Anointing Obuh is a Nigerian writer, singer and photographer. A recipient of the NF2W9 2020 poetry scholarship, a Best of the Net nominee, she currently studies English and Literature at the University of Benin. Her works appear or are forthcoming in Rattle, Barren Magazine, Mineral Lit, The Lumiere Review, Blue Marble Review, Honey and Lime Lit, The Cabinet of Heed, Great Weather for Media, and elsewhere. She says hello.
Precious Okpechi: Hello, Anointing. It’s really nice to have you as our featured poet for the month. To begin with, I would like you to talk about the concept of ‘family’ as it relates to your work; the role of the concept as a recurring theme in your poems.
Anointing Obuh: Thank you. I am delighted to be here. Family means a lot to me. I see beauty in the love between siblings, the connection between parent and child. I am also intrigued at all the possibilities that could unfold within the confines of a home.
As someone with a natural tenderness and a tendency to search for warmth and safety, family as a concept in my mind is not just the social construct as we see it, but also a state of being, a presence that I carry around with me. In Africa, the institution of family is revered for its role in moulding an individual and determining what experiences they would have and how they would, in turn, interpret these experiences.
The wholeness of the family, the eternal nature it holds creates a consciousness that guides my hand in the making of poems where family stands as a recurring theme. I should also point out that there are didactic elements in some of these poems. My poem “what the owl says about misery” exposes and condemns the practice of treating girls as less than boys that is prevalent in our society.
What is the role of family if not to nurture and in nurturing teach? To me, poetry stands in all these as a medium. I am someone who loves to write about personal experiences, or the experiences of others, and because of that stories about family are the truest stories I can tell.
Precious Okpechi: In the commentary for your poem, “Don’t You Go,” published on Rattle, you say, “I have taken the job as an African Writer, and as a person, to tell those unspeakable stories, and tell them with fearless dexterity.” What are these stories you vow not to shy away from?
Anointing Obuh: There are lots of African stories that we can never tell enough. Stories about women and children. Stories about the continent and about family. Stories of war, corruption and hunger. These are the stories I would talk about, repeatedly, until things change.
Precious: In this regard, what is poetry to you – healing and coping mechanism? A revolting voice of yours? Or something more?
Anointing: Poetry is like a mother. A mother could be a shoulder to cry on, a provider, someone to talk to. In this way, poetry has been many things to me in different stages and on different days in my life. A coping mechanism, a megaphone to amplify the stories I want to tell and a means of comfort and healing too.
Poetry has been with me for many years now. My first poem was a song I wrote at eight years old. At that time, poetry was a source of happiness and wonder to me. Right now, poetry to me is a medium of speech and communication.
Precious: As an undergraduate student of English and Literature, what foundation has this laid for you as a writer? And what challenges as an English and Literature student do you experience in the Nigerian university system that should be duly addressed
Anointing: For the most part, being an English and Literature student makes people sometimes disregard my own effort at growth. Personally, I would say that it has had little impact in my journey as a writer too.
The challenges English and Literature students face is one that most Nigerian students face. The lack of innovation, the use of outdated teaching materials and language very little exposure to practical. Creative writing is not placed on the pedestal it deserves and students end up having to teach themselves.
This lack of innovation and progress in our school system should be addressed as change is long overdue. I would however like to acknowledge the Creative Writing Workshop family in the University of Benin and the great impact being in that family has had on my writing. CWW Uniben has nurtured and is nurturing great writers like Praise Osawaru, Antony Okpunor, Micheal Akuchie, Nome Patrick Emeka, and many more.
Precious: You will be editing poetry for Down River Road’s next issue. What does this opportunity mean to you as a writer? Also, I am curious as to the kinds of poems you enjoy, and what you would like to read in the slush pile?
Anointing: For all of my writing life, I have always been the one at the other end, waiting for a rejection or an acceptance letter. Being a writer is like holding unto the rails of a roller-coaster ride without the straps around you. I find it thrilling that I would be involved in a process that ensures beautiful works of poetry are chosen. When I think about the poems I will read on the road to decision making, my mouth waters and I am prepared to explore.
Honest poems, poems that walk out of the room with me, those are the poems I enjoy. I have no particular preference for the kind of poems I would love to read but I am sure to recognize them when we meet.
Poetry is like a mother. A mother could be a shoulder to cry on, a provider, someone to talk to. In this way, poetry has been many things to me in different stages and on different days in my life.
– Annointing Obuh
The Palpable Dislike Between A Man And His Offspring
Father says good morning
How is the family
To another man.
All children are great unless they are
under my roof.
Mother finds fodder in her mouth
tries to swallow and fails.
Children say prayers that become seedlings in the sky.
When the air stills,
we know God spared
a moment for us that is
lost too soon.
What are children left to feed
on the ample contents
of the sky
Are they not gods?
Are their bellies not ( )
Toss them a blossom & they will
catch it with their teeth.
Mother calls father lord & hunger becomes a bosom friend
At 6pm, we are all feasting
on the sand outside our house
The neighbor eyes us,
drags away his portion of sky
[we have peppered it with our teeth]
& we children/gods/seedlings in the clouds
boy/girl/girl/boy
/importunate dirge of our father
we turn our faces away
hoisting the shame
as any good child would.
A Woman Dies From A Botched Surgery
As men are wont to hate women, as women are taught to hate themselves – Jericho Brown
& her husband marries a day later.
We should live for our children
says my mother [who has never lived]
So I carry stars in my mouth,
Become the stars in my belly from which I tell
my own future.
At night I dream of the suffering of your mother
my mother
all our mothers.
The next morning I pray
to not be a tourniquet
someone’s save and miss
A hurtable person to be
there every morning
I remember my mother and beg for eyes
[for seeing]
& legs [for walking away],
terrified that I might be the apple
lying inert by the tree.
A woman dies of a botched surgery
& leaves nothing to her daughter.
My mother has left me a
legacy of pain.