“When you hear the kick, make you start to wind
When you hear the kick, make you start to wind”
When you hear the kick, make you start to wind”
Talk to me she said with that belligerent furrowed brow, squinting eyes and flared nostrils that means, “Why are you ignoring me?” in woman-speak. Not talk I responded softly, I just want to dance. But the response never left the hard drive of my brain, was not transmitted to my vocal cords. “A bit tired” was what I eventually vocalized.
I was never much of a dancer in my younger days. The gods of dance back at FGC Enugu where the likes of the late JT Tom-West, Scaley Mbang Effiong, Banji Alade (during the break dance era), Shofela ‘Shofee’ Animashaun (for the Cabagge / Ijo Sina era), Jude Okoli, Ike ‘Sikpu’ Amaefule, Ragazee Kelechi Uguru, Ike Mgbor F.T.B.S (Full Time Bubbling Something) in the hip-hop era. Those where the guys, the ‘big-dudes’. Dancing then was definitely not for me, at least not until I met Moji Bamtefa.
Back in 1992 Sista Moji directed and produced ‘Abomination’ the sequel to her earlier dance drama ‘The Broken Link’. Just as she did with The Broken Link, she choose a Theater Group that I belonged to, Theatre Fifteen (T15) Unilag to stage the play. My friend and classmate, Kayode KP Peters, and I had joined T15 on the same day and “Abomination” was our baptism of fire;
I was never much of a dancer in my younger days. The gods of dance back at FGC Enugu where the likes of the late JT Tom-West, Scaley Mbang Effiong, Banji Alade (during the break dance era), Shofela ‘Shofee’ Animashaun (for the Cabagge / Ijo Sina era), Jude Okoli, Ike ‘Sikpu’ Amaefule, Ragazee Kelechi Uguru, Ike Mgbor F.T.B.S (Full Time Bubbling Something) in the hip-hop era. Those where the guys, the ‘big-dudes’. Dancing then was definitely not for me, at least not until I met Moji Bamtefa.
Back in 1992 Sista Moji directed and produced ‘Abomination’ the sequel to her earlier dance drama ‘The Broken Link’. Just as she did with The Broken Link, she choose a Theater Group that I belonged to, Theatre Fifteen (T15) Unilag to stage the play. My friend and classmate, Kayode KP Peters, and I had joined T15 on the same day and “Abomination” was our baptism of fire;
“Ajankolo dugbe, dugbe
Ajankolo dugbe, dugbe
A ru’bo, ebo da na o eh!
Ajankolo dugbe, dugbe”
Ajankolo dugbe, dugbe
A ru’bo, ebo da na o eh!
Ajankolo dugbe, dugbe”
Our bodies learnt to listen and respond to the lucid enchanting language of the talking drum, liquefy to the spiritual evocative melodies of the illustrious Batá drum’s ‘Wala! Konko Wala! Wala Konko Wala! Wala Wala Wala Wala! Wala Konko Wala!
Sista Moji taunted KP and I over our lack of dancing prowess, our “two left legs”, but unknowingly, she taught me how to abandon my body to the rhythm and let the music guide my soul.
So I started dancing, a passion I shared with my wife Pat. Not the spasmodic and energetic rigors of “Kefee”, the erotic waist gyrations of “Awilo Logomba” or the psychedelic moves of the “CEO Dancers”, but the fluidity of a Moji Bamtefa, the “levels of grace” of a Professor Laz Ekwueme, the Waterside moves of a Yibo Koko, and the Early Moderns of an Efe Omoregbe.
I remember that Pat and I had agreed to have fun at our wedding, thus it was initially billed to be a compact 50-man wedding reception (ended up approximately 100-man), and choreographed / blocked to the T. The toast barely lasted 30-seconds and the entirety of the reception must have been about 2 hours long. I recall we left most of the guests at the reception, the ones who turned up at our house later in the day found us both in our regular clothes and dancing up a frenzy in our living room.
And then life and work began to get in the way.
In writing my most recent play, “The Anger of Unfulfillment”, I had envisioned a Tap-dancing Narrator but in order to do that I had to learn how to Tap-dance. Omo Osieme graciously gave me the contacts of an instructor, but again work got in the way so I had to strike out the Narrator.
Arriving Kigali I stumbled upon a gym that had a dancing school and vowed to get back to the dance floor (I should bring Pat here I thought) even if as a mode of exercise as I already had a choreographed dumbbell workout dance sequence….again work got in the way and I never started.
So today, when Pat, lying in her hospital bed with a spider-web network of intravenous tubes flowing in and out of her body, said “Talk to me” with that belligerent furrowed brow, squinting eyes and flared nostrils that means, “why are you ignoring me?” in woman-speak, all I wanted to do was just dance with her, abandon our body to the rhythm and let the music guide our soul. Dance without work and life getting in the way, dance because you never know what the future holds, just dance.
So
“when you hear the kick
One by, one by one
Two by two (two by two)
On the line
Wait…wait….wait
You no dey see ….You no dey see”
Sista Moji taunted KP and I over our lack of dancing prowess, our “two left legs”, but unknowingly, she taught me how to abandon my body to the rhythm and let the music guide my soul.
So I started dancing, a passion I shared with my wife Pat. Not the spasmodic and energetic rigors of “Kefee”, the erotic waist gyrations of “Awilo Logomba” or the psychedelic moves of the “CEO Dancers”, but the fluidity of a Moji Bamtefa, the “levels of grace” of a Professor Laz Ekwueme, the Waterside moves of a Yibo Koko, and the Early Moderns of an Efe Omoregbe.
I remember that Pat and I had agreed to have fun at our wedding, thus it was initially billed to be a compact 50-man wedding reception (ended up approximately 100-man), and choreographed / blocked to the T. The toast barely lasted 30-seconds and the entirety of the reception must have been about 2 hours long. I recall we left most of the guests at the reception, the ones who turned up at our house later in the day found us both in our regular clothes and dancing up a frenzy in our living room.
And then life and work began to get in the way.
In writing my most recent play, “The Anger of Unfulfillment”, I had envisioned a Tap-dancing Narrator but in order to do that I had to learn how to Tap-dance. Omo Osieme graciously gave me the contacts of an instructor, but again work got in the way so I had to strike out the Narrator.
Arriving Kigali I stumbled upon a gym that had a dancing school and vowed to get back to the dance floor (I should bring Pat here I thought) even if as a mode of exercise as I already had a choreographed dumbbell workout dance sequence….again work got in the way and I never started.
So today, when Pat, lying in her hospital bed with a spider-web network of intravenous tubes flowing in and out of her body, said “Talk to me” with that belligerent furrowed brow, squinting eyes and flared nostrils that means, “why are you ignoring me?” in woman-speak, all I wanted to do was just dance with her, abandon our body to the rhythm and let the music guide our soul. Dance without work and life getting in the way, dance because you never know what the future holds, just dance.
So
“when you hear the kick
One by, one by one
Two by two (two by two)
On the line
Wait…wait….wait
You no dey see ….You no dey see”
Please when you hear the kick....don't let life get in the way, just dance!
Jekwu Ozoemene
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