Signs

By

Obododimma Oha


First time I saw the signs of a writing script,
Wondered why
Meanings are mean in-between the lines

First time I saw letter A of the Roman script,
Thought it was
A badly made drinking stool
Like the one at the bottle store

First time I saw a Chinese script,
Was certain
A crab missing its way
Crawled across an unfortunate page

First time I saw an Arabic script,
Was worried:
"Looks like someone's collecting 
Other people's signatures!"

First time I saw a Hebrew script,
Feared Father Abraham's
Probably arranging pieces of fuelwood, 
Another sacrifice!

First time I saw a text fade 
on a computer screen,
Believed someone's doing Amerika wonder:
The more you look, the less you see

First time I saw
I knew not
How blind I was.

The Balance of Terror

Tit-for-tat, 
No, tat-for-boom, 
No, boom-for-doom...

The measure you give,
The gbosa you invite
At the closing

Your teeth rattling like
The anger in your soul, 
Terror-for-terror;
Hell hath no fury like an enemy 
Not fed fully with disaster

Tit-for-tat,
No, tat-for-boom, 
No, boom-for-doom...

The exploding pods of death telling
The story, how long, how terrible
Hatred hath gathered in the militant skies

My tat for your tit only
The normal handshake
In a symbolic exchange of fears;
My doom for your tit a tough statement
About NEVER

Never give 
Never receive;
Never dare
A perfect gbosa!

-- Obododimma Oha

Liking and "Unliking" in Facebook Navigational Language

by


Obododimma Oha



Facebook, as a recent form of social media, comes with its own language, its own sub-register, which particularly manifests in unique lexical forms. Every technology, as an experience in and of culture, occasions the emergence of a jargon through which it creates and consolidates the subjectivity of its users. To be fully part of that technoculture requires a proper understanding of the underlying meanings and discourses its communicative forms imply. What one could call a thriving Facebook navigational language, or the technical expression typical of Facebook regulation of behavior and interaction in its environment, is indeed very exciting but also does signify some important discourses that Facebook users ought to be mindful of. Ignoring the implications in the use of the language and other communicative media suggested by Facebook as options in interactions could have serious implications for personal image, security, and relationships. Those who interact in an online environment like Facebook without considering how their verbal and non-verbal expressions could affect them indeed show that they are still deficient in the type of communication skills that go along with cyber interactions or "cyberacy," as Web literacy is sometimes identified. 

Facebook navigational language does not just assist the user in selecting preferred behavioural postures, but also sorts and locates users in certain underlying discourses. Thus, as one navigates one's way on Facebook, one necessarily identifies oneself with the worlds of these discourses, even inadvertently. Indeed, this makes the Facebook environment a useful setting for research, for the investigation of groups and individuals. In this regard, Facebook ought to be taken seriously as both a context and tool for security monitoring. It is not necessarily a "free" playground where one could just do as one likes. But even the playground could be a place where one could watch the other very closely and learn something about the inclinations of the other, to learn how to live in the presence of the other.

For some casual observers of Facebook life, the navigational language is just funny. One is invited by this language to "like" and then "unlike." One can also "add as friend" (or just "friend," as a verb) and sometimes "unfriend' (some would even say "de-friend.") One's personal computer, as one's immediate language teacher, obviously does not understand these lexical items and queries them now and then. No dictionary also authorizes one to use them as correct forms. In spite of these, some people who have Facebook presence do not hesitate to use these words, or rather their "facebookese," outside the Facebook environment. You could encounter in a listserv post an expression like: "Someone unfriended me recently for arguing in support of the anti-gay legislation," or "If you don't like my like of argument, you can unfriend me." Surely, these usages are funny and do give a playful picture to Facebook interaction. Many people are looking for such fun,though, at least as a temporary escape from the very serious universe of discourse they have been subjected to in professional and public circles. This fun experienced in Facebook navigational language is further complemented by the friendly exchanges (the thanking, the messaging of goodwill (and the massaging of the ego!) and sharing of stories in various forms of media), all which give one an illusion or rather hallucination of belonging where discourse liberates.

Now let us examine our liking and "unliking" in our Facebook navigational language, to see where they take us as we take them as options that indicate our preferences in the reading of Facebook posts. The field of "Like" on Facebook is provided as a revelation of self, or of personal preferences. One reveals oneself or one's disposition to others to which one is connected when one chooses to "like" a post. By implication, a Facebook friend that has failed to "like" a post made by another indirectly reveals self to the other. But I suspect that not many would take notice of who has not indicated liking a post, given that many persons on Facebook have many Facebook friends. In this case, it is the indication of liking that is foregrounded, i.e. made prominent in the context of the Facebook discourse. Moreover, one who, after liking a post, "unlikes" it, obviously calls attention to self and to the act. Such an "unliking" is likely going to cause the person who made the status post reflect deeply on the act and on the relationship with the "unliker." It may harm the relationship in some ways and it is perhaps for this reason that the act of liking on Facebook occurs more frequently than that of "unliking." 

But what could make one "unlike" a post on Facebook? One could "unlike" a post if (1) the initial act of liking was an error, in which case one clicked on the "Like" button without meaning to do so; (2) the initial act of "liking" was done without a deep reflection on why one should make the choice; in other words, as a hasty decision; (3) one no longer wishes to associate with the post or its assumptions, given the kind of reactions it is receiving from other Facebook commentators; and (4) one wants to play a game with the idea of liking and "unliking" as acts on Facebook.

A liker is normally liked; an "unliker" is not, except maybe by another "unliker." A liker by liking indirectly performs an illocutionary act of praising the person who posts, and sometimes backs this up with a verbal praising and thanking. By liking, one presents a desirable image of self; in other words, one identifies and solidarizes with the other, which is why it is risky to go about liking just any Facebook status update or item shared! What one likes testifies for and against one! Same for what one "unlikes." 

While brainstorming on this topic this evening, I made the following status update (indeed, the second for today), as a way of testing the waters:

'Facebook should provide "Dislike" as an option to "Like" for readers of status updates. The field, "Unlike," which appears after someone has indicated liking a post, is not an alternative. It is merely a withdrawal from liking, I believe. One cannot even indicate this "unlike" from the beginning unless one first commits oneself to "Like." "Unliking" is not disliking; the former is a different discourse entirely.'

