Sudanese poet and literary scholar Taban lo Liyong is one of the earliest and most virulent African critics of the consumerist world we live in today.
In Meditations in Limbo, later reissued by Heinemann (London) as Meditations, he voices his detestation of “normalcy.” In a poem not coincidentally titled ‘Normalcy’, the persona laments that “we live in an age of faith, faith with the advertising men”.
He lumps the advertising men together with “the Joneses, the priests of old and juju witches” and “the modern psychiatrists” as the purveyors of normalcy and high priests of belief.
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Considering that Meditations in Limbo was written in the 1960s, perhaps Taban was ahead of his time. It is inconceivable that the consumerism of back then came anywhere close to the kind of synthetic choreography that life seems to have become.
Looking at the world today, indeed we live in the age of Taban’s normalcy, where consumption is equated with success. And for now, forget the kind of consumerism that calls to mind processed crunchy things at fast-food joints and the dizzying race to ace the fashion pageantry.
Our consumerist palates have gravitated away from our real selves to the virtual world called social media. We are borderline cyborgs. We are so immersed in this virtual world that, where one once whispered a prayer before bed or after waking up, we now check whether we have new phone texts or how many followers we have on TikTok.
Back in the day, we complained that people no longer talked to each other in the living room with the arrival of TV. Everyone would be glued to the box watching an old Mexican soap, an experience interspersed with endless adverts selling everything. That is how some of us found ourselves smoking cigarettes because the advertising men made it look cool, which is really a story for another forum.
Move over, TV. Today, everyone is forever glued to their smartphone screens – in matatus, at home, even at social gatherings. We are all either packaging ourselves for the world as we would like to be, or sinking into depression comparing ourselves to those filmed receiving bouquets of flowers made of Sh1,000 notes on Valentine’s Day.
Fantastic opportunities
In this world of likes and follows, the brain has been shown scientifically to produce more dopamine and other ecstasy hormones with every new like or form of external affirmation. This is the fuel that drives the new sense of normalcy. When I last bumped into Prof Taban somewhere in Western Kenya mid last year, perhaps I should have asked him how much more he thought we are all gasping today under the vice-like grip of the advertising men – and women. I should have asked whether he knew how much deeper our fidelity to their edicts would be by circa 2025.
Perhaps Prof Taban has since changed his mind, seeing as the technological world unfolding in our daily lives is not just for those who sell things, but is also creating fantastic opportunities for poets like himself.
I was not around in the ’60s and ’70s, but I imagine there weren’t many opportunities for upcoming poets. At best, one could send a poem or two a year to a respectable literary journal that paid a tidy sum per poem, though hardly enough to live on for more than a month.
With any luck, such a poem could get “noticed,” and its author invited to read somewhere in Europe or the Americas, pocket a modest honorarium, and then return home to the routine of life.
Unless they had another job or source of income, even if one or two publishers accepted their manuscripts, the best-case scenario in terms of royalties would not have sustained them for long. That is hardly the case today.
With social media, as I read the poetry of Njeri Wangari, Kingwa Kamencu, Tony Mochama, Ngwatilo Mawiyoo and others, I also follow a dozen upcoming poets from all over the world. The most fascinating part is how I get to “meet” them through this innovation in the marketing space.
Likes and views
Every time I watch or listen to a poet or stand-up comedian, I make sure I click on the like button. This is not just for the poet’s affirmation – the number of likes, shares and views also determines how much the poet is paid, how much in cashable gifts he or she receives, and so on.
Anything more in it for me? Absolutely. Every time I click like or avoid lingering on what I dislike, I am in a way curating the kind of videos that YouTube, Instagram, TikTok and other platforms will show me next time.
With time, I create a world where everyone in my virtual sphere is doing exactly what I like. It is into that mental forest – where you find people giggling and scowling at their phone screens in matatus – that many of us are now lost. This world is only broken by videos where Taban’s “advertising men” appear selling clothes, cars, plots, container houses and other things.
These advertising people are no longer enemies hawking what Taban called “normalcy”. They are potential business partners. They cash in on the crusade of followers and allow poets and other artists to reap from their brow.
If a poet, griot or African artist can produce impressive content, it will be dispersed to the four corners of the globe – and every click or subscription will bring that artist closer to ending a world where being a poet was synonymous with poverty and wearing black.
Perhaps it is time to break the illusion of eccentricity we associate with poets whose real struggle might be being too popular yet unable to buy a car.With hard work, patience, great works and internet access, perhaps it is time they finally drive a Ferrari – courtesy of Taban’s advertising men
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By Henry Munene