Creative Corner
The complicated irony that comes with owning an accent
“My mouth is a battlefield” – _Havfy
The internet and the velocity it affords creative products have heightened the prospect of virality for artists. Unlike the past where creatives had to pass through a step-by-step manual before acquiring fame, anyone is susceptible to becoming viral, popular, influential, famous, and even rich through social media. This possibility of instant fame through internet virality is captured in the Yoruba expression, “Eyan le blow any gad damn time”. Apart from the viral success of Khaby Lame whose Tik-Tok fame still puzzles my mind and those of many other people, one person who has become an unassuming internet sensation, particularly in Nigeria is Hafsat Abdullahi. This young lady popularly known as Havfy is a spoken poet who has made a name for herself in the world of poetry grand slams and competitions became a household name upon the release of a spoken poem performance she put up on Instagram and Twitter titled “To the Girl in English Class”. This was not the first spoken poem video she was uploading on the internet, but the theme of this one, its verbal address to English owners who won’t shut up about the accents of secondhand English speakers got many people screaming hallelujahs and amen:
Comments about the video have ranged from “Absolutely beautiful” to the ones screenshotted below:
On a side note, this performance reveals what is becoming literature today both in the Nigerian sense of the word and globally. Many could resonate with this spoken poetry, not just because of the poetry itself but because of how it is rendered. Many more people are becoming more conscious of literature not confined to the pages of a book.
That’s by the way. Another issue I think is worth discussing in the video is the contradictions and ironies it accentuates. Since releasing the video, Havfy has been recognized by several Nigerian celebrities. But more so, she has received commendations from international bodies present in Nigeria. She has, upon her moderate fame, performed at the British Council in Nigeria, the French embassy, international NGOs, programs organized by international entities, etc. In her Instagram posts, she stands side by side with white representatives from these organizations, as they beam smiles showing how approving they are of her work. While I am aware of the economics of artistry, it is difficult to ignore the fact that Havfy’s performative presence before these international bodies deflects the message in her viral video and causes her to inadvertently become a prop with which white presence and power can be reinforced and reified in Nigeria.
The fact that Havfy performs for those who handed down English to Nigerians in the first place and have since been in charge of enforcing Nigerians to speak perfect English (or French as the case may be) by putting in place such unnecessary language requirement tests as TOEFL and IELTS show that her message of embracing one’s linguistic heritage is being used against her. With each performance, what becomes obvious is the exceptionalism of Havfy, her acceptance by these ‘higher’ bodies because of her rhetorical power, and the poetics of her resistance against language oppression. The complicated irony of Havfy’s patronage by these embassies and NGOs brings to mind the story of How the Garcia Girls Lost their Accents written by Julia Alvarez. Apart from the family brawls and intricacies that characterize the novel, the question of losing one’s identity in the face of immigration is a running theme. I couldn’t help but notice how the Garcia girls – Carla, Sandra, Yolanda, and Sofía – begin to lose themselves, their accents and all that they signify, at the points when they become self-aware about the need to keep these accents.
Yolanda, for one, is caught up in situations when she is constantly trying to regain her ‘accent’ because she is aware she wants it for herself but slips into the comfortable habit of being accentless in order to successfully navigate her way in a world as an immigrant poised to constantly make her feel shifty. Her relationship with Rudy and his parents who praise her for speaking “accentless” English is proof of this. She is constantly critical of Rudy’s every move, but she enjoys the attention so permits his unruliness. Also, it is quite telling that even despite going all the way to the Dominican Republic to ground herself in her Spanish roots, Yolanda can’t help but speak English to the Dominican men while facing car trouble. Although this is partly due to her inability to communicate well in Spanish, it is also true that she does not believe for herself that she needs to retain her Spanish accent.
Interestingly, Yolanda is, like Havfy, a poet with soul-searching verses. But even her poems work against her as she begins to yield to the seductiveness of the accentless life in America. On a separate yet related note, being an exceptionally famous spoken poet comes with privileges, the kinds of privileges Armanda Gorman enjoys in America, the kinds that leave one questioning if one is for or against one’s people, if one has not, in trying to find one’s accent, lost it to the struggle. Should one feel guilty for these privileges? Should a person even aspire to it? Rosario Morales’ “I Am What I Am” in This Bridge Called My Back bears mentioning in this light. It has to be said though that Havfy’s works have a truly Nigerian-spirited ‘accent’ that cannot be quelled even in the face of validation from cheerleading yet unrepentant white bodies in Nigeria.