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After its first year in operation the unique company know as RKBmovies has changed names to RKBmedia.com. This on-line distributor offers Urban Fiction Books and Nollywood Movies. Owners Rich & Kelly felt the specific “Movies” notation of the original name detracted from the many books they also offered. “Keeping the feel of the original name” we decided to change movies to “Media” states “Kelly” of RKB. Co-owner Rich decided along with the name change they should launch a new website as well. RKBmedia seems to be heading full steam ahead in their continued promise to support and promote self published book authors and independent movie producers!

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(From Esquire Magazine)
My Big Nollywood Break, Busted

After bit parts in a few Nollywood movies, our narrator makes the big time — a Nigerian soap opera. But alas, things don’t go as planned.

By Will Connors
the logo of m-net a south african cable network

Originally called the Electronic Media Network, the South African-based TV network reaches millions of African households with a wide-variety of TV programming

“Hello? Is this Williams?” The voice on the line is too loud and I have to hold the phone away from my ear.

“This is Will, yes. Who is this?”

“Hello, Williams! This is Rogers!”

“Okay.”

“I work for M-Net, the TV network. You’re a white guy, right?”

“Well, yes. Yes, I am.”

“Great! We need you to be in our new TV soap. When can we meet?”

I meet Rogers the next day in one of the popular fast food chains in Nigeria, Chicken Republic. Its prices are out of reach for most Lagosians, but that’s not the real indicator that it’s an upscale establishment. The air-conditioning whirring on full-blast is what sets it apart from most other local eateries.

A few minutes after I arrive Rogers bursts in and hugs me, excitable from the get-go. We chat for a few minutes about the show, then he takes out a video camera and films me talking for a few minutes. He says that I’m perfect (read: pasty), and that I should show up the next morning for the shoot, which will take place at LTV Studios, a reputable company that hosts local TV stations and international shows and movies. This is it! My big break.
Bimbo’s Paradox

A Nollywood dandy on a break in shooting.

TV soaps were wildly popular in Nigeria in the 1980s, before the onslaught from home videos. But some think that in recent years the home video market has been over saturated, and audiences are turning back toward soaps. I’m interested to see if this is true or not.

The next day I shave for the first time in a week and put on my one suit. I even take an expensive taxi with air-conditioning so I’m not sweating when I arrive. Rogers is at the studio compound to greet me, and I’m a nervous wreck. When he opens the doors to the studio building we enter a different world from the Nollywood I’d seen so far. There are production assistants, line producers, dressing rooms (separate ones for the stars), makeup artists and hairstylists. A full breakfast buffet is served, replete with Western-style and Nigerian dishes. There is a studio set with dozens of lights and furniture and props and an art department. People huddle in corners talking self-importantly into cell phones. The only similarity to my earlier experiences in Nollywood, in fact, is that actors still have to supply their own wardrobe.

I am introduced to a dozen people and then ushered into a chair to wait for makeup. But I’m too antsy; I need to explore. I wander toward the set unattended but am quickly caught by a strict yet courteous security guard. “Let me escort you back to the green room, sir,” he says with a hand on my elbow, and guides me away from the lights and the real actors.

In the waiting room is veteran actor Yemi Solade, who says he’s 48 but doesn’t look a day older than 35 (and this is without Botox, which hasn’t yet made it to Nigeria, as far as I know). Trained for the stage, Yemi now spends his time acting in soaps and movies to pay the bills. He is proud that his work and the work of others in the industry has helped shed a light on Nigeria for something other than violence, corruption, and scams. “We have opened up Nigeria and Africa to the world through our videos and TV shows,” Yemi says. “People see the movies and they say, ‘Oh, there are houses in Africa? They drive cars in Africa?’”

Nodding next to Yemi is another elder statesman of Nollywood, Bimbo Manuel (”Not that kind of Bimbo,” he assures me). “But the mass-produced home videos are not what Nigerian film should be judged by.” He is an aesthete, and is riled by the poor quality standards in the home videos that are produced and watched throughout the continent. “They are not a reflection of what we’re capable of. It’s a paradox, because they are what brought us attention, but that’s not all we have.”

