THE KIDS DON'T STAND A CHANCE
I love Vampire Weekend. I love them. An old friend turned me on to their music, and I have been turned on (CREATIVELY you dirty minded scoundrels!) ever since. You can understand how excited I am to hear that they have new music coming out, after leaving me high and dry for so long. Oh, it’s been so long. Excited much? Most certainly so. Sadly that is not what this post is about; sigh. I wish it was, but it is not. The story you are about to read is based on true events. Let me recount this incident AS IT HAPPENED!! This is the truth. Remember; STARS DON’T LIE :) So I wake up on the morning of this huge audition that a not so near or dear acquaintance told me about. Aaagh the dreaded call to audition. That gut curdling, sleepless night inducing, instant fever causing, playground for the devils wickedness. The process you have to go through to become an actor in the first place (or at least an actor that works). It’s the key to the door behind which all of an actors dreams lie. And that blasted key dangles from the talons of those Orks (no, I don’t mean you sir, I was talking about the other guy) moonlighting as production execs. They are out here deciding peoples fate with their fancy coffee, three phones and unfortunate assistants. Aaagh production execs; who for some reason look way cooler than they actually are in person with their ray bans, cargo shorts, and fast paced purposeful strutting from one place to the other. Production folk are always purposefully strutting somewhere. No one knows where they are going to in such a hurry, but they’re always fast walking, like ALL THE TIME. It’s like “I have to get to the water dispenser right away because filling a cup with water is an awe inspiring life or death event.” You walk in to that room where that panel sits with their ray bans now on the table, coffee half drunk, unfortunate assistants standing to the side, waiting to be judged based on looks, acting chops, and star quality. And no matter how hard you’ve prepared (or how much happy juice you’ve drank) in the weeks leading up to this day, all your grit and confidence seep right out of you along with the sweat that’s quickly forming a patch in your pits and other unmentionables. Yes, auditions are the bane of my existence, can you tell?
So when you think auditions, what’s the general idea that comes to mind? You think heavily made up sisi abarigbos, with their over the top but barely there outfits that squeeze them all the way to their very souls and heels fit for the strip club around the way (Okay, I’m thinking that maybe my audition choices might be a little questionable. It’s all so clear to me now.) You think accents that fall on every part of the spectrum ranging from good, to bad, to ‘eyaaa’, to just plain disturbing. Temporary nerve based alliances are formed, and just as quickly dissolved when it dawns on you that laughing through your chattering teeth and trembling hands at the boring jokes of the self-appointed joker of the group (who is just as nervous by the way) won’t get you any closer to clinching the part that all of you in this new circle of love and friendship are vying for. Because we all know, at the end of the day, there couldn’t have been 10 Maria’s in the one film climbing every mountain and fording every stream; there’s only so much dream to find people.
There are certain situations in life that stars like myself shouldn’t find themselves in. Flying okada to an awards show (or to any place for that matter). Fixing those weaves on your head that look like the place where all Blue seal Vaseline goes to die. Buying outside orbit chewing gum (no, it is not the same as the real orbit chewing gum), gala, shoe rack, portable swimming pool, Guncci sunglasses or fat blasting tummy belt from the side of the road when you’re stuck in traffic. Preparing for an audition that takes place in an eatery. Yes an eatery somewhere in the ghetto of Lagos. The only possible thing that can be worse than this, is the decision to get out of bed, wash your soon to be sweaty unmentionables and go to said audition. The good book says wisdom is profitable to direct, or at least that’s what we heard our parents say when they bashed our faces in for doing something foolish. We were taught wisdom, or a version of it either by advice or terrorisation and whichever method of impartation used on you was directly commensurate to the depths and bounds of your ‘ODE-ness’ (foolishness for my none Naija readers). It is expected that one grows in wisdom and common sense as they age, however this is not exactly the case all the time. It is unfortunate, but oh so true. The fact that the cab man couldn’t locate this eatery, even with the directions I had read out to him at least 10 times, should have been enough of a sign for me to turn tail and pack up shop. But budding star that I was (yes, this happened about 2 years ago), determined to fight reality for my dreams, driven by passion, cloaked in fiery zeal, impervious to the iron spring in the chair of the falling to pieces taxi that was drilling a hole in my ass, I forged ahead (cue the lie lie inspirational music that leads the hero to impending doom). I was going to make it to this audition… in an eatery if it killed me, and from the looks of the area boys that watched hungrily as the roto boto taxi struggled through what was more holes than road, it occurred to me, that this audition just might.
Be careful with passion. It's a good thing; no lie, but when passion sits there with its fat belly from feeding off your common sense and deceives you, there might be need for passion to take several seats. So on this rainy morning, I’m playing hooky from work to go to this audition in an eatery (you people should stop laughing at me). The roads are muddy, the craters in them plenteous and ‘awon goons’ are watching this aunty drive around their turf in circles. The only thing missing from this scenario was the dark, which at the rate the roto boto taxi was going would soon be upon me.
However, after a flat tire, a jankitilova trip to the ‘vulcanizer, discussions about salt water baths to prevent Ebola, getting lost, the Ebola discussion turning into yelling in Yoruba from the cab man at our being lost and one helpful stranger with bad breath that finally pointed us in the right direction we arrived at the destination. Now we have established that stars don’t lie, so take everything I say literally.
