The Moon and Me by Femi Osofisan (Okinba Launko)

By the women knitting slow songs

into their washing

by the lovers spraying the water

with whispered words

by the shy birds lending their voices

from the purdah of sleepy branches

by the hoes hiding from the weariness

of men returned from the farm

softly

on the sand

the moon

spreads his mat for the children to sit on.

Femi Osofisan (Okinba Launko)

Babafemi Adeyemi Osofisan is a Nigerian professor and writer born on June 16, 1946 in Ogun State, Nigeria, who is well-known for his literary works that criticize societal issues and incorporate African traditional performances and surrealism in some of his plays. His plays often revolve around the struggle between good and evil. He is a didactic writer who aims to rectify the decaying state of society through his works. Additionally, he has written poetry under the pen name Okinba Launko.

End of the War by Femi Osofisan (Okinba Launko)

They say,

a war only ends,

when another war begins:

the silence of the battlefield

heralds the widow’s anguish

For, to set questions

is not as hard as finding answers….

Our war has ended

because war is now with us

The deserted houses, the fallen rafters

breed the city’s slums

and the praise singers are not dead

they have only gone to the barracks ….

the butchers fill the parliaments ….

and the victims no longer die by bullets

but survive to pay the levies

Listen ___ they will tell you ___

to beat drums is mere children’s play

the adult’s is to start echoes ….

Femi Osofisan (Okinba Launko)

Babafemi Adeyemi Osofisan is a Nigerian professor and writer born on June 16, 1946 in Ogun State, Nigeria, who is well-known for his literary works that criticize societal issues and incorporate African traditional performances and surrealism in some of his plays. His plays often revolve around the struggle between good and evil. He is a didactic writer who aims to rectify the decaying state of society through his works. Additionally, he has written poetry under the pen name Okinba Launko.

Dedication from Moremi, a poem by Wole Soyinka

Dedication from Moremi

Earth will not share the rafter's envy; dung floors
Break, not the gecko's slight skin, but its fall
Taste this soil for death and plumb her deep for life

As this yam, wholly earthed, yet a living tuber
To the warmth of waters, earthed as springs
As roots of baobab, as the hearth.

The air will not deny you. Like a top
Spin you on the navel of the storm, for the hoe
That roots the forests plows a path for squirrels.

Be ageless as dark peat, but only that rain's
Fingers, not the feet of men, may wash you over.
Long wear the sun's shadow; run naked to the night.

Peppers green and red—child—your tongue arch
To scorpion tail, spit straight return to danger's threats
Yet coo with the brown pigeon, tendril dew between your lips.

Shield you like the flesh of palms, skyward held
Cuspids in thorn nesting, in sealed as the heart of kernel—
A woman's flesh is oil—child, palm oil on your tongue

Is suppleness to life, and wine of this gourd
From self-same timeless run of runnels as refill
Your pod lings, child, weaned from yours we embrace

Earth's honeyed milk, wine of the only rib.
Now roll your tongue in honey till your cheeks are
Swarming honeycombs—your world needs sweetening, child.

  Cam woodround the heart, chalk for flight
Of blemish—see? it dawns!—antimony beneath
Armpits like a goddess, and leave this taste

Long on your lips, of salt, that you may seek
None from tears. This, rain-water, is the gift
Of gods—drink of its purity, bear fruits in season.

Fruits then to your lips: haste to repay
The debt of birth. Yield man-tides like the sea
And ebbing, leave a meaning of the fossil led sands.

Wole Soyinka 

Wole Soyinka is one the most honoured African poets. He is a playwright, poet, lecturer and an activist. He was awarded the Nobel prize in Literature in 1986 being the African to be so honoured. Wole Soyinka was born on 13 July, 1934.

Procession I - Hanging Day, a poem by Wole Soyinka

Procession I - Hanging Day

Hanging day.

A hollow earth

Echoes footsteps of the grave procession.

Walls in sunspots

Lean to shadow of the shortening morn.

Behind an eyepatch lushly blue.

