Muritala Sule: The man with a thousand manuscripts
Preface
His script for the short film Duty won a national contest in 2005 and was shot by the Nigerian Film Corporation. Muritala Sule won the Distinction Award for Scriptwriting at the 1985 National Scriptwriting Workshop of Nigerian Television Authority (NTA) and has served as a Film Script Consultant to the French Cultural Centre (Embassy of France). His short film script was one of the six that earned a place at the first New Directions Workshop of MNET International in Nigeria, 1998.
There is no harm repeating that it was less than five weeks after publication, Muritala Sule’s biography/memoir came my way, and I set myself the task of sharing my thoughts on it with the reading public. To do justice to his work there are three pillars that held up my review. Let us call the first a subjective hindrance that threatens to impede my flow. I had a simple confession to make, and it had to do with my inability to keep and maintain friends. This book has the potential of torturing any reader’s barometer of affection. To those of us with a low capacity to go the extra length on behalf of friends, it inadvertently becomes a judge of our foibles. To those whose barometer of making friends is at its highest point, this book transforms into a heart warmer of sorts. A mirror that will reflect your deeds with little distortion. In his memoir, which I referenced in my first question, Muritala Sule comes across as one with an innate ability to love, care and show deep affection for humanity. You will feel the Lagos of his time in the text. I am so tempted to call him the authentic Lagos Boy/man!
A little background
As you all know “Nsukka, [is a] university town, Enugu state, southern Nigeria. It lies in the Udi Hills at an elevation of 1,300 feet (396 m). Nsukka is an agricultural-trade centre for the yams, cassava (manioc), corn (maize), taro, pigeon peas, and palm oil and kernels produced by the local Igbo (Ibo) people. Weaving is a traditional local craft. Coal deposits have been discovered east of Nsukka around Obolo, a town on the main Onitsha-Makurdi road.” The above is how Britannica paints a picture of Nsukka. Therefore, our conversation started with that background.
Question 1
I know you have given enough information about growing up in Lagos. Can we see Nsukka through your eyes?
Muritala Sule: I’m always emotional when I travel back in time to Nsukka, which was, to me, a place of education beyond the acquisition of a degree.
For one thing, Nsukka was, at the time I was ready for University, one of the only two places in Nigeria where you could obtain excellent education and training in Journalism or Mass Communication. The other was Lagos, at Akoka. My preference for Nsukka stemmed from a desire to meet the Igbo people at home and learn all I could about them. Feel as they felt, that is, about the Nigerian Civil War of ’67 to ’70.
I’d grown up in Lagos with children from various parts of the Country, played amateur football – we called it Felele, that rubber ball – with Igbo boys, Hausa boys, Edo boys and others. To tell the truth, we weren’t conscious of what part of the Country who came from; we were just children playing together, growing up together. I never got to know the surnames of my friends until we were adults attending Advanced Level (A/Level) schools or university.
Between the ages of 6 and 17, we just lived together more like a family. And so did our parents, in Lagos. That’s before the war came to sensitize us to our differences.
It was common then to eat and pass the night in the homes of your friends and your parents never worried that you might be harmed.
So, soon after the war, after choosing Nsukka and traveling East, I saw what the war did to people’s hometowns, villages and family homes. The bullet marks were still all over the debris of the buildings. We never experienced that in Lagos, apart from the bombing of the Casino Cinema at Ebute Meta and parts of Obalende in an air raid.
Even on Campus, the memories were still fresh in 1978.
I was in Nsukka to school for 30 months from age 21. Outside of that and the two years, I spent schooling in Benin City, I was born in Lagos and I lived there until I was 52. I hope you are probably not expecting a story you imagine I should tell which does not exist in reality. Nsukka was more of school and all the interaction with Igboland that I had was essentially what was available on campus. Of course, it has its limits. It is like learning about Lagos only at UNILAG.
Question 2
What was the campus like and your lecturers, who do have the fondest memories of and why
Muritala Sule :Oh, the Campus still bore the physical signs of the War. You know, Nsukka was the intellectual hub of the Biafra Campaign, the place where such weapons as Ogbunigwe were manufactured. That was where Igbo intellectuals and technocrats and other professionals returned to in order to contribute their effort to the campaign. That was where great ones such as Professor Chinua Achebe, Professor Ezekwe, the Poet Christopher Okigbo and such other egg heads pooled efforts in support of the War. Indeed, the first shot of the War is reported to have been fired near Nsukka village.
