Commodification of Culture: The Political Economy of the Hausa Popular Cultural Industries
Prof. Abdalla Uba Adamu
Department of Mass Communications
Bayero University, Kano – Nigeria
(Vice-Chancellor of the National Open University of
Nigeria)
auadamu@yahoo.com
Introduction
Commodification of
culture, an increasingly significant strand in critical studies
of culture, focuses
attention on what happens when culture is produced on a mass consumption scale,
and distributed in direct competition with other locally
produced cultural products
(see, for instance,
Enzensberger, 1974). While mainly used in critical studies of tourism
industry and its cultural import
(e.g. Ryan & Aicken, 2012; James, 2014), the term has come to be applied to
media industries with profit, rather
than cultural aesthetics or preservation as the primary
motive. This is premise
on the assumption that while high culture sells to exclusive discerning
consumers, low, mass produced culture
targeted at the non-cerebral aesthetics, sell more massively. Thus the commodification of culture, especially in
media studies, feeds into the political economy of production.
Synthesizing from various perspectives, Vincent Mosco distills
political economy to be “the social relations, particularly the power relations, that mutually constitute the production, distribution, and consumption of
resources” (Mosco 2009, p. 24). This makes the products of communication, particularly books, newspapers, films,
videos and indeed, their audiences, primary resources for studies
in political economy.
However, it is instructive to note
that critical political economy is
sometimes used as a descriptor to
separate its use as a tool of media analysis from classical political economy
theorists such as Adam Smith. Golding
and Murdock (1996), for instance, provide this separation by arguing that political
economy analyses of the media are holistic;
and the economy is essentially an interconnected network which includes the society, culture, and politics.
Within this context, the Frankfurt School
of critical theorists
headed by Theodor
Adorno and Max Horkheimer pioneered
the critical and multidisciplinary approach
to cultural critique
that combined textual
analysis, audiences and political economy of the media to understand the ideological and social impacts of mass
culture and communications. Their construction of the concept of ‘culture industries’ paved the way for subsequent
exploration of the properties and consequences of mass-produced culture for commercial
purposes. .
The
critical theorists of the Frankfurt School subsequently analyzed a broad range
of mass- mediated cultural
artefacts within the context of industrial production. They identified how cultural commodities such as music (see Adorno
1932, 1938), popular
literature (see Lowenthal
1949) and radio
soap operas (see Herzog 1941) displayed the features of other products
of mass production; specifically standardization, commodification and massification (Goodwilliam 2014). Kellner
(2005) stresses their significance as the first group of social theorists to identify the ways in which mass culture industries were at the
heart of leisure, affected socialization and mediated political reality.
Additionally, as Murdock & Golding
(1973), Garnham (1994), and Wasko (2005) pointed out, analysis of the political economy of the media industries
entails investigation of the power relations
that determine participation in and ownership of cultural production. Such
analysis, as noted earlier,
was facilitated by the Frankfurt School in Germany.
However, the more recent center
for investigation of the impact of media on the cultural industries was pioneered by the Birmingham School in the UK from about 1964.
This essay analyzes the
commodification of the Hausa cultural industries in three interconnected domains – video films, magazines and
music. I situate my arguments within a historical matrix of the development of Hausa visual cultures
and musical cultures. Theoretically I tend to favor the economic perspective given by Wasco’s (1981) analysis of the
political economy of American film
production. Data for the essay was collected over a period of several years of
embedded fieldwork in Kano, northern
Nigeria and Niamey in Niger Republic. Analysis of dozens of video films and popular culture magazines, as
well as hours of interaction with marketers, producers, studio session musicians, singers, writers and magazine editors
provided a primary ethnographic insight
into the political economy of the contemporary Hausa cultural industries, as well
as its commodification.
The Hausa and Cultural Production
Cultural dynamics, particularly
cultural representation in any form of media is a strong factor in the digestibility of messages encoded in
the various forms of popular culture. Media represents, and more so visual media which depicts and reconstruct – as well
as deconstructs – particular episodes
in the lives of individuals.
The Hausa are predominantly found in
northern Nigeria, but well spread out to Niger Republic where the speakers
of the language constitute 55% of the indigenous population. The language has also
spread across the West African sub-region from Chad, Cameroon to Ghana, Burkina
Faso, and Sierra Leone. The Hausa in
these West African countries are predominantly traders and form a core resistant group of immigrants who
refused to give up their language even if living in a linguistically plural
society.
Popular culture in the form of films,
music and literature are referred to by the Hausa as “adab” (social mirror, but used usually to mean
literature) arrived into the Hausa public space through Islam, which made its first inroads into Hausaland in about 1250. In 1380 the Hausa chief of Kano, Yaji, accepted Islam from a group of
Malian Muslim clerics, and subsequently established it as the state religion. Effectively, therefore, Kano had been an Islamic
state since then.
Like missionaries of all faiths, the
Malian clerics introduced Arabic alphabet and subsequently reading and writing to the new converts.
The “original” Hausa, i.e. those who refused to accept Islam eventually migrated
out of Muslim areas, and became referred
to as “Maguzawa” (those who run away).
The Muslim Hausa continued ruling
the Hausa kingdoms
until 1804 when the Jihad of Usman ɗan Fodiyo supplanted Hausa rule with Fulani rule. The new
rulers, however, could not speak the Fulfulde language
– having been acclimatized as Hausa; subsequently the weird linguistic hybrid of “Hausa-Fulani”
emerged to characterize the main social fabric of northern Nigeria.
Having acquired literacy through
Islam, the Muslim Hausa took it quite seriously and used their new found education to propagate Islam only. When the British
colonial administration (the British conquered then northern territories in
1903) introduced a literary competition in 1933, they found it hard to get entrants. As Dr. Rupert
East, the arch-Svengali of the Hausa classical literature, exasperatedly noted,
The
first difficulty was to persuade these Malamai that the thing was worth doing.
The influence of Islam, superimposed
on the Hamitic strain in the blood of the Northern Nigerian, produces an
extremely serious- minded type of person.
The art of writing, moreover,
being intimately connected in his mind with his religion, is not to be treated lightly. Since the religious
revival at the beginning of the last (19th) century, nearly all the original work produced by Northern
Nigerian authors has been either purely religious or written with a strong religious
motive (East, 1936:351-352).
This attachment between religion and
literature is to form the core template of the cultural dynamics of the Muslim Hausa
popular culture. Nowhere
is it vividly illustrated than in the Hausa video film industry.
Foundations of the
Hausa Video Film
Early Yoruba traveling theatre videos
found their way to Kano’s bustling “visitor” (or more appropriately, “guest settlers”) communities of Sabon Gari in
the 1980s where they were shown in
cinemas and hotel bars. This attracted the attention of Hausa amateur TV soap
opera stars and crew such as Bashir
Mudi Yakasai (cinematographer), Aminu Hassan Yakasai (scriptwriter) and Tijjani Ibrahim (director). Surprisingly,
despite the massive popularity of Hausa drama in the television houses, and despite government financial muscle, yet
the idea of full-scale commercial production of the Hausa drama episodes
by the television houses was never considered. Individuals wishing to own certain
episodes simply go to the television station
and pay the cost of the tape and a duplication fee and that was it. There was no attempt
to commercialize the process on full-scale.
However, at the time of producing Bakan Gizo in Bagauda Lake Hotel 1983 to
1984, Aminu Hassan Yakasai, Ali
Muhammad Yakasai, Bashir Mudi Yakasai started strategizing producing a drama for cinema settings, as done by
southern Nigerian video filmmakers. The film title they were thinking about was to be called Shigifa, about four unemployed graduates who started thinking about setting up a company. A
script idea was floated, and Aminu Hassan Yakasai was to be the script writer. However before the idea matured, the
group started getting coverage of social
events, and actually part of the coverage was also stored as footage, although
the film was not eventually made.
The
precise decision to commercialize the Hausa video film, and thus create
an industry, was made by late Aminu Hassan Yakasai
in 1986, with technical support
of Bashir Mudi Yakasai, the leading cinematographer in Kano, and Tijjani
Ibrahim, a producer with CTV 67. Aminu Hassan Yakasai was a member of the Tumbin Giwa Drama Group, one of the many
drama groups that existed in Kano and
who stage their performances in local playgrounds. He was also a writer and a
member of the Raina Kama Writers Association which spear-headed the development of the Contemporary Hausa Literature (CHP) in the 1980s. Thus the idea of putting
Hausa drama—and extending
the concept later—on
video films and selling it was a
revolutionary insight, simply because no one
had thought of it in the northern part of Nigeria. The project was
initiated in 1986 and by 1989, a film,
Turmin Danya, was completed. It was
released to the market in 1990—giving birth to the Hausa video film industry. Salisu Galadanci was the producer and
director, as well as the cinematographer, while Bashir Mudi Yakasai provided technical advice.
Here, it is significant to note that
if Nollywood can be said to start off with Living
in Bondage, which was released in
1992, then the Hausa video film industry was the first with Turmin Danya, which was released
in March 1990. The moderate
acceptance of Turmin Danya in Kano encouraged the Tumbin Giwa drama group to release
Rikicin Duniya in 1991, and Gimbiya Fatima
in 1992 — all with resounding success. Gimbiya Fatima, featured Adamu Muhammad, a novelist (Kwabon
Masoyi), and one of the most successful and innovative television drama
actors from CTV Kano soap operas.
By now it was becoming clear to the
pioneers that there seems to be a viable Hausa video film market, and it was this viability that
laid the foundation of the fragmented nature of the Hausa video film industry. For while organized
groups formed to create the drama and film production units, individual members of the groups decided to stake out
their own individual territories and chart
their own future. Thus Adamu Muhammad, the star of Gimbiya Fatima decided to produce
his own video film, independent of Tumbin Giwa group in 1994. The video
film was Kwabon Masoyi, based on his own novel of the same name, and outlined the road map for the future of the Hausa video film, and at the same time
sounded the death knell of the drama groups. This was because Aminu Hassan Yakasai who created the very concept of
marketing Hausa video films— and thus
created an industry—broke away from Tumbin Giwa and formed Nagarta Motion Pictures.
Others followed suit.
Other
organized drama groups
in Kano did not fare too well either. For instance Jigon Hausa which
released a genre-forming Munkar in
1995 broke up, with the star of the video film, Bala Anas Babinlata forming an independent Mazari
Film Mirage production company (Salma Salma Duduf). Similarly Ado Ahmad Gidan Dabino broke away from Tauraruwa
Drama and Modern Films Production
(which produced In Da So Da Ƙauna) and formed Gidan Dabino Video Production (Cinnaka, Mukhtar, Kowa Da Ranarsa). And while Garun Malam Video Club produced
Bakandamiyar Rikicin
Duniya written by Ɗan Azumi Baba; after the video film was released
Baba left the group and established RK Studios (Badaƙala).
From field studies and interview with
the producers in Kano, most of these break-ups were not based on creative
differences but financial disagreements or personality clashes within the groups. The number of officially registered “film production” companies
that came up in Kano alone from 1995
to 2000 were more than 120. There were many others whose “studio heads” did not
submit themselves to any form of registration and simply sprang
into action whenever
a contract to make a film was made available.
Interestingly, Adamu Muhammad of
Kwabon Masoyi Productions also produced the first Hausa video film entirely in English. It was House Boy. Although House Boy was an innovative experiment by a Hausa video filmmaker
to enter into the English
language video genre,
yet it was a commercial disaster. Hausa audience
refused to buy it because
it seemed too much like a “Nigerian film”, associating it with
southern Nigerian video films. When the producer took it to Onitsha—the main marketing center for
Nigerian films in south-east part of the country—to sell to the Igbo marketers, he was rebuffed by marketers who were
surprised that a Hausa video producer
could command enough English to even produce a video film in the language.