I was lucky to receive a favorable comment and support few minutes later from Ursula Ifeoma Akwara, a Facebook friend, which read: 'and what amazes me is that some people put a "like" to a very horrible story." She just hit the bull! Some people on Facebook appear to have become that careless as "likers" to the extent of not thinking before liking, or not keeping to mind what "like" involves.They just like everything on Facebook! Some kind of Facebook illiteracy? Is it out of the excitement of being on Facebook? 

The liking of some categories of status updates on Facebook could be very problematic. As Akwara suggests in her intervention cited above, the liking of a report of a tragic incident is disturbing. One wonders whether it is the incident that is being liked or its reporting, or both. The liking of the tragic incident, say a terrorist bombing, shocks us. How could anyone like such an experience unless the liker is either a collaborator in the bombing or one of the supporters of the terrorist organization? Or perhaps the liker of the incident is particularly diabolical and enjoys seeing destruction enacted. In this respect, the liking of the report of the tragic incident creates ethical problems for the liker: it does some damage to the image of the liker, for Facebook readers that process the liking from this angle would not come back later to find out if the liker has other acceptable reasons for the liking of the story.

It is also difficult to discern whether it is the reporting of the incident, i.e. the art of storytelling or presentation itself, that is being liked specifically. In that case, the act of liking is a way of thanking the person that tells (or that has brought) the story for doing so. But, again, not many people like being told shocking stories. So, such individuals would not like someone's liking of what they do not like. In Pragmatics, the orientation for human beings to prefer the presentation of the bright side of life to the ugly is referred to as "Pollyanna Principle" (Leech, 1983). It is also referred to as "Positive bias". Telling or presenting shocking stories to such individuals is a violation of this principle, and, by extension, a threat to what Tae-Seop Lim and John Waite Bowers (1991) have identified as "autonomy face want" -- the desire to be left undisturbed, in this regard, not to be bothered psychologically. When we are shown the dark side of life, worry and sadness are introduced in our mental lives. Indeed, one cannot escape the experience of this dark side of life entirely, given the complex nature of intersubjectivity in the world. The doctrine of "see-no-evil" is not entirely practicable, for one does not always go out to search for evil to see. Rather, evil comes looking for one to see, and environments like Facebook provide no guarantee that that one would not see "evil" in the sharing of "stories". 

Who are the persons expected to be "likers" on Facebook? The following, most likely: (1) those wishing to be liked by those whose posts they like; (2) those wishing to consolidate their relationship on Facebook (I realize relationships could move from the hyperreality of Facebook to the real world, if they get stronger, or an enmity could enter the real world if the hyperreal friendship collapses and gets bitter); (3) those wishing to identifying with the groups or entities with which the person who makes status post identifies ("your friends are also my friends!"); (4) those who have made it a lousy habit to keep liking things on Facebook, to be noticed on Facebook, or because they think they have becomes Facebook "people;" and, of course, (5) those who genuinely like the post, not because they wish that others like them. 

Status updates probe what is on our minds, and Facebook usually prompts us by asking the question, "What's on your mind?" Is anyone in doubt that this system-generated question is an indication of curiosity? It would be damn stupid for the addressee to feel that underlying this question is the assumption about the addressee's freedom to say whatever is one the mind, whatever one likes, and that Facebook, as one the social  media, is where freedom is boundlessly celebrated. Indeed, many Facebook subscribers ignorantly adopt this posture and go ahead to write or upload just anything they have in their closets! And, of course, some other wise users do not fail to raise objections or caution them about their recklessness (which is a reflection of NOT liking). It is helpful to others as readers to have an idea, indeed database, on what is on someone's mind and what someone likes or does not like. Facebook and its readers can, with time, build a reliable profile on users based on what they like, as well as those whose "likes" they like. Those whose "likes" or "unlikes"converge form a sub-Facebook behavioural community. They could be linked to particular types of related behaviours.

A "like" assigned to a Facebook implies a discourse on association, where "unlike" suggests a withdrawal from association. The withdrawal from association does not erase the initial association; it rather continues the "story" of liking in other ways, raising further curiosity as to why this withdrawal (and when this withdrawal). Similarly, it implicitly raises a question about associating with what had been posted and the person that posted it. Indeed, "dislike" is connected to Facebook's notion of "Unlike," but it presents a different kind of discourse about association. If Facebook had provided "Dislike" as a field alongside "Like" from the beginning when a user encounters a post, it would have been possible for the user to start by dissociating with a post right from the outset. An "unlike" is already committal, which makes one afraid that Facebook might be particularly interested in knowing involvement more than an interest in non-involvement. A discourse of involvement appears more interesting than that of non-involvement. A "dislike" is more exonerating, more protective for the Facebook reader than an "unlike" that stages a withdrawal from previous action.

I like what I like. Yes. I also like what I dislike, otherwise I do not know what I like and would not have chosen to like it. Know what you like and like that you like it. Do not "unlike" what you like, unless you are inclined to practising the art of deception. Do not choose to like and then "unlike," if you really "dislike." Remember this: your like is where you are, where you have been, where we can find you, where we can bury you on Facebook. 

References

Leech, G.N. 1983. Principles of Pragmatics. London & New York: Longman.

Lim, T.S., & Bowers, J.W. 1991. "Facework: Solidarity, Approbation, and Tact," Human Communication Research 17, 415-450.

Oha, O. 2012. Facebook Status Update, 31 May 2012,5.06 PM.

No Story

by

Obododimma Oha

The road is the shared space that stretches or leads to somewhere. As a metaphor too, it is access or means of getting a goal accomplished. A wife in a local African setting should know the meaning of the metaphor of "road" when she is told that "The road to a man's heart is his stomach." So the road is already an important signifier in public discourses. Apart from being a signifier, the road emerges as an important setting that presents a multiplicity of interacting systems of signification. Is it the traffic code which, in its peculiar semiology, invites road users to acquire and use a measure of competence in iconic and sometimes symbolic messaging? Is it the register of the road worker, for instance the road transport workers, which not only typifies their field of human activity just like other fields, sometimes contextually redefined as one finds in a rough and poorly organized transport system where impolite expressions are freely exchanged by road users? In addition to this, someone like me who is endlessly in pursuit of signs should not miss the verbal and visual texts that are placed on the bodies of vehicles that operate on roads in a place like Nigeria. These "traveling texts" join in telling the epic story of the road in Nigeria, combining in their own way to form a sub-system of road transport semiotics.

