TEN FEMALE NIGERIAN POETS

RESHAPING OBLITERATED FACES:

TEN FEMALE NIGERIAN POETS

RESHAPING OBLITERATED FACES:

A poetry chapbook

Compiled and Indroduced by

Unoma Azuah

Copyright © Individual Authors and Contributors, 2015.

All rights reserved.No part of this publication may be reproduced, retained or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

Published by Praxis MagazineWebsite: www.paxismagonline.comAddress: Plot D49 Nsukka Street, Garki, Abuja 970001 Nigeria

Cover Portrait: Nonyelum EkwempuBook Design/Layout: Servio Gbadamosi for www.winepress.pub

CONTENTS

Unoma AzuahReshaping Obliterated Faces: Ten Female Nigerian Poets� � 5Jennifer Chinenye EmelifeFlagellation� � � � � � � 7To an artist dying young� � � � � � 9Sibbyl Whyte� �Roadwalk� � � � � � � 11Trapped: e Male Act� � � � � � 12Emmanuella Nduono�tBury Me In Dry Leaves…� � � � � 13Two Birds� � � � � � � 14Farida AdamuLove Letters� � � � � � � 15Orokamu� � � � � � � 16Mary Ann OlaoyeInnocence� � � � � � � 18Two Cities On My Mind� � � � � � 19Hauwa ShafUntitled�� � � � � � � 21Roots� � � � � � � � 22Regina AchieI Honoured You�� � � � � � 24e Metamorphosis� � � � � � 26Assumpta OzuaSecrets� � � � � � � � 27Slipstream� � � � � � � 28Us� � � � � � � � 29Maryam Aliko MohammedYes, I Want A Man� � � � � � 31Conjure�� � � � � � � 32Iquo DianaAbasi EkeIn the Web� � � � � � � 33Cleansing� � � � � � � 34

RESHAPING�OBLITERATED�FACES:�TEN�FEMALE�NIGERIAN�POETS

Nigerian literature has always �ourished. It has produced a number of international award winners including a Noble prize in Literature. e earlier generation of writers had fewer women writers. For mostly the men that wrote, their representation of women were mostly tied with bits of gossips or pots of soup. Just as there was a poor character representation of Nigerian women in men's writing of early Nigerian Literature, there were not enough published women writers in the 50s and 60's, for instance. Further, Margaret Laurence in the journal Long Drums and Cannons lists about a dozen Nigerian poets of Odia Ofeimun's generation out of which only a couple of women are included: Molara Ogundipe and Catherine Acholonu. However, with the emergence of what has been referred to as the third generation of Nigerian writers, female writers have basically broken through the glass ceiling, especially with names such as Se� Attah, Omowumi Segun, Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani, Chimamanda Adichie, Toyin Adewale-Gabriel, Nnedi Okorafor, Helen Oyeyemi, Lola Shoneyin, Se� Attah, Chika Unigwe, Molara Wood, Faith Adiele, Chioma Okereke, Jumoke Verrisimo, Chinelo Okparanta, Bilikisu Abubakar, Angela Agali Nwosu, Maryam Ali, Victoria Kankara, Ukamaka Olisakwe to mention some. Additionally, the existence of Remi Raji-Oyelade's vast list of women poets entitled Women Poetry from Northern Nigeria cannot be ignored. While a case could be made for an actual privation in the number of female Nigerian writers of Flora Nwapa's generation for example, Uche Umez's “Eight Young Nigerian Poets Whose Poems Delight” silences the fundamental contribution made by women's work by excluding them from what he intends to be regarded as a compilation of good �avor. Of all the eight poets that delight Uche Umez, none are women. In as much as he has a right to whose works and what gladdens his aesthetic taste, his expose' perpetuates the impression that women writers would need to work harder to appeal to the patriarchal palate. Renowned

5

scholars like Chikwenye Ogunyemi (1988:60) have spoken to this same topic, especially when she describes African and Nigerian Literature as “phallic” dominated….by male writers and male critics who deal almost exclusively with male characters and male concerns, naturally aimed at predominantly male audience. Hence, in line with Uche Umez's inequitable eight male poets, I present ten formidable female poets that please my feminine fervor. Jennifer Emelife's unique voice is authentic and bold. Sibbyl Whyte's tone bears re�ective melody. While Emmanuella Nduono�t's lines seem awkward, there is method to her cacophony. Farida Adamu on her path celebrates �air in her infantile energy. Yet, profound and probing is Mary Ann Olaoye's disquiet tenor. Hauwa's songs just like the verses of Regina Achie and Maryam Aliko Mohammed have salient narrative layers. ough Iquo Bassey Eke bares the raw teeth of protest, Assumpta Ozua's striking tune lightens the weight of her themes.