Further, the video had no known
“Nigerian film” actors in it, and therefore was not acceptable to them.8 Thus Hausa audience rejected it because it
looked too much like a “Nigerian film”, while non- Hausa rejected it because it used “unknown” Hausa actors, so it must be a Hausa film, even though the dialog
was in English!
Market Square Heroes—Commodification of Culture in the Hausa Video Film
When
Tumbin Giwa Film Productions in Kano finished
editing Turmin Danya in 1990 they faced the problem of marketing it. The production of the video film did not come with an embedded film
marketing strategy
that would be cost-effective to the drama group, considering in fact the financial hurdles they had to overcome to produce
just one video film. Further, cassette dealers in Kano, dominated by Nigérien Hausa immigrants had no interest in
marketing a Hausa video film over the
Hindi, American and Chinese films they were making a bustling trade out
pirating. A Hausa video film was an anomaly because
the main Television stations of NTA Kano and CTV Kano, as well as NTA Kaduna all had popular
dramas that were easily available. Further, it would
not be as easily pirated as
overseas films because the owners are local and can control the production and distribution. On the face of the
popularity of TV dramas and their ready availability, it does not seem to make marketing sense
to accept Turmin Danya. They therefore
refused to market it.
The Tumbin Giwa drama group
also faced a second problem
of getting enough
blank tapes to make multiple
copies of the video—and again the marketers
who were the main distributors of the tapes,
refused to co-operate as they do not wish to reveal their sources.
Generally, they were not particularly keen on the development of the indigenous video film industry
because it was a loose
cannon in their lucrative pirating.
Most of the marketers lack modern
education and sophistication to market a film within the conventional process of film marketing. This is more because creating
and implementing advertising and promotional efforts
designed to make a film stand out in a competitive market environment, film marketing typically uses the same methods other products do—and these require
a corporate mindset the typical Hausa merchant simply
does not have. The marketers did, however, accepted to distribute Turmin Danya if the producers would find
enough tapes to duplicate it themselves
and bring it to them “ready-made”. Thus the marketing system depended on the producer making multiple copies of a video
film at his own expense, sticking the photos of the film on the cover and finding a willing marketer ready to accept
it on sales-or-return basis. No marketer was willing to either invest
in the industry or even purchase the video films directly. They simply stacked
them in their shops and gave the producer the sales, after
taking their commission. If the video flopped, i.e. with low sales, the producer took
the loss. Even if the marketer accepts the
jackets, it could take up to six months for the full cost of the video film to
be recouped—and even then in dribs
and drabs of at most N2,000 at a go. This ties up the producer who has to wait until assembling all the money to start a
new production. If a newer, more popular video film comes along, the
unsold jackets of his film were
returned to him.
The tape was often distinguished by a
set picture pasted on the cover the casing. In this uncertain way, the marketing
of the Hausa video film industry started—with no actual marketing— especially advertising, promotion, reviewing, product endorsement—or effective distribution network. It was up to the producers to take copies
of the tapes to various
marketers in large northern cities
of Kaduna, Sokoto,
Jos, Zaria, Bauchi,
Maiduguri and Gombe.
The sheer finance
needed for this logistics was simply too much for the early producers and therefore not feasible. It was in fact for this reason that the early-era Hausa
video films were produced by associations—Jan Zaki, Jigon Hausa, Tumbin Giwa, etc., who used the umbrella of the
organization to produce and distribute the video film. The producers
therefore settled with a simple
advertisement on the radio informing listeners where to get a certain release.
The marketers, of course, were not interested in any advertising
for any video film—as doing that may draw attention to their illegal pirating activities.
However when Tumbin Giwa released Gimbiya Fatima in 1992 it became a
wake-up call to the viewers and the
marketers. This video film opened viewers to the genre, and after a slow
take-off period, the Hausa video film had arrived. Gimbiya Fatima, a period romantic
drama in a traditional Hausa Muslim palace caught viewers’
imagination and proved so successful that the producers introduced a new innovation in Hausa video filmmaking—making
Parts 2 and 3. It was the first Hausa
video film to benefit from a continuing story.
For
the producers, the only way to get their master
copies mass duplicated was to enter a deal with the marketers. The release of Tsuntsu Mai Wayo in 1995 by Bala Anas Babinlata
created a pathway
for this collaboration. instead of a usual set picture of a scene from
the video on the cover the cassette, it had as near a professional quality
color printed cover
as possible at the time.
It was the first Hausa
video film with a “ready-made jacket”: the slipcase container for the video
tape was the “jacket”. This ensured
that his video films would be more easily distinguishable. He still had to find his own blank tapes and duplicate
the original master and distribute to the dealers—much the same way “Nigerian” video films were distributed to all
dealers in Kano. A few months later, his
colleague, Khalid Musa changed all this with the release of Munkar when under Jigon Hausa Drama Club he came up with the idea of giving a master copy of the video film to a marketer, and then
selling the number of “jackets” the marketer needed initially at N30, later
raised to N50 per jacket. The
cassette dealer then takes the responsibility of duplicating copies of the
master tape— on the tapes he
refused to sell to the producers, and which had massive supply of—placing them in the jackets and selling them to
individual buyers at N250, or re-sellers at N180. The N50 cost of the jackets was all the producer got
out of this deal; even then, the producer was paid after the dealer had sold
the tapes. The jackets of tapes not sold were returned to the producer, and the cassette dealer simply erased the tape and
records another video on it. The
actors also do not receive any
subsequent royalties on the sales of the video – having been paid a lump sum by
the producer before shooting begins.
By the time Gidan Dabino released In Da So Da Ƙauna
to the marketers
1996, the marketers had started showing
slight interest in the marketing of the Hausa video films.
This was more so because
the video film was based on a best-selling novel of the same name and had caught the imagination of Hausa school girls across northern
Nigeria. A way still needed to be worked out on mass production of the tapes—which the producers could not afford to do. Gidan Dabino
came up with another formula—selling the “copyright” (meaning
the right to duplicate) the video film for either a year for N2,000 or “for life” for N5,000. This,
however, was specific to a particular marketer. Thus as many as five different marketers could all come and
lease—for that was actually what it entailed—the
copy of the same video film, duplicate it themselves and distribute as they see
fit. The creative copyright of the
video film, however, remained that of Gidan Dabino. This system was not adopted by other producers and the
original formula suggested by Jigon Hausa seemed acceptable to the marketers. In fact it was consolidated when RK
Studios released Badaƙala in 1997 and
sold the jacket to the marketers as per Jigon Hausa formula. Indeed only
Ibrahimawa Studios in 2000 with Akasi followed the example of Tsuntsu Mai Wayo of releasing
a ready-made video film to the marketers. But by then
the marketers had cottoned-on the act—the future of Hausa video film marketing lies in the sale of jackets to the
marketers. The filmmakers were now firmly in their grip.
The
early (1990 to 1996) Hausa
video films had a distinct
characteristic: they were written mainly
by novelists and/produced by structured drama groups and clubs. They
were thus artistic in the sense that
they were genuine attempts at interpreting the society using a new media
technology which was just getting
available to young urban Hausa. For instance, Turmin Danya was a period drama
that studies the intrigues of a Hausa traditional ruler’s palace. Munkar was written by a novelist (Bala Anas Babinlata) and a
screenplay writer (Khalid Musa), who approached the screenplay with professionalism associated with Babinlata’s widely successful novels.
It was also a product of a
drama group, thus having to undergo through various committees of Jigon Hausa Drama Group before the script was approved
for screening. Finally, it had a strong social
message—trying to stamp out prostitution among young Hausa
girls. In Da So Da Ƙauna explores the essential tension between tradition
and choice in marriage by tracing the roots of forced marriage phenomena in one family.
Ki Yarda Da Ni is a study of kishiya—co-wife—micro-culture in Hausa marriages. It was adapted
from a book by a best-selling author,
Bilkisu Ahmed Funtuwa.
It thus became
the first novel by a Hausa female author to be adapted for video film.
It also inspired
adaptation of a similar novel that explores
the same theme,
Kara Da Kiyashi, by Zuwaira Isa, and signaled
the entrance of women into Hausa video film phenomena.
Subsequent producers, however, were not novelists, but experienced stage and drama
artistes who maintained the tradition of producing
their video dramas on tapes and marketing them to an audience that was beginning to become aware
of the new popular culture.
Within a relatively short period of
time, particularly from 1995 to 1999 more producers emerged. The initial route
into the industry was for a newbie
producer to give a “contract” to an established producer to make a film for him—or quite
often, her—and become
involved in every aspect of production. Once the newbie
producer had learnt the ropes, he also became a producer, and often a
director; not so much for budgetary control
of the production, but also to be part of the industry. Further, in the early stages those
individuals who had the capital to form some sort of production companies
became easily the market
leaders. The search
for fame and contracts as producers led to the breaking up of these
production companies and the Hausa video film industry became an all-comers affair. For instance
in about 1995 Alhaji Musa Na Sale, an audio cassette recordist
(recording traditional Hausa musicians such as Sani Sabulu, Ali Makaho, and Garba Supa)
came across Hamdala
Drama Group in Wudil, a town some 50 kilometers from
Kano during their stage performance. The group
featured a comedian, Rabilu Musa Ɗanlasan
with the stage name of Ibro. In a genre-defining business deal, Musa Na Sale paid for the video production of a comedy
by the group featuring Ibro in his first film. The film was Kowa Ya Ɗebo
Da Zafi and established history in Hausa popular
culture in two respects. First it was
the first commercial Hausa video film by a marketer. Second, it established the Chamama category of Hausa video films—cheaply produced films, and
this served as an attraction to other marketers. Thus from 1995 some marketers
also became producers.
Kano State Filmmakers Association and the Hausa Video
Film Industry
It was clear, however, that some form
of organized behavior was needed to either negotiate the best deals or undercut a rival. It was thus that a group of senior producers, temporarily setting aside
their differences, decided to form the Kano State Filmmakers Association
(KSFMA) in 1996 to provide a common
platform for the video film industry, regulate entry into the system and most importantly provide some form of input into the marketing of the video films. However,
right from its formation the KSFMA was doomed to
failure because of the personality clashes among its members, and the utter contempt for the leadership of the
association by emergent producers. As noted by one of the founding
members,
The Association took
up very well and made great impact. Gradually, sanity in production and
marketing began to creep in, and at
the same time, the industry began to witness more and more influx of producers most of whom did so because it was the vogue and also because
of apparent lucrative
nature of the business. Unfortunately, many of the producers were
not serious and unprepared. Soon selfish interests, domination phobia, conspiracy and jealousy started to
show their ugly faces. The noble aims and objectives of the association were put into jeopardy.
Unethical practices, lawlessness and dislike for control coupled with the blind desire to make money at all cost
(because others have done so) became the order of the day (Sango 2004: 74).
Despite their large combined years of
theater and TV production experience, there were no attempts by the KSFMA to professionalize the industry in terms
of either training, focus of the industry, expanding the market beyond
Hausa speaking areas
or post-production processes. There were also no
quality assurance mechanisms to regulate not only production ethics but also storylines, for as Jibril (2004:
77) noted,
Indeed
most of the personnel that make a typical production crew (director, producer,
camera operators, lighting
technicians, soundmen, production designers etc.), normally started off without
any formal training in either their
acclaimed areas of expertise or in the general principles and techniques of
film and video production. The few
people among them who have had formal education and training in television or
film production were forced to
compromise the essential professional production requirements and treatments in technical areas, (like directing,
scripting, visual treatments, effects, lighting requirements, make-up, sound etic) in favor of the common practice of
“doing it the way others do” and not necessarily how it ought to be done professionally. The relatively small
size, (in terms of number) of these trained professionals in the industry
is too “insignificant” that they can hardly
make any meaningful inroads in changing
the direction of events
for the better in the industry. Thus the low quality of the Hausa home video is
not only the result of the nature of
the equipment used in producing them or their apparent low budgets but also the
reflection of the poverty
of both the professional and technical knowledge that go into their production.