An audience has gathered to listen to the two sages talk about their craft, but just as they’re hitting their stride an assistant knocks on the door and says they’re ready for our scene. For the first time I realize I still haven’t been given a script and have no idea what is going on. I track Rogers down and ask him for a script.

“Oh, don’t worry, you’re just an extra. You’ll just be standing in the background.”

There they go, all my expectations, right out the window. I spend the next four hours standing under bright lights with 20 other extras who must have all had dashed hopes for a starring role. We sip fake wine together at our tables while watching two actors do the same scene again and again.

The director, a serious-looking South African named Denny Miller, paces back and forth between the set and a control room. He has not looked in my direction the whole day. Toward the end of the shoot he leans over to his assistant and says, “We need two star-gazers for this scene. Who’s that guy?”

“The accountant,” she replies.

“The real accountant? The actual accountant is in my scene?”

“You said you wanted as many extras as possible.”

“Okay, fine. Let’s use him. Now we just need one more person and we can finish this thing.”
Plucked from Obscurity

They look around the room, from one cast member and extra to the next. My furrowed brow and sucked in “model cheeks” aren’t working. I try big doe eyes and eager smiles. Nothing. Luckily, they realize I’m the only extra who has not yet been featured in a scene. The assistant motions me over. “Excuse me, sir, can you come here please?”

Once they see me on camera they’ll want to cast me in a starring role for sure. The director looks at me nervously. “You will stand next to the accountant and eye this famous actress when she walks by. Can you do that?”

“Definitely! No problem.”

“You don’t say anything. Don’t do anything. Just stand in this exact spot and look at her when she passes.”

“Got it!”

He walks away and the assistant gets the shot ready. The accountant, standing next to me, looks as if he’s about to throw up. “Have you done this before?” he asks.

“Oh, thousands of times,” I lie, then pat his shoulder.

“Good. I haven’t. I just came into work this morning and they said they needed more bodies.”

“You’ll be fine. Just follow my lead.”

The crew adjusts the lights and the prop guys hand us our wineglasses. The makeup and lint-roller girls make their rounds and actually pay attention to me. I show them where I need a touch-up and a brush-off. I’m ready.

“Quiet on set… Tape rolling… 5-4-3…”

The actress playing a famous actress enters the shot and walks toward me and the accountant. I nudge him and suck in my gut. She stops in front of us and I begin to ogle her. I ogle her more strongly than anyone has ogled before as she says her lines. This goes on for a few takes, and the director does not come out and scold me, so I get a bit more confident. In the final shot, as the famous actress wraps up her speech, I can’t resist any longer. I raise my glass and wink at the camera.

During the lunch break I wander outside the studio building to look for Denny, the director. I find him standing at the end of the building smoking a cigarette, looking effortlessly cool in a gray V-neck sweater and jeans. All of the sudden I feel like a freshman in high school, looking for the senior to give me some attention. He doesn’t look up as I approach.

A view of Lagos as taken from the backseat of an okada, a Nigerian motorcycle taxi.

“So, that went pretty well, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Um, do you think there’s any potential for a recurring role for me?”

He looks up and squints at me. “No. You did a good job, but that’s it. Thanks.”

Stuck in traffic on my way home, I look up at the dozens of billboards lining the road. Advertisements for soap, cell phones, and beer, and none will ever feature my pale image. Awash in self-pity, I hardly notice as a man selling phone cards to traffic-slowed vehicles is struck by an okada [a motorcycle taxi, ubiquitous on the streets of Lagos] rushing by. The man is unhurt, but is incensed enough by the contact that he needs to pursue it. He finds an empty beer bottle on the side of the road, breaks it to form a weapon, and whistles for an okada of his own to chase after the first rider. I look at my taxi driver in surprise and he smiles. “No, he won’t kill him,” he says. “Just injure him badly. Maybe stab him in the neck or stomach.”

