the elders of their responsibilities, and the youth of their duties. Warmth exudes from him, in combination with memories that lead to elevating words. Fireflies cannot interrupt him, as he gazes left and right. No little slumber now, no little sleep later, not to avoid being poor by being lazy but being active to spread wisdom and erudition. His words are respectful, even in disagreement. With a good reputation to his name, others respect him, just as he respects them. He accepts that we are different, and he tolerates that difference. His verandah posture hits or hurts no one, not even the weakest among us.He respects where he comes from, not for its riches, but for its honor, dignity, and religiosity. With a deep abhorrence for corruption and injustice, he cultivates the aspirations of a Christ and a saint. His nostalgic accumulations resulted in an impressive book, Fate of Our Mothers: The Collected Memories of An African Village Boy, a dreamy project, a gift to his own family and to us, a gift to the entire Yoruba nation. Half a century ago, Nigerians were playing by the rules, treated one another fairly, accepting one another irrespective of religious practices, and engaged in open-minded dialogue. Fairness to others was the golden rule.The Fate of Our Mothers is an enchanting book to read, but it is its gift that I cherish the most: the gift of wisdom, the gift of hope, the gift of affection, and the gift of compassion. I cannot rank the level of these gifts were I to be asked to do so. Neither can I choose the particular gift I want, as all the gifts come in a bundle, one intertwined with the other. Alagba has his biological children in mind, as his own life is bound to theirs, telling them, and then us, about his childhood and the times he lived in. He spells out the values and ideas that shaped his life, including an unshakeable faith in his people. He collected an abundance of love from his parents and community, and freely shares it with humanity. He is part of a chain, one that he insists must not be broken.His particular place, the Yoruba village of Oke-Awo and the city of Ibadan, tell us about his stirring and trying capacities. He has no boastful triumphalist motivation, as his humility is not about what he has but about what he can share. His being is about caring, expressing gratitude to God and his ancestors, and compassion to those who come around him.His spirit of togetherness in a place is communicated in the togetherness of people. His together of yesterday continues into the together of today. I live in his togetherness camp. He is one of those four people in the world whom I call upon to read most things that I write. He promptly sets aside his own work, his own mission, even his own pastoral duties to quickly read my essays. And his response is always about the larger meanings of my ideas to a collective nation, even to our continent. His comments reveal the togetherness of our humanity, the revelation of our roots, the preservation of our languages and traditions.He is generous in his encouragement. I have had moments of despair, forcing him into his own moments of desperation to sell come-back incentives to wake me up. I used to write weekly sermons to people, generated by a desire to reform one person this week and another the week after. I don't need holiness to clean others. Some became reformed, and two have continued in their vices and transgressions, awaiting the days of perdition. There is one person, an incurable man of anger, who will work hard for 12 months and use two minutes to destroy the reward of his labor. This person's words are poisonous and hurtful; he owes loyalty to no one, and he is forever at home with disagreements and insults to others, even to himself in his unprofessional poise and posture.In those sermons, I drew my lessons from the Bible which pleased Baba Afolayan a lot. Then came a criticism: why not draw from Ogun and Sango, our gods. Yes, I could draw from our own heritage, but I was assuming that my targets are Christians, not born-again, but converted, and marginally bearing the stamps in their names of Augustine and Samuel or Jacob and Elisha. I stopped the sermons. And one of the incurable madmen read all the positive sermons as if they were directed at him. Then came Alagba who asked me never to stop, as I was doing God's work. I tried, but the words began to fail me, and I have yet to recover. I know why the words disappeared: I disavowed the veritable principle: amor vincit omnia, that is, how love can conquer everything and succumbed to that almighty fear that evil can conquer love.I can only hope that I have not painted the picture of an Alagba primarily based in religion and tradition, as this would be misleading. See him in the elegance of his suit, in a trim body that contrasts with my own ikun agbe (pot-belly), with a clean shave in the beard, and a clean shave in the head. His modernist look is striking, but not in such a way to flaunt a good body, to draw the fly into a raging fire. His historical consciousness is actually shaped by modernity: the rebelliousness directed at his failing nation; the desire for black uplift; and even a greater call for the adequate education of young citizens.The modernity of his past Yorubaness is to tap into values to drive the present. His modernity of the new is consciously aggressive in order to exert pressure to generate development, to reclaim girls stolen by the Boko Haram insurgents, to eliminate corruption. As a member of a great cultural generation, the juggernaut of a failed modernity has exerted