Soyinka’s theatre was never about applause. It was confrontation. It was ritual. It was protest. He wielded the stage like a sword, and drama like a sacred rite. And in doing so, he dared to stand alone, often misunderstood, even by the very society he sought to awaken. That struggle — to remain true to the craft, to the people, and to truth — is what we must honour today. Not just the glory of his words, but the weight they carried. The cost they came with
THAT line from The Man Died is not just a quotation — it is a mirror to the spirit of the man we celebrate today: Professor Wole Soyinka. A name that stirs the deepest recesses of the Nigerian and global imagination. A name that, like fire, refuses to dim. As he marks another year today, we at the National Association of Nigerian Theatre Arts Practitioners (NANTAP) pause, not just to celebrate, but to reflect. Deeply.
Because Wole Soyinka is not merely a man of letters — he is, and has always been, a movement. A tempest. A voice in the wilderness. And above all, a theatre artist whose soul has danced with fire, wrestled with power, and emerged again and again — unbroken.
The Struggles of the Stage
It is easy, in the comfort of hindsight, to revere Soyinka’s contributions to the stage. The name A Dance of the Forests is now etched in our national memory — the play that told Nigeria uncomfortable truths on the eve of independence. But back then, it was a howl in the storm. Unwelcome. Dangerous.
Soyinka’s theatre was never about applause. It was confrontation. It was ritual. It was protest. He wielded the stage like a sword, and drama like a sacred rite. And in doing so, he dared to stand alone, often misunderstood, even by the very society he sought to awaken. That struggle — to remain true to the craft, to the people, and to truth — is what we must honour today. Not just the glory of his words, but the weight they carried. The cost they came with.
We in the theatre world understand that cost intimately — the labour of love that is never fully paid, the eternal waiting for a society to catch up with its prophets. Soyinka didn’t wait. He simply forged ahead.
Literature as Resistance
To read Soyinka is to enter into combat — with language, with ideas, and with oneself. His works do not beg to be understood; they demand that we rise to meet them. And in that, he has trained generations, not just in the use of English, but in the dignity of thought.
His pen has never been a luxury. It has been a weapon. From Kongi’s Harvest to Death and the King’s Horseman, from The Interpreters to Chronicles from the Land of the Happiest People on Earth, every work is a refusal — a refusal to accept mediocrity, silence, or complicity.
In a nation where literature is too often treated as a footnote, Soyinka stood as the headline. He did not write for the market. He wrote for the soul. And in that unwavering commitment, he gave Nigerian literature its moral compass.
The Humanist in the Lion’s Den
There is a side to Wole Soyinka that history may never fully capture — the quiet, stubborn humanity beneath the thunder of his words. It is this humanism that sent him into the Biafran war zone seeking peace. That landed him in solitary confinement. That inspired years of advocacy for justice, good governance, and cultural pride.
Even now, in his elder years, Soyinka speaks — not to please, but to prod. Not to impress, but to ignite. Whether it is the theatre, the classroom, or the streets, he remains a custodian of conscience in a time of moral collapse.
He has taught us, over and over again, that art is not passive. That it must stand, it must speak, and — when necessary — it must bleed.
A Personal Note from the Heart
As President of NANTAP, I say this not merely on behalf of an institution, but as one among thousands of Nigerian theatre artists who have grown in the shadow of your courage. You made the stage something sacred — and dangerous. You proved that the actor can be a prophet.
That the playwright can be a warrior. That the artist can be the last hope of a people in search of their soul.
We do not always agree with you. That is, perhaps, your greatest legacy — that you never wanted obedience. You wanted awakening. You called us to question everything, even you.
And so today, as we mark your birthday, we do so not with just accolades, but with gratitude. For the struggle. For the scars. For the theatre of resistance you built and bled for.
A Candle Lit by Thunder
Professor Wole Soyinka, you are not just a Nobel Laureate. You are our own griot of grief and grace, our philosopher-drummer, our Orisa of the spoken word. You made literature dangerous. You made theatre sacred. You made art human again.
And for that, sir, we doff our hats, lift our voices, and in the words of your beloved Ogun, we say:
“Forge ahead. Wield the word. Lead the way.”
Happy Birthday, Kongi.
May your light never dim.
Adeniran Makinde, fta
President. NANTAP