Society

The KSA Memoir: In the King’s ambience! (Narration by a journalist)

November 24, 2016

King Sunny Ade

“It
was a sultry July afternoon beside the seductive beach of Eko Holiday Resort, Akodo, near Epe in Lagos State. After residing in the resort for about three
days, the sea and its balmy winds lost their appeal to me. So did the whole facility which has the
quietness of a monastery. All I was
interested in was the promised arrival of one the most famous Nigerians ever – King
Sunny Ade, the world acclaimed prime Minister of juju music. He was due to arrive on the same day, but did
not until two days later.

A sharer of joyful noise

At
a point I wondered if he was no longer keen on telling his story. If that was the case, I thought, he should
say so and free me from watching coconuts fall and crabs running on the beaches
like excited children. At about 2p.m on
that Thursday, I was informed by the receptionist, via the intercom, that King
Sunny Ade alias KSA had
arrived to narrate the story of his life.
Even through the intercom, the deference with which the receptionist
mentioned his name was almost tangible.
It could not have been otherwise. After all, he does not run into
royalty – musical or otherwise every day.

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“Even when recalling
his successes, there was no attempt to embellish his triumphs. The only time the voice betrayed emotions was
when he had to tell me about his women. He sounded pained and offered to talk
about his marriages when his children have matured enough to handle their
father’s revelations about their mothers”

An immaculate celebrity

I
strolled into the reception to meet the man, who was a couple of months away
from his 60th birthday, looking trim. Quick handshakes preceded a most predictable
and unoriginal question: ‘How do you manage to look this trim at this age?’

He
explained that his parents were sparsely framed people. He added that his
appetite, right from time, is not exactly elephantine. His responses were too much unlike a
superstar’s. Perhaps he does not
consider himself one. He arrived the resort with a sparse bag, three phones and
a CD player (can he breathe without music?).
He did not have a platoon of aides complete with barbers, hairdressers,
manicurists and the other accoutrements of stardom.

And the BOY is the father of the MAN

It
took some time for the resort handlers to get him booked into a room, but he
was not throwing tantrums or telling them how bell boys freaked out at Waldorf
Astoria or some fancy hotel when he stepped in. I concluded that the man neither realizes
that he is a national treasure nor conscious of his own achievements. He did not seem to care; stardom does not
seem to make any demands on him.
Accompanied by a colleague, we moved into his room to listen to the
story of his life. But before the tapes
could roll, he lapsed into a long apology for keeping us waiting and offered to
pay whatever penalties we prescribed.

The King & his friends

A
bottle of beer each, we demanded. The
bartender came with two bottles each (a supreme example of double
portion). With the bottle tops peeled
off, the story of one of Africa’s greatest entertainers began, stretching back
to its earliest memories.

The King & his guitar

He
responded to questions without having to raise the voice that has graced over
111 albums. Even when recalling his
successes, there was no attempt to embellish his triumphs. The only time the voice betrayed emotions was
when he had to tell me about his women. He sounded pained and offered to talk
about his marriages when his children have matured enough to handle their
father’s revelations about their mothers.
Charitable? He seems so, even to
those who tried to destroy his career.