By Ebri Kowaki

A Unicef article on Nigeria’s educational system published last month claims 26% of the nation’s 110 million adolescent population are not in formal schooling, girls make up 60% of that statistic, the demographic becomes denser the deeper you travel in the Nigerian countryside. This is the stage John Edirin, photographer, visual artist, sets his Chaotic Future series atop.

As far as bringing us into the alienation and despondence of our out-of-school population, Edirin’s subjects: two boys- one teen, the other pre-teen, and three women, of whom the youngest is at least in her 20s, simply fall short. 

As far as the technicalities of photography go, Edirin John Duvwaima is quite the seasoned professional. His compositions, choice of angles, color matching, leave no stone unturned. In Nigeria, photographers of his skill level are encouraged to export their skills to better-paying clients outside the continent. Edirin John is not only creative, but has set serious standards for his work by dubbing himself a ‘visual artist’ – there would be an anti-buzzword paragraph much later in this essay- and a photographer of the human experience. A critic has no other option than to evaluate an artist by what he says he is and is doing. 

On the artistry of Edirin’s photographs: ambitious at best. It is only a case of Icarus syndrome, and re-directing can be easily achieved, thankfully. 1977; the year of the second world black arts and culture festival, better known as FESTAC ‘77. Marilyn Nance of the North American zone was shooting historic scenes from the festival to contribute to a narrative of post-colonial negro cultural freedom. At the same time, Susan Sontag’s just published essay collection, On Photography, on the modern purpose of a photograph was setting off scores of discussions and debates. Though she was strongly skeptic about the legitimacy of photographs in middle-manning reality, she stated early on that the value of a photograph was in its ability to ‘educate’ the viewer. She went on to denounce the sort of education provided by the photography and photographers in her day; seeing them as merchants of ‘aestheticized detachment’, obsessed with beauty and artistic composition over connecting with reality. She calls this a type of voyeurism and seems to think such orientation to be so deeply ingrained in the practice that it effectively becomes its nature. ‘Even when photographers are most concerned with mirroring reality, they are still haunted by tacit imperatives of taste and conscience’. 

But even Sontag would agree that better imperfect education than none at all. With effective photographs tainted by its creator’s biases and preoccupations, we can at least debate what its pure message might have been, we can at least feel the message, however imperfectly conveyed. What do we do with art that seeks to evoke empathy for an out-of-school character while misrepresenting the character? A plump woman wears a graduation gown, smiles at her reflection in a barbers’ mirror, she most likely graduated years earlier from a federal university, with honors: it is almost as if the photographer is mocking the very people he intends to advocate for. We simply don’t get any education at all. The spontaneity that brings real-life photography to life is completely absent here; as this shoot was clearly directed with the specificity of celebrity shoots, even possibly rehearsed. What we know for sure is that this is a good photograph, its message; murky.  This is the only forgivable frame from that series;

Yoruba Hair is pretty, 26 head turns of intricate cowried hairstyles native to Southwestern Nigeria. Here’s a really good one, titled Suku ii: 

The Yoruba Hair series ticks nearly all the boxes it should; it exudes warmth through its subdued dusty orange palette, it does not slack on detail, or on balance, Suku ii stands out particularly (1) for the hint of movement – which appears to have been arranged post-production via cropping (2) attention to the multiple holes in her ear – nothing unusual, but in the world of images, or at least in this series, it sets Suku ii apart from the incinerator of sameness. The salvation of Suku ii is also the undoing of rest of the series; the lack of movement. To illustrate, compare with Beri Beri from J.D.Okhai Ojeikere’s iconic collection of over 1000 Nigerian hairstyles; 

A black and white filter enhances the drama doubtless. But that is not why you’re tilting your head as though that’d reveal something about the image; it’s movement. Okhai’s portraits feel alive, like we rounded a corner and happened on this woman walking ahead. There’s a story in the frame, if that is what we are searching for (what is she looking at? Is she surprised? Quizzical?)In light of this, the average frame from Edirin’s interpretation become reminiscent of the images on those charts that used to be popular inhairdressing saloons a few years ago.

The Ghost series held a bit more promise. The concept involves a queen, a pregnant woman and a baby, images flipped over into negatives then doused in texture and double exposure. Edirin does a good job in capturing the eerie essence of the series by a blend of negative filters, an aged-paper texture effect and sepia themes. Take the queen, the leader of the bunch, with the most exhibition appearances. In the first frame she wears a frilled historical attire, crowned and poised in side profile, her face a marriage of light and shadow. The subject is carefully positioned, perhaps too carefully, because again, that scepter of emotional flatness that is the result of over-directing and seems to be Achilles heel of this photographer lurks in the corners of the frame, and while I see the regality in her upward chin, I would have to crutch onto the explanations of the photographer to make meaning of much else. The crown, which should be a focal point, is barely visible, as is the details of her face. Blurring facial details is a technique as old as the art, but that is usually done because the message of the photograph does not need a face to be passed. Perhaps the eyes of our queen could have told us something about her kingdom, or her legacy, or how she came to be a ghost, some reward for chancing across her image. The lighting generally lacks directional emphasis as well, falling at seemingly random places, flatly. Ditto for the rest of the frames in this series. At some point, you’d pause to wonder if these photographs were taken for the purposes of The Ghost series, or had emerged from a motley of uncollected photographs, edited similarly and force-jammed into a contrived narrative.Perhaps Edirin tries too hard, seeking for the perfect blend of photographic effect and symbolism. But the art of photographing the human experience (think art and photojournalism) has never been about symbols, that is a preoccupation for advertising and commercial photography. Roland Barthes in Camera Lucida discusses a simple concept he terms ‘ca-a-ete’; the photograph’s inherent ability to evoke and represent a real moment or event from the past, even when it is no longer present. Earlier on, Sontag disagreed with the characterization of an image’s representative potency as inherent; the choice to either represent a real moment or a personal and thus, inadequate, alteration is the photographer’s to make. Sontag’s fears about co-opting suffering into an aesthetic might have been an overstatement in the 70s, it certainly doesn’t even need an essay to prove in the 2020s and the age of Twitter and constant, instant news. The burden is greater on visual artists and photojournalists, who have become key custodians of global opinion, to present and protect a lucid pool of moments and stories that communicate clearly and certainly, and truly. We would not have it any other way from any other art form; certainly not in one as pervasive as photography. Critics must also jealously guard descriptor terms; poet, thinker, visual artist. The lower the qualifications for these roles, the less it grows in value, until eventually it is stripped of its meaning and potency; a buzzword. Even that is barely a consequence. Art is serious business, grave business, and the curses of indulgent gate-keeping are borne by posterity, who would have what critics of the past should have decried and corrected for a standard.

About the writer

Ebri Kowaki is a culture journalist and Afrofusion commentator. His works have appeared in The Republic, Afrocritik, African Writer Magazine, Akowdee Magazine, and elsewhere. A 2025 fellow of the Ebedi International Writers Residency, he was shortlisted for the Ikenga Prize in 2024. Subscribe to his Substack: https://ebrikowaki.substack.com/