In “Onwuchekwa: Death Waits…”, Nnamdi Kanaga Highlights His Existential And Artistic Ties With Tragedy 

On April 19th, 2014, during the Easter celebrations, Nnamdi Kanaga received an invitation to grief after he got a call informing him that one of his brothers, Peter, a university freshman at the time, had drowned. Six years after his initial  bereavement, Kanaga lost his father. The psychological impact of these experiences seem to weigh heavily on Kanaga, serving as the impetus for his newly launched memoir, Onwuchekwa:  Death Waits…

In his nonfiction writing, the filmmaker and creative reanimates core memories from his formative years with family, particularly highlighting the charming development of Peter and the ugly reality of his brother’s short-lived destiny. While he rightly takes on the role of the narrator, his voice betrays a combustion of storytelling poignance and painful nostalgia.

Onwuchekwa:  Death Waits… is mostly set within a few days in April, 2014, though with reference to far-past events, and captures the narrator’s ties with Lagos, his birthplace and family home, Abia, his state of origin, and  Enugu where he had his tertiary education. Early moments in the book contain brief graphic descriptions of  the city of Lagos and a few neatly woven biographical  details, which strongly establishes the identity of the creative.

Kanaga’s approach to storytelling in his memoir is quasi-poetic and minimalist, yet each train of thought, each case of linguistic manipulation, leaves behind a mental imprint. Throughout the account, he often takes solace in Igbo adages and cultural nuances, demonstrating spiritual intelligence and creating parallels between the natural occurrences around him and probable behind-the-scenes metaphysical propellers. For him, certain dramatic or life-altering events often leave behind a trail of signs or an omen. He cites, for instance, a chain of incidents—Peter waving strangely during the matriculation ceremony, their mother breaking down in tears on the day, an accident on the way to the bar with an uncle, etc.—as signs, “an unsettling feeling”, that foreshadowed the tragedy of losing a loved one.

It appears Kanaga’s firsthand exposure to tragedy and romance with grief is taking a toll on his filmmaking trajectory. His latest film, Water Girl, a myth-based psychological drama set in the United States, tells the story of Kamsi, a teenage  girl and an Ogbanje whose pact with the spiritual realm threatens her physical wellbeing. The film will be screened at the 23rd Martha’s Vineyard African American Film Festival in the United States this August. Part of the story is spent in a race to protect Kamsi from dying but things take an irredeemably tragic turn with those who seem to care about her losing their lives. A look beyond what feels like a mindless death of the unfortunate characters in this film is the message about how unpredictably but realistically fickle, unfair and harsh life is. As an individual, you can only suppose you have everything figured out on your end; just a little disruption from fate is enough to set you up for a rude awakening. This same thought forms the backbone of Kanaga’s memoir where he grieves over the untimely termination of his brother Peter’s lofty potentials. On page 49, in an emotionally shattering moment, the narrator reiterates the ubiquity of tragedy, noting that: “Grief does not end—it only shifts, reshaping the air we breathe, the things we touch, the spaces we enter.”

Kanaga’s non-fiction is more than just an expression of a traumatic episode of his existence. It is an attempt at humanization, an audacious affirmation of the creative’s undiluted truth, a testament of his artistic malleability as he bares the core of his existence for us to access his fears, vulnerabilities and have an understanding of his thought process. And then, while its textual content appeals to our humanity, inspiring a cathartic effect, the book allows for an evaluation of not only the life of the creative but also his ideals and career motivations.