The main focus of the members of the KSFMA was on how each of them as an individual producer,
not as a group, would gain fame and stardom.
Even the studios
that emerged from the fragmentation of the earlier drama groups
and societies revolved around a single individual—as exemplified by Nagarta Motion Pictures (Aminu Hassan Yakasai),
Kwabon Masoyi Productions (Adamu Muhammad), Gidan Dabino Video Films (Ado Ahmad), Mazari
Film Mirage (Bala
Anas Babinlata) and countless others
who followed suit. Further, in each of the video films produced
by the new independents, the
studio head was almost always the starring lead, producer, scriptwriter and director,
whether in the video films of the studio, or in
contract video films. They
established the central genre of
Hausa video film industry—romantic stories either between married or unmarried couples, albeit cast in a mode
traditional matrix of Hausa society—and subsequently encouraged Executive Producers to provide them with contracts to produce more video films
along the same line.
The KSFMA was principally a marketing
advocacy group that sought ways to ensure the video films of its members were effectively sold in the market. Its main innovation was the introduction of a queuing system (“layin sakin kaset”) for releasing new
video films into the market almost from its formation. All Hausa video
film producers, whether
based in Kano or not, must subscribe
to this system in a special deal negotiated between the KSFMA and the
marketers. This became necessary
because it was clear from the tide of Hausa video films being released into the
market towards the end of the 1990s
that some form of control had to be instituted into the system. This was more so because the success of the video
films from 1996 to 1999 had attracted
other, younger, producers with the intent of making
their mark in the “industiri” as the industry
was labeled. These younger
elements had money for films, were star-struck by the older producers and
directors and were ready to invest.
Soon enough the Bata market in Kano became flooded by about five to ten new video films per week from 1998 to
1999. The idea behind the queuing system of releasing Hausa video films
was to ensure that customers were not confused
over which video film to watch within
a short period of time.
Bata, named after a shoe company
located in the nexus of stalls selling video films on the edge of Sabon Gari market in Kano, became the
most important Hausa video film distribution center in northern Nigeria in the period.
The stalls were owned principally by Nigérien marketers
who were making lucrative business in pirating
foreign – mainly Chinese and Indian – films, as well as importing pirated
music tapes from all over the world.
Further, most of the early Hausa video
film Executive Producers were women with tales of the heart to tell and this fitted perfectly into the production
values of the individual production units of KSFMA.
For ironically where the KSFMA existed as an umbrella
organization, it was made up of disparate
and mutually distrusting individual film companies that continued their intense rivalry
for production contracts, which only made the notion of organizational
control merely nominal. This indeed
was reflected in the fact that the queuing system collapsed almost from its
inception. Addressing a press
conference in September 1999, the then Chairman of the KSFMA, Alhaji Auwalu Isma’il
Marshal announced the abolishing of the queuing system
“When we introduced
the queuing system of releasing cassettes in the market some few months ago,
some selfish and thoughtless people
hated the system right away. They claimed it was introduced to suppress up- and-coming producers. No one questioned
our logic in instituting the system—was it to suppress or to empower? The KSFMA ignored these comments
and was happy that most of our members agreed with the system. Unfortunately it came to our notice
that some of our unpatriotic members had gone behind our backs and negotiated special
deals with cassette
marketers to jump the queue
and get their
own films released.
This is very disappointing to the KSFMA,
and in order to work out a more efficient
system for our members, from today
the queuing system for releasing Hausa video films weekly into the market has
been abolished. Let every producer
release his film as he sees fit into the market.” Press release on abolishing the queuing system
of releasing Hausa video films into Kano markets, Tauraruwa, August
1999 p. 39.
To
further illustrate the market-driven nature
of the Hausa video film industry, similar
fate awaited any subsequent attempt to form any filmmakers associations in other production centers of Jos, Kaduna
(see reports in Fim July 2001 pp
41-43, Fim September 2001 pp 37-39),
Bauchi and Sokoto (Fim September 2001 pp 44-45, Fim December 2001, p 40). In each of
these cities filmmakers associations
were formed, disbanded and often left in a limbo after bitter acrimony between the constituent production studios
that decided to form a State-wide association. The reason for their lack of cohesion was the same as in
Kano—personality clashes and desire by the head
of each studio to be the leader of the pack either in getting contracts to
produce video films, or in ensuring maximum success for own video film in an increasingly crowded market.
The Takeover:
Marketers and Revival
of the Hausa Video Film Industry
By the end of 2003 independent
marketers – not associated with any drama club or filmmakers association, simply took over the Hausa
video film industry, successfully edging out many of the mainstream Hausa video filmmakers in Kanywood’s nerve center
(e.g. Sarauniya, Ibrahimawa, Dukku).
With video films from these newly established independents swamping the
markets, it became difficult to
recoup enough money from a film to make another one—especially for those who wish to maintain a semblance of
creativity in their films. Noting a lull in the production, cassette marketers (referred to as
‘diloli’ or dealers) in Kano simply took over the Hausa video film production in 2004. This became inevitable because, as Jonathan
Haynes (2007, p. 40) pointed
out,
The basic structures of the video business are similar in Nigeria and Ghana. The marketer/distributors, based in
Opera Square in Accra and in Idumota Market in Lagos, with other Nigerian
centers in the Igbo cities of Onitsha and Aba and the Hausa city of Kano, have effective control
of the market. They are the main source of capital, as banks and other formal
sector institutions are wary of the film business. Most of the marketers were traders in electronics or other goods before getting
into the film business; they are vigorously condemned by the filmmakers as semi-literates with no knowledge
of cinema, throwing their weight around like the Hollywood moguls
of old but without the far-sightedness or instinct for talent that built the American industry. They are resented for mandating
storylines and casting and held responsible for the repetitious flogging of the same faces and plots,
aiming only at quick returns on minimal investments by pandering to the lowest and most predictable tastes of their audiences.
Similar trends were noted in the
“Nigerian”, i.e. Nollywood film industry. According to a report, by 2004 the “Awka Mafia”, a cabal of
powerful marketers in Awka, Anambra State in South Eastern Nigeria
controlled the Nigerian film industry:
…completely
with the marketers not only dictating who should act in films but also which
films should be released into the
market and which ones should not. It was that same year that the marketers
exercised the biggest power
of all when they banned
10 top Nollywood stars alleging
indiscipline, very high fees and other sundry
matters…Initially, they started
by choosing the kind of stories they wanted and cajoling the producers to use certain locations. In no space of
time, they started dictating the actors and actresses they wanted on films. Before anybody could guess their
next move, some of them even became directors and established their offices among the film makers
themselves. “How marketers hijacked Nigeria’s movie industry” The Tide (Nigeria), Saturday, Jun 17, 2006, online edition at http://www.thetidenews.com.
Thus Hausa video film marketers, who
rejected the industry in its infancy, and with neither background nor training
in cinematic arts in any form—like their southern counterparts—adopted two strategies
to take over the Hausa video film market
from 2004.
Purchase of CD Rights
The first strategy was the
introduction and of “sayen CD”—the purchase of CD rights of a film. The purchase of CD rights actually started
with Tawakkali in 2001 at the time
when southern Nigerian films were increasingly
becoming available in the CD format manufactured by media production companies, such as Sontec in
Singapore. This created a stampede of interest among Hausa video filmmakers to get their own films on CD—seen as the
ultimate symbol of cinematic cool.
This created a brisk business for Iyke Moore Enterprises—which was the main
marketer of Nigerian language,
especially Igbo films in Kano—to purchase the CD rights for many Hausa video films at N20,000 per film. However,
Hausa marketers, who had not shown any interest in marketing the Hausa
films on CDs—preferring to stick to the old formula of buying “jackets” from the
producers—suddenly realized that more profits could be made from the CDs than
the VHS tapes, and they moved in,
effectively undercutting Iyke Moore and purchasing the Hausa video films at significantly higher prices from
local producers—and at the same time using the ethnic factor to favor them. For instance, while Iyke Moore was an
Igbo, the Nigérien Hausa marketers point
out their ethnic affinity to the Hausa film producers and this as a negotiating
base in effectively edging Iyke Moore
completely out of the business. Since the producing costs were cheaper with CDs than with VHS tapes, the
sales from the latter were left as sheer profit for the producers.
The purchasing appeal of a CD right of
a film, especially from 2003 hinged on a trailer which focuses on a song and dance routine with catchy tunes and girls
dressed in skimpy dresses (e.g. Rukuni, Numfashi, and Guɗa). These trailers are then shown to the merchants who
purchase the CD rights of the film
before it was even shot (and often before even the script was written). With CD rights purchased from N350,000 to
N500,000 (depending on how flashy the film was, not its storyline, which was tertiary to first the song and dance in the
film, and second to the stars that appear),
the producers suddenly have enough cash to continue production of more
titles—with cash backing from the CD
rights as well as the profits from cinema ticket sales and VHS tapes of the film.
Financing of
the Industry
In the second process of dealers
taking over the industry, by 2004 they had become the major financiers of Hausa video films by
sponsoring the kind of market-driven films that can be sold through their network, often at the
expense of independent productions. Table 1 shows the trend of control
of the Hausa video film market within seven sampled years, based on fieldwork data.
Table
1. Financing Control
of Hausa Video
Films, 1998-2004
Year |
Total output |
Dealer-owned |
|
|
|
Number |
Percentage |
1998 |
33 |
10 |
30 |
1999 |
111 |
22 |
20 |
2000 |
171 |
51 |
30 |
2001 |
230 |
71 |
30 |
2002 |
212 |
63 |
30 |
2003 |
164 |
35 |
21 |
2004 |
293 |
136 |
46 |
In
all the years, an estimated 32% of the Hausa video films were financed by
cassette dealers. Indeed,
so total was their stronghold on the industry
that by 2005 they controlled the entire process
from scripting to post-production through
the sponsorship of the type of films guaranteed to garner maximum
sales.
Alternative financing became inevitable
because the major production studios lacked the capital to sustain themselves after the market
crashed in 2003 due to stricter implementation of censorship regulations from 2001 that followed the re-launching of Shari’a in 2000. Seeing
an opportunity to cash in, the marketers simply took over in 2004 and pumped
cash backing to the studios—with the condition that the productions will be purely
commercial. Studio heads with the capital to compete must ensure they produce the same type of
films. Interestingly, this echoes the commercialization of other cinema in developing countries. A typical example
narrated was in the Egyptian film industry which Abu Sayf (1949:17) described thus:
Nobody who has written
about the “crisis
of the Egyptian cinema” has investigated the causes of the crisis.
The first reason
is that the number of cinema production companies increased in Egypt during
World War II because of the entry of war profiteers into the
field of cinema production. They were eager to exploit the money they made without any of them knowing the
slightest thing about filmmaking. This led to chaos that helped destroy the Egyptian film, causing an increase
in competition for artists, thereby raising their fees to unimaginable levels. It also increased the cost of
studios, developing labs, and raw film, and led to a doubling in production costs.
Consequently, in Egyptian cinema,
as in Hausa video films,
Tasteless
producers catered to a low-class audience, which had also been enriched by the
British war effort (Salih 1986, 196)
Lebanese producers, who Salih and others say were interested only in quick
profits, put another nail in the coffin of “quality” Egyptian
cinema. Lazy directors, who adapted foreign
films rather than
pay writers to produce scripts, then combined with the marketability of
dancers, slapstick comedy, and melodrama, in what some see as a powerful
alchemy of tastelessness (Armbrust 2000: 317).
Since
the Hausa video film marketers were not in the market
for the sake of ‘art’, criticisms of the marketing strategies or even the films,
especially from the participants of the first international conference on Hausa films in 2003, did not affect the fact of the films being disposable commodities in Hausa
cultural trade.
