TALKING BONES

A short story by Maxwell Perkins Kanemanyanga

Dateline: November 20 1999...

The sun is shining, the weather is fine. It is 19 years since Rhodesia became a free country Zimbabwe. Nyanga a district situated in the Eastern part of Zimbabwe witnessed a lot of bloodshed during the liberation struggle. Many families lost their loved ones, sons and daughters. Some crossed the border to neighbouring
Mozambique to become freedom fighters and they never came back home.

In the small village of Sanhani there was a place called Nyamuchuwa where more than ten young girls and boys including freedom fighters perished after a tip off by one of the villagers. This is one painful day that

all the villagers will never forget.

Chidoo and her young sister Shamiso went to the bush to look for firewood. The only place they could get dry wood was up close to the hill. Only aged fifteen and ten they were young and full of life.

Chido as the elder sister went inside the bush and told her young sister to wait outside. Just in the middle of the bush there was one big dry branch lying on the ground. Chido started breaking the small branches whilst singing and whistling. “Ndibatsireiwo ndatambura kwenguwa refu, ndinoda kuenda kumusha kwedu ndinozorora. [Please help

me; I have suffered for many years. I want to go home to my family and

rest.]" Chido looked around but could not see anyone. She continued

with her work and the voice started again. Again she looked around but

there was no one. The third time she saw where the voice was coming

from. Under the big branch were scattered bones and a skull that is

where the voice was coming from.

Till date, Chido does not remember how she ran out of the small bush and grabbed
her young sister. When she woke up she was in the arms of her shocked mother. The time she got home she fainted and when she woke up half
 The family had gathered as a result of the screams of her panicking
 mother. Everyone wanted to know what terrified her to the extent of

fainting. She could not talk; it took her a long time to get her

voice. When she finally did she narrated what she saw and heard. Her

family could not believe it, how could this be true? Anyway they send

message to the elders of the village who in turn informed the chief.

The chief assembled the best spirit mediums from his kingdom and

together they went to Nyamuchuwa to see the talking bones.


Ziwanani was twenty years old when he left school to join the war.

Just like any young man of his age he had high hopes for his future

and country. After two years of guerilla training in Mozambique he was

posted back to then Rhodesia in the Eastern region, Nyanga district

specifically. November 20 1979 Ziwanai was at Nyamuchuwa when tragedy

struck. There were times when freedom fighters or better known as

guerillas or [magandanga] asked the villagers to organize for them all

night long parties that were better known as pungwe. On this night

villagers will slaughter chicken and goats for them sometimes there

will be home brewed beer. The young boys and girls will help out with

taking the food from the homesteads to the base where the freedom

fighters would be based. After eating they would sing and dance

liberation songs all night long. When it was midnight the villagers

and freedom fighters were ambushed. It was a very dark night but the

Rhodesian army brought search lights that made the night look like

day. They started firing randomly on the partying villagers and

Guerilla fighters. It was chaos all over people crying and screaming,

some running for cover, and some dropping dead on the spot. Ziwanai

started running to the nearby hill where he could hide in the bush.

Unfortunately he could not make it to the hill; he was shot twice on

the right leg and right shoulder. All he could manage to do was drag

himself inside the bush where he bled to death. Later on the

villagers learnt that it was one of them who sold out to the Rhodesian

army. They took all his family away because they knew the villagers

would kill them once they found that he caused the death of more than

ten girls, boys and freedom fighters.


When the spirit mediums brought by the chief came, they took elders

from Nyamuchuwa and the young girl Chido to show them the spot. When

they got to the spot they performed rituals to call the spirit of the

deceased. This was meant to let the spirit enter one of them and

communicate with them. It was indeed Ziwanai; his family was in

Chipinge about 200 km from Nyamuchuwa. He narrated to them where he

came from and how he ended up here. The chief talked to businessmen in

the area to help them with transport. They collected all the loose

bones wrapped them in a blanket and put them in the vehicle. It took

them hours to drive around the mountains to Chipinge and when they

finally got there they went to a local school to ask for directions to

Ziwanai's family. Teachers from the school instructed one boy who was

actually the neighbour to show them. He took them to a homestead that

had two huts. One of them that looked like the kitchen had no door,

there was an empty drum that was used as a door. The old lady was

sitting under a mango tree right in the middle of the yard. She had

aged before her time, primarily due to poverty but also thinking of

her son who went to war but never came back. God only gave three

children, two boys and a girl. Of the two boys one went to war and the

other one died of aids. The girl got married but it never worked so

she came back with her two sons.

They parked their vehicle at the back of the yard. The elders and spirit mediums were the first to go. Mama Ziwanai welcomed the strangers, who quickly introduced themselves. After greetings and drinking some water they narrated their story to the poor old woman.

She started crying like a baby. “Ziwanai mwanangu chawakafira chiiko ,

inga tinongotambura wani! Mwanangu wakandirwadzisa , asi nhasi ndaona

mabhonzo ako ndofa zvangu.[ Ziwanai my poor son , you sacrificed your

life for what? We still suffer like before, we go to bed without food.

But now that i have seen your bones i can finally rest in peace.]" She

had long resigned to the fact that her son was dead but seeing his

bones wrapped in a blanket was a great relief to her. Villagers

started gathering one by one and the word of Ziwanai bones spread like

veld fire. It was indeed a mystery to them whoever heard of talking

bones? Not to be missed where the politicians from Chipinge district.

