GRACE OGOT'S NEW BOOK

Grace Akinyi Ogot is woman who has powerfully influenced East Africa’s literary narrative and played a public role not only in medicine and community development but also in parliamentary politics.

She and her husband, Prof Bethwell Allan Ogot, have not only brought up a brilliant family, but also stood by each other to foster creative and scholarly writing in the region.

All the people who remember the sterling role of the East Africa Journal and its literary supplement which ran for decades as a publication of East African Publishing remember the debates that characterised that publication.

They will remember the well-documented polemics raised by the likes of Okot p’Bitek, Taban lo Liyong and Ngugi wa Thiong’o. Grace Ogot’s own short story,Island of Tears, which followed the tragic demise of Thomas Joseph Mboya, was published in one of the issues of the journal.

Grace Ogot has now published the story of her life, Days of My Life: An Autobiography.

Anyange Press Limited, based in Kisumu published the 325-page book which traces Ogot’s family tree to Joseph Nyanduga, the mission boy who grew up in Nyanza, and after being orphaned sought his fortune in Mombasa where he was a locomotive driver, and Rahel Ogori, a mission girl.

Nyanduga and Ogori were Christian converts and evangelists who defied traditional mores and traditions to chart out their lives and the lives of their children.

There is a way in which the couple sacrificed a lot to deny themselves a working life in Mombasa to promote Christianity in Nyanza. It is apparent in this story that when African cultures went against the practical existence of the couple, they defied them and went on with their lives as they thought best.

There are, however, instances where Christianity threatened their existence. In a manner of speaking , they modified conservative aspects of Christianity and went on with their lives.

Perhaps the best examples of their existential choices are in the manner in which Joseph Nyanduga built his own home as a newly-married man, away from his parents. The procedure of establishing one’s “dala” or home away from one’s parents according to the Luo culture is explained in Grace Ogot’s novel, The Promised Land (1966).

Nyanduga, however, goes against the grain, acquires an education, travels to Mombasa where he is employed and when he feels the urge to evangelize among his people, he cut short his career and returned to his Nyanza home.

Days of My Life is a well-told story by one of Africa’s internationally acclaimed prose writers; it places the author in a unique position as far as the recent spate of autobiographies by erstwhile and practicing politicians in this country is concerned.

It is the story of a woman who rises from the humble background of missionary life to soar high in the ranks of hospital nurses in Kenya, Uganda and the United Kingdom.

She goes against all the odds of racial prejudice among the colonial minority who did not expect Africans to excel in medicine, and treats fellow Africans who are patients in her hands as respectable creatures, against all the brutal practices where white health workers discriminated against their African patients.

After acquiring the best training in England she returned to Kenya to work at the Maseno Mission Hospital and also the Mulago Hospital in Kampala. She was appointed Principal of a Homecraft Training Centre, became a councillor, a church leader, a business woman and leading politician in the Moi era.

The book delves into the author’s education in colonial Kenya, revealing her leadership qualities, her moral values and her ability to learn new languages. But perhaps the most instructive thing about the book is the strength of the love between Grace and the man she married.

Throughout the account is the sobriety of their relationship and the way it informed her career development and her writing. Their marriage was preceded by a protracted courtship period and an exchange of lengthy love letters.

She had come from a background of a strong story-telling tradition which merged with her husband’s interest in oral history. He was then researching the history of the southern Luo, drawing heavily from oral traditions.

He readily appreciated her skill as a writer and pointed out the poetry in her letters to him. As the editor of Ghala, the literary supplement of the East Africa Journal, he became one of the early East African intellectuals to encourage her output as a writer.

Mrs Ogot comments generously on her parents, relatives , members of the protestant church to which she belongs, her siblings and her fellow writers and literary intellectuals. There are stylistic flaws and errors of fact, dates and even information on people, events and places in the book.

Per Wastberg, the current chairman of the Nobel Committee for Literature is a man. He has done a lot of work for African literature in Europe and Africa. But Grace Ogot writes: “In March 1961, I received a letter from a Swedish lady – a Miss Per Wastberg – author and journalist.

