Lemi Ghariokwu, iconic artist and world famous designer of Fela Anikulapo’s album covers turned 70 in late December. This Sunday, we publish an excerpt from his forthcoming biography, The King of Covers written by Peju Akande and Toni Kan
The story of Lemi Ghariokwu’s birth begins in the shadow of a horrible murder.
The year was 1955 and Lemi Ghariokwu’s mother was pregnant.
It was her second pregnancy.
Married at 18 to a 36 year old man whom she met for the first time when she arrived Lagos as a “bride-by-post”, her first pregnancy had ended in a stillbirth.
So, there was a lot riding on this pregnancy as Lemi Ghariokwu explains:
My dad was born in 1917 and my mum in 1935. She was 20 years old when I was born. My father’s name was Sunday Onyeatoelu Okoh and he was much older than my mum. He had come to Lagos to chase the Golden Fleece, you know, hustle. My dad worked with PWD in 1965, which is now the Federal Ministry of Works and Housing long before 1955 when I was born. But in colonial times, it was called the Public Works Department. He was a Caterpillar Operator but had the Big Man title of Plant Operator and he trained people on how to drive them. That was a beautiful name to call it. As he got older, the family started planning for him to get married. So, that was how they ended up sending my mum to him. You know in those days they did marriage by post. The family had arranged a girl for my father. My mother’s maiden name was Janet Okuwe Agbolo and she was sent to Lagos to meet my dad. That was how they met for the very first time. So, they had to make the marriage work. I think it was 1954, from the story she told me. She got pregnant soon after she arrived in Lagos and had a child, but it was stillborn.
The second baby growing in her womb would eventually become the world famous and iconic artist, Lemi Ghariokwu, who holds the record of having designed the most music album covers in the world at 2,000 and counting.
But that pregnancy was almost imperiled by a foul murder.
When Janet Agbolo arrived at Sunday Okoh’s house, he was living with a cousin of his called Raphael. In those days once a member of the family moved to Lagos and got a job, he would open a pipeline for others seeking greener pastures and that was how Raphael came to live with his cousin.
Back then in Lagos, the colonial establishment was the biggest employer of labour and if you had a bit of an education, your career path followed either of two trajectories; either you worked with the colonial government or with a colonial official as a domestic staff of some stripe. Jobs in the corporate sector were few and far between.
Raphael was hired as a cook to a white couple who turned out, literally, to be the death of him.
Because Raphael was younger and nearer his sister-in-law’s age, they became fast friends. After work, they would sit and talk. While Janet told him about the changes in the village he had left for a spell Raphael told her about Lagos and how to navigate the city.
But with time Raphael’s discussions began to center more on his employers.
“Those people are wicked,” he would say. “I thought witchcraft existed only in Africa but those two people are witches.”
As Janet listened to her in-law, a picture of workplace dissatisfaction began to emerge. Raphael’s boss and his wife were mean to him and Raphael, it turned out, was not one to abide by an insult.
As cook, Raphael prepared a feast every day for his employers and every day there would be leftovers which they forbade their cook to eat. He wasn’t greedy nor a glutton. He was just hungry. Back then Ikoyi was too highbrow and posh to cater to the needs of domestics. To find food, you had to go all the way to Obalende. Raphael could not understand it.
“Can you imagine? They will give their dog the bones then ask me to throw the rest away; perfectly good food that I made o. If not for their wickedness we will not be cooking at night in this house because there will be enough food to eat.”
Tired of their meanness, Raphael devised a plan. He would feed the bones to the dogs as instructed then while disposing of the leftovers, he would save some for himself.
This worked for a while until his employers discovered his scheme but instead of warning or firing him, they apparently poisoned the food he kept for himself.
Rapheal suffered for almost one month. His stomach was on fire, and he soon became too sick to go to work. It was Janet who would comfort him as they battled to find a cure for his ailment, but nothing worked.
