I spotted it from across the room. An African mask, chalk-white, elongated face, hanging on a wall at one of my favorite auction houses on Sunday.
I had seen several like it the day before, about eight of them, on the set of a raucous, loud, energized preview performance of the music of Nigerian artist Fela Anikulapo Kuti at a Broadway play bearing the single name of Fela! (Check out the video at that site). The set was a reproduction of the musician’s Shrine nightclub in Lagos, Nigeria, the walls extended out into the audience and decorated with drawings, baskets and masks. Putting us in the middle of the party. The wall of white-faced masks was not far from where I sat with friends.
As I looked closer at the mask at auction Sunday, I saw that some of the white chalk had rubbed off, almost down to the wood. The black paint denoting hair around the edge was still intact, as were as the brows. The eyes were slits. This mask looked more like a monkey mask. I bought it, though, because it appealed to me.
The ones on the set at the Fela musical Saturday were Igbo maiden spirit masks, in the shapes of women’s faces and heads, some with defined hairstyles. The white chalk represented the color of the spirit, and the masks themselves symbolized beauty and peacefulness. In the Igbo cultures of Nigeria, they are worn by elaborately costumed men in ritualized dances to female ancestors.
On Satuday, in one especially powerful scene in the musical, the actor Fela (played by Kevin Mambo) marked his face with chalk – white circles around his eyes and mouth, lines crossing his face. He donned the markings for a surreal visit to the spirit world to talk to his mother (Mom, played by Lillias White, can sing!).
I came across Fela’s music some years before he died in 1997. I recall reading a review of one of his concerts in my weekly newsmagazine (I believe it was a review or story in Newsweek). When I read that he was a protest singer, I knew I wanted to hear his music and his lyrics (he wrote in a pidgin language so all Nigerians could understand his words). So I went out and bought one of his albums – an old copy of “Shuffering and Shmiling” from 1985. I hadn’t heard it in years before seeing the play. And hearing it once again reminded me of why I bought the album. Like the musical, it makes you want to move.
Fela’s Afrobeat rhythms were on full-blast-high Saturday, and the actor Fela owned the stage, infusing it with the personality of the man who was hated by the Nigerian government. The actor protested in song (“Zombie,” one of Fela’s most popular, which attacks Nigerian soldiers) and in monologues (including a long scene to show how far the government would go to flush out evidence against him). You can watch and listen to one of Fela’s actual concerts.
The lyrics were beautiful, the singing was superb and the dancers could really shake a tail-feather.
In his life and the musical, Fela railed against the Nigerian government, and was beaten and jailed numerous times because of his stances. His Shrine nightclub was part of an independent commune he set up in Lagos in defiance of what he considered a corrupt government. The incident that had the most effect on him there was the 1977 death of his mother at the hands of soldiers.
If you’re in the New York area and want to party, stop by Fela! It opens Nov. 23 at the Eugene O’Neill Theater, 230 W. 49th St.
Side note: This has nothing to do with the Fela concert, but is about the Igbo peoples. Legend says that when a slave ship landed off the coast of St. Simon’s Island, GA, the Africans on board, all Igbos – embarked, still in chains – made a decision. Rather than live as slaves, they walked back into the ocean together and drowned. Now, the place – called Ebo (or Ibo) Landing – is supposedly haunted, and spirits are said to still roam.
St. Simon’s is one of my most favorite islands. My family spent Christmas there some years ago, and I located the site of the legend. Didn’t go alone, took my niece with me. What we found was a quiet serene place overlooking the Atlantic. Maybe the spirits are at peace.
