PROFILING SALAWU OLAJIDE #BABISHAI2015 SHORTLIST (NIGERIA)

 

Salawu Olajide is a B.A Literature degree holder from the prestigious Department of English and Literary Studies, Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife. He is presently a postgraduate student of the same Department. He has published strings of works on Saraba Magazine, Stony Thursday (Ireland), Kalahari Review, ZODML, among others. He currently works as a freelance reporter and digital writer for The InfoStride. He enjoys listening to dadakuada music at his leisure time. When he was asked: ‘what piqued your interest in poetry?’ He answered, ‘the nothingness of its everything. Once I am grabbed again in my inside lab, I begin to experiment with those verse-able words.’

His shortlisted poem is here:

                        WOMEN LOVERS by Salawu Olajide (Nigeria)

                        
 

She first said her biology was failing, and then her look, then her smile, then her feeling, then her heart. We look at each other on the rocking chairs. Listen, she says. The tube of her mouth holds something venal and serious. We long for each other. Finally. The finally comes as if it is the only intended word in the middle of the phrasing. She has a way of meaning her adverb. Did you moan on each other’s thigh ‘cept for sex? She says nothing but a nod which means yes. The sun seems to be gossiping through the window, I unhinge the curtain and let darkness swallow us. There are things they must not know. I whisper some calmness into her heart. She adjusts her gown and shows the part of her breast where she last kissed her. It is as if I have never loved before.

The winner will be announced during the #Babishai2015 Poetry Festival, 26 to 28 August at The Uganda Museum.

PROFILING ADHIAMBO AGORO (KENYA) #BABISHAI2015 SHORTLIST

ADHIAMBO AGORO

Adhiambo Agoro is Kenyan poet born and brought up in Nairobi where she resides to date. She began writing at the age of twelve and her budding nest for poetry has felt the touch of many. Adhiambo has written poems versed to photography and has received great reception for her skill. For her, anything that gives life is inspiration for her writing.Attuned to particulars of travel and explorations, she adds into poetry the distinctive value of 'seeing the words on extra coloration’. She has self-published several collections on her blog (adhiamboagoro.wordpress.com) and other social media platforms under her name: Adhiambo Agoro. She is currently pursuing CPA and a Bachelor of Commerce undergraduate degree. She herself, is poetry and continues to grow the arc she describes as “An affirmation, for the little scales that mentions my name- the baby steps that makes the rhythmic heart of a woman.”

Her #Babishai2015 shortlisted poem is below:

My Son  by Adhiambo Agoro (Kenya)      

Fruit of my womb

I beg to stay away

And let you build bridges

To carve sculptures of our souls

To read invisible lines of Holy books

To find meaning in meaningless lines

And hope from tombs left for so long

Mother will be back

Let me find one like us, for us to become one

As your spine gives your body posture

So does the rhythm of our blood play upright music?

You are my last winter bird

My twins gave hope

My smile gave pride

But we're little termites with big hearts

We need our scraggy feet for paths we haven't crossed

Let me find one like us, for us to become one

The roses of our hearts have a charity case

The sidelines of our thoughts need ironing

We consume a variety of edibles to keep ourselves strong

It is a hard claim to live up to, Son

I recall your baby steps

And maps you left on the seabed after a longer drought.

Our change is forbidden but still

Let me find one like us, for us to become one

I will write these lines on paper

For the crowd to listen to our acapella

My name was lonely

Your father's name was pain

We covered your eyes from the world

For us to clean the dirt under our nails

Your life is a yearned cliché

I cry

Let me find one like us, for us to become one

We have few pieces of joy

Will we suffocate on these solitary streets?

No Son. We need history and tales

For kisses woke up the Queens and portions made Kingdoms sleep

Hold my hand to seal these words

Feel the scent from unseen paradises

As we beseech the mercies of prayer and faith

Let me find one like us, for us to become one.

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The winner will be announced during the #Babishai2015 Festival, 26 to 28 August at The Uganda Museum-Kampala.