One day as he lay writhing in pain with Janet wiping his forehead with a cold compress, Raphael reached out and touched her bulging belly.
“Our wife, thank you for taking care of me! Thank you and if this thing kills me, I will want to be reborn into this loving family.”
“You are not going to die,” Janet shushed him even as she wiped away a tear.
Raphael died two weeks later.
“My mother told me this story while I was already in my twenties and even then, she was teary when she told the story. She told me the story because she saw the way I was interacting with oyinbo people,” Lemi Ghariokwu explains. “And because Raphael kept saying “I love this household and will like to come back as a member” it is believed that I am Raphael reincarnated.”
Lemi Ghariokwu suggests a similarity in his reincarnation story to that of his mentor and biggest client, Fela Anikualpo Kuti whom he says was a reincarnation of a dead sibling.
“My story is quite reminiscent of Fela’s in that regard. There is an abiku story to Fela’s life,” Lemi Ghariokwu says, growing animated as the subject moves to metaphysics. “There was a child that was born and was given a Dutch name in Fela’s family but he died and the mother went to see a native doctor who told her the child was not happy to be burdened with an English name. She got pregnant again and had Fela.”
For many years, Lemi Ghariokwu was told that he was born on Wednesday December 26, 1956 in Agege, Lagos. His family lived on Isa Street, the second street after Adeyemi Street, which was very close to Pen Cinema. His parents were both from Agbor, which is in present day Delta State. His village is Alisilie Idumukwu in Ika South Local Government Area.
Lemi Ghariokwu’s given names are Emmanuel Chukwudi Monday Abiodun. Monday for the day he was born. Abiodun to show that he was born in Yorubaland during the festive period and Emmanuel was the name he was given at baptism and Chukwudi was to affirm the belief in God! When he got into primary school, his official name entered into the school’s record was Emmanuel Sunday-Okoh.
But it took him many years before he discovered his real date of birth. How did this mistake come to be and persist? Lemi Ghariokwu is not sure as he explains.
“My mum had a lot of documents, like the card she used to go for antenatal. She also had the baptism card. But despite all those documents, the date of birth in my documents remained December 26, 1956.”
The error persisted and it did not help that he was a smallish child, which was significant back then especially when it was time to go to school.
A child who was taken to be enrolled in primary school did not necessarily have to present a birth certificate since so many children did not have one. Readiness was determined, in many instances, by a rule of thumb.
The parents or guardians would present the child. The teachers would ask the child to raise his right hand, loop it across his head and touch his left ear. If the child succeeded with the maneuver then he or she was considered ready for primary 1.
Lemi Ghariokwu failed that simple test the first time he was presented for admission and so, while his mates went on to primary school, he spent the next school year at home and helping his mother at her tailoring shop.
“Growing up and getting to school age, I lived in a situation where I didn’t know my exact date of birth,” he explains. “You see, because I didn’t grow tall fast enough, I was six and my fingers didn’t touch my ears. The school was Bishop Oluwole Memorial Primary School, Pen Cinema, Agege, near Iju motor park. I was told to come back the next year.”
It was particularly painful because one of his neighbours, who lived nearby, was admitted even though they were the same age. She was admitted because she was taller. Her name was Maria.
Lemi’s mother was a seamstress and a talented one at that who made beautifully designed and embroidered antimacassars. “My favourite were the ones that she got lots of requests to make, knit jobs on bed sheets or pillowcases. The embroidery had short axiomatic statements on them. My mother taught me how to crochet and I could make sweaters as a child.”
Lemi’s mother’s shop was not far from the house and sometimes, he would be called away to run errands for a neighbour and that was the first woman Lemi Ghariokwu fell in love with.
“Her name was Kasuwa,” Lemi says with a laugh and a twinkle in his eyes. Many years have passed but he still remembers her with a smile.
* Photos courtesy Lemi Ghariokwu
**The King of Covers is forthcoming from BLOOMart!
