1. I think of my residency at The Library Of Africa And The African Diaspora (LOATAD) in terms of time, possibility and perfect chance. I think of it as divine clocking; one  that has ticked its way into changing my life, literally. Time started doing its thing when I submitted my LOATAD application less than 10 minutes to the deadline. Life had made me forget the timeline after the open call. I only realized the deadline had reached when a writer friend asked if I had already sent in my application. 

2. I tried to get into LOATAD in 2022 and was unsuccessful. So on this second try, I sat in my parents home panicking and considering not submitting because I could not possibly craft a worthy application in less than 24 hours. I say to everyone who has asked me how I got into LOATAD that God whispered an ingenious idea to me in the middle of my finicky and I ran with it in doubt and pleading faith. Typing as fast as my fingers could manage.

3. In my letter of motivation, I write, “I  need time and space away from the noise, demand and familiarity of home to give my writing a new chance.” and I mean it. The year had been tough and I could not, as I had done in the past, mine this toughness into my writing. Everything around me had a stifling sameness and I wanted to do a new thing with my writing. I knew LOATAD; this brimming hub of books, culture, history and sheer African possibility was going to offer me this newness. You can imagine my animation when I refreshed my email on a hot Friday morning to see “Congratulations on your successful 2023 WAW Residency application!”  That I did not open that email immediately but instead ran out of my room, fell to the floor and screamed the whole building down for about 10 straight minutes is a gross understatement. 

   
   

   

4. When I collected myself, I told everyone who mattered to me that the stunningly unthinkable had happened. That my writing, this thing I often wonder if I really know how to do is taking me out of my home country for the very first time.

   
   

5. Sometimes all a writer needs is a chance. LOATAD gave me this chance. LOATAD is the reason I entered an airplane and saw the clouds up close for the first time in my life. The reason I lived in a new country, met new people, read new books and ate new food for a whole month. LOATAD is the reason I am now bold enough to write essays about my environment and self in the most distinct way possible. 

   
   

   

6. My residency started the moment I landed in Kotoka International Airport, Accra. James, a very kind and thoughtful driver was sent to pick me up from the airport. In the minutes he drove me to LOATAD we talked about the people, air, politics, education and diversity in both our countries. I asked questions about Ghana and he answered in an effusively calm and honest tone, delivering both criticism and patriotism in a way that influenced me to try and do the same. In that car ride I learnt that Ghana was more than this unitary systemized nation we were taught about in secondary school government classes - that it was in fact an ethnically diverse country with a radical political drive and a thriving culture. 

7. The first person I saw when I arrived at LOATAD was Seth Avusuglo, Head of LOATAD Physical, a.k.a our residency manager, the one who had given us an orientation via zoom, the one who made sure my trip from Ebonyi, Nigeria to Accra, Ghana was seamless. 

8. Seth showed me to my room and told me that Amanda Thomson from the just concluded Here and Now Writing Residency programme stayed in this room, that it was from here she wrote about birds and nature and everything in between, that it will be from this room that I would do the same with my writing. I think intention informs the finest kinds of writing. I would even argue that it produces the best kind. Seth understood my writing intentions enough to put me in a room that established precedent for this new idea I was exploring. I will always remember this with fondness and gratitude.

   
   

9. I sat in that room, prayed for some minutes and went down to eat dinner with my fellow residents. I might need to write another essay to describe the good food at LOATAD. But just know that Chef Vida did not use our stomach to play and for this I am thankful. Our first dinner together was not as awkward as I expected. Everyone was warm and eager and cool. We played card games over noodles and eggs. We laughed. We quizzed each other. We cheered. 

   
   

   

10. There was the unassuming, brilliant and mind-blowingly beautiful Tahnia who had given me the warmest hug when I mentioned my flight was stressful. There was Ese, an ebony dazzle of deep witted literary charisma. Kwame who  spoke lots of Twi,  and whose Akan philosophy made him act like an ancestor. Jeff who was not part of our cohort, but whose visits became an excellent addition to it. Then there was Akumbu; LOATAD’s  publications manager, whom I consider the warmth that nudged us all into a kind of comfort. We all loosened up during the card  games and talked and talked and went to bed late. 

    
    
    
    
    

11. The next morning Seth gave us a tour of the Library. Everything at LOATAD means something. The posters of books, the placement of pictures, the arrangement of chairs, the organization of books, the positioning of lighting, the documentaries playing in the background etc. It was during the tour that I fully understood the efficacy of where I was, and what it would continue to mean for my future artistic endeavors. I was limitlessly surrounded by  literature and I could swim in all its glory.