She was on a tour of East Africa. In her letter, she told me that she was editing an anthology of African writing for publication in Sweden later that year. She had failed to discover any authors in East Africa.

“Eighteen countries in Africa would be represented in her book. She had heard from several people at Makerere University College, including Gerald Moore (a literary critic).”

The book is courageous and strong on politics and public administration of Nyanza Province and the entire country during the Nyayo era. It gives background information on assassinations of politicians from Nyanza and some of the people she replaced in her constituency.

She gives accounts of how she and her husband went through a lot of pain to have access to President Moi to organize fund-raisers to develop her constituency.

The book, however, shows how she let down writers and thespians as assistant minister for Culture and Social Services. She never worked to improve the working climate of the Kenya Cultural Centre in general and the Kenya National Theatre in particular.

* The author of this piece, Prof Wanjala, is a literary scholar and critic and author of A Season of Harvest among other works. First published in Business Daily Africa)

SOQAGA'S SECOND BOOK

Book: Promoting Quintessential African Writing (2013)
Author: Ishmael Mzwandile Soqaga

Isbn: 978-0-620-56898-2

"this is an excellent introduction to the corpus of writing churned
out by black africans over the centuries, including the prolific
authors who now dot the continent in recent times. this is a work that
instils pride and satisfaction into every african who has perhaps
pondered the crucial question: as to what the people and the continent
have contributed to global arts and culture in world history?

the author, ishmael mzwandile soqaga is an essayist, author,
pan-africanist and sports enthusiast based in mangaung, free state,
south africa. this is his second book..."

contents:

introduction – by iSHMAEL soqaga

chapter one: early african writers

chapter two: knowledge in africa (africa’s centres of learning)

chapter three: extraordinary literacy in africa (post colonial african
literature)

chapter four: case studies of five outstanding african writers
prolific african writers

TSELISO MASOLANE'S PUNGENT POETRY

Review by Pule Lechesa

Book: Bo naka di maripa

Author: TSELISO MASOLANE

Published: 2012

The recently appointed multi-faceted Sesotho Literary Museum Curator, Tseliso Masolane has published his scintillating Sesotho poetry anthology titled; Bo naka di maripa equally translated in English as Life is rigmarole.

It is discernible that the title of the book is quite apposite and prudently chosen as Masolane’s poems chronicle many facets of life’s complexities. It can be rightly regarded as a must read, a page-turner, coherent, didactic and thought-provoking to boot.

I want to briefly draw readers’ attention to one of such thought-provoking and morally charging poems which is Kgowanatshwana, meaning in street lingo a “Coconut.” In this poem the poet laments the manner in which some blacks now raise their children, allowing them to behave like disrespectful euro-centric children. The first stanza reads thus in Sesotho:

KGOWANATSHWANA

Ka re ke dumedisa ngwana ka hlollwa,

Ngwana a mpuela se bodila sa metsing,

A re “kutmoning nika,” yaka ke a lora,

Ngwana ke enwa e se e le kgowanatshwana.

You know what, experience has taught me that the quintessence of the original message is often and inevitably lost in the translation. Nevertheless for the sake of my English speaking readers I deem it fit to attempt to translate some of these Sesotho poems and sentences that I referred to into English:

COCONUT

Exchange of greetings with a boy left me gaping,

Replied he disrespectfully in whites’ odd language,

He to mine chagrin said: “Good morning Nigger!”

This seemed like I was caught up in some sort of reverie,

Black outside and white inside, a typical coconut child.

After reading this poem the well-tutored reader’s mind might well go to Franz Fanon’s ideology, simply couched here as a reluctance of many Blacks to make “a constant effort to avoid their true selves, their individuality; to annihilate their identity as black.” Seemingly, the poet shares Fanon’s sentiment as his deep-seated concern is that so many blacks no longer teach their children to speak their mother tongues eloquently and love their culture.

