The new month opens the second half of the year, and with it comes a very inspiring and mind-opening episode of Proof of Life. Our guest is the true definition of an enigma.
How else do you introduce someone who is shaping culture, knowledge, and empathy all at once?
Ugo the Good is a writer, education activist, student, film curator, and storyteller who sits at the intersection of art, literature, and impact. As a final-year English student, editor, nonprofit founder, and co-curator of internationally recognized projects, she’s as reflective as she's intentional—documenting her world and archiving it for the future.
In this powerful episode of Proof of Life, Ugo doesn’t just talk about work—she talks about why she works. About learning to cry before problem-solving. About access, community, books, and making room for slowness in a generation running out of breath. It’s tender. It’s textured. And it’s very much alive.
This will be a long episode, but trust me, you'll love how finding purpose, resilience, and just doing the thing ultimately proves wholesome.
Enjoy Ugo’s story and why “The Good” aptly sums her up.
What does Proof of Life mean to you at this stage, balancing student life, activism, and the creative world you’re helping to shape?
First, it is satisfying to consider even for a millisecond that I am shaping culture work and how it is perceived in Nigeria. I have only thought of myself as “just working — on important stuff.” Still, PROOF OF LIFE captures me, my current passions, motivations and challenges in time and text. By tomorrow, I would have been greatly changed, would have picked up new philosophies, would have ticked off yet another milestone and stepped into a new challenge. As a “rolling stone”, it is important to me that I get to pause and see myself now.
As I juggle schooling with activism and assisting on or directing creative projects, PROOF OF LIFE is an opportunity to document myself here and now. I appreciate the opportunity to look back at all the efforts that have made my work worth recognising. I consider this space for gratitude and room to archive my present self. It also means that in the future, I will have a document of answers to the whys behind what I do. I hope they keep me going.
You exist at the intersection of education, art, and activism. What moment in your life made you realize these weren’t separate paths—they were yours to walk, all at once?
I have always been many things at once. I do not ever remember ever being a single ‘Ugo’. As a kid, I was going to be everything I desired: professor, interior designer, poet, photographer, rich and well-rested.
Now that I am grown, I hear the words for that disposition would be “multipotentialite” (in terms of behaviour) and “generalist” (in terms of technical skills.) Yet, perhaps the exact moment I knew that all my interests stemmed from my source was when in 2023, I tried to create separate portfolios for my work in film production, art event curation, book editing and review, nonprofit project management/leadership and then communications that I knew something was up. Each document was fully fledged.
I have always been many things at once. I do not ever remember ever being a single ‘Ugo’. As a kid, I was going to be everything I desired: professor, interior designer, poet, photographer, rich and well-rested.
Yet, the entries in each one connected to the other somehow. For every organization I had volunteered with, my skills were cross-departmental. The Lagos Model United Nations Conference where I served as Head of Media for a year was where this happened the most. And so, I sat down one day and made a “network” of my various practices, projects and roles. As in, tree diagram kind of thing.
When I was done, I saw that the core principle I was operating by was a desire to open access to whatever I was doing for the random person. And the most consistent skills I was deploying were organisational and management skills. I think I hacked it then. Nothing felt too distended from that point. It was all woven into one place.
You’ve worked on powerful projects like We Speak Their Names in Hushed Tones and The Last Time I Called. What’s something one of these collaborations taught you that books couldn’t?
With WSTNIHT, I served as the production assistant in 2022 when fieldwork for the first part of the documentary project began. I transcribed interview audios, critiqued output and managed logistics (from time to time). I was honoured to work on a story as important as the one Omoregie Osakpolor was making about illegal migration. Still, that was it.
I moved on to new work. However, in 2024, Omoregie asked me back on the project, this time as co-curator of its first exhibition on Nigerian soil. That was important to me. I had only ever worked as a curatorial assistant or curator of a small event. Me, co-curator of an IOM-backed one? Huge thing! I learnt then that sometimes, with collaborations, new and rewarding work might just be old work persevering. Good work may be quiet at the start, yet you have to be patient enough to see it through and give every chance your best shot. I co-curated WSTNIHT Benin from my desk in Lagos. That taught me so much about how important goal setting and creating daily check-ins is to virtual collaborations & team leadership.
