When Poetry Confronts Terror: Ifowodo, Sampson & The Search For Nigeria’s Lost Voices

An Evening Where Poetry Met Public Anxiety

AN Abuja literary gathering became a wider conversation about Nigeria’s troubled relationship with faith, violence and power as writers and public figures examined Dr Ogaga Ifowodo’s latest poetry collection, Why Does God Need a Gun?

The event took place at Roving Heights Bookshop, Garki, where literary promoter Salamatu Sule moderated readings and discussions involving writers, activists and public figures.

The atmosphere combined literary appreciation with social reflection.

Ifowodo’s poems provided the artistic foundation, but the discussion soon moved towards questions that extend far beyond the pages of a poetry collection.

Among them was the unresolved story of Leah Sharibu.

Ifowodo’s Poetry & the Politics of Memory

Ifowodo occupies a distinctive space in Nigerian literary and civic life.

He is a poet, lawyer, scholar and human-rights activist whose work has repeatedly engaged questions of freedom, suffering and political power.

His literary credentials include the ANA Prize for Poetry and the PEN/Barbara Goldsmith Freedom to Write Award.

At the Abuja gathering, he read from Why Does God Need a Gun? and A Good Mourning.

The poems opened a discussion about the relationship between violence and belief.

In that setting, poetry became more than performance.

It became a vehicle for memory.

Leah Sharibu as a Symbol of Nigeria’s Insecurity

The discussion of Leah Sharibu gave the evening its most immediate human-rights dimension.

Sharibu was abducted on 19 February 2018, when terrorists attacked Government Girls Science and Technical College in Dapchi, Yobe State.

She was among the schoolgirls taken during the attack.

While other girls were later released, Sharibu remained in captivity after reportedly refusing to abandon her Christian faith.

Her case has since become associated with broader debates about religious freedom, terrorism, the protection of children and the responsibilities of the Nigerian state.

At the Abuja reading, her story was revisited through poetry.

That mattered because literary remembrance can preserve an individual story even when public attention has moved on to newer crises.

The Poet’s Imagination Meets the Victim’s Story

Ifowodo’s treatment of Sharibu was not presented as a conventional political speech.

Instead, poetry allowed the audience to consider her experience through questions of courage, faith and resistance.

That distinction is important.

Political discourse often asks what governments should do.

Literature can ask what violence feels like.

It can explore the emotional consequences of captivity, the meaning of conviction and the psychological cost of intolerance.

In this case, the poem created a bridge between an individual story and the wider crisis of insecurity.

Senator Sampson’s Intervention

Senator Ekong Sampson brought another perspective to the discussion.

Representing Akwa Ibom South, Sampson has used legislative platforms to raise concerns about insecurity. At the literary event, he described insecurity as a condition that ultimately affects the wider population.

“Insecurity is like a virus, you are either infected or affected,” he said.

His argument was that terrorism and banditry should not be treated solely as problems affecting particular communities.

The consequences can spread through economic disruption, displacement, fear and declining confidence in public safety.

Sampson therefore called for broader collaboration in confronting the security crisis.

He also argued that citizens should have greater ownership of the country’s security architecture so that communities can contribute to protecting lives and property.

The Senator as Poet

Sampson’s contribution also demonstrated how literary and political identities can overlap.

He read The Missing Gap Tooth and Masks, allowing the audience to encounter him not only as a legislator but also as a poet.

That dual role became particularly relevant in a discussion about the relationship between writers and society.

Sampson argued that writers should receive greater attention because literary works can sometimes anticipate developments that later become major social problems.

He pointed to Cyprian Ekwensi’s The Passport of Mallam Ilia, published in 1960, which he regarded as an early literary treatment of themes resembling contemporary banditry.

Whether literature can literally predict the future remains a matter for interpretation.

However, the larger point is less controversial: writers often observe social patterns, tensions and anxieties before they become dominant public-policy questions.

The Gathering’s Wider Intellectual Circle

The conversation attracted personalities from different fields.

Among them were Ambassador Albert Omotayo, Professor Jibrin Ibrahim, poet Dike Chukwumerije, former presidential spokesman Garba Shehu and Dr Chido Onumah.

Their participation reinforced the character of the event as a meeting point between literature and public affairs.

Such gatherings matter because Nigerian literature has historically provided a space for examining political authority, social inequality, conflict, religion and identity.

Poetry may use fewer words than political speeches, but it can sometimes compress complex social experiences into images and emotions that remain with readers long after an event ends.

Can Literature Influence Public Life?

The Abuja conversation raises a persistent question: what can writers realistically do in the face of terrorism and insecurity?

A poem cannot stop an armed attack.

A book cannot substitute for functioning security institutions.

A literary gathering cannot replace public policy.

Yet literature can influence how society remembers and interprets violence.

It can preserve the names of victims.

It can challenge indifference.

It can question official narratives.

It can expose contradictions.

It can also create room for conversations that are difficult to sustain in conventional political settings.

That is the particular form of power available to writers.

Reading as Civic Engagement

The discussion also returned attention to reading culture.

Sampson announced the continuing activities of the Uyo Book Club, where he serves as patron, in promoting reading and stimulating critical conversations.

The significance of such initiatives extends beyond literary appreciation.

A society’s reading culture influences how citizens encounter history, ideas and competing interpretations of public events.

Book clubs, literary festivals and public readings can therefore become informal civic spaces.

They encourage people to listen to perspectives that may differ from their own.

They also allow writers to test ideas directly with readers.

Faith, Tolerance & Human Rights

At its deepest level, the Abuja gathering was about the difficult relationship between faith and power.

Leah Sharibu’s story brought religious identity into sharp focus.

Ifowodo’s poetry provided a space for examining violence and resistance.

Sampson’s intervention connected those themes to national insecurity.

Together, the contributions raised questions about how a democratic society protects freedom of conscience while confronting violent extremism.

The answer cannot rest on faith alone.

Nor can it rest exclusively on security operations.

It requires institutions capable of protecting citizens, communities willing to reject violence and a public culture that can discuss difficult differences without turning them into grounds for persecution.

Why the Literary Conversation Matters

The significance of the Abuja event ultimately lies in its ability to connect personal memory with national questions.

Sharibu’s story represents one unresolved chapter in Nigeria’s long struggle with terrorism.

Ifowodo’s poems provide a language for contemplating that struggle.

Sampson’s intervention connects the literary response to legislative and civic concerns.

The other participants add academic, diplomatic, journalistic and literary perspectives.

Together, they turn a book reading into a broader public conversation.

That is one of literature’s enduring strengths.

It does not necessarily provide solutions.

Instead, it keeps difficult questions alive.

At a time when insecurity can overwhelm public attention with a succession of new incidents, poetry can insist that individual lives must not disappear beneath the weight of statistics.

The Abuja gathering therefore ended where many meaningful literary conversations begin—with more questions than answers.

Who remembers those who disappeared?

How should society defend freedom of faith?

What responsibility belongs to government, and what responsibility belongs to citizens?

And can writers help a troubled society imagine a less violent future?

For Ifowodo, Sampson and the writers and readers who gathered in Abuja, those questions were not separate from literature.

They were part of what literature is capable of making visible.