But, for me, the atmosphere was expectedly very intellectual. I was there between 1978 and 1981 when I came away with a Bachelor’s in Mass Comm. It was a glorious experience. I was there at the same time as guys like Esiaba Irobi, the playwright, who was studying English and was a year behind me. In fact, we once debated for the same hostel in 1979, that is, Eni Njoku Hall. There were guys like Avuru Austin and Sam ‘Soulmate’ Nwanuforo, etc, who were politically active on Campus. Academics was intense and highly competitive such that Nsukka during my time was often described by our friends in other universities as a place of little social activity in the sense of musical concerts, entertainment shows and jamborees.
Our lecturers in Mass Communication were very few, about a half dozen of them when I was there. Moreover, we were only 21 students in my class. There were Drs. (then) Sylvanus Ekwelie, R. Chude Okonkwor, Emmanuel Akpan and others. They all emphasized discipline, besides academics, and were great inspiration to us students given the sorts of competence and confidence they showed.
Dr. Akpan – God grant his soul eternal rest – took personal interest in me. He was our Broadcasting teacher, among other duties, and was the supervisor of my graduating essay. Our relationship extended beyond my Nsukka days. He tried very much to draw me into an academic career.
In summary, I wouldn’t have wanted another University in place of UNN.
What was your graduating essay about?
Muritala Sule : The topic was “Radio Nigeria 2; what guidelines for programming?”
A great teacher and inspiration supervised it: Dr. Emmanuel Akpan (May The Almighty grant him eternal bliss). I suggested the commercialisation of Radio Nigeria (RN 2), then, considering the challenges the Nigerian public broadcasting station then was having with funding. I had fun researching and writing it, with huge support from Mr. Ikenna Ndaguba – remember that great newscaster? – who was then RN 2’s general manager.
The result gave me a head start in my career because Mr. Ndaguba sent me off with a note to a person like Elder Ishola Folounsho, who then headed Radio Nigeria Ibadan, where I’d applied to do my Youth Service. But, that wasn’t to happen and I ended up at Radio O-Y-O, where I had an excellent service year. Recall I’ve told the story of my stint at that station in my memoirs.
Question 3
You are a writer, a presenter, a TV/Film Director. Can you introduce us to a few of your works?
Muritala Sule: Well, most people remember me for Lagbo Video, which is the first TV magazine in Nigeria to focus on the Film industry. It was a live show on NTA Ikeja Channel 7 between 1994 and 1999. I had great fun presenting it while Mahmood Ali Balogun directed. It was a creation of mine. I collaborated with Mahmood’s Brickwall Communications Limited to realize it in partnership with NTA.
But, before that, I had my break on Network television as co-creator of the action drama series called SPACS in 1986.
What movies/ cinema goers might remember me for is Oju’nu which performed great at the National Theatre box office in 1995.
And there are books: Shadows of Hunger (Longman, 1987, though it was accepted in 1984), a novel; Weetie, (S&S Limited, 2003), a play; The Other Children, (S&S Limited, 2004), a novelette and A Lifetime of Friendships, (MSP, 2018), my memoirs. There are also some unknown or lesser-known works: The Other Children, the movie, Gbedunrin, a movie, etc.
Could you share with us the inspiration for Shadows of Hunger?
Muritala Sule: Shadows’ theme is about the limitations of perception in the context of truth. Its plot is set in a company run by expatriates, as many are still in Nigeria, and the connivance of locals in plundering the economy. You know this stealing of the commonwealth that is still going on. That’s it. You might remember that the early 80s was the time we first heard about people importing garbage into Nigeria in place of things such as books so desperately needed in schools, the importation of toxic waste instead of medical supplies for which foreign exchange might have been approved. These things did not start today. Nigerian politicians and technocrats polish up their stealing art every day. Now, it is snakes that swallow trillions of naira from the public coffers.
The personnel manager of that company is the lone voice in management opposed to the scam, because of his knowledge of what’s going on. When he cannot be coopted, the criminals set him up as the one frustrating the remuneration and welfare schemes of the blue collar workers who demand better pay and working condition. Something like the EndSars protest, when people scream: “Enough of this corruption!”
But Adebayo, that’s the personnel manager, is the only one on the side of the workers, who they, ironically, regard as their main enemy. It comes to a head when they demand his sack. And violence erupts. Just like EndSars. Isn’t the inspiration for the story obvious?
What is your opinion on publishing in Nigeria?
Muritala Sule : I’ll narrow that down to creative writing because Literature is broader than that. I’ll be specific in order not to keep it unwieldy.
When I got published for the first time by Longman Nigeria in 1987, the publishing of creative writing was still a business; so, it interested investors. That means that writers were motivated to write because there was a chance of finding publishers.