The Last Time I Called was solely Ofem Ubi’s brainchild. I was happy to assist with edits and scouting the book’s cover designer. Still, that was it. Ubi deserves all his accolades. With his undisclosed documentary projects that I’ve collaborated on, I think the lesson is, “The best experiences happen when you say yes to new experiences and stay fluid.” Also, just ask. There’s no textbook pattern for finding the best project partners. Just ask.
You released your solo documentary at the Festival of Change. What did that project reveal to you about the Nigerian education system and about yourself?
As Art Director for Festival of Change 2024, I pitched and oversaw the production of a documentary film and a live-paint exhibition. Both projects were designed to see the physical design of classrooms in Nigerian primary and secondary schools as a metaphor for the state of education in the country. Then, the film subjects (teenagers and children) and the artist, Jesudara Hinmikaiye, were to re-imagine what those classrooms and the learning happening within them could be if students’ desires were truly considered in class and curriculum design.
After five days of interviews with students (four film subjects, three schools and one private learning centre), one sad reflection that kept coming to mind was how Nigeria’s brightest children are learning in the darkest classrooms. Nigerian students are forced into survival mode, made into unnecessary heroes who must show resilience when all they deserve is ease. And while private-owned, youth/women-led organisations are putting so much effort towards creating third spaces for children needing community, joy and academic support, there is only a small fraction of children they can serve.
Also on that project, I learnt that to fix the deplorable state of Nigeria, all stakeholders in education development must insist on doing infrastructure development and human capital development at once. No half and half. The state of a child’s learning environment as well as the wellness of their teachers is jointly responsible for their educational performances and their well-roundedness.
As for me, I learnt that sometimes, I really need a good cry. When you’re a first daughter and a self-starter, you and other people are quick to gloss over your bad moments. They’re used to you “fixing stuff.” I learnt that I liked crying before fixing an issue. And taking a moment with my frustration did not in any way mean I’d not get ahead. I cried when I got into a classroom I thought was too dark for the kids in it. I also cried when after two days of filming, all the footage made was corrupt and wouldn’t be imported onto the editing tray. I cried. But we (Ofem Ubi who was cinematographer and I) went back to the film, shot all over again and cut it in record time.
With KuratingMag, you’re helping make Nigerian fine art accessible. What sparked that vision, and why does art need more voices like yours in the room?
Kurating’s vision of democratising access to Nigerian art has always been the same since Wole Olayinka and Ese Atakpu founded it. As Editorial Communications Lead, I’m only happy to serve the vision through content strategy, content creation, list curation and marketing.
As I mentioned earlier, access to education about anything at all is the centre of my work. Everything I do stems from it. Before Kurating, I had served as curatorial assistant on two notable art exhibitions, Telling Textile Tales and Body, Blue and Beyond, both by Professor of Art History, Peju Layiwola. And before that, I had interviewed several artists for documentary projects and profiled two during my art writing residency with the Northern Irish Artist Foundation x African Artist Foundation, Nigeria. Somewhere, I knew my curiosity about art (artists and their creative processes) and my willingness to talk about it and find it wherever it went got me into those rooms. It just felt right to pitch to Kurating to elevate its vision through storytelling & information sharing.
The Nigerian art scene needs voices like mine and the tens of writers who submit to Kurating. It needs us because the next generation of artists, patrons, critics and enthusiasts are confused about where to find what. The democratisation of art knowledge and art news, commentary and access will ensure an understanding and patronage of art in Nigeria better than any lofty projects would.
You’ve donated nearly 300 books and built community libraries through The Book Drive Bayelsa. What does access to books really do for a child, and why does it matter so much to you?