Movie Stars as the Nouveau Rich
The massive popularity of the Hausa
video film as well as the emergent
stars created the Kanywood appeal that further attracted more young
independent producers. Thus the period of about 1999 to 2003 can be considered the golden age of Hausa popular visual
culture. For the vast majority of these new video moguls, it was a full-blown business—complete with investment risks
and “stock” options. It has to be; with no steady
jobs or educational career, this became their own mainstay. And since the industry was not
professionalized, it had no specific standards as applied to the standard norms of the film industry the
world over. It became a cut-throat world, with every producer keeping their stories (or the film they are about to rip-off) close to their chests for fear of being
beaten to production (a process called Sheraton—borrowing
the name of the world-famous hotel chain
in linguistic similarity to the Hausa
word, sharewa, which means to sweep
away (one’s ideas), and thus beat one to the market.
Rivalry and intense competition in a restricted market became the norm, with studio heads
often at loggerheads with each other
due to conflicts of interest (in either stars, storylines or marketing) or personality
clashes, with each claiming superiority in his
own turf, like a gangland war. A new commercial expression became coined by the
up-and- coming producers in the
middle of 2001. This was “mu haɗu a Bata” (“let us meet at Bata”). The old Bata building, facing the bustling
Sabon Gari market in Kano was the initial marketing center for the video films and the hub where
all Hausa video film marketers were networked. Success at Bata
means one’s video has been accepted (“ya samu karɓuwa”),
and this was guaranteed success
for subsequent projects.
Thus producers-cum-directors-actors whose videos were bankable became
sought after by financiers.
On commercial terms the new stars were
not really making a lot of money. Most appeared in the video films to gain popularity and fame, rather
than fortune. And because they lacked an organized negotiating basis—there were no agents in the system—the stars were paid according to the whims
of the producers. For instance, from 1994 to 1996 fees paid to artistes were at the discretion of the producer. Indeed in most of the early
video film efforts, the artistes appeared free, adequately compensated by their
rising profiles and popularity as video film stars (“’yan
fim”). The first Hausa video film that signed contracts with
the artistes and paid them fees—and thus set the tune for the rest of the industry to follow—was RK Studio’s Badaƙala
in 1996. The total cost of producing the video
film was N250,000. The leading artistes in the video were paid between N7,000
to the highest N10,000—a considerable
fortune at the time.
Towards the end of 1998 to early 1999 the average
payment was about N500 per scene, by the end of
1998 it had started climbing to N2000 depending on the commercial appeal of the
artiste. For instance in 1998 a
female lead was paid N5,000 in Ƙarshen
Makirci. Yet the
following year, in Alhaki the main female character was
paid N20,000, reflecting the rising profiles of some of the stars. From 1999 the fees stabilized. Up
to early 2002 leading role artistes with “megastar status” received between N20,000 to maximum
N40,000 per film. These same “Superstar” list artistes were paid between one to two thousand naira per scene, depending
on the relationship with the producer.
After the market became unstable, sales could not be guaranteed. The fees also
started coming down to N10,000 from
N40,000 for “Superstar” video film star. The stars became at the mercy of the producers because the concept
of negotiating a contract through an agent was never thought of as part
of the process.
However, by 2017, the prices had gone
up. A ‘superstar’ by then was commanding N500,000 for appearing in a film of two or more parts – in reality a single
film, but split into multiple parts to recover as much of the costs
as possible. Those not categorized as ‘superstars’ earn about N50,000
per ‘difficult’ film (which demands either a lot of
physical exertion or extreme
skillsets).
New Elements,
New Attitudes
By 1999 the Hausa video film, despite
being in existence for almost a decade, was still in its commercial infancy. The direct cause of this was that the entire system lacked organized professionalism right from its inception,
nor were the practitioners—unlike the non-professional video film moguls from southern
Nigeria—ready to consult
with the professionals on the development of the industry.
The
general feeling among the early Hausa theater
practitioners and novelists
who established the industry was that “practice
makes perfect”. Having
been involved in the process
for years was deemed
sufficient enough bases for expertise. Further, the Hausa approached the video
film industry as an informal
market business (kasuwanci), rather
than a profession (sana’a)
where it is one’s
capital, rather than creative inspiration, that determines entry points. As
stated by Mansur Ibrahim of Ibrahimawa Productions (Akasi,
Mugun Nufi, Uzuri, Yakanah),
“To be frank, to us
filmmaking is just another business (‘kasuwanci’). It is not therefore
surprising for us to change our
focus and invest our money elsewhere when something better comes along…We
temporarily stopped filmmaking
because the market situation is bad. We make films with our money—we are not contracted to make the films.” Alhaji
Mansoor A. Shariff, of Ibrahimawa Productions, Kano, Interview, Tauraruwa, Ta 1, Fitowa ta 3, 2003 p. 11.
The market-driven nature of the Hausa
video film industry is reflected in the volume of the video produced between 1980 to 1997, where
although a total of about 352 video films were produced, only one (Shamsiyya)
was officially registered in 1996 with the NFVCB, Abuja. Almost without any exception these
films—as do the ones that follow—had the same episodic
structure, laden with dialogue,
with little focus on cinematography. Very few of them were produced by formally trained directors, producers and cinematographers
such as Tijjani Ibrahim, Salisu Galadanci, Abdullahi
Ado Satatima, A.A. Kurawa, and Bashir Mudi Yakasai. Even then, these entered
the video film through their involvement
in Television dramas and series. Thus these productions were, perhaps not surprisingly, at best, extended Television
dramas, often using the same stars, and certainly a consistently similar storyline.
In 1999 Sarauniya Films released the
catalytic video film that literally shaped the direction of the industry. It was Sangaya. It was, like most Hausa youth literature, mainly a love
story. It was not the story that was significant about the film, however, but soundtrack of the video
and its song and dance routine backed by a synthesized
sound samples of traditional Hausa instruments such as kalangu (talking
drum), bandiri (tambourine) and sarewa (flute). The effect was electric on a youth
audience seeking alternative and globalized—essentially modern—means of
being entertained than the traditional music genre which seemed aimed at either
rural audience or older urbanites. It became an instant
hit. Indeed the success Sangaya was
as momentous in the history of the Hausa video
film industry as Living in Bondage was
for Nollywood. According to the producer of Sangaya,
“Quite frankly, the
song “Sangaya” was responsible for 80% of the acceptance of the video film Sangaya. Further, audience loved the song because of the (Hausa)
traditional-sounding instruments used. The same with the dance routines that follow the song in the film.” Interview
with the producer Sangaya, Auwalu Muhammad Sabo, Fim,
July 2000 p. 21.
Sangaya signaled the “golden era” of the Hausa video
film which lasted
all of three years (2000 to 2003). As revealed rather too
enthusiastically by the famous cassette seller in Kano, Alhaji Idris Ɗan
Zariya,
“In the whole of
Nigeria, there has never been a film with the commercial success of Sangaya…and it was because of the song, nothing else…The commercially
successful (Hausa) video is the one with songs. The most outstanding videos became so because
of the songs. Today even if you are a rookie in the video industry, if you start a video with a good song, then you will certainly
become successful.” Interview
with Alhaji Idris Ɗan Zariya,
Chairman, Kano State Cassette
Dealers Association, Fim, October
2000 p. 49. The
increasing economic depression in the country had created a massive pool of
unemployed youth, and the success
of Sangaya, both in financial terms and the popularity of the stars created a deluge of producers and directors overnight in Kano, which soon spread
to other northern
Nigerian cities. This new wave of producers, artistes and directors gate crashed the industry with production values different from those adopted by
the early experimenters—theater actors made famous by television dramas, or novelists making
a foray into visual prose fiction. Thus by 2000 Hausa video
film evolved into an industry and a lucrative business. It became an
all-comers’ affair and a bandwagon effect kick-started with studios, producers, directors and actors all emerging,
particularly encouraged by the possibilities of fame, and with tales to tell
through the video medium.
Young, brash, sassy and rebellious
(with the street tag of ‘Yan Ƙwalisa, Young Turks), the new producers that emerged from 2000 were
products of acculturative media confluence. Their video production values were not informed by rustic settings, Hausa
cultural worldviews or moralizing sermons to appease the traditionalist establishment as reflected in Hausa popular
television dramas such as for example Ɗan Magori or Ƙuliya
Manta Sabo. They were
focused at providing teen- themed entertainment aimed solely at children, youth and housewives, with total disregard for any cultural
sensitivities. However, even though they used globalized template—mainly Indian films—for their video filmmaking, they too
remain didactic, with the actors and producers
claiming in various
interviews that they enter the industry teach good morals—the main mechanism of Hausa
folktales.
Consequently, as a result of the
potential for fame and fortune as film stars (“’yan fim”), portrait photographers and individuals offering
commercial video-coverage of important functions (such as naming-ceremonies, women’s wedding parties, school
activities, political party convention coverage), merchants, and high school graduates suddenly
transformed themselves into video film moguls,
gaining considerable confidence from their VHS cameras, financial muscle—and
teen audience eager for a new video
film every week. According to Aminu Shariff, one of the new emerging
stars who made his debut in Uƙuba
(2000),
“Any film industry in
the world has certain enforceable rules and regulations. Yet in our (Hausa
video film) industry, this is not
the case. Anyone with bags of cash can just come and choose any part of the
industry they want and simply start!
… You don’t just cast any person to act any role. You cast a person who fits
the role in the story. Yet we don’t
do it like that. We cast any person no matter how unattractive in any role due to personal interests of the producer
in the actor. This is what further
attracts all and sundry into the industry
(Aminu A. Shariff, aka “Momoh”, lamenting the origins of the Hausa video
film industry Interview, Fim, October
2003 p. 9.
Even secondary school students were
not left behind. For instance, on Sunday 7th October 2001, students of Government Secondary School,
Unguwar Sarkin Musulumi, Kaduna, launched their own film, Dabaibayi. The only non-students in the entire
production were the star, Hauwa
Maina, and the director, Al-Amin
Ciroma. Further, Mudassir
Haladu of Kano, nicknamed “Young
Producer”, earned his moniker when at the age of 19 and still in his sophomore
year produced four video
films by 1998. These were Sakaci, Mahakurci, Badali and ‘Ya’yan Zamani (Garkuwa, October 2000 p. 30). Indeed Mudassir was credited with coining
the expression, “harka ta koma hannun yara” (the industry
is now controlled by the young, Fim, March 2003 p. 38)—a contemptuous wake-up call to the older members into the profession
which prompted Baba Ali a
veteran production designer (Gimbiya Fatima, Gashin Kuma,
Danduƙununu) and director (Inuwar Giginya, Burin Zuciya) to retort,
about the filmmaking capabilities of the new producers:
“It is the same old
story—romance. Also the same type of romance—boy-meets-girl; and when they
sing, it is in garden full of
flowers. Why can’t they change the style of their songs, or even the stories to
make them more appealing
to mature audience;
or create other genres such as horror?
Producers? No they are not! They are incompetent fools
(‘shashashai’). There are over 500 claimed producers in Kano. Not more than 15 know
that a producer is. The rest are incompetent fools…They don’t know
anything.” Baba Ali, Interview, Fim, January
2003 p. 22).
This created counter comments from
those affected (see Fim, March 2003
pp 36-39) who all defended their
entry in the profession. While acknowledging that they had no formal filmmaking training—unlike the old industry members
who benefited from State sponsorship while working for State television—the new filmmakers argue that they are
intelligent, committed and have watched
a lot of films—including those made by the same Hausa theater veterans—and
therefore have learnt
the tricks of the trade.