" Cde Gama , come and see this!", Kademo the member of parliament for

Chipinge took out Manica gazette and showed it to Cde Gaba who was the

resident governor of Manicaland. He read the story with a lot of

interest then turned to the MP. “You know Mr. MP this is an

opportunity for us to campaign. Elections are just around the corner

we just have to send word to the President's office with our proposal,

if they approve then we are on it." The MP did not understand what the

governor meant so he just looked at him. “I can see that you don’t

understand me. What I mean is this fallen fighter be declared a

provincial hero, we provide food , drinks , some beer transport and we

bury him officially at the heroes acre , that way we have an

opportunity to talk to the people. "



The President's office accepted the governor's proposal and gave the

governor green light to go ahead with his plans. By the end of the

night mai Ziwanai's homestead was full of Mercedes Benz, BMWs, Nissan,

Toyotas and all other posh cars of gvt officials and ministers you can

name. For the crowd they brought buses to transport the people to the

provincial heroes’ acre, there were also big trucks that brought meat,

mealie-meal and drinks for the people. The elders and family of

Ziwanai performed their last ritual; the blanket with the wrapped

bones was carefully placed in a brown coffin. Six members of the

defense forces lifted the coffin and put it at the back of a military

vehicle and followed the convoy of gvt officials and ministers who

came for the burial of a hero. By mid morning the provincial heroes’

acre was full. People came from all walks of life hoping to witness

the talking bones for themselves. The Governor of the province stepped

forward to give his prepared and written speech. “Ladies and

gentleman, government officials today is a day that reminds us of our pain of

yesterday and promise of tomorrow. We are gathered here to bury a

fighter, who as a young man sacrificed his life, his future to fight

for the independence and sovereignty of our

motherland....................................................."

UUUUUUUUUUuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu! The crowd responded with

ululation. Ladies wearing wrap overs with the face of their president

were the loudest cheerers. Whilst most people were enjoying this there

was one young man who was not happy. Cloud popularly known as

professor by his peers was an unemployed graduate just like many young

people in his country. He witnessed his country transform from being a

bread basket of the Southern region into a house of hunger. He

witnessed friends and family members cross the borders and oceans in

search of greener pastures. As people shouted and cheered at the

governor’s message he even became angrier at them. He looked around,

and on his immediate left side were a group of young men who also

looked anxious. Professor had found audience to express his

frustrations." You know it is fun how God hides things to men by

placing them near them. Look at the posh cars of these politicians,

and here they are promising us honey and milk. Are we not all talking

bones, ourselves moving skeletons what do we have, what did we

sacrifice our lives for? Treachery, nepotism, corruption and ample

connection is the new definition of patriotism. This land we fought is

being shared by the few elite. Our fertile and rich soils are growing

weeds. These people you see in front of us have ruined everything that

was rich and glorious. They have turned abundance into want, changed

order into chaos, leaving behind only the glory of their past. Things

continue to worsen as they keep on amassing wealth and yet they keep

on urging us to bear any pain, pay any price, meet any hardship,

support any friend and oppose any foe. They urge us to look east when

the East is looking west. “The young guys looked at him and like

nodded their heads, because like him they were also unemployed

graduates.” Look at what recently happened in South Africa in what was

deemed the Marikina massacre. Miners went out in the streets to

protest for better wages and working conditions. Police opened fire

killing many protesters. Whilst the family members lost sons, fathers

and husbands for some politicians it was a chance to resurrect their

careers. To them the common man has no soul, no blood, feels no

hunger, feels no pain; in short the common man is just a walking

skeleton, talking bones."



When the governor finished his speech, people dispersed one by one. Those who belonged to the ruling part remained behind singing revolutionary songs, reminding them of the war when they were together
as one. Slowly but surely life was going back to normal , the majority going back to their empty houses , some without doors , the politicians drove off in their posh cars to their mansions...

GILBERT MODISE

Gilbert Modise (1964 - 2002)

Gilbert Modise was born in 1964 in Batho township, Mangaung (Free State, South Africa). He obtained his secondary education at Sehunelo High School in Bloemfontein, and thereafter educated himself further by reading widely and imaginatively. He went on to become one of the most celebrated black cultural activists in the history of the Free State - an author, poet, general innovator, musician, playwright, and literary activist.

Modise also claimed to be a parson, prophet, and a sangoma (“traditional medicine man” or “witch doctor” in western terms). He was a colourful character, who often claimed to have pulled off a plethora of miraculous cures and stunts. He also published a string of novels or novelettes in the Setswana (Tswana) language. During his lifetime, his house in Mangaung became the object of a pilgrimage for writers and cultural artists. His most impressive published work was An Eyesore, which he liked to call his “magnum opus”. The circumstances of his death remain mysterious to date – he died on 1 January 2002, and according to his instructions his body was cremated.

Books published

Our Land (1999)

An Eyesore (poetry)

Monolo wa Pelo (1999)

Thokolosi ya Mangaung (1999)

Lesiela (2000)

Ditsiwe ke Maagwe (2000)

Maagwe O Gweba ka ene (2000)


Gilbert Modise will be post-humously honoured in Bloemfontein on Friday, December 7 2012. Contact:

Mpikeleni Duma (0833965535)

Charmaine (071 5573231)

DOCUMENTARY FILM ON OMOSEYE BOLAJI PRODUCED

Documentary film on Omoseye Bolaji produced



Title

‘Home away from home'

Director/ Producer/ Editor

Winnie Mokhomo (below)

Camera/Sound

Siphiwe Linda

Technical assistance

Itumeleng Swartz

Paul Freathy

Mentor

Browyn Berry

Executive Producer

Dr Melanie Chait


This documentary focuses on the Nigerian-born writer, Omoseye Bolaji who has lived in South Africa (mainly in the FS) for many years, not only publishing many assorted books, but also having a great, galvanising effect on so many other local writers.