Access to books matters to me because it greatly contributes to the fashioning of a child’s reading, writing, speaking and critical thinking skills — all which children must acquire to grow into confident and independent people. I tell the story every time.
I grew up in Yenagoa, Bayelsa State and schooled in one of the very few private schools with access to a fully furnished library. My school wasn’t the most expensive one; my proprietress Mrs Stella Bennibor just had a vision to train the “total child.” My curiosities grew while reading books. My vocabulary became richer. In secondary school when the economic recession hit and my parents couldn’t afford my books, for the first time, it was informal book borrowing practices that saved me.
The Nigerian child deserves to experience leisure reading and study with a variety of books and learning aids. In educationally-disadvantaged areas or emergency and conflict areas, libraries become safe havens even as they’re public facilities. Access to books equips children with the skills with which they make sense of the world around them. Children who read grow into children who understand that they have a gazillion choices. A child with a choice is powerful. We must not steal that from them.
In a generation hyper-fixated on aesthetics and speed, what advice would you give to young people who want to be thoughtful, slow, and intentional in their learning and work?
Coming to realise that a hyperfixation on aesthetics, speed and validation is the clearest betrayal of a social anxiety altered my brain chemistry. Realising that the need to exaggerate the impact of a job done or share news about it even when one did not intend to see it through was simply a manifestation of the fear of missing out caught me off guard. I remember praying about it. “God, don’t let my fear of mediocrity and poverty make me forget why you put me here.”
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My biggest lesson in taking it slow has come from observing all the quiet, hard workers I know. Boy, are they so brilliant. They’re so steeped in their knowledge of self and purpose that they ooze ease. It’s like looking at embroidered clothes with hours and hours of stitching in the making. It mesmerizes you.
My advice to people my age? Look at how quickly the trends fade. What’s a very old, but beautiful thing you know and love? If you were to create something that lasted in the world or with you as long as the object of your affection, how much time would you be willing to spend finetuning it?
You’re a literature student. What book or author changed your worldview completely, and how?
Definitely Helon Habila’s Measuring Time. It’s my favourite book of all time. In the book, the author pitches twin brothers, Mamo and LaMamo at loggerheads with each other after the latter becomes a soldier and returns to their small village, Keti. Mamo, the other sibling, in the time while his brother is away becomes a historian. And that’s my favourite part of the book.
Helon Habila seems to praise the effort of new generations attempting to archive their people’s past and memories. Yet, in the novel, he queries how true what we know to be history is when money-wielding groups like capitalist elites are the strongest voices.
When do you feel most alive? In the library, on set, writing, reading, or building something offline with your hands?
Studying in my final year at the University of Lagos makes reading and using the library feel like an old friend. I do not get to read or research for pleasure anymore. It’s always academic study And so, right now, I feel most alive when I’m crafting something (I make miniature pieces of stuff with odd materials like wicker, paper, matchboxes and clay), sketching and designing something (I play on Canva a lot) or interviewing on set. Also, when the day is done, I am typically looking forward to watching cartoons or random stop motion animation shorts.
Finally, drop one random thought, quote, or idea that’s stayed with you lately. It could be from a book, a dream, or just your mind doing its magic.
A random thought that has stayed with me lately is this one I keep retweeting: “Where am I in the world as what will be history happens to me?” It’s as simple as “What was I doing when the new pope was announced?” and as complex as “What parts of my present world am I archiving or studying for the next?”
Proof of Life is knowing your work matters—even when it's not yet loud. It’s remembering your softness in the middle of hard things. And sometimes, it’s permission to pause, cry, and still show up again.
Ugo inspires me deeply through our conversations and her passion for her projects. She gives me hope that genuine, quality people eager to make an impact still exist.
If this moved you, leave a comment for someone finding their way
Random thoughts and What I am watching returns next week.
This is my first POL read and I enjoyed it so much.
It's not everyday you meet a Nigerian who would rather democratize access than gatekeep it.
Keep it going Ugo.
Thank you TBB, beautiful work as always.
Ugo is such a force! Unstoppable, that girl!❤️