This, to them, was sufficient enough to make the statements they want to make to
their society. Indeed when an attempt was made by senior directors in Kano to ensure that any directing is done by only
15 refutable and therefore certified directors in the industry from 1st January 2003, they were labeled “gumakan
industiri” (industry idols, untouchables). As a
new director retorted,
“This (new rule) is
unfair. How many of them read Directing at school? So why should they cripple
others? If you take the video films
of any one of them you will see it is full of mistakes, which young ones like
us will easily point out…They only
know “cut”, “action”, slow motion, and tell the same story in the same scenes—office, street, living room…”
(Shakka Babu Column,
Bidiyo, “Gumakan Industry”, August
2002, p. 4).
This decision—like that of any film
association—had no enforceable mechanism since it had no legal backing. In reality none of these guilds could claim any
registered status at the time, and consequently the system reverted
back to type, inviting anyone into any cadre of the film industry that takes his fancy. Indeed in order to
show that the market for video films belong the young blood, a shadowy association was formed in 200 to fight the older established Kanywood directors, particularly among the ‘harka ta koma
wurin yara group. One of their more vocal members was Iliyasu “Tantiri” AbdulMumin, a then young director (Agaji, Raina, Adawo, Haka Kawai, Gayya, Sur’ah)
formed. His main logic was that having started the video film in 1993 as an
actor (in a Macaulay Caulkin’s
1990 film, Home Alone
clone, Tantiri, thus his nickname), he had been in the industry
at various entry points and therefore had arrived as a director—same as any of
the older ones. As he
stated in an interview,
“No one can prevent
me from being a director, producer, editor, actor,
cameraman, scriptwriter, song writer, lyricist, I can do it all. I can even play
the soundtrack music, or be the gaffer, or make-up man. I have been in the business for a long time, so I can
do all of these.” Interview with Ilyasu “Tantiri” AbdulMumin, Fim, May 2003 p.
32).
Such feeling of creative control is
not restricted to a newly emergent video industry in Africa, although
reflective of a developing country,
for as Ganti (2004, p. 55) explores
about the Bombay
film industry, Films are often financed simply on the basis of a star-cast, the germ of a story
idea, and a director's reputation. The lack of a well-defined division of labor among the principle players
means that most people play multiple roles,
so the industry is filled
with people who are both producers and directors, writers
and directors, editors
and directors, actors and producers, actors and writers, or even a
combination of actor-director-producer. Power
resides in the stars, directors, and producers. The industry contains very few
non-value-added people such as
executives, lawyers, agents, professional managers, i.e., the “suits,” who do
not contribute to the actual filmmaking process. There are also no intermediaries such as casting
agents, talent scouts,
or agencies like ICA and William Morris.
Thus
the hostility between
the older Hausa video filmmakers who from all appearances wanted
to maintain standards, and
the younger ones who perceived such moves as attempts to muzzle their creativity—and livelihood, since they rely
totally on the industry—ensured that no specific enforceable standards were maintained or respected. This left
the industry open to mergers and acquisitions by anyone with enough capital.
Thus the new producers and directors
(from 2000 to 2004) adopted a do-it-yourself spirit of just learning
the basics and then jumping
up on a stage and making a point—as producers, cinematographers, editors, scriptwriters and directors. The
entire system was operated on an old- boy
network where personal contacts were more credible in getting a part (or a production)
than formalized training
qualifications in the craft. This, surprisingly reflects some professional
ethics of the Bombay film industry
the Hausa video filmmakers faithfully copy. As explained by Tejaswini
Ganti (2004 p. 54),
“Studios” within
the Indian context
are merely shooting
spaces and not production and distribution concerns.
Though there has been a move toward integration and points of convergence - some stars
have ventured into
production and distribution, some audio companies into production, some
producers into distribution, and some
distributors into exhibition, these instances are not systemic and do not
preclude others from entering the business.
Essentially, the “industry” is a very diffuse and chaotic place where anyone
with large sums of money and
the right contacts can make a film.
The new Hausa filmmakers, confident of
their financial muscle, market share of the industry and appeal to the younger audience were openly contemptuous of the
older filmmakers. As explained by a
typical Hausa video film icon,
“It was our elders,
those who lay claims to be being industry elders who contributed to the low
esteem accorded to this industry…some
will not honestly give you a good advice because they are jealous of your success. Some will even attempt to cripple
your script to show it is worthless. Some of them are just dumb. See, a person who is about 40 to 60 up to 70, but he is still thinking of a previous
era he lived in. Some have painted
themselves such that they think only they can succeed
or success can only come through them. How can these people give any honest advice?”
Aminu A. Shariff, aka Momoh, speaking out to Fim, October 2003, pp 8-9.
Consequently the old and established
television drama artistes—who were absorbed into Council of Elders (a system-wide “dattawan industiri” group to settle
disputes) and who in most part do not
have the financial wherewithal to create professional video film studio and
services, became relegated to
appearing in the spate of new video films to confer on the films a
credibility—and keep them in continuous employment. Despite this uneasy working
relationship, a hostile
dividing line was created
between the old and the new filmmakers which remained up to 2005. The elders themselves feel almost the same about
the talents and creative directions of the new filmmakers. An example is given by Isa Bello Ja who often appears in patricianly roles in the video films and who
started his acting
career in TV series drama (Zaman Duniya, Bakan Gizo,
Sabon Bakan Gizo, Hadarin Ƙasa, etc.):
“This
is a young man, coming to you with his money. He thinks he doesn’t need your
advice. All he wants is to make a
film. I remember during our TV drama days, a producer is a person who knows
what the story of a film would be. If
it involves doctors, weavers, dyers, teachers, he will case study them first.
But these kids (producers of Hausa
video films) do whatever they want. If you try to say something, they will
claim you just want to confuse
people; it is his money why should he listen to you? The fact that you can
claim to know the art of filmmaking
(to them) does not arise, he is proud of the fact that he has the finance to do
the film the way he wants it. They
have no room to listen to any advice (from us) because he has already been advised by his friends to make a film
whether it will succeed or flop. This is how these kids think…” Isa Bello Ja, an “elder” in Hausa video film industry,
interview, Fim, September 2003 p. 31.
This hostility—which runs
through the Kano-Kaduna axis—remained the single
factor that limited
the internationalization of the Hausa video film as a serious process.
Other more established filmmakers
simply shun the video industry altogether. A vivid example was Sadiq Balewa who produced and directed—on 16 mm gauge—a highly
acclaimed Hausa feature film, Ƙasar
Mu Ce in
1991. As he stated in an interview:
“I have refused to
direct home video because artistically, it is not my stuff, for it is limited
in creativity, and it has become an
all-comers’ affair. I have been approached a number of times to direct home
video, but I have turned
all the offers down. I cannot abandon
the state-of-the-art format
for mediocrity! I have, however,
written four scripts
for home movies
for others.” (Interview in Film and Video, Vol 4 No 2, 1998, p. 29).
The most affected group by the Hausa
video film industry fever were young ladies. When it became clear that stars like Fati Muhammad, Maijidda Ibrahim,
Maryam “Mushaqqa” Aliyu, Abida
Mohammed, Ruqayya “Dawayya” Umar Santa, Balaraba Muhammad and Wasila Ism’ail were plain ordinary girls transformed into
video princesses, other girls, some fresh from high school, and others running away from a forced marriage
situation, started trooping to Kano to be cast as the next superstar. Indeed
it is this deluge of young ladies
running away into the open arms of an industry
always on the lookout for a fresh face that contributed to the critical
reactions of the Hausa
public sphere on the Hausa video film industry. The industry was seen as
encouraging a rebellious attitude
among young women and serving as a magnet for those ladies who want to become wayward. This understandably did not down well with either the Artistes Council
of Kano or the Kano State Association of Filmmakers who tried to absolve themselves from the blame. As explained by Alhaji Auwal Marshal, then the Chairman
of the Kano State Filmmakers’ Association,
“Entry into the
industry is cheap. Anyone can call themselves a producer—yet you can’t be a
producer just like that, you must
fulfill certain conditions. One of them is that there should be a written
agreement before a girl is cast in a
film. Yet many producers flout this. We are determined to correct this
situation…” Auwal Marshal, Interview, Fim, November 2001 p. 29.
The
process became more formalized in 2001 which created a system whereby
any girl wishing
to become an actress must
show her parent’s consent. For instance, in an interview, a mother who wanted her
daughter to become a video star rationalized:
“...I suddenly
realized what is happening. We send our children to school where the learn a
lot of things, incuding drama which
we found acceptable in school settings, since they are often even given prizes
for exceling in school drama shows, just like if they excel in regular
subjects. So why should we condemn this
business
when, after
graduating from
high school, they want to convert
their skills into something productive? If we do that, we are not being fair to them.
This is because our children
have finished high school, they have no jobs, they have no husbands, they just
loaf and roam about—and before you know it they end up doing all sorts of bad things, worse thanwe can
accuse drama artistes. I am therefore bringing my daughter so that she can be employed in the video
film industry...” A mother’s lament
on girls in video films,
in Annashuwa, April/May 2002, p. 44.
This was followed by a signed
undertaking—which all producers require a parent or guardian to sign—granting full permission for the
studio to cast the young women (rarely young men, who often join the industry without necessarily seeking parental
consent, so long as they stay out of scandals—of
the sex and drugs variety—and bring in some sustainance for the family).
Despite these, the criticisms against
using girls who more often than not are either smallish or young (the average
age of Hausa video film female
stars by 2001 was 17). As noted
by a critic,
“I am writing to
plead with film producers to, for the sake of Allah and His prophet, stop
casting any girl or woman in their films. When you look carefully you will notice that the girls who appear in Hausa video films are very small—at an age they should not
have left the caring tether of their parents. Some of the girls look like they have just stopped
wearing diaphers! And yet they cast such girls in roles fit for more mature women, especially love.”
Urwatu Bashir Sale, Fim, October
2005 p. 10, letters page.
This did little to deter the
continuing attraction of the film industry to adolescent girls. The combination of such tender-aged girls and a strongly Islamicate environment is a recipe for critical reaction.
Cost of Production and Volume of Hausa Video
Films
The cost of production of Hausa video
films follow the vagaries of the economy, as the case with all aspects of economic life. Ɗandago and Imam (2002) sampled about
13 studios in Kano and Kaduna States
to determine the average cost of production of Hausa video film based on
specific film genre. The results, juxtaposed against 2017 costs of production are indicated in Table 2.
Table 2: Average
Cost of Hausa
Video Film Production
S/N |
Types of films |
Average Cost (N) |
|
|
|
2002 |
2017 |
1. |
Comedy films |
400,000 |
2,000,000 |
2. |
Love story films |
500, 000 |
2,500,000 |
3. |
Religious Films |
600, 000 |
1,500,000 |
4. |
Children’s Films |
600, 000 |
3,000,000 |
5. |
Action films |
700,000 |
4,000,000 |
6. |
Horror films |
1,000, 000 |
4,000,000 |
7. |
Social films |
1,200,000 |
3,000,000 |
8. |
Family films |
1,500, 000 |
1,000,000 |
9. |
Traditional films |
2,000,000 |
5,000,000 |
Source: Updated with recent (2017)
fieldwork from Ɗandago and Imam (2004).
The fluctuating economy, as well as
introduction of more costly filmmaking gear (from VHS camcorders to digital
cameras) as well as higher
costs of actor fees and post-production costs were responsible for the almost doubling of the fees in the 15 year period. Surprisingly, there seemed to be a drop in the costs of producing
‘family’ films. My informants suggested
that by 2017, such films had lost their appeal, with
Hausa video film ‘superstars’ shunning them. Further, they are mostly
shot in one location, thus reducing
overhead costs.