The wall of prayer has taken refuge

In a piece of blindness, closed.

Its grey recessive deeps.

Fretful limbs.

And glances that would sometimes

Conjure up a drawbridge

Raised but never lowered between

Their gathering and my sway.

Withdraw, as all the living world

Belie their absence in a feel of eyes

Barred and secret in the empty home.

Of shuttered windows, I know the heart.

Has journeyed far from present.

Tread. Drop. Dread Drop. Dead.

What may I tell you? What reveal?

I who before them peered unseen

Who stood one-legged on the untrodden

Verge- lest I should not return.

That I received them? That I wheeled above and flew beneath them.

And brought him on his way.

And came to mine, even to the edge

Of the unspeakable encirclement?

What may I tell you of the five

Bell-ringers on the ropes to chimes.

Of silence?

What tell you of rigors of the law?

From watchtowers on stunned walls.

Raised to stay a siege of darkness

What whisper to their football thunders.

Vanishing to shrouds of sunlight?

Let not man speak of justice, guilt

Far away, blood-stained in their

Tens of thousands, hands that damned.

These wretches to the pit triumph

But here, alone the solitary deed.

Wole Soyinka 

Wole Soyinka is one the most honoured African poets. He is a playwright, poet, lecturer and an activist. He was awarded the Nobel prize in Literature in 1986 being the African to be so honoured. Wole Soyinka was born on 13 July, 1934.

Telephone Conversation, a poem by Wole Soyinka

Telephone Conversation

The price seemed reasonable, location

Indifferent. The landlady swore she lived

Off premises. Nothing remained

But self-confession. ‘Madam,’ I warned,

‘I hate a wasted journey—I am African.’

Silence. Silenced transmission of

Pressurised good-breeding. Voice, when it came,

Lipstick coated, long gold-rolled

Cigarette-holder pipped. Caught I was, foully.

‘HOW DARK ?’... I had not misheard... ‘ARE YOU LIGHT

OR VERY DARK ?’ Button B. Button A. Stench

Of rancid breath of public hide-and-speak.

Red booth. Red pillar-box. Red double-tiered

Omnibus squelching tar. It was real! Shamed

By ill-mannered silence, surrender

Pushed dumbfounded to beg simplification.

Considerate she was, varying the emphasis—

‘ARE YOU DARK? OR VERY LIGHT?’ Revelation came.

‘You mean—like plain or milk chocolate?’

Her assent was clinical, crushing in its light

Impersonality. Rapidly, wave-length adjusted,

I chose. ‘West African sepia’—and as afterthought,

“down in my passport." Silence for spectroscopic

Flight of fancy, till truthfulness changed her accent

Hard on the mouthpiece. ‘WHAT’S THAT?’ conceding

‘DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT IS.’ ‘Like brunette.’

‘THAT’S DARK, ISN’T IT?’ ‘Not altogether.

Facially, I am brunette, but madam, you should see

The rest of me. Palm of my hand, soles of my feet

Are a peroxide blonde. Friction, caused—

Foolishly madam—by sitting down, has turned

My bottom raven black—One moment madam!’—sensing

Her receiver rearing on the thunderclap

About my ears—‘Madam,’ I pleaded, ‘wouldn’t you rather

See for yourself?’

Wole Soyinka 

Wole Soyinka is one the most honoured African poets. He is a playwright, poet, lecturer and an activist. He was awarded the Nobel prize in Literature in 1986 being the African to be so honoured. Wole Soyinka was born on 13 July, 1934.

Asewo, a poem by Mamman Vatsa

Asewo

Butu, butu, Cameroon insect.

Man wey no wan scratch him body

make e no look you for face

Like Cameroon man dey say,

butu, butu na our country ting

Mamman Vatsa

Mamman Jiya Vatsa (OFR) was born on December 3rd, 1940. He was a General in Nigerian Army and a poet. He was a member of the Supreme Military Council. Mamman Vasta was a lover of literature; he assisted the Children's Literature Association of Nigeria with funds and built a Writer's Village for the Association of Nigerian Authors. It is also noted that he hosed their annual conferences. The Writer's Village was named in his honour in January, 2013. He was executed by the military regime of General Ibrahim Babangida (his childhood friend) on 5th of March 1986 after he was convicted for treason in connection with an unsuccessful coup.