    
    

    

12. The best part about being surrounded by books at the residency was that I did not have to figure out what book to read all by myself. There were recommendations from Seth, who knew a ton of things about every book, word from my fellow residents about their excitement, curiosity or criticism of a book, then there were, believe it or not, whispers from the books themselves calling you and pulling you in, even as you sit or walk casually in the library. 

13. If all LOATAD did was open its doors for us to come in and read and write it would have been more than enough but the opportunity this residency affords transcends just reading and writing. The thing is, the Library Of Africa And The African Diaspora is not just a library, it is a movement. Meaning you will discover new and powerful parts of your work here, meaning your work will take rooted and meaningful shape here, meaning you will be able to visit places of interest, and talk to people who have done and are doing transgenerational work. Meaning you will have no choice but to think of your body of work as an entity, as something capable of doing unprecedented things on the continent of Africa and beyond. We had a workshop with the renowned publisher and editor Ms Sarah Odedina about navigating the publishing industry as an African writer, it was insightful. The excitement and interest she showed when I introduced myself and my work has filled me with so much hope and great promise.

14. I essentially went to LOATAD to write a series of vignettes on leaves. Had I not visited the Aburi Gardens and touched the trees and leaves myself, I would not have been able to write the kind of pieces I wrote. Would not have been able to make my fellow residents admit to never looking at the leaves I described the same way again. There is an inside joke about Nchuanwu leaves among us now. I packed the leaves with so much emotion, it started to mean many things. 

    
    

    

15. We visited the Nketia Archives of the Institute of African studies in the university of Ghana and the first thing Aunty Judith said when she saw us was “Look at all this Africanness in you!” with her bright, perfect open toothed smile. It was a brief but empowering moment. She spoke so masterfully about archiving, about the preservation of audio visual collections at Nketia archives, about the need for digitization of audio visual materials and how important it is for posterity, for heritage, for culture, for memory, for us. We talked about music and art and literature too. I left knowing that my work, everything I do, was too important to be lost, too important to not be preserved. 

    
    

    
    
    
    

16. The drive through James Town was to see people existing, living. To see monuments and buildings, to witness a history so present in the evolution of a place. The visit to Cape Coast and the Elmina Castle was to see where things happened, to understand the extent of the crime and wickedness that was slavery and to hear the gory stories of how Africans were treated by the colonial masters. I learnt that there will always be a kind of heaviness about our African history, but it's also time to be free from its aftermath.  

    
    

    
    
    
    

17. The visit to Kokrobitey institute also deserves a separate essay and if you've met Aunty Renée  you will understand why. I don't think I have met anyone who has made me so aware of sustainability, design and my environment as an African, as a woman, as a writer, as a creative, as a person, in the way that aunty Renée has. Listening to her meant understanding that real literacy is not just the ability to read and write but also the ability to read your environment, to know what nature gives you and what you are obliged to give in return. Aunty Renée made you observe your environment to know that everything you need is already here; it is on trees, on soil, in the ocean, it’s everywhere. Nothing on this earth serves only one purpose. A waste is never just waste. A trash is never just trash. A glass is not just half full or half empty; it is also an earring, a chandelier, a vase, bathroom decor, an endless possibility in the making.

    
    

    
    
    
    

18. My favorite spot at LOATAD was under the stairway. Under the warm light, where  Mbari was clearly written on the wall. Mbari being a  concept of Divine in the Igbo society popularized by Chinua Achebe. Meaning “Art as celebration," meaning to bring life back into art by bringing art into life. The Igbo girl in me adored that space.

19. I also loved the library area opposite my room. Where the shelves are filled with books from all walks of life. That area with  grey couches and a center table was the assembly for a writing ritual. I and Tahnia, my fellow resident and now bosom friend, met there early in the mornings, talked, laughed, read, shared stories and wrote into the night. Ask Seth, his conclusion about us is that we don't sleep. 

    
    

    

20. We stayed up because we could, but also because we were building what I am certain has become good ground for our powerful bodies of work. In other truth we were up to make up for procrastinating. Critique sessions are compulsory at LOATAD. You will hear about what your work has done and what it can do better. Shout out to Akumbu for moderating the sessions with so much grace and purpose.

21. I describe our critique sessions as a gentle tearing apart and a deliberate piecing back together. To have my writing read with so much intention, care, excitement and respect has been deeply precious to me. Every week before our sessions  I am jittery because I have written a new thing and don't know what to expect, but each time I am met with honesty and constructive feedback. Critique sessions showed me how brilliant my fellow residents are and how far and deep they see. They see truly & they see beyond. It also exposed me to the stunning, important, infinite and diverse work we are doing. Gave me the privilege to be in  the midst of writers who would make their mark in this world. Every week I come as I am. Sometimes with so many words, sometimes with unfinished sentences, sometimes with scattered thoughts littered across the page, but this is how I come. I leave differently. I leave sure. I leave knowing. I leave prepared.  I leave with everything I need to move my work forward. I leave above all else, a better writer than I came.