No less voluminous
than the acrimonious structure for the young industry was the output. Indeed the large volume—caused by a bandwagon-effect—was the core of the acrimonies. In Nigeria, the Hausa
video films were second only to Yoruba video films in volume production. From
1952 to 1995 about 15 celluloid Hausa
films were produced. These were Baban
Larai (1952, a video film remake
was produced in 1995 with the same title), Mama
Learnt A Lesson (1960), Back To Land (1970), Child Bride (1970), Kanta of Kebbi (1976), Shehu Umar (1976), Idon Matambayi
(1982), Ga Fili Ga Doki (1985), Maitatsine (1985), Kulɓa Na Ɓarna (1993) and Ƙasar Mu Ce (1995). Nur Al-Zaman (1993) and recorded with Betacam was a biopic of the 19th century
Hausaland Muslim reformer Shehu Usman Ɗanfodiyo and was
never released. Others, of uncertain dates, included Ruwan Bagaja, An Kashe Maciji, and Musa
Yazo Birni.
Following the typical style of Hausa
storytelling, these films were didactic, linear and steeped in either history (e.g. Shehu Umar), patriotism and nationhood (Ƙasar
Mu Ce), biopics (Kanta of Kebbi, Maitatsine and
Nur al-Zaman) social services
(Baban Larai, Child Bride) or commercially produced by big firms to promote their
products, as in Musa Ya Zo Birni,
produced by Nigerian Tobacco Company
to encourage the production of the tobacco plant. These films were produced either at the time of limited media
globalization on Hausa filmmakers, or were studied attempt at cultural preservation through the mass
medium. They were also clearly expensive to make and could not have been sustained
at an individual filmmaker level.
For instance, Maitatsine—a biopic
about a Muslim preacher with a particularly violent approach to mass conversion in Kano in about 1983—was not officially released in any
medium after its theater showings because the producer was worried about piracy (Interview with Alhaji Sule Umar,
Producer and Director, Maitatsine, Mumtaz
magazine, April 2001, p. 18). The total number of such Hausa feature films,
so far recorded, was 11.
When the video camera became easily
affordable, hundreds of amateur filmmakers emerged such that about 352 Hausa video films were produced from about 1980 to 1997, increasing to a total
of about 1,961 by 2005, as shown in Fig
1.
450
400
350
300
250
200
150
100
50
0
1970‐
1998 1999 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008
Fig.
1: Upsurge in Hausa Video
Film Production
Source: Kano State Censorship Board
Thus a sudden upsurge of the
production of the video films in 2005 was attributed not to the individual studios, but to the cassette
dealer’s cartel that simply took over the industry. The decline from 2007 was caused by a scandal
involving a high profile Hausa video film female star, Maryam ‘Hiyana’ Usman whose cellphone
video clip of a sexual
encounter with a boyfriend in 2007 led to a public crisis
of confidence in the Hausa
video films and caused a significant slump in the sales.
However, of the estimated
1,961 Hausa video films produced
from 1980 to 2005, only about 1,609
were officially recorded by the National Film and Video Censorship Board
(1998-2003 figures) which started
censoring Hausa films submitted to it from 199628, as well as the
Kano State Censorship Board (2004 and 2005 figures).
Between 1980 to 1996 a total of 352 Hausa
video films were allegedly produced, although many
of them were not recorded anywhere except with the producers who announced
their production in interviews in Fim, Tauraruwa
and Garkuwa magazines. However,
the popularly of the genre is reflected
by the fact that in only 2005 a total of 394 video films were released—eclipsing
the 352 produced in the 16 years from 1980 to 1996. And despite censorship, which imposed certain
regulations, the two years from 2000 and 2001 saw a
total of 20.4% of the Hausa video films. The biggest boom, however, was in 2005
when a total of 20% of the total number of Hausa video
films were produced in that year alone.
Thus the success of Sangaya in 2000 led to an avalanche of
filmmakers and Hausa video films as reflected
in the 14.2% total share of the officially censored video films in 2001—a
significant increase over the
previous years. Further, according to the National Film and Video Censorship Board (2002) there were a total of 121
officially recognized Hausa film producers in Nigeria in 2001, and 23 directors (who, in Kano at least, constituted themselves
into Directors’ Guild of Kano, Dgk).
However, data from the Associations themselves in Kano show that there were 218 members of the Kano State Filmmakers
Association in 2005. The Kano State Guild of Artistes also recorded a total of 505 members. From fieldwork
studies in Kano and Kaduna—the largest centers
of production—most of these production companies do not even have an office;
nor were there any specific studios.
Filmmakers often rely on rented equipment to shoot a film and take the rushes to an editing
studio—many of whom were converted
computer business centers.30
Kanywood Variety—Popular Mass Media and Hausa Video Films
It is a sign of the high value of
literature among the Hausa that magazines to cover the new entertainment medium became rapidly
established. Thus magazines sprung up to provide news, information and gossip about the Hausa video film industry soon
after the industry started to crystallize.
The first Hausa video film magazine, Taskira
was established in 1996 in Kano, but ceased
publication after few issues. Its place was taken by a more successful Tauraruwa (“Star” and inspired by
the Hindi film magazine, Stardust,
which was extremely popular in urban Hausa northern Nigeria)
which was introduced in 1998 to capture the burgeoning Hausa video film scene. It quickly coined the term Kanywood for the Hausa video film
industry—creating an indigenous label
for the industry three years before The
New York Times created Nollywood for
the Nigerian film industry
in 2001. In that period,
well over 80% of the production studios
as they existed, were located
in Sabon Titi,
a wide street that bisected
Kano city. Tauraruwa magazine pitched its single
office in the area which rapidly became known
as “Kanywood Boulevard”.
In
1999 Fim
magazine debuted.
Published in Kaduna,
it remained the single most consistent source
of information about
the industry since
its first issue in March 1999. Professionally produced, with an almost academic flair for balance and
less sensationalism, it rapidly became the leading and authoritative Hausa video film magazine in Nigeria and beyond,
complete with an independent web site (and prefers
to use Kallywood, instead
of Kanywood for the industry, although
the industry itself prefers Kanywood). Other magazines that joined in the fray included Annashuwa, Bidiyo, Duniyar Fim, Garkuwa, Gidauniya, Indiyana, Majigi, Marubuciya, Mudubi, Mujallar Sharhi, Mujallar Sho, Mumtaz, Nishaɗi, Sharhin Fim, Shirin Fim, and Tauraruwa. By 2017 only Fim survived.
Like the Hausa video film industry
itself, competition to establish the magazines, with the exception of the sole survivor, Fim, was motivated by a do-it-yourself journalism ethos and desire to make money, rather than to document
the process. This explains why out of about 16 titles established from 1998 to 2005, only three survived. Indeed by
2003 most of these magazines had collapsed.
A study of their lifespan indicated varying longevity from just one issue (Mujallar Sharhi),
to two (Annur, Sharhin Fim, Indiyana) or
four to six (Annashuwa, Majigi, Marubuciya). The rest
survived few issues beyond number 10 up to 2004 before folding up. Indiyana became somewhat unique in that it provided news and information in
Hausa about Hindi, rather than Hausa,
film industry—which it culled from Hindi film magazines like Fanfare and Stardust, as well as
Internet web sites. However, after only two issues, it folded up. Marubuciya started as a literary magazine, but started to focus on
the burgeoning Hausa video film industry after three issues to get a share of the market. Increasing availability of printing
presses created more varieties of covering the entertainment industry.
Thus Nishaɗin Mako became
the first (18th to 25th September,
2003) initially fortnightly newspaper to cover the industry. It ceased
production after that one issue.
The
magazines were almost
exclusively devoted to video films, trying to keep pace with their rapid expansion, highlighting the appeal
of particular films and expanding
the number of stars and superstars
in the process. And perhaps not surprisingly, regular contact and coverage of
the industry provided the magazine
publishers with video ideas; for they too entered the video film production business. Consequently Fim magazine produced Gagarabadau, Daren Farko and Artabu, while Majigi (through Shalamar Video film studio in Abuja) produced Honarabul, Illar Gaba and
Nafisa–Ta.
The Crash:
Marketers, Blouses and Chicken Noodles
By 2016 the Hausa film industry had
literally crashed. The major marketers-cum-producers had all pulled out from the industry. Their shops in the major
video markets in Kano were subsequently filled with clothing—particularly blouses
and football jerseys; for these make more money than selling films. Others took to selling Smartphone accessories, while others
returned to the farm and became
serious farmers. The few Hausa megastar actors took to commercial advertising
of noodles, milk and other household
commodities – often moving from house to house with products’ marketers – relying on their faces and voices
(making sure they introduce themselves in all the commercial
jingles) to sell to increasingly hungry population caught in the vortex of economic depression. The frequency of
releasing films drastically dropped because no one was buying. International Satellite channels like the Indian Zee World, especially their English-dubbed TV series caught Hausa urban attention
more than recycled Hindi film clones that were the hallmarks of Hausa
video films. There were many reasons for the
crash.
Market congestion
The popular cultural industries in
Kano were marketed into market hubs. The Bata market at the edge of Sabon Gari controlled the predominantly foreign
films and music sales, as well as the main center of distribution to other parts of Nigeria
and Africa, where
a sizeable market
existed in Niger,
Burkina Faso, Ghana,
Togo, Cameroon, Chad and Congos.
When the Hausa video film arrived in
1990, it found a ready template to attach itself. The other was Kasuwar Ƙofar Wambai, located at the edge of the walls of Kano
city, and near a cluster of old colonial
cinemas. The Wambai market focuses
mainly on leather,
textile and plastics.
However, it was also the hub of audio tape sales – with marketers making
brisk business pirating old EMI,
Polydor and HMV tapes of traditional Hausa musicians recorded in the 1960s.
Road construction work at Bata in
about 2003 created unfavorable conditions for many of the stall owners, and some decided to shift to
Wambai market. By 2005 the video film market had completely moved to
Wambai which now became the new
Bata.
The Wambai market, hitherto occupied
by cassette dealers who ignored the Hausa film industry, suddenly became a virgin territory for film marketers and
producers, with each opening a stall. In less
than five years it had reached its ascendency and crashed due to the massive
congestion of producers and marketers
– all selling the same thing. When I visited the market in May 2017, I counted less than 10 stalls selling either
videos or audio; contrasted to some five years ago when it was bursting
at the seams with these products. The stalls have now been taken over by stocks
of cheap blouses, football jerseys and cloned
Smartphone accessories.
Lack of new or captivating scripts
By 2005 the Hausa video film industry
had become fully established with over 1,600 officially censored releases. With an extremely
few exceptions of less than 0.5%, they all revolve around a pastiche
of Hindi films in one form or other aimed, as the video filmmakers themselves
kept insisting, at urban Hausa
children, youth and housewives. Since such youth commercial Hausa video film echoes its Hindi film
antecedents, let us first look at the defining characteristics of commercial Hindi films. According to Ravi
Vasudevan (2000, p. 101), the negative features of commercial Hindi
cinema are:
a tendency to statis
at the level of narrative and character development; an emphasis on externality,
whether of action or character
representation, melodramatic (florid, excessive), sentimentality; crude or
naive plot mechanisms such as coincidence, narrative dispersion through
arbitrary performance sequences, and unrestrained and over-emotive acting
styles.
Thus most Hindi films could be
classified as musicals, especially due to their reliance on a strong dosage of song and dance sequences,
blended with a melodramatic storyline, which employ formulaic ingredients such as star-crossed lovers and angry parents, love triangles, corrupt
politicians, kidnappers, conniving villains, courtesans with hearts of
gold, long-lost relatives and siblings separated
by fate, dramatic reversals of fortune, and convenient coincidences.
This stylistic technique provides a
vehicle for echoing a fundamental Hausa emotional tapestries in three main creative motifs: auren dole (forced marriage, the love triangle, and the obligatory song
and dance sequences—with an average of about six songs in a two part video.
With every producer trying to outwit
everyone with more love triangles, song and dance routines, the market became
saturated, and audiences got bored – and indicated this by refusing to buy the films.