-Unoma AzuahCopy Editor

6

Flagellation

if i were therei would be lost in the warmthof your embracewear the cologne of your comfort�y in your care crafeel the love of your tender palms

reposed

but again i will be goneor you will be goneand i will be leemptyalone

drowning in thoughts of good timeswhere my soul meets yoursour legs entangledin love's web

then a broom comes picking cobwebssweeping through our loveleaving no trace

- scarred

for somehowthough this love thrives against torrentsthough it �aps its wing like a �edglingit �ies not beyond the treesbasking only in its sheltershut out of the worldand this caged bird does not sing

Jennifer Chinenye Emelife

7

just tears

for we are two faces of one hillseeking only to �ll this gorgedeepened by time's running feetin a race that ended long beforewe heard its whistlewas the referee blindor were we deaf?

here I amemptyshornloststill wishingstill yearningfor youstill loving youwith all its pain

Jennifer Chinenye Emelife

8

To�an�artist�dying�young

when stars are goneand the sky is greywhen earth fades into snores and faint squealsa body breathes somewhereblending the universein one piecegiving tongue to the man in his head,his �ngers produce the words they absorb

stroke stroke strokeon a board, they gomatching one word to anotherwhile the earth sleeps onuntil stirredby sounds of dews falling on leaveshe looks at that before hima smile �rstthen a frownfear that man-in-head again disapproves; 'poor representation’

stroke he his tender heartseeking sleep when all else is awake�nding rest to the voice in his headfurious �ngersalter their creationserenity is a foe

stars are goneand sky is greythud,and whispers:'where does the artist live?'the words �y to a hill,then to a cottage:a door

Jennifer Chinenye Emelife

9

a �oor, discoloureda boardan empty stoola bedeyes shut, lips drawn to a smile;a body breathes no more

Jennifer Chinenye Emelife is a graduate of Literature-in-English. Teaching Literacy in a private school in Lagos, she sometimes pretends to be a poet. She is also lead correspondent at Praxis Magazine for Arts and Literature. Her works have featured in online publications as A Basket of Tales; a collection of short stories by Association of Nigerian Authors (Benue State), Write Paragraphs and a few others. She loves the beach and is deeply inspired by Maya Angelou.

Jennifer Chinenye Emelife

10

Roadwalk

I journeyed upon this road of life free of the treacherous blinds that made me chase wrong dreams I walked with you and saw the light that shone for all things right. You - the beacon of hope that steered me along life's lonely route with wisdom wrapped in words you sowed upon my barren mind.

Today I turn back to catch your eye for approval of what I've become and �nd he's stolen you from me. Jealousy is an emotion unknown as rage boils down to dark tears that rise from the void in my heart and fall upon the earth where you now lie.

I shall �nd the strength to smile when I, through this numbness rise. Onwu has bedded you for eternity, but your footprints are fresh upon my heart and I shall tread only where they lead.

Sibbyl Whyte

11

Trapped:�The�Male�Act

I catch her troubled eyes in my re�ection and watch them drown e mask slips but no one seems to care it's the facade that claims their attention. Cast in a body that stiffles me I yearn for the scales to fall off, but they feed on the pretense daily and silence my pleas with a scoff. Daily, I play my part in the male act �tting in as square pegs stuffed in a hole. Timidly, it dangles between my legs, a reminder of the unwanted part. Men don't cry - I swallow my tears and sigh and wait for night to �nally meet the woman that lives in this body, and lies, smothered 'neath male garbs and deceit. But when the sun kisses my sky, I hide her in the maze of a man's life.

Sibbyl Whyte is a Nigerian writer who is subject to the whims of her headstrong chi. Bits of her imagination have appeared on Gypsiana - her laptop, Facebook, Naijastories, e Clip Magazine, e Kalahari Review, AfricanWriter and in anthologies of �ction and poetry which she can mention if you ask. She is currently at work on the untold stories in her head.

Sibbyl Whyte

12

Bury�Me�In�Dry�Leaves…

Bury me in dry leaves.I desire to inhale their scent.When dry winds arrive,I'll be well cradled by airand be at heaven quickerbefore judgement.

Far away from humankind,strange human kindness,let me rot in peace.I want to inhaleand be inhaledby nothing.

