“Ogunmuyiwa? That’s interesting”, Chief Mulele said after a moment. “I used to know an Ogunmuyiwa – F.A.S. Ogunmuyiwa… You aren’t related to anyone by that name, are you?”
In my mind’s eye, I can see my eleven-year-old self pondering the question. I knew my grandfather by the name that he had passed on to me, the name of the Catholic saint that was his patron… His initials, on the other hand, were somewhat foreign at that point; I don’t remember anyone telling me prior to this meeting that the ‘F’ stood for Francis.
Finally, after what must have seemed like forever to her, a wave of recognition swept over me. I then nodded at the venerable old lady before me.
“He was my grandfather, I think…”
In May of 2023, the British aristocrat Lady Violet Manners established HeritageXplore, a company that is intended to serve as a facilitator for the heritage industry in the United Kingdom. Historic preservation such as that which it offers is about more than keeping a bunch of dusty old buildings standing. It’s about national myth-making, about the story that we tell as peoples to future generations. You can tell a lot about what a nation is by the way it preserves its historic inheritance (or fails to). No country should exist that doesn’t have a sense of the multifarious elements that came together to birth it in the first place… Having one that doesn’t is a recipe for national disaster if ever I heard of one.
Various non-governmental organizations on this continent have dedicated manpower and funding to working to protect pre-colonial and colonial structures in Africa, transcribing and cataloguing oral and/or textual literatures, and building collections of important artifacts and antiquities. Their efforts in this regard have been almost universally met with governmental apathy and mismanagement. As a result, as they have laboured to stem the tide, the waters of destruction have only continued to rise.
I will look at this in more detail – the lacklustre approach to historic preservation in my country and the continent; aspects of our common heritage that are worthy of protection; and what must be done to address these in Nigeria (and indeed Africa as a whole).
Mi Casa Es Su Casa
On the 11th of September 2016, the Casa de Fernandez – a Nigerian national monument that had been standing since the 19th century, was torn down in the early hours of the morning by persons unknown. This outrage was shocking for a number of reasons; firstly, the Casa had been a fixture of the Lagos Island skyline since its construction in 1855; next, it was one of the finest examples of the so-called ‘Brazilian’ architectural style that had first been brought to Lagos by former slaves from that country and Cuba, who had chosen to return to West Africa after freedom was granted; and finally – and most egregiously – it was officially under Nigeria’s protection at the time and had been since the 1950s.
In the wake of the demolition, there was much hand-wringing… The federal and state governments both promised that they would get to the bottom of how such a thing could happen on their watch. Close to ten years later, as I write this, there still hasn’t been anything in the way of a definitive answer to the question of who tore down the Casa. I genuinely don’t think that there ever will be.
What this tragedy highlights is that even monument status does not guarantee a property’s survival in my country. What is more, a total lack of accountability after the fact means that there is little to serve as a deterrent to the next person who decides to tear a listed building down. In a city whose much-vaunted masterplan to become a megacity involves little more than the wanton destruction of most of what was there before, that is a fact that is very scary to contemplate.
Ultimately, the Casa was connected over the span of its life to two of Nigeria’s most historic families – the Fernandezes, who had it built, and the Olaiyas, who purchased it from them several decades later and owned it until the demolition. What hope do other properties in this country have if that kind of pedigree wasn’t enough to ensure its survival?
Beyond the fact that what happened to the Casa was unfathomable, what had been happening to it for the preceding few decades was bad as well. From the point when it first acquired monument certification, it was allowed by the government to become a derelict husk… Any preservation work that was carried out there was, by and large, paid for by its owners. This begs the question: If the Casa was a national monument, what benefit did it receive in return for its part in propagating the national story? What was it all for?
This is a very unfortunate case, but it is by no means a unique one… Sometimes, it is even governmental action – as opposed to in-action – that has an adverse effect on historic preservation here. I’m now going to explore one such case in the next section.
School Days
When I was a child, I was taken somewhere one day to meet a very important woman by the name of Chief Abimbola Da Rocha-Afodu-Omololu-Mulele. My family and I were in the market for a school for me at the time after our return to the country in 1996, and so – after my denigration of the military despots that were then in power in the country during an interview at a military academy on the mainland led to much hilarity, we were referred to her school on Victoria Island as a more suitable option for me.
I had no idea at the time, but I was quite literally in the presence of greatness during my meeting with her; born a granddaughter of Chief Candido Da Rocha, one of the richest men to ever come out of Nigeria (so wealthy, in fact, that a proverb describing his wealth is still recited by older members of the Yoruba tribe today), Chief Mulele had gone on to become the first Nigerian woman to graduate in law, serve as a crown counsel in the heady days of decolonization, then retire from the government service and establish A.D.R.A.O. International School in 1963, one of this country’s finest educational institutions and one of the earliest female-owned businesses in Nigeria.
