My inclination not to make any comment on “A Photographer’s Odyssey” is predicated on the foreknowledge that the book would be nothing short of a truthful and robust rendition of what Lagos was in its previous glory and the ruin which we have collectively inflicted upon ourselves. Alas, “veritas odium parit” (truth breeds hatred). Hence, my acute concern for both Gillian Hopwood (alias Godwin!) and her fellow conspirator, John Godwin.
Besides, I would have preferred to preserve my grandmother’s version of the history and antecedents of Lagos – as a small island and exclusive domain of deserving men and women of virtue, compassion, uprightness, and generosity of spirit whom the Almighty himself has handpicked for labour in his vineyard with enduring serenity and tranquillity as their reward.
Besides, the joint authors – one is the raconteur/historian while the other is a practitioner of the dark art of photography – are both literally endowed with photographic memory. The product of their joint enterprise provides resounding and profound confirmation that a picture is the binary equivalent of a thousand words.
However, there is an unresolved contradiction with which their long sojourn of over sixty years in Lagos (and Nigeria) challenges us. They provide us with irrefutable evidence that the Greek philosopher was right – “You do not need to become like Athenians in order to live among them.” This was offered as a direct counterpoise to the self-serving and indulgent cop out: “If you are in Rome, do as the Romans do.”
What shines through both in “Sandbank City” (their first book) and this one are the redoubtable charm, unassailable integrity, and keen sense of history which have provided the anvil and anchor sheet between the unrepentant conspirators. They have delivered nothing but the truth in all its majesty and glory. Even the ugly side of Lagos is somewhat redeemed by the austere revelation of the beauty it has supplanted.
With consummate skill and deftness of language, the authors deploy a vast arsenal of stunning anecdotes, authentic professional judgments and irrefutable evidence just to prod us into recognizing the scale of the brutality and savagery with which we plundered our heritage and compromised our history. The consequences of desecration stare us in the face – a distorted legacy!
Left to our own devices, we would have remained unrelenting in our mendacity and recklessness. Thanks to the providential intervention of the authors at various times, they were able to salvage some of our priceless inheritance that had already been ravaged by neglect and decay. Indeed, some were marked for demolition and were merely awaiting the executioner’s axe and bulldozer.
The book serves as the sworn affidavit of the two witnesses-in-chief supported with facts and figures together with damning photographs leaving auditors and chartered accountants in awe! Here, we are not concerned with stolen cash or missing stocks which can (nearly) always be replaced. The damage done to our collective history and social tapestry is irreversible and irredeemable.
Although the authors proclaim their outstanding credentials as architects, the strategy they have borrowed belongs to the master class of the savviest lawyers who are totally ruthless in amassing evidence piled upon facts regarding both the timing and venue of our crime scenes. The pillaging had neither limit nor boundary. Virtually every part of Lagos regardless of which side of the Carter Bridge, The Five Cowrie Bridge, or any other bridge suffered the same fate. The question that is yet to be answered is how we (whether military or civilian) managed to get away with such brigandage. A case in point which will forever rankle is the greenery of the Race Course in the centre of Lagos which was surreptitiously commandeered by the soldiers and brazenly declared a parade ground for jackboots pounding on a jungle of concrete slabs – as homage to false hopes, betrayal and treachery.
Perhaps we should pause in order to establish the nexus between the legendary author Chinua Achebe who lamented and anguished over “The Trouble with Nigeria” and capitulated into despair when he delivered judgement in “There was a Country” and the joint authors of “A Photographer’s Odyssey”. Had they been so inclined, the authors of this great book could have opted to rebrand the title either as “The Trouble with Lagos” or “There was a City” – dedicated to perfidy, treachery and betrayal.
On the contrary, they have chosen the delicate path of elegant and understated criticism sufficiently mild and poignant – but just enough to prick our conscience, or whatever of it is left. Had they opted for the overkill (or Kung-Fu) in order to provoke us, they had ample opportunity and temptation to include photographs of the underclass in our society either bathing nude in broad daylight in open spaces or urinating in gutters as well as the main street/expressway. Even more nauseating are those who defecate openly under bridges.
We must remain thankful for the restraint Hopwood and Godwin have demonstrated by confining themselves to laying bare the facts and the compelling images of the forlorn, desperate and oppressed victims of the wilful damage and orgy of vandalism not just to buildings and landmarks but the rocket attack on the social tapestry which has been totally shredded.
My grandmother was incorrigible in the robustness of her faith and her firm declaration that Lagos was a special enclave. She would not even contemplate or admit that Barbarians were already at the gate! What sacrilege!!
The joint authors have not sought to extract from us an apology or admission of guilt. In any case, our excuses are profanely incoherent. We deserve nothing but scorn and ridicule when like the “Blade Runner” Oscar Pistoris we claim that we destroyed our “most beloved” by accidental discharge of weapons of destruction and not by jealous rage regarding the superlative achievements of our ancestors who bequeathed to us a priceless jewel – the True Face of Lagos, resplendent and majestic with kindness; mutual respect; religious tolerance; selfless public service; genuine philanthropy; hygiene and humility as the most enduring virtues.
In Lagos (and indeed the rest of Nigeria) life is cheap. Hence, why should we join the authors in agonizing and lamenting over “Paradise Lost” – mere buildings? It is the recklessness and savagery of the scale of destruction that rankles. However, logic should compel us to admit that where life is cheap, heritage is disposable and dispensable. What is haunting the city of Lagos is the cruelty of those who were entrusted with our heritage but chose to gamble it away through nonchalance, lethargy or corruption. This is emotional cruelty at its most vile.
The authors have made it clear that they have no intention of stirring up controversy about who was guilty. Rather they have shared with us the bare facts and the stark realities reinforced by the still photographs as evidence of a city in a shambles. Clearly, they know a great deal more than what they have revealed in their book. Were we to challenge them or threaten them with obstruction of justice for concealing vital information, they have a cast-iron defence: it is we ourselves who deliberately set out to destroy all that is bright and beautiful. All those credentials and antecedents which would have guaranteed our linkage with the rest of civilization were systematically scissored leaving our umbilical cord hanging.
Well done, Gillian Hopwood and John Godwin. You deserve all the kudos for the masterpiece over which you have laboured and delivered successfully. I remain steadfast to my promise – I have no comments whatever! Silence is indeed golden except when it is the silence of the grave.
J.K Randle
