Ogaga Ifowodo is a lawyer, a poet, columnist and rights activist. He has previously published three prize-winning books of poetry: Homeland and Other Poems, Madiba, and The Oil Lamp. He holds and MFA and a PhD from Cornell and taught writing at Texas State University. He is the author of A Good Mourning, shortlisted for the 2017 NLNG Prize for Literature

A good mourning

(for M.K.O. Abiola) 

Had he kept to gathering

firewood, scouring the forests

of Abeokuta for dead branches

To keep the pot boiling

In an old woman’s kitchen

He might be alive today

Had he kept to boardrooms

once a star led him out of the haunted

bush, content to measure his power

by the banks that begged for his millions

by his vast estates across continents,

he might be alive today

revelling with women bewitched

by his magical purse, a heart

that could love a thousand at once

and be loved harderin return.

how much more might his fortune

have grown, longer the queue

of men to bow and beg

favours! but he longed

for more than money can buy,

what markets promise

but never stock, bought

only with the devil’s coin.

his faith in money

had moved mountains

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From the steep roads of his youth,

would plant him atop the rock

where is friend waited with the crown.

A good morning it was: homes

Emptied into the streets

to break a spell, cut

the soldiers’ strings that played

for eight years the maddening

music of their nightmares.

A good morning it was: they queued

under the sun burning with the heat

of their resolve. Ballots counted,

the streets sang the winner’s name

and they thought the course was broken…

never reckoning with the spell-master

weighing thirty pieces of silver and a crown

How magnificent was their rage_ a splendrous

thing before it paled with the sun at dusk!

They chained him to the rock  it cracked,

made a bed for him, spewing

lava on his guards caught gambling.

He would not sell the crown

      bought with blood and sweat,

          bought with ballots worth more

             than his riches and the world’s gold.

How muted was their rage at first –

      When, still chained to the rock,

            they slew his wife! Mocked

                 daily by their guns, uniforms…..