GanjaIt became known to me, during my early years at Nigeria’s infamous International School, Ibadan (I.S.I) that I was a writer. My first three publications came under the name "T.G Suprinkus." They were published in the year book (I.S.I Microcosm?), I forget which year. Perhaps ‘86-87. From the reaction of the whole school I knew I had a gift. I must give credit to a specific teacher who edited those stories and encouraged me to express my thoughts boldly (though I used an alias, still). I believe his name was Mr. Yariga. I’m sure it still is. I hope that’s his name. I just remember his big nose, bushy moustache, and warm smile.
Next, with my literary clique--Tayo Giwa, Tokunbo Falashe and Wale Akinyele--we came up with an alternate magazine to I.S.I’s traditional satire magazine, BONG. Our version, three copies painstakingly hand-copied over carbon paper, was easily funnier but got me in trouble. People would crowd round the tables in the cafeteria and fall-out laughing as one of the students would read our stories out loud. Silas Ajayi, the Principal, was furious and hunted us down. I skipped school for several days after that.
But the passion had taken root in me. My childhood partner-in-crime, Jovi Otite (who later made his own name as a reporter for the University of Ibadan’s notorious "Echoes" magazine and subsequently as editor of U.I’s "Vintage Magazine") and I tried to outdo each other constantly, in satire. Hanging with the dangerously humorous Sele Aneni, Prince of Bodija, did nothing to improve my state of mind. So much so that when I arrived on the shores of the United States, the freedom of expression here allowed me to explode completely and immerse myself in writing.
Too often, I got into trouble for my writing. Indeed, sometimes I read what I’ve written in the past and wonder how crazy I must have been to have written what I did. It was during my sojourn on the East Coast that the writing took upon seemingly legendary proportions (for a young man coming from the ancient city of Ibadan, anyway). I was causing loads of trouble writing for magazines, college newspapers, community newspapers, pamphlets, practically anywhere that would allow me to express the thoughts festering in my deranged cranium.
Coupled with the fact that I became an active writer on the internet via forums like Naijanet, I went almost absolutely nuts. Freedom of expression is good, but sometimes too much of a good thing is scary. It was this period that consummated my style of writing. My stories range from tales of a third-world childhood to surreal first-world drama. And you will notice something of an unhealthy preoccupation with matters of a spiritual nature. As the song says, it ain’t my fault. Just say no, children. The key fact, anyway, is that these stories are all fictional, yet are based on direct experiences I’ve had or been privy to. It is left to the discerning mind to sift the wheat from the chaff.
I stopped being a writer and completed the transition to mad man in late 1998. Thus, I feel I should, I must gather all I’ve written till that point and distribute it freely for all to see. I’ve done some minor editing, but the content is unchanged. These writings have brought joy and laughter to many. These writings have brought tears to many. Some have read these writings and felt nothing. What you get out of it is what you put into it. Accept the possibilities. Most of all, take your time to read the stories, or I guarantee you’ll miss out on the true beauty. Don’t read these stories when you’re in a hurry or on a train waiting to get to work. Read these stories on a Saturday, when you’re ingesting your intoxicating beverages and unwinding.
This might be the first book "published" over the net free-of-charge and in Microsoft Word, no less. Hey, gone are the days of searching for that big publishing deal. The internet has negated a lot of that old commercial crap (though yet building up a whole new type of commercial crap). What can I say. Embrace the internet commercial crap for the new millenium.
I’m not in it for that anyway. I just want people to read my shit and be happy. The end. I’m trying to tell you. Like Uncle Bill, I want a monopoly. Sue me if you must, but I want anyone and everyone to be able to download this cyber-book, print it out (or print out specific stories), snuggle up with a loved one (or bottle of Jim Beam I always go for the liquor, personally) and have a ball. It is, as said in the ‘hood, "all good." I want this book to be like a chain-letter. To be distributed freely, given to whomever wishes.
I want to, as we, the ebonically inclined are apt to say, "spread the love." Because of the reactions I’ve gotten from those who’ve read various stories in this book, and because I have been given this great gift, it is my prerogative to share it freely. So I kindly request that once you have read this book, pass it on. Someday it’ll come back to you. And please feel free to drop me a line at ganjaekeh@hotmail.com. It’s always good to know just how crazy people think I am. Sadly, there are always those I offend inadvertently. Don’t take it personally, just blame it on substance abuse.
And now a warning. I’m not a conventional person, least of all a conventional writer. Take this book exactly as is.
From a land beyond beyond From a world past hope and fear
One Love
Ganja Ekeh, 1999
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