Prof. What does reaching 80 mean to Dele Jegede?
I APPRECIATE your kind sentiment. Attaining 80 is, to me, a significant milestone, an inexorable one that I am thankful to see. It has inevitably changed my perspectives on life and allowed me to sift the wheat from the chaff. I’ve learned not to sweat the little things and to be appreciative of my station in life. I have come to grips with those things that I could not change while immersing myself in savouring the moment in which I exist. Being 80 vivifies for me the distinction between intuition and actuality. It has allowed me to savour consequential moments and dwell less on trivialities. Ebenezer Obey’s music, Vanity Upon Vanity, clinches this positionality beautifully for me. And, according to his age-related classification, those of us who have attained the age of 80 and more, including Obey himself, are now serving overtime.

What was growing up like?
I spent my formative years in Ikere, where I was influenced by various individuals, including teachers, my peers, parents, elders, uncles, and aunts in my compound (agbo ile) and the extended lineage. Depending on the occasion, they collectively molded me to what I became by scolding, goading, or prodding me in the true sense of the metaphorical village collectively raising a child. Like most kids during my time, I grew up raised by parents who did not spare the rod; parents who dispensed generous doses of tough love, including some of the most creatively playful cursing for which most Ekiti folks are famous.

My mother (of blessed memory) was a weaver who used the vertical loom. It was always a delight for me to assist her in whatever form I could. Before Awolowo introduced free primary education to the Western Region in 1955, school uniform was a home-woven, black-and-white striped ‘popoki’. In the evenings, I would hold up the lit wick for her as she wove. My father (bless his honest soul) was a farmer and ‘Olori Ile’, head of the Ile-Ari lineage. It was from him that I learned critical lessons — of discipline, honesty, hard work, tolerance, and patience — that have come handy during my life-long journeys in Nigeria and here in the U.S.

In those quiet, idyllic years in Ikere, when traffic on the road from Akure to Ado-Ekiti was inconsiderable, when goats and sheep felt comfortable enough that they would sleep on the road in the evenings, life was tranquil and children were free to explore the town unencumbered by the thought of being harmed. All children walked to school bare-footed. (Shoes were a big deal; they were to be worn on special church occasions like Christmas and Easter). At the end of the school week each Friday, it was not uncommon to see us children trudging to the farm with baskets worn on our foreheads reaching to pur lower back, the way you would a baseball cap.

We would then return with our parents on Saturday evening carrying as much needed farm produce as our tiny bodies could tolerate. Sunday was a special day for church and I relished my participation in the choir, which was one of the avenues through which my flair for creativity was nurtured. Our church, a huge structure right smack in the centre of Ikere, was a few meters from our house. Apart from its churchly role, it also served on occasions as the mediator between my loving father and me, especially on those days, often during the end-of-year school break, when I dared resist going to the farm. (Bring your ears closer and let me whisper this: I simply hated farming and always wished we never had any school breaks).

My unpremeditated refusal to going to the farm always began innocuously, for no profound or discernible reasons. It always started in the mornings, which I considered ungodly, as I found the inevitable presence of morning dew on the farm path intrusive, irreverent and uncomfortable. And so, I would murmur under my breath and throw tantrums on those cold mornings. Those were the signs my father always interpreted, and correctly too, as signs of resistance, which he would not brook. Dad would reach to grab me and, of course, I would bolt. And that was how the morning’s unscheduled race around the church premises always started. It was a race I always won hands down because I knew I was faster. Frustrated, dad would eventually leave for the farm without me. But I also knew that I had just ruined my whole day as my mother would declare me persona non grata for the day. I quickly learned that refusing to go to the farm always ended disastrously for me. And yet, I would do it again. And again.

What do you remember about the place you grew up? When last did you visit?
Let me answer the second question first. My last visit to Ikere occurred in early 2010, a few months after the passing of my mother. But the last time I was in Nigeria was 2016, when I had my solo show at Terra Kulture in Lagos. But you would be mistaken if you thought that my infrequent visits to Ikere meant that my love for the town was fading. Far from it. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, they say. And in the age of technology, you are as far from the person or place that you want to reach as your phone. And, as you know, the Internet never sleeps. The Fourth Industrial Revolution has truly shrunken distances and facilitated the immediacy of communication.

