::TV NEWS::   
LE Newsletter - December 18, 2003

Living Like A Refugee Excerpt from The Toronto Star – by VINAY MENON It's been a surreal trip for Bayo Akinfemi, who fled Nigeria and hoped to make it as an actor here. It was 5 a.m. but they were already waiting. Bayo Akinfemi ambled across an asphalt path, through the iron gates that stood behind the University of Ilorin in Nigeria. The theatre major was in his final year. The night before, while directing a play for new students, he was threatened by jealous classmates. Now, walking alone in the pre-dawn darkness, Akinfemi would soon realize the threats were not idle.  From behind, without warning, an attacker smashed a bottle over his head. Akinfemi screamed, fell to the ground. Two other attackers started to kick.   For several minutes, as he coiled into the fetal position, instinctively covering his head, three rival students wailed on him with bats and fists and feet.   He was stabbed with the broken bottle and left in a bloody, convulsing heap. A decade later, Akinfemi is sitting in Toronto's hip Brassai restaurant, a world away from the life he once knew.  He glances down at a plate of baked salmon. Sips his bottled water. Pulls at the sleeve of his dark grey blazer. He can't stop smiling.  "When I first read the script, I thought, `Wow, I have to play this role. There is so much in my personal life that I can bring to this.'" He's referring to Human Cargo, a six-hour miniseries that airs on CBC [January 4, 2004 at 8:00 pm]. The project, epic in both scope and ambition, was shot in Vancouver and South Africa. It had a budget of nearly $10 million.  In the miniseries, Akinfemi plays Moses Buntu, a Hutu schoolteacher living in Burundi at a time of political unrest. It's just one of the haunting stories that intersect in this provocative miniseries about the refugee experience. "It's about the aspirations of those who want to become a part of this country," says Akinfemi. "It may not change your attitude, but it will open your eyes."  Most actors study other people when they prepare for a role. For Human Cargo, Akinfemi took a closer look at himself.  On Oct.3, 1969, in the small town of Ilesa, in Nigeria's Osun province, Adebayo Oluwarotimi Akinfemi was born. His first name means "crown of joy." His middle name, "the lord stays with me."   His father, Festus, was a house painter. His mother, Adenike, sold beans, rice and yams at the local market. Bayo, the second of seven children, grew up in a loving home.  Nine years before he was born, Nigeria gained independence from Britain. The '60s would trigger a turbulent period for the West African nation, one that would echo for 40 years.   Civil war. Rigged elections. Military dictatorships.   But in Ilesa, where soccer and schoolwork were his only concerns, young Bayo, like children everywhere, was immune to the chaos that engulfed his beloved country.  That would change when he left for university and became immersed in politics. During one demonstration, soldiers opened fire on protesters.   Akinfemi and friends fled to another building. Looking back, they saw a surreal scene: stampeding students, the sputtering crackle of automatic weapons, shattered glass, and lots of disoriented shouting.  He remembers another sound — an air-slicing hiss of a speeding bullet. It struck his friend. In a flash, he was reminded of an incident a couple of years before, where jubilant students took to the streets, under the false impression that a coup d'etat had been staged.  At that time, in the commotion, Akinfemi's foot was lacerated. This time it was his friend who was bleeding profusely.   "It could have been any one of us, it was so close," he says. "And I thought, I have to get out of here."   A Nigerian proverb: "A traveller to distant places should make no enemies."   It's 1998. After trying unsuccessfully to immigrate to Canada the year before, Akinfemi has arrived as a refugee claimant, joining Bola Olutola, his Canadian-born wife. The two live in Brampton with their newborn son.  In Nigeria, Akinfemi was an up-and-coming stage actor, starring in such productions as King Oedipus and Once Upon Four Robbers. His film credits included Bitter Encounter and Days Of Vulture.   But in Canada, as he learns, faraway experiences rarely survive the border crossing. Akinfemi has found work in construction. Culture shock?  Everything from taxes to cuisine to the weather is new and puzzling.   One afternoon, while installing seats in an AMC theatre, Akinfemi stops, stares up at the megaplex screen, and says something that prompts laughter.  "I told my colleagues, `One day you will see me on these screens.' And they said, `Oh, get out of here.' I knew it was going to happen. There was no doubt in my mind."   He wasn't just animated by a sense of misplaced fatalism. He felt it in his blood. As the most educated member of his family, there were always high expectations. Akinfemi felt a moral duty to make the most of his opportunities.  