Irenosen Okojie is a writer immersed in culture. A freelance arts project manager, she was the national development coordinator at Apples & Snakes and has programmed at the RSC and the Southbank Centre. As a writer, Okojie was selected for the Flight mentorship scheme for young writers run by Spread the Word and her work has been published quite widely, including Kwani literary magazine, Ether Books, Arcadia Books, Fiction Uncovered and Flipped Eye.
As one of the creatives for Theatre Royal Stratford East’s 30 Nigeria House, she is currently penning her first novel and adapting a short story for the stage. Already praised by Alex Wheatle MBE and called “unique and imaginative,” by Orange Prize winner Diana Evans, Okojie speaks to Samantha Watson about the impact of Nigerian culture in the UK and on her writing.
How long have you been writing?
I’ve been writing officially for about five years. When I was younger I was obsessed with stories and read lots of books. I always wrote poetry and kept diaries, so it has always been a thread in my life which has continued to grow. Rather than thinking it’s not a possible career I started quietly writing.
What inspired you to start writing professionally?
It was just the love of it. It seemed like the next step to be honest. I would go to libraries and lose a day just reading books. Sometimes I could read two or three books in a day. I feel that writing transports you to another place and there’s something magical about it.
How has your Nigerian upbringing shaped your writing?
I was born in Nigeria, but came to Britain when I was eight to go to a boarding school in Norfolk. Nigeria is such a different world to Britain. Nigeria is so rich in terms of culture, art, language, food and the way people interact. We had little gatherings where people would tell stories, especially if the electricity went out. This culture of storytelling has definitely influenced my writing.
Describe your creative writing process.
I get ideas from everything, such as having a conversation. I like listening to people on buses and trains and also from reading a lot. Usually I have an idea in my head and I’ll let it ferment for a while. Then I’ll want to explore the idea some more so I’ll write it down and do the first page to get a feel of where I want to go with it. After that I just get carried away with the excitement of it all. That’s why I like writing short stories.
As an emerging writer you have already had a good response to your work. What are you most proud of in your writing career to date?
When my agent said that she was taking me on, that was when it felt like my career was actually happening. When you’re a performance poet you get that immediate validation because you perform to an audience. But as a writer, you could be writing for years and not get any validation to keep going. So getting an agent was my highlight because it meant that someone believed in my writing.
You’re currently in residency with 30 Nigeria House at Theatre Royal Stratford East. What is the project about?
Thirty Nigerian artists are being funded to work on creative projects. I’m working on a piece about a black circus troupe. I came up with the idea and co-wrote the short story with author Alex Wheatle. We are trying to develop it into a circus showpiece which is exciting. This is a great opportunity for me to do something different. I write prose but I’ve never written a play or adapted something for the stage before.
You are also writing your first novel. How is that going?
Writing the novel is a real challenge. It is set in Nigeria and London and is about an artefact that connects a particular family through the ages and what happens in connection to it.
What are your challenges as a writer?
It is an up and down process. Sometimes I feel great about writing. On other days I can’t string a sentence together. I also struggle with this thing which I call writers’ fear, which is being scared of the page, but I just write through it. Some writers fear that their talent will go away and that is a challenge that I face.
Any advice for aspiring writers?
Try to write as much as you can. Try to write something every week and connect with development agencies like Spread the Word. Get a good mentor and go out and network with other artists and listen to their readings. I think it is very important for writers to get a support network because you really need that support to keep going.
Photograph by Samantha Watson
[toggle title=”Read an extract from Okojie unpublished novel Butterfly Fish.”]
One evening I lay on my blue sofa watching a rerun of Deal or no deal on More 4, playing with the key from the fish. I rubbed it as though it could grant wishes, Anon sat in a single wooden chair on the side. Noel Edmonds wore a ridiculously loud shirt, the clothing equivalent of a box of Smarties. In between the boxes opened on screen, revelations of values of cash inside blue and red lids, I listened for heartbeats Anon may have borrowed from someone else. I was resigned to us living in an unsettling co existence. The heating was on full blast; subconsciously I thought I could make her sweat until she evaporated. The smell of weed lingered, what was left of the slim roll burned in a glass ashtray on the floor, its tiny specks of orange light with smoke curling into the amber iris of a third eye. I drained half a glass of Baileys and set it on the floor, next to it laid two flattened cereal boxes, Cornflakes and Rice crispies. I’d planned to use them to make robots but got distracted by my vices of weed, alcohol and television. From the kitchen, the bottle tops stuck to my notice board of weird collages rattled, releasing whispers.
Anon unfolded her limbs and walked to the kitchen. I slipped the key into my trouser pocket. In my smog I could straddle two planes. I was aware of her movements, a series of scratches wearing skin, rummaging through the cutlery drawer. She appeared by my side wielding my sharpest knife, the one I used for cutting stubborn pieces of meat. I saw a green vein running through the blade, from tip to handle. It throbbed; I couldn’t tell if it was hers or mine. A purple haze floated into a parachute, hovered above us. I felt a slick of sweat on my neck, heard the scurry of unidentifiable things in holes. Anon held me and it was like holding myself, a gleam of blade sat between us. She pressed the knife to the left side of my head, made an incision just above my ear. She placed her mouth on it and spoke into the cut.
I found myself on a dusty, lengthy road, warm against my bare feet. Broken stones dug into it. The dark fell in swoops then broke off into marauding limbs. My blue living room curtains billowed against an anaemic moon, dust swirling tainted part of it red. Static from the TV ceased, swallowed by my eardrums and Noel Edmonds voice waned in the distance. Silence around me spun like a colourless kaleidoscope.
©Irenosen Okojie 2013[/toggle]