Now, to the first question. Ikere set me on my creative path, although I did not fully realise or even appreciate it at the time. I grew up in the center of the town, literally. That meant that I was almost always a participant-observer at events taking place in the town, from weekly churchly activities to annual traditional festivals, rites, and ceremonies. Right from my childhood, I was exposed to religious syncretism more in observance than as a discrete philosophical ideology. As a child, I witnessed the kerfuffle that accompanied the last dethronement of an Ogoga (Oba Adewumi Aromolaran) in the late 40s. And because of the centrality of our compound in the town, we commanded a prime view of the yearly Olosunta Festival and the enthralling ceremonies featuring the Olukere at the market square, Ereja. Masquerades were an annual feature of the cultural calendar. No procession of masquerades was complete without passing through Ereja. I enjoyed and absorbed all of these multifarious streams of influences, from traditional ceremonies to God’s events and preachments. Central to these features and enactments is the beautiful Ukere dialect.

What were some of the favourite things you loved to do as a child?
First off, I start with one thing that I have always detested: farming. You should blame my youthful truancy on that. Of course, I relished the scenarios that my rebelliousness conjured. I simply did not fancy all the manual work that farming entailed. I despised waking up so early, especially during the numbing harmattan season, to head to the farm, which was quite a walk from home. But that was then. Perhaps it reveals my love for education more than my dislike of farming.

As a kid, I loved doodling and drawing not only at school but, even more ferociously, at home. The doors and windows of my dad’s newly built house became easy targets of my scribblings. My dad was quite supportive of this habit. At the elementary and secondary modern schools, I was always the teachers’ favourite when it came to producing illustrative charts for the class. My flair for writing — literary and physical — emanated from my early encounters with, and the acknowledgements that I received from my teachers.

It would appear that I took my mother’s injunction to study hard a bit too seriously. I recall one instance when I gave her the list of books for my new class in 1957. After she succeeded in sourcing used books from a family friend who was a year ahead of me in school, she had to purchase the remaining book, which was the most expensive school item the poor woman had ever bought. She begged, borrowed, and pulled the money together, and it was a joyful day when she took me to Ereja and bought me the shiny, brand new Michael West Dictionary with a firm edict that my main assignment going forward was to focus on my books. That evening, in compliance with poor woman’s order, I found a quiet place and began the arduous task of studying the dictionary, beginning with, of course, letter A. It didn’t take long before I lost interest, as all of the tiny script in that green hard cover was Greek to me.

What was your first job, and what did you learn from it?
My first job, in the sense that it was the first engagement that earned me a monthly stipend of five shillings, was as a medicine hawker in the town. That came soon after my primary school education in December 1958. My uncle took pity on my parents and shipped me to his buddy, a self-proclaimed ‘pharmacist’ who operated from one tiny shop facing the main road. With a wooden crate loaded with an assortment of medicines, from APC (analgesic) to rat killer, I dispensed it all, based on each household’s needs. The most popular of these retail medicines was a sexy, mouthful item called Cascara Sacara Sagrada. From this early encounter, I learned that I must strive hard to go back to school: that nothing beats quality education. I deposited every penny of my stipend with my father to augment my secondary education down the road.

If you could go back to any age, which would it be and why?
Really? Do I really have that choice? Well then, teleport me to my thirties and forties—specifically the 15 years from 1975 to 1990. That was the period when I finally took on full responsibilities as a husband, father, academic, and professional artist. After serving as a pioneer youth corps member deployed to Maiduguri, I became the art editor at the Daily Times during Alhaji Babatunde Jose’s administration and had the opportunity to work with veteran cartoonists like Cliff Ogiugo and Josy Ajiboye. It was the year that Eko Bridge was completed, which brought momentary respite to the insane traffic. It was during this period—1977—that Nigeria hosted 55 countries from Africa and the Black Diaspora for a cultural jamboree that has not been matched since.

After a 13-year interregnum during which it suffered critical decimation —palace coups and a 30-month civil war—the military oligarchy finally transferred power to a civilian administration but quickly snatched it back. In the 1970s, flummoxed by developments at the political space, some of dared to express our discontent. In the early 80s, a colleague of mine who was nonplused by the ineptitude of the Shagari administration threatened that if he died he would not reincarnate in Nigeria! Rather, he would reincarnate in Saudi Arabia. And as a camel! In other words, camels in that country had a much better life than Nigerians. That was before the dribbler ascended the throne and threw the baby out, birth water and all. By the time he was hounded out of office, still within the period under review, Nigerians were clamoring for the golden 70s. (Of course, there was no mention of camels). My favourite music that melodiously captured the rawness and unending intrigue by Babangida during this period was by Orlando Owoh. Democracy.

Getting married in May 1975 was a game changer. Marrying Jọkẹ́, whom I fell for as a student in Zaria, is one of my proudest moments. Eleven years into our marriage, our family felt complete, as we were blessed with four kids, the last baby boy arriving in 1986. I left the Daily Times in 1977 to join the faculty of the Centre for Cultural Studies at the University of Lagos as a Research Fellow, although I continued to produce cartoons for the Daily Times.