Later that night, as I’m nursing my bruised ego with wine and saltines, Rogers calls. “Hi, Williams,” he says. “The situation has changed.” He tells me that the Hungarian man they had planned on using for the recurring white man role in the soap has moved back to Hungary and they need someone to replace him. “Are you interested?”

Hi Everyone! Mercy Johnson is one of my favorite Nollywood actresses. I found this interview with her and thought I would share. You can see her in ACT OF FAITH, FOREST OF PROMISES, and Corporate Maid all available at RKBmedia.com

Mercy Johnson joined Nollywood not too long ago and like a meteorite, she shot up, even higher than those before her. But within the short period of time, she has recorded more scandals than those who were there before now. Could all the stuff they say about her be true? She gives ‘NONYE IWUAGWU the answers in this interview.

You seem the rave of the moment; you are virtually in every movie. What’s magic?

I am not in every movie o. But I am trying. I tell you, it is just hard work, and there is nothing more to it. I don’t know anybody; I am just on my own. It is only God that I have. It is awesome. I don’t even believe it myself. I can only say it is a favour from God.

So the long months of countless auditions have paid off now…

Yes o. I tell you, I attended countless auditions. I didn’t understand what was happening anymore. I woke up early in the morning and I was at the national theatre going through many auditions. That is why I tell you my success now is basically hard work. I was dedicated. I knew what I wanted and I had to go for it. I was all out for it.

When did the big break come?

I tell you, it came with the first movie I featured in. The Maid by Kenneth Nnebue, was a hit and I played the lead role.

So you never played any waka pass role…

I did not. You can check my profile.

When did you come into the industry?

I came in 2001. But I started acting professionally in 2002. I am now into it fully.

What made you take up acting?

I would say ‘who’ and not ‘what’. I wanted to be like somebody. I saw Genevieve Nnaji on screen when she acted Sharon Stone and I just wanted to be like her. It wasn’t as if I was so much in love with the acting profession. Genevieve was just like the motivating factor. I saw her and I was tripped.

Do you think you are like her now?

I am nowhere near her. I am still learning.

So you don’t even have any intention of leaving the industry since you are aiming to be like Genevieve…

I may move. I have other things on my mind now. I would want to go into some other things later. For now, I am still concentrating on my career. I have not gotten to the level I would want to be. I am being focused right now. I want to go higher than where I am now.

How high do you want to get?

Very high. It is not as if I want to be a Hollywood star. I don’t even want that. Nollywood is blooming and expanding. I want to be a part of that progression. I want to learn more in directing, acting and every other thing. I want to be here when we get to the zenith in the entertainment industry.

How many movies have you featured in since you joined?

They are not that many. I think I have done well over 25 or 30 movies.

These days, you don’t have to lobby movies…

In fact, they are even looking for me right now.

Everybody wants you to be in his or her movie, you must be feeling…

I am just like the girl next door. I come from a very humble background. I am an Igbira babe. I am very down to earth. Anytime I want to do something, I look back. I remember where I am coming from and I think twice. I wouldn’t have been where I am today if not because of where I came from. I thank God for everything. There is no change in me. I am still the same person I have always been. I lost my privacy but it’s fine.

You lost your privacy, yes. But you should be happy with the razzmatazz in your profession…

Not really. There are things I cannot do any more. But I see it as a sacrifice.

Will you swap Acting with any other profession?

I will not. Even for the whole luxury in China.

How much were you paid in the first movie you acted?

I did it for free. But when the movie came out, the producer called me and gave me N50, 000. According to him, I did so well. So I see it like a gift and not payment for a job.

How much do you pocket these days?

Come on! Why should I tell you? I will tell you later but not now please. But all I can tell you is that I am very comfortable.

How do you cope with the challenges of being an actress?

It is not easy o. People expect so much from you. They seem to forget that you are a human being. They see you as a superstar. But in any case, I just believe in being myself. I try not to embarrass my fans; at the same time, I try to live my life. Come on, this life is meant to be lived.

But what are those things you can no longer do because you are an actress?