The traveling texts on the bodies of vehicles on Nigerian roads, which are sometimes in the form of stickers, could be any of the following:

(a) Identifications of the owners or operators of the vehicles (in terms of personal, organizational, or other other types of naming);
(b) a rhetorical system advertising groups (such as religious organizations, political associations, products, etc);
(c) a rhetorical text that suggests the values and personality of the owner or user of the vehicle;
(d) an address, for instance a warning, to other road users about the owner or operator of the vehicle;
(e) an aesthetic device intended to add beauty and appeal to the vehicle; and 
(f) a casual text meant to cover a blemish on the vehicle, for instance a dent, or some cracks on the windshield.

In all enumerated above, the traveling text speaks eloquently to road users, sometimes conveying ironic messages. For instance, a vehicle with a sticker that says "SPEED KILLS; DRIVE WITH CARE" or "MANY HAVE GONE; BEWARE!" might be speeding and careering dangerously. Does the operator of the vehicle still remember what is written on the vehicle? As a slogan, "SPEED KILLS" might as well be a deceptive advertisement of the carefulness of the operator of the vehicle, which would make people want to associate with or patronize the transporter. The user of the sticker benefits from the client's desire for safety, indeed an attempt at benefitting from what Abraham Maslow in his Hierarchy of Human Needs identifies as Safety or Security Needs that individuals naturally have. Sometimes this type of irony occurs in a most painful way, as in a situation where a vehicle the owner has labelled "God's Case No Appeal" gets involved in a ghastly accident. Does one take it that the label on the vehicle presents a self-fulfilling and fatalistic prophecy? 

Perhaps it is for this that the popular Igbo saying, "Hapu ihe e dere na mmoto banye mmoto" (Ignore what is written on a vehicle and go ahead to board it) literally sounds instructive. The sign tells us clearly not to be deceived by advertised messages on the bodies of commercial vehicles, in other words, drawing our attention to the misleading rhetoric in the names and other signifiers on the bodies of the vehicles. But is that not frightening? How can one believe that one is traveling safely in a society where signs on the bodies of vehicles being used do not actually mean what they say? 

Of course, it is not in all cases that signs on the bodies of vehicles in Nigeria do not mean what they say. Signs announcing some vehicles as belonging to the university where I teach in Nigeria mean what they say, namely that they belong to that higher institution, even though I know that criminals can get a vehicle, inscribe the identity of the university or other organization on it and use it to commit a crime. Even vehicles signified as belonging to government might be special operational vehicles of criminal gangs like drug dealers, armed robbery squads, 419ers, etc, which is why the so-called official vehicles constitute a big challenge for security agents on the stop-and-search assignments in Nigeria. Those who use official government vehicles in Nigeria often do not have the humility and patience of subjecting themselves to checks on the Nigerian road. They believe they are above the law, or that the law of stop-and-search does not apply to those in government or their agents/relatives, even when it is known that government appointees have been deeply involved in criminal activities and use their vehicles to facilitate the commission of crimes. 

Some of those who operate commercial transport vehicles in Nigeria, however, could be speaking the language that means what it says especially when it comes to warning other road users not to dent their vehicles in the very frightening impatient driving one notices on Nigerian roads these days. One ubiquitous sticker one finds on some cabs in the Lagos-Ibadan area says it clearly: "NO STORY." This text, which is sometimes written directly on the body of the vehicle, is one interesting way of "doing things with words with people" (as the discourse analyst, Willis Edmondson would beautifully redesign the Austinian idea) on the rough Nigerian road. In the "NO STORY" text, the addresser is actually doing the following:

(a) performing the speech act of warning the other road users that story-telling tactics of seeking forgiveness would not be entertained if, in the process of driving recklessly, such drivers dent the addresser's vehicle;
(b) Alerting the addressee about the no-nonsense posture of the owner or operator of the vehicle carrying the sign;
(c) asserting the posture of revenge or insistence on appropriate punishment for the offender and compensation for the owner or operator of the damaged vehicle.

"NO STORY," in its textual brevity, just like many texts on vehicles which engage the fact that their readers have limited time to read them on the road, is memorable and final as a note of warning. Anyone that eventually dents the vehicle in question would not start telling the very story that is not wanted, or another story about not having seen or read the text, or another about not being literate enough to comprehend the meaning of "NO STORY." To tell more stories is to add fuel to the flame. Stories would not fix the damaged vehicle, or the hurt on the mind of the owner of the damaged vehicle. In an organized system, such story-telling is not even for the owner of the damaged vehicle to listen to; it should be for the police or the road transport officers appointed by government to listen to and probably consider while writing their reports about the accident. Perhaps if the case gets to court, the jury would be there to do some listening, which is why they are there to "hear" cases!

Telling someone whose vehicle one has dented a story is a narrative rhetoric designed to:

(a) clear one of blame, or at least do something to the perception of one as being blameworthy;
(b) appeal to pathos;
(c) (indirectly) support a plea for forgiveness;
(d) suggest someone else, for instance the person whose vehicle is dented, as sharing in the blame.

Generally, it is a strategy intended to disarm the offended party, which may however fail, or provoke a violent reaction. "NO STORY" is proactive, not curative. It invites us to adopt the posture of avoidance as the best way to manage conflict on the road. 

As a matter of fact, in some real incidents of vehicle collision on Nigerian roads in which fatalities are not recorded, one sometimes hears a bystander humorously appropriating the call-response story-telling formula that is familiar to many Nigerian: "Story! Story! Story!" A way of making light an unfortunate road mishap, this invocation of traditional story lore reveals how almost familiar and seemingly entertaining having a road accident has become in an African country struggling to develop. In such "entertaining" road frictions, one could easily hear someone shouting at the other and threateningly saying: "Do you know me? Do you know who I am? I will show you! I will deal with you! Wait, you will see! I will call the IG now" And he reaches for his cellphone, maybe some old Ericcson, and starts shouting his call: "Hallo, hallo! Is that the IG? Is that Sunny? Am I speaking to Sunday Ehindero the IG? Yes, yes, it's me your younger brother Monday. Yes, Egbo mi, bawo ni? There is this idiot here, this useless, stupid, alakori who bashed my car! I am ...." And on and on he goes, and the other fellow, if he is sufficiently scared now, begins to prostrate and wash his hands without water, like a housefly.And a third party would be making efforts to calm down the raging "relative" of the IG, saying: "Bros takeam easy now. Make we settle for una."