According to the poet, his friend’s children converse in English with their nasal passages bizarrely twisted. They all have English names such as Macdonald, Marry Anne and so forth. It is didactic as it teaches us that this situation must be nipped in the bud. His worry is that our culture is fast deteriorating amidst the youth.

It is also worth mentioning that the poet’s poems have echoes of some of the great panjandrums of Sesotho literature such as Winston Mohapi, Dr KPD Maphalla, Jim Mokoena and many others. You can also see that some of his poems were influenced by prevailing socio-political aspects.

Poems such as Sekehela tsebe (Be all ears!), Tau ya leloko la Rantsho (The lion of Azania) and Mofoka (Kind of creature) are protest poems.

BAHALE BA RONA

Phororong tsa madi a bana ba batho,

Ka bona mefehelo le menyepetsi,

Ha ata dikgutsana lenyenenyene,

Bahlolohadi ba tlala ntlo,

Ba re bakela mahlomola.

Fatsheng lena la manyampetla sethala,

Ho sutha dikakapa natla tsa ho tshetjwa,

Ho ketoha dikgabane ho sala mofoka,

Bona bo nthofela, baqabanyi le mahata.

Tsenene ya lefu tjhatjhametsa nna,

Ke mpe ke ye badimong kgotso e hlahe,

Hoba ho wa dikwankwetla tsa setjhaba mofela,

Ho sala rona bohaholetho, melora.

Mmokeng wa dingangele bo okanketsang,

Moo ho setseng rona methwaela,

Bo nna ha ke tsebe ke a fihla,

Leha ditaba di le mosenekeng ho le thata,

Pelong tsa rona le ke ke la hlakoha.

Meya ya bora ya hwasa ya tlala lefatshe,

Moo ho setseng rona methwaela,

Bo nna ha ke tsebe ke a fihla,

Leha ditaba di le mosenekeng ho le thata,

Pelong tsa rona le ke ke la hlakoha

Lona batshireletsi ba setjhaba boreng,

Maphelong a rona le tla dula le phela,

Eyang ka kgotso Moreneng,

Lona bahale ba rona.

The English version reads thus:

OUR MARTYRS!

Torrential blood of Azania’s sons and daughters!

I witnessed melancholy and the shedding of tears,

Unprecedented escalation of orphaned children,

Respective households teeming with hapless widows,

They brought about excruciating agony in our lives.

This earth is abounding with escalated mystification,

Trustworthy gallant men continually pass on like flies,

They die, paradoxically, leaving behind simpletons,

The typical nonentities, evokers of war and liars.

Pain inflicted on me by claws of death is unfathomable,

Let me die so that mine death can let peace prevail!

Gallant men are becoming few, snatched by death,

It is only the useless ones who are left, ashes.

In the courtyard of pig-headed people, quasi-brave men,

The marvelous wisdom of the wise men is divulged,

In the abyss of the murderers’ heart oozes abhorrence,

The abhorrence capable of killing the quintessential heroes.

The wicked souls are gangling to imbue the whole earth,

Courtyard left with few fatuous men with coward’s proclivity,

Those refusing to be drawn into the status quo,

When the pawpaw hit the fan – in the middle of warfare,

Your names shall for keeps be engraved in our hearts.

To you who protect our nation against the enemies!

In our respective lives you will remain alive eternally,

Fare thee well! Go in peace to the Living Lord,

You our gallant martyrs! 

This poem adumbrates the words of Winston Churchill: “I see the damage done by the enemy’s attacks but I also see… the spirit of unconquered people.”

Churchill uttered these words during the Blitz of May 1941, 681 German planes dropped 870 tones of high explosives and 112, 000 incendiaries on the city of Liverpool. Some 1,700 Liverpoolians died in the bombardment of May 1-7 and 76,000 were made homeless, and this was only one week raids which lasted from 1940 to January 1942 and killed around 4,000 people of Liverpool, Bootle and Worrall, injured 3,500 and destroyed 10,000 homes.