Longing by Femi Osofisan (Okinba Launko)

Life roars on, of course

elsewhere, as I rise and open the door.

And there is a moon, outside,

shining gently, as if afraid to be heard

It will not tell me of your whereabouts,

the moon does not believe that I miss you

and so, in the florescence of my office,

sitting alone with my poem,

I am alone and do not hear you pass

I miss your steps in the corridor of

the century, and the friends are fewer daily

to confide in, except this poem

Except this song that will not be sung.

Femi Osofisan (Okinba Launko)

Babafemi Adeyemi Osofisan is a Nigerian professor and writer born on June 16, 1946 in Ogun State, Nigeria, who is well-known for his literary works that criticize societal issues and incorporate African traditional performances and surrealism in some of his plays. His plays often revolve around the struggle between good and evil. He is a didactic writer who aims to rectify the decaying state of society through his works. Additionally, he has written poetry under the pen name Okinba Launko.

Wild Things by Femi Osofisan

(for Baroness Blixen)

ONE

Beautiful

& very touching

a lady fell in love with Africa

& made it a porcelain of her youth

scripting her adventurous life

into the yielding loom of the forests

lavish, breath-taking landscape

& always, in the background—

huge shadows—

walk the owners of the land

tamed

unlike the royal elephants

unlike the buffaloes

the numerous birds—

tamed

to serve the white lady

with their ever grinning teeth

TWO

The beautiful film is a hymn to wild things

to the white lady, refusing to bend to the male

commandments of colonial rule

or to the diktat of husband

in the conscripting laws of English marriage

or the shame of venereal disease

near fatal

always holding her head high

holding firm

even after the capricious betrayal of a safari lover

(who has to die later in a plane crash

so as to further test her dignity)

apt too, that in the end, the film tells us

that lions camp over the lover’s grave

(in tribute)

he who had always hunted them

paying homage to the kindred spirit

of this wild stranger in a wild land

even if he hunted and killed them

THREE

Oh all the beautiful things are wild

The lions as well as the unending plains

The water that will not be damned

But must return to Mombassa

The woman that will defy her womanhood

To pursue her husband into the very face of war

(& bring death back with her, in her vagina)

who would raise coffee beans

on highland, against the tested

(but obviously foolish) wisdom

of the native Kikuyus—

FOUR

Yes, Kikuyus, my Africans

not even a note for you in the lady’s last lament—

her poem is for the land forsaken

her two closest Africans being the boy

she healed of sores and taught to cook

(and then left behind)

and the faithful houseboy

so obviously lost

in a love that if spoken

would have begotten a scandal

FIVE

She left—and never came back, we’re told—

(what’s left to return to?)

This beautiful lady

who caught so much of the poetry

of Africa

and schooled the natives so well

in the art of bending

that many decades afterwards

after she and her countrymen have departed

black colonials now rule in Kikuyuland

served by bending servants,

black men armed with the same whips

well cut for black flesh

with the same half-literate cooks

decorating their kitchens, and

with the same mute lips, taught that

to speak of the love of freedom

is to be chased into the wilderness

or to shallow graves unknown to loving lions

unknown to the songs of today’s other

Blixens…

SIX

Yes, all the beautiful things are untamed

The beautiful life of a woman is

a paean, untamed,

to the goddess of wildness

& abandon in a wild colonial land

Some lives are as free and fierce as the lore of lions

(some lives, armed with guns…)

so fierce the film

so fierce and shattering

surging in ancient truths on the love of a woman

like the resurgence of ancient myth

the vast landscape

reminding us of Africa’s beauty

(especially where the natives have not been

trespassing)

& of Africa’s loss…

SEVEN

But why despair?