Monopoly by Megastars
Those actors lucky enough to be
accepted early enough in the film industry came to dominate the system. This was actually imposed by the
marketers who insisted on a particular actor appearing in a film they will either sponsor or market because such actors
were more bankable and were guaranteed
quick sales of their films. With this economic force behind them, such few
(perhaps less than five) came to
dominate almost every ‘big’ budget Hausa film. By 2017 their stars had started fading; audiences became tired of seeing them in almost
the same film with different names, and marketers
dropped them. While still making films, they diversified their faces and voices
to commercial advertising for major
telephone service providers and essential commodities such as chicken
noodles and milk and soup seasoning.
The
fading of the fortunes of the megastars
became evident with the ascendency and popularity of relatively
unknown stars of a TV series, Daɗin Kowa, shown on Arewa24 satellite TV from
21st January, 2015. Daɗin Kowa (pleasant
to everyone) is an imaginary town that serves as a melting pot, housing Nigerians of various
ethnicities and religions, and yet living peacefully. In 2016 it won Africa Magic Awards, over Sarki Jatau, an expensive lavish
traditionally cultural Hausa period
drama.
The coming of Arewa24, initially
conceived and funded by the United States State
Department’s Bureau of
Counterterrorism to counteract insurgency in 2014 merely placed another
nail in the coffin of the Hausa video
film market. Transnational in its outlook, its TV series provide a level of script sophistication unheard of in
Hausa film industry. Other Satellite TV stations, such as StarTimes, Hausa Channels on Africa Magic DSTv including
GoTV became increasingly affordable. Showing a massive amount
of Hausa films,
they eclipsed the purchase of CD and DVDs of Hausa films.
Audiences prefer to watch free than to go through
the hassle of purchasing DVDs that often do not work, and requiring DVD players, mostly Chinese knock-offs of international brands
that often turn out dodgy.
New Media,
New Poverty
The
Internet provided the biggest blow to the decline of Hausa video films. With telecommunication companies
competing for customers and subsequently undercutting each other in the provision of data plans, Hausa
youth have more access to social media sites such as Instagram and YouTube. The latter, in particular, provided them
with opportunities to upload hundreds
of Hausa films for all to see. While this has increased the visibility of Hausa
films worldwide, such popularity does
not translate to return on investment, as most of the films were illegally
uploaded to YouTube.
Another dimension of new media political economy was the proliferation of Download Centers
in northern Nigeria,
with the largest
groups in Kano. Operators of these Centers
rip the CD of DVDs of
Hausa films and convert them into 3gp formats and make them available to
customers at N50 per film—with
discounts given for volume purchase. A 1GB microSD card can pack as many as 20 films. The 3gp format makes it possible
for people to watch the films on their Smartphones, which readily and rapidly replaced DVD players which require a
TV and electricity – something not
always guaranteed in Nigeria. Often the Downloaders ‘lease’ the films from
street vendors – children hawking the
CDs and DVDs at traffic lights – for N100 per film, rip it off, and return back to hawker who simply
puts it back into its pristine cellophane wrapper and eventually sells it
– thus gaining double profit. Both the
various Associations of Hausa filmmakers and the Kano State Government’s Censorship Board had tried to stamp out the
Downloaders, but without success, as
the latter had become so powerful and organized that they form various
Associations. The punitive
steps taken was usually to arrest them, fine them, and order them to delete the illegal ripped-off films from their computers.
These measures proved so ineffective, that a deal was worked out in 2017 between
the filmmakers and the Downloaders to ‘officially’ lease the films to the Downloaders for a fee in a form of
‘legal license’. These measures did not work because the Downloaders prefer to obtain their films cheaply, rather than being registered with the Government as licensing the films. The Kano State Censorship Board, on
the other hand simply ask them to register their business and charge them fees, regardless of their downloading bootleg business.
Southern Indian
Competition
A final factor
in the decline the Hausa film industry
by 2017 was the massive
popularity of ‘Indiya-
Hausa’ films. These
were Telugu and other southern
Indian films that have been dubbed into Hausa language by first, Algaita Studios in
Kano. When the marketers at Wambai market noted the popularity of these
dubs, they also moved in and
commissioned their own dubbed
translations.
The
original Telugu films were brought
to Kano by an Indian
national with full license to translate into local African languages. The first
film translated by Algaita Studios was the Bhojpuri film, Hukumat Ki Jung (dir. S.S. Rajamouli,
2008). It was translated as ‘Yaƙi
da Rashin Adalci’ (Fighting Injustice). Others that followed
included Dabangg (dir. Abhinav Kashyap,
2010), Racha (dir. Sampath Nandi, 2012) and Nayak: The
Real Hero (dir. S. Shankar, 2001). In an interactive session in June 2016, Buzo Ɗanfillo
told me that the Algaita Studio had translated 93 films by 2016. They
were paid N80,000 by the Indian licensee of the films.
The first few films that appeared from
the Algaita Studio from 2012 were considered novelties, providing a relief from watching complete remakes of Hindi films
by Hausa filmmaker, or even the
originals themselves. What made them more attractive, however, was the
translation of the titles of the
films in a single powerfully expressed word, or couple of words, that seems to
take a life of their own and communicate either adventure, danger
or defiance. For instance, Nayak: The Real Hero (dir. S. Shankar, 2001) was translated as ‘Namijin Duniya’ (lit. Brave); Indirajeet (dir.
K.V. Raju, 1991) as ‘Fargaba’ (Fear),
and Velayudham (dir. Mohan Raja, 2011) as ‘Mai Adda’ (Machete). Referred to as ‘India-Hausa’ (Hausa versions of Indian films),
they quickly became
the new form of transcultural expression in the Hausa entertainment industry.
The Indiya-Hausa translations were
massively successful and attracted audiences not attuned to Indian films in the first place. This can be deduced from the numerous
comments on the Facebook pages of the Algaita Dub Studio (https://www.facebook.com/algaitadub/). Their success created
a public debate mainly online
in social networks about their cultural impact. In the first instance, there does not seem to be any attempt by the translators to mute some of the bawdier dialogues of the originals – translating the dialogue directly
into Hausa. Kanywood
filmmakers latch on to this as
an indication of cultural impropriety of the translated films. Additionally,
the often romantic scenes revealing
inter-gender sexuality were not edited out by the translators, since their
focus is not the visuals, but the voices.
This, again, was pointed out by Hausa
filmmakers as a direct attack
on Hausa cultural
sensibilities. Kanywood filmmakers do accept that they appropriate Hindi films; but they argue that they culturally adapt the stories to reflect Muslim Hausa sensibilities.
Audiences, however, do not accept
these arguments against the translated Indian films. This was evidenced in a debate a Kano local FM
radio station opened on its Facebook pages to discuss the merits or otherwise of India-Hausa
translations on October 13, 2014. A total of 2,027 comments were posted reflecting various views about
the translations. Out of these, about 1,326 were considered valid posts
and were content
analyzed and categorized into five. The results are shown in Table 3.
Table 3. Radio Freedom
Facebook responses to India-Hausa translations
S/N |
Comments |
Number |
% |
1. |
Translated Indian films corrupts Hausa audiences |
179 |
13.5 |
2. |
Translated Indian films do not corrupt
Hausa audiences |
509 |
38.4 |
3. |
Kanywood
films corrupt Hausa
audiences |
451 |
34 |
4. |
Kanywood films do not corrupt Hausa
audiences |
31 |
2.3 |
5. |
Indifferent/neutral |
156 |
11.8 |
|
Total comments |
1326 |
100.0 |
Source:
https://www.facebook.com/freedomradionig/posts/10152810476008035, retrieved December
3, 2015.
The comments focus on what is more
corrupting on youth: Kanywood or the Indiya-Hausa translations. It should perhaps be pointed that ‘corruption’
(gurɓata tarbiya in
Hausa) is a general expression for
any inter-gender relation in which the genders physically touch, obscenities, thuggish
behavior and other socially undesirable traits. This variable
came into play because of the constant accusations by the more
puritanical Hausa critical views that suggests inter-gender mixing, particularly in Hausa video films, has the potential of corrupting the morality of vulnerable youth.
From Table 3, it is clear that a significant number of the posters does not accept that the translations have any corrupting influence on Hausa
audiences. This went beyond any media effects theory since the responses were referring basically to sexuality and
offensive language in the translated films.
Those defending the Hausa films point to the fact that there had been a long
public debate about the desirability
of Hausa films appropriating Indian films and the skimpy attire the female actresses
wear, especially during the song
and dance sequences.
The Political Economy of Modern Hausa Musics
The indigenization of modern African
popular music can be linked to the geographical diffusion of Western ideas. Since the term ‘Hausa
music’ is not exactly what is assumed, it is necessary to understand it. It is therefore important
to understand the radical transformation of Hausa music which suddenly makes it attractive to Hausa youth. In this, reference
is to what youth themselves refer
to as ‘modern music’ styles, predominantly based on an electric instrument. The
traditional, often percussion-based
Hausa music of griots such as Mamman Shata, Ɗanmaraya Jos, Musa Ɗanƙwairo, Musa Ɗananace, all late, was not sustained by younger elements
to make it part of the larger
popular culture as the
dinosaurs of Hausa traditional music
did.
Thus the urban beats common in the
radiosphere in northern Nigerian cities are not generated by the more traditional acoustic Hausa musical
instruments, but by sounds generated by Yamaha PSR series of synthesizers, costing
from about N50,000
and above, which are interfaced with PC music
software predominantly Sonar
series from Cakewalk
by Roland, and fairly cheap
mixing consoles to record
and edit the final composition.
These portable keyboards have the
perfect convenience of a large stored sample of genre music beats and sound effects with are then sequenced to produce the melodies session
musicians wanted. That is not their point, though. They
were designed to be used with other instruments to create more symphonic sounds from multiple
sources, rather than the stored samples. However, lacking the ability to play other instruments
due to the visible absence of accepted social musical culture, Hausa session musicians focus their
energies on mastering the sequencing of these samples to create their melodies; and which are perfectly acceptable to both the singers and their audiences.
The
ease with which the melodies
are generated led to a massive boon in music industry such that hundreds of recording studios
were established from 2007 in Kano. By 2017, there
were over 300 ‘musical
studios’ as they were referred to in Kano, manned by session instrumentalists
who mastered the synthesizers. The
singers usually come to the studio and voice out their songs, and the session musician then finds
appropriate beat (which almost always was based on the vocal harmony of the song). When the session
musicians realized that international genre music forms could be created from the stored samples,
they started producing what they call R’n’B music forms. In this way, Hausa singers
can overlay their lyrics on soul, jazz,
funk or rap beats, producing what is really
Technopop (or Synthpop), rather than creative efforts at re-creating the
antecedent genre music forms, since
they rely almost exclusively on the samples to generate the beats, without introducing any additional instruments,
whether electronic or acoustic. In fact, for the most part, the compositions are based on synthesized
doodling on the synthesizer which creates a melodic template on which the session ‘musician’
then overlays the vocal tracks to create the song.
The sequencing of the music genre
samples in the Yamaha PSR keyboard adopted by Hausa musicians and singers gave them what they feel is ‘modern’ music
form, even if retaining the traditional song structure of Hausa vocalists. Eventually, almost without
any exception, the Hausa session
musicians also transform into
singers.
The
2007 crisis in the Hausa film industry
created a massive
vacuum for the playback singers
and studio musicians who
relied almost exclusively on the film industry for their own trade. The vacuum created two effects. The first was
the ascendency of Islamic Gospel groups who sing devotional songs on the praises of the Prophet Muhammad as well
as venerated Sufi (mystics of Islam)
saints and teachers. These were urban electronic Sufi musicians who have
principally abandoned the traditional
bandir (frame drum) usually
associated with Sufi performances. They remained
untouched by the Censorship Board (a Kano State government agency that filters
all creative works in the State) due
to the religious nature of their lyrics—which the Islamicate governance and publics finds acceptable.
