Adeola Akinremi: Decorated editor, poet by soul

In the world we live now, there is no denying depression, a phenomenon that many Africans still deny till this day because we see it as an ‘Oyinbo’ ailment…depression and suicide have become defining public-health crises of the modern era.

In the wee hours of March 26, 2024, when much of the world slept and the waters of Baltimore’s harbour moved with its usual calm, a Singapore-flagged cargo vessel, MV Dali, lost power and struck a pillar of the Francis Scott Key Bridge. Within seconds, steel that had stood since 1977 gave way, plunged into the waters of the Patapsco River and took with it the lives of six construction workers who were patching the highway. The tragedy reverberated across the world like a symbol of the fragile architecture of the modern world: the vast machines we build, the systems we trust, and the devastating moments when they fail.

This disaster is the thematic concern of ‘Lost Ships’, one of the 25 poems in ‘Scattered Ground’, the debut book of one-time This Day Features Editor and recipient of the Nigeria Media Merit Awards Journalist of the Year Adeola Akinremi. The collection is coming over two decades after some of his poems were featured in ‘Activist Poets’, an anthology edited by the late Tunde Oladunjoye.

This collection does not give too much attention to that fracture in steel and certainty but creates enough legroom for issues across continents and crises: War, pandemic, migration, climate, loneliness, and the restless churn of global life.

Akinremi seeks meaning in the uneasy truth the fallen bridge revealed: that beneath the noise of progress, humanity remains suspended over deep water, held together by visible and fragile structures.

In ‘Rivers of Pain’, the poet takes us to Ogoniland, that enclave in Nigeria’s Rivers State made global by the late Ken Saro-Wiwa. The poem reminds us of the evil of the crude: The poisoned rivers, the oil-tainted fishes that have become agents of death, the strange illnesses that arise because of oil spillages, and the soils that have stopped being arable. The pictures he paints of communities like Gori and Goi and Oruma are not the sort that engender smiles, they evoke anger.

Akinremi reminds us of the great poet Gabriel Okara, of ‘The Call of River Nun’ fame, with his poem ‘The Call of River Congo’. In this piece, his concern is plastic pollution and neglect. He shows us how bottles, cans and paper scraps have taken over the great body of water. It is a blow delivered on the authorities who neglected their responsibilities to this natural resource and watch with reckless abandon as it becomes a dumping ground.

In the world we live now, there is no denying depression, a phenomenon that many Africans still deny till this day because we see it as an ‘Oyinbo’ ailment. The poet, through ‘The Thaw Never Came’, draws our attention to the end-product of depression: suicide. He tells us of a man who is weighed down and chooses to lean against the rail and let the wind take “his breath, his name”.

The importance of this poem sinks only after we realise that depression and suicide have become defining public-health crises of the modern era. According to the World Health Organisation (WHO), about 280 million people worldwide live with depression, making it one of the leading causes of disability globally, while more than one billion people experience some form of mental health disorder. Each year, around 727,000 people die by suicide, meaning one in every 100 deaths globally results from suicide, with more than 20 attempts estimated for every death.

Low-and-middle-income countries account for roughly 73 percent of suicides, though these regions often have the weakest mental-health support systems.

Hidden somewhere within Akinremi’s lines is the fact that suicide is one of the leading causes of death among young people under 30.

The terrible side of migration jumps on us in ‘Tempest of Hope’, where Akinremi tells us about how migrants often discover that hope and love are often scarce commodities over the seas. But it is really in the ‘Migrant’ that we see a better picture of the migration challenge. The poem reads like a letter by a frustrated migrant to his new home. In the letter, he talks about how he is encouraged to come with his wisdom and skills and how he complies only to be confronted by a different reality, one that shows the migrant is not seen as an asset. But, despite the cold shoulder, the migrant refuses to give up.

The migration theme also runs through ‘Dreams on Hold’, where the bard laments “fingers numb before morning” and “hopes measured in hours”. We also glimpse the migration challenge in ‘In The Hallway’, where at a Baltimore courthouse, “time ticks toward verdict” as a wife dabs at her eyes surrounded by “those in chains, those who tried to climb the fence toward freedom”. The imageries of “minors, mother’s, men in fetters” tease about people running from dangers at home and hoping to get relief in a new home.

Manhattan, New York’s jewel of inestimable value, is stripped naked in ‘Daughters of Manhattan’. We see the glamour, the Time Square, the Broadway, the big businesses, but we also see the ones who struggle in the shadows of this playground of the rich and affluent, we see as hands dive into garbage in search of what to defeat hunger and we see those who disappear into the cracks of Manhattan’s polished streets.

Baltimore, where the poet calls home, receives an homage in ‘I Am Baltimore’. In this piece, we are told of its status as a melting point of race, culture and more. We are told of its hospitals, its ships, its undying spirit.

Akinremi takes us to South Africa in ‘Madiba Street’. He brings back Nelson Mandela, his struggles, his victory, his people, their fate and he reminds us about how one tree can almost make a forest, about how we can change our corner of the world one man at a time.

Two major challenges in America seem to weigh down the poet in ‘Empty Night’- suicide and homicide. He laments how often “innocent lives become offerings to troubled minds” and asks, “how many lives must fracture for the rest of us to keep breathing?”

Akinremi shows us the ugly side of war in ‘When The Sky Fell on Kyiv’. This is what he captures: Before the war, life in Kyiv moved with the rhythm of a confident European capital: cafés along Andriyivskyy Descent filled with artists and tourists, office workers crowded the metro each morning, and evenings often drifted into music, conversation, and late walks around Independence Square. The city’s parks overlooking the Dnipro River buzzed with families, students, and cyclists, while its golden-domed churches stood quietly above a society that was modernising. Today, life continues but under a different sky: air-raid sirens interrupt the day, sandbags and checkpoints remind residents of danger, and many buildings carry the scars of missile strikes.

Another pivotal poem is the one titled ‘The Gate’. It reminds us of a dark day in Nigeria’s history when soldiers fired at protesters at the Lekki Tollgate, yet the government of the time insisted no one died. Is it possible for soldiers to fire directly at people without anyone dying? Akinremi’s answer is emphatic no. He believes “people died in hundreds”, “some were broken” and “all were marked”.

My final take: With this collection, Akinremi screams at state violence, challenges forces of displacement, queries state power and urges us all to halt ecological hazards redefining the human race.