"NO STORY" as a sign should work well with some stickers I have seen lately, which say: "WHAT ARE LAWYERS FOR?" and "MY SON IS A LAWYER." The presuppositions in these texts evoke the sense of fear in a society where the mention of "court case" and "lawyer," especially among the low income population means endlessly spending, frustration, and sometimes jail term. "WHAT ARE LAWYERS FOR?" is a rhetorical question that hides a preceding statement that denting the other car and telling stories are not a problem for the person who owns the damaged vehicle, but rather for the story-teller. The owner of the vehicle carrying the sticker may also be a lawyer (sometimes the same vehicle carries the sticker of the Nigerian Bar Association). Anyone who sees the complementary NBA sign can therefore easily make a decision to give the vehicle and its owner or user a comfortable distance. Similarly, "MY SON IS A LAWYER" indirectly warns about a legal battle instead of being just a piece of information, and we know that when children (sons) defend their parents in a court case, they do so with every zeal, at least to demonstrate to their parents both the love they have for them, as well as their excellence as trained ambassadors of the family. Many in Nigeria still have great interest in having a member of the family become a lawyer or a doctor. A lawyer is essential because it is imagined that this legal practitioner would serve as a deterrence to those in the community that would want to mess with the family. Thus "Papa Lawyer" or "Mama Lawyer" is a kind of big masquerade which other members of the community must either make an ally or forever keep their distance. 

The traveling texts on the Nigerian road tell stories, even when they alert us about lack of interest in any story-telling. As one makes one's journey even in an online environment, where once in a while one gets brushed, one remembers "NO STORY" and wishes that one had a son or daughter who is a lawyer! Surely, there are many reckless drivers even on online highways, as one finds on many listservs populated densely by fellow noisy compatriots from Nigeria. Is it on USAAfricaDialogue where many drive dangerously, hurling insults at other "road" users now and then? Is it Krazitivity in which some members seem to make sure that the sound of "crazy" in the unique nomenclature of that Yahoo Group is semiotically actualized through unnecessary verbal duels? 

One keeps studying the signs and signifying practices on Nigerian roads online and offline. One may be getting used to the violent language in these environments. What if one eventually gets lost in the Nigerian semiosphere of offensive posturing and arrogance, accepting what is not normal as being normal?

Hello, Can You Read Me? Personal Security and Loud Talking on the Phone in the Troubled Public Space

by

Obododimma Oha

Telephone conversations are generally characterized by the hallucination that someone's listening ears are connected to another person's talking mouth, the roles of speaker and listener being switched now and then, with turns sometimes grabbed and sometimes respected. That hallucination is located in the mutual desire to suspend the awareness of unreal presence and to cling to an illusion of diminished distance. That hallucination, even though acted out to make us enjoy telephoning as a mediated social drama, may eventually lead to the practice of losing oneself entirely in the interaction, or forgetfulness of the context of the exchange. Indeed, being aware of and "awake" in the context of the talk is one of the basic principles in the etiquette of telephoning, or what one may playfully call a "phonetiquette." Simply defined, phonetiquette is the sound of talking working in accordance with the acceptable rules of conduct in a given cultural setting. 

Joanna L. Krotz, writing on "Cell phone etiquette: 10 dos and don'ts," an essay featured on Microsoft Business for Small and Midsize Companies, offers the following rules for a civilized mobile phoning:

1. Never take a personal mobile call during a business meeting. This includes interviews and meetings with co-workers or subordinates.

2. Maintain at least a 10-foot zone from anyone while talking.

3. Never talk in elevators, libraries, museums, restaurants, cemeteries, theaters, dentist or doctor waiting rooms, places of worship, auditoriums or other enclosed public spaces, such as hospital emergency rooms or buses. And don't have any emotional conversations in public — ever.

4. Don't use loud and annoying ring tones that destroy concentration and eardrums. Grow up!

5. Never "multi-task" by making calls while shopping, banking, waiting in line or conducting other personal business.

6. Keep all cellular congress brief and to the point.

7. Use an earpiece in high-traffic or noisy locations. That lets you hear the amplification, or how loud you sound at the other end, so you can modulate your voice.

8. Tell callers when you're talking on a mobile, so they can anticipate distractions or disconnections.

9. Demand "quiet zones" and "phone-free areas" at work and in public venues, like the quiet cars on the Amtrak Metroliner.

10. Inform everyone in your mobile address book that you've just adopted the new rules for mobile manners. Ask them to do likewise. Please. 

Being aware of the etiquette that is tied to telephoning is a basic requirement which, since the invention of telephone itself, has formed part of the training of receptionists, secretaries, and administrative officers. One can find specific entries relating to the etiquette of telephoning in books on etiquette, not just for job positions that require the use of the telephone, but for everyday communication with acquaintances, relatives, friends, etc. Phone etiquette could therefore be seen as part of the communication skills that a human being existing in this Information Age is required to possess.

A "hello" (sometimes realized as "hallo" and "Hullo") is a signal, not just to the act of interacting with another person (which sets the tenor of the talk), but also a signal for the talker to get ready to practice as well as present self for trial on phonetiquette. The hello sets expectations for compliance on the rules of talking on the phone, with sensitivity to context, purpose, interactant, etc. Every phone user therefore is invited by this product of civilized communication to acquire and exhibit the skills of telephoning. It is not just a matter of one being able to afford a phone (these days cellphones sell cheaply in Nigeria, thanks to China and Nigeria's booming tokunbo market) and so one can start helloing and hulloing anyhow. Isn't it absurd that one would make a call and start asking the person who picks the call to disclose his or her identity, instead of the caller being the person to introduce self first? But that absurdity has almost become common in a country like Nigeria with the availability of cheap mobile phone network services, proliferation of cellphones and people using them without learning phone talking rules. Apart from the embarrassment and sometimes conflicts that emerge from offensive talking to unknown persons at the other end, very serious security problems arise with regard to loud talking on the phone in public spaces, especially given the endemic nature of violent crimes like armed banditry and ransom kidnapping in a country like Nigeria. 


Consider the following fabricated phone calls made by some Nigerians in a Nigerian environment:

(a) Hello, this is Iduu Thousand speaking. Yes, I am now back from Taiwan. The containers have been cleared. 12 of them. I am now on my way to the bank to pay the remaining three million dollars. No, don't worry; I am going to pay in one million cash, the other in certified cheque. Nothing to worry about. I don't play with my business. I won't disappoint you. Bye bye. 

(b) Hallo, hallo! It's me Otunba Okunsanya. Bawo ni? Yes, I have sold the 10 cars you sent home. In fact, I have just collected the money for Lincoln Navigator. Yes, l'agbara Olorun. Aamin! O daabo. 

