By Sabo Kpade
There are spoken word poets, and then there is Wayne Samuel, whose performance at the More Life Poetry Concert in Port Harcourt was nothing short of magical. Ascending the stage a bit demure, one would think the audience was poised for business as usual. But then Chapter 1 blazed on the screen behind him and it was immediately clear that Wayne Samuel did not intend to just recite poetry, it was his intention to put on a show.
The first poem, titled That Pizza Place on Harold Sodipo, opened with a monologue from an unknown male speaker, framing the beginning of a story that felt deeply personal yet universally relatable. The poet began his eulogy of a dying love. His voice, soft and reflective, gliding over the gentle instrumentation, “…now I’m curling my toes, under the table at Domino’s, about to end things between us in the time it will take a single tear to get from your eyes…” He paused, almost wistfully, before concluding, “…to your nose.” Often the greatest critic one can level against performance art is that it is, well, performance. But there was an earnestness to this artist, something born of feeling rather than mere skill. The relationship depicted was fraught with fears and insecurities, and the poet’s decision to end it seemed a means of escaping further trauma.
But as the performance transitioned into Chapter 2, what was bittersweet turned straightforward and sinister, reminiscent of Oswald Mtshali’s Boy on a Swing. Where Mtshali’s work devolves into scattered, public chaos, Wayne Samuel turned his focus inward, exploring private, deeply personal evils. This shift was evident in the poem’s title, The Day We Burnt Third Mainland Bridge. “The Day We Burnt Third Mainland Bridge, we were sitting at a restaurant you were across from me, your purse sat between us like a fence.” A continuation of the story from Chapter 1, or was the poet commenting on the cyclical nature of life, suggesting that there is no plot, only pattern?
The poem was fraught with parallels between a dramatic tryst and the titular bridge, as well as Makoko, the floating slum below it, serving as both a critique of Lagos State’s infrastructural failures and an exploration of the toxic nature of this rebound relationship. It all flows into a rhythmic interpolation of the childhood nursery rhyme London Bridge is Falling, as the poet reveals himself to be the very monster he sought to escape in Chapter 1. Unfeeling, the poet declared, “…Third Mainland Bridge is burning, it’s burning down. Third Mainland Bridge is burning, and we’re not going to try to stop it. My dear Lady.”
In the final chapter, Samuel’s performance became interactive, and expanded the scope of his message. It became apparent that the proceedings had been building towards something much larger than the trappings of young desire. In the end, the poet was speaking to the inherent flaws and messiness of humanity itself. Concluding that in the end, honesty is the only worthwhile virtue.
Despite some technical malfunctions, Wayne Samuel carried on with his poetry performance like a true professional, momentarily flustered but rebounding quickly to reclaim his magic. His performance at the More Life Poetry Concert was a powerful reminder of the potential of spoken word poetry to transcend its traditional boundaries. On a night with many young stars, he set himself apart, a full if forlorn moon.
