…Which secret I have told into no ear;
into a dug hole to hold,
not to drown with…
Christopher Okigbo was a teacher, an assistant librarian, a well-regarded poet, a revolutionary, and a soldier.
Renowned author, Aminatta Forna, once said, “If you want to know a country, read its writers.” Perusing Christopher Okigbo’s literary works would teach you of Biafra—a mirage of a country.
Examining the life of Christopher Ifekandu Okigbo would be incomplete if the Biafran War (the Nigerian Civil War) was not mentioned. This war greatly defined his life and the kind of man he was. It also sealed his fate,
for he died a soldier, fighting for his country.
He was born into a Catholic family in the village of Ojoto in present-day Anambra state. He was born in the year 1932 and lived through a period when the contest between tribal identities and more cooperative nationalism in the Nigeria area was in full ferment.
He attended the Government College in Umuahia for his secondary education. He then obtained his Bachelor’s degree in Western Classics from the University College, Ibadan (now known as the University of Ibadan).
Upon graduation, he took up different jobs to keep himself preoccupied, all the while working on his art. He worked at the Nigerian Tobacco Company, taught Latin at the FiditiGrammar School and worked as a librarian at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka.
Subsequently, he became one of the pioneers of the African Authors Association and his poetry gained traction across the continent. However, in 1966, he rejected a poetry award bestowed upon him at the World Festival of Negro Arts held in Dakar on the grounds that he believed poetry should be judged based on merit as opposed to race.
Christopher Okigbo was a strongly opinionated Igbo man. He spent his life staying true to his strong sense of identity and what he believed to be true and real.
He joined the Biafran army in ‘67 and fell at Opi Junction near Nsukka later that year, aged 34. He died a patriot for the Biafran cause.
Eyes Watch the Stars by Christopher Okigbo
Eyes open on the beach,
eyes open, of the prodigal;
upward to heaven shoot
where stars will fall from.
Which secret I have told into no ear;
into a dughole to hold,
not to drown with –
Which secret I have planted into beachsand;
now breaks
salt-white surf on the stones and me,
and lobsters and shells in
iodine smell —
maid of the salt-emptiness,
sophisticreamy, native,
whose secret I have covered up with beachsand.
Shadow of rain
over sunbeaten beach,
shadow of rain
over man with woman.
- Black Poets: Véronique Tadjo. - December 9, 2024
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