In “Nomad”, Romeo Oriogun Earnestly Converses With Time And History – A review of Nomad by Jerry Chiemeke

In “Nomad”, Romeo Oriogun Earnestly
Converses With Time And History

Romeo Oriogun has always regarded his life as some form of “protest”, and in many ways, he’s not
far from the truth.
As an artist, he has had to go against the grain, hone his craft and churn out the kind of poetry that
was (derisively) described by (older) literary purists as “trauma porn”, all the while having heated
conversations with his muses in rhyme and verse. As a man, he has experienced loss in several
dimensions, been spurned by death on several occasions even when he knocked earnestly at its door,
and has been subjected to physical assault on account of his personal choices.
Oriogun breathes art and has proved his mettle as one of the finest ambassadors for a generation of
young, irreverent, convention-defying African poets. From harsh concrete floors in Ikare to the
lecture halls of Iowa State University, his tenacity has paid off, but a flourishing career has not come
without a cost: the need to flee a homophobic country that is at the same time insensitive to mental
health concerns has resulted in exile for the 34-year-old.
It is from this exile that Oriogun, winner of the 2017 Brunel Poetry Prize and finalist for the 2021
Lambda Award, summons the elements to hear him out in Nomad, his second full-length collection of
poetry. Published by Griots Lounge, this book houses 67 poems that seek to chronicle the travails of
a bard’s restless spirit.
“Beginning”, the aptly-named opener for this collection, paints a vivid picture of what it means to be
uprooted from a land you’ve called home for more than two-thirds of your life. Oriogun’s
disillusionment is palpable as he writes “the weight of a country will always be too heavy to leave in
a strange park.” Migration goes way beyond the slinging of luggage; stories and memories are
conveyed across borders, too.
In “Mist” memories of home and a distant past float across all corners of a worried mind, and the
tone of “Everyone I Love is Alive Tonight” is eerie – in the manner of Florence and The Machine’s
“Only If For A Night” as Oriogun processes the absence of a departed friend, mother and sibling,
stretching out to them as he sits by the seaside, yearning for an audience.
“Everything is silent, even the sea/all sentences are victims of time/I do not know what the world
wants but tonight/I am dancing to the incomplete nature of existence…”
“Cotonou”, one of the collection’s longer poems, lyrically illustrates the perils that accompany
attempts to migrate across unkind shores. As nicotine saunters into the lungs and smoke is sent up
the air like a sin offering, Oriogun conducts a five-part interrogation of all the actors in this crude
dance that plays out along the Sahara: women are subjected to inhuman treatment in dingy brothels,
music ushers in the voices of the wandering dead, fancy parks provide ugly reminders of slave trade,
and strong winds sing in commemoration of bodies thrown into the sea in centuries past.
“The voice of exile is a murmur crossing rivers/and sea, crossing empty roads until it washes/over a
man, a baptism of loss.”
In terms of narrative direction, travel segues to history as “An Old Song of Despair” sheds light on
the women of Ewu in Edo State whose thriving cotton industry was destroyed by the intrusion of
colonialists. Lurid details of the 1897 British invasion of Benin City are captured in “Waiting for
Rain”, and colonial subjugation dominates the discourse in the poem “At Lagos Polo Club.”
Oriogun puts his spirit to task whenever he travels, as he invokes the souls of murdered natives and
heroes who were bludgeoned for mineral resources in “Postcards from Abandoned Places.” In these
grim pages, he holds nothing back in wailing about darker decades past: how many history books
care to talk about the scores of chieftains who were executed by the colonial administration in the
old Calabar region, as poignantly illustrated in “Killing The Condemned”?
Nigeria is sometimes described as a glossy pile of debris, and it is with elegant (albeit rueful) poetry
that Oriogun guides us through the wreckage: a young boy is slain during a riot in Benin City, child
soldiers have their eyes plucked out during the Civil War, a war veteran grapples with sweaty
nightmares, and a journalist seeks asylum for fear of his life. The messiness of colonial conquest
seeps through the entire continent: from Nouakchott to Windhoek, isn’t Africa’s history marked by
exploitation, lies and blood?
In his essay for The Africa Report titled “Send Me About 100 Naira to Celebrate Buhari’s Second
Term”, Nigerian poet and music critic Dami Ajayi likens migration to “learning to walk again” and
describes living abroad as “constant tom-peeping at your natal country because your exile is
contingent on its failure.” In Nomad, Oriogun goes a few steps further and beams the spotlight on
the torture that comes with mulling over what home was and what home could be. However, it’s in
ruminating on the afterlife that he pulls no punches: no one is particularly indifferent about
mortality, but in these 116 pages, Oriogun takes the Coldplay lyric “those who are dead are not
dead/they’re still living in my head” (off the track “42”) to a different level.
Burnt Men may feel like a lifetime ago now, but Oriogun shows no signs of intellectual fatigue, even
when the conversation is different. The poetry is still incisive, still probing, still abundant in
cadence. At its core, Nomad is travel poetry, but it also holds the feels of a memoir being crafted by
a voice that is as intentional as it is authentic. Even in his despair tone, even as he struggles with the
burden that comes with displacement, the beauty of Oriogun’s poetry shines through.

Jerry Chiemeke is a writer, editor, film critic and journalist. His works have appeared in The Africa
Report, The Republic, The Johannesburg Review of Books, Netng and The Lagos Review, among
others. He lives in Lagos, Nigeria, from where he writes on Nollywood, African literature and
Nigerian music. Jerry is the winner of the 2017 Ken Saro Wiwa Prize for Reviews, and he was
shortlisted for the Diana Woods Memorial Award for Creative Nonfiction. In 2021, he covered the
Blackstar International Film Festival in Philadelphia as a film journalist. He is an alumnus of the
Talents Durban Initiative.

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