Emmanuella Nduono�t

13

Two�Birds…

ere was a white bird in the black skyere was a black bird in the white skyWhich mix is best �rst,For it shall quench the thirstOf knowing the one that can best �y

Emmanuella Nduono�t hails from Uboro-Oro Village in Urue-Offong/Oruko local government area close to Oron town, Akwa-Ibom State, Nigeria, and currently has a Bachelor of Arts degree in English from the Nnamdi Azikiwe University, Awka in Anambra State, Nigeria. She writes in the three basic genres of literature: Poetry, Prose Fiction/non-Fiction and Drama for the stage. She currently resides in Asaba, Delta State, Nigeria.

Emmanuella Nduono�t

14

Love�Letters�

Upon love's blank pages we scribble U and I, possesive pronouns in lovespeak entities bound, yet seperated by a ten and one in the abcderian scheme of things eleven hurdles crossed to bring I close to U in a melding of form and spirit on sheets. Read the scribbles etched on my heart; a Testament of love neither Old nor New just heartbeats that shows U what I feel Not the silly shattering hearts in Boon nor the butter�ies in bellies at the Mills It's the peace we feel when U and I �ll pages.

Farida Adamu

15

Orokamu

Land of kindred spiritsYour children walk naked Both in the glow and dim of sunlightYour tall palm and thick ogbono trees Have shielded you And so I have travelled Across mountains and rivers to return your son to you

Dust to dustMan to ashesTo lay him to rest in your sandFor so says your oracle�You drew me I cameI leYet you stalk my spiritAnd I met a stillness that troubled my heart e one only death brings.

Farida Adamu is a short story writer who is �nding feet in poetry. She is a �nal year student of Gombe state University and one of the ambassadors of Custodians of African Literature COAL. She writes from Jos, Plateau state.

Farida Adamu

16

from withini dig deeperand you,well up from within

Mary Ann Olaoye

17

Innocence(for indihi)

with you, i try to recover those lost yearsi gather them around me like a wrapbut they are like air, too free and loose to be contained in a placeor gathered as a shield against naked memoriesyet so alive and bare it brings with itsounds and silence of my baby steps

life grew before my eyesand you, beautiful bouquet of �owerswith your petals of smilesand blooming roses of lifeyou grow, delicately before me

and i try to pause this fast paced worldthis world that comes with its wireless connections of realityfor you i try to frame this momentwhen you have mucus running down your noseand carefreeness chasing aer you like a butter�y

but i know when the sun comes upyou will bloom and become a garden of many experiences

one by one some petals will fall,ground into powder by the shoes of menand i wonder if you will remain strong by your roots

i pray for this box of innocence to shield you a little longerdear onei pray that life's hand does not choke you as it did me

Mary Ann Olaoye

18

Two�Cities�On�My�Mind

in this dull gwagwalada eveningwhere the sun nods its round headin �tful slumber, aer a heavy day of drinkingoff the cognac soili stroll the streets of my mind, like a bored shadowlounging by a vendor's broken kioskvisiting neighborhood haunts of thoughts

idle silence is the seat of my wild travel through placesthe painting of thoughtsthe sketches of make belief;i dream of what i am, what my life iswhat it was and what it would bethe �re in my heart holds the eye of the sunand the yearning for that strange familiar land grows warmer

the nzu you talk about, fatherthe goddess and the kolanut bowlwill i see them all?the fronds, all virgin like my heartthe landscape and the endless memoriesbuilding a bridge between two unrelated citieswill i have them all?they are quartered in a corner of my mindorphans from different parents

my body lounges here, fatherthe vendor haggles for my smileof recognitionbut my spirit has long departedsearching the hills you speak ofgrappling with the wind for understandingwith your interpretation, with your leading,i search the bleached soil for your footprints

Mary Ann Olaoye

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with my uncapped curiosityand myraid questions

boredom is a silent teleprompteryou scroll down its lit face, amusing yourselfwith mad frolics between two citiesand here i lie, in this prickly heatfeeling the air of a strange landand dreaming about its calmer wind

and i know i am but a virgin visitorcaught between this boring place and my dreams

Shade Mary-Ann Olaoye, is a young Nigerian writer who believes in the power of writing. It is a voice on its own and that voice, has its place. She enjoys reading and stage drama.

