Jamati: INUA? What does your name stand for?
I think you mean what my name means; it is a word in the Hausa language, whose literal transition is ‘shade’. What Can I say, I was born cool. I google-searched the name (think everyone should at some point) and found out “Inua’ is a character in Inuit mythology, the Arctic dwellers commonly known as ‘Eskiom’ believe that ‘Inua’ is the force of life, movement and change in all things. People pray to it, there is even a folk band called ‘Inua’. Now I have no idea if the name traveled up there, or down there, but both meanings are nature related, so there is gotta be a link. When I found out, I told my sister I was a god. She slapped me. Nothing like a sibling to bring you down to earth.

Jamati: Were you raised on the continent? If not, have you ever visited?
Yeap, born in Jos, Plateau State, Nigeria, moved to Lagos, secondary schooled in Odogbolu, Ogun state before coming to the UK. I have not been back since I left, but will do so.

Jamati: What is the reason for your writing? Is there a particular message that you tend to deliver through your work?
Well, my voice in poetry in balanced between the surreal/metaphysical and the real, I like to write narratives that spin off into the bottomless wealth of imagination, and strains between both. So through that, I guess my message is not to stay within the confines of the day-to-day realities, of escapism. My voice is also inspired by classical English literature, and by the Hip Hop generation, I love remixing the new through the old and vice versa, so the message will be of integration, commonality, unison and the beauty of this.

Jamati: How did you find your voice? When did you start to write?
I started writing properly in 2002 when I saw a poet on television and thought I could lend myself to the discipline. I had dabbled with writing before that and recognized the fun of sculpting with words. In comparison to some writers I respect and work with, I am still new to the game. My voice sort of came about from my work in graphic art. Again, my style there is influenced by the old and the new. I try to mix textures, detailed backgrounds and muted colors with bright, flat aggressive colors, so philosophically; they are one and the same.

Jamati: When you look at your work today, how has it changed over the years?
I have to admit when I first began writing, I was loose with it, literally would put a pen to paper and chase it to the end of the page. The results were incredible, I wrote some amazing things back then, loved the process, but now I am striving for simplicity, and cultured, more careful trips into the surreal. I guess this has come about with age, I am older, wiser now, know more about literature, and what I can do, what is alienating in what I have done, and what stayed true to all.

Jamati: If our readers would like to catch up with you, where can they find you?
My website- www.phaze05.com and my space, www.myspace.com/phaze05,
Email addy – phaze05@gmail.com

Jamati: There are so many poets and writers who impact this literary work, is there anyone in particular who impacts you?
Yeah, there are many poets and writers–I love Ben Okri, William Shakespeare, Ainsley Burrows, J.R.R Tolkien, Kim Trusty, but if I am to name two, I would say John Keats and hip hop artist, Mos Def. I am somewhere between those two. I love the romantic, escapism, tragedy and tradition of Keats, but the scattered, rough, staccato, crafted edge of Mos Def, for me, they stand out as luminaries, masters and leaders in their fields.

Jamati: I always have to ask for a word of advice for up and coming poets, writers and our readers with the literary dream? Any word?
Write a lot, read a lot. Have to know what is out there, what has been done, what is being done so you don’t make mistakes and can stay fresh, ahead of the game. Go out to open mics, get comfortable with your voice, and be epic with it.

[audio:http://www.jamati.com/online/wp-content/uploads/2007/12/dustbin-diaries-audio-poem.mp3]

Dustbin Diaries

Twenty Five

There’s a Thai Food Gourmet on Horseferry Road

The walls inside are painted a warm yellow, bars

tables and seats are wooden trimmed with gold

It’s a place for parties, from benefits to birthdays

gatherings where such important dates are sown

Today we’ve claimed it; we’ve made it our own:

The walls are not yellow, they are sun-painted

stained windows, the wood is improvised from

forests where the fauna roam free, untainted

to celebrate a wedding anniversary, collected

here are family members and close friends

those that’ll stick together till forever ends

The couple have been paired for twenty-five years

they know the square root of survival, how to float

four children through tidal waves to safe piers

my mother is the most magnificent woman in the world

my father’s words are final, his voice (an older model

of mine) rises above the conjugal ensemble

he says there are secrets to a marriage like this,

number one, the wife is always right, especially

when she is wrong. Number two in the list:

never let a dispute last over a day long, He plays

the part, choir master to the chorus-like laughter

of these friends in sun rays, in the silence after

my father thanks God for we four kids, pride

bursting, in a louder tone, growing, says

he’d be nothing without mother at his side

my mother hugs him, her face bright and soft

and there is a passion here, a vintage love

refined as a twenty-five year old battle-dove

body battered but stronger and sublime

I’ve seen beginnings of passion like this,

in faces of girlfriends, in the slowed down times

it suddenly strikes me: mother was once a girl

all short skirts and madness, a thing without a care

nothing but the Nigerian night in her hair…

the speech ends to applause and own devices

we all quaff champagne, scoff the cake slices

I am eating and listening as the babble rises

where Rachel (sister’s friend) tells me a curious thing

of a boy she gets on with – they’re like fuel and fire

with them, it’s almost always all flames, sapphire

furnace cuddles and ridiculous love names,

says for a thing beyond her power the man

is just a friend, the reason dowses fire, tames

to an end, says he is from the same tribe as she is,

back home, it is against tradition, it’s a strict taboo

for same tribe members to be as lovers should

neither of them dare to break the age old custom.

-surprised such a rule crossed oceans, climbed

time, found these two birds and cost them

their wings, I want to urge her to deny her tribe

instead, sit silenced by the sadness in her sighs,

sweeping across the tables, I see the reason why…

My parents, similar customs, twenty-five years joined.

Whilst such rules are ancient, it has kept them strong

In truth, there are two sides to every coin

what demands holds this on future love?

scanning the dwindling numbers for my little sister,

finds all three around the Karaoke machine. Picture

this: the youngest between the older other two, hands

on hips, heads – side to side swinging, thrown back, lost

in the spiritual singing of a tri vocal harmonious band

they are wailing to Michael Jackson’s Smooth criminal,

Annie are you okay, are you okay, are you okay Annie

Annie are you okay, are you okay, are you okay Annie?

The moment is a monument to richness.

My uncle laughs, thanking God they are all in school,

they’d never make it in the music business.

My sisters are spectacular. (In that single-mothers-are

-super-heroes sort of way). Whatever future love feigns

let it come, for my mum became a little girl again

and my sisters have super powers. We knowers of the way

we wave riders will find safe bays again. So Michael, in this

glorious of days, believe it, Annie is fine, Annie is okay.