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.
