Griot Gabriel, real name Gabriel Oyediwura, has just dropped £150 on a custom championship belt. But it’s not for a boxing bout or a Royal Rumble, it’s for a poetry slam: a competition that sees wordsmiths spit verses in front of judges. Less WWE, more LRB. And so are the budgets. “I’m gonna let the winner take a photo with it, then take it back and use it for the next one,” he laughs.
The event is part of The Poetry Place, Oyediwura’s monthly event at Factory International, Manchester’s flagship arts space. It brings together lyricists from across the city, armed with punchy stanzas, ready for a war of words. Fittingly, we’re chatting in Factory’s upstairs foyer, overlooking the city’s ever-changing skyline. Blink and a building is demolished. Blink twice and another one appears in its place. Wearing a Biggie Smalls hoodie and black cargo pants, Oyediwura is blessed with the kind of smile that instantly puts you at ease.
Softly spoken, he exudes a sincere charm; throughout our conversation he catches himself saying “stuff like that” and laughs at his signature filler phrase. I wonder aloud why the white of his left eye is marbled with blood. Thankfully, it wasn’t from a slam that got out of control. “I tried to take my contact lens out this morning. I’m really glad the photographer isn’t coming today,” he says with a laugh. I start by asking him about his Instagram bio, a miniature poem in itself: “Under Dog, Under Armour, Under God.”
“You’re the first person to ask me that. I guess that ‘Under Dog’ is a theme in my poetry and about my experience as a young Black male living in a deprived community and overcoming obstacles,” he says. “Under Armour”, he clarifies with a laugh, is not a commercial partnership with everyone’s dad’s favourite brand; it’s about being protected by God from dark spirits. And “Under God” is “about humility and understanding that a lot of my success is tied into my faith”.
Although he’s now paving the way for future poets in Manchester, Oyediwura, 34, grew up in Peckham, South London, brought up by his mother, who is originally from Nigeria. She kept him on the right path. “My mum always did a great job of disciplining us and ensuring what happened outside of the house wasn’t there when we came home. I swayed on the boundaries but there were always barriers,” he says.
Faith was a pillar in Oyediwura’s early life, but it wasn’t the only one. “I went to church every Sunday. But I wouldn’t say I was a believer at the time,” he says, mainly because of a catastrophic calendar clash. “The big issue was football was also on a Sunday. Before poetry, [playing] football was my love. I absolutely wanted to be a pro,” he says. Like any of us who ever kicked a ball around as a kid, Oyediwura still dreams of scoring a screamer for his beloved club. “Every now and then I dream about running out at Old Trafford and scoring. Doing what the other United players can’t do. I can do a better job,” he playfully goads. His love of United came when his family moved to Longsight, a suburb of south-east Manchester and one of the most deprived areas in the UK. “It was a bit of a culture shock. Everyone was swearing in primary school,” he says. But it wasn’t a world away from Peckham. “In terms of the community it was very similar. It was very diverse and there were the societal pressures of violence and drugs,” he says. Gangs have been warring for decades in Longsight, clashing with rival groups a couple of miles to the west in Moss Side.
Griot Gabriel, the Manchester-based poet and founder of The Poetry Place, tells cutting-edge stories of the here and now
The ghosts of the past still haunt this area. “It’s amazing how a single road can change [the atmosphere]. Once you cross Withington Road it feels different. There are intangible feelings which distinguish both sides,” he says. When a friend of his was shot, Oyediwura became more religious and embraced poetry as an emotional outlet. “I got in touch with more of my spirituality. It’s when I first started writing poetry. My youth pastor encouraged me to use it to tell stories about faith,” he says.
Teachers at school also pushed him forwards. “I remember in Year 7 or 8 messing around and my teacher gave me a big telling-off. But he also said that at 12 I had the reading age of an 18-year-old. It signposted a path for me,” he says. He took note and began writing more. From the moment he first picked up a pen, Oyediwura has looked up to rappers rather than poets, idolising lyrical legends from both the UK (Kano and Ghetts) and US (Nas and Tupac). Initially, his love of rap gave him a sense of impostor syndrome. “It’s a strange place to be. In the poetry environment there are spaces where people are purists. You have to get over that apprehension,” he says. As ever, the self-proclaimed underdog has leapt over that obstacle. “But I think, fuck it. Rap is poetry! It’s been a beautiful realisation,” he says. “I’m unapologetic about honouring those that brought me into the game.”
And, like many of the rappers that inspired him, Oyediwura has his own moniker: Griot Gabriel. “I did some research and found out there were West African storytellers that went from village to village known as griots. I thought, this is who I am,” he says. He thinks they have a different role, now, in the Western world, following the slave trade and mass migration. “It’s about telling a story of how we can be here and some of the hardships that our ancestors faced, but also [about] instilling hope,” he says. Some people, he says laughing, think his first name is actually Griot.