The series under which I was published was directed at the youth readership. It was actually inspired by the success of MacMillan’s popular teenage literature series, Pacesetters, which did well in the late 70s up to, perhaps, mid 80s. I think Longman figured that something a little different than Pacesetters might appeal to a similar demographic; so, they drew up a list of criteria that manuscripts for that series should meet. I wasn’t aware of it. But, I wrote my novel because I am a creative writer seeking a break. When I sent it off to Longman in 1984, the reader’s report came back after three months. Shadows of Hunger – that’s the title – was accepted and fitted into what was called the Gong Series. The reader noted that it met the series’ criteria so much it looked like a blueprint for the series.
I’ve gone into so much background to show how competitive and vibrant and inspirational the atmosphere of publishing was at the time. To tell the truth, Pacesetters, which I, too, consumed with fervour like my peers at the time, actually inspired me to try.
So, there was vibrancy, inspiration and competitiveness, ingredients necessary for the growth and development of publishing. Longman had many creative series, most popular among them being the Drumbeat, which published such established authors then as Isidore Okpewho, Ben Okri, Bode Sowande, Femi Osofisan and others in their poetry, fiction and prose categories.
It was a very fertile environment. So, I got published, without first being an award winner in any literary competition. Publishing was then still adventurous and speculative as it should be in a healthy environment. That is the way you discover talent and develop the industry and the economy.
Fast forward to year 2000. I approached the same Longman with a novelette. When I called on them to hear their decision, they did not give me a professional assessment of the book – which I entitled The Other Children; what they asked me was if I could get it into the reading syllabus for junior secondary schools in Lagos State. That was because they saw that I acknowledged a prominent special assistant to the Lagos State governor on education in the opening pages of the book.
That should tell you the journey of creative writing at that point. Actually, things went bad for the publishing industry soon after my first novel was published by Longman. The economic environment became unfavourable. The health of publishing plummeted. Foreign exchange problems, again, as with filmmaking and other businesses demanding foreign inputs. As a matter of fact, I learned that one of the factors that killed the then thriving Pacesetters series was cost of production. The Naira fell – remember, the mid-80s was Babangida’s time and Structural Adjustment Program (SAP) – and the unit cost of Pacesetters novels became unrealistic and the series fell, too.
The chain reaction then would be obvious, wouldn’t it?
Now, you have to self-publish yourself, if you don’t want to give it up. I have had my share of self-publishing: The Other Children, Weetie, A Lifetime of Friendships. But, one of the bad sides of that atmosphere, apart from the difficulty a writer has in raising investment funds is that they cannot succeed in interesting investors in a publishing project of that sort because they have to be a one-man publishing company. That means they have to process the script, print, market, sell, chase returns, account, etc. – the whole range of service rendered by structured publishing houses. In a situation like that, something is lost; indeed, much is lost. I’ll make an example of my latest book Friendships. I’ve had to resort to marketing and selling it by myself because I couldn’t find someone, some company, to take up that role and free me to go write more books. My experiment with Facebook, on which I published excerpts of the book, is very successful. It shows that readers enjoy the book, most of them describing it as “unputdownable”. Now, isn’t that what publishers would wish their books were? People have been placing orders and I have been delivering. But, it is a slow, cumbersome and tiresome way to sell a book. It is, however, the only practical option I have, besides the uploading of it on some online outlets. The hardcopy still fills up my office because the sale traffic isn’t as well as it could be were it marketed and sold by a proper publishing company. My attempt to place it in bookshops around the country was discouraged by the bad reputations of bookshops in not remitting returns.
Now, when I have any idea for a book and I’m rearing to hit the keyboard, the energy fizzles out slowly once I begin to consider the situation mentioned here and, especially, how you might find it difficult to recoup your investment.
You once worked in a Ministry, please what was it like working in a government business like that
Muritala Sule ….for me, nothing much, especially because I had creative ambitions. But the Federal Ministry of Information graciously encouraged me in that ambition to some extent, because it was from there I was allowed to participate in the NTA Scriptwriters Workshop that gave me my break into television in 1985. For that, I am eternally grateful. I only left when the elbowroom wasn’t enough because my activities would have run counter to my pledge. It, indeed, had started happening so, given the kinds of articles, I was publishing then in the Guardian and other newspapers while still in Service. That’s unfair to government, wasn’t it? I was becoming critical of the system from within. And it was during Idiagbon’s regime. People warned me to watch my pen. The authorities hadn’t turned their gaze on me when I left. But I wasn’t consciously writing what I was writing to hurt government, I thought. I think I was just naive or unconsciously courting danger out of a certain frustration inherent in working in an atmosphere such as the Service.
But the Civil Service has its inherent handicaps for some like me who had the kinds of dream that I had – to do the sorts of things I have done since leaving the Service in 1987, after five years as an Information Officer. It was the first place I worked after Youth Service.
