Author of ‘Don Jazzy Global Machine’, Oyindamola Depo–Oyedokun believes brilliant storytelling lies in the writer’s ability to connect readers with the narrative: ‘There are some stories I’ve read that I didn’t realize I could care about, but because of the powerful language and sheer skill, I found myself deeply invested in these stories.’
First Draft is our interview column, featuring authors and other prominent figures on books, reading, and writing.
Our questions are italicized.
What books or kinds of books did you read growing up?
I didn’t read many books during my prepubescent years, but I do remember the few I read at the time inspiring a fantasy storybook I wrote when I was about eight years old. In retrospect, it wasn’t the best writing, but it’s fine; I was eight. Secondary school was when reading really started for me. In boarding school, there wasn’t much to do to pass time, so we’d take turns to read whatever young adult novels or Diary of a Wimpy Kid books that were in rotation at the time.
During breaks at home, I had my immediate older sister’s bookshelf to rummage through. She’s a huge Jodi Picoult fan so she would get all her books and I’d (sometimes secretly) read them when she was done. It was also from my sister’s bookshelf that I got introduced to Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, the summer after JSS3. Unlike a lot of people I know, the first Adichie book I read was Half of a Yellow Sun. It was my first time reading African literature that wasn’t school-mandated, and my first time hearing about the Biafran War. From then on, I personally sought out more African fiction because it was just so wholesome to see people I could identify with being represented in literature. The gravity of the story also made it the first novel that I truly felt deeply. I wanted more of that.
If your life at this moment was the chapter of a book, which book (fiction or non-fiction) would that be?
I’d liken the current phase of my life to a chapter in Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman’s Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia. In the memoir, Gilbert was going through a loss (of love) and decides to travel to these countries in her quest for self-discovery. I’m not travelling around the world just yet, but I am plunging myself into new experiences and uncovering new layers of myself.
What’s the last thing you read and disagreed with?
I mostly read fiction and you can’t really disagree with that, but you can find some characters very problematic. Kingsley Ibe in Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani’s I Do Not Come to You by Chance is one of such characters. For me, it was the way he exalted himself as noble amongst his fellow cybercriminals and expected the people in his life to see him that way too. I was thrilled that they didn’t all give him that satisfaction.
You can write about the most mundane subject but tell its story in such a way that it leaves an indelible mark on the reader’s mind.
What’s the last thing you read that changed your mind about something?
I recently re-read Everything Good Will Come by Sefi Atta because I’ve been in that phase of revisiting books I loved as a child with my adult mind—plus it’s probably my favourite African novel ever. There’s a part of the story that really enlightened me. It was the moment when Enitan, the protagonist, came to terms with her own internalized misogyny. Her best friend, Sheri, had been raped and Enitan partly blamed it on Sheri’s perceived promiscuity. What really struck me was the progression of Enitan’s feminism. It made me want to give myself and others more grace to grow because feminism, just like life, is a journey.
What makes a text powerful: the subject or how it’s written?
Definitely how it’s written. You can write about the most mundane subject but tell its story in such a way that it leaves an indelible mark on the reader’s mind. Conversely, you can write about a mind-blowing subject but in such a dull manner that there’s a huge disconnect between the story and the reader. For me, what makes storytelling brilliant is how well the writer can make me connect with a story. There are some stories I’ve read that I didn’t realize I could care about, but because of the powerful language and sheer skill, I found myself deeply invested in these stories.
Which writer or piece of writing inspired you to pursue a career in journalism?
I wouldn’t say it was a particular writer or piece of writing. Journalism was very much something that I happened upon. I had just gotten my engineering degree and was in that limbo between university and the National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) because I was waiting for my certificate to get to me in Nigeria. I decided to pursue a career in writing just to give that part of my life some more expression before I dove into engineering. I got a gig that involved writing mostly short form news for an African publication called The African Exponent. It was great because I’ve always been curious about the workings of so many parts of the world, so the gig basically allowed me to feed that curiosity whilst getting paid for it. The longer I was in it, the deeper my curiosity and thirst for knowledge became, so that I found myself seeking out stories in everyday life. I think that’s what eventually landed me with The Republic.