I don’t think I should tell you.

Just tell me…

Hmmmm… It is so annoying. Well, I and my friends used to go somewhere in Shitta (Surulere) to eat amala. I can no longer do that. I can no longer eat boli (roasted plantain) on the road like I use to.

Is that all?

It is not all o. These days I have to go to Shoprite to buy things and I even have to be careful the way I walk. I cannot even go to Yaba anymore

So you used to go to Yaba (Okirika) market to shop?

Ha! Why are you doing this to me? I didn’t say I shop in Yaba.

I know. But at least you used to buy some things there.

I have told you. I buy things in the boutique. I don’t buy them at Yaba market.

How old are you?

I am a very young girl.

Can you give me a figure, please?

Do you know what I am scared of?

What?

If I tell you I am 22 right now, by the time I spend another ten years in the industry people will now know I am 32 and I don’t want that.

So you are 22 years old?

I didn’t say that o. Lets’ just say I am in my early twenties.

Since you are this ‘young’, marriage shouldn’t be on your list.

It is o! Ha! Are we friends at all?

But you claim you are ‘very young’…

I don’t know what to say again o. Okay, I am not yet 25 but just take it I am in my early twenties like I said before. It is not as if I am thinking about marriage right now. But it is an opportunity every woman would not want to give up or allow to pass her by. The earlier you begin to get serious with a particular relationship, the better for you.

So let’s just say I am ‘arranging’ myself now for marriage.

So you are in a relationship…

Oh yes. I am in a very serious relationship.

Will this relationship lead to marriage?

Oh! Have you not seen my engagement ring? It is white gold!

What if he tells you to quit acting?

He loves my job. Peradventure he tells me to quit, I will beg him and I will beg him and I will beg him. If he insists, I will quit but I will still be in the entertainment industry.

Is the guy in your industry?

Hell no!

Hell no? Were you not doing something with Nonso Diobi back then?

Ha! Nonso is my very good friend. I just finished speaking with him now. I don’t have any relationship with him. I even know his girlfriend.

What of Benedict Johnson?

He is my friend. People even think we are related since we share the same surname, but we are not. He is an Igbo guy. We are very close. I am not dating him.

So you are saying you have not dated an actor…

Eemmm… Can I tell you later?

Why not tell me now?

No.

This ‘no’, is it for me or for the public?

You really want to put me in trouble. My answer is no.

But what of that guy that bought that Rav 4 for you?

Ha! I bought my car by myself.

What!

I said I bought my car myself. But I am working. What would I use my money for? I bought my Honda by myself.

I am talking about the Rav 4 and not the Honda. We hear that you dumped the guy after he bought the Rav 4 for you.

I heard that story as well. But honestly, I bought the car myself. I am making my money. No matter how small, it is still my money.

You are a student of Lagos State University…

Yes.

But we hear you are no longer there.

Did you?

Yes. We hear your G.P was less that one point so you were asked to withdraw from the school.

Well, I saw something on the net with the caption, ‘An Illiterate Star’ with my picture on it. I really felt bad. People had to comment on that.

Since you think it is just a rumour, where do you think it came from?

I don’t know and I don’t intend to find out.

So you are saying you are a bona fide student of LASU…

Yes. I knew when I was coming into this industry; there might be some scandals. But I tell you, this illiterate one really got to me.

Did it get to you as much as it got to you when they said you sleep around with different men?

It is still better than somebody calling me an illiterate star. I felt bad.

Do you think these scandals will affect you in any way?

I make mistakes. I am human after all. I am not perfect. But what makes me a person is the ability to fall and stand up again. Even if I am an illiterate, I still have time to buckle up. Once there is life, there is hope. I am not going to fight anybody concerning this scandal. People have their right to their opinion. I am still going on with my work and doing all the things I should do. I am not going to allow such rumour to affect me. I am living my life like Mercy. That I felt bad about that didn’t mean I had to stop doing my work.

Since you said you are still a student, how are you combining your studies with your career?

