On Saturday, October 5, at a venue in East London, there was the celebration of the 85th birthday of a Nigerian icon of music and the creative arts. The man was Tunji Oyelana.
“Tunji Oyelana’s collaboration with Nobel laureate Wole Soyinka added a musical dimension to the writing genius of the muse. Together they composed ‘I love my country’ – a protest song that reflected widespread disaffection and disenchantment with succeeding rulers in Nigeria.”
Tunji’s calendar birthday was one day before the date of the party – on October 4, a birthday he shared with your mutual friend and fellow traveller, writer and publisher Tunde Fagbenle.
EMUKAY was the name of a Nigerian-themed restaurant in Camberwell, London which was run by Tunji’s affable grand-dame of a wife for several years. It was also the name of Tunji’s co-located night-club whose cramped, steamy interior was a compulsory watering hole for the Nigerian artistic and fun-loving crowd – resident and visiting, at weekends. They would drink beer, eat jollof rice or Poundo yam with efo riro, swapping jokes and finding space in the tight confines between the seats to dance to Tunji’s music.
Tunji himself was ensconced in a corner by the door, with his piano and his gadgets that created the sound of a full band, the microphone angled close to his mouth. Occasionally he would wink, smile or wave at patrons as they came in, not missing a beat in the music. His guests were a melange of ‘Who is Who’ and ‘Who is in town’ in the Nigerian community. You could catch a lady out of the corner of your eye shouting above the din to her husband as he laboured over his fried yam and chicken nearby:
‘That’s Yemi Ogunbiyi over there…’
The odd celebrity-spotter among the habitues could even remember seeing Kongi himself on occasion at a particular spot he favoured, enveloped in his white mane, deep in conversation as he quaffed his wine – palm or red.
‘Eni nbinu,
Ko ma ma binu…
Onibaje ye sebaje…
Alaru to nje buredi
Sawo ori re lonje ti o mo…’
The Yoruba lyrics are atrociously difficult to translate, but the general theme is a plug for continence and rectitude, familiar components of ‘Omoluabi’ ethos.
The crowd would rock and swing along to the beat, joining in the chorus, the familiar words etched in their minds from several years of hearing the song.
In the circle of your friends, EMUKAY was used interchangeably as a name for the club as well as for Tunji Oyelana, the consummate maestro himself. Anyone heading for the UK for a shorter or longer spell would call Tunde Fagbenle and extract a promise to ‘do’ EMUKAY. Tunde would diligently show up to ferry you through a warren of backstreets till you arrived at your destination. Your weekend was made.
You first got to know of Tunji as a secondary school student, following reports of the performances of Wole Soyinka’s ‘Orisun Masks’ – a travelling theatre that staged Soyinka’s plays around the world.
Later he formed his band -the Benders, and their music was played on the radio.
By this time, you were in Medical School in Ibadan. The preclinical years on campus were a ferment of cultural activities at the Department of Theatre Arts where Tunji was an artist in residence. He was on radio and television, singing his signature tune of the day ‘Agba lo de’, or acting in various drama pieces. He cut a swashbuckling figure on campus, walking with a cross between a slouch and a swagger. There were rumours – nothing confirmed – about dallyings with various campus beauties.
On television, he played a central role in a long-running series on NTA Ibadan known as ‘Sura the Tailor.’ Sura’s life was a street-level portrayal of life in Western Nigeria for a regular citizen trying to make a living of sorts on his wits and his modest skills on a sewing machine.
Tunji Oyelana’s collaboration with Nobel laureate Wole Soyinka added a musical dimension to the writing genius of the muse. Together they composed ‘I love my country’ – a protest song that reflected widespread disaffection and disenchantment with succeeding rulers in Nigeria. Soyinka was already famous as an anti-establishment activist before military rule, from the civilian times of ‘The Lone Gunman’ to the Civil War years of ‘The Man Died’. His art was intricately shot through with struggle.
‘I love my country I no go lie; na inside am I go live and die…
I know my country I no go lie…
Na im and me go dey yab till I die…
You tiff one kobo dem go put you for prison…
You tiff ten million na patriotism…
You tiff even bigger dem go say na rumour…’
It is a song with several sub-themes, and it has gone through many iterations and alterations before becoming the definitive tour-de-force that is available on the internet today, which features, among others, the voices of the late Jimi Solanke, Yemi Shodimu, Semoore Badejo, Taiwo Ajayi-Lycett, Joke Silva, and even—yes, Tunde Fagbenle.
Pro-democracy musicalisation and activism eventually landed Tunji Oyelana and Wole Soyinka—the musician-and-muse duo who Sani Abacha might have described as ‘Mephistophelean’ if he had the learning—in exile, running for their lives.
That exile has turned London into Tunji Oyelana’s permanent home.
Tunji’s lyrics have waxed distinctly philosophical as he has aged. Even the banter ‘with the boys’ is almost puritanical. There is, for instance, no longer a naughty, risqué line in the crowd’s favourite song that describes the wickedness that ‘people of the world’ are tempted to wreak against a man who has a beautiful wife.
The grey, wise old Tunji was all in evidence at his 85th birthday party, in flowing ‘agbada’ topped with ‘abeti aja’ cap. For a few minutes, he put aside his walking stick and danced with his wife to the popular song ‘Iyawo mi… I will love you forever…’.
The rest of the time, he sat amidst the crowd, smiling benignly, rocking from side to side, occasionally mouthing the words of his own music as it purred over the public address system.
Happy birthday, Mr Tunji Oyelana, ‘EMUKAY’ personified.
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