    
    

    

22. I left  LOATAD inspired to pay more attention to my world. I left with a hunger to create something that will outlive me. LOATAD exists because one woman, Sylvia Arthur, woke up in 2017 and decided that African Literature mattered enough to be accessed, platformed, recognized, funded, preserved and celebrated in this way. It’s life changing. 

23. Ama Ata Aidoo was right about time. The one Month I spent at LOATAD ran like the speed of light and I couldn't believe it was over. And although, it moved fast, it gave me something to carry, something to value. It gave me memorable movie nights and fresh palm-wine, gave me access to over 4000 books, gave me opportunities to network, gave me life long friendships, gave me the right to look at my parents and say here, look at my writing, look at all the things it's capable of and for this I will always be grateful. 

I wasn't going to put out anything until next year. But my writing often returns to me in weird and urgent ways and I've wanted the speed with which I am writing this blog post for some time now, I am just typing everything out, unfiltered. 

This year has been a very slow writing year for me. I wrote things in small and large amounts, but I didn't put out a lot of it because I felt it was not ready. I even wrote a whole chapbook of poetry and just hated the quality of the poems, I kept asking myself, 'Roseline, is this debut material?' I have done an audit of my writing and publications this year and I am a little unfulfilled. But unfulfilled in a way that still leaves room for grace because I am a fifth-year law student struggling to get my grades up, while still fighting with the fluctuation of my physical and mental health. 

This year has tried me in many foundational ways, but I am sitting here in my parent's house, under a noisy ceiling fan, staring at the empty bottle of cold maltina I just gulped and watching my parents laugh about everything and nothing and it just occurred to me that as much as I want to say this was a sad year, I am deeply blessed to breath and witness life in this way.

The mere fact that I am surrounded by family, that no matter how bad things get, I can always find home and haven in the best people and places. There were family & close friends who held me through pain and loss and minute joys. Acquaintances who left me with compliments that lingered and elevated my aura like subtle vanilla notes on expensive Arab perfume. Situationships that showed me exactly the kind of love my body and soul abhors. Health scares that taught me to prioritize myself and take a step back from everything when I am overwhelmed. Family and personal crises that taught me what it means to drag the hem of God's tunic, till heaven has no choice but to release virtue and healing.

This is the year I was bad with money. A year where my finances moved steadily and simultaneously from buoyancy to brokenness in split seconds. It's the year that money showed me shege to the point where I had to start reading about finances and how to make my money work for me. Shout out to Money Africa! Bad as e bad, I know 2023 will be my money year. A year where I would experience softness, ease and premium enjoyment ( how I will make this happen, I don't know. But we move!)

I guess all I am saying is, 2022 forced me to learn. It's taught me that although routine and planning and structure give me anxiety, I must plan and have a routine to build the life of my dreams. I am learning not to rely on my brain to remind me of meetings and events when I can put everything on a calendar.

2022 taught me that I must be sensitive to the life experiences of others, even when I am going through a rough patch. That I must be conscious about warmth; to enable my loved ones not to start walking on eggshells around me. Truth is, the people you care about may never tell you how the depth of your pain builds a barricade and stops them from being themselves with you. They may never want to share their losses or wins because of the gloom you let your challenges create around you. Life is happening to everybody! Just in different measures and thresholds.

2022 taught me that the Holy Spirit is real. That God is real. That Jesus is real. Real to me. That God is resident in my heart and wants me and understands me beyond organized and performative religion.

2022 taught me that time is resilient. Like this year flew. Everything was happening everywhere all at once. It's why my expectation or wish for 2023 is to breathe. I held my breath a lot this year. I ran away from people, responsibilities and things and kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. My life was monotonous, not much thrill. I have learnt upon reflection, that there should always be space for fun in all facets of life. So live a little. Be goofy. Do childlike things.

2022 taught me that I want love. I want to give love and I want to receive it, romantically. Love that is me and my person, skin to skin, heart to heart, no pressure. You may not understand the courage it took to admit this to myself, if you know me, you know how much of a roller coaster and closed chapter this used to be. 

2022 taught me that I am unkillable until my purpose on this earth is done. 

2022 taught me that I am all surrounded. I really won in this friendship thing. I just thought about my people and the calibre of heart and grit is too golden. I really love close my friends and I want to be rich enough to spoil them soon.

There is a lot more to be said, but this is already a long read. See you in 2023 and please subscribe to my newsletter here 

If you see any typos. Blame Grammarly and my Motorola keyboard.