(c) Hi. Yeah. This is Don B. Sure, I'm on a brief visit. Mmm, yeah, the building project is still on. I am going there this afternoon to see the contractor and make some payments. Well, those fellas are milking me. There's nothing I can do to prevent it. I just have to complete this project soon. I need a comfortable accommodation in this fucking place you know. 

(d) Hullo, Brother Mark. Ah ah, thank God o. So it is true that you are visiting home? Levels go change! Thank God. When? Friday this week. Wonderful. I will come and pick you at the airport. Which flight? Ok, Virgin Atlantic. Yeah, I will come with the van; it has more space. I can wait to see you again. Bye bye.

In each case above, the speaker is loud, very loud, and makes sure that other people nearby get some impressions about the speaker's international links, wealth, being in possession of some cash, etc. The speaker sacrifices personal security to the advertisement of personal importance and design to win the respect of those within earshot, basically because both speaker and eavesdropper are located in a society where respect for an individual is measured by that person's (unique) material possessions and, by extension, an international connection from which further wealth and social importance are guaranteed. 

So, telephoning in a world of vulgar materialism is a performance of the self and imagined significance of the self. A performance in egoism, its rhetoric attempts to construct a bigger image of the self, assuming that when bodies meet in the public sphere, they have to compete for importance. A larger image of a speaker indirectly asks those around to bow and tremble. 

But, such advertisement of the self is just what the intelligence of the armed robber and kidnapper needs to be "successful." One person's performance of vanity in telephone communication becomes another person's luck in committing a "perfect" crime. Criminals of the brave new world need communication and the vulnerability of the communicating target to do their jobs well. The research units of armed robbery and kidnap gangs in Nigeria need the Nigerian loud telephone talker and boaster to be able to come up with better strike strategies. Do they really need to carry out any rigorous research or to spend so much in trailing targets? No at all? The loud talker is just a sitting duck. 

Of course, it might well be that in some cases of loud telephone conversations, the following are involved:
(1) The person talking loud on the phone is emotionally involved in the conversation and therefore forgetful about the presence of over-hearers;
(2) The person talking loud on the phone is a con artist or some cheat trying to use the details of the conversation, especially the possession of cash or some important overseas connection, to ensnare some gullible targets around;
(3) The person talking loud on the phone is not making any phone call at all but pretending to be doing so as a strategy of deception, the kind of "garagara" that some Nigerians perform when they are in difficulty with law enforcement officers and want to show that they are well connected with some big shot that no one should supposedly not mess with. 
(4) The person may be from a culture where loud talking is normal; in other words, the person has acquired this form of communicative behavior from the indigenous culture and has not been able to adjust to the etiquette of telephoning in public.
(5) The person receiving or making the call is in a noisy environment and is therefore compelled to raise his or her voice beyond a level that would guarantee privacy of talk.

Whatever may be the case, the loudness of call is consciously performed in many cases in the Nigerian context to signify some "loud" social identity imagined to be desirable in a society where such an image appears to have become an ultimate quest. The silence of the lamb appears to be some disadvantage in a society where images of self are in stiff competition. 

Nigerian mobile telephony is some drama to watch. Is it the cellphone loud speaker that is tuned high or the setting to hands-free mode, which makes what the person at the other end is saying very audible to other unconcerned party around? Is it the gesticulations of the gesticulations of the person making or receiving the call: the pointing of hands and other forms of body talk that the person at the other end can never see or read? Don't these forms of body talk in Nigerian mobile phoning culture reveal the fact that the person on the phone is a performer that has forgotten the nature of the context of the interaction, the fact that the addressee is not there physically?

Sissela Bok, in an essay titled "Secrecy and Moral Choice," argues that: "Some capacity for keeping secrets and for choosing when to reveal them, and some access to the underlying experience of secrecy and depth, are indispensable for an enduring sense of identity, for the ability to plan and to act, and for essential belongings. With no control over secrecy and openness, human beings could not remain either sane or free" (2003:10). Linked the tendency to spill one's secrets in a phone call made in public, it does appear that a loud talker is working against the interest of self and of the other person engaged in the exchange. Even if the loud talker does not have any qualms publicizing personal plans and possessions, does the receiver or speaker at the other end of the call have the same disposition? Does the person at the other end know and approve of the fact that other individuals around hear the details of the conversation? 

In the case of (d) above, every individual within earshot-- maybe on a bus or even the marketplace -- now knows that Brother Mark is visiting Nigeria from overseas and is coming with a lot of luggage. Every person listening now knows that Brother Mark has big plans; maybe he intends to buy a house at Lekki or buy a Hummer -- for "levels" to "change." Of course, he would have hard currencies on him. A criminal listening already has so much information to mark this Brother Mark down as an important target. When Brother Mark arrives home in Nigeria and is waylaid or abducted where he has gone to inspect his building project, would that surprise us? One painful thing, though, is that Brother Mark is unaware of the fact that the person he is speaking with on the phone has already advertised his coming home at the marketplace and that he might likely be up for purchase.

Loud talking on the phone at a public place simply suggests the talker as one who lacks the requisite skills on private communication in the presence of others. As countries like Nigeria move on to becoming large markets for modern information technology, there should be some attention to the proper uses of these products of technology. It is definitely not out of place for such education on rational use of technology to be included in  school curricula, public enlightenment  of the ministries of culture and information, etc. Put a product of technology in the hands of someone who lacks knowledge of its proper use, and that person becomes a great risk onto self and others. 

Cutting the Native Tongue According to the Imagined Limits of Its Powers: Resistance to the Use of Igbo in Written Formal Communications

By

Obododimma Oha

I was once invited to teach a course in Igbo Stylistics on a temporary basis in a Nigerian university. All the students offering the course, I realized, were all Igbo-speaking and had Igbo as their first language. This was supposed to be an advantage and I felt that using Igbo as a language of instruction or as a language in which students would write their notes, assignments, and examination was not something that would meet any resistance. But I was wrong. My students complained bitterly when I insisted that they write their notes in Igbo, just I was teaching them in Igbo. I pointed out to them the absurdity of using a different language to teach another, as well as the fact that it would not assist them in developing their writing skills in the language they were studying. Their excuse was that they had all along been receiving instructions in their Igbo courses in English, same for the assignments and examinations and had also been permitted to write assignments and examinations in English. I was puzzled but really sad that it was so. Ah well, they just had to make a change, for my own ideology of language teaching spoke against their own orientation.