In this documentary, there are appearances by well known writers - like Flaxman Qoopane, Pule Lechesa, Hector Kunene, and Raselebeli Khotseng. They eloquently point out how Bolaji guided and shaped their literary corpus.

Flaxman Qoopane, filmed inside his Literary Gallery, remarkably unearths many old articles and features on Bolaji and his writing dating back to over fifteen years ago. Lechesa goes into more literary detail on the awesome impact Bolaji has had in the literary field in general.

Omoseye Bolaji reads excerpts from a couple of his books, mainly Tebogo and the Haka. Books of his like People of the townships, Poems from Mauritius, My life and literature, Tebogo and the bacchae, are shown. The documentary also shows fleeting images of Omoseye Bolaji being formally honoured by the University of the Free State, bagging a Chieftaincy title, etc - all thanks to his writing career.

This is a professionally produced, informative documentary - a must for all lovers of literature.
 - Review by L Giwa

 

    Pix above: Omoseye Bolaji

SOL PLAATJE

SOL PLAATJE (1876 – 1932)

Selected Works

Sechuana Proverbs with literal Translations and their European Equivalents

Native Life in South Africa

“…Plaatje’s tactical humility which is consciously undercut by the confident poise of language and style, and whose expressed reservations about its own merits assert the very opposite of inadequacy – “ Njabubo Ndebele, on Native Life

Diphosho – phosho (A Setswana translation of Shakespeare’s Comedy of Errors)

Mhudi: An epic of SA Native Life a hundred years ago.

“A thrilling and well-written book…the style is wonderfully good for a native…” The South African Outlook

“Mhudi itself is a second-rate, badly organized hodge-podge of semihistory, semi-fiction, shoddy allegory – a pastiche combining fact and fiction in a most illogical manner” – Criticism of the work by Mazisi Kunene.

Mafeking Diary

“At six o’clock there was a perfect fusillade…There have been certain smashes in town during this week, and everybody is tired of the siege. I am afraid some of the people will be too far gone to welcome our relief when it turns up. It rains nearly everyday, but softly enough to keep things in good order”

- Excerpt from Plaatje's Mafeking Diary

Academics and writers share information at UFS Conference

By Flaxman Qoopane and Vangile Gantsho


The African Century International African Writers Conference held at the University of Free State in Bloemfontein, South Africa on 7-10 November 2012, gave a platform to academics and writers to share information among each other, and also imparted skills to younger writers.


Faith Ben-Daniels from Ghana presented a paper entitled The Global Stage for Humanity and the African Disposition, a case study of Efo Kodjo Mawugbe’s Upstairs and Downstairs.

According to Daniels, Upstairs and Downstairs is an absurdist play from the African perspective. It is centred on three lunatics and the Light House. In the play, the lunatics discuss issues concerning Africa such as poverty and bad governance. The lunatics’ role is to open audiences eyes to the challenges that Africa is facing and the don’t provide a solution.

Nadine Gordimer, the Nobel Laureate, read from her latest novel: No time like present. The novel is about a Jewish Steven Reed and a Methodist Jabulile Gumede. Gordimer explores the couple’s relationship in exile in Swaziland, as a married couple and how they cope with their different backgrounds in the political climate of the time.

Bramwel Oita Akileng, Director of Jacaranda International Property Business Consultants, presented a paper: The Challenges Facing the Modern Writer and the Benefits of the Proper Use of Copyright.

Akileng said: “The paper covered the objectives of the African writers on the continent and from the diaspora in writing their literary works. The main objective has been to tell the African story of the struggle, colonialism, slavery, competition, poverty, homelessness etc. Very few, if any, have pursued the profit objective of copyright.”

Prof Anne-Marie Beukes from the University of Johannesburg presented a paper: Translation as a Tool for Creating Discursive Space: The Political Dimensions of Translation in South Africa. She said: “I used the case study of what the Afrikaaner Nationalists did after 1925. They used intellectuals such as teachers, clerks, writers, journalists and translators to fast track the development of Afrikaans, of establishing Afrikaans from a kitchen language to a public language. They referred that period of fast-tracking the development as our century of translation because the Bible was translated into Afrikaans.”

Prof Beukers added that translation has been modernised as a social practice in post-Apartheid South Africa. “I say it is time for a new century of translation, but an inclusive century, involving all our languages to develop and intellectualise our languages.”

Dr Polo Belina Moji, Pose doctoral fellow from the University of Kwazulu Natal presented a paper-Domesticating Ivorite: Equating Xenophic Nationalism and Women’s Marginalisation in Tanella Boni’s novel Martins de couvre-feu 2005 Ivory Coast.



Dr Moji presented a novel Martins de courve-feu (Mornings of the Curfew) by Tanella Boni, a well-known writer, philosopher and a poet from Ivory Coast. Boni writes in French, which is why her work is unknown in English speaking Africa. Dr Moji told me that; “My research interest is bridging the knowledge gap in literary studies between the French and English speaking countries in Africa. The novel deals with issues of Xenophobic nationalism in Ivory Coast (Ivoirite) and African women’s marginalisation domestication. The novel won the Ahmadou-Kourouma Literary Award in 2005”.

Prof. Andries Oliphant delivered a paper- The role of Literary Journals in African Struggles for Cultural and Political liberation. He focused on the role of the missionaries by establishing the Printing Press in Lovedale, Eastern Cape in 1823 and at Morija in Lesotho. With the establishment of those printing presses, Xhosa and Sesotho Literature started to be published in newspapers, he added that Drum magazine was also established in Africa.



