Uche is a son of veteran actor, James Iroha, popularly known as Gringory, of the New Masquerade fame. He tells ARUKAINO UMUKORO about his father’s legacy
Tell us a bit about yourself.
My name is Uche James-Iroha. I am an artist and a photographer. I’m the third among the five children of James Iroha, popularly known as Gringory Akabuogu of the New Masquerade television comedy drama series, which was popular in the 70’s and 80’s.
How was it growing up with your father?
I grew up in a modest, middle-class family. My father worked with the Nigerian Television Authority. So, it was a beautiful experience for my siblings and me to be in close contact with drama. While growing up, we always had friends and relatives say that we were funny. But I never really noticed it until later. I just developed that sense of humour from home. Being funny was a normal thing in our home. I think our sense of humour comes from my father. Also, my paternal grandmother was a very humorous woman.
What kind of father was he?
He was a loving and caring father. He made life simple for us. He never forced us to do anything. He advised us to be the best. He made it very easy for us to understand the difference between Gringory (the actor) and James Iroha (the father). They call it ‘characterisation’ in theatre.
How has his name opened doors for you?
His name has opened doors for me several times. I once went to a bank to do a transaction and had an identity card that the bank officials felt wasn’t valid enough for them. When the supervisor came and saw my name, he asked, “Which James Iroha?” I told him and he was elated. That was how I got the transaction done. He is renowned in a good way. I was in Germany when a book company wanted to publish a book called 1000 posters, and one of the New Masquerade covers was among them. It was designed by this fantastic graphic artist called Lemi Ghariokwu. He designed most of the covers of New Masquerade on audio. It was nice seeing my father’s work in Germany.
Can you share some fond memories of times with him?
He used some of our daily jokes in the family and shared them in the public space. For example, when my younger brother was four years old, my father called him aside and asked him, “What is the difference between Florence and Lawrence?” I thought he was going to say one was a woman’s name and the other a man’s name. But my dad said the difference was, “pfff”, and everyone laughed.
How did he create time for his family?
He wasn’t there all of the time because of the nature of his job. At times, he would be on national assignments, recording in Enugu where the Masquerade camp was, while we lived in Aba. He was shuttling between the two cities. We travelled together a lot across Nigeria. I remember I went to Akwanga for the first time when I was about six years old. He launched us into knowing about other cultures, cherishing nature, music and swimming.
How was the relationship between your dad and mum?
It was difficult at times, no doubt, but it was beautiful. He was hardly at home. He, with other members of the cast, was always invited at odd hours for recording or travelling. He was going to work every morning from Aba to Owerri, the Imo State capital. Sometimes, I had to share my bed with a cultural dance group. I remember when (the late) Hubert Ogunde and his troupe were going to Calabar for an event and their car broke down near Aba, and they drove to our place. My mum started cooking for them at 2am. I was very young then. My mum tried as much as possible to make every one of them comfortable. Those periods were challenging for her. There were funny moments with them also, all of the time. My father turned everything into a joke. Comedy was a weapon for him and a soft cushion. My mum died in 2005. My dad died in 2012.
What did he tell you about how he created The Masquerade?
It actually began as part of a radio programme called In the Lighter Mood. During the Civil War, he said there was so much pain, especially in my area, Abia State, where civilians took refuge in the forest. While they hid in the thick forest, where everyone had lost someone, he thought people could be made to smile again. So, they started going round, making people smile by cracking jokes and staging short plays. And people appreciated their efforts. That was how drama became a tool for him. After the war, he went back to work at the East Central State Broadcasting Corporation, Enugu, and he put it on radio as a staff, until it became a programme on NTA on a national level. Later, The Masquerade became known as The New Masquerade.
He had a funny way of speaking as Gringory. How did you relate with that?
He was daddy whenever he was home. He was never Gringory (his pidgin version of Gregory) or spoke like that at home. He spoke very well at home. We enjoyed watching Gringory like every other Nigerian did. But he was careful not to mix it up. He had his challenges but he did his best to balance the comic part and the real-life part.