Between 1979 and 1983, I was at Indiana University for my master’s and doctorate degrees in Art History. This period witnessed the beginning and maturation of my career as a painter, with several solo exhibitions at Gong Gallery, Goethe Institute, the National Theatre, and the Italian Cultural Centre, among others. This was in addition to my attendance at art biennales in Cuba, Italy, and Japan among others. Among the many exhibitions that I curated was the 1988 Art By Metamorphosis at Spelman College, where I was Fulbright Scholar. I had the opportunity to lead the Society of Nigerian Artists (SNA) in Nigeria, and assumed the directorship of the Centre for Cultural Studies at the University of Lagos.

What advice would you give your younger self?
You got it, son!

What are some of your hobbies and interests?
Photography and music, especially jazz.

What are some of the things you enjoy reading or watching?
Apart from scholarly literature, I enjoy reading biographies. I enjoyed reading Isabel Wilkerson’s tour de force, The Warmth of Other Suns. Her other book, Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents is equally a compelling read. You should read Walter Isaacson, especially his biography on Steve Jobs. One author that I will strongly recommend for those interested in coming to grips with the perpetuation of Nigeria’s subaltern position is John Perkins. His book, The New Confessions of an Economic Hit Man, lays bare for us the ugly innards of hegemony. I should mention here that I’ve had the privilege of illustrating two of the books by Nigeria’s eminent poets: Green: Sighs of Our ailing Planet by Niyi Osundare, and Mamman Vatsa’s Reach for The Skies.

At 70, a younger brother from Ikere, Prof Niyi Osundare described in his tributes, the moment you visited their home and suddenly you drew his brother. For how long have you been drawing?
As I alluded to some minutes ago, I have been doodling and drawing for as long as I’ve learned to read. I have always been fascinated by the illustrated book, and by colors. It was intuitive and fun. The only time I had doubts about art was when, at ABU, Zaria, I was nearly persuaded by the late Professor Kolawole Ogungbesan of the English department to change my major from art to English. It was a close call.

Was that moment of teenage brilliance enough to convince you to study arts in the University or the thoughts were always there?
If I had not been fortunate enough to go to college, I would have probably ended up a musician. But I would probably be a musician practicing art on the side. The inclinations and determination were all there. As I grew older, they were resolved, undoubtedly, in favor of the visual arts.

What are some of the biggest changes you’ve seen in the art world ever since?
The art world continues to reinvent itself. Time there was when the winds blowing the study and scholarship of the arts were at the direction of the West. Graduate studies in the visual arts—whether in art education or art history — did not exist in Nigeria until Adepegba inaugurated it at Ibadan after he returned from the U.S. Solomon Wangboje, the first Nigerian with a doctorate in art, studied art education at New York University in 1968. That set the pace for the first cohort of Nigerian scholars who flocked to the U.S.— Lawal, Odita, Aniakor, Adepegba, and my humble self. (Abiodun went to Canada). Today, there is a strong Nigerian presence in the scholarship of African arts.

On the global stage, Okwui Enwezor of blessed memory tore open all the veils and veneer of pretense that previously occluded the visibility of African artists through his seminal curatorial incursions. Today, a strong presence of Nigerian scholars pervades American universities teaching a new contingent of graduate students — Africans and Americans — and propagating Africa-centric perspectives. Nkiru-Nzegwu, Oguibe, Ogbechie, Okeke-Agulu, Campbell, and Okediji readily come to mind. These are a powerful coterie of artist-scholars who are change agents in the visual arts at the international level.

In Nigeria specifically, there has been a seismic growth both in the quantity of artists and the tenor of their work. There are a few key areas where the change has been profound. First is the number of private galleries that have sprung up, particularly in Lagos and Abuja. For example, Yemisi Shyllon’s philanthropic relationship with Pan-Atlantic University remains epochal just as Nike Okundaye has demonstrated the economic vitality inherent in the visual art. Second, there is now a thriving secondary market for the visual arts, championed by Kavita Chellaram. The third area where there has been a remarkable change is the repatriation of the nation’s patrimony. Undoubtedly, the persistent clamor for the return of Nigeria’s precious artifacts has begun to pay off and all the puerile reasons adduced for the delay of purloined masterpieces have crumbled under the irrefutability of facts and history. One of the fatuous rationalisations adduced to counter requests for the return of these looted artworks was that they were too fragile to travel, as if they might throw up in flight, or suffer a heart attack in transit. Others expressed anxiety about the suitability of galleries to house them in Nigeria. It was fascinating to observe such duplicitous feeling of piety from those who, for generations, have profited from this brazen expropriation.

