The Tale of I and the Akademie de Künste

I like myself.

I like the woman I am.

I do not see why I should downplay (insert word here) any aspect of myself to make people feel comfortable - to fit into their image of what I should be. This does not refer to the corporate aspect of my life, but to the creative one and its expressions.

So.. I am meant to perform the Spoken Word. Why should I wear kente and do the whole “Badu” look ? To fit in the ideals or expectations of how a spoken word artist should look ? 

If I feel like walking on the stage in blood red patent six inch stiletto pumps (Jimmy Choo Anouk style of pumps), shiny black leather pants, thin gold belt clinching my waist, cream colored mid-sleeve silk blouse with NO BRA and a chic weave (no afro, etc).. why does this image seem incompatible with the words coming out of my mind ? 

I like myself.

I love my body.

I adore fashion.

I love flowers, pink. colours, puppies and designer items.

Why I can I not be this way and still produce poetry. The kind of poetry that caught the attention of a literary organization (Literaturwerkstatt Berlin ) to the point of being invited to their Poetsiefestival Berlin. Summer of 2016. This was an all expense paid trip to Berlin. A stay in a five star hotel and they were going to PAY me as well. Actual money, in euros... this was nuts.

Initially, when I got the mail inviting me to GERMANY for the poetry festival aka Poisiefestival Berlin, I was like “yea, right, how stupid do I look ? Probably (most likely) sex traffickers. I gave a vague response. They responded by sending me their website. Apparently the skepticism must have been somewhat evident in my response.

I looked through their website, they seemed legit.. 

It began to dawn on me that this just might be real..

So, I commenced lackluster communications with them, as I did not want to get my hopes up. One foot was always outside the door, in case it turned out that they made a mistake. They gave me the names of the other poets who were coming along:

- Dr. Niyi Osundare.
- Titilope Sonuga.
- Efe Paul Azino.

....and then, me ?

These are MAJOR poets. Country famous poets. Spoken word stalwarts.

DR NIYI OSUNDARE is in wikipedia, for crying out loud. Not two lines - a detailed wikipedia page. This man had clashed with the former President of Nigeria (Gen Sani Abacha) aka dictator. This was a heavyweight, and a distinguished professor (to boot) with books, cds, etc and known around the world. Been featured across the globe. Notable. 

TITILOPE SONUGA is someone who has performed poetry in the presence of the current President of The Federal Republic of Nigeria - President Muhammad Buhari. She has also rolled with Maya Angelou (THE Maya Angelou). In addition to having books and cds, she is a recognized Nigerian (Canadian ?) poet. Featured in wikipedia, won awards. Heavyweight. Notable. Been featured across the globe.

EFE PAUL AZINO is another heavyweight, which can be found in wikipedia. He founded the LIPFEST. His poems have been translated in French, Mandarin, German and Afrikaans. Has written books. Has performed in poetry festivals all over the world. Heavyweight. Notable. 

These are the Rolls Royces and supercars of the Nigerian poetry scene.

Then.. there is moi.

When we all met each other in Berlin, they had never heard of me. Never seen me anywhere. Never heard my name. These are career poets, I am adventure traveller and an entrepreneur who (occasionally) writes and performs poetry (for fun).

Never published a book. Have less than 20 (or 15 ?) poems online - writings on poetry soup and my ramblings on a blog I hardly write in, follows no set pattern or theme and doesn't have a particular "brand" (though, for some weird reason, I get a steady flow of readers and visitors from all over the world - go figure). I do not work the poetry circuit. I do not have any single friend who is a poet. Last time I was in front of an audience was three years prior to this invite, and by audience, I mean a small group in a cafe. I did not really fit in there (cafe), all their hip ish talk and being up to date with the current lingo, etc. 