The rapt reader is also likely to be somewhat confused when the poet apparently starts wishing himself dead! I do not know how the poet’s death will bring about peace in the world. 

Tswere Mohlakeng (Serinus Canicollia) poem has an aphoristic crispness which co-exists with the remarkable metaphors (Yare di kopane dihlopha kwana Kapa, Nthabiseng ntswe la makatsa ditjhaba, Makgowa a ema matlotlosiya a makala, Bo-Aunoi ba hlollwa yaka ba a lora Stanza 13 The nations had gathered in Cape Town, When Nthabiseng’s melodious voice hypnotized people, Whites assembled in disbelief, Old whites marveled at this dream like scenery.) 

I must confess that some of the poems appear to be weakened and attenuated by the poet’s choice of titles. Let us study another of the poems, Toka e kae which somewhat lacks lucidity.

The poet recounts his complaint and his humiliation in court by the magistrate and the court orderly.

TOKA E KAE

Ka kena la pele kgotla ka hlollwa,

Kgabane purapera ke tse ntsho ka nkane,

Meriri e bosweu ba lehlwa,

Ruri mona ke sa tla bona disala.

Motho a kena ra kgahlapetswa,

Ha thwe: ‘‘Kaofela raohang bo!’’

Athe disono ha re na le lebe, le kgotso,

Re mpa re panyapanya ka kgotso.

Enwa ke ya jwang motho,

Ya hlonetjhwang hakale ke ditjhaba?

Bohale ba hae bona ke ba tau,

O kgaruma hang kahlolo ya be e dihilwe,

Banna bonang meleko e a latela,

Motho o ikana a ba a hlapanya,

A kopa ho ba hae badimo ba mo thuse,

Hoba mona ho batlwa nnete feela.

Eseng jwale ke fihlile lehodimong,

Ke moo batho ba phahamisa a matona matshoho,

Ba re Modimo a ba thuse ba bue nnete,

Ena nnete ke e jwang e tshweu ka mmala.

Thakamphato kahlolo ke e boima,

Ho thwe o tla shwella tjhankaneng lefifing,

Hoba o ile a sheba aunoi hampe,

Ke re na toka e kae?

WHERE IS JUSTICE?

Mine first appearance in a court of law mystified me,

Legal luminary was clad in his must wear black cassock,

His hair was evidently as white as the snow,

Gosh! There is no doubt I am yet to see miracles.

The legal luminary entered and we were ill-treated,

The court orderly callously shouts: ‘‘All rise in court!’’

We feeble ones worried not as we had done nothing bad, cruel;

We just twinkled our eyes with a peace of mind.

What kind of creature is this one,

Creature respected by the whole nations?

He is as fierce as the wounded lion,

He roars and in a jiffy the judgment is passed,

Brethren, look the worst are still haunting us,

One swears to speak the truth by heaven and earth

Begging his ancestors to come to his aid

As this place confession of nothing but the truth matters

Maybe I am in God’s heaven,

People are raising their right hand to take an oath,

They ask God to help them speak” nothing, nothing but the truth,”

What kind of truth is this fabricated one.

Our beloved fellow got a heavy sentence,

He has been condemned to die in prison

For just ogling at a white woman with Cain’s eye,

Where is justice? 

The core of this poem is the imprisonment of a black man who was tried for looking at a white woman in a “suspicious” way. This act warrants a bout of acute injustice. How can a person be given the death penalty for such a petty crime? The reader would have appreciated more light being shed on the real injustice.

To expect any change in the status quo would be to infringe the legal principle or court procedures. The poet spent much time talking about the court procedures instead on dwelling on the injustice that the accused faced.

Many purists will maintain that it is not right for us to borrow from other languages. Whenever the writer does that he/she must make sure that the pertinent word or phrase is put in inverted commas, or italicized. This is evidence of some laxity on the part of the author here.

The following words, to mention but a few, were in inverted commas: talente – talent,Diwarante- Warrant, Sapina – subpoena, areste – arrest, Akhuse - accused and so forth. 