He said that Es’kia Mphahlele became the literary editor of Drum magazine. Lewis Nkosi, Bessie Head, Can Themba, just to mention a few became journalists and the started writing fiction for the magazine. After Sharpville massacre, the ANC and the PAC were banned. Prof. Keorapetse Kgositsile. Dennis Brutus just to name a few went to exile. In 1978, Staffrider magazine was published by Ravan Press in Braamfontein South Africa. Prof Oliphant edited the magazines for many years.



Ikeogu Oke, author and poet from Nigeria presented a paper- The Poetry of Dennis Brutus and the Dynamics of Africa’s Literary Struggles. Oke said; “The poetry of Brutus is poetry that validates the fact that the struggle for justice is never autochthonous, that its origin is always in something other than itself, and that man never began to care for justice, to struggle for it, until man began to visit injustice on his kind, and that the roots of such struggle are often in the need to reverse the deprivation of justice, of humanity, to those who wage it. It is, in effect, the poetry of a true poet in whose works a sense of beauty is inseparable with a sense of mission. Its overriding goals, as Wayne Karim has affirmed, are “compassion, understanding, truth and equitable, fair shake for all in access to health, safety, food, shelter, and opportunity and right for the enhancement of ours and the Earth’s well being without doing harm to others”. These goals are proof that though South Africa was Brutus’s country, humanity was his constituency.



Elinor Sisulu, a writer and biographer said; “I thank Ikeogu Oke for giving a presentation on Brutus. I grew up in Rhodesia, now Zimbabwe, when I was attending school, Brutus’s father was my principal. My first connection with Robben Isaland was through the poetry of Dennis Brutus. After his death in December 2009, how much is Brutus read in South Africa. Is his poetry appreciated in this country, how can we pass the legacy of Brutus to the next generation?”



Dr. Neville Choonoo from the University of New York, USA, presented a paper- Black Autobiography, Resistance and the Diaspora. During an interview with me he said; “I was trying to show that within the black experience under white hegemony, we developed mechanism of survival. We created black spaces among ourselves, which were very rich in terms of our construction of mode of our survival”.



Dr Wangui wa Goro from the University of London presented a paper- Intercultural Knowledge Production and Management through Translation and Traducture. In memory of Neville Alexander and Michel Henry Helm.



Dr Wa Goro told me that; “My key message is centrality of translation and traducture, life is unequal. You can’t see translation is complicated political and it involves issues of power.



“Our languages are dying fast and like the trees and forest. We need to protect our languages urgently. The restorative project, sustainability project, they have to happen at the same time. Our survival as African people is dependent of the survival of our languages, as we seat here our languages are dying”



It was an honour to have an author Winston Tsietsi Mohapi to facilitated a short story workshop at the conference 9-10 November. Ten participants attended and they learned about the structures that make a short story. There was an exercise for participants where they read two stories, The Suit by Can Themba and The Suit Continued by Siphiwo Mahala.

They discussed, analysed, and commented about the conflict, protagonist, climax, resolution, settings in these two stories. The participants gained valuable skills about how to write short stories. They left the conference with a believed that they are going to be a future short story writers.

On Saturday 10 Novenber 2012, at 14-15 hour, during the conference author Siphiwo Mahala participated during the Book Reading and Discussion session. The session was facilitated by Flaxman Qoopane. Mahala read from a collection of his short stories African Delights (Jacana). He read stories including the Suit Continued, this was followed by questions from the audience and the author responded well.

MBALI LITERARY AWARDS (2012)

The Mbali Literary Awards (2012) took place at the weekend in Clocolan, South Africa. Four writers based in the Free State were honoured in different categories. Here are excerpts from the formal Citations on the winners:

Category: Author of the Year

Winner: George Rampai, author of From where I stand

“The committee was unanimous in choosing the book of the year - to wit, Mr George Rampai’s novel From where I stand. The criteria, the simple test was clear enough. This is a work, a book that can be set beside the general creative works of talented African writers like Ngugi, Ayi Kwei Armah, Gomolemo Mokae or David Maillu without feeling the awful draft...a fine imaginative novel with a number of twists in the tail to boot. We commend Mr Rampai for his creativity and impressive diction.”

Category: Commentator/Writer on literature

Winner: Kgang Abel Motheane (columnist)

“The award for commentator on literature was also a simple choice. It goes to Ntate Kgang Abel Motheane for his Bookshelf column. It is a superb, concise, informative column which comes out every week. This year alone, the column has published excellent appraisals on writers like Leseli Mokhele, Gomolemo Mokae, George Rampai, Job Mzamo etc; why, even the late illustrious Gore Vidal (American) was featured in the column! It is no surprise that a large number of these excellent write-ups have found themselves on the internet for the world to read”

Category: Most promising new author of the year

Winner: Ishmael Mzwandile Soqaga

“For the category of promising newcomer, new author of the year, the committee is again unanimous in announcing Mr Ishmael Mzwandile Soqaga as the winner. His book, a nuanced individual study, his critical work on the iconic writer, Omoseye Bolaji has been hailed across the board as a success. (The book is titled Omoseye Bolaji: a voyage around his literary work) It is no exaggeration to state that never before on our shores have we witnessed any new author and their debut book attracting so many quality reviews, critiques etc as Mr Soqaga has done. Our congratulations to him too.”