enormous pressure on him, totally flattening his belief that any politician can modernize Nigeria. The Yoruba place that he experienced is collapsing before his eyes, and he tends to lament the disappearing temporal and cultural boundaries. He was even attacked by armed robbers, while on vacation with his family.As he told me the story of his encounter with the vagabonds, I began to imagine a Yoruba criminal colony where undesirable members of society hold the innocents just for ransom. The language of modernity opens to me in criminalized words of torture and irrationality, police brutalities and official persecution. Dr. Afolayan's encounter becomes the a posteriori of my own formulation for his suffering; his narration, a priori, becomes the basis of my reflections. I had to wonder about the tragedy that has befallen us, leading me to poetry:Osoro tun tun seAshipa won o ma nkan kanBabalawo won ko mo ifaOlogun won ko meweOmowe won, owo lo nka, ki se 'weOjogbon won, aga ibaje logun wa le.You need a translation? It simply means that the world has turned upside down, that the political leader is not knowledgeable about statecraft, that the diviner cannot foretell, the herbalist does not understand plants, that the teachers cannot read, and the wise ones sit on foolish chairs. Translation: the order is in chaos, scholars and leaders cannot manage history, and therefore deny it; they cannot mange the present and therefore convolute it; and they cannot manage the future and therefore mock it.I began to compare two sets of stories, that of his childhood and that of his encounter with armed robbers. In this comparison, I had the choice of setting society in its rapid growth or in the changing role of the state or, if the setting of Lagos is taken as central, in urbanization and its catastrophes. Rather, I took a clue in the stories of the narrator himself and arrived at the relevance of character.For the lesson that came out in the first story on childhood is that of character, and what is lacking in the second terrifying story is also that of character. If caring is part of what we define as character, I see why the pedigree of Alagba would not have led him and any of siblings to the direction of crime and vagabondage. They received caring, and Alagba manifests it as well, in the grandiosity of the expression of his gratitude to God, men and women, in helping others, including myself, in his constant kindness to his students, and the compassion he displays everywhere he goes.In many ways, the Fate of our Mothers restores my hope. Its language engages in communicable sentences to offer complex ideas. When we understood the mathematics of the school teacher in elementary school, we praised ourselves by calling his methodology the feran jeko, that is, we had a pleasurable meal of corn and beef in good sauce, a way of saying that the knowledge was so easy to understand and digest, just as eating a good dinner. The feran jeko of the Fate of Our Mothers can reveal a deceptive side of Alagba who is gifted in Latin, and who can effortlessly migrate into a conversation words and phrases that take you back to the dictionary.The Fate of our Mothers is our vox populi from a great mind and a great man. Alagba, always imbued with the great spirit of viriliter agite, will continue to rejoice in his humility and humanity, his grace, his summa cum laude knowledge, and his pro-bono work ethics.Sir, Happy New Year. Let me donate a 2016 motto to you:
Ad eundum quo meme ante litBoldly keep going where no man has gone before.Toyin FalolaDepartment of HistoryThe University of Texas at Austin104 Inner Campus DriveAustin, TX 78712-0220USA512 475 7224512 475 7222 (fax)
You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "Yoruba Affairs" group.
To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to yorubaaffairs+unsubscribe@googlegroups.com.
To post to this group, send email to yorubaaffairs@googlegroups.com.
Visit this group at https://groups.google.com/group/yorubaaffairs.
For more options, visit https://groups.google.com/d/optout.
You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "Yoruba Affairs" group.
To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to yorubaaffairs+unsubscribe@googlegroups.com.
To post to this group, send email to yorubaaffairs@googlegroups.com.
Visit this group at https://groups.google.com/group/yorubaaffairs.
For more options, visit https://groups.google.com/d/optout.
--
You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "Yoruba Affairs" group.
To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to yorubaaffairs+unsubscribe@googlegroups.com.
To post to this group, send email to yorubaaffairs@googlegroups.com.
Visit this group at https://groups.google.com/group/yorubaaffairs.
For more options, visit https://groups.google.com/d/optout.
You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "Yoruba Affairs" group.
To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to yorubaaffairs+unsubscribe@googlegroups.com.
To post to this group, send email to yorubaaffairs@googlegroups.com.
Visit this group at https://groups.google.com/group/yorubaaffairs.
For more options, visit https://groups.google.com/d/optout.
You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "Yoruba Affairs" group.
To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to yorubaaffairs+unsubscribe@googlegroups.com.
To post to this group, send email to yorubaaffairs@googlegroups.com.
Visit this group at https://groups.google.com/group/yorubaaffairs.
For more options, visit https://groups.google.com/d/optout.
No comments:
Post a Comment