What are some of your most memorable episodes from the New Masquerade?
It was the very early ones. My favourite New Masquerade episode is the one called Unholy Baptism; it questioned the issue of commercialisation of religion far back in the 70s. The New Masquerade showed me that we could address very serious issues in the country through drama as critical, social commentary, which the programme successfully did.
What was your favourite punch line from Gringory?
Zebrudaya once asked him to tell him the time, and he said, “sharp after,” that is, quarter to. Even Zebrudaya got confused.
Towards the end of New Masquerade, your dad was quoted as saying that he felt the concept was watered down, how did he feel about it all?
The challenge was multi-layered. There was the issue of time, they had grown older and there was a new generation that couldn’t connect with that because of our poor continuity system in the country, while television was changing, digital medium was making an entrance then. There were political influences, among other things. Nothing lasts forever. But if you asked him, he would always say he was very grateful to be a part of the team that laid the foundation for what we have today. We have Nollywood and all the other comedians today because of the pioneering work they did, and I think they succeeded.
There was an alleged friction between him and Chika Okpala (Zebrudaya) later on, especially as some people felt Okpala originally created the programme, how true is this?
That my dad created and designed (New) Masquerade is forensically documented. It’s not anybody’s word against his. It was his brainchild, although at a point, I stopped seeing it on the credits roll at the end of the programme. But that’s by the way. Of course, it (NTA) is a government platform and there was hierarchy and other issues in the system. But there was no doubt about who created New Masquerade. My dad designed the programme and chose to play the role of a house boy.
How was the relationship between your dad and Okpala?
It was beautiful. They worked together really well, although it was possible, like every other professional job, that there were some challenges or frictions here and there. The New Masquerade crew also had a fantastic relationship. Sometimes, they came to the house and just had fun on their own without the cameras rolling. We knew all of them on a one-on-one basis. The children of Uncle Davis (Offor) – that is, Clarus – are still very close to us. We are close family friends. I grew up seeing the crew like five days in a week. They were funny and natural, and born actors and artists. They loved the country and used drama as a good tool.
Did your father influence your career as an artist and a photographer?
Yes, he influenced me and my siblings. He was in the front of the camera, while I am behind it now as a photographer. My elder brother is also a comedian in the South-East. My younger brother has a degree in Theatre Arts but he works mostly in advertising, and also employs that comic side in his works. My sister studied English and Theatre Arts.
How did he discipline his children whenever they erred?
He did not spare the rod. He would put one in one’s place if one did anything wrong. When he got very upset, he would let you know how he felt. But he never stayed upset for long. He could scold you this minute and start joking with you the next, and in your heart, you knew that you were loved.
What are the values you learnt from him?
What we learnt most from him was self-confidence. He taught us to have integrity. We also learnt to be honest and straightforward.
What was his daily routine like?
Sometimes, he came back late at night, around 10pm, and would check if everyone was in bed. Then, he would go to the living room and sit in front of the television set after dinner. He would sleep off there. But he would wake up around 1am and start writing. He wrote for hours. Once, I saw him use a pen with a full cartridge of ink the night before, and by the following day, all the ink was dry.
What were his other interests?
He loved music. He recorded 11 music albums on analogue; he did Christmas carols, two albums in Efik, and highlife music. He was multi-talented. He also played the bass guitar.
What was his favourite food?
He liked eating eba, but it had to be a day old eba. Maybe it was because he grew up in the village and he stuck with that. But it had to be served with freshly prepared soup. He loved vegetable soup.
Before he died, he had glaucoma. Can you recall his last moments?
Yes, he had glaucoma and cataract and was undergoing treatment for these. He tried a lot to reconcile with the fact that he could no more see. It was a big challenge for him. Although he had always worn glasses since I knew him, his condition was worsened because he was exposed to a huge amount of light from working in the television industry for about 40 years. Clarus also was affected by that. But he (dad) was humourous until the end. Sometimes, he made a mockery of death. He never lost his sense of humour. I wasn’t there when he finally died in Onitsha. The news of his death was unexpected. He went to India twice for treatment. The Abia State government was very supportive even after his death.
