THE THING WITH INTERPRETERS (an essay by Oludipe Oyin Samuel)

Many things are allowed in the ‘most contemporary’ Nigerian literature, even psycho-imaginative meningioma; proclaim the very art of purposeful nationalist writing— countryside lyricals, activist poems from the contained ghetto-minds— I say the dynamics are vastly enmeshed in the spurring notes of sincere satire and a so self-indicting, predictable sadness, that which oft never redeems the… Continue reading THE THING WITH INTERPRETERS (an essay by Oludipe Oyin Samuel)


When I hear hopeless denizens Hooting like night owls Perched on frail branches Of smooth-bark Iroko trees Begging life’s support From crevices of rocky tablets Painted by your seductive brush That only flowed to calm urgy-nerves Of frustrated trusts seeking justice; When yester-memories flashback fresh bloody scenes Of Eight Ogoni men Tied to a stake… Continue reading OLD SOLDIER NEVER DIES


Parched in this oily trap, with our fates dangling on a swinging rope, We hummed the songs of the fear in our hearts and submitted our case Upon the table of injustice We stand on this trial ground to sign our fears for death Cleaning our faces with rags of poverty as economic strangulation Hangs… Continue reading WAVES OF FATE…

IT’S NOVEMBER AGAIN (a poem for Ken Saro Wiwa)

It’s November again! Feel these winds blow, see these leaves falling, No, it’s not Harmattan blowing. It’s Ken coffin calling from our coughing body frames. It’s that month again, when we count our losses, Name them one by one! Our hopes they hung on a line, And they dried them like rags in the sun,… Continue reading IT’S NOVEMBER AGAIN (a poem for Ken Saro Wiwa)