I would be lying if I tell you I go to school all the time. It has been pretty difficult. But I just try to do my best.

Which of the actors do you love working with the most?

I love working with all of them. They all have their weak points and their strengths. But I do enjoy all the actors I work with. I don’t have any problems with them.

How come people say you are wild?

Do you mean ‘wild’ as in the roles I play?

No, they say you are wild even in reality.

I don’t know o. I can’t judge myself. But I know I am not wild.

What do your parents do when they read and hear such bad stuff about you?

They just encourage me. My family has been great to me. They all knew it is part of my job and they try to encourage me all the way.

What is the toughest role you have played?

I see all the role I play as a challenge. I always try my best in all of them. I give each and every one of them the same dedication and all that.

Since there is a heavy rivalry amongst actresses, who is your own rival now?

I don’t have any rival. The industry is too big for me to have a rival.

Okay. Who do you envy?

I don’t envy anybody. I only admire Genevieve. She is my idol. I just can’t compare her with anybody.

Have you had an opportunity of working with her?

Yes. I have worked with her twice. She is wonderful. I didn’t even work; I would just say I was learning. While she was acting, I was just looking at her. When I met her, it was like a dream come true.

What is your vision?

I want to get to the zenith of my career. In the nearest future, I think I would want to give back to this society that has given me so much. I am going to go into charity. I may not need to give anybody millions, but the little I can do, I hope to do it.

How to Succeed at a Nollywood Audition ..

Want to become a Nollywood star? Here are the three lessons you’ll need to learn before you seek fame on the other side of the world.

Part 4 of 5 (A Night Out in Nollywood)

By Will Connors

A look at Nigeria’s National Theater, as seen through the cracked windshield of a cab.

My bid to make it in Nollywood is gaining steam, but I need to hone my skills and learn from seasoned veterans, so I arrange to observe an audition. It takes place in the shadow of the National Theater, a spaceship-like structure visible from miles away, the only landmark in an otherwise desolate, dirty swamp bisecting the two main sections of Lagos.

Behind the theater in a dusty square, actors, dancers and other industry players regularly gather for auditions and meetings. A grove of trees to one side of the square marks the actors’ area, and a tiny open-air pool hall to the other side marks the dancers’ area. In between are the offices of the Actors Guild of Nigeria, and on the outskirts of the square are several “chop houses,” or restaurants, and a few bars.

Lesson One: Bow Your Head

In Hollywood, actors pray to themselves that they’ll have a good audition. In Nigerian, the actors pray together before an audition.

Before today’s audition can begin, the actors gather under the canopy of a large tree for a group prayer. One of the veteran actors steps forward. “Welcome, everyone. Let us bow our heads in prayer.” He holds his arms outstretched over the heads of the others. “Please God, help us perform our best today. Destroy the agents that would delay our projects, O Lord. In the name of Jesus. Father, I ask that these agents be nullified in the name of Jesus. As you cover everything in the blood of Jesus, Lord, destroy our enemies who would have us not do well at this audition today…” He continues for some minutes before closing with a solemn “Amen.”

In Hollywood, a pre-audition prayer would likely be met one of two ways: with derision or a lawsuit. But the prayer is not unusual in a country as religious as Nigeria, split equally between Christians and Muslims, where mega-churches in the south draw tens of thousands of worshipers to weekly services, and where several northern cities practice sharia law. What is unusual is that I am standing next to a Muslim friend, and he has taken part in the Christian prayer along with everyone else. Later he will tell me that most of the directors in Nollywood are from one predominantly Christian ethnic group, so he uses his middle name instead of his Muslim-sounding first name and always takes part in the Christian prayers.

Lesson Two: Patience Is a Virtue

Emma George used to work at the Nigerian Ministry of Transportation, but now, he’s a Nollywood actor

After the prayer, a producer announces that the casting directors cannot make it today, and the audition is postponed until further notice. The actors sigh and mumble to each other but no one seems particularly surprised. Once again I am reminded that in Nollywood, and in Nigeria in general, things never go as planned and patience is a requirement for survival, and for sanity.