Is it true that he was stranded in India at a point because he was broke?
No, that’s not true. My elder brother, Chiemele, flew with him to India to do the second laser surgery. I’ve always grown up hearing some people say false things about my family. My father told me to be prepared for that.
Do you think he died fulfilled?
He once told me that true greatness is the ability to make other people great. We had a discussion for about four hours during one of the times he came for a checkup. I asked him to draw the family tree from four generations before him, which he did and put things in perspective. Another profound thing he told me when I asked him if he felt he succeeded, was that if an artist could get his money’s worth and people could decide to become comedians in his lifetime, then he had succeeded; because in his time, even in my time, nobody wanted their children to become comedians. But the times have changed. Yes, he was fulfilled.
Did he die a poor or rich man?
We’ve always been modest as a family. He was not the kind of person to flaunt his possessions. Like Fela, you can’t judge him for having or not having millions. Did he do what he was called to do, and did he make an impact? My dad was a modest man. He had his own building and property in his hometown. He lived as modestly as he could.
What then would you say about his statement in an interview where he said that he was ‘living nose-to-nose with poverty’?
That was drama. He could never completely separate himself (from the character). But people took it seriously. He retired as a civil servant on grade level 16. He was in the best (position) of his career. All his children are graduates; one can’t raise graduates if one is a poor man. He owned a building. You can’t be a poor man and own such a prime property. I never saw him as a poor man. And he wasn’t stranded in India.
What were his likes and dislikes?
He didn’t like people being corrupt or untruthful. But he was friendly with everyone, I never saw him hate anybody no matter what. He loved comedy. He loved laughing. He could laugh at the jokes of a two-year-old and enjoy himself. He enjoyed being at home with his family and relatives. He didn’t like eating alone. My dad played football at some point. He was very sporty.
How was his social life?
He was a very social person and could create fun anywhere. During one of our trips around 1977, our car had a flat tyre. While he was changing the tyre, some people passing stopped to help when they recognised who he was. It was close to a farm. A palm wine tapper came with his wine and brought some there; and from changing a flat tyre, that event became a party.
Who were his closest friends?
For me, it was Davis Offor (Clarus). He lived just a few blocks from our house and they came from the same local government area. He also had a fantastic sense of humour, like my dad. My dad loved everybody and worked well with them.
How has the family coped since his death?
It’s been difficult and very challenging. We are all married with children, and he loved children a lot. I can only imagine how it would have been if he was still alive to relate with all his grandchildren.
What was his reading habit like?
He read a lot. His favourite comedian was a man called Peter Silas, a Briton. He loved William Shakespeare. He always fused the contemporary with the traditional. He also loved folk culture music.
What was the last position he held?
He was Director of Programmes at the Broadcasting Corporation of Abia State.
Are there misconceptions about your father?
Yes, there a number of misconceptions. They think he was a Calabar man, whereas he was from Abia State; also, that when he was flogged on television, I cried, when I was actually laughing. They think he was a poor houseboy, whereas he was a titled chief. Some people are unable to draw the line between make-believe and reality. My dad might have grown up in the village but he was exceptional. He studied at the University of Ibadan and came out with distinction. He got a national award in 1981, when he received the Officer of the Order of the Niger award from the then President Shehu Shagari.
How do you think your dad should be honoured?
He wouldn’t want a big effigy or sculpture of himself. He said, “Apply the principles of what we set up.” They (dad and his contemporaries) should be included in the History curriculum in schools. Educate the people, be truthful about his works. The government could build a wax museum in their honour where kids can walk around and see these people who contributed to the nation’s development. Some people helped build the foundations of what is called Nollywood today. My dad always said if you developed the land and didn’t develop the people, the people would eventually destroy the land. But if you developed the people, they would build the land.
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