Mary Ann Olaoye

20

Untitled�

i stand alone in this hallway shrubs �aunt their hues before me and I think how pale my heart has become how the colour has le its skin and how in the darkness that lies in a ditch it has found solace

Dry dreams stare their eyes drill into mine with the silent declaration that they cannot be yet they part their lips slightly as though they beseech me to pick them up, to carve reality out of them but my �ngers do not hold sorcery and even in sorcery, unconceived dreams cannot be helpedand so i cannot pick them

they part their lips slightly and feed me false hopesthen my heart dies a second time and as always, i look heavenwards for only there do i see sincerity

Hauwa Shaf

21

Roots

the roots of a mango tree are what come aer trails of war remain unmoved by heavy wheels of time they lie deep in earth, slaving in pride wriggling in a �rm grip

deep in earthwhere distinct veinsof a shrub stretch and vow to go separate

�ghting a war of blind freedom casting behind their minds, the helplessness of birds without nests

they become twisted, dis�gured like the destiniesof sambisa fruits, earth endures their rumbles and awaits their submissionfor a mother embodies traits of a fore teller time is mother

soon, these veins go diverse but they are stuck deep in the ugly of earth,alas! earth also learned the art of imprisonment,she has become a war lord too

they shall grow old, I say

Hauwa Shaf

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and immobile and they shall whimper in one cruel grip - these stubborn veins

Hauwa is a young Nigerian writer who writes more of poetry, even though prose is her �rst exposition to creative writing. She describes poetry as an art that goes beyond mere construction of words, and borders on divinity. She is a law student.

Hauwa Shaf

23

I��Honoured�You

Remember the lean yearsWhen I bore you childrenOn straw matsInherited from your parentsEven thenI honoured you

In days of wantWhen an arm of wrapperWas all I hadWith three blousesFor church, farm and long journeysI honoured you

Lanev my lordWhen lack was all we hadAs constant companionWe were content in our loveAnd I honoured you

In these days of affluenceWealth erodes sweet memoriesI ponder on the contemptYou now openly show meAnd cannot but wonderHow in days gone byI honoured you

Lanev my chairmanI may not be �rst ladyAs I speak no EnglishAnd my tired breasts �owingAgainst my sagging stomachAre unsightly, you say

Regina Achie

24

Unlike your new love

Know this my honourableI had your youthShe only holds the remnants.

Regina Achie

25

The�Metamorphosis

At dawn A kiss of passion holds their world in statee sun bows, the moon curtsiesAt noonWearied by life's worriesLips pull apart slowlyHisses replace kissesGlances of suspicion aboundAt duskey retire, not to restBut to count ceiling boxesWondering if it'll ever be dawn again.

Regina Achie-Nege has been an editor with Aboki Publishers Makurdi, Benue State, Nigeria since 2007. A high school teacher, poet and literary enthusiast, Regina holds a BA (Hons) English and MA Literature. Some of her poems have appeared in various anthologies and literary journals. She has also published a number of articles in reputable journals. Regina is married and has three children.

Regina Achie

26

Secrets

Plot an ambiguous pathon the map that is my lifeand take a leisurely walk with meinto the uncertainty of forever.As I scatter my problems at your feetlike dissident rose petals,be not afraid,but collect them one by one.Be not predictablein the vein of Pandora's box,and let lose all that I hold dear.Instead be like Fort Knox,keeping my sins, sadnessand sentiments safe.Stuff each ear with porous spongeso that you might absorbmy numerous tales of woeas I pour out my soul.Make your truth spitting lipsimpervious to idle gossip.Be who I think you to be,and promise to keepall of my secrets for me.

Assumpta Ozua

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Slipstream Her smile roseand lips curledinto crescent shapedjoy. No bittersweet paincould rival thelaughter line trencheswashing away pastsorrow. She would alwaysrejoice in thecyclone oflife.

Assumpta Ozua

28

Us 60 years from now when theslightly scuffed suitcase you will callskin houses more than big bonesand blood ties you cannot unknot,kaleidoscopic heritage you cannot forgetbut memories, dreams and wishes too,the quiet shuffle of your body willstill bring music to my ears aswe cut shapes in the space whereour babies cut shapes and grew.Our children will be beautiful.ey will epitomise their names,carry hope in their palms, lovewill know them intimately.Garri granules of light will bethe trail our son leaves behind whenhe �ashes his explosive smile.Like her mother, our daughterwill be a quiet storm, salt water andlife source searching for her lighthouse home.In years to come, you will tellme stories that no longer belong to us,of fear that did not belong to us,sing songs that never belonged to us,our struggle does not belong to us.Only our faith, unsinkable ship a�oatin a sea of fables and failurebelongs to us.And I, cyclonic force stilled by your love,will forever belong to you.