As we start to leave I notice a man in a bright yellow shirt, black shorts, black cowboy boots, and a black cowboy hat walking by. His name is Emma George. He is a small man with a thick beard and kind eyes. Though well into his forties, he has just recently moved to Lagos and has only been acting for three years.

“I was working at the Ministry of Transportation before, but I had a passion for acting,” he says. “My mother thought I was crazy and said, ‘Emma, are you sure? You’ve got a good job.’ And I told her, ‘Mama, I have to go for it.’” Because of his age, dark beard, and well, the black boots, Emma most often gets cast as the villain, though he would rather be seen as a leading man. “I played a loverboy only once, in Virginity of the Goddess. I’m a real gentle soul, but I’m always carrying a gun onscreen.”

Lesson Three: Turn the Other Cheek

In the square where Nollywood auditions are held, a girl plays with her pet monkey.

I ask Emma about the frustrations of trying to make it in Nollywood: the unpredictable schedules, the meager pay, the shoddy production quality. He nods knowingly. “Acting in Nollywood is not an easy thing,” he says. “But with patience, perseverance, and determination, we’ll get there. Nollywood is still young compared to Hollywood, but we believe we’ll get there with time.”

Emma says good-bye and heads to a nearby restaurant, where he hopes he’ll be seen by a director or producer. As he leaves, I realize that he embodies the dominant trait of many Nigerians I’ve met. Here’s a middle-aged man who left his steady — if unprofitable — government job to pursue his love for acting and who stays positive despite numerous setbacks and dim prospects. That is Nigeria in a nutshell: millions of people streaming into the cities with few, if any contacts, looking for whatever work they can find and striving through all manner of obstacles. Whether investment banker or dressmaker or bread seller, they are among the most resilient people I’ve come across.

My attempt to observe an audition had failed, but there would be other chances. My friend says we should go. A quick wind picks up dust and whirls it across the now-empty square. Then a little girl in a ragged dress and pink sandals walks by holding a monkey on a chain. I look at my friend for an explanation but he just smiles, shrugs, and turns to leave. The little girl walks to the middle of the square and stops. The monkey sits down. I follow my friend back toward the main road and the teeming Lagos traffic. When I look back, the girl and the monkey are gone.

Stay tuned for the concluding article of “A Night Out in Nollywood”