The most prominent of these Islamic devotional singers included Rabi'u Usman Baba (Babu Tantama), Bashir Ɗan
Musa (Salli Ala), Bashir Ɗandago (Sannu Uwar Sharifai),
Kabiru Ɗandogarai (Ɗandogarai), Kabiru Maulana (Kabiru Maulana), Sharif Saleh Jos (Sheikh Ibrahim Inyass) and Naubatul Qadiriyya
(Sheikh Mustapha Nasir Kabara).
The second impact of the 2007 film
scandal in Kano was the emergence of independent lyricists who prefer to be called ‘mawaƙa’
(singers). Very few of the singers compose their own music, with the vast majority relying
on professional studio
musicians to create
a tune which in most cases follows
the vocal pattern
of the song. These secular
singers were of three different
musical styles.
The
first, and earliest
is ‘Nanaye’. This style evolved
from the Hausa
film industry (and which saw the emergence of playback singers
like Musbahu Ahmad,
Rabi Mustapha, Mudassir
Kassim, Sani Yusuf
Ayagi, Sammani Sani, Yakubu Mohammed), and followed the pattern of Hindi-film music,
with romantic themes. It the presence of female voices, often enhanced
with Auto-Tune devices to create a
high-pitched soprano effect, coupled with rhyming chorus that gives this
category of songs a ‘girlish’
feel—because it follows the pattern of songs used by traditional Hausa girls on community playgrounds. After the film
industry went into a comatose stage in 2007, new, independent singers emerged, although using the same melodic
pattern as the Nanaye video film playback
singers (indeed, some of them also provide lyrics and music for Hausa video
films). These new independent Nanaye
singers included Binta Labaran (aka Fati Nijar), Abubakar Sani, AbdulRashid I. Aliyu, Umar M Sharif,
Sunusi Anu, Mahmud Nagudu, Nazifi Asnanic, Ali Jita and Nazeer Misbahu Ahmed.
The second style of Hausa urban musics
is ‘Post-Nanaye’ containing lesser amount of female accompaniment, and mainly
focused on social
issues, but with a strong
dosage of romance.
Singers of this style include
Kabiru Sharif ‘Shaba’,
Abubakar Usman (Sadiq
Zazzaɓi), Aminuddeen Ladan Abubakar (aka
ALA or ‘Alan Waƙa’), and hosts of others. Both the
Nanaye and Post-Nanaye singers often
also sing for politicians and other ‘big’ people in the society, as well as
perform at wedding parties and political party events for
payment.
The singers in these two categories
earn enough from their art to afford to release their own ‘albums’
(as CDs are referred to in Nigeria).
Quite a few Post-Nanaye singers,
especially those without female vocal accompaniment and whose subject
matter is mainly
social issues or romantic, often
see themselves as R&B artists,
especially those who follow more international styles
in their musical
composition. A more appropriate term for their style would be Synthpop, rather than Post-
Nanaye. Examples include
Billy-O, Funkiest Mallam and Soultan Abdul.
Both Post-Nanaye, Synthpop and Nanaye
Hausa singers usually adopt the verse-chorus-form structure of musical composition and performance. In a typical
verse-chorus-form structure, the chorus often sharply contrasts
the verse melodically, rhythmically, and harmonically, and assumes a higher level of dynamics and activity,
often with added instrumentation. In Hausa music, the higher dynamics is reflected in the chorus
which often gathers
all the voices in the composition (or employs
additional voices) to create a contrast with the verses. This therefore
approximates call- and-response, rather than verse-chorus-form structure.
The third modern Hausa music style is
Hip-Hop/Rap which emerged from forcefully from 2011, although it had been bubbling
in private studios
much earlier. On 16th May 2011, Freedom
Radio Kano aired a pilot of
the first Rap program in northern Nigeria. Called ‘Kano Music Express’, it provided an avenue for the dozens of Hausa
Rap artists who were often shunned by other Radio stations in the State, despite their social messages; but were
considered to ape American musical styles too much (and indeed reflected in their Hip-Hop
clothing of baggy trousers, twisted
baseball caps, oversize Nike
shoes, although without the chains). Hausa Rap artists had no connections to the Hausa video film industry. Indeed,
they were often contemptuous of other styles of Hausa modern musics, preferring the macho ‘swagger’ posturing as seen
in American hardcore Rap videos. They therefore rarely
mix their songs with female
voices. Due to their social
exclusiveness, they rarely
make enough to release their albums. By 2017 less than 10 out of more than 60
acts have actually released a CD. The
main outlet for their efforts was the Web, where they created a few websites and encourage each other to upload their latest singles
or EP CDs for free. Examples include K-Boys, Kano Riders, B-Meri, Dr.
Pure, K-Arrowz, Freezy Boy, IQ (the only one who sings exclusively in English), Lil’ T, etc. By 2016, few Hausa females Rappers
had emerged. These
included Mufida Adnan
and Zainab Ishaq (aka Queen
Zeeshaq).
Fieldwork in Kano in 2017 revealed
that a total of about N1.7 million
($5-6,000 depending on the exchange rate) was required to set up a
complete musical studio. This included a variable rent, which depends on the area in the town where it is be located;
the choicest location
was Zoo Road,
which housed many of the studios and was more expensive than other parts
of the State. Included in the estimated figure was also the studio infrastructural setup involving furniture
and soundproofing. A typical
list of equipment and their prices (again variable, depending on the source, with some being imported directly
from Dubai in the UAE, and others purchased second- hand from Lagos
markets which advertise ‘UK-Used’ musical equipment) is shown in Table 4. Table 4: Cost of setting up a ‘musical
studio’ in Kano, 2017:
Equipment |
Cost (2017) |
Generic Core
I3 Processor /4GB
RAM /1TB /DVD24
inch monitor |
250,000 |
Behringer Xenyx
X2442USB - 24-Input USB Audio Mixer
with Effects |
170,000 |
M-audio BX8 D2 8-inch
Active 2-way Studio
Monitor Speakers |
230,000 |
Behringer Ultragain Pro Mic2200 |
80,000 |
Behringer HA-400
- Headphone Amplifier |
25,000 |
M-Audio M-Track Eight High-Resolution USB Audio Interface |
170,000 |
M-Audio Oxygen
49 USB Midi Keyboard Controller |
75.000 |
Behringer B-2
PRO Microphone |
116,000 |
3/8 Microphone Stand - ST 600 |
15,000 |
Professional Keyboard Stand - Iron
Body |
12,000 |
Various cables
an connections |
50,000 |
Total |
1,118,075 |
The studio session musicians charge
according to the type of song (not music). As noted earlier, there are four styles in the contemporary (often read as ‘modern’) Hausa
music genre. Nanaye
(for film soundtrack), Post-Nanaye,
Synthpop (independent compositions not related to any film), Islamic
Gospel (centered on the praises
of either the Prophet Muhammad,
or Sufi Sheikhs)
and the more recent entry, Rap. All, except
Hip-Hop cost N3,500 to N6,000 per track, rather than studio time, while it cost N4,000 to N7,000 to
record a Hip-Hop track. It because of this high cost, and lack of ready paying audiences
for Hip-Hop style of music that makes the tracks
expensive – thus reducing
the number of Rap artists who release their albums. The singers from other
styles, however, have dozens of CDs
released in the market due to the more ready audiences for those styles of Hausa music. It would appear,
though, Hausa Rap singers were not motivated by profit, but fame. This is because
this category of artists have the largest
distribution of their
music on the Web.
Facilitated by many of the studio heads themselves, a series of websites exist
to provide a free international platform to disseminate
their music.
This mode of distribution became
available to them because there are extremely few individuals ready to invest in the music industry.
This is because of the low perception of both music and musicians in Hausa societies. For instance, according to Smith
(1959, 249), the Hausa system of social
status has
…three or four
‘classes’. Sometimes the higher officials and chiefs are regarded as
constituting upper 'class' by
themselves, sometimes they are grouped with the Mallams and wealthier merchants
into a larger upper class. The lowest 'class'
generally distinguished includes
the musicians, butchers, house-servants and menial clients,
potters, and the poorer farmers who mostly live in rural hamlets. The great
majority of the farmers, traders and other craftsmen would, therefore, belong to
the Hausa 'middle-class' (emphasis added).
This
categorization, as imperfect
as Smith himself
identified it to be, nevertheless serves as a rough guide to the position of a musician in
Hausa society. The main reason for including musicians in the lower .level status is the
client-focused nature of Hausa music. With its main pre-occupation of appeasing specific
clients, it thus becomes a non-art form - art for art's
sake- but tailored
towards a specific
paying-client. A song composed for one client, for instance, will not be
performed to another client. What
further ·entrenches the lower status of musicians also is the maroƙi (praise- singer) status of most Hausa traditional musicians—praising their clients for money or other material goods. Modern musicians using
electronic instruments merely substitute the music for another – but the
songs remain the same:
mainly praising politicians or rich people.
Conclusion
Cultural commodities – whether tourism
related or popular culture – are marketed with the assumptions of their impact on daily lives of their consumers.
Marketing determines the success of
especially media industries, often with a disregard of the contents. The
commodification of the Hausa
popular cultural industries was premised on profitability motive, not art or
aesthetics. Financiers were ready to
continue investing in the industries as long as they can make effective profits.
It is this profit motive
that commoditizes art and elegance
to common supermarket product with a short
shelf life.
Yet the commoditization of culture is
not necessary a reflection of a failed economy as happened in the case of the Hausa popular
cultural industries. Nor was it an uncouth lack of appreciation of ‘high’ culture, or obsession with
capitalism. Not only was it universal, it was also necessary if it is to be free. True enough governments can
support art and archiving of culture – but at a doctrinaire expense – choosing what to support and what to
discard in line with its own ideology. This
compromises art and denies artists freedom of preservation of cultural
heritage, if they have to follow a
particular state ideology to get funding for their art. Either way, the artist
is caught between government ideology
and capitalist marketers, both who care not about his art and its cultural import, but about the payload –
in terms or ideological entrenchment or profit – to themselves. For instance,
Wasko (1981, p. 135) points out that ‘in the early beginnings of the film industry
in the United States, there was a strong relationship between bankers and the film industry, and subsequently, banks played a very
powerful role in the development of the industry.
Such collaboration between banks and
the film industry did not happen with regards to the Hausa cultural industries, nor even in the
Nollywood film industry. As Haynes (2017, p. 48) noted, ‘the government’s interest in Nollywood led to
the establishment in 2010 of a $200 million load fund to support the entertainment industry.’ However, the bureaucracy
attached to the accessing the funds
became too much such that many filmmakers did not bother to apply. Further,
‘banks make occasional personal
loans to filmmakers who put up their houses
as collateral, but no bank tried to establish
a serious relationship with the film industry’. It was only in 2007 that
EcoBank came up with a Project
Nollywood, which failed. Even in Hollywood, the profit motive was strong in financing, for as Wasko (1981, p.136)
further noted, ‘bankers and financiers have been attracted to the American
film industry for reasons other
than an interest in film or filmmaking per se. Film as
a creative art form or communications medium has been less important to bankers
than film as a commodity.’
And
yet, as this essay demonstrated, both filmmakers, producers
and marketers were motivated by the commodification of culture, rather than preservation of culture. Data from the larger fieldwork
indicates the chagrin
of Hausa filmmakers whenever references were made to the cultural
dysfunctionality of their films. Their arguments had always been that
fim is a business, not art, which explains
their opting out of the ‘business’ when it
became no longer viable.
Yet art and artistry, as expressions
of creativity and imagination first, and second as cultural practices, illuminate our inner lives and enrich our emotional world. They provide a map of our ethnographic
journey through life and keep fresh our ethnicities and identities.
Commodification trivializes this
significance and robs us of the opportunity to preserve our creativity for the
future generation—something which
Renaissance artists, innovators and creators had been able to do for us.
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