The Heavy Truth
This morning, I didn’t want to show up.
Not to the planner. Not to the strategy board. Not even to the blank page where my daily commitment lives. I came very close to calling it off not because I’ve lost my purpose, but because some days, purpose alone doesn’t shift the dial. It doesn’t always pay the bills or provide the reassurance needed to stay grounded in the work.
Trying to build a sustainable industry around poetry not just events, but actual infrastructure in Ghana or across Africa often feels like gathering dew into barrels. The work is slow, mostly invisible, and frequently undervalued. And on the worst days, it can feel like pushing a dream uphill with bare hands. But even in that moment of near-resignation, I knew, I’m not done yet.
I’m Not a Poet. I’m a Builder.
I’ve said this many times, but it bears repeating: I am not a poet. I don’t write to perform, I structure so others can shine. I create systems, map ecosystems, build platforms, and coordinate opportunities where art is treated not as charity, but as capital. Not a hobby, but a viable, meaningful career path.
My path into this space wasn’t born from ambition, but from frustration. I saw too many brilliant performers with nowhere to grow. Too many poets going viral without a pipeline. Too many talents stuck in the cycle of applause without access. So instead of asking who would fix it, I decided to become one of the few who do often behind the scenes, and often without recognition.
To Everyone Who Feels Like Quitting
If you’re an African cultural worker, creative entrepreneur, or arts strategist trying to transform passion into policy, and today you feel like giving up you’re not alone.
You’re not foolish. You’re not failing. You’re not lost. You’re just early.
You’re early in a region still defining how it values art. You’re early in a continent where poetry is often still seen as an indulgence, not an investment. You’re early in a history that doesn’t yet have the language or systems to support the very things you’re trying to build. Being early is lonely. It’s misunderstood. And yes, it’s deeply exhausting.
Legacy Is Built in the Shadows
Here’s the part no one prepares you for, real work doesn’t trend.
Not at first.
The work of building sustainable poetry structures, national slams, cross-border collaborations, funding models, and audience pipelines rarely goes viral. It looks like silence. It feels like resistance. Sometimes even betrayal when your own people don’t yet see what you’re trying to make possible.
But this is what legacy work truly looks like, sweat before spotlight, systems before stories, vision before visibility.
This Article Is My Protest Against Quitting
I almost didn’t write this our show up today. And that’s exactly why I needed to.
Because the work we’re doing, shaping poetry into a professional industry in Africa is too important to abandon just because today is difficult. This is not performance. It’s policy work in cultural form. It’s economic strategy with rhythm. It’s civic transformation spoken into existence.
We are creating a future where poetry is not only an art, but a sector. A viable, fundable, scalable, exportable sector.
And if today is hard, let it be. But don’t let it win.
Final Thoughts
To anyone who finds themselves on the edge of quitting, pause, rest, reevaluate. But don’t forget that your work matters. Not just to you, but to the next generation of builders, creators, and dreamers watching quietly from the wings.
You’re not just building poetry. You’re building possibility. And we need you here especially now.
Want to support or collaborate?
2. Mentor a young poet through Ehalakasa
3. Invite me to speak on legacy-building in African arts
4. Fund a platform that supports the next generation of creative change makers
Do get in touch