On August 10, 2026, a new poem titled “Zlan ɓo (The Creator is Inside the Noise)” by Liberian author and spoken-word poet Daniel Rightman Badom, was published on the digital pages of Brittle Paper.
This poem isn’t just a collection of verses; it’s a direct challenge to external narratives of adversity. It insists that the true essence of Liberian culture resides in the daily lives and resilience of its people. Badom’s voice emerges as a significant one, offering a fresh perspective on how nations confront and transform their collective experiences into a vibrant, living heritage.
The whisper of resilience in Daniel Rightman Badom’s poetry
Badom opens his poem with a stark landscape: “They looked at our broken concrete, our bullet-pocked brick, our zinc roofs rusted by the salt-wind of the Atlantic, and they asked: Where did the beauty go?” These lines paint a familiar picture of hardship, the visible scars of conflict and challenging environments. But the poet quickly pivots, directly confronting this external gaze.
He writes, “They thought the fire went out when the smoke cleared. But they don’t know about the spark. They don’t know about the breath.” This powerful counter-narrative suggests that external observers often miss the deeper, internal flame of resilience. It highlights a common disconnect between how a people perceive their own strength and how outsiders might interpret their struggles.
Daniel Rightman Badom’s poetic language is deeply steeped in the unique cultural fabric of Liberia. His influences draw from the rich oral traditions found in the Liberian interior. He also takes inspiration from the “sharp, rapid-fire Koloqua of Monrovia’s street corners,” a local pidgin English that pulses with the city’s energy. These influences manifest vividly in lines that describe everyday life as the very embodiment of culture. It’s “the thing that makes your tongue fire when the Koloqua leaves your teeth on the street corner.” It’s “the sharp tick-tick of knuckles snapping in the noon heat, a handshake that says: I see you, my brother. We still here.” The poem makes it clear that culture isn’t confined to formal institutions; it lives in the intimate gestures and vibrant sounds of daily existence. This connection to everyday life and the sounds of the street echoes the spirit of highlife music, where artists like Celestine Ukwu drew profound inspiration from their surroundings. The poem’s central motif, “Zlan ɓo. The Creator is inside the noise,” redefines where a nation’s spirit can be found. Badom explicitly dismisses traditional repositories of history and culture, stating, “It is not in the museum. It is not behind glass.” He further insists, “So don’t look for the spirit of this country in the history books. Don’t look for it in the palaces that grow moss in the humidity.” Instead, the Creator, the life force, is revealed within the very clamor and challenges of daily life. It’s “inside the elbow of the drummer when the skin of the goat cries out to the night, waking the red dust of the hinterland.” It’s also “inside the oil that stains the palm-butter pot— thick, heavy, heating up the kitchen while the market women sing their heavy loads into light things.” These visceral images ground the divine and the national spirit in the raw, authentic moments of communal living and labor. Badom’s words also connect the present resilience to a deep well of ancestral strength. He writes, “Look at the way we walk. Look at the way we don’t bend for the storm. That is not just human spine that is the marrow of the old people still trapped inside our bones.” This passage evokes the profound influence of past generations, their fortitude embedded within the physical and spiritual makeup of the Liberian people. It suggests a legacy of endurance that transcends individual experience. The poet adds another powerful image: “That is the shadow of the ancient cotton tree stretching its arms through our stride.” The cotton tree, often a symbol of wisdom and ancestral presence in West African cultures, here becomes a metaphor for the deep roots that anchor a people, even as they navigate modern challenges. It’s a subtle nod to the foundational elements that continue to shape identity, much like the complex historical moments that shaped national consciousness in other West African nations. The publication of Badom’s poem on Brittle Paper amplifies its message to a global audience. Founded in 2010 by Ainehi Edoro, then a doctoral student at Duke University and now an Assistant Professor at the University of Wisconsin–Madison, Brittle Paper has established itself as a leading online literary magazine dedicated to African literature. It’s often celebrated as “Africa’s premier online literary brand” and the “village square of African literature.” Brittle Paper’s mission is to cultivate an engaging platform that inspires and empowers readers through diverse literary experiences. The site publishes original fiction, poetry, book reviews, and essays, while actively documenting the contemporary African literary scene. Its commitment to challenging conventional perceptions of African literature, by featuring varied genres and voices, makes it an ideal home for a work like “Zlan ɓo.” The platform has gained significant recognition, with Publishers Weekly calling it a “Go-To Book Blog” in 2014. Literary Hub has also acknowledged its progressive role in showcasing new African literature. By hosting works from a broad spectrum of writers, including those exploring themes of identity and gender, Brittle Paper ensures that discussions around African literary history are robust and inclusive. This commitment is evident in initiatives like the recent launch of A Third Space’s Mismemories anthology, which focuses on queer West African literary history. Daniel Rightman Badom’s “Zlan ɓo” resonates with broader trends in contemporary African poetry. This artistic movement frequently delves into themes of identity and heritage, exploring the complex legacies of colonialism and the nuances of post-colonial self-definition. Poets across the continent use their craft to address pressing social and political issues, transforming art into a powerful form of resistance and a catalyst for dialogue. African poets are also known for their innovative use of form and language, often blending traditional African poetic structures with modern techniques. They frequently incorporate multiple languages and dialects, as well as free verse and spoken word. Badom, with his roots in Liberian oral traditions and the Koloqua of Monrovia, exemplifies this approach. His work captures the rhythm and cadence of daily life, proving that poetry is not just an aesthetic pursuit, but a vehicle for social commentary and cultural preservation. “Zlan ɓo” culminates with an invitation: “Touch your chest. Listen to the heavy bass line of your own blood. Feel that beat?” It’s a call to internal reflection, a reminder that the true essence of a nation, its “Creator,” isn’t an abstract concept but a lived experience. It
Koloqua and the rhythm of lived experience
The Creator inside the noise: finding spirit in struggle
Echoes of ancestral strength
Brittle Paper’s platform for contemporary African voices
Beyond the page: poetry as activism and identity
The enduring beat of a nation’s heart
