Drawing on the long history of terracotta firing in West Africa, Omadoye Uyota’s ceramic vase, the ‘Ojuju,’ takes its name from playground folklore
Terracotta – meaning ‘baked earth’ in Italian – is considered one of humanity’s oldest materials. While fired-clay objects have been traced in Europe as far back as 29,000 BCE, the Nok culture of central Nigeria produced expressive figurines between about 1500 BCE and 500 CE, which are some of the earliest known sculptures in sub-Saharan Africa.
At its heart, terracotta is a community craft as much as a material. Clay is dug from local pits, coiled and hand-built into forms, then burnished or left raw before firing at a relatively low temperature. Historically, vessels were hardened in open bonfires or pit kilns, but today, they are fired in simple updraft kilns.
Over time, terracotta has faded from everyday use and has been supplanted by industrial materials like plastic, metal and concrete, which are cheaper to mass produce. Handmade clay pieces, by contrast, are seen as less commercial and commissioned on industrial scales. Yet they continue to be cherished as art, valued by a smaller audience that recognises their worth. Omadoye Uyota is one of the artists reviving the craft of terracotta.
As children, we played a popular game called Ojuju Calabar, our own traditional version of ‘tag’. And like any game of that sort, it was always filled with frantic running and endless screaming. The rules were simple: one child became the Ojuju, a playful monster-like chaser, while the rest of us scattered, darting in every direction to avoid being caught. Whoever got tagged by the Ojuju instantly took their place, and the cycle of chase and escape began all over again.
It wasn’t childhood memories of Ojuju Calabar that inspired Uyota’s pottery piece Ojuju, but a moment in the studio. While she was experimenting with clay, colleagues began to tease her. “They said my work looked so scary, like something you’d sacrifice to Ojuju,” she says. “It made me laugh so much. But when I looked at the piece again, I realised they were right. She had already been accused of being this persona. And so that’s what she became. That’s her name. Ojuju.”
The phrase ‘Ojuju Calabar’ draws on the cultural memory of the Ekpo masquerade, a fearsome spirit figure in Efik and Ibibio traditions of southern Nigeria. With its eerie masks and commanding presence, the Ekpo was invoked to discipline children or to symbolise the unseen forces watching over the community. Over time, this image of a menacing chaser slipped into playground language, becoming a game.
Like the Ojuju Calabar, Uyota’s 19cm-tall and 41cm-wide vase is adorned with sculpted circles and well-accentuated line markings. At the neck of the vase are small and round details, and at the centre is a large opening, similar to the shape of a mouth. This was her way of making it look traditional, with an almost spiritual and mystical feel. The colour of the vase also added to its character.
Photography by Amina Bawa Abubakar
This article is taken from Port issue 37. To continue reading, buy the issue or subscribe head here
