Chimezie Okoro’s “Hospital Is Too Far” uses language to explore survival, power, and the unseen struggles of Nigeria’s vulnerable. Using a narrative steeped in the authentic cadences of Pidgin and Ogba, Okoro brings a powerful linguistic honesty to themes of societal exploitation and resilience. Here, he speaks candidly about the role of literature in fostering social change, the deliberate ambiguity in his endings, and the fiery compulsion that drives him to write about the enduring human fight.
1. Your story addresses themes of societal exploitation and the precariousness of vulnerable populations. What role do you believe literature plays in raising awareness and fostering social change regarding these issues?
Thank you for taking the time to dissect my story. Literature mirrors reality, even when its characters and events are fictional. Every story holds a fragment of that reality. By telling stories that center on vulnerable populations, literature fosters empathy and challenges readers to confront uncomfortable truths. It forces awareness—and awareness is the first step toward change.
2. The ending leaves the narrator’s future ambiguous. What were your intentions in leaving the story open-ended?
Life is a continuous affair. Our stories always outlive us. The same goes for my main character in Hospital Is Too Far. She keeps running, just as life keeps moving—because freedom is not a door you walk through; it is a road, endless and uncertain. I want readers to feel that uncertainty—to wonder, to ache, to hope.
3. The use of pidgin and Ogba adds a layer of authenticity to the dialogue. How important was it for you to incorporate these linguistic elements, and what do they reveal about the characters and their cultural context?
Growing up in Omoku, an ambitious town in the Niger Delta, I found comfort in hearing the elderly vent emotions in Ogba. Pidgin, on the other hand, was the language of childhood—of games, laughter, and easy camaraderie.
Ogba is home. Pidgin is survival. English is an intruder to our tongues. Weaving those languages into the story made it feel more authentic, more alive, and more familiar.
4. Looking back on the writing process, what was the most challenging aspect of bringing this story to life, and what did you learn from the experience?
I think most Nigerians will resonate with my challenge. I was more afraid of the vacillating power supply from PHCN (formerly NEPA) than I was of enforcing stringent editing processes for the story.
5. How important was it for you to get this story published in Akpata Magazine and what do you hope our readers will contemplate after finishing the story?
Akpata Magazine is more than a platform; it is a pulse. Knowing this story will find hands and hearts is both an honor and a responsibility. I hope it stays with readers like an unfinished conversation.
6. When you begin a new project, what aspects of the human experience or societal issues most compel you to explore them through your writing?
Human issues are as vast and dark as the ocean’s depths. With this story, the theme of exploitation surfaced, demanding to be told. Who knows what truth will rise next? I am drawn to themes of power—who holds it, who is denied it, and how it shapes lives. I’m also fascinated by resilience, by how people survive against impossible odds. I write about survival because to live is to fight, even when the battle is invisible.
7. In your opinion, what is the most powerful tool or technique a writer can use to evoke empathy and emotional connection with their readers?
Stories are a personal experience, but the strings of emotion embedded in storytelling universally bind us all. Make the reader feel—not just see or hear, but ache, long, rage, hope. A well-placed pause, a heartbeat of silence, can say more than a paragraph. The secret is not in the telling, but in the feeling.
8. Beyond the specific narrative you’ve crafted, what broader conversations or reflections do you hope your work sparks within your readers and the literary community?
I want readers to ask, Who do we protect? Who do we silence? Who do we fail? I want them to see that monsters wear suits and that power is often the perfect disguise.
9. If you could offer one piece of advice to aspiring writers who are grappling with difficult or sensitive themes, what would it be, and why?
Write with fire, but handle your story like glass. Be fearless, but never careless. If it breaks, let it be in the reader’s heart—not in your hands.
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