The Return of Our Mother - AAF African Artists` Foundation.

Moyo Okediji and Tola Wewe
The Return of Our Mother
Civic Centre Lagos
July 9 - 11, 2011
The Return Of Our Mother
Moyo Okediji
Tola Wewe
Essays
Janine Sytsma
Moyo Okediji
Critical Departures
Janine Sytsma, Curator
In 2010, Moyo Okediji and Tola Wewe spent a few months in Akure experimenting with innovative materials and
techniques. The exhibition The Return of Our Mother features a selection of examples that emerged from that
collaboration and over the next year. In them, Okediji and Wewe use terracotta shards on wood panels in
addition to more conventional media such as acrylic on canvas to produce powerful social and political critiques.
They intend the exhibition to serve primarily as a platform to respond to the kidnapping of Wewe’s mother,
Opelenge Esther Wewe, on October 15, 2010 and the social and political factors that gave rise to such violent
acts. However, the narrative of the exhibition is much broader than this, visualizing the community’s capacity to
overcome a wide range of hurdles. The Return of Our Mother both celebrates the return of Wewe’s mother from
captivity and invokes the Great Mother to maintain social harmony generally.
Okediji and Wewe began working together in the 1980s, long before Okediji was an Associate Professor at the
University of Texas at Austin and Wewe was Commissioner of Culture and Tourism for Ondo State. At the time,
they were both in the Department of Fine Arts at the University of Ile-Ife (now Obafemi Awolowo University).
Okediji was a new member of faculty, having recently returned to his Alma mater after completing his MFA at
the University of Benin, and Wewe was a student in the BFA program specializing in painting. They shared a
commitment to the development of a distinctly modern Yoruba art practice, and as part of this effort later joined
with University of Ife-graduates Kunle Filani, Bolaji Campbell, and Tunde Nasiru to form the Ona Group. The
group had a successful inaugural exhibition at the University of Ibadan in 1989, and went on to organize
numerous group and solo exhibitions and to publish four editions of Kurio Africana: Journal of Art and Criticism.
In the mid 1990s, when the group dissolved, Okediji relocated to the United States to pursue his PhD in African
Art History at the University of Wisconsin at Madison, and Wewe settled in Lagos, working briefly as a cartoonist for The Daily Times and later as a full-time studio artist. Their physical distance, however, did not bring an end
to their association. When Okediji moved to Colorado to join the Denver Art Museum staff as Curator of
African and Oceanic Arts, Wewe visited him on a few separate occasions, staying for three months in 2004 as
part of an Artist-in-Residence program at PlatteForum. In addition, since that time, Okediji has traveled to Nigeria with
increased frequency. The works from this exhibition are from the last one and one-half years, during which time the two
worked together closely in Wewe’s official residence in Akure, developing innovative new techniques and exchanging ideas
on art, politics, and culture.
At the beginning of their artistic careers, as now, Okediji and Wewe sought to affect change with their work. The late 1980s
saw mounting political conflict in Nigeria: the military officers who had seized control of the country in 1983, following the
fall of the Third Republic, launched a reign of terror in which they imprisoned and assassinated purported opponents.
The economy collapsed and key infrastructure deteriorated. Okediji and Wewe, along with other Ona Group artists, intervened in this political space. They believed that the corrosion of society started in the colonial era with the importation of
Western values. In a practice they would continue for many years to come, they thus appropriated motifs from different
Yoruba art forms, including Ifa divination trays to adire textiles. These motifs evoke proverbs, myths, and folktales, which
were once used by the community to teach children about Yoruba worldviews. By incorporating the motifs into their work
in the late 1980s, Okediji and Wewe bring past knowledge to bear on the present; and foster greater understanding of, and
offer possible resolutions to, government corruption.
In recent years, Okediji and Wewe have expanded their critiques, using knowledge from the past to represent the changing
social and political climate and to confront newly emerging issues. Recent works from the exhibition address the abduction of Wewe’s mother, Opelenge Esther Wewe, and the possible reasons for the rise in kidnappings. In his The Return of
Our Mother, 2011, for example, Wewe dramatizes the rescue of his mother after twelve days in captivity. She emerges from
the forest with the Police Commissioner surrounded by dozens of forest spirits. In the liminal space, between worldly and
otherworldly realms, time is conflated. The past manifests in the present, offering the precedent on which the future can be
negotiated; and the cycle of life, symbolized by the spirals, continues.
