ADIEU, KUNLE APANTAKU

Adieu Kunle Apantaku

By O Bolaji

“Upon our son Larry James Olukunle Apantaku falls the hierarchy!” . This phrase will always haunt me to my grave; penned by Kunle Apantaku in his debut novel when he was a kid; the erstwhile Lagos-based lawyer and writer who has just died. Kunle was only 15 – 16 when he churned out his first remarkable novel – which alas was never published.

Kunle, a very close childhood friend of mine, was a born writer, a man with remarkable imaginative skills, nous and savvy. He should have gone on to become one of the greatest writers Nigeria and Africa has ever produced. Nigeria of course continues to lead the continent in this wise having produced the likes of Chinua Achebe, Wole Soyinka, Chukwuemeka Ike,John Munonye, Ola Rotimi, Ben Okri, Helon Habila, Chimama Ngozi,  Adochie, Sefi Ata among others.

What made Kunle a special case was that his extraordinary love for writing was complemented with rare skill in this wise from a very young age. Looking back on it now, the problem, apart from our naivety as regards publication as youngsters, was that we started too young. Kunle in fact was already light years ahead of his time by 18, having written two or three superb novels which SHOULD have been published and celebrated.

Now, this is not looking back at the past with rose-tinted spectacles. Kunle was the real deal; it is just that he never received a lucky break, the fillip that all writers need to get off the ground as it were. Kunle’s greatest moment came when at the age of 17,(we were both 17 years old then)  he and I had our manuscripts accepted for publication by Fagbamigbe Publishers, based in Ibadan, a major national and international publisher at the time.

Fagbamigbe Publishers was then printing and publishing fine quality fiction written by superb wordsmiths like Loius Omotayo Johnson, Kole Omotosho and Sola Oloyede among others, It was a heady feeling having our books accepted for publication!

As I wrote in one of my published books, My life and Literature (2007):

“It was probably the greatest day of our lives when Kunle and I met the editor of Fagbamigbe (Publishers) a few months later and he told us, “We are going to publish both your novels. You boys have done well.” To augment our joy, the then manager chipped in: “I read your manuscripts too. You (Kunle) will be a great writer. You (Bolaji) are too economical in your writing, but your ideas, and pace, are gripping.” Imagine our glee!

“But alas, two years passed and the manuscripts were not published (We were told they were being printed in England). We continually received assurances along the way but on my part, the doubts were surfacing. Then the publisher (owner of the firm) died (was brutally killed) and the publishing firm folded!...The effect in particular, on Kunle was devastating…”

(Pages 16 – 17, My Life and Literature)

Kunle and I went on to finish our tertiary studies at the time (at Obafemi Awolowo University). Essentially starry-eyed then, Kunle had always said to me with his lilting, humorous accent: “I am just getting this degree for the fun of it. I don’t give a damn about it. All I want to do is become a professional writer, living on the royalties from my published books,”

I had flinched even at that time; realizing only too well that this was unlikely to happen in real-life; but Kunle was an optimist – until he could no longer take the early frustrations that form the unsavoury warp and weft of a burgeoning writer. Yet Kunle had a zany zest for life, for music (he was incredibly crazy over Michael Jackson at the time; whilst I loved ABBA music in particular then). And although I loved Michael, too Kunle would often turn on me with his histrionic, mock-anger:

“Ki lo’n se e? (What is wrong with you?) Michael (Jackson) is the way to go…This is a boy who is worshipped around the world…(as if I didn’t know)” Thereafter Kunle would reel out extraordinary, updated information on the whole Jackson family including their parents, the sisters (LaToya, Janet) to all the male children. Kunle, for some reason was very fond of Randy (Michael’s younger brother) then.

Kunle also loved his original nuclear family. Even before I met them he would talk about his baby brother, Biodun (Sir Ted) “the most handsome boy in the world; the girls are in trouble!” and the baby girl, Yetunde “so beautiful it practically hurts”. And then during one holidays I travelled with him far far away to Kano (northern Nigeria) where their family was based then. And I met them all; magnificent, magnanimous family. I also met Kunle’s other younger brother, Lanre (now based in London), practical, zany, humorous, much wiser than his years…

But back to literature. There can be no doubt about it that if Kunle’s initial manuscript had been published by Fagbamigbe when he was a teenager he would have gone on to become one of the continent’s outstanding writers. That early break is very important, liminal, like an epiphany. A case in point is Ben Okri. Very early in his career he was frustrated by Nigerian publishers, but after moving overseas he published Flowers and Shadows at around 21 years of age…and look at him now! One of the world’s best.

In this wise, consider other great African writers who got published very young, and continued to grow by leaps and bounds. Like Ghana’s Ama Ata Aidoo. Like Congo’s Kama Sywor Kamanda. Like Zimbabwe’s legendary Tsitsi Dangarembga (world famous for Nervous Conditions, but had a play published whilst in her early 20’s)

But it was not to be for Kunle. He found himself descending downhill whilst still very young.  As I have said, he seemed to peak too early, even before 20; or rather, the frustration at the time was too much for him to bear which engendered transcendent bitterness, confusion, doubt, and patent disenchantment about the unfairness of life generally. Nor did it help that Kunle destroyed his early manuscripts decades ago in a fit of pique.

Kunle, much later on in life would derive some vicarious satisfaction that on my own part (a literary talent much lesser than his) I would go on to make my mark as a writer of some note. But if we are honest and blunt, what type of satisfaction is that when his own palpable life ambition to become a successful writer was truncated in devastating fashion?  It was also of little consolation to Kunle that though I have published some 30 books myself till date, I still consider myself largely as a failure.

Rest in peace, great friend…