I don't think I have ever felt this anxious in my entire life. Being a student in Nigeria does this to you; every month, you are one leg in and out of different opportunities because you are not sure when the federal government will end it's charade with ASUU. But one day you do a deep dive, you go all in, you decide to move on with your life and take on as many jobs/ opportunities as you can because the wait has become too long. Once you do this, ASUU conditionally calls off the strike. You look at the news. You go on Twitter. You panic. You wonder what this means for you. Then you start to cry.

You wonder what conditional means; if you are in your final year, you will be done before ASUU gets the chance to strike again, but if you are not, you can only hope and pray. Your parents or guardians want you to be happy that the strike is finally over and you want to be happy, but if there is anything you know about public universities in Nigeria, it's that they don't care if students have been adequately taught before the strike, they don't give two cents about the mental state of the students whose lives they have paused for months, all they want is to continue this race against time, to give out exams in a twinkle of an eye and admit new students as soon as possible. If we had a system that worked, we would start the session afresh and let students take their time to settle in and be properly educated. Being away from school for this long does something to you! You lose zeal. You lose motivation. Schooling now becomes a case of, 'let's just go and finish what we have started.' Why do students have to be the ones to suffer every time the federal government and ASUU start their back and forth? 

Nobody is really interrogating the effects and magnitude of this long pause in a student's life. In Nigeria, you almost don't have the luxury of just being a student. You are compelled to find something that gives you some sort of meaning or value, something that your certificate clearly can't give you upon graduation. Let's not start talking about the rate of unemployment in Nigeria or the gross underpayment of those already employed. That's a story for another day. 

It is easy for anyone to sit on their impetus and say students should have used the strike to do something productive or at least read their books. While that is not entirely a wrong suggestion, it is often said without good faith, in a way that is conveniently ignorant of the reality of things. Not every student has the luxury of finding things to do. Heck, not every student wants to! Not every student can read without the structure of a functional academic session. Some students just want to be students. Is that too much to ask? Why does everything in this country require mental gymnastics and a lot of rigmarole? 

This is all to say students in Nigeria have felt different strings of emotions following the news that ASUU has called off the strike. We have gone from numb, shocked, sad, and hopeful. Most people are worried about the financial, academic, and mental implications of returning to school. The nerve of some federal universities to summon students to school with immediate effect, do they know we are in different parts of the country? Some people are not even in the country. I saw a rumoured timetable from my school that suggests we are writing exams in December. I have seen many types of wickedness, but this one takes the cake. This post is a rant and will probably do nothing to change anything, but here are a few tips to survive this period if you are overwhelmed by anxiety like me.

1. Breathe, accept the situation and stop being in denial. Start slowly packing your bags and getting ready. You will be stretched and stressed but go to school and do your best if you believe in God, like I do, pray & praise. God is with you. You will not fail. Here is a heartfelt Prayer for students returning back to University by Mazino Malaka. It gave me strength. You should listen to it. 

2. Try not to feel pressured by other people's achievements because you are about to hear many versions of, 'I earned in domestic and foreign currency and I turned Udemy and Coursera upside down.' It's good that they have moved mountains, but don't let it make you feel less than.  ASUU  and FG shouldn't have let this strike go on in the first place, so it's okay if you did not do and undo these past months. It's okay if all you did was not die.

3. I don't know what this means, but find a way to read smart, adjust your reading pattern to suit the times ahead. Maybe join a reading group, consume summaries from different people or solve past questions. All I know is there is no time to overspend time on one particular course.

4. If you are working remotely, renegotiate working hours, any sane employer should understand, except you lied that you were not a student when you applied. If you are like me and you can't totally stop work, take a day or two and focus on the bulk of your work, use the other days for school work. If you can quit work totally, then fine. It would be best if you had all the time you can get.

5. Be ready to give weight watchers and body shamers gbas gbos, and this is my personal favorite. Stop enduring the nasty talk. Take it from someone who has endured it her whole life. Ignoring or pretending it doesn't hurt always leaves you feeling helpless and worthless. I think it's time to teach people emotional intelligence the hard way. Here is a template; if someone comments on your weight loss or gain in a lackluster or intrusive way. You can say "Don't talk about my body like that, you sound unintelligent and insensitive,"  say  "my body size should not concern you in this way, are you a pervert,"  say  "you must really be bad at time management and lacking in common sense for you to take out time to talk about my weight like this." As you people can see I am ready for everybody this period, the Roseline that used to suck it up, retired after her many visits to Nigerian hospitals these past months ( One day I will write about this in detail)

As you can see my hands are on my head. It's only God that can do it at this critical point.

I am still walking through my anxiety and panic attacks while planning my life. Try to do the same. It's hard, it seems impossible, but try. I am genuinely praying for all of us who have to go through this. Also, if you know a Nigerian student, send them money, you can start from me. I highly recommend. 

Bye.