What is your writing process: edit as you write or draft first, then edit?
I try my best to just draft as much as I can then edit. But seeing some shoddily written bits can be off-putting, especially when I’m re-reading from the top as I’m trying to get back into writing a piece. My brain won’t let me move forward until I touch up what I’ve already penned down. Then of course, there’s the general editing when I’m done with the whole piece.
What was your process for writing your essay ‘How the Bigg Have Fallen: A Tale of Mr Bigg’s’ Fall from Glory and Troubled Attempt at a Comeback’?
I really wanted to tap into the nostalgia and cultural impact of the earlier iteration of Mr Bigg’s before I started doing thorough research about the actual business, so I asked as many people as I could what Mr Bigg’s meant to them growing up. Interestingly, it was this knocking on people’s virtual doors that led me to Oby Igodan, the integral source in the story. Talking to her then gave me so much more direction for my research about the business. I pored through blog entries, press releases, business brochures, social media and any other thing I found relevant.
When we don’t revisit history, we have the tendency to think our current situations are the worst, best or simply, most unique.
How did your approach change in writing your essay, ‘A 40-Year-Old Japa Story’?
My approach for this story was a lot more research-intensive from the jump. I was trying to accurately capture periods from decades before, but I had minimal knowledge of them, so I had to dive headfirst into past literature. I wanted to talk to older Nigerians who had moved out of the country during the 80s to early 2000s, and the abundant preliminary research I did was the only thing that helped me know what questions to ask. Because of the nature of the story and the demographic I was dealing with, I also had to switch to video and audio interviews for the most part. To deepen the context of the story, I needed to create an environment in which my sources could feel comfortable sharing as much as possible, and that just wasn’t really achievable through text. Especially because these were older people, who mostly weren’t as tech savvy or just weren’t as interested in typing out long responses.
What inspired this story?
I read Hope Ibiale’s brilliant article about Nigerian classics and came across Veno Marioghae’s ‘Nigeria Go Survive’ song. It struck me that emigration was such a big deal back then that someone felt the need to sing about it. I find that music can carry the pulse of a period, so it was my cue to probe further into what that pulse was. I wanted to see what the brain drain of the 80s was like and compare it to the japa wave that we’re experiencing now. My head was still in the 80s because I had visited that period for the Mr Bigg’s essay, so it just made sense. And coincidentally, I was re-reading Adichie’s Americanah and the ‘Andrew Checking Out’ advert that Marioghae referenced in her song came up. Adichie briefly covered what the Japa syndrome looked like back then. When we don’t revisit history, we have the tendency to think our current situations are the worst, best or simply, most unique. The essay was a way to bring much-needed perspective to the japa conversation.
Your essay, ‘Don Jazzy’s Global Machine’, features in our latest print issue, Nigeria Imaginary. What drew you to Don Jazzy’s work?
I’ve always appreciated Don Jazzy’s integral role in shaping Nigerian pop music, even before I could properly articulate that appreciation. So, in 2021, when Bounce Network released their two-part interview with Don Jazzy, I immediately knew I had to watch it. I finished both parts in one sitting and left with an even deeper admiration of Don Jazzy’s impact and story. When The Republic reached out to me to cover the Mavin story, I knew that I wouldn’t do justice to it without recapturing in writing the many gems I had kept with me from watching that interview. The essay allowed me give Don Jazzy his much-deserved flowers and tell a wholesome Nigerian success story to a global audience.
What’s the most interesting reaction/feedback you’ve had about your writing?