The words such as Bikishoto (Big Shot), and Saemane (Summon letter) are unfortunately not italicized nor put in inverted comas, and that makes these words Sesotho words. Arguably the poet intermittently loses concentration which is a stylistic infelicity committed by many Sesotho writers who beef up their poems with street colloquy. 

The first black woman to publish a Sesotho poetry book called Bolebadi (forgetfulness) (Morija Printers 1951) Emily Selemeng Mokorosi made the same mistake of borrowing from other languages. This did not augur well with one of the pioneers of Sesotho literature; B.M Khaketla, and he does not mince his words in the preface of his book Dipshamathe (Educum Publishers 1952). 

Mr Khaketla expressed his disapproval of poets borrowing from the other foreign languages:“…dithothokiso di senngwa ke bohlaswa ba mongodi ka ho kenya mantswe a mangata a senyesemane, a sa hlokahaleng empa a Sesotho a ka hlalosang hantle seo mongodi a se bolelang a ntse a le teng.”

(…the poems are spoilt by the poet’s recklessness in borrowing many unnecessary words from the English language, borrowing words even though we have pertinent, more descriptive Sesotho words that could be used.) 

He went further to say “hona ho emisa mmadi hlooho, hoo a beng a makale hore na ha e le hore o bala reneketso ya Sesotho kapa ya Fanakalo, hoo e leng hona ke hofe.” (This baffles the reader and he or she winds up not knowing whether he is reading a Sesotho, English or Fanagalo poetry book or not.)

As general writers or critics, we have to be careful not to confuse or perturb our readers in this wise. On the whole, there is no denying the fact that the poet is linguistically gifted with complementary impressive diction. He brilliantly employs a wide range of literary devices in his pungent poetry.

THROBBING SA BLACK LITERATURE

  

“A miniature steaming marsh of a literary-critical work celebrating SA Black writing over the years. There is a lot to celebrate about the pleasing essayistic saunter that pervades many of the writings here. A nonpareil introduction to our literature..” 

Ishmael Mzwandile Soqaga has since written the following review of this work:

The stunning huge literary contribution among black writers in South Africa is immensely impressive. Today’s young generation of black writers are completely determined to vigorously inherit the precious habit of writing and reading.  Their vast literary works are keenly flourishing, as they follow in the footsteps of earlier catalysts and pioneers of black literature.

The African ancestors of black literature although many are no longer with us, but they have left behind a tremendous treasure of writing for black posterity, and in many thrilling instances their names are constantly mentioned in the world of books.  The zest and energy that black writers have today is gargantuan and appealing.  Witnessing by the way a proliferation of books are produced one is convinced that black writers, in particular women are earnestly determined to make a colossal impact in literature.  The concept that women’s role is in the kitchen is totally wrong and misleading in our modern times. Women today resist this baseless and unfounded concept and eagerly they do not accept ignorance to pulverize them. 

With this new literary offering, Christine Mautjana has once again produced a fine literary book (Throbbing SA Black Literature).  Her brilliant creativity has once more proved that she’s really a literary enthusiast, and she is able to grow as a black woman writer.  Judging by her introduction to the book she honestly savours the fact of being a female writer and shares her relish of being one of the classes of black female writers.  Moreover, on page 20 she strongly emphasises the pulchritude of African women and the burden of creative writing.

Honestly her opinion concerning feminism can easily open fierce gender debates, but her views are innocent and unwaveringly she defended Nadine Gordimer the first African (South African) to win the Nobel Award for Literature against some of her attackers. Mautjana says in her book “As women there is also this impediment of feminism.  Women these days are expected to be beating the drum of women’s rights and all that goes with it; but unfortunately this can be counter-productive.  Feminism is a complex series of ideas that can be confusing.  Let us not confuse this with a fringe male minority doing terrible things to women (e.g. rape).  What do women want?  True lasting love, or just exploiting men?” Actually Christine Mautjana’s gender debate is appropriate in the new democratic South Africa, unlike during apartheid era when black female writers were denied rights and eventually discriminated, e.g. Bessie Head was one of the victims.