Category: Lifetime Achievement award category

Recipient: Omoseye Bolaji

“Mbali Awards Committee is also happy to announce that we decided to bestow a special Lifetime Achievement award on Mr Omoseye Bolaji this year. Here is a man who has seen it all and done it all. Mr Bolaji is truly a great African writer. Not only because he has published some 30 books of various genre. Not only because multiple critical books have been published on him; not to talk of countless essays published around the world on his literary work; and never mind his many awards. But also mainly because he has dedicated his life selflessly to promoting quintessential literature, inspiring, spreading pertinent literary information and knowledge in excellent fashion whilst somewhat seemingly lurking in the background most of the time. He remains the key, pivotal protagonist in respect of our literature.”

Above pix: Bolaji (left) and Motheane with their certificates

Writes Associates Honours Writers at SALA Awards

By: Flaxman Qoopane (below)

I was proud to attend the 7th annual South African Literary Awards (SALA) during the Africa Century International African Writers Conference, at the Callie Human Hall, University of the Free State. Bloemfontein on 10 November 2012, I had an opportunity to interview some of the winners.

Fanie Naude from Cape Town, writes as S.J Naude, he won the First Time Published Author Awards, for his short stories. Alphabet Van Die Voels (Alphabet of the Birds) in Afrikaans. He personally told me that; “Being a winner in SALA awards means there is a public recognition of writing that is not in English, it gives me great joy”.

Sonja Loots from Cape Town received the K. Sello Duiker Memorial Literary Award for her Afrikaans novel Sirkusboere. She personally told me: “Sello’s death was a great loss to me, but it was also ironically-a new beginning. My sadness that we lost him made me decide to write, which is what he told me to do all along.

“Receiving the awards complete a circle. He was there right at the beginning and now once again. I thank him wherever he is for inspiration and friendship. After his death I was glad that there was an award in his honour. I thought of working very hard, and if I am lucky maybe, I can win it one day. And my dream became a reality”.

Nhlanhla Maake also took the K. Sello Duiker Memorial Literary Award for his Sesotho novel-Manong a Lapile. He personally told me that; “Taaanki! Ke a leboha!”.

The Literary Translator Award, English to Afrikaans was given to Francois Smith from Cape Town, he personally told me that; “I translated David Kramer’s Biography from English to Afrikaans- David Kramer: n Biografie, I am overjoyed, it is a very important incentive to me.”

Hannes Haasbroek from Bloemfontein took the Creative Non-Fiction Award for his Afrikaans book, n Seun Soos Bram (A son like Bram) He personally told me that; “Dit is ’n wonderlike geleentheid om die prys te kom wen na al die harde werk en al die navoring wat in die Braam Fischer book ingegaan het”.

Mclntosh Polela from Gauteng was honoured with the Creative Non-Fiction Award for his English book, My father, My Monster. He personally told me that; “This is the closing of what has been a great year for me. It is only my first book, it is a best seller, nominated for three awards and winning one. It’s a remarkable and humbling achievement”.

The Lifetime Achievement Literary Award was given to Ndivhudzanni Emelina Sigogo (63) from Ngwenani Ya Thomeli Village, Thohoyandou in Limpopo, for her Tshivenda novel Nandi Shenga (Am I a Tattoo). She personally told me that; “I feel great and honoured by the award. I feel encouraged to write more. I have published more than fifteen novels, drama and short stories”.

During the ceremony Sebenzile Yolanda Vilakazi (63) from Groutville Stanger in Kwazulu Natal received the Chairperson’s Award, on behalf of her late father Bambatha Wallet Vilakazi, academic, novelist, poet and researcher. Sebenzile personally told me that; “My father was born on 6 January 1906 at Groutville and he died on 26 October 1947 in Johannesburg. On 26 October 2012, the writes Associates invited me to attend the S.A Literary Awards. On 10 November, I celebrated my 68 birthday.

“My father studied at the Wits University in Johannesburg, he completed his Honours in Zulu. He did his Masters and his Doctorate at the same University. He was a researcher, poet, novelist, he published a Zulu to English dictionary; he published three books. I was three years old when my father died. My mother Nomsa E. Vilakazi died in July 2012.

“My late dad had the projection to the future, it is 65 years since he died, he is not dead, people still write about him much in Isizulu. I would like to request that one of the buildings at Wits University must be named after my father. He had overcome the barriers, he convinced the whites to admit black students at Wits University. He honoured Isizulu; Isizulu must be spoken by the Zulu, Isixhosa must be spoken by the Xhosa. My father’s work has been translated into other languages. People must write so that these other nations must admire our languages”.

During the occasion, Story telling was presented by Ikeogu Oke and backed by Pops Mohamed. Oke told me that; “I presented a folklore - The Lion and the Monkey. I sang the song from the Ibo culture in Nigeria as I tell the folktale. There are three lessons in the story, it is trust and gratitude, the other lesson is infused into the song where it talks about being careful about accepting things that are supposedly free - they might be a trap.

“I was free, maybe not be free after all as the lion discovered, where he realises in fact that the meat was bait by a hunter to entrap any animal that attend to eat”.

Olufemi & The Natives, a Nigerian band based in Johannesburg performed songs like Iba, Orimi, Lady (by Fela Kuti) and Africa Unite. Olufemi Ogunkoya personally told me that; “It is great that we are performing at the SALA awards, by inviting the Nigerian born band, it means there is love of music and literature shared by the South Africans and the Nigerians”.

The highlight of the ceremony was when one of the country’s top musicians, Vusi Mahlasela and his band took the stage. He played songs like Mmalo-we by the late Jabu Khumalo; like Thabo o wa nyalwa, including his song-The Spirit of Moshoeshoe; and the audience and the music lovers danced and sang along with Mahlasela.

