I discovered Wopko Jensma in 1986, at the university library in Benin City, Nigeria.
I couldn’t tell if he was white or black.
I didn’t think he was white — but I remember thinking:
“If this crazy guy is white, then he’s the best man — white or black — in South Africa.”
It’s easy, in these days of Nelson Mandela and Barack Obama, to forget the non-person status of Black people across the globe — even as recently as 1986.
“I Must Show You My Clippings” — that was the book!
He inspired me to write.
He told me, through his work, that I didn’t have to write prose as beautifully as John Steinbeck or Wole Soyinka to call myself a writer.
Fast-forward to the recently past present.
I remembered my old friend and thought:
“Hmmm… where’s Ol’ Wopko? Time to find out if he’s white or black.”
By then, I was working in Oil & Gas, and the Internet had long ceased to be a fad — it had become a part of life.
“Wopko,” you must understand, to my Nigerian ears, sounded very much like Wokpo…
Sadly, I found this out:
“Artist and poet, Wopko Pieter Jensma disappeared without a trace in 1993.”
I think, deep down, I might have known he was white —
because there was a picture on the cover of one of his books showing ‘Jensma Motor Company’,
and none of the workers standing under the banner was Black.
Yes… I must have known.
I think I knew, deep down, that he was white —
and loved him all the more for being South Africa’s best-kept secret.
Goodbye, Wopko.
You inspired me.
You did.
—Don Kenobi
Author, “Of Gods and Negroes”