we’ve always been in the background

in the wild adventures of their books

Films such as this prolong the pain:

but do not despair—

We haven’t the means ourselves to show our lives

at their stark & grandiose moments:

but the day will come—

Moments when we are alone by ourselves

& are just being beautiful, by ourselves…

but the day will come—

No weapons of our own to show our pure sufferings

those moments when our faces are not just masks

but sensitive skins & tender voices:

Moments when our wounds bleed blood, red like

others, red like all blood…

but the day will come—

Ase, Edumare…

EIGHT

Here in Limoges

I mourn Africa

I mourn myself

in the mirror of strangers

I feel pain on behalf of all of us

who have remained nameless across the ages

like a vague and formless ghost

in the mirror of our guests

the shadow

against which the white man defines himself

NINE

Yes—our land is beautiful

even if, as they say,

we are mere receptacles of history

onlookers, who carry the bags

while the white men tame our lions

& our land…

That is the story they tell us

& our children:

but the day will come—

when Okinba will no longer

be mourning,

& history will be awake in our hands,

oh the day will come—

when Okinba will be singing

in his own voice

oh the day will come—

telling our own stories

singing our own songs.

Femi Osofisan 

Babafemi Adeyemi Osofisan is a Nigerian professor and writer born on June 16, 1946 in Ogun State, Nigeria, who is well-known for his literary works that criticize societal issues and incorporate African traditional performances and surrealism in some of his plays. His plays often revolve around the struggle between good and evil. He is a didactic writer who aims to rectify the decaying state of society through his works. Additionally, he has written poetry under the pen name Okinba Launko.

Yamankoro, a poem by Mamman Vatsa

Yamankoro

Big like Cameroon coco yam.

If you wan dry am,

Make you buy alum

Look man wey dey hungry Dey throw way better meal.

*Yamankoro – Snail

Mamman Vatsa 

Mamman Jiya Vatsa (OFR) was born on December 3rd, 1940. He was a General in Nigerian Army and a poet. He was a member of the Supreme Military Council. Mamman Vasta was a lover of literature; he assisted the Children's Literature Association of Nigeria with funds and built a Writer's Village for the Association of Nigerian Authors. It is also noted that he hosed their annual conferences. The Writer's Village was named in his honour in January, 2013. He was executed by the military regime of General Ibrahim Babangida (his childhood friend) on 5th of March 1986 after he was convicted for treason in connection with an unsuccessful coup.

Paris Latin Quarter by Femi Osofisan (Okinba Launko)

Sweet Marie-Anne, she thought

Being French, intellectual and brunette

Entitled her, in any Parisian cafe

To prompt service—and she was

Probably right, (as the Policeman

Later confirmed)—always provided

The situation was normal, and

She herself did not let the race down.

So that afternoon, she said to me:

“Sit by me, mon cheri, and order

A drink!”—Well! The waiter came

As was his duty, only to stand aghast

At the unspeakable scandal of a

Full-blooded French woman kissing

This merde of a black man openly and

Full on the lips!—Purebred son of

The Galls, his first impulse

Was to smash his tray at the black head

And shriek out for help to the army of riot

Police permanently stationed on the streets

Of the Latin Quarter…—But

He was a non-violent man, and besides,

He had the customer’s tip to think of.

So he turned to me, swallowing hard, and

With controlled French politeness, he said:

“M’sieur, please sit OPPOSITE the lady—

“Yes, with the sacre table between you, face

To face—Or mon cul, dammit, I shall

Not serve you!”—And I was still wiping off

Her lipstick, wondering what to do, when my lady

Spoke, her face red with indignation: “But

You’re mistaken! This one’s not like the rest,

“Can’t you see! He’s a bon sauvage, and has

Written such brilliant essays in impeccable French

“On the phallus of—pardon, the merits of Negritude!

Show him my dear!” she turned to me, “Show how well

“You quote Molière, Corneille, and—”But the waiter

Was already smiling and bowing:I had passed my test.

