I still have the camera but where are you?
Death will happen to everything. Examining some of these eerie grey areas and things opens pathways and enriches the entire experience of living, before dying..
My most popular photograph is the man reading under the Third Mainland Bridge. I intentionally shoved it in the face of the world till they knew it. I’m a slave to intent, besides who has passive helped?
Ingrid Pollard is one of the few to whom I told the full story about the photo and the thing about sharing with such a masterly mind is that her wisdom will put on you a task wrapped in golden advice — more than a year later, I haven’t been able to accomplish what she advised.
The photograph suggests the extent one may go in search of solitude and isolation. But right next to me as I took the photo were about 15–20 boys and young men returning from an early Saturday soccer rendezvous — I had zoomed in from under the bridge.
However this story isn’t only about the photographed — it is about the not-photographed, the other half of the stories and intent. My friend Korede had endured my repeated whine about how badly I wanted to photograph the Sawmill community under the bridge but chances were the mates over there would get aggressive because I had repeatedly surveyed the spot and yes they are aggressive. As usual, he gassed me up and said one day we will go together and whatever they brought, we would match them — two of us against the world under the third mainland bridge. Two weeks later, Korede “kobi as alias” bought himself a Canon powershot and on we went.
See the thing unknown to Korede about Oko-baba is I share a sentimental history with the space, my grandfather Naphtan Egbuwalo Logo had been a logger and he would tug a fleet of fallen exotic trees afloat from the creeks of the Niger Delta — through Ejinrin, near Epe all the way to Oko baba Ebute Metta through the channels that feed the Atlantic ocean. He was second generation Logo, very ambitious and did well for himself, 64 kids both dead and alive and my Dad being first male of that community (actually we had a whole village to ourselves — Obe Rebiminu, Ilaje Local Government. Ondo State), He lived with us briefly while I was a boy and the thing about elders is, most of their conversations were about times spent and memories thus meaning I heard about these Oko baba tales a lot.
There is a joke in the house that Naphtan my grandfather could have bought a few properties along the Epe- Lekki channel (originally called Odo-ileki, first settled upon and named by Ilaje nomadic fishermen — Story for another day) but my grandpa was hot-headed and he assumed his kids were trying to dupe him. Haha.
Anyway, this pseudo harbor rumored to be the largest log yard in West Africa can be very much seen from atop the Third Mainland bridge, sprawling with logs and sawmill shacks and silhouettes of human forms against the backdrop of the water and fog that created a very cinematic filter.
Grandpa told me tales of how Oko baba was succor after long nights in the swamp and creeks examining trees, encountering mystical situations and of-course getting drunk — working very hard with his team of loggers comprising mostly of Ijaw men and his young sons. Grandpa was very sad Ijaws and the Ilajes would later have inter tribal clashes in the Niger Delta after all the history shared (I later realized they’ve had long background of fighting interestingly). All this family history had me convinced I needed to shoot Oko Baba and perhaps I would see what the fuss was about and maybe channel Grandpa. These things I think about…Phew!
Few hours later I had stomped on all the grounds in Oko Baba and had a fill with my accomplice and we befriended everyone at no cost. Turned out most of them were neighbors we had seen one or two times. Also, Korede in his usual cheer had bought them drinks randomly several times. Talk about paying it forward.
Korede is dead. He was shot.
I didn’t even have it in me to look his wife in the face since his funeral; I was scheduled to visit him hours before he got sprayed into eternity. For some odd reason I had procrastinated that day. There are a lot of speculations in my head how the day could have turned out. A film only PT Anderson would do genius to.
Two other photos I had made have people who are no longer with us in them.
Ingrid pollard asked me to make a body of work/installation whereby I present the other — she wants me to find a way to show the link between the not-photographed and the photographed and bridge them with audio samples and text if need be… Yet to crack that…
Korede was my biggest supporter — he probably even talked me into going all out for my full time studio practice way before I had the guts to. The weird and beautiful thing is every time I made significant progress or I am in an exhibition room of my work, I feel his presence. I catch myself staring long and hard at the gallery door waiting for him to burst in with his robustness of character, screaming friendly insults at me for ever questioning his advice or, he crosses my mind.
I always wondered, if I could have a random chat with him again, what would I say? Perhaps the following:
Korede, I am still doing it and I am doing it just like you teased and insisted I do it, I am doing the needful in the small but significant art scene that is Lagos, Korede can you believe that? I went all out for the art man, but my dear friend it was tough. Korede would you believe I had to lose that car and at some point had to trek from Maryland to Surulere while I was a photography assistant? Shit — my ego died and was reborn my guy, you would have laughed your head off if you saw me, well you would have also confirmed that I am a real goon. Korede I still get crazy when I see people chit chat with sentiment about characters and erring, I have learnt that we are all very flawed and I should only seek the good in all [ You flawed motherfucker, I wish you would tell me what really went down, too many weird stories]. Also you know I am still very crazy Kobie, Infact I am crazier than you last saw me, My hair is a sight — but you know my head and heart are always in the right place. (Remember when you told Kayode the Tailor — Ogbeni no shortcuts to genius, to be Babangida you have to join the army) I am in the army now my bro — I am doing things that surprise even me. I am cutting up things, I’m hoarding found objects, “I’m in Duchamp mode — no Depeche” Jay Z has a new album and twins by the way, I know you loved him too. I am starting to see preconceived images, I am finally an artist — it’s like I am looking inwards now, the rabbit hole is internal. It is 2014 all over again and I have new curriculum in my own pseudo-art school where I am both dean and student , don’t laugh— although they are still crude. I am excited all over again for new exploits in my work, Its like being a Pollock. Such a rush.
It is five years since I showed you that camera in excitement for the Monochrome Lagos project — I still have the camera but where are you?
The dead however may no longer be with us but the memories we have of them and their influences on our lives are priceless and worth examining every now and then.
Rest in Peace Grandpa — still defending myself as you said I should.
Rest in Peace My good friend. I am still doing it. I hope that, at least, makes you smile.