One of the excuses offered for not using Igbo to teach Igbo was that a metalanguage for such communication was lacking, or was still in infancy. That was false, terribly false, for a metalanguage for Igbo linguistics teaching had been made available very long ago and was already in use in the teaching of Igbo in primary schools since the early seventies. So why this resistance to its use? Is it the desire or tendency to treat English as being more prestigious than local Nigerian languages, or sheer laziness and lack of readiness to consolidate the gains already made by the fathers of Igbo linguistics? 

As a pupil in French language class, I was told that I would make greater progress in the language if I was taught the language in French and not English or any other language. It was also forbidden for any student in the French class to speak English while the lecture was in progress. The same regulation was sometimes maintained in the English language classes. This direct immersion approach helps learners to adjust faster  and begin to imagine themselves located as speakers in the very context of the use of the target language. Mediations of language learning through other languages that are competitors could slow down progress in the learning of the target language. 

How else could the target language and its learning be better promoted than in committing it to use in various written communications? It is in this regard that one is worried about the reluctance on the part of some native speakers to use their indigenous  Nigerian languages in official written business communications such as minutes of meetings, reports, memos, and notices. One is not ignorant of the fact that Nigeria is a multilingual country, or that many organizations and workplaces in the country are plural in their membership/staffing and therefore need a language of convenience like English in their interactions. But I am specifically concerned with those organizations in which all the members have a Nigerian language  as their native language, for instance town unions and village meetings. Why would such organizations prefer to have their internal written communications in English and not their native language? In addressing this question, I focus on my personal experience with resistance to the use of Igbo in such written communications in organizations and groups that have Igbo-speaking individuals entirely in their membership (but, for ethical reasons, I will not mention the specific names of these organizations in this essay).

I have served as secretary in several Igbo cultural organizations such as age-group, town unions, etc. My experiences in these cases show that English is either specified as the language in which the organization's written communications have to be made, or it is treated as a given that English would be used. Perhaps this attitude has resulted from the inherited colonial assumption that English and not the local language is the only suitable language for serious social or organizational written communication. This colonial mentality invests English with prestige and authority. Anyone seeking to write an ordinary letter in Igbo is viewed as being out to make people laugh. Since English is considered the norm in written communication, Igbo written communication, especially in an official context, is treated as some deviation that could have no other purpose than merely to entertain people. 

I once tried to change this attitude to written Igbo communication in one Igbo cultural group I belonged by daring to write minutes of meetings in Igbo. I must confess that the courage to attempt this use of Igbo in writing minutes of meetings derived mainly from the realization that:
(a) All the members were Igbo speakers;
(b) The members supposedly shared a strong feeling about promoting Igbo language and culture as a way of protecting their cultural identity;
(c) All the members had higher education;
(d) Igbo language being in danger of dying had often been discussed at the meetings of the group, and members were encouraged to teach their children Igbo at home;
(e) As secretary, I was in a good position to demonstrate that using Igbo in official writing was possible. 
Perhaps it was the last point above, which probably revealed what might appear to some as overzealousness, that pushed me on to dare to write, circulate, and read the minutes in Igbo.
But, to my surprise and regret, my experiment with Igbo in writing the minutes and notice of meetings received a stiff resistance. A member complained about the writing minutes of meetings in Igbo and so it became an item on the agenda at one of the meetings. The debate on the issue clearly showed that many members were against the use of Igbo writing minutes of meetings and notices. The following were the excuses given (or indirectly suggested) in the submissions during the debate:
(1) (Some) members cannot read written Igbo
(2) (Some) members cannot write Igbo
(3) There are still (dialectal) controversies in the writing of Igbo
(4) The use of Igbo for such written communication is more tasking/slows down proceedings
(5) Igbo language does not represent learnedness and modernity
(6) Igbo language is too local and does not confer integrity on its users.
And so the group, an Igbo cultural organization with highly educated members and which had been talking about the promotion of Igbo language and culture, as well as the protection of their ethnic identity, shelved the use of their language in their internal official written communication. It also enshrined it in its constitution, only allowing the use of Igbo in spoken interactions among members. That was the end of my being secretary, and, of course, my overzealousness in the group. 

Isn't it an irony that a group that is seeking to promote Igbo language and identity cannot allow the use of Igbo in its internal written communications, even for experimental purposes? Isn't it an irony that the very task of using the language in serious communication is assigned to others and not "us"? And isn't this how some "learned" Igbo people destroy their language, and one way they hope to erase their Igbo identity finally? I leave these questions to my readers, especially the Igbo (and other Nigerian groups that similarly resist the use of their own native languages in official communication) to think about.

Some common scenarios one finds in Igbo cultural organizations with regard to minutes writing are as follows:
(1) Having proceedings in Igbo and writing the minutes in English (ie as translations) -- listening to Igbo, writing notes in English
(2) Having the proceedings in a combination of English and Igbo and writing the minutes in English
(3) Having the proceedings in English and writing the minutes in same.
(4) Having the proceedings in a combination of English, Igbo, and other languages, and writing the minutes in English.

The first scenario mentioned above, of course, reveals the cultural hybridity of the members and the mentality of relegating Igbo in a kind of diglossic framework to the Low language status and English to the High. In this case, Igbo is considered only appropriate for informal exchanges but when it comes to serious formal written communication, English takes the stage. Perhaps this is caused not only by the colonial mentality that denigrates the "native" and the "native language" but also the poor knowledge of written Igbo among the members. But how can both challenges be addressed if the status quo is maintained? How can members defer or exclude the use of Igbo in their organization's written communication and expect to continue learning and improving the powers of their native language? 

Moreover, the writing of the minutes in English (as translations) definitely creates additional semantic and grammatical problems which often surface when the minutes are read and debated afterwards. A lot of precious time may be wasted in determining whether what Okeke and Okafo said in Igbo had been appropriated reported in the English version of the minutes. Of course, one cannot rule out (mis)interpretations of motives behind translations of what a member had originally said in Igbo, which would generate conflicts in the group. 

Scenario Two, which involves having deliberations in a combination of English and Igbo (what has been referred to in Igbo cultural discourse as "Engligbo") and writing the minutes in English, shares outlook and repercussions with the first. But, in addition, it promotes an emergence of hybrid spoken Igbo, the code-mixing raising further stylistic problems for the minute-taker/writer who has to resolve the structural problems that affect meaning in the bilingual grammar of each speaker in trying to grasp the meaning of what has been said.

