Since I officially came on board a month ago, curating the articles that went out earlier this month has been one of the absolute joys of work here, not only because of the themes we are engaging with but also because…mehnnn, this is the place to be! I’ll tell you why.
Oriire exists in a curious in‑between space, and part of why this matters is because of what is happening in real time across our continent, and particularly, Nigeria. It is impossible to curate prompts without feeling the pulse of the present, because the stories we ask for are always in conversation with today’s headlines. In Nigeria, for example, just this month, the federal government issued a $2.35 billion Eurobond, and the global orderbook hit a record of over $13 billion. Around the same time, the S&P Global Ratings recently revised Nigeria’s outlook from “stable” to positive. That is some good news.
Culturally, there is also so much stirring. In Benin City, the Black Muse Arts Festival opened a 3,500-square-meter sculpture park, anchored by a 15-meter bamboo pavilion designed by James Inedu‑George.
One story has particularly caught my attention this November so far, because it cuts at the very heart of what we do: the drama at the Museum of West African Art (MOWAA) in Benin City. Earlier this month, protesters disrupted a preview event at the museum, asserting that its opening violated the cultural authority of the Oba of Benin. Videos circulating online show protesters chanting “Oba ghato kpere ise” –“Long live the king” in the Bini language– while security ushered foreign and local visitors out. The museum’s director reported minor vandalism at the reception pavilion and the exhibition areas, though thankfully no one was hurt. For anyone following the unfolding of cultural restitution across Africa, this incident is more consequential and symbolic than meets the eye. MOWAA was intended as a hub of exchange made up of galleries, conservation labs, and studios designed to promote dialogue around West African art, yet, not without its controversies. The controversy revolves around the Benin Bronzes looted by British forces in the 19th century. Most of these bronzes ended up in museums and private collections across Europe and the U.S., though some have been repatriated to Nigeria (most notably 119 pieces returned from the Netherlands in June 2025), which were handed directly to Oba Ewuare II, the traditional ruler. MOWAA originally planned to house the bronzes, but later abandoned that goal, which made critics worry the museum could still try to take control of them. This gets a bit laughable, especially when we look at it from the perspective that an institution established to celebrate heritage is constrained by disputes about stewardship and historical justice. The federal government has sided with the Oba, suggesting the artefacts belong at the palace, while MOWAA maintains its independence and advises against public visits until further notice. Across social media and gallery spaces, opinions are mixed: some condemn the protests as harmful, while others defend the assertion of local authority, and for us as writers and readers, it is a microcosm of larger questions.
All of those economic reforms, cultural reclamation, and contested heritage– threads into the prompts we are issuing this month. When we ask for essays about myth, we want to see how ancient stories connect with power today. When we ask for historical reflections, we want to see how visible authority was formed (and is being redrawn). When we ask about food, we are thinking of daily meals or celebration feasts, yes, but also of how food ties into the material conditions of our societies.
So, what does this mean for the writer? First: your piece[s] matter. Whatever you send, whatever angle you take, it gets read. I just don’t want anything superficial. I want to feel what you are thinking, why you are thinking it, and where you are coming from.
Second: while Sesi and I are serious about depth, we also want your writing to feel alive and human. Feel free to bring in your lived experience, however you carry it –provided you stick to the submission guidelines. Part of helping me read your work properly is doing that tiny thing: following submission guidelines. Boring, right? But seriously, adhering to guidelines makes it possible for me to give every piece the attention it deserves. Think of it like this: you are sending me a letter, and the clearer it is, the more I can savor everything you are trying to tell me. Please, read the instructions, take a minute to double-check, and then send your work. Write something that thrills you, because when you thrill, I feel it, too.
I’ll see you next week.
Shalom