By David Wright — Library Journal

One of the hottest literary phenomena of recent years has been the explosion of what has been variously termed hip-hop, street, or urban fiction. Especially popular with younger African Americans, books in this genre are reaching an increasingly broad readership through ties to hip-hop music and culture. These crime stories generally revolve around the often tragic choices and journeys of young women and men drawn by the lure of easy money into drugs, prostitution, and the thug life. Street lit readers place a high premium on authenticity, and many of the genre’s writers have firsthand experience of the gangsta life, not a few starting their writing careers as a way of coping while in prison and a means of going legit once they get out.
There is often plenty of glamor amidst the grit, however, and if the genre can be traced back to the bleak, autobiographical ghetto novels of Donald Goines and Iceberg Slim, they are also the progeny of the materialistic sex-and-shopping novels of Jackie Collins and the bravura crime family sagas of Mario Puzo. Characterized by badass attitude and rendered in the evolving language of the streets, these high-stakes dramas offer plenty of explicit sex and frequent violence. As a reviewer at Salon.com put it, “The three things most commonly exchanged by [the genre's] characters are profanities, gunfire and bodily fluids.”
Indeed, what distinguishes street stories from other contemporary African American literature is their emphasis on crime, drugs, and a cold, hard look at the less savory side of the street. These books speak in the voices of rappers, players, and gangstas, where the “n-word” has passed from abusive epithet to defiant honorific to the merest pronoun. In walling off his gritty street stories (e.g., Cold Blooded; Dark Thirst) behind the pseudonym the Urban Grit, Omar Tyree highlights both the similarities and the differences between his upscale urban dramas (and those of Eric Jerome Dickey and Karen Quinones Miller, for instance) and the more hard-core tales of Teri Woods and Nikki Turner. As African American fiction continues to grow and diversify into a broad spectrum, it is important to recognize that many of the readers eagerly awaiting the next prison-penned fable of a pimp and his girl are not necessarily interested in what’s new from Yolanda Joe or Zane.
An underlying moral
It comes as no surprise that urban lit’s popularity, especially with the young, has proven controversial. But the underlying message is not as simple as some critics think. While characterized by its refusal to preach, this genre often presents cautionary tales freighted with the conviction of those who have done the crime—and the time. Even the most un-repentantly fabulous ghetto crime capers are intensely moral, suffused with the code of the street and the dire consequences of hubris and offering much the same perp’s-eye view of life as noir fiction and gangster films. These books’ appeal as outlaw fables cannot be underestimated and helps account for their phenomenal success with younger readers interested in challenging dominant cultural norms. Yet to the extent that many of the genre’s fans face choices similar to those of its characters, these books also deliver on their promise to tell it like it is, reflecting the often discomfiting reality of a society addicted to money and drugs and at war with itself along racially drawn lines.
For libraries, the message is loud and clear: street lit is creating huge numbers of new readers. Although these readers range across the socioeconomic spectrum, from prisons to college campuses, many of them tell us repeatedly that if it weren’t for street lit, they probably wouldn’t be much interested in books. The goal of promoting literacy is so central to the mission of every public library that for us to fail these new and emerging readers by ignoring this living literature goes beyond a disservice—it is practically a sacrilege.
Off the street and into libraries
That said, getting the fiction of the streets onto our shelves can be a challenge, even with the increasing publicity it has received lately. Fueled by the growing afford ability of self-publishing and the web’s supercharged word of mouth, this genre has emerged from underground as a virtual conspiracy between writers and readers, with new authors and publishers cropping up almost weekly. And mainstream publishers and media are finally starting to pay attention. Yet these books continue to flourish largely under most libraries’ radar.
Librarians have been slow to purchase street lit for a number of reasons, including unfamiliarity or discomfort with the genre and the absence of reliable reviews. In addition, financially strapped libraries may be reluctant to buy books that tend to walk out the door. While each library must develop its own approach to acquiring high-loss items like street lit, it is important to recall that our collections are for use, and it doesn’t take many circulations to squeeze our dollars’ worth out of a trade paperback. Libraries wishing to remain relevant to patrons devoted to street lit may need to take an aggressive, almost serials-based approach to stocking it. Here are some tactics and resources that should help you to get educated about this genre and prove useful in developing and maintaining a collection that your patrons will say is off the chain!

My Burgeoning Nollywood Career, Stalled

In Africa, typecasting gets turned on its head. In Nigeria, white people get the bit parts, playing robbery victims and “the third guy on the left.”

By Will Connors

A beautiful Nigerian actress in a scene from a Nollywood Production.

My first acting role in Nollywood behind me, I looked forward to gaining more experience and, with any luck, acting in a larger-budget Nigerian film. Eventually, I get a call from a director who wants me to play the victim of a robbery, a classic white-man role. I don’t want to contribute to the perpetuation of this humiliating stereotype, but it is an opportunity to see another Nigerian movie getting made, so I agree to do it.

The set for the day is a dingy hotel tucked behind a bustling market. Before shooting, I sneak out and wander among booths slapped together with bent wood and rusty tin slats. There is a booth for everything: jackets and shoes, office supplies, mattresses, padlocks, scarves and dresses, and beautifully arranged fruit of every shape and color. I settle on a single fried plantain, served hot and covered in ash, which costs about 40 cents. It’s delicious.

The actors mingle in the hotel lobby and compare their self-supplied wardrobes. My dingy T-shirt is not appropriate garb for a wealthy man about to get robbed, so we look around at the various cast and crew and find a young man of about my build. He has three shirts, two slick silk jobs and one worn, plaid one. I get the plaid.

