Jumoke Verissimo is a prolific writer known for her work across various genres. Her latest book, Grandma and the Moon’s Hidden Secret, has been longlisted for the prestigious Nigeria Prize for Literature.
In this interview with thelagosreview’s Terh Agbedeh, this university teacher talks about the inspiration behind Grandma and the Moon’s Hidden Secret, the impact of her heritage on her writing, and why she focuses on telling the story.
Congratulations on your book being longlisted on the Nigeria Prize for Literature this year, how did your upbringing in Nigeria, surrounded by rich oral traditions, influence your writing style and storytelling approach?
Thanks so much for reaching out and your kind message. My parents, though city-bred, ensured I understood the importance of our traditional values. They fostered a connection to our heritage and instilled a sense of identity in me. I grew up in Lagos, but being surrounded by elders meant city life didn’t distance me from my roots. Although my parents lived in Lagos, and one could call them city-bred, they remained connected to their roots. We travelled to my mum’s hometown, for festivals and festivities even though we stayed in Lagos. For instance, my grandmother, my aunts or uncles would recite oriki (praise poetry) upon meeting me. It was just typical, and it seemed like what one should know as a form of identity. Also, I was one of those kids always around older folks, I loved listening to their stories, and for some reasons, they loved talking to me as well.
And then my mother’s shop, a tailor’s haven located at a bustling intersection in Mushin, was a place where stories emerged in all their forms. People from all walks of life would stop by each with their own tale to tell, often veering into their past experiences. Around November, the Igunuko masquerade would appear at the junction, adding to the vibrant atmosphere. We’d then head to Alhaja’s house for suya (skewered grilled meat).
Storytelling seems deeply ingrained in me. Even a simple reprimand was often accompanied by a proverb. As the youngest children of older parents, my brother and I were the prime audience for their wisdom and wit. And then there was the fantastic programmes on NTA (Nigerian Television Authority) and Radio Nigeria, which my mum listened to. The programmes depicted cultural lives of people across the country. Some radio programmes even had weekly shows where books were read in indigenous languages. There were also captivating radio reality shows that enthralled listeners with ordinary lives with extraordinary experiences. The presenters were masterful storytellers who kept us eagerly anticipating the next episode. I mean, we weren’t seeing these characters, but the telling was always so vivid, you didn’t want to miss an episode. Since we couldn’t binge-watch entire series, these shows excelled at building suspense and cultivating a genuine curiosity about narrative structure. Back then, entertainment wasn’t as diverse, creating a unified experience that felt both oral and instructional in storytelling. Of course, I couldn’t have known this at the time. It all seemed ordinary, but looking back, I realise these experiences culminated in shaping my approach to storytelling. I pay attention to everything around me, which is all oral literature is about, the attentiveness to the ordinary to make sense of the everyday.
How do you strike a balance between the magical elements in your stories and the real-life themes you explore?
The ability to master one’s craft, in my opinion, boils down to that. I also teach creative writing at the university level, and one of the subjects I cover with my students is how to create believable worlds for readers. The most important thing is to make the reader feel something, to make them identify with the story being told. For example, writing about a world where people walk on their heads requires convincing the reader that such a place is possible.
To focus on your question, I’d say that striking a balance between magical elements and real-life events is essential to creating a compelling and resonant story. It’s also about what you do with the magic in the story. As the writer, the magic is not fantastical to you; it is the normalcy within the world you have created. I believe the key lies in grounding the magical in the human experience. Magic should amplify or illuminate the core themes, rather than overshadow them.
For example, in my work, I often use magic as a metaphor for exploring complex human emotions or societal issues. In writing for children who are still trying to navigate heavy and complex ideas, you explore their sense of curiosity and avid observation. The idea of philosophising wouldn’t make sense for a child who just wants to be appeased or understood. So, where I have the magical or the celestial in my story, I weave these elements into familiar situations, as I have done in Grandma and the Moon’s Hidden Secret. The purpose is to create a sense of wonder while also provoking thought-provoking questions about the world around us. Ultimately, the magic should serve as a catalyst for deeper exploration of human nature and the complexities of life.
There’s no doubt that A Small Silence, Àdùkẹ́ and Grandma and the Moon’s Hidden Secret, have touched readers across various age groups. What do you think is the universal appeal of your stories?
Thank you for your kind words. I appreciate them. At the end of the day, every writer hopes their work will be read, but understanding why readers connect with it is a constant puzzle. We often find ourselves questioning our own assumptions and seeking new perspectives. The true joy comes when readers discover something they’ve been looking for in our work.
Perhaps I should be asking you the questions. What drew you to these stories? I write to be read, and I value diverse perspectives on my work. My writing includes both poetry and fiction for adults and children, and each reader’s experience is unique. I’m grateful for the opportunity to connect with readers and hope to reach a wider audience.
As an educator and mentor, you’ve inspired many young writers. What advice do you give to aspiring authors who want to tell their own stories?