At the time when we met in ’97, she was winding down her direct involvement in the day-to-day running of the school. My interview must have been one of the last ones that she conducted personally. After some pleasantries, she had taken note of the last name that I was using at the time and asked if I was related to someone that she had once known who also bore it. As it turned out, I was. My grandfather and grandmother had both known her and had apparently socialized with her back in the First Republic; Francis Albert Shodolamu Ogunmuyiwa had been a man of public affairs, a founding father as a judicial official and sports administrator in the government that inherited power from the British upon Independence. His wife, Emmanuella Agboola Ogunmuyiwa, was herself a distinguished educationist. She was also a devout Catholic, having received an honour from no less a personage than the pope himself for her dedication to the faith.
Both of my grandparents were – if you’ll pardon the immodesty – old Lagos, so it makes a certain kind of sense in retrospect that they moved in the same circles as Chief Mulele. Once she realized who I was, she was delighted. As far as she was concerned, I could do no wrong thereafter. Shortly after this she brought the interview to a close, then asked for some of her staff to ask that my mother, sister and father join us in her office. By the time that day was over, my sister Bebe had a place at A.D.R.A.O. too… Even though that hadn’t been the plan initially.
The takeaway from all of this is that Chief Mulele managed to build an impressive school by way of methods such as this. Although my sister and I were often miserable during our six years there (High school just about anywhere in the world must be the seventh circle of Hell), it was only many years after leaving the place that we began to appreciate what it was and what we became because of it. Our faculty at the time had included an actor who moonlighted as a player in several National Television Authority productions (who taught “Drama”), a female PhD (who taught “History” and served for a time as vice-principal), and a prince of a Nigerian kingdom (who taught “Agricultural Science”). My earliest knowledge of African history, comparative religion, and social interaction amongst disparate groups come from my time there because of the teaching that they and their colleagues provided.
Over the years, my classmates included a daughter of a multi-millionaire (who eventually went on to serve as head girl in our final year), two princesses (one of whom was herself the granddaughter of another founding father), a descendant of a 19th century Yoruba warlord, and a relative-by-marriage of Dr. Kofi Annan (with this last being a close friend of mine at the time). Bebe’s class, meanwhile, included a third princess and a brace of diplomats’ daughters (with many of these latter being close to her back then). This kind of selectivity in school admissions may no longer be fashionable internationally, but at the time – while Nigeria was in flux – it provided a ready protection here from the twin predations of government censorship and official blackballing. In A.D.R.A.O., we were all safe.
Now you would think that a school like this, with a founder like that, would be one of this country’s proudest achievements. In any other country, in addition to continuing to function as a breeder of greatness, guided tours of its campus would be given to guests – tours that explain why exactly the school is important. But not in Nigeria… No. Here, only truly remarkable things happen.
A couple of years ago, I lamented what I saw as the deterioration of the school in a WhatsApp group. In the way of a response, a gentleman there introduced himself as a relative of the by then late Chief Mulele. He then went on to explain to me that shortly after her death, the federal government had gone to her family and – like Vito Corleone – made them an offer that they weren’t allowed to refuse. Clearly having wanted to take part of the school’s grounds for a long time, they waited until Chief Mulele was dead, then came and offered her heirs money for it. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it was made clear at the time that if they didn’t take the money, the land in question would simply be requisitioned without compensation.
Feeling that their backs were to the wall, the family took the deal – and that was why A.D.R.A.O. was a shadow of its former self by the point when we spoke. I couldn’t believe what I was being told. The very government that was supposed to champion A.D.R.A.O.’s preservation were the ones that swooped in and tore off bits and pieces of it. Many of the blocks that were part of the landscape of my youth are apparently now gone as a result, and in their place, you have extensions to the naval dockyards next door… Once again, a tragedy of Nigeria’s own making.
This should not seem as though only Nigeria does things like this, though. Countries up and down the continent are guilty of crimes against posterity that are equally atrocious. I’m now going to detail one that I am aware of in the next section.
Spier A Thought For Me
In the course of my work with my historical brand “African Royal Families”, I have studied the histories of countless clans from Africa and her diaspora. One of the ones that I know the most about at present is the Hattingh family of South Africa. Claiming descent from Hans Heinrich Hattingh, a German immigrant who first arrived in what was then the Dutch Cape Colony in 1692, the family is now one of its country’s most illustrious Afrikaner dynasties; after early success pioneering South Africa’s soon to be immensely lucrative wine industry, more recent influence has been acquired by its members in opposition politics on the national stage.
Part of their legacy as a clan is tied to Spier, a vast property in Stellenbosch that is one of South Africa’s most opulent stately residences. Hans Heinrich Hattingh was an early owner of this estate, and his descendants still take an active role in propagating the history of his ties to it. While doing genealogical work for one of them, I was made aware of the fact that the historical plaque that had been placed on the manor house there a long time ago had recently been tampered with by persons unknown.
