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Showing posts from May, 2020

53 Years After the Nigeria-Biafra War: Young People Share Their Stories in One Video


This is a text from a conversation between BLACK BOY REVIEW’s Zikora Ibeh and Chief Ginger Egwuatu - who has worked as a Red Cross official during the war- and who is Ikemba Odumegwu Ojukwu’s cousin.

He says:
"I was in Lagos when Ojukwu announced the secession.  
As soon as I heard that we had been pronounced the Independent Republic of Biafra, I hurriedly packed my personal effects and headed down for the East. 
Two proverbs resonated the mood of the time for many Igbos – ukpana no okpoko gburu nti chi ya and onye ndi ro gbara gburugburu ne chenduya nche. 
Loosely translated both statements meant ‘the fly that refused to listen follows the dead body into the grave and a person surrounded by enemies is always on guard and treads with caution.   
The talk of war had been on for a while so it was no surprise that roars of excitement and applause from Igbos all over the country greeted Ojukwu’s announcement on the radio …

Quarantine Book Chat – Engaging Authors, Readers, and Literary Bloggers in the Time of a Pandemic

Black Boy Review started the book chat to create a space for literary artists who are obviously locked down in their different spaces and who are willing to express and talk about their art through social media; especially on Instagram, with the LIVE feature. Chimee Adioha is the creator of Black Boy Review, so he communicated to the guests and got the interviews done.
16 guests were featured on the book chat; including authors and bloggers; as well as academics from India and the USA. The chat was able to achieve a collection of diversity and mix towards literature of this time. While the guests were published, BLACK BOY REVIEW was also majorly interested in using the book chat strategy to promote their works, establish an audience towards their work, as well as amplify their voices.
Conversations sprang from how the pandemic met them wherever they were, and how it has influenced or impacted their work, everything about their writing – and how post COVID-19 writing would seem like. The…

New Poetry Album: By Wanawana

This might be the time for good poetry, and Wanawana spits out compassion and ardent rhythm through this new album : TRANSCENDENCE. From Family portrait to the bonus track, REVOLUTION - we see magic all over, happening and working for souls.

Not only that the lines are lines for art sake, but every single word is a call to remember and a reminder to act and act again.

This album is up on iTunes and you can use this link to get them :

Both a Powerful and Compassionate Poetry for the World at this Time by Henry Justus

Her elite nicknamed her. "Crown virus", they called her,
And crown she became.
Sweeping down that
Beautiful city of Venice,
Leaving death at her wake.
Trails of anguish, a dreaded
Visitor she is.
The ol' merchants of Venice,
Now buy caskets in gold,
Gold stored up after years of toiling,
Gold to bury their hearse.
Swords purchased in one's gold,
How we were slaughtered by
Chattels we bought!
The ol' city of romance,
Love, splendour and sex,
Now a graveyard for lovers.
A feeling like you're invading a masterpiece when you come to Venice
Queen of the Adriatic, City of Water,
City of Masks, City of Bridges,
The Floating City and City of Canals
Rubbished by a beast from Asia.
Not the Arabian hoardes.
Not even the Asian Spear could
Crush her shield, but now brought
to her kneels by an unseen enemy.
A prophecy long fortold, mayhaps!
Alas! I hear songs of hope,
Sang from corridors, balcony
By lovers torn apart by this 'crown'
As they longed for each other's…

Boomerang by Ikechukwu Iwuagwu

Into the wind thrown caution by crowns and seals grey with folly and tricks, drunk with immunity the scythe comes thus, door to door illegal tenders enfeebled Scepters wilting Orville's engine roar in vain The thirsty fertile land, sprouted spiky tares when you left her sumptuous thighs in quest of side-chicks why scared to reap your harvest? Perhaps while others tilled their farms, you lent your tools to their distant soils Now you must wallow your farm on nude soles Harvest, forthwith upon us How good a green finger you've been is reflective of the tares whose spikes pierce in lovely style, your desperate soles