When the Mr Bigg’s story came out, someone in the comment section of The Republic’s Instagram post described the essay as ‘really good journalism’. This probably sounds silly, but at that point, I didn’t qualify what I was doing as journalism, because that just seemed like such a heavy word. Having someone put that label on it made me see my work in a new light. However, I did not fully come to terms with the journalism term until I was awarded for the essay at The Republic brunch party. I can’t fully describe what that validation meant to me and did for me, but I’ll just say that it was a sweet, sweet feeling.
What is the most meaningful piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
I’ve repeatedly heard how expanding my lived experiences can enrich my writing and I’ve found it to be true, whether it’s with creative writing or journalism. In simple terms, that’s what some would call ‘doing things for the plot’. Every writer should be open-minded and putting yourself out there definitely cracks open the mind.
What’s the last book you started reading and didn’t finish?
Blackass by A. Igoni Barrett. I think I was just taken aback by the genre. I was looking for good old contemporary African fiction at the time, so the fantasy element threw me off. I definitely want to give it another chance though.
I am currently working on a story about the natural hair community in Nigeria. I’m part of the community myself…there is still a lot of negative perceptions about Nigerian women carrying their God-given hair in its natural state.
Who are the Nigerian writers you’re most excited about today (and why?)
I really like the niche Damilare Kuku is building for herself in Nigerian literature. It is popcorn fiction, light, humorous reads. We don’t have a lot of that in Nigerian fiction and there is that running joke about how Nigerian authors need to deviate from ‘Afro-trauma’ more. Kuku did that with Nearly All the Men in Lagos Are Mad and it seems like she’s doing the same with her upcoming book. I mean, I will still gladly read my ‘Afro-trauma’ novels, but I can appreciate what she’s doing.
What book(s) have you always wanted to read but haven’t gotten around yet?
The Joys of Motherhood by Buchi Emecheta. This book has literally been on my bed for a couple weeks now, but we are still staring at each other, wondering what will triumph in the end: my laziness or my interest. I will be very proud of myself when I finally pick it up.
Imagine you’re starting a book club. Which three writers would you invite?
Mofiyinfoluwa O. because I love how beautifully she expresses her thoughts. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie because I could listen to her speak about anything for hours on end. And Shonda Rhimes because I would like to see the wonderfully chaotic workings of her mind play out as she analyses literature.
What’s the last book you recommended to a friend or loved one?
I Do Not Come to You by Chance by Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani. I got it for my sister, and it was such a hilarious read. The book dealt with heavy themes, but the humour prevailed for me.
What is your favourite topic to write or read about these days?
Recently, I’ve been enamoured with beautifully written artist profiles and interviews, maybe because I want to delve more into music writing myself. The Cut’s interview of Tems, written by Connor Garel, made me think, ‘Oh I want to write something like this someday.’ I was in awe of the way Garel fluidly moved between narration and quotes. It drew me into the story and made me connect not just with Tems’ artistry, but also her person.
I’m very protective of my writing because it’s the one thing of all my ventures that I want to stay with me till the end.
What are you currently working on?
I am currently working on a story about the natural hair community in Nigeria. I’m part of the community myself and I find it curious that even though there has been some progress, there’s still a lot of negative perceptions about Nigerian women carrying their God-given hair in its natural state. I really want to deconstruct that and spotlight important figures who have championed the natural hair movement in the country.
Question from Noo Saro-Wiwa: Would you rather write one laughably bad, lowbrow bestseller that brings you wealth but ridicule, or write five meaningful books with low readership?
Definitely the latter. I’m very protective of my writing because it’s the one thing of all my ventures that I want to stay with me till the end. I can garner that wealth elsewhere, but I only want to write things I can be proud of.
Bonus: Please suggest a question for a future author’s First Draft
What book or story do you wish you had beaten its writer to writing because you resonated so deeply with it?
Who do you think we should interview next?
Lanaire Aderemi. I love how her superb storytelling abilities take on different forms, be it poetry, plays or audio documentaries⎈
We want to hear what you think about this interview. Submit a letter to the editors by writing to [email protected].