After a surprisingly short delay (only two hours!) the crew is ready to shoot the robbery scene. I have a borrowed briefcase, but Earnest, one of the three actors who are to rob me, can’t find a knife. He wants something realistic for the scene, something menacing enough to scare a grown white man in Africa into turning out his pockets.

I assure him that I’d give up my own grandmother in the face of little more than a convincingly brandished butter knife, but he is determined. Eventually he gains entry into the hotel kitchen and finds a massive butcher knife. When I see it, I suggest we rehearse the attack scene a few times so as to avoid any errant, injurious movements. “No, I’ve done this kind of scene many times,” he says. “Don’t worry, we’ll just go with it.” There is no time to argue as the director hurries us into the alley and calls “Action.”

I stroll down the alley beneath curious hotel guests peering down from their windows, none of us sure what is about to happen. The three thieves come from behind and wrench the briefcase from my hands. One throws me down to the concrete, hard. I wince and try to get up, but then there is a knife at my throat. Not above my throat or near my throat, but at my throat. My fear is suddenly very real, just in time for the cameraman to come in for a close-up. After the thieves run off I jump up and begin yelling about my stolen money. I wait for the director to call “Cut,” but he doesn’t. So I improvise a few lines about how important the money is and how sad I feel, then I too run off camera. We do three shots, each with the same quick, startling progression, each a little too real. Method acting has reached West Africa.

The Guiding Light Extinguishes

With little in the way of a budget, movies are rarely (if ever) shot on a set. Instead, they’re filmed on location in tight quarters, like this grocery store.

A few days later, another role comes up. This one in a pilot episode of a soap opera that, according to the producer, is to be the Nollywood version of Friends. I am brought in to play a white guy who has recently moved to the main character’s neighborhood. There is the possibility of a recurring role, so I am particularly excited on the first day of shooting.

The production company office is empty when I arrive. I knock on a few doors, but no one is there. Back outside, I find the director on his cell phone, frantically calling all the actors who are supposed to already be shooting scenes. He sees me and apologizes, but says that I will have to wait a few minutes for the actors in my scene to show up. Minutes turn into hours, and the necessary cast members do not assemble until well into the afternoon, at which point the director sits everyone down for a lecture on how to behave properly in a professional setting. One by one he admonishes them for their tardiness. I sit in a corner, comfortable knowing that I had been on time. But then he is speaking to me.

“Isn’t that right, William?”

“Isn’t what right?”

“A professional actor does not chew gum during a meeting,” he says. Everyone is looking at me. “Is that how they do it in America? Do the famous actors sit there chomping on a piece of gum while the director speaks?”

“Um, I really wouldn’t –”

“No, they don’t,” he says. My face and neck are very hot all of the sudden, and I hang my head, trying not to move my jaw.

Admonishments done with, we all walk to a local soccer stadium to shoot a few scenes. Within minutes a guard appears and kicks us out for not having permission to film there. Then it’s on to a grocery store, its aisles crowded with shoppers just out from work. Two shots take three hours. Finally it is time for my scene, set in a tacky gift shop whose owner is ready to close.

Two actresses are to spot me as the potentially wealthy new neighbor and chat me up. I am supposed to become indignant and unleash a self-righteous diatribe about the money-grubbing proclivities of Nigerian women, then storm out of the store. Despite the questionable merit of the writing, I am thrilled to be able to test out my acting chops. My last meaty role had been in a poorly attended college production of a Steve Martin play.

The thirteen hours of waiting are finally over. The scene begins, and the first actress gets one line off. Then the power goes out.

Outside on the street, the actors and crew laugh and pass around bottles of spiked pineapple juice. No one seems frustrated. Even the director is smiling and sipping a drink. They are used to the delays, the frustrations, the prickling heat. I stand to the side, upset that the whole miserable day had come to nothing. I realize that if I am going to make it in Nollywood, I have to adapt. So I take a deep breath and rejoin the group. They pass me a bottle and I take a sip of the bitter drink, then press the cool bottle to my forehead.
Stay tuned for part 4….