“Ayi”.
“Yes Madam”.
“You have never told me that I am beautiful”.
“No Madam”.
“Why not?”
“It is not a woman’s place to tell other women such things, Madam.”
“And why not? Certainly they do it in Lagos, Accra and other big towns.”
“This is neither Lagos nor Accra, Madam. This is Koloro and we are simple villagers.”
“Simple villagers? You’re worse than simple villagers. I hate this place oh heavens it’s dull, dull, dull.”
Here are the opening words of This is Our Chance, the most popular of the ten or more plays written by Dr James Ene Henshaw. This play, which was published in 1956, was written for The Association of Students of African Descent while Henshaw was a medical student in Dublin. Most of us have either heard of, read, studied or acted This is Our Chance. This book, like majority of Henshaw’s works, focuses on the cultural dilemma between the African and the European lifestyle that often characterises citizens of former colonies. Those who never met Dr. Henshaw in person can meet him through his various works.
I was privileged to have met the playwright. The last time was in April this year. I was preparing for the Rainbow Book Club ‘Get Nigeria Reading again!’ annual campaign which was to hold in Calabar, Dr Henshaw’s hometown and place of residence. He was to be our special guest writer. I had learnt that Dr Henshaw only left his home to attend mass. He spent most of his time in his tastily furnished residence beside the Metropolitan Hotel, either reading or writing.
I believed the author will receive me as kindly as the other writers I had approached and so I continued to make my plans to host him. I was welcomed warmly when I visited the 82-year-old at his home. I introduced the book club and our work to him. I explained that our annual campaign was aimed at re-awakening a reading culture in Nigeria. I informed him that we had run the campaign since 2005 and had been encouraged by the support of his fellow authors such as Gabriel Okara, Elechi Amadi and Nobel Laureate Wole Soyinka, all of whom we had hosted. I told him that the writers who had not been able to attend any of our events had expressed their support. They included Chinua Achebe, J.P. Clarke, Cyprian Ekwensi and T.M. Aluko. I mentioned the other authors that we had invited for this year’s campaign and he expressed joy at getting to meet some of his colleagues again. Dr Henshaw was pleased at our efforts. He was full of encouraging words. Amongst other things we talked about the declining interest in reading as well as the poor services offered by some publishing houses. He went on to narrate to me Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea, explaining that it was a metaphor of the human existence. That meeting was an unforgettable one. Dr Henshaw enquired the details of the event and what was expected of him. He assured me he would be at the interactive session that was to hold on April 30.
But about two weeks to our event, Dr. Henshaw lost his third son and fifth child, 42-year-old Joseph. I could only imagine the pain an aged father would experience at the loss of a child. I would have understood if Dr Henshaw was unable to honour our invitation after such a devastating blow. I paid him a condolence visit. He accepted our sympathy yet displayed that matter-of-fact attitude towards death that is characteristic of medical doctors. He reiterated that he would be at our event.
The D-day came and I went to pick him up. The octogenarian was already dressed and waiting for me in his living room upstairs. He looked Majestic. He stood tall in his traditional Efik loin cloth made of damask. He wore a long white shirt over the wrapper and a cap upon his head of hair that was always neatly brushed backwards. We headed for the state Library which was luckily just down the road from where he lived. As we stepped into main bowl of the venue, the place came alive with applause. Over a hundred students, academics, members of the press and government officials present stood to welcome the august visitor. More than ever, I was grateful for the honour of hosting this great man. The other guest authors, Professor Chukwuemeka Ike, Dr Femi Osofisan, Mr Odia Ofeimun and Hon. Dr Femi Okediran (National President, Association of Nigerian Authors), were elated to see their senior colleague. The students, in particular, seemed bent on making the best of Dr Henshaw’s presence. They directed most of their questions at him. I was conscious of his personal bereavement and the likely discomfort that would accompany his age. I kept close to my guest, trying to make sure he was comfortable. Not only did Dr Henshaw answer every question that came his way, he also graciously and cheerfully sat through the two-hour event and even took photos with different parties afterwards. I understand that was his last public outing, outside attending mass.
At the banquet at the Governors Lodge that evening, Dr. Okediran received a plaque of honour on behalf of Dr. Henshaw and the students of the West African People’s Institute Calabar performed an excerpt from This is Our Chance.
Henshaw was born in Calabar on the 29th of August 1924 to Etubom Richard Henshaw and Princess Susannah Cobham. He began his education at Sacred Heart School, Calabar, in 1932. In 1938 he entered Christ the King College, Onitsha, where he schooled up till 1941. He attended the University College Dublin from 1943, graduating six years later as a medical doctor. He then proceeded to the University of Wales, Cardiff, from where he qualified as a Chest Physician. He married Carolyn (nee Nchelem) almost fifty years ago and together they had three daughters and five sons.
Henshaw’s career of about three decades as a medical doctor, spanned over the West, East and South of Nigeria. When he retired, he was still active in various capacities in the state as well as the church. For his immense contribution to humanity, particularly in the fields of medicine and literature, he received several honours.
Dr Henshaw was an embodiment of dignity, integrity, nobility and simplicity. This fine gentleman passed away peacefully in his home on 16th August 2007, leaving on his desk an unfinished translation of Shakespeare’s Julius Ceasar, into Efik.