Femi Osofisan (Okinba Launko)

Babafemi Adeyemi Osofisan is a Nigerian professor and writer born on June 16, 1946 in Ogun State, Nigeria, who is well-known for his literary works that criticize societal issues and incorporate African traditional performances and surrealism in some of his plays. His plays often revolve around the struggle between good and evil. He is a didactic writer who aims to rectify the decaying state of society through his works. Additionally, he has written poetry under the pen name Okinba Launko.

Head Na King, a poem by Mamman Vatsa

Head Na King

Head na king

And king no dey

Carry load.

Look man wan

Look me disgrace.

Yi don carry meat

Enter my house for sale

Ebin if na my shokoto,

I go sale buy am all

I go sale buy am all.

Head na king

Mamman Vatsa 

Mamman Jiya Vatsa (OFR) was born on December 3rd, 1940. He was a General in Nigerian Army and a poet. He was a member of the Supreme Military Council. Mamman Vasta was a lover of literature; he assisted the Children's Literature Association of Nigeria with funds and built a Writer's Village for the Association of Nigerian Authors. It is also noted that he hosed their annual conferences. The Writer's Village was named in his honour in January, 2013. He was executed by the military regime of General Ibrahim Babangida (his childhood friend) on 5th of March 1986 after he was convicted for treason in connection with an unsuccessful coup.

Indigenisation Without Mind, a poem by Mamman Vatsa

Indigenisation Without Mind

I asked the teacher

To teach him

My son

All about Africa

But she says

No suitable books

See our age

See the stage

We have reached

As a continent

But visit a nursery

The books

The toys

The tongue

All are imported.

My countrymen

How can indigenisation

Survive without the mind

Africa is a jungle

They say,

Why import a ladder

Into a jungle?

Well you can now see

For yourself

The economic hypocrisy.

Mamman Vatsa

Mamman Jiya Vatsa (OFR) was born on December 3rd, 1940. He was a General in Nigerian Army and a poet. He was a member of the Supreme Military Council. Mamman Vasta was a lover of literature; he assisted the Children's Literature Association of Nigeria with funds and built a Writer's Village for the Association of Nigerian Authors. It is also noted that he hosed their annual conferences. The Writer's Village was named in his honour in January, 2013. He was executed by the military regime of General Ibrahim Babangida (his childhood friend) on 5th of March 1986 after he was convicted for treason in connection with an unsuccessful coup.

The True Prison, a poem by Ken Saro-Wiwa

The True Prison

It is not the leaking roof

Nor the singing mosquitoes

In the damp, wretched cell

It is not the clank of the key

As the warden locks you in

It is not the measly rations

Unfit for beast or man

Nor yet the emptiness of day

Dipping into the blankness of night

It is not

It is not

It is not

It is the lies that have been drummed

Into your ears for a generation

It is the security agent running amok

Executing callous calamitous orders

In exchange for a wretched meal a day

The magistrate writing into her book

A punishment she knows is undeserved

The moral decrepitude

The mental ineptitude

The meat of dictators

Cowardice masking as obedience

Lurking in our denigrated souls

It is fear damping our trousers

That we dare not wash

It is this

It is this

It is this

Dear friend, turns our free world

Into a dreary prison

Ken Saro-Wiwa 

Ken Saro-Wiwa (full name: Kenule Beeson Saro-Wiwa) was a Nigerian writer, television producer and activist, born in October 10th 1941 in Bori near Port Harcourt in Nigeria. Saro-Wiwa spoke against the country's military regime and Royal Dutch/Shell for the destruction of the environment of the Ogoni people, in his hometown of Rivers state. He was executed on November 10th 1995 in Port Harcourt after being tried by a special military tribunal for allegedly orchestrating the murder of Ogoni chiefs in a pro-government meeting. Subsequently, he was hanged by the military dictator of Nigeria, General Sani Abacha. This act of injustice aroused international outrage and led to Nigeria's suspension from the Commonwealth of Nations for more than three years.

For Sr. Majella McCarron, a poem by Ken Saro-Wiwa

For Sr. Majella McCarron

Sr. M, my sweet soul Sr.,

What is it, I often ask, unites

County Fermanagh and Ogoni?

