VIDEO: YOUR GLORY IS TIED TO YOUR STORY (VOCAL SLENDER)

Eric Obuh, aka Vocal Slender, a musician leaving the poverty-ridden streets of Ajegunle behind to the limelight. Like most performing artistes in Africa, Eric Obuh, had to struggle against massive odds to survive. But at 30, this tall musician seems to be clearly on the path to fame. However, the journey has been tortuous and every inch of the way strewn with thorns and pain. Born in Ajegunle, a ghetto in Lagos State and home to a fair mix of skilled artisans, labourers, traders, petty thieves, robbers, prostitutes, and shades of juvenile delinquents, Obuh had a really rough time growing up. "Growing up was painful. I didn’t enjoy my childhood. At a time other children of my age depended on their parents or guardians to provide their needs, I was busy struggling to earn a living,” he says. At the age of 10, he virtually lived on the street, selling firewood and ice water to make ends meet. He says, “When I was 11, my elder brother and I cleared a large portion of land near our residence and grew vegetables. We sold the vegetables and some chicken to feed ourselves. In those days, I was known as the ‘Vegetable Boy’ in Ajegunle. My schoolmates and teachers called me by that name. They all bought my vegetables regularly. One particular teacher liked my okra. Even some of the elders in my community were impressed. They used to ask why a young boy like me could own such a large vegetable farm. And I would tell that I had to survive.” Obuh’s parents divorced when he was barely four and his father took custody of the three young children. They lived together for awhile, though not happily, until his father decided to take another wife. At this point, Obuh and his siblings faced a very serious challenge. Recalling those difficult days spent nursing the pain of his parents’ separation, he says, “My father used to live with us before he rented another apartment in another part of Ajegunle and settled there with my stepmother. But she refused to accommodate us. Then my father took us to his friend’s place. It was a single room apartment. We lived with there until the man, who was a bachelor, decided to bring his wife from his village. He said he could no longer accommodate us in the room. So we started sleeping anywhere we could lay our heads.” Since their father, who had lost his job as an accountant, could not afford to rent them a place of their own, Obuh and his elder brother were forced to seek shelter in a church building. They lived in the church for three years until fate dealt them yet another blow. “One night, a car hit me and almost crushed my legs as I was sleeping under a tree outside the church. Thinking that I was dead, the driver of the vehicle sped away and I found myself in a gutter. Afterwards, I couldn’t walk for more than a year. I had to use crutches,” Obuh says. Apparently frightened by the teenager’s close shave with death and not prepared to be held liable for anything that happened to the boys, the church decided to chase them away. Once more, Obuh and his brother found themselves without shelter. They were back on the streets the next day, selling firewood and scavenging rubbish dumps for a living. “Scavenging was common in Ajegunle. It is the means of livelihood for many residents of the community. Having done this, I would retire to the bus stop at night. That was where I slept till my injuries healed,” he says. Eventually, the teenager was forced to drop out of school because of hardship. By that time, he was already in JSS3 at the Trinity Secondary School, Ajegunle. Buckling under severe pressure, Obuh’s younger sister wanted to quit school, too. But he had to dissuade her from taking such a step. He says, “I didn’t think it was the right decision for her. So I told her not to drop out of school and I promised to keep funding her education. Already, we were the laughing stock of the neighbourhood. Rather than pity our condition and appreciate our struggle to survive in spite of the odds, people made fun of my siblings and I at every opportunity. They called us ‘born-troway’ (outcasts). They said we had no family and if anything happened to us, nobody would come to our aid. Such words gave us a lot of pain. And each time I thought of the humiliation, I cried. I cried a lot in those days, especially when we settled down at night to sleep at the bus stop. I used to ask God why I had to suffer so much, as young as I was. My siblings and I had no choice other than to accept our fate. Ajegunle was like a jungle in those days and the residents did as they wished. In all that time, I never stole anything from anybody. I never took what didn’t belong to me. Many times, my friends tried to lure me into stealing, but I resisted them.” Finally, in 1999, there was respite for the artiste and his siblings. From their savings, Obuh and his brother were able to rent a room in a decrepit compound in the heart of Ajegunle. The place was already crammed with tenants, most of them old and invalid, when they moved in. He recalls with a slight shudder that a dismal atmosphere pervaded the compound. “That place was mysterious. In one year, people died in every room in the compound, except the one that we lived in. At a point, everybody living in the main building died. My siblings and I were staying in the boys’ quarters,” he says. By 2000, Obuh had made up his mind to start a career in music. Before then, he had thought of it deeply. Music was his real passion, the only thing that soothed his nerves and gave him the courage to face the world. But he lacked the means to transform his dream to become a successful musician into reality. One day, somebody suggested that he should find a job and save up enough money to pursue his ambition. He was faced with the option of leaving Ajegunle, the only home he had known since he was born, for a ‘lucrative’ job in a huge waste dump in the Ojota area of Lagos or continue to pine away. Obuh chose to scavenge the dump. He says, “Everyday I would come all the way from Ajegunle to the dump, change into my work clothes, boots and hand gloves. Then I would join the others to scavenge for everything from bottles, metals, rubber slippers to jewellery, and sold them. It was tough. The day I made the sum of N350 at the dump, I was very happy.” Working in the waste dump turned out to be a blessing in disguise for the artiste, who was only 17 years old at the time. He made a lo t of friends, especially among the grown-up men whom he often entertained with his songs. One day, he was busy entertaining his colleagues in the dump when he noticed some white men watching his performance. Later, the strangers walked to him. “They were British. They said they would like to take video shots while I repeated the performance. I agreed to cooperate with them only one condition that the video would not be broadcast in Nigeria. They gave me the assurance that it would be aired in London. Later, they taught me how to use the video camera and offered to pay me N100,000. But I declined the offer. I told them to use the money and promote my music in London,” Obuh says. The film was eventually broadcast as a documentary in the United Kingdom. By that time, the encounter with the Britons had opened more doors of opportunity to Obuh. In due course, he was paid royalty for his role in the documentary. His songs were successfully promoted in England. One them, titled Owo ti ya Pa, actually ruled the music charts in London for awhile. Obuh was opportuned to travel to London more than three times on invitation from the Europeans and actually performed at the prestigious 02 Arena in London. It seemed like a dream to him. Within a very short time, his life had taken a swift turn for the better and transported him to a height beyond his wildest imagination. Obuh’s experience is, no doubt, typical of the proverbial rags-to-riches tale. Today, he is not just an accomplished music artiste with a huge fan base in the UK, but a motivational speaker whose words have stirred many young Nigerians to positive action in different parts of the country.