After leaving school, Oyediwura began working at the local youth club he used to go to. “A lot of organisations are struggling. Young people subsequently suffer because they don’t have spaces and trusted adults to speak to,” he says. He thinks that The Poetry Place offers a similar energy, but for adults. “It provides a space where people can opt into a creative element which they enjoy and is often nostalgic and links to elements of their youth. There’s a lot of healing.”
The project was conceived on Oyediwura’s 30th birthday in 2020. “I started it after the lockdowns. It was coming up to my birthday and I realised that I’d usually go to the club and party but that desire had died. So I got some friends round and we did poetry. We started doing it every month,” he says. Soon, The Poetry Place was popping up in spaces across the city, from theatres to barbershops. Then he became a neighbourhood organiser for Factory, promoting the space in communities across Manchester before going a step further, landing a fellowship. “We got to work on our craft and experiment with different art forms. It was mind-opening to me,” he says. Since then, The Poetry Place has made Factory its home, fostering a new scene of wordsmiths. Local legend John Cooper Clarke might still be rattling out his breathless stories of Salford in the ’70s, but writers and reciters like Reece Williams, Isaiah Hull and, of course, Griot Gabriel are telling cutting-edge stories of the here and now.
Maybe soon, his eldest son, now 12, will become part of the movement. “He loves words. He loves reciting lines. Quite often I hear him saying things I say,” he says, explaining he often quotes him when at school. He’s already appeared in his dad’s videos, precociously directing the visuals for Hand Me Downs, which he put on Instagram for Father’s Day in 2023. For Oyediwura, performance is just as important as the poetry; when he recites his work, his arms move balletically in time, synchronised with every word. He puts it down to anxiety rather than artistry. “It’s almost a battle with anxiety because you’re nervous. It’s like getting into a ring. You have to control your nerves. It’s a thrill,” he says. But these gestures aren’t empty; he believes words can enact real change. “I believe in the creation story and the word [of the Bible] – there’s power in what you say. If it’s something that aligns with truth and the betterment of people I think they feel that,” he says. He takes this to the extreme. “I would love to invite the EDL [far-right group the English Defence League] to The Poetry Place. If I knew they were coming I’d write poems which I believe could break down the walls and barriers that exist,” he says with a wry smile. “It’s about appealing to the humanity of people.”
Griot Gabriel, the Manchester-based poet and founder of The Poetry Place, tells cutting-edge stories of the here and now
In June 2023, Oyediwura landed a huge break: he was invited to perform on Glastonbury’s Poetry&Words stage. “The performance was beautiful,” he says. But he wasn’t the happiest of campers. “It was so hard, the whole living in the tent, not showering,” he says. But then he drops a bombshell that takes me aback, made more surprising by what he’s just said. “I was actually homeless when I went to Glastonbury. I was living in my car,” he says, explaining that he had just got out of an unhealthy relationship and was struggling with mental health issues and financial difficulties.
As ever, he sees it in a positive light, rebuilding hardship into an ark of hope. “I went back to basics and found myself again. It was a spiritual kind of experience. The fact that it was nine months [of being homeless] made it feel like a rebirth,” he says. Even without a roof over his head, he continued performing at The Poetry Place, confident that it would pay off. “I had to keep going. I knew there was a pot of gold at the end.”
He was right. Oyediwura reached the end of the rainbow when Chanel came to town for its annual Métiers d’art show in 2023. “Factory were supporting the accompanying exhibition. They approached me and said they’d like to use some of my poetry. It was divine timing as I’d written Where I’m From the year before but had only just shot a video.”
It’s become his signature poem, bigging up his local offie, paying homage to his heritage and documenting the experience of young Black men in Manchester. It’s both an ode and a lament. “I’m from a place where everyone’s a walking fucking contradiction,” he spits, calling out the city’s gentrification. But Coco Chanel’s historical fondness for the north – she spent time in Chester and was said to have visited Morecambe – opened up new opportunities for him. “Things started looking bright again,” he says, smiling.
As evidence of that, he recently performed Where I’m From at Slamovision 2024, hosted by the Unesco Cities of Literature and perhaps slightly falsely touted as the spoken word’s answer to Eurovision. It came to Manchester for the first time in December and Oyediwura represented his city proudly, coming second to Dublin poet Cormac Mac Gearailt.
He thinks his relentless ambition is both a gift and a curse. “I’ve always had to wrestle with this idea of being the best. I’ve been so competitive all my life, whether it’s been football or boxing. In this capitalist society you feel you have to be the one, be a man. I’m working to ensure my drive isn’t to be the best among my peers but the best I can possibly be,” he says. It’s about finding your inner strength. He pauses, before whispering, sage-like, an aphorism worth immortalising in ink for ever: “Comparison is the thief of joy. The element of greatness you seek is solely from within.”
Photography by Niall Hodson. Taken from 10 Men Issue 61 – MUSIC, TALENT, CREATIVE – on newsstands now. Order your copy here.