‘Look dia now, dia, dia, dat place wen people dey stand plenty, na dia’. I walked at first with that gait that says ‘I am good at what I do and I know it and even if this place has taken hours to find and this looks an awful lot like a ram being led to the slaughter, I’m going to be professional about my craft and not judge a book by its potholes.’ If only I knew what I was walking into, I would have stopped right there, turned around, walked in whatever direction that led out of there, found myself a cab, certainly not the same one I came in, argued over the 500 naira addition to the fare while trying to look like I wasn’t arguing over 500 naira, eventually gotten in the cab, had myself driven back home, unlocked my door, walked into my room, found the closest mirror, looked into it and asked myself if this acting life is really my calling. I did do all this only that it happened a life changing experience later. So I walk up to this place that looks a whole lot like a chicken coop. Yes, with the netting on the top and the cement on the bottom where the chickens we buy and eat are reared. I was 100% sure that this could NOT be where I was meant to be going. I was sure the man that pointed me to this place was drunk and struggling with family problems and was therefore distracted. I was sure that I had missed a step, blinked a second too long and took the wrong turn. ‘Well, I’m already here, I thought. I must keep moving forward’ and so forward I went. A few steps lay between me and the chicken coop eatery blockbuster movie audition venue, and though I knew that nothing good could come of this, the 1% mumu in me goaded me on. This was how the conversation in my head went: Mumu me: Keep going Anee, it could turn out alright; after all they said bad things about Nazareth right? Me: But Isn’t that a chicken coop? As in an actual poultry? Mumu me: But this could be it! Do you want to snob what could be an amazing opportunity? Me: Even though the amazingness of the opportunity is at the end of a chicken shit laced road? Mumu me: Do you want to turn back now? Me: No but my gut tells me that turning back now means I have at least one jot of common sense left. And then just like that, between the mumu and me, I had taken those steps and I was at the entrance to the place.
The first thing that hit me (other than all the other first things that should have turned me away) was the smell. The place was smelling; horribly (I just shuddered.). The place smelled foul (all puns intended). It was packed to bursting with people, yes people in a chicken coop eatery. There were people standing almost shoulder to shoulder and sweating profusely in a chicken coop eatery when Ebola was strolling around on the streets looking for who to get jiggy with. As I was trying to summon up courage to walk inside and find my place in this situation, the next thing that hit me was the music. The praise and worship music. You see, what I haven’t yet told you is that the people in the chicken coop eatery who had gone to audition for a potential blockbuster movie, were all engaged in deep spiritual warfare! (Take a minute to let it sink in. I needed to as well. Don’t worry I’ll wait.) There were violent, intense, call to war prayers and what I can only assume was supposed to be worship going on. Situations like this demand that you stop for a minute, step back, squint your eyes, hold your hand over your mouth and wonder. Wonder what in the world you have walked yourself into. Wonder why you left your house and braved traffic to get here. Wonder if anyone you know saw you around this kind of place. Wonder if you should not go and find that old CV and beg for your job as a customer relations officer in Leadway Assurance back. Wonder how ashamed your real self must be of your actor self right now. Wonder where do broken hearts go and if they can find their way home (Ms Houston... I found where...and it's a not likely on the finding their way home part as well) As I talked with some of my thoughts and ran away in shame from the others, the leader of the audition, praise, worship and war prayer meeting called for everyone’s attention. He said in a thick Igbo prayer warrior leader accent (please note, all words written as pronounced) ‘NA, ALL YA FRIENDS WHO HAVE MAKE IT, YOU SEE ALL YA MATES HAVE MAKE IT IN NOLLYWOODU. DEY ARE DRAVIN JEEP AND DRAVIN CAR AND MAKING IT. THEY ARE HAMMERING AND YOU CANNOT SEE YASELF DIA WITH DEM NO MATTER D MUCH YOU TRA. YOU ARE WORKING ALL YA BEST AND GOYIN NOWIA. NA YOU HAVE TO PRAY FOR D SPIRIT DAT HAVE SEE YA DESTINY AND DON’T WANT YOU TO MAKE IT. YOU HAVE TO PRAY FOR D MARINE SPIRITS, D JEZAYBEL SPIRIT DAT WANT TO DRAN YA DESTINY, DAT WANT TO DRAN YA FOOCHUR. YOU HAVE TO PRAY FOR D SPIRT THAT WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TO BECOME ANGELINA JOLY AND ANOD SWAZZNIGA. PRAY NA, PRAY, PRAY, PRAY YAAAAAAAAAA!! EVOO SPIRIT DAT WILL NOT LET ME TO BE ANGELINA JOLY AND ANOD SWAZZNIGA I REJET YOU, I DYVORCE YOU, DIE BY FAYA, DIE BY FAYA, DIE BY HOLY GHOST FAYAAAAA!!!!…and just like that, the audition attendees went crazy and there was pandemonium in the chicken coop.
As I walked away head hung low, mind blown and thoroughly ashamed of myself; my conscience judging my life, it occurred to me that people are willing to do JUST ABOUT ANYTHING in the pursuit of making it big and being famous. The notion that a perfect life is on the other side of fame and fortune has pulled many of us into the pits only to beat us black and stupid when we land there. And unfortunately for the genuine people in this line of work, the people who are at it for all the wrong reasons make the pickings even slimmer. However bleak it may seem, I am still certain of the light at the end of this topsy-turvy tunnel. The thought of the days when true creatives can live well off of the works of their hands makes me giddy. There’s nothing more potent than skill and focus that is egged on by hope, and so we keep moving forward.
So if you’re struggling with giving up on whatever you’re doing with your life because you think your situation is so bad that it cannot possibly get worse, hear me right now; DON’T QUIT. It literally can’t be worse than thinking you’ve seen it all, and then finding yourself at an audition prayer battle in an eatery/poultry in the irritable bowels of Lagos. GOD BLESS OUR HUSTLE!!!