Ifeoma Obiegbu

On Poetry

I got into poetry when I was in high school, Year 10 or 11, I believe. My English teacher at the time suggested that I join a program that Bankstown Poetry Slam was hosting for high schools. I was adamant about not doing it. She actually had to push me into it. I’m grateful for that though, because I realised I had a natural talent for it. It became a fun way for me to express my feelings without having to physically journal.

I started earning money from poetry a year after I began. My first gig was for International Women's Day with an organisation called We Are The Mainstream. They found me and liked my work. Eventually, I branched out to explore other opportunities.

The first poem I wrote was about my dad for a program that took place in high school. It was slightly comical; I had written such a personal piece while everyone else wrote limericks about food and astrology. When I got on stage, I cried while reciting the poem about my father.

Slam poetry is more powerful than written poetry. Why read words when you can hear the words from the person who wrote them? I think it is so much more important to utilise my voice and tone because I want it to be conveyed correctly. I am done with being misconstrued.

On Radio

Radio was a whole separate thing. I had no sense of direction during high school and didn’t know what I wanted to do. I was scared. My parents pushed me into studying psychology, which I did for the first year. I knew I was meant for something bigger because I am an entertainer. I realised later on that music is something I always use for inspiration when writing; I loved the storytelling element of it. I also enjoyed talking about myself, so radio was perfect for this.

On Western Sydney

My capacity to be open and vulnerable comes from growing up in Western Sydney and being surrounded by people who look like me: Black women, ethnic women, and women with immigrant parents. These are women who are trying to move away from traditional ways of doing things. I thought about how sharing my story could inspire others to share theirs, making this big, scary world a bit less frightening.

My poetry is like my journal, and it’s meant to be shared. If I were living somewhere in the city or the Inner West, I wouldn’t be writing poems about race or the experience of being a Black woman because people in those areas might not understand it. Writing poetry became a necessity.

On Audiences

Poetry is, at the end of the day, for me. I never consider how people will receive or interpret my work. I have experienced some negative feedback. Last year, during the Australian Poetry Slam, I made it to the quarter-finals with a poem about Blackness. The audience and judges were largely disconnected white people who just didn’t get it. I received low scores because they felt I didn’t ‘speak’ to them. I was bothered because this feedback prevented me from advancing to the next level, but it didn’t change me. I’ve also faced backlash outside of poetry in the past. When it comes from outside of poetry, it impacts me more because, in those moments, I’m not telling a story—I’m just living my life, and for some reason, people are bothered by that.

On childhood

Going through high school, I was the only Black girl. I was in a lot of white spaces growing up, which framed the way I write. My English teacher, who introduced me to poetry, really got the wheels turning. When I first started writing, my work predominantly focused on these experiences because they were the most immediate and relevant to me. This drove me to share my story more widely. My home life also influenced my writing; my dad was often the subject of my poems. The feelings and words I expressed were things I wasn’t really allowed to voice before. Poetry became my rebellion and sparked my ‘bad-girl’ phase.

On Painting

I have always loved to make art even if I wasn’t that good at it. The first time I took painting seriously was when I worked at Pinot & Picasso, a paint-and-sip franchise. I discovered a profound love for it there, and it was through this experience that I realised I had a genuine talent for art. Eventually, I transitioned to a role at the Campbelltown Arts Centre, a prominent hub for local art in South West Sydney. I predominantly paint portraits of women, whom I have envisioned as distinct personas. My subjects are consistently alternative women—Black women and women of colour. I focus exclusively on the upper half of their portraits, deliberately leaving the neck and below unpainted.

On Nigeria

Being a first-generation Nigerian is really hard. I feel like it’s different from other cultures that are more open to changing their values and adapting. When it comes to Nigerians, we can be very stubborn. My parents wanted me to adhere to traditional values, and as a result, I felt isolated because nobody else seemed to be going through what I was experiencing while growing up. My Nigerian heritage shapes much of my poetry. I base all my writing on my heritage and ethnicity, and although it might sound cheesy, a lot of my work addresses feeling not ‘Black’ or ‘Nigerian’ enough. While Nigerian customs were being imposed on me, I was simultaneously rejecting them to fit in with everyone else. Now, more than ever, I yearn to embrace my culture and write about my desire to connect more deeply with my Nigerian identity.