Ah, well, it must be the agony,

The hunger for justice and peace

Which married our memories

To a journey of faith.

How many hours have we shared

And what oceans of ink poured

From fearful hearts beating together

For the voiceless of the earth!

Now, separated by the mighty ocean

And strange lands, we pour forth

Prayers, purpose and pride

Laud the integrity of ideals

Hopefully reach out to the grassroots

Of your Ogoni, my Fermanagh.

Ken Saro-Wiwa 

Ken Saro-Wiwa (full name: Kenule Beeson Saro-Wiwa) was a Nigerian writer, television producer and activist, born in October 10th 1941 in Bori near Port Harcourt in Nigeria. Saro-Wiwa spoke against the country's military regime and Royal Dutch/Shell for the destruction of the environment of the Ogoni people, in his hometown of Rivers state. He was executed on November 10th 1995 in Port Harcourt after being tried by a special military tribunal for allegedly orchestrating the murder of Ogoni chiefs in a pro-government meeting. Subsequently, he was hanged by the military dictator of Nigeria, General Sani Abacha. This act of injustice aroused international outrage and led to Nigeria's suspension from the Commonwealth of Nations for more than three years.

Prison Song, a poem by Ken Saro-Wiwa

Prison Song

Bedbugs, fleas and insects

The howl of deranged suspects

The dark night bisect

Rudely breaking my nightmare

And now widely awake

I’m reminded of this crude place

Shared with unusual inmates.

Ken Saro-Wiwa

Ken Saro-Wiwa (full name: Kenule Beeson Saro-Wiwa) was a Nigerian writer, television producer and activist, born in October 10th 1941 in Bori near Port Harcourt in Nigeria. Saro-Wiwa spoke against the country's military regime and Royal Dutch/Shell for the destruction of the environment of the Ogoni people, in his hometown of Rivers state. He was executed on November 10th 1995 in Port Harcourt after being tried by a special military tribunal for allegedly orchestrating the murder of Ogoni chiefs in a pro-government meeting. Subsequently, he was hanged by the military dictator of Nigeria, General Sani Abacha. This act of injustice aroused international outrage and led to Nigeria's suspension from the Commonwealth of Nations for more than three years.

Mama Came Calling, a poem by Ken Saro-Wiwa

Mama Came Calling

She came visiting today

The lovely little lady

In her hand a dainty meal

Of nutless palm fruits

A long-forgotten delicacy

From my childhood days

Into which I dug my teeth

As my baby gums her breasts

And found therein once again

The milky sweet of a mother’s blessings.

Ken Saro-Wiwa 

Ken Saro-Wiwa (full name: Kenule Beeson Saro-Wiwa) was a Nigerian writer, television producer and activist, born in October 10th 1941 in Bori near Port Harcourt in Nigeria. Saro-Wiwa spoke against the country's military regime and Royal Dutch/Shell for the destruction of the environment of the Ogoni people, in his hometown of Rivers state. He was executed on November 10th 1995 in Port Harcourt after being tried by a special military tribunal for allegedly orchestrating the murder of Ogoni chiefs in a pro-government meeting. Subsequently, he was hanged by the military dictator of Nigeria, General Sani Abacha. This act of injustice aroused international outrage and led to Nigeria's suspension from the Commonwealth of Nations for more than three years.

Victory Song, a poem by Ken Saro-Wiwa

Victory Song 

You have raped my land

Black brother, silenced my song

Upon my wholesome breath—

Condemned to a gas dungeon

I suffocate, shriek in pain

Into cold, stone-stuffed ears.

Your fingers drip with my blood

Staining your nails black and crude.

Vampire, tyrant, rapist

Black brother of the same womb

But cruel as the flares that burn

Poisonous gases into our skies.

I lie manacled in chain

In caves of your callous care

But the day will come when I will

break your hard bones

With my claws tear your brain

Consume you in wrathful fires

To the wild winds expose you

Paint the cruel marks of your sin

On the walls of history.

