What follows is the second of several stories written by Fela’s surviving family—this from his eldest daughter, Yeni Anikulapo Kuti. We are overjoyed to have received such wonderful memories from these individuals, and to have been granted permission to reprint them here for you to read and enjoy. Previous entries from Fela’s family can be viewed here. –Kevin
I think it a great privilege to be the first daughter of a great man like Fela Anikulapo Kuti. I remember a lot of the stories my mother and grandmother told me of the times they had with Fela in England when they met. Fela and my mother, Remi, were so young and full of life!
There was one funny story about the British people that I find amusing to this day. You know how British people can be reserved but nosy? So my grandmother and her neighbour used to peep at each other every day and gossip about whatever they saw. Fela used to watch them and one day while she was in the act of peeping he just pulled open the curtain and exposed her. She was so upset she went red with embarrassment. Another time, while the other neighbour was peeping, he pulled the curtain and did a jig while he was stark naked. I suppose that would have cured that lady of peeping and I’m sure it cured my grandmother somewhat.
This kind of story doesn’t detract from the sheer talent and heavily ideological mind that he had and his dream for the emancipation of the Black race. When I was a teenager I went to many university lectures with him that has influenced my own ideology until today. He expanded my mind to the great history of our people from the Pharaohs in Egypt right up to the slave trade.
I know that the corruption of our leaders was the one thing that gave Fela the greatest concern, but I think he was disillusioned at the time of his death. No matter how many songs he sang about corruption and mismanagement we still went out and voted for the worst culprits that he’d already warned us about. A good example is our former president, Obasanjo. Despite being a topic of many Fela songs, we still voted him into office and when he did not perform well we complained. If only we had listened to Fela we would have know he was unlikely to do anything positive.
You know Fela’s name, Anikulapo-Kuti (which I bear with pride) means “I have death in my pouch.” Many people would not understand that name, but the real meaning is what we see now: his name never dies. The present interest in him is as if he was still alive. For generations to come Fela will be a source of inspiration to millions of people around the world. I feel proud to be his daughter and could not have asked for a greater father.
~Yeni Anikulapo Kuti
3 comments:
really touching. fact is that the contribution of Fela to the political development of this country and Africa cannot be overemphasized.
regrettably we cannot have people with that kind of courage in our clime again as people are busy fawning to the corrupt leaders to see what they can also get from them.
i can see a spark of the Fela fire in some of you his children. i encourage you to also play your part as 'remember if you act your own, one day of course we must die."
People who protest against leaders in places like the US and Europe have no idea how dangerous this practice was in Nigeria in the 70's and 80's. Fela literally risked his life each time he spoke out against the corrupt government and military.
Seeing him live was NOT entertainment even though you could not stand still to his music. You felt a deep serious vibe to his art. I can't help but compare him to Bob Marley and Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan as a mystic figure.
I've never shared this story in public. In August of 1992, after graduating University, I journeyed to Lagos, Nigeria to begin what would be a life changing year long internship.
One of the most profound ways I spent my afternoons in Lagos was hanging at Fela's shrine listening to music and enjoying the company of my new local friends. As an African-American born and raised in NYC it was not a challenge to blen and mingle with the element surrounding Fela's shrine...in truth I felt at home on that bustling block in Ikeja just off Oba Akran Dr. and the very busy Ikeja bus stop,(you would only know this if you have truly been here)it was one of the best places in Lagos to me.
The story is such...on what would have been a typical afternoon break from work, I headed over to the shrine (about 5 blocks from my job & living quarters- SWIFT Studios). Not long after sitting at my customary booth and partaking of the herbal menu available for those who chose to, the climat would dramatically change. You see, often Fela would rehearse in the afternoons, which always made for great shows for the locals (foreign tourists had to pay and stand on long lines for his friday night shows) by this time (about 6months into my trip)I had a command of broken english, Yoruba and my NY swagger, so I was no longer a tourist. Before I knew it chaos ensued and a tidal wave of people were heading in my direction, the streets taught me to "breakout and ask questions later", so I flowed with the crowd, and proceeded to scale the back wall of the shrine. I walked the back route home and shared this news with my Nigerian co-workers. They suggested I lay low and check back at the shrine the next day to find out what happened. I did just this and the rest has created some kind of history. You see, the crowd moving in the shrine was caused by the government police officers who rushed the Shrine to come and get Fela. That afternoon would become the last time our dear teacher Fela would be a free man. This would be his last stint of physical imprisonment at the hands of the gov't because years later Feal would make his transition and merge back into the sea of infinite love and goodness. I just recently gave thought to this notion of being perhaps the last and only non-Nigerian or African, for sure American to wittness Fela perform in his Shrine.
Rest in Peace
Baba Fela
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