Michael Afenfia has just released his eighth book, Head of the Baptist, from Paperworth Books, in which he once again demonstrates why he is considered a master storyteller, weaving narratives that capture the nuanced rhythms of human experience.
In this interview with thelagosreview.ng’s Terh Agbedeh, the writer offers a candid glimpse into the world of a contemporary African novelist who continues to push the boundaries of his craft.
Head of the Baptist is your first collection of short stories and poems. What inspired you to explore this format, and how does it differ from your previous work?
As a writer, I’ve always been inspired and motivated to try new things and push myself in new ways and directions. Writing this book and trying out this poem and story combination was a challenge I gave myself, and I accepted it wholeheartedly. In the end, I was happy with how it turned out and with being able to find the connection between both.
Your stories explore themes of love, betrayal, politics, longing and loneliness. Was there a particular theme that resonated most with you while writing?
Everything I wrote about in this anthology resonates with me. We live in a complex world where people have different experiences, and that is what I wanted to explore and elaborate on with every story and poem.
Chimeka Garricks describes your writing as clear and vibrant, with a confident voice. How do you balance accessibility with depth in your storytelling?
What Chimeka said is so true. I always try to find that sweet spot between substance and form, and in creative writing, both are important. I don’t think writing should be so elitist or classist that it excludes certain people from being able to enjoy or learn from a good book. You also want prose or poetry to be beautiful in its presentation so people who enjoy those kinds of things can immerse themselves in it as well. Writing is an art after all, but I believe firmly that once a writer has earned a platform or built a community of devoted readers, you don’t want to miss the opportunity of messaging now and then because people read you and they believe in you.
Dolapo Marinho highlights your exploration of tradition, authority and familial hierarchy. What draws you to these themes and how do you think they impact contemporary Nigerian society?
Good question. The things mentioned are dominant aspects of who we are as Nigerians, and I wanted to portray that and give readers the opportunity to see and dissect how these things affect us daily. Our appreciation of culture and family defines who we are, our values and aspirations, and so on. I’m drawn to conversations around these issues because understanding interconnectivity is understanding self and society.
Your style has been described as “conspiratorial” and “bold.” Do you deliberately aim to challenge readers’ perceptions or does this emerge naturally in your writing?
I think my writing is intentional. Yes, with every book, I want to challenge thought processes, even mine. I also realise that the more I do that, the better I get at it. So, while it might start with a little bit of effort, it grows to the point where it becomes natural—organic even.
How do you see the role of poetry in storytelling?
Do the poems in this collection, for instance, serve as prefaces, echoes or counterpoints to the stories they herald?
There’s a reason why poetry is a genre of its own. It’s such a time-trusted and beautiful means of storytelling and capturing emotions and the essence of life. I wanted to be respectful in appropriating it in the way I did with Head of the Baptist. In a sense, there’s the expectation that the poetry you find in the book heralds something that comes after it, but I also hope they are able to stand alone and mean something for themselves.
In light of the growing conversations around identity and belonging, especially among African immigrants, how would you say that Head of the Baptist contributes to this discourse?
People say perception is reality. The problem has always been – where do people form their perceptions? Most likely, perceptions are created based on what people consume, and so, as an African immigrant to North America, I see how I am perceived by people who might not always have the right information to speak to who I really am and the environment and influences that have made me who I am.
With this book I guess, I am just opening more opportunities for people to see me and someone that might look like me in different lights and if something has to change about how they perceive me or think about me because there’s a new light being shown through literature, then I’ve done something right.
What kind of reader did you have in mind while writing this collection?
Just about anyone really – people who read to learn, and people who read for fun.
Head of the he Baptist is described as a journey. What do you hope readers take away from it by the time they turn the last page?
I don’t want to be prescriptive, so I would leave it to the readers. I’m always curious to see the interpretations people come back with after they read something I write, so I’d like to hear from readers.
When seeking inspiration, do you find yourself drawn more to poetry, prose, stage performances, or something entirely different?
I’m not so sure, but I think I tend more towards prose. I also watch a lot of documentaries and listen to podcasts.
Is there a particular book or writer you find yourself revisiting time and again? What keeps bringing you back to their work?
There’s no one in particular, really.
In your experience, what does it truly take to become a writer? Could you share your personal journey—how you first discovered writing and what led you to pursue it seriously?
I would say the talent has to be there, but beyond that, practice and consistency are important. There is also a lot of humility involved because as a writer you should have the muscles for all kinds of review of your work.
To the second part of the question, I realised quite early that I had the talent, even as early as when I was in secondary school and through the years I just followed my passion. I decided to take it seriously because I feared that if I didn’t use my gift I might lose it.