The third scenario that involves having the spoken interaction in English and writing the minutes or other written communication in same is not very common; it is to be found among Igbo elite that, by virtue of their professional engagement and training, have English as the language of serious business communication. The context of their meeting perhaps have little or nothing to do with ethnolinguistic feelings. It is simply business that has brought them together. Moreover, their competence in written Igbo may be very low. Whereas the non-use of Igbo in such a situation is excusable, nothing prevents the group from attempting to bring Igbo into their business information practice, the same way that a Chinese or Korean group working together would commit their own languages to business practice, even when English remains a language of global business communications. 

The fourth scenario, which involves using Igbo and other languages (including French and other Nigerian languages) in deliberations and having the minutes in English, often manifests in Igbo cultural gatherings outside the Igbo homeland. Clearly, the multilingual nature of the language of deliberations is not just a consequence of not being purely Igbo again (given the experience of living away from the homeland and mixing with the non-Igbo). It could also be related to the much-talked-about tendency of the modern Igbo to neutralize cultural identity in wanting to be a citizen of the world, and demonstrating this neutrality as something to be celebrated, or as an indication of the fact that the self has greater cultural adaptation and exposure. One who tries to show that such an orientation is self-deception might be mistaken for drumming their cultural chauvinism too loud in a globalized world. 

When I attend some Igbo community meetings with predominant semi-literate membership, I find the Igbo members making strenuous and sometimes embarrassing efforts to communicate in English. The minutes of their meetings are written and read in very bad English, too, but they don't mind, for English, to them, is English, and a bad English at least allows them to belong to modernity. If one has to intervene to correct the errors in such use of English, then the meeting would have to deal with serious personality conflicts and probably take a whole day. So, the minutes and bye laws are packaged and stored in bad English. 

There are some serious reasons why an indigenous Nigerian language ought to be used in written organizational communication:
(1) Promoting the development of the language, creating opportunities for the creation of new terminology where some are lacking;
(2) Assisting members to use expressions that they fairly understand their meanings/implications
(3) Keeping the language alive: a language that is not written is on its way to dying
(4) Making the language truly functional and relevant in every context of discourse. 

If serious effort is not made to use Igbo in formal written communication, the language will likely revert to its precolonial status of being only a spoken language. Igbo scholars and leaders must exhibit more than mere rhetorical concern about the future of the language.

One must acknowledge some efforts made in recent times in Nigeria to rescue Igbo language from imminent death. The Government of Anambra State of Nigeria, for instance, realizing that the use of Igbo language, the indigenous language of the state, was in serious decline, came up with a campaign encouraging the speaking of Igbo language in the home and in public interactions in Igbo communities. It has enacted the following Igbo Language Usage Enforcement Law 2009, defined as " A Law to enforce the speaking and writing of, and wide-spread usage of Igbo Language among Ndigbo in Anambra State and Diaspora," to signify its seriousness in the campaign:

"The usage of Igbo language is hereby enforced by the following means with effect from 1st September, 2011:-
Igbo language as a subject in addition to English language and Mathematics must be passed by an Igbo student before he can be promoted from JSSII to SSS I in all secondary schools in the State;
Every State or privately owned tertiary institution in the State must establish an independent department of Igbo language bearing that name;
Every State or privately owned tertiary institution must make Igbo language a mandatory General studies course in the institution."

Also, a group called "Suwakwa Igbo" (Endeavour to Speak Igbo) was founded by Prof. Pita Ejiofor of Nnamdi Azikiwe University, Awka, in 2006, with the mission "To restore vitality to the Igbo Language, make the entire Igbo people proud of it, speak it, write it, read it, teach it and carry out researches for its growth and development ." One is delighted that Suwakwa Igbo does not focus only on spoken Igbo. Indeed, we cannot have an effective Suwakwa Igbo without Debekwa Igbo (Endeavour to write Igbo) as its necessary complement. Speaking and writing are language production skills that are interdependent. Similarly, reading and listening, as reception skills, reinforce and are influenced by language production skills. Given this network of relationship among the language skills, how much of the use of Igbo in official written communication is actually going on in government circles and public life in the Igbo-speaking states in Nigeria, to reinforce the efforts of the "Suwakwa Igbo" group and Suwakwa Igbo as a cultural ideology? Where are the Igbo-language newspapers sponsored by the governments of these states? Suwakwa Igbo would have no meaning if it merely stops at the level of speaking the language. "Suwakwa" needs to be viewed, not just as an act of speaking (within oral communication) but as "speaking" through writing (i.e. within written communication). If the governments in these Igbo-speaking states are indeed serious Suwakwa Igbo governments, they ought to demonstrate this ideology by making Igbo a worthy language of their formal, written, administrative communications. 

It is one thing to speak passionately about saving a dying language; it is another thing to give life to such a language through permitting its use in those areas of official communication where it has to register its presence and create its future. 

Writing for an Addresser Who Re-Schools You: The Drama and Signifying Practices of Letter Writing in an African Village

by

Obododimma Oha

The ability to write letters was, for the old folk in the African village, a true mark of literacy. As an indication of literacy which was considered a possession of white man's magic of civilization, letter writing, in the perspective of the local people, presented a mystery because someone's voice is captured in scribbles on paper and sent to someone else far away, and that someone addressed is able to decode the message and indeed recover the emotions packed into the message. That was a mystery. If those elderly people of those days were to witness the use of modern forms of correspondence like SMS, email, mobile telephony, and video chat, they would have simply concluded that the white man is a either a god or a powerful wizard. 

I once enjoyed the honor of being a 'professional" letter writer in our village. The non-literate in the village once in a while needed to 'talk" to their relatives in distant lands and I was invested with the honor of establishing that contact, as someone who knew the art facilitating that conversation, having been certified by the elementary school I attended that I had mastered the ways of "converting" the Igbo message of my clients into appropriate English. Indeed, the prestige seemed to lie in the idea that I had made my non-literate clients speak English to their relatives who were faraway. That was no mean feat! I would sit and listen and then try to capture the voice of the speaker in a way that would make it possible for the receiver of the letter to recognize and recover the presence of the addresser. 

There I was, a major actor in a drama of literacy. Indeed, in each context of letter writing, which I configure as a dramatic performance, I was merely a proxy protagonist: the real protagonist was the person speaking through my letter, the person who hired me. My clients were the owners of the scripts as well as the directors who made sure I performed my proxy role according to expectation. In an interesting way, too, I was the audience of my client that dictated his or her message in Igbo, the local language, again playing proxy for the addressee of the letter. Two types of proxy role converge here: proxy-sender and proxy-receiver, and they made enormous stylistic demands on me! Sometimes, I had to omit some parts of the narrative for my own convenience; sometimes I and to add some bits of information that I considered tolerable. In a word, I had to try to enter the minds of my clients to be able to write what I felt they wanted to say. Wasn't that a risk? 