In other works, including a highly innovative series made from terracotta shards on wood panels, the artists address more
generally the community’s capacity to overcome challenges. Okediji and Wewe started these works in the summer of 2010.
Okediji had worked with terracotta shards in the late 1980s/early 1990s, and prior to arriving in Nigeria, decided he wanted
to revisit the medium. Upon seeing Okediji’s results and learning the technique, Wewe began his own experiments, adapting
the process to his own highly personal style. The works in this series started as large slabs of clay. Okediji and Wewe then
carved scenes of Nigerian life into the surfaces, segmented each slab, and fired and pieced together the individual shards on
wood panels.
The works resonate with the perpetual change that occurs in life. In one sense, they recall the bronze plaques from
Benin, which were systematically looted in the 1897 British Expedition.Yet, there are significant and meaningful differences
between them. Most notably, the visible fractures in the panels underscore that, made from terracotta rather than bronze,
they are not as durable as the Benin plaques on which they are based. When Okediji’s and Wewe’s works are considered
as a metaphor for life, however, the fractures in the terracotta do not constitute weakness. This is probably best conveyed
in Okediji’s untitled panels. He selects as his subject on two occasions the market, referencing the Yoruba concept of the
world as a marketplace. The works, like the adage, thus convey the transactions that occur in life, and with this in mind, the
fractures resonate more with fluidity and adaptability. The terracotta panels present a world in constant flux, in which
ongoing negotiations give way to resolution.
The exhibition The Return of Our Mother offers a collection of works from a one-year collaboration between two of
Nigeria’s greatest living artists: Moyo Okediji and Tola Wewe. The artists seek to address the kidnapping of Wewe’s mother
and the political factors that have given rise to such violent acts. However, the exhibition’s narrative is much broader than
this, responding to the social injustice in Nigeria more generally. Continuing a practice they began in the late 1980s with the
formation of the Ona Group, Okediji and Wewe bring knowledge from the past, in the form of motifs, to bear on current
situations as precedent, and in the terracotta panels, visualize the ongoing negotiations that occur as part of resolution.
The works are the artists’ individual responses to Nigeria’s current climate and portrayal of Nigeria’s possible future
Moyo Okediji, Untitled, 2011
Tola Wewe, Ibeji III, 2011
Tola Wewe, The Hunter’s Dog, 2011
Moyo Okediji, Untitled, 2010
Moyo Okediji, Untitled, 2011
Tola Wewe, Family Portrait, 2011
Tola Wewe, Service of Songs, 2011
Moyo Okediji, Untitled, 2010
Moyo Okediji, Untitled, 2010
Moyo Okediji, Untitled, 2010
Tola Wewe, My Little World, 2010
Tola Wewe, The Return of Our Mother, 2011
Excerpt from The Trials of Madam Wewe
Moyo Okediji
This exposition of images, titled “The Return of Our Mother,” is a visual cultural tale by Tola Wewe and Moyo Okediji.
We orchestrated the exposition to mark and celebrate the triumphal return of Wewe’s mother from captivity.
The choreographic tale began with a brief phone call.
“Your mother. She was stolen from her house.”
He was soaked in perspiration. Wewe, the prolific Nigerian artist, felt strained and looked drained of all energy as he took
the unexpected call on his cell phone. He was attending the meeting of the Ondo State Executive Council when his iPhone
vibrated. He checked the number. The call was from an important chief in Shabomi, his hometown in the western Niger
Delta. He quickly left the room to take the call. The executive meeting that he was attending was a particularly long
gathering that had dragged beyond midnight into the early hours of the morning.
He had been on his seat for a couple of hours before the call came. The caller did not have any detail.
“Who abducted her?”
“We don’t know.”
“Where was she taken?”
“Nobody knows.”
“When did this happen?”
“A short while ago. At about 1:30 am.”
Wewe, perplexed, stood alone in a corridor in the State House, his hands shaking. He checked the time on his cell phone. It
was past 2:00 am. He returned to the meeting room, and whispered into the ears of the secretary to the state government.
