The Genesis of Zanku (Alternative History)

The Genesis of Zanku

It was a cold night in Agege and the lads were dancing at a street corner. Movement for the sake of just responding to the ancient equatorial beats of Africa was not how they got down. For the young and virile men, they danced to dramatize the painful conditions that they endure each day. Kunle was agile and high. He had drank some alcohol and had 300mg of Tramadol coursing through his blood like a high speed Okada galloping at the speed of light.

A talented dancer with the right instincts, he moved as one with the beat and suddenly began to hallucinate. Armies of centipedes and cockroaches marched in formation towards him, and not wanting to back down; he began to trample them underfoot with all his might. They died in droves and he kept on killing them, bouncing alternatively on both feet with both knees in a K-leg position (knock knees). Condition don get K-leg afterall. Kunle did not notice everyone had stopped dancing and had formed a circle around him. With muscles as taut as high- tension overhead electrical cables he overflowed with energy as he marched on as if at war. It was all done to the beat and a small crowd had gathered to watch. The scenes from the recent pirate copy of the Black Panther began to get regurgitated as he danced. His hands were held across his chest in a ‘Wakanda forever’ posture while his feet motored on like they were energised by nuclear reactors. He raised a cloud of dust and provoked great cheers from his observers. He dripped sweat like an outpost of Victoria Falls and someone tossed him a small white towel. With dazzling hand movements he caught the towel and began to dance with it rather than wipe the sweat off his brow. He was the orchestral genius of his own creation. He conducted his invisible musicians with his white towel and they heeded his commands. This was the Agege Philharmonic orchestra and he was conductor in chief. His 200 man orchestra were all crowded into two giant speakers that filled the air with the sound of music that shook the ground. Noise was the very life blood of this chaotic city. The audience paid no gate fee. A large bill was given to all at birth and they were all still paying a great price for being born Nigerian in this generation.

Suddenly there was an offensive by the cockroaches that had brought in an armoured vehicle that approached at great speed. Kunle leapt into the air channelling all the Shaolin movies he had watched from childhood and landed with a ferocious kick at the tank the way movie actors kick doors open.

The tank broken into a thousand pieces and someone shouted, ‘Gbe se!’ This one moment was the birth of a new dance craze; the Zanku. Others joined in and the feast of movement went on for three more hours till people began to collapse in sheer exhaustion.

Being mostly unemployed and brimming with street energy most of the lads were at the African Shrine the next day and continued where they left off. The dance spread like wild fire.

Modifications to the hand movements began. Latif who was an apprentice butcher at the local markets got bored with just crossing his arms Wakanda style, so started to dramatize the chopping of meat on a slab. He held his right hand like a sharp knife and began to chop his left forearm into bits with frequent movements, shaking his head uncontrollably in disbelief, all the while doing that electric foot work, stamping on insects and suddenly flying in the air to kick a flying mosquito to the shouts of, ‘Gbe se!’

These are the new generation. The Indomie generation who were born into 11% inflation, high unemployment, weak institutions and poor national infra structure.  They didn’t ask to be born into a tough environment but the two options for them were simple; sink or swim. Swimming comes with its own inbuilt depression as the current flows in an opposite direction, and just like a bad dream, great effort brings no progress. The pain is numbed with drugs and alcohol which leads to more problems. Yet the magical footwork never stops, just like the propellers on an outboard engine of a boat on the Lagos Lagoon. Once the legs stop moving, drowning soon follows. The dance is part of the hustle for survival. This is not having a good time; but staying alive. This is fighting for the right to be human, when denigration is served on a plate daily by a hostile environment in the tropical heat.

With the dance comes an undercurrent wave of subversion and animosity. The youth are angry at the earlier generation of leaders who did not give them a chance in life by laying good foundations decades ago. The Zanku dance is energetic and you could hear the sinews ask the leaders why this evident energy is not given the best chance to succeed. This is not ballet. These are protest intricate moves that have nothing to do with ‘enjoying life’.

The message is clear; the older generations cannot do what the youth can do. There are dances that are difficult to attempt and subsequently master. In Zanku, a great generational rift has been constructed as it is impossible to even attempt to do the dance above forty years of age. That vital ingredient of 'mad o' is the secret to learning how to indulge in this energetic convulsion to music. The weak knees and large bellies of the agbalagba leaders make them sluggish but still they retain great power in their right hand; for they sign all the cheques in the country (and power and policies follow the money). Zanku differentiates clearly between who the leaders of tomorrow are and who the ‘past their sell by date’ impostors are.  The young leaders need education for their energetic minds, affordable and accessible health, basic amenities that make modern life possible such as water, light, food and housing. The society has to be secure and free from terrorism so that the young people can compete with their contemporaries in China, Dubai, Russia, Europe and America.

The Indomie generation are not just satisfied with ‘Gbe body e!’ What they really want to do is ‘Gbe Cerebral Cortex e!’ on the world’s stages. Freedom to rub minds with any other leader on the planet being fully equipped with a sound education and backed by a working society.

Tramadol is a synthetic codeine analog with side effects that include headaches and seizures. Unfortunately this drug is being abused at an alarming rate.Some feel their destinies have been lost and they are already in a crisis; so what fear is there to having a seizure or getting addicted when all hope is lost. They stay drugged up, dance and forget the sorrow, tears and blood. Codeine cough linctus is another crowd favourite, used along with alcohol and Cannabis. These are all symptomatic of harsh socioeconomic realities that face contemporary Nigeria.

With so many insects crawling towards Nigeria’s millions of young people, just how much longer can they continue to stamp on adversity before succumbing to the inevitable exhaustion of hope? There is an African proverb (which I just made up) that says that, when you see the young men of the neighbouring village gather at their town square to sing and dance to war songs all night long; the wise will take heed.