How could I forget the unique style and grammar of that special local performance of the White man's language? Those words added color to the content of those letters. One found "missive" more authoritative than "message" or "letter" and so had to use it. 

The Opening always opened doors for the letter writer as an experienced hand. In spite of what my teachers had taught me about the need to "go straight to the point" and much later dwell on other matters such as little talks about the recipient, the villagers -- both the literate and non-literate -- believed that the how-do-you-do's come first. One must ask about the health of the recipient first, as a demonstration of goodwill or being a well-wisher, about the family, about employment, about this and about that, before dwelling on the main purpose of the letter. This used to put me in a fix: I didn't know whether to go with my English teacher's theories and principles of letter writing, or the templates that the villagers had in their heads. 

I was expected, at every letter writing encounter, to take care of this aspect of Opening before asking what the addresser wanted me to put down as his or her message. Very often, it went thus: "How do you do? How about you? How about the present condition of your health which is very important to me. I hope you are swimming in the ocean of happiness as we are here today. If so, thank God." Even if the non-literate persons could not read English, they at least could see with their eyes and know whether I had performed the initial regular ritual in the letter. There was no way I could deceive them, assuming I wanted to follow what my English teacher had taught me about going straight to the point. Also, I would end up making the situation complicated -- possibly raise doubts about my competence in letter writing -- if I had tried to lecture them about why going straight to the point, according to my teacher, was a better way to write letters. They could have just started scratching their eyelids, giving me one of those strange smiles one found on their faces whenever they were incredulous or had doubts about the acceptability of one's statement. The village people knew how to say things with the look on their faces! 

It must have been established in their heads long ago when they had the highly trusted first generation of village letter writers who, armed with Standard Six certificates, knew the White man's language and "proper" ways of doing things. Those of us who came much later when adugbolija had also entered post-colonial Nigerian schooling had some difficulty proving that we knew our kernel. For the villagers, Standard Six was the measure of learning. And so they sometimes sang satirically:

Pasin'  Six 
Amaghi ede leta
Na ebiisi ka ya mma 
O hooo!

Roughly translated, this means:

A holder of Standard Six certificate 
Who knows not how to write letter
Someone in the kindergarten is better than s/he
O hooo!

And so, one always remembered how this satirical song could apply to one, and therefore just comply with the conventional model of letter writing in the village. No professional village letter writer wanted to be told indirectly that a KG child was more experienced in that art of writing. 

For the locals, those opening inquiries are not a casual howdy which a linguist would explain as not being a question requiring information about the addressee's welfare but a way of servicing relationship, of showing concern. For the locals, the howdy goes deeper than a mere ritual that services tenor. So, the recipient of the letter in replying has to take time to respond to such an inquiry. In fact, it is also part of the main purpose of writing the letter, so to say. The village letter writer thus has to respond to inquiries made about every Okeke and Okafo, as well as inquiries about the New Yam festival, the age grade, the ezinuulo, and other things the original addresser had asked about in demonstration of the spirit of community. 

Indeed, there is some sense in wanting to ask after an addressee's welfare before presenting the main issue of the informal letter. In one respect, the context of indigenous Igbo culture privileges identifying with the other over the propensity for minding one's business. One who therefore writes to the other acquaintance or relative and just plunges into the main issue might be viewed as preferring to be distant. If it is a request that the person wants to make, such a request might be given a negative or casual response. This is particularly so in the case of a tenor that makes it necessary for the recipient to be searching the language and structure of the letter for evidence of the performance of affection and intimacy. In this regard, what comes first matters to the addressee. Is it the symbolic presentation of affection that comes first (to prepare the mind of the addressee) or the "selfish" requesting of a favor?

On the other hand, presenting inquiries about the addressee's personal life, which are outside the main purpose of writing the letter, delays or even "buries" that main purpose. It could therefore be a risky distraction that might affect the measure of attention given to the expressed purpose. Buried things take some effort to dig up, and might not be properly or fully dug up! Now, that my English teacher's theory of writing, which my clients in the village only find funny, for they believe that an addressee that cares for an addresser and relationship with the addresser has to "dig" into the letter with utmost commitment. Only an ofooegeri whose mind is elsewhere would receive a letter from a relative and not read every word as if it were a precious message from his or her chi. Which is why the hired letter writer must know the craft and show it in the run of his or her pen, they reasoned.

The problem however lay in the generalization of this pattern, even to the point of using it in official letters, as well as thinking that it was the only "appropriate" way to begin all informal letters. 

One must not, of course, forget another important source of education which the Onitsha Market pamphleteering represented on such matters as "how to write powerful letters," "how to talk to girls and win their love," "how to make money in business," etc. Those how-to pamphlets provided what many of their readers thought were the right models of writing.The model letters, whether in an Onitsha Market pamphlet or a secondary school English text such as that of the popular S.M.O. Aka, even consolidated the wrong assumption that they were the formulae to good letter writing. One only needed to copy a pattern in one Onitsha Market letter writing pamphlet while writing to one's girlfriend, in the sure hope that it would turn her head and make her fall madly in love with the letter writer. So, one did not forget to sprinkle such "magical" expressions as "You are the apple of my eye," "You are the sugar in my tea," etc in the love letter. 

But why shouldn't the art of letter writing be sensitive to cultural preferences and expectations? Who says that societies that were assumed not to have developed traditions of writing cannot inject into received written communicative forms their own concerns about what makes communication much-more fulfilling? The village folks, whether educated and half-educated on Western ideas, can localize the Western forms of communication brought back by those they sent out there to be their eyes and ears. 

Being a "professional" letter writer in a remote African village is not just something one can easily dismiss as one of those strange things associated with strange places. It did serve as a training (and even re-training) for many locals on how to manage information and also manage an employer whose voice one must speak. I cannot see much difference between being a letter writer to a non-literate or semi-literate villager, with some little ego mmiri oyi as compensation afterwards, and the "big job" of a Personal Assistant or Speech Writer to a big man in government in Nigeria. The Personal Assistant takes dictations or originates what he or she thinks is the Master's Voice. The big man in government also re-schools the PA, "helps" the PA to see the world and ways of addressing issues in the world differently. School is theory; the job is practice. Yes, the "job." The job re-schools and changes us. We write the job. Our creativity and radicalism can wait.