Everything in my new boarding school made me want to cry and let me tell you, unless something is killing you in Nigeria, you’d better not let one solitary tear drop out. For Dazzling, I had to evoke much of the feeling of what we used to call ‘chesting’ things – bearing things, not crying, you know, the stone in the throat, the ache in your stomach, the tightness behind your eyes. I am no longer the same person that nine-year-old me used to be, but I had to go back into that mindset. The new smells, the new dialect, a place where my softness was an affront to many, the striving to prove yourself in academics and sports and not miss your mummy even though you were in a new place with a totally new routine where everything seemed to want to extinguish both your spark and your life.
And then there was the sex, oh lord. The school in which Dazzling is set used to exist, although it has since closed down. Being in boarding school there, in close proximity with teenage boys and teenage girls, their hormone-addled brains and voracious appetites, the fact that neither were allowed to mix was a joke. Of course people found a way to do so, under the cover of darkness, sneaking out to parties in the state capital Owerri, slow-dancing in the dark during social nights. It was all too much for preteen me. It was a tug of war between being older than I was perceived to be, acting more mature but being a child deep inside. I wanted to capture that dichotomy in Dazzling. Music played a big part in the production of this book (in fact a Spotify playlist exists to this effect), because in boarding school I was introduced to what was ‘popular’ on radios in another state via transistors that the seniors brought out of their lockers on Saturdays, as opposed to British pop which my mother adored like Kajagoogoo, Bananarama and Fun Boy Three, or, the American pop, rock and blues my father played on our turntable at home: Blondie, Stevie Wonder, Lionel Ritchie, Cool and the Gang and of course, the King himself, Micheal Jackson. I’m just going to move on quickly, now. My boarding school trauma is showing.
- Love, Oh Love – Lionel Ritchie
Lionel Ritchie was already a staple at ours but I had never heard this song. There I was, one Saturday having finished the cross-country run, had a bath, eaten my breakfast and having not made any friends, was just wandering around a little lost when this song came on the radio. I recognised his voice and bawled my eyes out, homesick. The punishment I served, oy! Brutal. Song still gives me a funny feeling in my stomach.
2. Make It Easy on Me – Sybil: Owing perhaps to its popular drumbeat, Sybil was hyped on the radios in Nigeria. I no musician so I can’t describe the drumbeat in terms that anyone would understand, but Sybil was the epitome of teenhood. She spoke of feelings in a sweet, acceptable way that could be played on daytime radio. Heartbreak, but pride at the same time, the way that Igbo girls are taught to be with boys. All the seniors used her words to articulate complex emotions that changed monthly. I should know. I delivered love notes.
3. Keep on Movin’ – Soul II Soul & Caron Wheeler: A jam. And they gave us the ‘Soul II Soul’ hairstyle; medium-thick braids down to your bum. Only big girls could wear this much-coveted hairstyle in our school, and only during the holidays. There is a deleted scene in earlier drafts of Dazzling in which the female students have a joint social night with the boys (which descends into chaos when the leopard makes an appearance) and I know they would have been dancing to this. The British group did have an even bigger hit with ‘Back To Life’ and you could move from one track to another without changing your dance style. Bonus!
4. African Style – Bright Chimezie and his Zzigima Movement: I had to feature this song in Dazzling because I could never understand why my parents and their friends found it funny. In fact, I made Treasure say as much in the book. I can explain it now – it deals with cultural differences and misconceptions in dining etiquette between an African man and a white man – but it is such a dad joke that I don’t want to. Please don’t make me.
5. I Wanna Sex You Up – Colour Me Badd: Titter, titter. No explanation necessary. Look, Nigeria is a conservative country. We are collectively repressed due to the aftereffects of religion and colonialism. We are also the most populous country in Africa. The math ain’t mathing, as they say.
6. Worker Man – Patra: Sitting here right now playing this particular song and my kid has just asked ‘Is this another language?’ which in a nutshell is what this song epitomises, a sort of foreign familiarity. Patra looked like us; she was black, wore braids and was stunning, but then there were the batty riders and motorcycles and the patois we did not understand. She was on the other side, a proper big girl with her unabashed sensuality and that contrasting gruff voice. I chose this song to show what it must have felt like to Ozoemena to be in school people spoke the same language as she did but in a dialect she could barely comprehend. Jamaican dancehall was a different beast to the reggae led by Bob Marley, that characterised our upbringing, although they had the same country of origin. Ozoemena had to learn to navigate a whole new way of being, to be grounded in what she knew even as she tried to work out the new things.
7. Housecall (Your Body Can’t Lie To Me) – Shabba Ranks & Maxi Priest: I’m sensing a theme here. This was the number one grinding song. I can even still do the dance, which I ahem! totally learned against my will. I would like to apologise to my parents but what did they expect when they sent me to boarding school so far away, hmm?
8. Bam Bam – Chaka Demus & Pliers: There’s the beat I was talking about. Can someone write me and tell me what it is? This was one of the songs which everyone from evangelicals to football fans rearranged with appropriate lyrics so that they could sing it because we still don’t know what a ‘Bam Bam’ is. The version I remember features football stars Daniel Amokachi and Rashidi Yekini. ‘WhataBamBam’? Damned if I know.
9. Here Comes The Hotstepper – Ini Kamoze: I’m going to tell you a secret. I walk to this song and often. If I feel great, and I am dressed well, when I get paid and my meds are working, it’s Ini Kamozee and Hotstepper all the way. It’s the perfect song to walk to. The truth is in the name and the video features Kamozee walking to the beat. It is also the song you walk to when all eyes are trained on your, seniors hoping to see you mess up and boys catcalling you, trying to get your attention. Students with the best walks became known as ‘Hot Steppers’. I never had the honour.
10. White on White – Danny Williams: This was the signpost song for the end of the Saturday afternoon shift. I cannot remember the DJs name, but without fail, we knew when his shift was over because this would play over the radio. I learnt to love this, because usually at that point, the painfully alone feeling would have vanished as the school compound filled with people coming to visit their offspring and wards, and I kept a lookout for my mother or father’s vehicles. A good one to end this list on I think.