₦airaland Forum

princesa: true Jo! We are all still learners, but you na my big oga na

if I hear! I'm not even fit to unbotton your literary shirt, for whatever reason

princesa: well, am not a guru myself cos am still learning. I can only advise you to stick around this section more, surfing and going tru the stories being written here...

And do a crash course with Google, that's my secret

hmmm... Nobody gree admit say she sabi write.
*jotting salient points*

DESIGNER: Oahray

WHY I CHOSE THE TOPIC:
It presented the best opportunity I could recognise, to speak on an issue close to my heart, the problem of tribalism.


UNIQUE EXPERIENCE FROM WORKING IN A TEAM:
Well, I wasn't fortunate enough to work in a team. Still, I would say the best part of teamwork as was originally planned, is looking at my work through the eyes of another person, not as a casual comment, but as a picture. It's beautiful.


CONSTRAINTS OF TEAMWORK:
In one word, TIME. The very same reason I had to design it myself. Still, many thanks to Cuddlemii for her pains.


ABOUT THE POEM:
It is a non-rhyming satirical poem of 7 stanzas of six lines each, in the first-person perspective. In it's entirety, it voices the struggle we (the average Nigerian), represented by the poet's persona, have to keep up against tribalism.

Stanza 1 begins with the end of a period of childhood care freedom, depicted as "trails of blue" in a "fire-red sunset", the latter expression representing the harsh environment we get exposed to in formative years, that could shape our personality.
The 3rd and 4th lines describe the increasing arrogance ("perched on my high horse".) that comes with the end of that period. Such persons, as seen in lines 5 and 6, look "with eyes unopened", never admitting the folly of their mindset.

In Stanza 2 , the subject matter is introduced as something unpleasant, "blazing darkness" (line 2), seen by the persona despite his self denial, mocking his hypocritical patriotism - his "robe of green and pretentious white" (line 3). It speaks with "voices in my head" (line 5), indicating that this 'he' is actually a part of the persona.

Stanza 3 contains the words of this mysterious darkness. It is laced with tribal sentiments, seeking to convince the persona that differences like a foreign tongue or culture automatically makes the other person evil.

Stanza 4 describes the effect of these words on the persona. In this stanza, the demon is exposed outright as tribalism. The important things are sacrificed for less important ones. The poet describes this folly in lines 5 and 6 with the expression "the mighty Niger empties into the tiny cup of our differences".

Stanza 5 echoes with the first glimpse of conflict. The "voice of reason" speaks, opposing the first voice. However it calls from a distance, saying that one's level of humanity (qualities that make us better than wild animals) is what makes one person different from another, and not tribal or regional class. The distance is remarkable, because by tribal sentiments seems to appeal faster to the average mind, than objective reasoning.

Stanza 6 sees the demon urging the persona to disregard the voice of reason, and calls it a "dying voice". He also calls an attitude free of tribalism, "childish innocence best forgotten".

In Stanza 7 , the poet's persona makes his choice, choosing to ignore the voice of reason. He adopts the catchphrase used twice earlier by the demon - "they are not like us", and seems to truly believe it. This decision mirrors that of the greater majority of people.


ABOUT THE COVERPAGE:
It's a simple but deep picture.

It is set in a pitch-black background, which depicts lack of insight, just as sight is difficult in such darkness.

The face of the young man shown is painted green and white, the colours of the Nigerian flag. It depicts an outward show of patriotism which ends only at the top layer of the skin. It does not come from the heart.

The there's a shadow demon representing Tribalism, superimposed on his face, just over the white part which originally signifies purity. It depicts the ease with which tribalism destroys the best part of us... Our humanity.


DICTION AND LITERARY DEVICES:

"like an Ebun masquerade" - this similie likens the rising "high horse" of tribalists to the masquerade native to 'Ebun' in Delta State, that keeps growing from ground level to unbelievable heights.

"eyes unopened, search" - irony

"eerie" - weird, fear-inspiring.

"blazing darkness" - oxymoron to show the intensity of the darkness described.

"silent echoes" - oxymoron meaning something seemingly silent (or unseen or not felt) but which lingers enough to be heard (seen or felt).

"Oduduwa" - an allusion to the Yorubas

"the Ndigbo" - allusion to the Igbos

"the moat of the Igodomigodo" - Igodomigodo is a name which the bini kingdom was once called. This geographical allusion means Bini territory.

"fingers spurred on" - synecdoche: fingers representing the doers of the actions described.

"the voice of reason" - Reason is personified as having a voice with which it calls.

"Africa's great groaning giant" - refers to Nigeria. "great groaning" is an alliteration.

"an ego sits..." - personification.

"a conscience long dead" - personification referring to a conscience which no longer functions.

MESSAGE:
The poem presents a strong case against tribalism and highlights the folly of thinking that our tribe somewhat makes us, or fellow townsmen, better than other persons.
Tribalism is darkness, and an absence of it is light. It's up to the each one to remain possessed by this demon or exorcise it. It's up to each one of us to make the right choice.

Number 24

THE DEMON IN MY VIEW

Trails of blue in a fire-red sunset
Slowly fade into forgotten yesteryears.
Perched on my high horse,
Rising like an Ebun masquerade,
My eyes unopened, search the darkness
Of a reality denied.

In eerie silence he stares back at me,
Blazing darkness, mocking eyes
Piercing my robe of green and pretentious white.
Then he speaks...
That voice in my head, silent echoes
Of words unspoken

Tear it off you, he says to me,
We are one, but they are not like us
Stay away from Oduduwa, far from the Ndigbo,
Cross not the moat of the Igodomigodo.
Strange tongues equal evil hearts
Of fellows untrustworthy.

So clueless hands rip the fabric of brotherhood
In a fit of sectarian rage.
Fingers spurred on by the darkness of tribal hate,
The demon in my view.
The mighty Niger empties into the tiny cup,
Of our little differences.

The voice of reason screams from afar
Listen, without humanity,
Man prowls, a beast untamed.
Blood ties, a mirage coloured red.
And tribes, different packs
Of the same filth.

Tear it off you, he says again,
The clutches of Africa's great groaning giant.
Why listen to dying voices?
I am you, but they are not like us.
Embrace this darkness, not bright trails
Of childish innocence best forgotten.

So fingers remain pointed
They are not like us.
An ego sits, well-fed,
Pregnant with a heavy dose of an atmosphere
Thick with the stench of rotting remains
Of a conscience long dead.