“There is an emergency and I must leave immediately.”
He went to the unlit parking lot. The large power generator plant supplying electricity to the State House was making a
loud noise. Otherwise everything was still and pitch dark. His driver was behind the wheel of his personal car, a Jaguar
painted black, waiting for him. He slumped into the back seat and said “Home.”
He hardly ever used the Jaguar. His eyes scanned the dark streets, searching for any strange movement. He saw nothing.
His was the only car on the road. He felt lonely and afraid. It started to drizzle as they drove home. At that time of the year,
the rainy season was slowly disappearing, and the heat of the tropical dry season was beginning to sizzle. Though the car air
conditioner was fully blasting cold and dry air, Wewe was sweating. As soon as he got home, his cell phone rang again.
It was his mother’s number. His hand went clammy as he took the call.
“I am The Kidnapper,” the anonymous voice announced.
“You are the Lagos Picasso, right? You must call me back. Now, now!” The caller snapped in pidgin English.
Wewe dialed his mother’s number.
“Your mama is in our custody. I am using her cell phone. First thing in the morning you must text a phone credit of twenty
thousand naira to her number.” The Kidnapper ended the call abruptly.
Wewe went to bed. He lit a cigarette, and poured himself a drink. Sleep did not come. Kidnapper, he thought, as he lay in
bed, staring at the ceiling. A more appropriate term would be “Mamanapper.”
Morning arrived slow and torturous. Wewe did not sleep a wink throughout the night. He sent his driver to buy phone
credits of twenty thousand naira as he was instructed. His driver returned within an hour and handed him the cell phone
credit cards. He began to text them to his mother’s number. The phone rang again.
“I am The Kidnapper,” the voice snapped. “I asked for twenty thousand naira in phone credits. This is not twenty thousand!”
“Patient, please,” Wewe pleaded. “I am still loading the credits.”
“Good. When you finish loading, call me back on your mama’s number.”
Wewe completed the long process of texting the credits and called his mother’s number.
“She is safe,” said Mamanapper. “To obtain her release, you will deposit one hundred and fifty million naira to a secure
location that will later be disclosed to you. Reporting this matter to security agents will put her life in serious jeopardy,
which, as you know, may result in her death.
As soon as you provide us this modest ransom fee, your dear mother will be immediately released. Otherwise she will
suffer a slow and agonizing death, and the fault will entirely be yours.You have been warned.” The call ended as abruptly as
it started.
Wewe’s ordeal is a common Nigerian tale of life imitating Nollywood, the larger-than-life African film industry. And like a
bad Nollywood script, it began with incredulity. Wewe sat stunned for several minutes after receiving the call in his official
residence in Akure, where he relocated one year after he accepted the technocratic position of the Ondo State
Commissioner for Art and Tourism. He quickly gathered mind and began to rally his resources of friends, colleagues, and
acquaintances.
His first and most important commitment was to bring his mother back home safe and sound. He also believed that he
could outsmart the kidnappers and bring them to justice: after all he was a member of the Ondo State Executive
Committee, with the entire security apparatus of the state at his disposal. He placed a call to the head of the state’s
security forces, and received assurances that the abductors will be apprehended, and his mother brought home unscathed.
Wewe called a meeting of family members and announced the bad news. Relatives from his village came and confirmed the
news: not only was his mother missing, his eleven year old niece, who was his mother’s favorite house sitter, was also taken
by the kidnappers.
His brothers and sisters broke down and wept throughout the family meeting. In tears, his immediate junior brother, known
as Chairman, pleaded, “Don’t bring in the police because they are only going to make matters worse. Let us look for the
money and settle the abductors.”
Someone suggested negotiating with the criminals to reduce the ransom figure. One of his sisters remarked that Wewe’s
fortune as a celebrity artist and state commissioner was what attracted the kidnappers. Wewe started feeling guilty and
responsible for the atrocity. He left Akure, moved to his personal house in Ondo, and kept his cell phone permanently in
front of him on the desk in his studio where he retreated.
