"The Grief Gallery" by John Chizoba Vincent is a Poetic Mirror of Life, Death, and the Human Condition

By Ayomipo Akorede

“We live twice: once in the flesh, and once in memory.” Anonymous

As religiously as we are around here, we passionately hate to acknowledge grief or have bad experiences and even consciously and violently pray against them. While this may be justified in some way, it doesn't reflect the reality of existence: it lacks balance. A song writer once said, "Eniyan ko le gba rere ko ma gba ibi ojo kan..." it's not possible. Life, as John Chizoba Vincent reminds us in "The Grief Gallery", is a conversation between pain and hope, between the living and the departed, between what we keep and what we lose. His work is more than a collection of poems and essays; it is a tender shrine where memories breathe, grief speaks, and love lingers long after it should have died. Each page aches with vulnerability, and yet, there is a quiet strength running through it, a kind of resilience that can only be born from surviving loss and still choosing to live and love. E choke abi?!

From the very beginning, Vincent makes grief feel intimate and universal. In “The Difficulty in Living and the Difficulty of Leaving,” he mourns not just a person but the shared laughter, the simple joys of childhood, and the haunting silence that follows absence. It is not death itself that hurts most, but the persistence of memory, the unrelenting reminder that what was once familiar has become unreachable. His language moves like prayer: slow, reflective, heavy with truth. He writes with the honesty of a man who has walked through the valley of loss and returned with a catalogue of stories instead of answers.

Yet, grief here is not a private emotion. In “Teaching My Brother How to Pronounce Death,” Vincent captures the inheritance of trauma that defines so many homes. Death becomes something to be taught, a bitter lesson passed from one generation to another. He paints a picture of a society where even children must learn to live with absence, where the word “death” is both feared and familiar. In these lines, one senses the deep sadness of being human -- the inevitability of pain, the helplessness of survival, and the endurance it takes to live when so many reasons to die surround us. But "The Grief Gallery" does not remain confined within the personal. It expands to a collective sorrow, to the identity of a nation struggling to breathe. “I Am a Nigerian, I Am Not a Fraudster” is perhaps the book’s boldest and most socially charged piece. Here, grief takes a new face: the pain of being misunderstood, stereotyped, and constantly forced to prove one’s innocence. The narrator’s experience at the U.S. embassy is symbolic of Nigeria’s wounded pride and the frustration of being seen only through the lens of corruption and chaos. Beneath the anger and defiance, however, lies a deep love for the homeland; a recognition that being Nigerian means carrying both pain and pride in equal measure.

This is one of the most profound aspects of Vincent’s work: his ability to show how national identity itself can be a source of grief. To live in a country that constantly betrays its people is to mourn every day, and yet to still call it home is to practice a radical kind of faith. Through vivid storytelling and emotional truth, Vincent captures the heartbeat of a wounded nation still struggling to love itself. His language is unapologetically Nigerian. It is raw, streetwise, and rich in soul. Every paragraph reads like an elegy for a country and its people, and yet every word carries the stubborn pulse of survival.

Love, too, is one of the many ghosts that haunt this gallery. In “Dear Nwakaibe or An Igbo Man in Search of Love,” Vincent writes of heartbreak, betrayal, and the fragility of human connection. Wait sef, who never chop breskfast? Love here is both balm and bruise. It is not the romantic ideal of movies but the messy, exhausting kind that leaves you questioning your own worth. His storytelling is so intimate it feels like confession: unfiltered, aching, human. Through his characters and memories, he suggests that to love deeply is to sign a silent contract with grief, for love will always end in loss, whether through death, distance, or disappointment. Yet even here, he finds meaning in the wreckage. The pain of love, like all pain, becomes a teacher.

Throughout the book, Vincent poses questions that echo far beyond the page: What does it mean to live in a world where suffering is constant? How do we continue to hope in the face of despair? Can grief ever be beautiful? In his exploration of these ideas, the writer becomes both philosopher and mourner. He understands that pain, once spoken, transforms into art. In pieces like “When Pain Leaves the Body, Where Does It Go?” and “Afterall Grief is a Beautiful Thing While Looking at Christ on the Cross,” he turns personal anguish into meditation, connecting human suffering with divine endurance. There is something sacred about the way he writes. I think grief becomes worship, mourning becomes memory, and memory becomes proof of love. And the central theme... that pain is a necessary part of being human is profoundly important to life itself. In a world obsessed with quick healing and constant distraction, Vincent’s words slow us down. They remind us that grief is not something to escape but to understand. To grieve is to remember that we have loved, that we have lived, that we are still capable of feeling. It is a universal language that connects strangers, transcends borders, and softens even the hardest heart. His message is timeless: to deny grief is to deny humanity itself.

In the end, "The Grief Gallery" is not a book of sadness but a testament to survival. It is about finding beauty in brokenness and courage in vulnerability. John Chizoba Vincent writes with the voice of one who has been through darkness and returned carrying light. His art teaches us that though grief may change us, it does not destroy us: it refines us, reminding us of what truly matters. Through death, heartbreak, identity, and endurance, the book stands as a mirror for every reader who has ever lost something precious and still dared to hope.

To read this book is to walk through a gallery of human emotions, to see your own reflection in its glass. It is to understand that pain, when embraced, becomes not an enemy but a companion on the road to healing. And in that quiet realization, Vincent’s words bloom not just as poetry, but as a philosophy of life itself. So, grab a copy on Amazon, Google books, Itan Global Publishing and Good Read today to connect with the balance of reality.