Assumpta Ozua

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Assumpta Ozua resides and works in London. Aer writing her �rst poem at age seven, she uses poetry as a means of expressing her innermost thoughts and feelings. Her work mostly centers on love, loss and otherness. Her debut collection of poems was published in 2013, entitled To You For You With You. She reads poems and performs spoken word in and around London.

Assumpta Ozua

30

Yes,�I�Want�A�Man

I want a man that is like me: shattered broken into many pieces but has taken time to glue the pieces back together.A man who knows how sweet life can be with a clarity that reveals itself at the point you shatter. A man that, even though he could not �nd some of the smaller piecesthose slivers that got stuck somewherethe pieces so broken that they can't be �xed backA man that has learnt to lean far back so that those cracks do not allow his essence to seep out.

I want a manLike a scratch on a vinyl record the pin gets stuck and does not allow him to move on from that one line in his songI want to be the hand that moves him to the next grove Allow him to sing the rest of his song.I too have been shatteredI glued my pieces together From the dim light you cannot see how much I have mendedOnly he will have the tender hands to li up my pin when I am stuck on the same verse.

Maryam Aliko Mohammed

31

Conjure

Did I conjure you up?I must have.It may have been in my lucid dreamIt may have been one of those times when I found myself at Yemoja's alterI had been to many priestesses, goddesses and ancients.Looking for you.I paid with an occult coin.Who would have thought that the beggar I was to give a coin to would give me one of his, and tell me it would buy that thing I wanted the most.Who would have guessed that in that dream I would place it in her open palms when she demanded it without asking.Who would have foreseen that the coin would grow incandescent in her palm, then rise, then move towards me and enter my heart.I woke up from that dream with my heart racing to feel you along the length of mecuddled in your armsmy head on your chestI turn slightly to kiss your heartI feel a strange warmth on my lips and a brightness behind my lids. I open my eyes the incandescent occult coin is your heart.

Maryam Aliko Mohammed is insanely curious and has opinions to share, her writing is insomnia induced when the voices in her head reward her with moments of profound insight she hardly remembers in the morning. She holds that life comes down to who you love and who loves you back, and her conviction that she is at the centre of de�ning these.

Maryam Aliko Mohammed

32

In�the�Web Fears of yesterdayRush forth in a contemptuous rageLike bits of glass in a kaleidoscopeEach piece a �ery recognitionAs our past fears turn to today's reality Like a spiderIn its own intricate weavingis web of never ending corruption is made more rigidWith each futile breakaway attempt StrandedWe grope in the darkUncertain of our ailmentsEven more uncertain of the cure LostIn this labyrinth of would be heroesSeeking to outwit us with old tricks in a new ageDisdain rankles, but we are not mocked ough the dance variese tune remainsAs poor denizens rejoice ate emptiness of a tuneless songDangling on the precipice of never becoming a melody.

Iquo DianaAbasi Eke

33

Cleansing Time is that appealing intersection; the diverging stretchbetween the pain of becomingand the joy of ripeness and the pain waspuss �lled…fungus infestedthe bane of our strifecelebrated on a vengeful grillmarinating in its own oils;anger, lack, fear, lethargy reminiscence is a sore made raw anew byconstant gnawing at the pastthe past is… a dagger twist in our psycheit is boko fanatics ripping the fabric of our calm… it is the rape of the DeltaBirthing damaged �ora and fauna…it is empty stomachs and diseased children time is the diverging distance;the stake at which weuncloak ourselves of the grime;burn yesterday' wrongswatch it go up in �ames of forgivenessdisappear amid fumes of cooperationthen we can embrace the hope whosepinnacle radiates a promise for tomorrow Let us togetherrise from the verminin the glimpse of duskbefore the embrace of dawnwe will yet �nd that

Iquo DianaAbasi Eke

34

distant sparkwe will yet effervesce in the vibration of mother naturethat growth demands of us let us resuscitate not lest our vision be benightedfor time is the appealing distancebetween the pain of becoming andthe joy of our prime

Iquo Diana Abasi Eke is a performance poet and writer who renders her words to the accompaniment of instruments such as traditional drums, �ute and /or strings. She has performed on various platforms including e Lagos Black Heritage festival, WORDSLAM, e Lagos Poetry Festival, and Poetry Potter.

Iquo DianaAbasi Eke

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