All said, it was a good training ground for the insight it gave into the workings of the civil/public service and one’s responsibilities as a citizen.
It’s easier to batter government and public servants on social media the way people who know nothing about the system do. They talk and write out of ignorance a lot of the time. That is why government most times ignores their rantings. Of course, there are public commentators that would be taken seriously when they do analysis of government policies and programmes because government could use their ideas since they comment from positions of knowledge.
To tell you about the kind of impression when I left in Service? You see when the National Film and Video Censors Board was established around 1994 or 95, one of my bosses who headed it, Mr. Ademola James, called on me for assistance with data on the film industry because I already was doing Lagbo Video then and the show was publicly acknowledged as a competent authority on the industry. Indeed, Mr. James’ successor as D-G of that Board, Mrs. Rosaline Odey, sent an officer to sound me out if I might be interested in returning to work with her.
I’d worked with her when I was in Service and she had very high regards for me as a professional. I respect her a great deal, too.
Do you think people who work in governmental agencies really do a hard day’s job for a hard day’s pay?
Muritala Sule : Some do; some don’t, just as in all enterprises. The same thing that can make any enterprise more efficient and effective: true commitment to the goals and objective of the establishment, conscientiousness, discipline.
What do you think can make the ministries more efficient & effective?
The attributes I listed above takes care of all enterprises – of course, government, too, is an enterprise – because it has its goals and objectives. Its profit is to run a great country.
After many years of leaving government service, you recently directed a series for NTA, please what was it about?
Muritala Sule : It was a situation comedy entitled ” Iya Modina “, set in an African restaurant run by a very colourful woman. The place is also a rendezvous for Nigerians from various parts of the Country. It also attracts the cream of society. We’d thought that, with it, we could laugh at some of our national headaches, as Nigerians are known to do, and reflect why we were once rated “the happiest people in the world” by some international researchers.
Stylistically, it was an experimental attempt at multi-camera recording in real time, like a live production. But, like all experiments, there were things we were learning on set. Some things worked while some went very wrong. And there were disagreements about how to go about certain things. Anyway, I was thrown out after doing just one quarter. I file that away as experience. Satisfactorily for me, couple of actors got their break by it and have gone on to do great for themselves. Nevertheless, there are things about it I was very unhappy about.
Since we started with your impression of Nsukka, what does Lagos mean to you?
Muritala Sule : Lagos? Mother, who suckles and comforts me. Cinema, I mean the streets. Very therapeutic. It’s where I’m never bored. I only need to look out the window to be entertained. Creativity; everybody has some imaginative trick up their sleeve, good and bad. Opportunities; there’s a belief that it’s where anybody and everybody could get prosperous, especially if you’re hardworking; just put anything out, it will sell. If you’re dramatic, just start a show by the roadside; you’ll earn. Then, in spite of the ubiquitous aggressiveness, there is empathy. Lagos is the place where you only need to whisper in the ear of a total stranger that you’re hungry but have no money for food and they’d not hesitate before feeding you. It’s where Nigerians don’t discriminate on ethnic or religious grounds unless politicians sow seeds of enmity amongst them. Oh, Lagos! I could go on.
Post-Script
When the interview was over, we went to town to ask those who know him what they think about MS
Steve Olayiwọla the quintessential former book reviewer on the Guardian’s Arts desk wrote “I know MS he is one of Nigeria’s most undervalued artists. A committed culture activist.”
Taiwo Obe, the well-known media guard in a one-liner say “Well bred. Period.”
Kola Ogunsolu, the tech guru offered his own thoughts “He seems to know some people in old regime but not to his advantage, so he has to go hustle outside Nigeria. He is good in production arrangement. I don’t know what he is doing now out there.”
Adedeji Adesanya the senior partner of the A Production team “MS was a former Staff of NTA. He’s a Script writer. He co-presented LAGBO VIDEO with Mahmood Ali-Balogun in the 90s – a popular video review show @ the height of Home video films market. MS was a member of the jury of Africa Movie Academy Awards (AMAA). He lectured Script Writing at PEFTI FILM INSTITUTE, Lagos for a few years. I haven’t heard from him lately.”
Femi Odugbemi, the man who can make movies in his dream said, “…well I consider him a creative innovator and entrepreneur. The LAGBO VIDEO show created great awareness for a lot of films and filmmakers and expanded their viewership. I never directly worked with him but I have respect for his body of work, his personality and his commitment to the art of storytelling. I will add insightful. He has been quite prolific in his storytelling indeed”
On that note, we draw the curtain on our person of culture for this week. If there is, a straight arrow anywhere in Nigeria Muritala Sule is that one.