Belinda Van Zwyndrecht acoustic, bass guitarist and percussionist from Bloemfontein backed by Malcolm Aberdean, bass guitarist and percussionist performed songs about life, country and people these include African Dancer, Freedom and Lied Van Lewens.

Chris Mapane, one of the best comedians in South Africa impressed the audience with his comedy.

FLOWERS OF HATRED

“FLOWERS OF HATRED”

A poem by Raselebeli “Magic” Khotseng

You demon corrupters bayed for Tafari’s head

How your murderous hands beheaded Bambatha and assassinated Lumumba

The spirit of the great warrior of Congo shall one day rise like a seed under a cut-off tree

When killers and lifesavers emerge like flowers blossoming during summertime

Crocodiles fertilizing African soil with blood are killers whom history doesn’t embrace but talk about

Moshoeshoe our lifesaver never be voted to his kingship but laid the foundation of our future without bloodshed

So behold! You criminals of war that flowers of hatred will blossom for all your things done to us

2

At the door of my heart hangs a memory of martyrs

Vanished under Vorster and persecuted by Smith in Zimbabwe

Till now Africa is free but images of colonialism still exist

Its masters placed government on us whilst occupied the land and its resources

To labour and feed children of theirs

For theirs is to accumulate resources and condemned God-given rights

Resourcing UNITA and RENAMO to butcher our people in Angola and Mozambique

No wonder, Mugabe dispossessed them as they failed to honour Lancaster House Agreement

‘Cos their preaching is a plot to penetrate our wealth

In a stillness of my heart I witnessed them perpetuating civil wars in Congo, Burundi

Where dispossessed eyes possess pools of tears

Weeping for you Africa my son, Africa my beginning

They long for the day when God transform beasts to human beings

Whipping their military juntas with terrible lashes from Cape to Cairo

That day no more tears shall shed again as they feel flowers of hatred


3

Spirit of Nyerere rescue Africa from becoming a European province

Pump our hearts with spirit of awakening that makes us not to remain silent like stones

Rather take a bull by its horn and bring it down as we bring peace with no fear

Peace in the hands of those deceived the world in pursuit of colonization of Iraq

Their military generals turned holy city a battlefield with sophisticated machinery

When nobody unearthed weapons of mass destruction

O’Godlike serpents when you’ll be subjected to tribunal treatment along with Israel and its Zionism

But the moment you realize that the fall of twin-towers is the reminder of Hiroshima bombardment

That’s when flowers of hatred will blossom for all things done to us

4

It's far from where we came

From slave trade to being named terrorists by those who delayed our freedom

Refused to impose sanctions to our persecutors

From a soothing lullaby of slave song “Kumba ya my Lord”

Kumbaya! Neither Obama is grey but remains a clone to Bush

Replacing Reagan like mosquitoes relieving house flies from a day shift

Nor mists and clouds moving the same direction to the east

A direction leads to Red Sea where creators of imperialism reign

The imperialistic agenda made them three-in-one like Aquafresh

In them flowers of hatred will blossom for all things done to us.

SAVOUR OF KALAHARI

BY TIISETSO M THIBA

Landscape so attractive

And pregnant with massive heritage and history

On the rocks of Kalahari

Lingo so bit rigid but action utter all

And red sand so polite and beautiful

With dimples on its chicks

With Pan Fields that steal world down to Reitfontein

To feed eyes with a beauty of nature and leave scar of un-erase memory

Nam stap reminisce me of namagua

Which is blessed with a catchy eye of flora

And produce rich wine.

Exquisite nature of Kalahari

SIPHIWO MAHALA’S AFRICAN DELIGHTS

Book: African Delights

Author: Siphiwo Mahala

Publisher: Jacana

Reviewers: Flaxman Qoopane and O Bolaji

The literary landscape of South Africa continues to be the richer with the presence of outstanding Black wordsmiths of the younger generation. Unequivocally one of such writers is Siphiwo Mahala who has taken the literary world by storm with his excellent works of fiction.

His collection of stories titled African Delights (2011) further adds cubits to Mahala’s glittering reputation. His outstanding talent is showcased throughout these cleverly woven stories of his. As Mandla Langa states in the Foreword: “The book consisting of twelve short stories grouped in threes, explores the whole gamut of modern South African life. Most of the stories are told in the first person, with the ones using the third person point of view tending to be longer including the title story”

The work kicks off with “The Suit stories” (made famous by Can Themba). Indeed the author Mahala confesses that the stories are a tribute to the illustrious Can Themba “I revisited The Suit and after reading it several times I started asking questions about what happened to the man who escaped half-naked out of the window…”

The stories have extraordinary range and depth; based in disparate places like Sophiatown, the idyllic rural of Eastern Cape, opulent Johannesburg homes, Eastern Cape. Themes covered seem endless including crime, zany fixations; contemporary issues like adultery, sex and hiv aids; the nouveau riche, and ‘tenderpreneurship’!

The references to aids are strikingly presented, even through dialogue. On page 152 for example we read:

‘There is this disease that’s ravaging young people’

‘It’s killing them old man’ I felt a pang of guilt cut across my chest as I uttered these words. The thought of the disease and its mysteries weighed me down. My estranged daughter, Nosipho remains the only person I know for sure who has died of it. Many other people are rumored to have suffered it, but they never admit publicly. I am still haunted by my own position – thinking of my third test result, which is taking so long to arrive.

‘We are running out of young people, my son’

‘Young people are getting finished, old man’

‘It’s the things they do these days that bring about these kinds of diseases,’

(What do they do?)

