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Visionary mythopoesis in fictional and nonfictional prose
It was exhilarating, and it did mean for him the long-dreamt-of homecoming –
what more could a theatre-obsessed mind desire? The ingredients were all
present – a creative reunion, experimentation and innovation. The creative en-
ergy around him appeared inexhaustible; not even the already evident profligacy
of the politicians could deplete
that
– it was mercifully beyond their reach. The
complexity and physical demands of
A Dance
extracted from the participants
resources that most admitted they had never suspected in themselves, being
long accustomed to a standard fare of J.B. Priestly, Galsworthy or Sheridan, the
occasional Bernard Shaw, the operettas of Gilbert and Sullivan, and the genteel
volunteerism of amateur productions . . .
Patrick Ozieh, a petroleum engineer; Olga Adeniyi-Jones, of a long-
indigenised ‘expatriate’ line, and an accomplished contralto; Ralph Opara,
Yemi Lijadu, Segun Olusola, all broadcasters; Funmi Asekun, of ample pro-
portions, who soon abandoned stage appearances but continued to effectively
‘mother’ the company; Francesca Pereira, of an old Brazilian stock, a melliflu-
ous soprano . . . Giaus Anoka, a schoolteacher, as was Dapo Adelugba . . . Then
the fledglings, Tunji Oyelana, Femi Fatoba, Sola Rhodes, Yewande Akinbo,
Segun Sofowote, Femi Euba, Wale Ogunyemi, Jimi Solanke and others who
would form the core of the new Orisun Theatre, less the ones that got away, the
parents barring the gates against their wards . . .
No matter, Orisun Theatre continued to draw nourishment from the teats of
the Nineteen-Sixty Masks, whose individual and collective pedigrees and back-
grounds were every bit as prominent as the claims of the ‘colonial aristocrats’,
as variegated as those of the nation itself, the company’s internal fusion and
generous bond of fellowship seemed to reflect the nation’s ambitions to weld to-
gether such apparent incompatibles. Alas, in that regard, there was no question
about which had the greater success. (
Ibadan
,
–
)
Given the crucial fact that “homecoming,” or more precisely, the im-
possibility of a fulfilling, creative and transformative “homecoming,”
structures the entire narrative of
Ibadan
, this passage which almost rap-
turously celebrates “bond of fellowship” within the membership of the
Nineteen-Sixty Masks and Orisun Theatre stands in stark contrast to
the innumerable passages which recount the actions and experiences
of the groups or formations in which Maren sought a sort of political-
spiritual homecoming. Moreover, while Soyinka in the quote gives vivid,
individualizing touches to his reminiscence of members of both theatre
groups, almost without exception, the members of the bands and circles
of Maren’s followers and supporters are not named, or they are shadowy
in relation to the very visible prometheanism of Maren. This pattern of
course has its own poignancy: the struggle of Maren to achieve moral
and spiritual autonomy from the death-of-the-spirit encroachments of
family and kin is nothing if not exemplary, especially in a neocolonial
Wole Soyinka
setting where these encroachments have distinct compulsions toward
petty-bourgeois conformism about them. The resistance to these com-
pulsions pose a large ethical dilemma for the radical artist: how might
a gifted, visionary writer and intellectual remain true to his or her vi-
sion and impulses, goals and objectives, if he or she cannot create an
autonomous space which cannot, must not be breached by the often
well-intentioned but philistine, domesticating importunations of the ex-
tended family, and how might that autonomous space be created without
exerting great, emotional turmoil in the lives of individual members of
one’s family networks? What Maren tells his flabbergasted parents at
one of several confrontations with family and kin that are narrated in
the book shows the scope of the spiritual homelessness which would later
serve to accentuate and distort Maren’s prometheanism: “the university
is more secure than the throne of Isara” (
). Later on, of course, Maren
would be stripped of this illusion that the university system in Nigeria
could be a free zone uncontaminated by the social contradictions of the
academic elites of the new nation-state and could be a “home,” a redoubt
against the forces of reaction and divisiveness.
This process of profound disillusionment intensifies as first Univer-
sity College, Ibadan, then the University of Ife, to be followed by the
University of Lagos, succumbed to the corrosive forces of chauvinis-
tic ethnic politics, opportunism and moral and intellectual cowardice.
One moment of Maren’s disillusionment on this point is expressed in
his ruminations after writing a letter withdrawing permission from the
Ibadan University Press to publish a collection of his plays. The letter
was written in protest against the capitulation of the university, adminis-
tration and main academic body inclusive, to the retrograde forces then
beginning to gradually entrench themselves in state and society in the
new nation. This was apparently consummated through a strategy of
wiping out opposition in the country at large by first eroding the auton-
omy of the universities and thereby eliminating the refuge available to
the campus-based radicals and dissidents. Writing this letter brought a
clarity of vision to Maren, but the relief which he felt was, ironically, an
intensification of his feelings of spiritual homelessness:
It was all over, and he was glad. He had no constituency home to go to but
one could be found, could be built up from nothing, or built around, only this
time with no expectations, no baggage of ideals to attempt to impose on such a
waystop – which was what it would ever be, no matter how much of a destination
it gave the illusion of being. He felt consoled that it had happened so early, before
he put down roots in an arbitrary choice of home. Two years had passed since
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