An Interview with Soneye, 2024 Nwamaka Okoye Poetry Prize Winner: "Write Because You Have Something to Say"

Anuoluwa Soneye

Tell Gearshift Africa briefly about yourself

I am Anuoluwa Soneye. I write poetry, short stories, and critical essays. I studied English at university— earned my undergraduate degree from Obafemi Awolowo University and my master’s from the University of Lagos. In some way, these academic moments shaped how I see language: as a tool that can challenge power, change minds, and build meaning.

I also work as a content manager at Jumpfactor, where I create content for IT and cybersecurity companies. So, for the most part, I’m writing to add value, whether in literature or tech.

When I’m not writing, I’m either having critical ideological conversations, playing the piano, playing bass guitar, or waging digital war on Call of Duty Mobile.

What inspired you to write?

Hmmm. I’ve always been a writer. Started as a kid making comic books that never got published. They were mostly about superheroes. I had a friend in primary school who was a fantastic artist. He’d draw the characters, and I’d write their conversations. A solid partnership, if you ask me.

As I grew older, I started to realise that beyond superheroes and love stories, maybe my writing could help shape the narrative of my country and the world. I moved to writing essays and began entering competitions, both local and international. It was never really about winning. I started to see words on paper as weapons, voices that could push boundaries, stir thought, and maybe even shift things.

Gradually, I found myself drawn to “weightier matters”: gender, socio-economics, politics, and saw how my writing could contribute meaningfully to those conversations.

Then I drifted into poetry. I fell in love with its layers, its depth, and how much weight a few well-chosen words could carry. It felt like the most precise and powerful form of writing for the kind of issues I wanted to explore.

How did you feel when you won the Nwamaka Okoye Prize?

Sincerely, it felt unreal. I wasn’t expecting it at all, definitely not first place. At that point in my life, everything felt like a tempest. I had just lost my job, and all my mobile devices were stolen.

I was already excited to make the shortlist, and getting the invite, the chance to read my poem, was enough for me. I had my poem. I had the stage. That alone felt good.

I opened that invite countless times. But I was so overwhelmed by everything going on that I didn’t even realise the day had passed. For some reason, I thought the event was scheduled for Friday. The memory is still fresh, rehearsing my poem line by line on Friday morning (May 31st), only to open the invite again and see that the event had already happened the day before.

Winning wasn’t even on my mind at that point. Missing the stage just deepened my sadness. I felt like I lost something I couldn’t get back. I didn’t know that a lady by the name, Naomi had messaged me that same day (May 30, 2024), telling me I had won and that my absence was unfortunate. I only saw the message on June 1st. Without mobile devices, staying connected was nearly impossible.

Reading her words, “So sad you aren’t here with us all. But you won”, I was hit by disbelief, shock, sadness, joy, and gratitude all at once. I felt consoled. Even though I missed the chance to read to a live audience, I knew my work, my poem, had still found its way to where it mattered.

What is your advice to future prize winners for the Nwamaka Okoye Prize?

I’d say - “don’t write for the prize”. Write because you have something to say, something that can shake the room or sit with someone long after they’ve closed the tab. Let your work reflect your convictions, your lived experiences, your questions, your anger, your hope.

Also, don’t underestimate structure. Know how to wrap fire in form. Let your metaphors carry weight. Let your line breaks mean something. And finally, show up. If not physically, then fully, on paper, with your voice, with your honesty.

What was your writing process for the winning poem, and what was your overall message?

My poem, “Here, Silence is God’s Commandment,” was motivated by the events of October 20, 2020, the unforgettable EndSARS protest, where young, promising Nigerians were unalived by a system that was meant to protect them. It marked a turning point, a moment where citizens ditched silence and made their voices heard, unafraid, under the now-iconic cry of “Sòrósókè.”

While many may view the event as just another case of failed leadership and abuse of power, I saw something more intricate. For me, the shooting of peaceful protesters didn’t just reflect political recklessness; it revealed something deeply cultural: the perception that the young should not challenge authority, especially elders, even when those elders are clearly in the wrong.

In the first part of the poem, I zoomed in on how, even at the household level, a child can be brutalised by their parents simply for “challenging” them. Being someone interested in power and danger discourses, I also explored gender. African boys are often raised to stockpile ego, to respond to defiance with aggression. That mindset doesn't stay in the home. It grows. It finds uniform. It becomes a baton in the hands of a police officer. It becomes a rifle at the Lekki toll gate.

I traced that sociocultural ideology, from the family unit to the officers who brutalise citizens, and to a government that kills its own people as a show of dominance. With this poem, I wasn’t just retelling the events of that day. I was naming them for what they were: the product of a dysfunctional society that punishes dissent as insolence. It was less about politics and more about power. The kind that says “keep quiet”, the same way a typical Nigerian parent shuts down a child trying to explain themselves.

While I aimed to highlight the ills of our society, I was also focused, fully, on challenging and changing the culture of silence that has been entrenched and now sits far too comfortably in the Nigerian consciousness.

Who are your major influences in writing?

I consider my writing to be influenced by authorities across multiple disciplines.

In terms of literary style, my approach to narrative, especially poetic line breaks, satire, lampooning, and storytelling, draws heavily from the works of Robert William Service, spoken word artist Rudy Francisco, and novelist Jonathan Swift, among others.

My work is never without ideology. It’s deeply rooted in philosophical, religious, and literary thought, heavily shaped by thinkers like Thomas Hobbes, Descartes, and John Locke. I also pull from postmodern and contemporary literary texts.

This is why a lot of my writing is marked by allusions—biblical, literary, and philosophical. In “Here, Silence is God’s Commandment,” for instance, you’ll find clear biblical references like “the road to Golgotha” as well as heavy nods to T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land.

How do you think your writing will affect the world?

I conceive my writing as a social weapon. I strongly believe the world is driven by narratives, shaped and reshaped by stories. For me, writing is a form of activism. I see myself on the frontlines, driving narratives and steering discourse in the direction of light. It might seem like a long shot, but I’m more than confident.

I’ve seen heroes like Wole Soyinka and Mbizo Chirasha do it. So I know it’s not impossible.

At some point, I explored blogging as a way to extend my voice, and I plan to return to it, this time more deliberately. I also intend to augment that with content creation in video format. I believe combining written and visual storytelling can amplify the message and make my work more accessible to wider, more diverse audiences.

What writing trend or themes do you currently observe?

I spend a good chunk of my time watching Button Poetry performances—spoken word mostly. There’s a strong trend around themes like racism, injustice, sexual violence, and other social issues.

A lot of poets today are using their art as a form of protest, a way to speak out against systems of oppression. It’s raw, unfiltered, and very intentional. That kind of work resonates with me because I see writing as a tool for confronting hard truths and pushing culture forward.

What’s your key takeaway report for readers of this article?

If anything, I hope this reminds someone that writing is not just a skill, it’s a stance. It’s how we document, challenge, reframe, and resist. 

So whether you're blogging, scripting poems, writing fiction or drafting think-pieces, you’re not just stringing words together. You’re shaping culture.

And you don’t need to be loud to be heard. Just be clear. Be honest. Be intentional.