Ify Omalicha
From a
Harmattan of many discontents, Wordsbody attempts to spring back into blogging,
and sadly it's a post about the tragic death of poet Ify Omalicha,
who was in an accident along the Lokoja-Abuja highway. The terrible news was
confirmed by PEN Nigeria yesterday.
Wasn't she lovely? From the many tributes pouring in from writers who've encountered and collaborated with her over many years, it appears she was lovely inside, too.
Ify (short for Ifeyinwa) was the author of 3 poetry collections, including 'They Run Still' and 'Now That Dreams Are Born'. As recently as Thursday, March 8, Omalicha was one of 3 writers featured in a literary reading and interaction event for International Women's Day, held at the University of Lagos. Also on the programme with her were Lola Shoneyin and Chinyere Okafor.
I don't recall ever meeting Ify Omalicha, though we will likely have been at some events at the same time over the years. I understand that just two days ago, Friday morning, she was with a female poet I saw later that same day at Odia Ofeimun's 62nd birthday event at the Muson Centre. I wonder if Ify was also at the Muson... May she rest in peace, and may her work live on.
Wasn't she lovely? From the many tributes pouring in from writers who've encountered and collaborated with her over many years, it appears she was lovely inside, too.
Ify (short for Ifeyinwa) was the author of 3 poetry collections, including 'They Run Still' and 'Now That Dreams Are Born'. As recently as Thursday, March 8, Omalicha was one of 3 writers featured in a literary reading and interaction event for International Women's Day, held at the University of Lagos. Also on the programme with her were Lola Shoneyin and Chinyere Okafor.
I don't recall ever meeting Ify Omalicha, though we will likely have been at some events at the same time over the years. I understand that just two days ago, Friday morning, she was with a female poet I saw later that same day at Odia Ofeimun's 62nd birthday event at the Muson Centre. I wonder if Ify was also at the Muson... May she rest in peace, and may her work live on.
Omalicha: A Genius In The Grave’s Belly.
I knew her for about a week at the
Nigerian Academy of Letters creative writing workshop. We had breakfast and
dinner in the PI Hostel’s dimly lit restaurant. Once we sat on the same dining
table with the other workshop participants. A couple of times I sat across from
her during lunch at the University of Ibadan staff restaurant. We never really
spoke. Only greeted and exchanged compliments and opinions (actually, she’d
said that ‘Why Women Won’t Go to Heaven’ was a loud title which overrated the
book’s content. And she was right).
Once, I told her she was a theatre queen.
Not in those exact words. I wish I had used those exact words to describe her
performances because she made poetry performance one of God’s most innovative
inventions.
Omalicha lights up the stage with
her smile, her unique hair-do and her authoritative voice: especially, when she
says that her breasts nursed the greatest Egyptian kings; and her sneeze shook
the earth to its foundations; and her catarrh formed the crude oil deposits.
She is a natural. When she swings her hips to the drumbeats and shakes
the ichaka, our hearts beat and pound and shake rhythmically.
At the time, she was a post-graduate
student of Theatre Arts at the University of Ibadan (She later rose to the
position of Lecturer). I told her I admired her courage and her ability to
follow her dreams; and for doing what she loved best. She smiled an enigmatic
smile: like someone who knew a secret I might never discover. But that was what
made Ify Omalicha the strong, independent woman that she was.
A few months after the workshop
ended, she published her book. A collection of poems titled, ‘Now That Dreams Are
Born‘: a book she dedicated to her
soon-to-be-born son. Then, just last week, she passed. Ify Omalicha, with all
her talent, all her energy, all her beauty, died in an auto crash along the
Abuja Expressway.
I remember the shock and
horrification in Osemhen Akhibi’s voice as she told me about a certain facebook status – an
elegy to Omalicha by Segun Adekoye – that she’d ‘liked’. And I remember
thinking how the grave would swell, richer with one more genius in its belly. I
wanted to hold my head, scream and grit my teeth. But I was so forlorn that I
could only battle with guilt. All I thought about was how I’d kept
procrastinating about calling her, procrastinating about sending her an email,
procrastinating about buying her book… Procrastination is a terrible moral
weakness.
We will never see her dance or sing
or recite poetry. She will be sorely missed. Her talent; her smile; her
profundity; and her strength.
Writer: Chioma Iwunze-Ibiam
blogs at http://creativewritingnews.blogspot.co.uk
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