‘Things that we see in the streets are shocking my son.’ He started complaining about the youth of today who made a public display of their affections…

The empathy, and even keeling of the author can be seen throughout; perhaps reaching a peak when one of the narrators assumes the form of a woman who muses:

“I’m looking forward to the day the creator turns things around and puts men in our shoes. Won’t that be great, having several men to yourself, and they all know that you are cheating, and your weapon of defence is denial…in the meantime these men clean the house, bathe the children and bring you food while you are busy watching soccer and drinking beer with friends. Afterwards you get to bed late with cold feet, start caressing them and demanding your conjugal rights. You force them to kiss your ashtray-smelling mouth while they are trying to catch up with sleep after a long day of taking care of you and your children…could they (men) ever stand the menstrual pains that we are subjected to every month? What about labour pains? They can’t even watch you giving birth to their own children…’

(page 132)

That the author appreciates the role of women – his wife and kids in particular – is made clear when he tells the readers directly:

“They (these stories) are a celebration of love. In 2001 I met and fell in love with a woman (Miliswa) who was later to become my wife and the mother of our two daughters…I cannot forget our two daughters, my self-appointed editorial assistants, Mihlali and Qhama…”

(Page 242)

There is haunting, even poignant humour and irony dotted throughout this work. No topic is too banal or sublime for the author not to exercise his creativity upon; for example the fascination with a toe (Bhantsi’s toe); or the black world and ballet:

‘And Thembi?’ I probed further.

‘She’s doing all right. She’s doing ballet and she really is enjoying it’ she spoke with a mixture of confidence and pride.

‘Ballet! Black kids do ballet these days?’

‘Why not? She does it better than many white kids…’

(Page 148)

This is a rich steaming marsh of a work that reinforces the place of the author, Siphiwe Mahala as one of Africa’s most fecund writers churning it out in English. There can be no doubt whatsoever that much more is still to come from his vibrant, accomplished pen.

WRITING FOR EXCELLENCE- FUSION OF JOURNALISTIC AND FICTITIOUS WRITING.

BY FLAXMAN QOOPANE

(Speech delivered during MACUFE WORDFEST 2012, BLOEMFONTEIN, FREE STATE)


Ladies and gentlemen, this is an epoch making occasion, and I must confess that the topic, I am adumbrating on today is one that titillates my intellectual buds.

The topic for those not in the know is titled Writings for Excellence, Fusion of Journalistic and Fictitious Writing. In my mind thank to this topic I can feel the snippets and glimpses of world class writers like Tom Wolfe, Alex Haley, J.P Clark, Ola Rotimi, Gomolemo Mokae, Aryan Kaganof, Kole Omotoso, e.t.c and of cause my own sundry contributions to these genre over the decades.


I do not want to go in to boring, tedious details at this juncture, but I am sure we all know that in essence journalism is anchored on fact, whilst, fictitious writing brings in the quality of imagination despite the encouragement of artistic licence.

When we talk of fusing journalism and fiction, we owe a debt to the extra-ordinarily vibrant writing in the United States of America. It was American writer like Tom Wolfe, who started to combine features normally associated with imaginative fiction in journalism.

When we talk of literary, imaginative features, what do we have in mind? I am sure our young poets like Dr Cool, Skietrekker and others will appreciate the figures of speech, metaphors, similes, personification, litotes and meiosis, e.t.c.

The interesting thing is that as Africans our writers, journalists, and essayists have always been taking a cue from American trends- that is why Africa already has quite a number of powerful writings which are fusions of journalism and fiction.

In South Africa we are familiar with the distinguished Professor of English Kole Omotoso who has been based here for about 20 years. Those of us in the literary fraternity however realise that perhaps Omotosho’s greatest published work is titled- Just Before Dawn.

What makes the work Just Before Dawn remarkable is that it is an extraordinary fusion of historic journalistic and fictitious writing, a very remarkable book indeed which I recommend for everybody to read, Just Before Dawn.

Interestingly we see vignettes of this in the work of Prof Njabulo Ndebele in his mesmerising book titled The Cry of Winnie Mandela.

What about one of the greatest African/American writers the world has ever seen: Alex Haley? He has gone down in history for his masterpiece titled Roots, which combines a lot of journalistic and fictitious writing.

But not many of us might know when Haley, was younger (before writing Roots), he mainly was famous for writing, superb interviews and features for American newspapers and magazines.

Let us also look at the great African writer, J.P Clark, famous for his plays, and the superb work - America their America. Clark was one of the early black African writers who were highly educated, imaginative, yet he was also a journalist at the time!

This essay can not be complete without reference to the extraordinary contributions of early South African Drum magazine writers with their sparkling fusion of journalism and fiction. Indeed this has entered history and folklore as part of our literary heritage. The likes of Bloke Modisane, Lewis Nkosi, Can Themba, Es'kia - kudos to them!

Another writer worth mentioning in this wise is Dr Gomolemo Mokae, the other day I was doing some research on him at the National English Literary Museum in Grahamstown, and I was very impressed to see how Mokae did very well in journalism, essays and imaginative writings early in his career. Hence these elements can be seen in Mokae’s celebrated two works of fiction -The Secret In My Bosom and Short Not Tall Stories.

We also see some fusion of journalism and imagination in Aryan Kaganof’s work. In Uselessly, the detail of treatments for chemotherapy; cancer e.t.c. allied to other excellent prose, Is very admirable.

I was also exceedingly impressed to read Omoseye Bolaji’s 2011 book, titled Miscellaneous Writing, as a critic, this is a work which is tantalising; it is no surprise that critics around the world seem confused as to how to categorise this work. Some call it essays, some call it short stories, some call it journalism; others call it features. But inline with our topic today, I think it is useful to describe Miscellaneous writings as an impressive fusion of journalism and fictitious writings.