PROFILING ARIZE IFEAKANDU (NIGERIA) #BABISHAI2015 SHORTLIST

Arinze Ifeakandu was born in Kano State, Nigeria, in 1995, and currently studies literature at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka.  In 2013, he was shortlisted by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie to attend the annual Farafina Trust Creative Writing Workshop in Lagos. He is currently an Emerging Writer Fellow under the program run by A Public Space Magazine, and currently the editor of The Muse, a student journal of the department of English, UNN. 

Like Scented Mangoes    by Arinze Ifeakandu (Nigeria)

 

 I used to like the quiet in this place

Both of us

Seated under the mango tree

Sipping our tea in paper cups

Mum used to come and check on us

—Don’t climb up the mango tree, she said

But after she left you sprinted up

Agile as a monkey

And climbed branch after branch

The sunlight bathing you in the finest gold

And between us the scent of rotting mangoes

I was the fearful little one

Who watched with longing from below

As, balanced on a sturdy branch, you stared down at me

And smiled—You see? You see?

And then, clambering down, we stood side by side

Watching the sunset turn all bloody red

We have grown up too quickly

And I have traveled the world

Tokyo, Japan

Accra, Ghana

America, Everywhere

I have returned to this place

Where the silence now gnaws like rats’ teeth

Gentle-gentle, coolly-coolly

Between us, distance like scented mangoes

Mum’s grave white and marble

Behind the shrubs

Where once we lay side by side

And tasted the fading tea on each other’s tongue

Hands lingering at certain places

Your breath on my neck like warm-water air—

In Memory of a Loving Mother

—Memory like a frozen smile on a fading picture

Like childhood music at Sunday School

            La lala

I look up and the flowers are budding between green leafs

Two paper cups lie buried in sand and twigs

I squat to pick them up

But I pick only dust.

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The winner will be announced on August 28th at the #Babishai2015 Poetry Festival, Uganda Museum Kampala.

PROFILING SHEILA OKONGO OMARE NYANDUAKI (KENYA) #BABISHAI2015 SHORTLIST

Nyanduaki Sheila lives and works in Nairobi, Kenya. She holds a Bachelor's degree in Economics and Statistics from Kenyatta University, and has a great love for words, music, unconventional furniture and open front sweaters. In her early years she wrote book reviews for Young Nation Magazine and in 2005 and 2008 was among the national winners in the Scenarios from Africa Contest. In 2010, Sheila participated in the Young Writers' project-Nairobi,  an experience that reaffirmed her as a writer. On poetry, she says, 'I'm mostly drawn to poetry that is simple and that speaks delicately as well as honestly about the human condition.' Understandably so, she cites two of her favourite poems as  I know a man by Yehuda Amichai and I taught myself to live simply by Anna Akhmatova. On being included in the BNP 2015 shortlist, she says, 'it is an exciting journey that I'm on. It really is!'

Her shortlisted poem is here:

The Ghost of Jevanjee by Nyanduaki Okongo  Omare (Kenya)

You knew he would visit you,

sitting on the concrete bench, alone, pretending to be immersed in an old book

He greets your silence like an old friend

and stays there.

He will bother to describe the trees to you

each one of them

points at the shrubs by your feet and say- choose the one that speaks to you most and I'll give you its  name.

The sun will burn your back for attention

 the ants will pilgrimage up your skin like hungry hands

but you will do nothing about it.

He will tell you this- when the imminent rain comes, don't run away from it

allow it to wash your shadow clean

until it no longer darkens the ground above you.

And that even there,

in the midst of  love oaths

buried earthworms

hands pressed together in worry

planned sabbaticals

eagles' droppings

'I am the bread of life' sermons

thieves with no faces

memories of sex

great jokes told with closed mouths

smooth stones and potted flowers.

Even there,

you will find two friends:

Wrath, which burns but is sweeter

and Mercy, which suffocates but is lighter.

Choose one,

and it will give you your name.

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