Then shall I, triumphant

Return to our hapless mother

With bright bouquets of peace.

Ken Saro-Wiwa 

Ken Saro-Wiwa (full name: Kenule Beeson Saro-Wiwa) was a Nigerian writer, television producer and activist, born in October 10th 1941 in Bori near Port Harcourt in Nigeria. Saro-Wiwa spoke against the country's military regime and Royal Dutch/Shell for the destruction of the environment of the Ogoni people, in his hometown of Rivers state. He was executed on November 10th 1995 in Port Harcourt after being tried by a special military tribunal for allegedly orchestrating the murder of Ogoni chiefs in a pro-government meeting. Subsequently, he was hanged by the military dictator of Nigeria, General Sani Abacha. This act of injustice aroused international outrage and led to Nigeria's suspension from the Commonwealth of Nations for more than three years.

Keep Out of Prison, a poem by Ken Saro-Wiwa

Keep Out of Prison

‘Keep out of prison,’ he wrote

‘Don’t get arrested anymore.’

But while the land is ravaged

And our pure air poisoned

When streams choke with pollution

Silence would be treason

Punishable by a term in prison.

Ken Saro-Wiwa 

Ken Saro-Wiwa (full name: Kenule Beeson Saro-Wiwa) was a Nigerian writer, television producer and activist, born in October 10th 1941 in Bori near Port Harcourt in Nigeria. Saro-Wiwa spoke against the country's military regime and Royal Dutch/Shell for the destruction of the environment of the Ogoni people, in his hometown of Rivers state. He was executed on November 10th 1995 in Port Harcourt after being tried by a special military tribunal for allegedly orchestrating the murder of Ogoni chiefs in a pro-government meeting. Subsequently, he was hanged by the military dictator of Nigeria, General Sani Abacha. This act of injustice aroused international outrage and led to Nigeria's suspension from the Commonwealth of Nations for more than three years.

Dis Nigeria Sef, a poem by Ken Saro-Wiwa

Dis Nigeria Sef

Your own come pass two hundred:

Sanu, ekaro, deeyira, tank you, doo

kakifo, nonsense, you no go fit take one!

Nigeria, you too like borrow borrow

You borrow money, cloth you dey borrow

You borrow motor, you borrow aeroplane

You borrow chop, you borrow drink

Sotey you borrow anoder man language

Begin confuse am with your confusion

Anytin you borrow you go confuse am to nonsense

Idiot debtor, wetin you go do

When de owners go come take dem tings?

Ken Saro-Wiwa 

Ken Saro-Wiwa (full name: Kenule Beeson Saro-Wiwa) was a Nigerian writer, television producer and activist, born in October 10th 1941 in Bori near Port Harcourt in Nigeria. Saro-Wiwa spoke against the country's military regime and Royal Dutch/Shell for the destruction of the environment of the Ogoni people, in his hometown of Rivers state. He was executed on November 10th 1995 in Port Harcourt after being tried by a special military tribunal for allegedly orchestrating the murder of Ogoni chiefs in a pro-government meeting. Subsequently, he was hanged by the military dictator of Nigeria, General Sani Abacha. This act of injustice aroused international outrage and led to Nigeria's suspension from the Commonwealth of Nations for more than three years.

Saturday at Ikok, a poem by Mamman Vatsa

Saturday at Ikok

Today na big day

Man must drink

From dis funda*

To dat funda

Woman must drink

Man from funda

To funda

*funda – Hotel

Mamman Vatsa 

Mamman Jiya Vatsa (OFR) was born on December 3rd, 1940. He was a General in Nigerian Army and a poet. He was a member of the Supreme Military Council. Mamman Vasta was a lover of literature; he assisted the Children's Literature Association of Nigeria with funds and built a Writer's Village for the Association of Nigerian Authors. It is also noted that he hosed their annual conferences. The Writer's Village was named in his honour in January, 2013. He was executed by the military regime of General Ibrahim Babangida (his childhood friend) on 5th of March 1986 after he was convicted for treason in connection with an unsuccessful coup.