In the traditions that established earlier voices in modern Africa poetry, sociopolitical maladies have remained an arch theme. In the words of Omafune Onoge, what rocks African poetry most is the crisis of consciousness.
When news broke late on 22nd April 2022, that Ọba Ọláyíwọlá Adéyẹmí III, the Aláàfin of Ọ̀yọ́, had joined his ancestors at the ripe old age of 83, there was a sense in the entire Yorùbá speaking world that a truly regnant king had departed the realm.
Thousands of Africans from countries like Nigeria, Ghana, Kenya, South Africa, Somalia and other countries languish under the disproportionate cold of eastern Europe as they wait at transit points and the border.
He belongs to a generation of Nigerian men raised to be strong, silent, and hopelessly incapable of accepting complicity even in the face of clear damage. The patriarchy is alive in him indeed.
For Ayọ̀ Bámgbóṣé at 90
Our dealings are dominated by a disregard for scientific reasoning, and a preference for ostentatious, and often venal religiosity.
All our lives, a series of crossings. The parts of our existence we are often not proud to claim still make up the sum total of our lives.
I have always found it a little too dramatic when I see movies where people run off to another city to begin a new life after a break up. A whole life in a place, ending because of one relationship. Ridiculous!
Having criminalized queerness, the Nigerian state ruthlessly promotes homophobia. In response, LGBTQIA+ Nigerians continue to mobilize, committing to the struggle for queer rights.
The mobility challenge faced by African cuisines in an increasingly technological age is unacceptable. So, when recently I stumbled on a writing about a certain food app called DishAfrik, with its ambitious catalogue of curated African cuisines, with a real-life cooking feature, I was overjoyed.
Iwo smells of dust and rusty air, clouding up my mind and drowning my memory. The first thing my mother welcomes me with is water. She is an ardent devotee of the culture that believes water is the most glorious form of courtesy that can be paid to a visitor. But I always find it hard to drink.
When the thousands of mysterious Sumerian tablets were translated, they were thought to be business records, but what if they were poems or psalms?
On the afternoon of my friend’s demise, I logged in to Facebook to discover a myriad of his pictures congregating people’s timelines. In those pictures, his face was distinct, sharp; his mien betraying the darkness saturating the day, binding us in that state of sadness with the thread of mourning.