'Transferential displacement' in Bolaji's Far up! Far out! Far more!.

By Tiisetso M Thiba 

I have been reading Bolaji's new work, Far up! Far out! Far more (2014) and whilst wading through the over 25 short essays or stories in the book, I have been struck by the way the author seemingly comes across as somewhat displaced in some of the narratives.     

This is hardly surprising. After essentially living in South Africa for so many years where he published many books and remains a literary catalyst, the reader should expect jarring notes in many of the chapters; after the author returned to live in his native Nigeria for many months.

There are suggestions of some sort of displacement, or "Transferential displacement" as psychologists might dub it, in this new work. There are glimpses of this throughout, including the early passages of the Chapter, What is this?:       

…It did seem as if the Okada (Bike) personnel had taken over the town, considering their preponderance here. The way they flitted around hither and thither was mind-boggling.

“Oga, where you dey go?” they were asking with nigh-omniscient confidence. It was as if they were bullying people to board them as it were.

I smiled ruefully in front of the Medical Centre, or Clinic. I had escorted a friend here who needed a Medical Certificate; I sauntered around savouring the ambience outside; and ruminating to boot.

My mind had indeed wandered as two women came from the passage leading into the Clinic; they greeted me.

“Dumelang,” I said absent-mindedly, suddenly stiffening with embarrassment! I was thousands of kilometres away from South Africa now, and right here nobody knew what “dumela” – a common greeting in South Africa – meant! The two women stared at me as if I was crazy; quickly I re-adjusted and greeted them appropriately. “E pele Ma…e ku ise Ma.”…

But it is in the story or chapter titled The tantalising meal that the concept can be seen in full; in a sort of microcosm. The "story" warrants a rather extensive reproduction, as the tentative reader might even be a bit confused (though the narrative is simple enough):     

…The magnificent, long-familiar smell of the fried chicken wafted towards me. I was almost shaking with excitement.

Ah, pap and chicken again! The gentleman in charge of this eatery beamed at me. 

“Ntate!” he said. “I have not seen you for ages…”

His lady-helper, the one who usually served us smiled too. “It’s true Moholo,” she said. “Almost every day for years you always bought our food here: pap and the two fried chickens! You just disappeared!”

I smiled, but said nothing. I could only think of eating my plate. I watched impatiently as she expertly dished out the pap and chicken. “I will add another small one (making it 3 pieces of chicken!) as you have not been here for so long…” she said.

“Ke a leboha,” I said, really appreciating the gesture. She added: “Your favourite sitting place at the corner awaits you…enjoy the dijo (food)!”

I knew I would. I sat down trying my best not to jump onto the food like a caveman. The smell was already turning me rather crazy. I was gonna use my hands to eat the food!

But what was going on? Things were going hazy and crazy. Ki lode? I could not eat the food, despite my best efforts! Where was the food in front of me anyway? What was going on?

So near but yet so far. With a last desperate, hopeless lunge I tried to grab the food; but failed. And the disappearing food suddenly turned into a waiter beside me…

It was a waiter! Dressed to boot too. He said: “Sir, you have been sleeping and perhaps dreaming…while I went to get the food you ordered. I noticed when you got here you looked rather sick sir. But here is your food…”

He put a tray down on the table which had two plates on it. I felt betrayed. “I can’t smell the fried chicken” I said. “Where’s the pap…mealie meal?”

He stared at me as if I were crazy. “What are you talking about sir. What’s pap?…you ordered rice and ogunfe meat, which I have supplied now…”

I tried to snap fully back to reality. This was not South Africa, but west Africa, where few people knew about pap… Indeed I had been dreaming earlier. I smiled at the kindly waiter, but I could see he was still worried.

“You don’t look so good sir… I hope you’ll be able to eat the food a bit…”
I grinned at him and said: “Rest assured that no matter what, I always have a healthy appetite.”

“But what’s pap, mealie meal?” he queried again.

“Don’t you worry about that,” I said firmly. “As you saw I was dozing then and rambling. Now let me enjoy this fine food you have brought. Thanks…”…

Such vignettes reflect the author's pedigree, rooted in both South Africa and west Africa. These conflicting emotions and ideas even affect his own physical appearance, as we see from the early part of another chapter titled, On Mendicants:       

…I made my way stealthily across the muddied ante-road. Hours ago it had veritably rained cats and dogs! Now the deluge had abated and people were going about with elan.

Alas the poor, the beggars specifically are always with us. And I saw two of them now, horribly deformed, squatting begging for alms.

"Oga, rankadede. Take pity on us," one of them said; then he added: "Yellow man, please give us something."

The other one joined in: "Oga Yellow, give us somethin' to chop..."

I grunted. It can be strange how disparate things are construed in different climes. This reminded me of my days of youth when I was taunted at school for my alleged "yellow" (light) complexion. Yet when I stayed in South Africa most people regarded me as quite dark! …

African literary history has shown us that creative writers will always produce the goods, wherever they are - Es'kia Mphahlele is a good example, whose experiences around Africa produced works like Chirundu, and The Wanderers. With this new work, Mr Bolaji shows that wherever he is located, irrespective of suggestions of
"displacement", his creative juices remain fecund.

* Mr Tiisetso Thiba is a South African poet, literary commentator and activist