Now listed properties in South Africa are supposed to be under both national and provincial protection; you’re not supposed to be able to alter such a property in this way without official permission. Feeling that there might still be an explanation for this chain of events, I sent an e-mail to Mariota Enthoven and Angus McIntosh, the billionaires that currently own Spier. In it, I introduced myself and explained that I was operating on behalf of a descendant of a former owner of the estate. I asked what had happened to the plaque, and even went so far as to suggest that if they had removed it and had no further use for it, we would be interested in buying it for our private collection. I never got a response.
Even if I assume that the current owners have nothing but good intentions regarding Spier, the fact remains that what happened to the plaque shouldn’t be possible… That is the whole point of listed status – regardless of who or what you are, you can’t unilaterally make alterations to a property whenever you wish to. With things like this already happening, what’s to stop an owner from tearing down one of the historic structures on the estate to make way for a parking lot in the future? As with the case of the Casa from earlier, a lack of accountability makes that a distinct possibility. Things like this shouldn’t be taken lightly.
The amazing thing about this case is that in other respects, South Africa’s protocols regarding historic preservation are impressive. While I was living in the country a decade ago, for example, I took the Robben Island tour and saw how well-preserved Dr. Nelson Mandela’s cell there was. A lot of what they have done, in fact – in terms of heritage tourism, heritage cinema, heritage retail and the like – is worthy of emulation by other countries on the continent. The case of Spier and the missing plaque, however, highlights the fact that there remains work to do if the country’s legacy is to be adequately protected.
Conclusion
So, in light of the foregoing, what is to be done to halt the advance of the forces that seek to eradicate our common history on the continent?
Well, for one thing, I would advocate studying the Egyptian model and copying elements from it moving forward. The Egyptian Department of Antiquities and its allied national agencies oversee a billion dollar-industry; they keep a handle on smuggling and the black market trade in artifacts, they fund expeditions and research, they curate the information given by tour guides all over the country, and they personally operate such lucrative heritage locations as the Valley of the Kings and Old Alexandria. This should be copied by Egypt’s contemporaries elsewhere in Africa; Great Zimbabwe, Sungbo’s Eredo, Shiwa Ngandu and the Singbomey Compound are only four examples of fascinating structures from various parts of Africa that could potentially make brisk business if their host countries do this properly.
What is necessary for anyone interested in doing so is a presence of political will; Egypt and South Africa have governments which – for all their faults in terms of this – understand that their histories are their route to power. If other places are to achieve something similar, then our political leaders are going to have to begin investing in heritage preservation on a large scale. We have had enough of empty promises and ineffectual white elephants. Build a viable program that is insulated from political maneuvering; one that is next to impossible to de-commission once it’s begun. That way, a spiteful political foe won’t dismantle what you have built as soon as he or she comes into office as your successor.
Beyond this, more funding needs to also be given to non-governmental organizations that work in the heritage preservation space. Whether this be government subsidies or private grants, more needs to be done to aid their efforts. As I mentioned earlier, such entities – like Legacy 1995 in Nigeria – are doing admirable work in a thankless field. They could use all the help and support that they can get in terms of it.
Bequests from wealthy individuals and fundraisers in support of the cause are only two examples of private initiatives that could benefit such organizations. I know that when Chief Mulele passed away, for example, she made several charitable donations in her will – including funds being allocated to run a pair of annual lectures in the names of herself and her father. More people should do likewise, and furthermore they should make certain that they privilege historic preservation organizations when it comes to sharing the money after the fact. By the same token, a few socially aware individuals already run fundraisers in lieu of receiving gifts during birthdays and weddings. Although causes like poverty alleviation and medical research are eminently worthy of receiving the resultant proceeds, as they already do, historic preservation should nevertheless be kept in mind as well.
By building bridges between these players in the public and private sectors of heritage maintenance, we will begin to see a major continental shift in terms of it in a relatively short period. And if the future that my children inherit from me – and that their children will someday inherit after them – is to be worthy of a father’s hopes for his heirs, then we all need to do the necessary work now. There is no time to waste.
Chief Mulele sat back in her chair and clapped her hands in approval.
“Ah, of course… Francis and Emmanuella… Yes, they were both friends of mine.”
I was young, living in a city where my grandfather had been dead since the 1970s. As a result, I still hadn’t come across many people who knew who he and my grandmother had been. I remember being somewhat surprised at her reaction. Still, it wasn’t an altogether unpleasant experience.
After a moment, she looked at me kindly.
“I think that I have learned all that I need to. I’m going to have them bring your family in now,” she said with determination. “I want to meet your sister next.”
…..
Image: Dall-E remixed