It is so really satisfying to encourage aspiring writers. My advice is to always write with authenticity. Your unique perspective is invaluable and you should share your story. Read voraciously, not just for enjoyment, but also to learn the craft. Experiment with many styles and genres to find your own voice. Don’t be afraid to share your work and get feedback. Most important, write regularly. This is a journey, not a sprint. Remember, every published author was once a beginner, so enjoy the experience.
Your passion for cultural heritage is evident in your work. How important is it for you to preserve Nigerian traditions and values in your writing?
I can only be authentically Nigerian because it’s who I am. My writing is an exploration of this identity. To write anything else would feel inauthentic. Writing is about drawing on resources and making sense of them. My resources are deeply rooted in Nigerian culture, which allows me to create work that is both genuine and broadly appealing. Nigerian culture is rich in diversity, wisdom, and beauty.
Sharing Nigerian stories is crucial for understanding not only our own heritage but also the interconnectedness of cultures. With a strong sense of identity comes a responsibility to share our values with others. It’s more than preservation; it’s a deep-rooted conviction.
Grandma and the Moon’s Hidden Secret touches on themes of loss and understanding from a child’s perspective. What inspired you to write this particular story?
I enjoyed writing Grandma and the Moon’s Hidden Secret. The first inspiration was that I wanted to tap into the boundless imagination of children while also exploring how we impart wisdom to them. I am one of those who believe a child should enjoy being a child, and even in trying to tell a story that establishes the importance of how we transmit important knowledge to children. My goal was to balance playful storytelling with meaningful content, using imagination as a vehicle to deliver important messages without being overly instructive. I wanted to create a world familiar to children, filled with elements they could relate to—their bond with grandmothers, school life, community, family dynamics and their imaginative ways of understanding the world. My goal was to provide a canvas upon which young readers could paint their own stories.
Children, as I have mentioned, have incredible imaginations, and this helps them to navigate the world. For instance, when my daughter was young, she’d declare herself invisible to avoid getting ready for school. I woke her up one day and she said, “I am invisible.” I am like, madam abeg comot for bed I can see you! Then she replied with, “no, no, no you can’t see me, you can’t see me. I have covered myself with my invisible blanket and you can’t see me.” Kids are funny, and while moments like the one I have shared are humorous, they highlight the importance of instilling routines like the importance of early bedtimes in fun ways. It’s this kind of boundless creativity that inspired me to write Grandma and the Moon’s Hidden Secret. I wanted to create a world where imagination soars without sacrificing substance. I don’t want to be so consumed with teaching children in my books that I forget the simple joys of childhood: exploring, wondering, and living in the moment.
Also, witnessing the tender interactions between grandparents and their grandkids is truly heartwarming. The tenderness is unquantifiable. But what happens when a child loses the indescribable beauty of these connections? How do we help them hold onto the cherished memories and at the same time, bring them comfort? I mean, children are convinced they have superpowers. They are as intelligent as they are innocent. I sought to preserve both characteristics in my book.
You’ve led workshops in both Nigeria and abroad. What differences or similarities have you observed in the way children, or even adults from different cultures approach storytelling?
Conducting workshops both in Nigeria and overseas has been enlightening. While cultural differences exist, a shared enthusiasm for storytelling is universal. Children, in particular, exhibit a natural curiosity and creativity that transcends borders. However, I’ve observed distinct approaches. Children generally, often lean towards oral storytelling, emphasising rhythm, music and improvisation. They thrive on participation. Perhaps, a little difference among Western children tends to be the anticipation for structure and character development.
And while adults generally showcase different perspectives, a common desire to connect with audiences unites them, but methods vary. Nigerian adults frequently incorporate cultural symbols and local issues into their stories, often leaning towards social realism. There’s a strong drive to address societal challenges. Western adults even when experimenting with different styles are sometimes influenced by a familiarity with standardised workshop formats. However, generalisations can be misleading. So don’t take my word for it. At the end of the day, storytelling is a bridge connecting people from diverse backgrounds. The ability to share experiences and emotions through narratives is a fundamental human trait.
As a globally recognised author, how do you navigate the challenges of translating your culturally rich stories for an international audience?
I just tell my story.
What’s next for you? Are there any new projects or themes you’re excited to explore in your upcoming works?
I have a new book slated for next year. It’d be published by Coach House in Canada. I have some other projects I am working on as well, so work is going on.
What have you got to say to Nigeria LNG Ltd, the sponsor of the Nigeria Prize for Literature and about the award itself?
On a personal level, this recognition from NLNG gives me a profound sense of gratitude and humility. Without a doubt, the NLNG’s sponsorship has been instrumental in elevating the status of Nigerian literature on the global stage. It has offered so many writers a prominent platform, highlighting exceptional works, and cultivating a thriving literary community.
By providing a platform for honouring and rewarding literary excellence, NLNG has instituted a legacy for the upliftment of writers of different generations. The NLNG has created more than just a prize; what we have today is an investment in Nigeria’s cultural legacy and a platform for diverse voices to be heard.