50 years of marriage is not a child’s play. What are some of the things you’re most grateful for?
I am deeply grateful for the divine grace and kindness that my wife, our children, and I have continued to enjoy. Our relationship challenges the old saying that places the wife behind her husband. My wife is the strongest champion I could ever ask for. She stands with me shoulder to shoulder. She is gracious, incredibly accommodating, and remarkably supportive. Jọkẹ́ is the answer to my prayer as a proud, adventurous bachelor. I asked God to end any relationship I had if it would lead to divorce after marriage. If I may indulge in a bit of bragging, I would say that I was quite the irresistible bachelor and that she fell for my many letters from Zaria, thinking the handwriting was cute. I often tell our friends that she fell for my cooking although she holds a different opinion on this. Fifty years have gone by without any grudges held overnight, a policy we embraced from the onset of our wedding. I cannot praise her enough.

What are some of your fondest memories of the marriage and your parents or grand parents’ influence?
By default, my mother-in-law (God repose her soul) was always on my side. Any time we visited, she would sneak in a short, private conversation with my wife, which was always the same admonition: “Ma bọ́kọ ẹ jà o.” My wife is the youngest of three daughters. So, Mama was not just giving her first daughter’s hand out. This is undoubtedly Mama’s demonstration of love at its purest. A mother desires to see her daughter (or son) prosper. Attainment of progress or prosperity is jeopardized in a home wracked by bitterness, unfaithfulness, and lack of trust. But it is my late sister-in-law who exerted the most profound influence on my marriage. At a time that my girlfriend was playing girly, it was her sister who gently steered her in my direction, like a loving gardener would a tendril. Until her sudden, painful passing, she remained, and continues to remain, a true sister to me, not the least for her kindness and unstinting generosity.

What are some of the most important lessons you’ve learned as an artist?
I have learned that your talents will take you only so far. Lack of devotion to your craft, and a lethargic approach to practice, are an awful combination that easily render talent ineffectual. An artist needs commitment to growth; an awareness of trends and developments in the field; exposure to the work by other artists; and a determination to be faithful to yourself. Producing art that hankers after patronage stultifies an artist’s progress.

What are some of the things you enjoy doing now at 80?
Taking life easy. Other than my immediate family, the most consequential element in my life is my time. Having worked consistently for over four decades —18 in Nigeria and 22 in the U.S., my retirement from Miami University in 2015 as Professor Emeritus was the sweetest physical and mental liberation for me. Retiring to my studio these past 10 years is priceless.

The freedom to wake up at my own pace without checking my calendar to see what student, faculty, committee or community meetings I had for the day, without the quotidian preparations for the classes that I would teach, was incomparable.

The kids, thankfully, are all grown up now and live in different parts of the country, although we maintain daily contact with them. So, as an empty-nester, I derive considerable pleasure investing my time in time itself: in taking my time and selecting what academic battles are worth sticking my neck out for. I am selective in what invitations to participate in various intellectual engagements I honour. In the age of digital connections, it is much easier to join some of these events from the comfort of my home.

I enjoy immersing myself in my studio painting, drawing, writing, reading, or simply ideating. Of course, I do not live in a hermetically sealed space. My wife and I honour various invitations to social events within and often outside of our location, and I enjoy driving both short and long distances. By and large, I am content with my life, and thankful for the grace that I enjoy at my age.

Who are some of the people who have had the biggest impact on your life?
Ah! I am indebted to so many people who have had direct or oblique impact on my life. My parents remain my heroes in this context. My father was the person to whom I owe my capacity for introspection. He was a poor farmer but rich in perception and intellection. His wealth came from his skills as a leader of people: tolerant, thoughtful, and never impulsive. I first met my dad when I became aware of myself as a child — running but naked around the household like most children my age. He had four wives, although my stepmother and mother were the only two who regularly lived in our household. The greatest gift my father gave me was education. He enrolled me in St. Luke’s primary school, a huge financial undertaking in those days in colonial Nigeria, years before Awolowo introduced free primary education in the Western Region. That singular gesture was the actualisation of the mantra, “show the light and the people will find the way.” For my professional growth, the late Pa Idowu Akinde, Executive Engineer at PWD in Ikeja, was the one who gave me my first job as a youngster, which provided me the moral and financial stability to enroll at the Yaba College of Technology, where I came under the influence of many instructors, including Adebayo Ajayi (the first artist from Ikere-Ekiti), and Yusuf Grillo.

What are your hopes for the next decades in the marriage?
Staying fulfilled and committed. Praying and working for good health and continuing to do those positive things that have sustained our marriage these 50 memorable years.