After driving a taxi and doing more construction, he could no longer ignore his artistic impulses. He joined the AfriCan Theatre Ensemble, acting and directing in such plays as Our Husband Has Gone Mad Again and The Gods Are Not To Blame.   He started working as a production assistant on television commercials.   During one cold shoot, amused crew members had to peel and share layers of clothing. This was his first experience with winter. He was unprepared. Human Cargo, which also stars Nicholas Campbell, Kate Nelligan, Cara Pifko, Myriam Acharki, Nthati Moshesh, Hakeem Kae Kazim and Leslie Hope, took more than six months to shoot.  There is a scene in the first part where Akinfemi's character, Moses the schoolteacher, is standing in front of his class in Tangoma, Burundi.   Rebels burst into the school in search of new recruits, child soldiers. When Moses objects, the gun-wielding rebels steal his identity card — vital at a time of ethnic warring — and slash his heel with a machete.   It's the same leg he injured in real life, back at the student demonstration. The parallels between Moses and Bayo are so stark it's almost as if the part was based on his life story, which it is not.  It was difficult for Akinfemi to separate his real past from his fictitious present.   "There are times when I would feel the pain, but I tried not to let it get to me," he says. "You have to be able to draw a line. I would go back to my room at night and think about everything. But I was so exhausted, I just had to stay focused."  When the project moved to South Africa, on location in Port St. Johns and Cape Town, Akinfemi would rise early and spend all day on the set, even when he wasn't shooting scenes.  There are more than 2,000 extras in the miniseries. Akinfemi was constantly approached by locals, keen to hear about his journey to Canada.   "When you finish school, there are no opportunities there," he explains. "There are so many talented and skilled people but they don't have the avenues to express themselves. That's why everybody wants to leave."  He was struck by the misconceptions. Many people, especially those privy to the bling-bling portrayals broadcast via satellite on MTV and BET, believed life in North America was one never-ending rap video. "They think that's what life is like here," he says. "And I would say, `Hey I don't have a Mercedes or Rolls Royce.' You'll be lucky if you can pay your taxes and still have enough to survive."  Perception, it seems, distorts equally across the oceans. When he first arrived in Canada, Akinfemi was stunned by some of the questions: Could he speak English, had he ever been inside an automobile, what kind of clothes did he wear back home?   The genius of Human Cargo is that it transcends simple portrayal. It neither hectors nor offers glossy, politically correct stereotypes. Each character is fully formed, a tangle of dreams and contradictions.   In an engaging and brilliant way, it lifts the veil on the immigrant experience. It may, as Akinfemi believes, open your eyes.   Back at the downtown restaurant, lunch is coming to an end.  Akinfemi sits with his back against a large window, his body framed by the 12 symmetrical panels of glass that give a view of a courtyard.   What does the future hold? He's not sure. He wants to direct. Act. Write. More than anything, he wants to help others realize their dreams, as corny and clichéd as that may sound.   Akinfemi can't sit through a World Vision spot without looking away with tears in his eyes. He sees so much of himself in the small faces.  Now, a father of two, he finds himself with an elevated sense of what his parents sacrificed. He understands his father in a new way.  A couple of months ago, his son had a root canal. One night, as the boy slept, Akinfemi looked at him with detached horror.   "I couldn't help him," he says. "I wish I could take that pain away from him, but I couldn't. And that scared me."   He thinks about the incident described at the start of this story. Remembers staggering to his flat. Recalls how his wife screamed when she saw his battered body. How friends rushed him to the hospital.   About a week after the attack, his father unexpectedly dropped in for a visit. Thinking about it now, Akinfemi believes his father intuitively knew something had happened.  Akinfemi lied to his father. He said there had been an accident. He knew the truth would paralyze his father with fear.   "When I relate that back to how he must have felt and I look at my own kids, even if it's just a scratch on their nose, or a bump on their head from falling down in school, it just freaks me out."   He pauses.  "But it does give me a better appreciation for my parents and how they raised us. How did they do it? I don't know. But I'll never forget."   Outside, another winter has arrived. This time Akinfemi is ready. He buttons up his coat, pulls up his collar.  "I love Canada," he says, glancing at the traffic on King St. "I love the people. I love what this country stands for."