From Rappers And Poets, Umar Farouk Adeiza Reveals His Relationship With Words.

From African Poetry sprinkled with Yoruba Movies to rap songs on a severely addictive level, Umar Farouk Adeiza tells us how his journey in the boat of language began until it consumed him to make him a young African in love with poetry and the act of writing.

Dust particles danced in the afternoon sunbeams that slanted through the window, illuminating the worn pages of a brand-new book. My ten-year-old fingers grazed the cover, a thrill coursing through me. It was an anthology of African poetry, a gift from my dad.

The rhythmic patter of rain against the corrugated iron roof provided a natural soundtrack as I delved into the rich tapestry of words. Each poem, a vibrant tapestry woven with metaphors and imagery, transported me to new worlds – whispering tales of ancient kingdoms, whispering wisdom passed down through generations. The language, so different from the English I spoke at school, pulsed with a life of its own, a melody that resonated deep within.

Meanwhile, the infectious energy of Yoruba movies drifted in from the living room. My dad, a fervent fan, would often have them playing in the background. The booming pronouncements, and the lyrical exchanges, often delivered in poetic verse, were a constant companion to my afternoons spent with African poetry. It dawned on me – both the poems and the movies revelled in the power of words. They held the magic to weave stories, paint pictures, and stir emotions, all with the simple tools of language.

One afternoon, while engrossed in a particularly evocative poem, ” the myth of the bagre” the radio crackled to life. A pulsating beat erupted, followed by a torrent of rhymes that hit me like a physical wave. It was Eminem, his words sharp and fast, weaving a tale of struggle and defiance. Intrigued, I cranked the volume, drawn to the raw energy and rhythmic wordplay. Soon, my afternoons were no longer just for African poetry – Tupac, Biggie, and a slew of other rappers joined the party, their music a stark contrast, yet strangely complementary, to the poetry I devoured.

Both the rappers and the poets shared a love for language, albeit expressed in wildly different styles. They painted vivid pictures with words, challenged societal norms, and spoke truths that resonated deeply within me. The polished eloquence of the poems blended seamlessly with the raw power of rap, fueling my own fascination with words.

And so, fueled by the rhythmic clatter of the rain, the wisdom of African poetry, the drama of Yoruba movies, and the raw energy of rap, I embarked on a journey of my own making. Words became my playground, a psychedelic of meaning waiting to be explored. I began to string them together, crafting verses that reflected the rhythm of the rain, the vibrancy of the market, and the wisdom whispered by the wind. Under the watchful eyes of the ancestors, fueled by the undeniable power of language, I, a little boy with a berserk imagination, began my own story in the world of words.

Seeing how deeply rooted the relationship between Umar and words are, spanning continents and years, here is a poem of his which he titled “Unfettered Guava Tree”.

_Unfettered guava tree_ 

It's been May for weeks in both regions
dust aloft grass like feeble plague like measles 
the arms of the guava tree are pillaging in filth brown as the lengthy brown track  
flowing from me to the turbulent lions
scorching in parts of the jungle from their colossal leaping to the blue-white cluster flourishing to the beyond      the sleepy cat yawns at the reflection from a cracked mirror & I have been cutting 
off my bandages speculating which gentle nouns i should try singing   
stubborn grass  apple tree rattlesnake  
all
the seconds in a year aligned themselves on my window & I threw them off chanting 
You are not the right one      one after the other they prowl off onto the wind  
     the cat
loves this room more than he loves   
  me
he doesn't recall the sunny days I fed him sardines  nor the incense burner filled with eaglewood     
   nor the guava tree which was so anxious to pitch it's ripe fruits so luscious
      It made us hopeful   
   I loaded the house with guavas until all the rooms where filled 
I began filling them on my bed      one evening
I slithered on as if into an armada of tulips
now revenant ravens leave trails on my window shelf    
  the cat strides into the night
listening to their caws   
   our thoughts needs dusting off      months ago we inhaled the  smell of oud from the incense burner still we searched for it  at night   
   I have lost the invocation to say in times of doubt      something
something  
a stranger lost in the wilderness   
a stranger lost in the wilderness         
a stranger lost.


©Mr khyroo
15-01-2024