I just did not fit in. I wanted to talk about the infinite possibilities of discovery, of existence, of sensual pleasures and truths to uncover. I wanted to revel in the sights, sounds, taste and colors of the wonderfully insane, gloriously traumatic resilience of the homo sapien journey . All the while looking chic. No one was ever comfortable with me. The women ganged up against me, with some having the nerve to say they’re performing poetry. I started my company 366® (hampers) and the next thing they all gang up, and support one of their fellow betas to start a hampers business (which crashed in less than 2mths). Ridiculous creatures, competing instead of cooperating. I got tired of the toxic, unfriendly environment. This is meant to be an artistic place of freedom where creativity should be flowing. Instead, it’s being bogged down with the weight of the external human condition. 

Ridiculous. 

I walked away, continued with my business beCause I have a genuine burning passion for it. I really like the business, it is fun and exciting. Rather interesting work. I love it so much. Never a dull moment. Seven years on, 366® is still going stronger and better than ever. I can’t believe it’s been 7yrs and 8months re 366®. 

Hmm.. Madam ADD found something that held her attention. Surreal. 

Anyhoo, not to deviate… (I mentioned ADD, right ?)

Where was I ? There was unknown me in midst of these Nigerian poetry legends. I decided to just go with the flow, believing that eventually, they will realize their mistake and swap me for more qualified poets: Donna the energy lawyer with an olori for a mother (which she mentions every chance she gets). There was Wananawana (?) - she was quite popular in the poetry circuit and even performed on the local radio stations. Getting airplay, etc. There was also Tope - who I thought had some really tight verses. There was COLD (amazing sound) and others. 

Why.. me ?

What are these.. German guys up to ?

Anyway, Literaturwerkstatt Berlin asked me what date I would like to come. Isabella (the representative) informed me that the others were flying together, two days prior to commencement. I didn’t want that. Wasn’t interested in that rigid flying schedule. I asked Isabella if I could chose my flight path. She concurred. I routed my flight through Amsterdam with a lengthy layover in the city. Truth be told, I wanted to see an old friend in Amsterdam.. It was nice. We lunched at the Grand Krasnapolski (aka Kras), explored the Red Light District (d’uh !), toured the iconic museums (d’uh !), I touched a Rembrandt - risking the ire of the museum security guard. After all the exploration, I was given oral at the Kras by my friend till I had an explosive orgasm to seal the magic of this enchantingly coy city. 

Too soon, it was time to head to my divergence. 

After the magical time in Amsterdam, I boarded at Schipol and then... it was touchdown at Tegel. I looked out the window of the plane. I saw Berlin. This is really happening. Diverse emotions coursed through me. I found mySelf overwhelmed. I placed my head on the seat in front of me and wept. I am here. My poetry is actually that good ? How is this possible ? My talent brought me here. Not learned. Not crafted. Not practiced. Not fine tuned. Not advertised. Barely performing. LAZIEST writer on this planet. Yet, out of all the recognized poets in Nigeria, they chose me. ME. Òmo Faith. To the point of letting me choose my flight. They wanted me. ME. With all these heavyweights ?? It still hadn’t fully sunk in, yet (even till now 2019).  

I wiped my eyes. Rose from my seat, and made my to the front of the plane. Disembarked. Stepped on the tarmac. My spine instinctively beComing straighter, as I walked to the realization of a truth of I.

Hallo, Berlin. 

Hallo, my insanely interesting life.

I. See. YOU.

When the auditorium was filled, I took the stage with legs that were the equivalent of cooked asparagus. I took the stage wearing bright yellow Manolo Hangis pumps, hair like Chaka Khan, nice tight knee-length flowery dress, showing all my curves, diamond jewellry - I looked more like a dependent wine drinking stepford wife fashionista, than a poet.

Titilope scoffed. Typical Nigerian behavior. Could care less, not out of disrespect of rebellion, but beCause I could genuinely care less. Always been wired that way. People used to complain of my indifference. My detachment. Never understood it. Considering that I’m almost always in the moment. The excitement of being here superseded everything else. When I was done with my poetry, she was in awe. I was in awe that she was in awe. 

Dr. Osundare beCame my close friend for the duration, while Titilope and Efe Paul were together. Prof and I had heated intellectual debates. I felt ALIVE. My looks were not in the way, here. It was MY talent and MY intellect that was at the fore of all my interactions. 

It was magical.

This is it.

This is magic.