Why Poetry Still Matters: Nigerian Youth Redefining Hope in 2025| Chinaza James-Ibe
It's common knowledge to everyone in Nigeria that times are hard. Times are really hard, and the confounding thing is that things did not just put on this tough shell—we've been telling the same stories from the 20th to the 21st century. Every breathing thing has had their fair—often more than fair—share of suffering. The socio-political landscape is a mess; the economy is dead and rotting; the country is run by a catalogue of hooligans. But the saying that goes, goes like this: where there is life, there is hope. And I modify it by adding—where there is youth, there is more life. So maybe Nigeria is not as hopeless after all?
As Thomas Merton said in his No Man is an Island, “Art enables us to lose and find ourselves at the same time.” It is through art, in its many forms, that Nigerian youth are navigating a nation so negligent of its children. The youth have reverted to means of expression such as the crafting of prose fiction, visual arts, music, fashion, and that which is the focus of our article—poetry.
Poetry is that powerful and accessible outlet for expression, allowing individuals to channel their thoughts, emotions, and experiences into words that resonate beyond the personal. Its flexibility—ranging from traditional forms to free verse and spoken word—makes it open to anyone, regardless of background or education. In times of hardship or unrest, poetry becomes a safe space for reflection, resistance, and healing. With nothing more than a pen or a phone, people can craft verses that speak truth to power and share personal struggles. Poetry is a weapon of hope.
Many Nigerian students face real, ongoing challenges in the university system. Years of underfunding, frequent ASUU strikes, poor infrastructure, and limited job prospects after graduation have affected the quality of education and student well-being. The one good thing about Nigerian universities is writing communities. The writing communities and other artist gatherings are a source of respite from academic turmoil. Here, writers gather to share their stories, poems, and other musings in exchange for feedback and encouragement. There is The Writers’ Community in the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, and the ANA in Obafemi Awolowo University of Ile-Ife, amongst others.
Many of these young writers caught in the whirlpool of life also have some organizations and literary magazines to promote their art—to help them share their ponderings, their aches, and their resilience with a global audience. We have the likes of Poetry Sango-Ota, Akewi, Isele Magazine, Brittle Paper, Efiko, Akpata, and Ikike Arts.
Chimezie Umeoka, who recently had his debut chapbook, Moonchild, published by Ikike Arts, is an undergraduate student of the Department of English and Literary Studies at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. Moonchild is a profound reflection on the livelihood of a young person in Nigeria—it bears the hunger of dreams, anguish, humor, and brazen hope. In Flower, Chimezie gives us the introspective declarations of a body who is filled with despair and yet must find hope to survive. He writes:
“I flow into the gate of tomorrow
Promising the sadist in me
That we will find home
In the pleasure that dwells in the world.”
That is to say, amidst the terrors of life, the youth must find some pleasure, some illuminating bliss, to keep hope alive. This beautiful thing is most often within the person.
Likewise, Marvellous Igwe, in his poem, Soliloquy at the Portico, brings to us a voice that wears its insistence on optimism like a silver brooch. It shows a body trying to come to terms with tragedy. Here, the magic is not in the forgetting, but in the recollection of every past pain it took to become gentle, to embrace tenderness. The poem goes:
“Because I remember what I was
before water—all that thirst,
all that painful, burning desire.”
Emmanuel Alobu, in Finding Love, presents, and so sweetly, the transformative powers of romantic love. A rock, once hard, is dissolved at the touch of the lover. There is hope for humanity, for the young. The one in love becomes more charitable, empathetic, and selfless:
“Lately, I have worked
wonders: planting trees, knowing that someone else—not me,
will enjoy their shades. Throwing my lunch to the stray dogs of
St. Paul’s street, even though they’ll never return to say thank you.
It is the way love works, to give oneself in expectation of nothing.”
In a country where despair often feels like the default, Nigerian youth continue to reach for something more—through words, through verse, through poetry. Their voices, sharpened by hardship but softened by hope, rise in defiance of silence. These poems are not just art; they are survival, resistance, and vision. They remind us that even when systems fail, the imagination does not.
There is hope, love, and resistance within the tunnel—not just darkness and helpless bodies. There is poetry within the tunnel—a sledge powerful enough to shatter it and let the light pour in.