He was unable to eat or sleep, as anxiety and depression began to unravel his characteristic calm disposition. Only a couple
of months prior to the abduction, the wife of the Commissioner of Works was kidnapped and an undisclosed but generous
ransom was paid for her release. Kidnapping had become the new strategy adopted by members of the underworld, who
targeted the rich and famous in their bid to get rich fast. Business tycoons, expatriate oil executives, journalists, politicians,
and even religious leaders and their families were constant targets. Abduction had become a multi-million naira enterprise
in Nigeria, and the police seemed unable to find any solution to the problem. No kidnapper had been arrested, and huge
sums of ransom money had been paid. Many people complained that there was evidence of collusion between the security
forces and the criminals.
As he sat perplexed in his studio, Wewe’s cell phone rang in the middle of the night. It was the voice of the abductor.
“Call me back, Now, now,” Mamanapper barked. Wewe dialed his mother’s number with a trembling finger.
“Picasso, I have confidential info that you have informed the police,” Mamanapper said with a chilling and mocking chuckle.
“What can’t you understand? You are only putting your mother’s life in jeopardy. We give you three days to produce the
money, or your niece will be decapitated and her head sent to you.”
Wewe found his voice, and replied. “I want to negotiate. One million naira, and the money is yours in the morning.”
“Are you kidding me?” asked Mamanapper. “Your mother and niece are worth only one million naira to you?”
“Times are hard,” Wewe replied. “I have hardly had any time to paint since I became a State Commissioner. I’m making no
money from art. And we have had no allocated fund released to us by the state. The governor is untangling red tapes to
make funding available.”
“Steal or borrow. This is not a joke. You have three days to produce the money in cash. You are a man of large resources.
Your banks will gladly assist you.”
“The ransom is too exorbitant. I can’t possibly raise such a huge sum.”
“OK. A hundred million naira. Final.” The call abruptly ended.
Wewe was already in contact with the cell phone companies, who were coordinating with the state security forces. They
used their satellite technology to detect the location of the caller within a radius of five hundred yards. They informed
Wewe that his mother’s kidnappers were calling from a location not far from Ore, about twenty miles from Ondo where
Wewe resided.
“We are rapidly closing in on them,” the security agents assured him. “Only a matter of hours before we nab them.”
But Wewe had a personal contact with the cell phone companies. She was monitoring the calls and provided him with a
totally different story.
“The calls are coming from the neighborhood of the Koko Port, near Sapele,” the personal contact said. “They are not
coming from Ore as you have been told.”
Wewe felt frustrated and helpless.
Day three. The phone rang. It was his kidnapped eleven year-old niece’s voice. She appeared to be reading a prepared
statement.
“Please pay them now, papa,” she pleaded in a halting and scared voice. “We don’t want to die, please papa, pay them before
they kill us!” Wewe switched the conversation from English to their local dialect.
“Where are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you eaten?”
“No. I’m not hungry.”
“You must eat when you are fed, OK?”
“OK.”
“Where is mama?”
“She is in the creek where we were taken.”
Is she fine?
“Yes. But she is not eating either.”
Mamanapper did not understand the local dialect and cut off the conversation. “Call me back on your mama’s number. Now,
now,” Mamanapper snapped. Wewe called, but Mamanapper did not pick the call.
Wewe lit another cigarette. He was living on nicotine and liquor. He could not eat or sleep. His wife and children sat with
him in the studio. Downstairs, friends and neighbors crowded the sitting room. Everyone was quiet, waiting for the latest
updates. Nothing came for the rest of the day.
Day four. The phone rang just after midnight. It was his mother’s number. Wewe heaved a sigh of relief as he picked the
call. “Picasso, call me back. Now, now,” snapped Mamanapper. Wewe called.
“You are playing with fire, Picasso.”
“The ransom is too much.”
“Ok. Fifty million.”
“I don’t have that kind of money.”
“I’ll be candid with you,” said Mamanapper. “We are many. But I was empowered to negotiate with you down to a minimum
of thirty million.”
“Still too high.”
“Well, your mother is a dead woman. Farewell. If you change your mind, and you want her back alive, call me back. No later
than tomorrow.”
To be continued in Moyo Okediji, The Trials of Madam Wewe
Designed by Alafuro Sikoki (www.studiosikoki.com)
African Artists’ Foundation (AAF)
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