That being said. What on God’s green earth is wrong with you? I do not understand you at all! You have caused me a lot of trouble, embarrassed me, put me in situations where only the Grace of God saved me, and made me look stupid in places where I was supposed to maintain my steeze. And if you cared to know anything about me, you would know that I take my steeze seriously.
Girls and the Silhouette of Form deepens her exploration of womanhood, form, and memory. Beyond writing, she creates textile art that engages cultural preservation, sustainability, and the composite African experience.
Zahra’s literary journey began early. Her debut collection, The Dance of Dawn (2018), published when she was just seventeen, went on to be adopted as a set text at the University of Abuja and other institutions. With Girls and the Silhouette of Form, she not only expanded her poetic voice but also made history as the first female poet published by Masobe Books, the vibrant publishing house founded by Othuke Omniabohs.
No one wants a gathering of aunts. They will sit in a semi-circle, with me before them: head low and my shame a halo above my head. They will pass my poem from one bewildered hand to another. It will be a love poem. They will shake their heads; make a valley out of their mouths, clap their hands, and let out both audible and inaudible sighs. They will look at me with eyes carrying both disappointment and wonder. They will wonder how I am able to write all these things. Wonder how I even know these things exist, the child that I am. They will try to reconcile their sweet daughter with the stranger on the page. Then they will ask for the identity of the one who has taken my heart..
Perhaps, given the new shame in so many places around the world, it is especially urgent for humanity not only to read “Es werde liecht” (Let there be light) but also to live it.
Both parents attended their son’s performance at Solothurner Literaturtage (Literature Festival 15-17 Mai 2025) and his father said proudly: “We have created him”. Jonathan grew up in Switzerland. He mentions that it is a place that allows him to face the past, not as a burden, but as chance, that allows him to use words (prose, poems, spoken word and Rap) to resist, to forget and to nourish hope.
It isn’t that I have never written a poem in the absence of melancholy. I have. But there is a way melancholy pokes into your soul; it makes you feel things; it lifts the curtain over your eyes and makes you see the world with vivid alacrity. There is a way it sequestrates the feelings out of you and turns them into words. There is a way melancholy does these that joy simply doesn’t know how to. Melancholy is poetry’s favorite child.
So, I understand what it means to come into the peace of wild things – like lakes – who do not tax themselves with the afterthought of thoughts.
I remember my grandmother by a lot of things, and when I picture myself in old age, I see myself in her image. Tall, lean, with a slightly curved back, a head full of gray hair that tangles and covers my eyes when being loose. Rheumy eyes set on a dark lean face, hands that are ever generous, and a serious demeanor that resets naughty grandchildren back to their default setting.
Alabi likens this to the little value we place on what we used to have that is free but never allowed ourselves to explore at a new place where we can no longer enjoy that freedom but are happy to explore.