(By Immanuel James Ibe-Anyanwu)
There was that billboard of a
certain West-African president who was dressed in an Igbo traditional attire. A
loud caption gave meaning:"Igwe!" It was easy to locate the source of
that cultural benefaction, credit rightfully placed at the feet of Nollywood,
Nigeria's largest exporter of culture and values. Books and the social media
can tell the Nigerian story, but none can boast the compelling, even hypnotic
power of the movie.
Which is why we should worry
about the competence of movie makers—their cultural intelligence and sense of
sensational restraint. Their products speak to millions, most of whom are
illiterate and poor, but powerful. Powerful in their sheer number, in their
capacity to spread a social or religious poison. They are the very agencies
often punctual at lynching scenes, consumers of wild superstitions on whom
depends the fate of that fellow accused of manhood theft in the local market.
For the most part, the Old Nollywood
is run by Igbo scriptwriters, directors, and producers, who are businessmen
more than they are artists. For too long we have watched their cultural
illiteracy ruin the integrity of much of what stands for Igbo culture and
values; we have watched them distort historical facts, fixate on and promote
ugly, exaggerated stereotypes, even invent cultural obscenities that do not
exist. We have seen Igwes who do nothing all day other than look like frogs on
shiny thrones, flanked by two able-bodied human fans, as they condemn villagers
to evil forests, when they do not order their deaths outright. We can tolerate
such cultural inventiveness for its decorative value, aware that fiction need
not be exact and realistic.
But we cannot keep quiet when a
false narrative is retold a million times, so much it gains credibility on the
streets and becomes a threat to the innocent. In Nollywood, we have repeatedly
watched some young person die and suddenly appear in the cupboard of his urban
relative, vomiting crisp Naira notes. We have watched rich men eat up the
destinies of their layabout relatives, who take snuff and play draughts all
day. We have watched strokes, heart attacks, and some other uncommon ailments
become the spiritual transmissions of some poverty-stricken uncle. Village
elders in uniforms, propelled by walking sticks and evil, their pockets
bursting with charms. Traditional priests nearly permanently evil, living among
forest plants, eyes circled in chalk, watching their preys in some mirror to
strike at any moment, albeit soon to be defeated yet again by some
Bible-wielding acrobat.
Sometimes I go to the village
and wonder where these diabolical characters have all gone to. Helped by a
certain strain of Pentecostal Christianity, Nollywood is filling minds with
horrible notions of life, dangerous superstitions that rip families apart,
demonizing people's successes, and putting lives in danger. A murder case in
Bayelsa recently was quickly tagged money ritual, such that youths went on
rampage attacking Igbo lives and property.
This insane cultural perfidy
must stop. We intend to raise this conversation and get the industry to
self-critique. We will sponsor this page and expose the vandals of truth and
tradition among intelligent Igbos and other Nigerians. In South Africa, for
instance, many, misinformed by Nollywood, believe charms are part of the
Nigerian social iconography. We cannot keep quiet and let a powerful ignorance
pollute our story and our standing among forward-looking, educated,
21st-century human beings. Join us!
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