This book is gripping and absolutely whets the appetite for going through it again and again. It is an anthology which contains profound enchanting essays, and reviews from different writers.  Imperatively the book is a panoply of literary appreciation which focuses on the growth of black literature in South Africa.   Simultaneously the book celebrates African literary critics, asserting clearly that without critics African literature will not attain any real world literary recognition.

The literary contributions of the following writers are essentially introduced in this work:  Es’”kiaMphahlele, ZakesMda, O.Bolaji, Bessie Head, Richard Rive, GomolemoMokae, Pule Lechesa, SiphiwoMahala, Ishmael Mzwandile Soqaga, Leseli Mokhele, Futhi Ntshingila, Job Mzamo, George  Rampai, Charmaine Kolwane and Teboho Mohanoe.

Shimmer Chinodya

Mention outstanding Zimbabwean male authors and many aficionados of African literature will reel out the names of Dambudzo Marechera, Charles Mungoshi, Chenvrai Hove – but a fair amount will of course plump for the excellent writer, Shimmer Chinodya.

Chinodya who was born in Gweru had his tentative studies at Mambo Primary School. He was the second child in a large, happy family. He went on to read English Literature and Education at the University of Zimbabwe.

After a spell in teaching and Curriculum Development he proceeded to the Iowa Writers’ Workshop (USA) where he earned an MA in Creative Writing.

Remarkably, he developed an early interest in writing and reading. He was soon writing vigorously and passionately. His first novel, Dew in the Morning, was written when he was 18 and later published in 1982. This was followed by Farai’s Girls (1984), Child of War (under the pen name B. Chirasha, 1986), Harvest of Thorns (1989), Can we talk and other Stories, Tale of Tamari (1998), (2004) Chairman of Fools (2005), and Strife (2006) -the latter work garnered him the 2008 Noma award for literature.

Chinodya’s work appears in numerous anthologies, including Soho Square (1992), Writer’s Territory (1999), Tenderfoots (2001), Writing Still (2004), Writing Now (2005) and Laughter Now.

Chinodya, who won the 1990 Commonwealth Writers' Prize, Africa region has also written children’s books, educational texts, training manuals and radio and film scripts, including the script for the award-winning feature film, Everyone’s Child. He has also won other awards for his work, including the Commonwealth Writers Prize (Africa Region) and a Noma Honourable mention for Harvest of Thorns, a Caine Prize shortlist for Can we talk.

Speaking about his creative works, Chinodya says: “My fiction seeks to explore and extend the borders of reality, to question and tease matters of identity, class and culture, the past and the present; to explore the human condition in the most interesting and sensitive way possible.”

He ponders further: “Every time I put pen to paper I ask myself, ‘What can my writing do for me and for the world? How can I refine my voice? How can I shock my reader into reflecting on the subject of existence? What is existence anyway, and what is the truth, perceived and otherwise? Can I grab my reader by the collar and make him or her gasp: Gosh, I didn’t know it was possible to do this in a story, to write like this. As a black writer I obviously and primarily seek to portray an African worldview, but I want my literature to speak to the world as a whole…”

This fine author has been revisiting the age-old conundrum relating to whether African authors think in their mother tongues or in foreign mediums. He says: “Do I think in Shona or in English?” I’m not sure. I don’t know whether I think in ideas or I think in words, but I grow from two linguistic cultures — my Shona culture and my English culture and I cannot think without some kind of language, for me the language problem is not a problem. It’s an act of hybridization…"

Chinodya’s published works:

•        Dew in the Morning. Mambo Press. 1982.; Heinemann, 2001, ISBN 978-0-435-91206-2

•        Farai’s Girls (1984)

•        Child of War (1986)

•        Harvest of Thorns (1989)

•        Can we talk and other Stories (1998)

•        Tale of Tamari (2004)

•        Chairman of Fools (2005)

•        Strife. 

•        Tindo's Quest,