Aké
The decision to attend the Ake Book and Arts Festival was fraught with uncertainty, courtesy of looming work commitments. The three-day festival, a convergence of creatives, book and arts enthusiasts, publishers, and decision-makers in the creative society, promised a unique experience from November 23rd to the 25th. I opted not to secure a ticket in advance, holding onto the hope that I could acquire one on-site because it didn’t look like I was going to be available. Then, in a serendipitous twist (this might sound very cliche, but it is what it is), my friend Ballie reached out. She had won an extra ticket and, having already secured hers, decided to pass the literary baton my way. It felt like that was a sign; Ake was beckoning, and I couldn’t ignore the call.
In the lead-up to the event, the days felt like a whirlwind of uncertainty. Work escalated rapidly, demanding my attention, and I found myself shuffling work and the festival. Despite the challenges, being on the road all day, and thinking about track and balance we were doing on the helicopter, I have no regrets. Ake transcended being just an event; it became a sanctuary, a familial reunion where I discovered a kinship with like-minded individuals. In that shared space, it felt like meeting long-lost siblings, a reunion that allowed me to breathe freely because I had found my literary home.
The book discussions were a goldmine of insights, and the writers and moderators made an unforgettable impression with their brilliance. The panel discussions ignited a flurry of ideas, sparking a fervor to put them into action. A major highlight for me was the book quiz, even though my table (Soyinka Table) faced defeat, the camaraderie fueled a promise to return next year for a rematch. It also opened my eyes to the vastness of African literature, challenging my pride in being a reader of the genre. Anyway, we go again next year.
Ake wasn’t just about books; it was a meeting ground for people like me. I had the pleasure of meeting bookstagrammers I’d been following for a while. Despite my initial shyness, I managed to say hi to a few. One standout encounter was with Amyn, who turned out to be the nicest person, feeling like a big sister (you guys, I am not even exaggerating this). Her book chat with Bolu Babalola emerge as one of the high points of the event for me.
Meeting authors like Wole Talabi, Abubakar Adamu Ibrahim, Petina Gappah, Bisi Adjapon, and others, was an exhilarating moment. The realization that these faces stood in flesh before me, sharing the same space, left me dumbfounded.
Lola Shoneyin, what a remarkable woman! When questioned a couple of years ago about the inspiration behind founding the festival, she expressed a desire for a space where intellectuals and thinkers could gather to discuss African issues on African soil. And she has undeniably achieved just that. The literary community is truly fortunate to have such a visionary. Observing her journey, I glimpsed endless possibilities — a reminder that you can do all that you are called to do, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. And no, you are not doing too much.
Like Baillie rightly said, every writer should experience Ake. An event that has the transformative power to leave no attendee unchanged. It felt like doors of opportunities swung open, guiding me to write again with renewed assurance. The words in my belly found a residence, marking the experience as an indelible chapter in my journey.
Ake is a steady hand guiding mine and teaching me to write again, slowly, steadily and without doubt.
Ake provided not only comfort but also a canvas for dreaming — an opportunity to envision myself in diverse capacities, unencumbered by limitations. It became a haven where I could be everything that God intended, without the shackles of limitations. Ake offered my mind the freedom it yearned for.
As I look forward to returning next year by God’s grace, the hope is to see friends flourishing in their literary pursuits, accomplishing dreams both big and small. I aspire to come back with bigger dreams and determination.
See you next year.
If you enjoyed reading this, please clap as many times as possible. (By many times, I hope you know I mean 50 times). I would also really like to hear from you so please leave a comment.