I am also satisfied that many literary critics have been bemused by my book titled Reneiloe Mpho Story. They always ask how can a 2 year old girl write a book (Laugh……..) as the author of this well famous book I can reveal that a useful approach to examining the book is to take it as fusion of journalistic and fictitious writing. Short works of mine like the Quack Of Qwa-Qwa (2003) also to a certain extent combine elements of journalism and fiction.

CONCLUSION

It is exhilarating that our times have been witnessing an accretion of the best in writing- journalism and fictive techniques... long may it continue!

THANK YOU VERY MUCH

 

  PHOTO: (left to right) R. Magic Khotseng, O Bolaji, Pule Lechesa, and Flaxman Qoopane

Literature in mother tongue, tantalising translations, ebb and flow of pertinent literature, et al...

By Pule Lechesa
(with Dr Wally Serote above)


Ladies and gentlemen, let me take this opportunity to greet our honourable MEC for Sports, Heritage, Culture and Recreation Ntate Dan Kgothule.

Not forgetting the Director of Heritage, Museum, and library services Ntate Vincent Khetha, Deputy Director of Library services Mathene Mahanke, and The manager of wordfest the enterprising and innovative Tseliso Masoloane

Ntate Khotso Maphalla and one of the Patriarchs of Protest poetry Mongane Wally Serote...



Let me start by expressing my exhilaration! I was on cloud nine when some years ago i learnt that one of the all time greats of African literature Ngugi wa Thiong'O had published his latest novel in Kikuyu titled Murogi wa kagogo. Of course the whole literary world was excited. But there was a problem.

It is a problem that assails our entire continent and continue to perturb our great minds and pundits. Kikuyu is one of the many hundreds spoken languages in Africa, so how am I as a proud Sesotho writer comprehend this latest literary offering of Ngugi?

Or if you want to stretch this a bit further. I have always admired Chinua Achebe novels but if they were published in his mother tongue Igbo languages would I have been able to read them? Of course not!



We should not even go too far, can I even read books published in Zulu? So, the problem can be alleviated through translations hence Ngugis Kikuyu books are now available through out the world. I have in mind The Wizards of the Crow and Matigari. Many Kikuyu readers will appreciate the African version more than the international version hence the significance of our mother tongue. We have also seen this practice in Sesotho literature when Azariele Sekese who lived between 1849 and 1930 translated the Sesotho heroic poetry into English.



Many educators have pointed out that when a child gets his/her medium of knowledge via the mother tongue their cognitive ability is enhanced. This can be a template upon which advanced knowledge is built; that is to say, under an ideal situation we should all be able to appreciate and be fluent in our particular African language(s) and also in so called international languages which these days is mainly English.

On my own part, i have very happy and satisfied, I derive maximum satisfaction by reading both in English, Sesotho and Afrikaans. The same way I relished reading Sesotho as a youngster I still enjoy them to date. Despite absorbing hundreds of books in English i still appreciate in totality the literature in my mother tongue.



That is the way it should be for all of us.



There will always be polemics over whether literature in a particular language is plummeting, or is developing in a consistent manner. We must remember even in euro-centric books that are regarded as classic some where deemed failures when they were initially publishing their books. We have to contend with the trends fashions, pertinent criticism and what is referred to as retrospective judgement.

Hence it might not be fruitful to churn out definitive statements claiming or suggesting the Sesotho literature is vibrant or is dying. During our era, now for example, we have witnessed a great literary icon Ntate Khotso Maphalla publishing dozens of books over three decades or so. If there were no other writers on the scene, the prodigious output of Maphalla alone shows that Sesotho writing is healthy in-deed. We must strife to have audit of our books as it will provide us with a proper yard stick to measure if Sesotho literature is developing or plummeting



Let us go back to England, the era of Charles Dickens over 150 years ago there were many superb literary works of Dickens then over the decades when he was alive was enough to prove that literature was at its peck in England. This does not mean that there were no other writers operating, it was just that Dickens shone and still shines virtually over every writer.



To put things in perspective the greatness of Ntate Maphalla does not mean we do not have many other good writers. We have the likes of Wiston Mohapi, Suzan Sefatsa, Letshase Nakeli, the Mokoenas and so forth.



Sesotho literature also has the fascinating features of many illustrious names over the last century or so. For example do we look at the past with rose tinted spectacles? Now that they are no longer with us the achievements of JJ Moiloa, Machabe Khaketla, KE Ntsane, Thomase Mofolo, Lesoro seem bigger than they are?

Literature world wide has indeed shown that great writers become bigger after they had departed. Why is William Shakespeare regarded now as literary god, when he was alive many regarded him as something of a half-baked writer!



I also look at the career of the fantastic Thomas Hardy who was forced by the critics to stop writing novels – after their dissatisfaction with Jude the Obscure which at the time was viewed as controversial. But this is no longer the case!



I venture to say that our contemporary writers are free to write about anything. In the intriguing work, titled Tutudu ha e patwe, roughly translated you can not keep a good man down author Mathene Mahanke allude to the accusation of rape by a protagonist who is a teacher, I am not sure that the author would have done it hundred years ago.

But before we go on let us pay tribute to the emergence of now literary talent new Sesotho literary talent do not emerge. Two examples will suffice here who are keeping the flag flying. i have in mind Mr Thabo Mafike and Teboho Letshaba.



How many of us have seen the work of Thabo Mafike? Because of constraints of time I will just mention his major work, Tjhe bo bophelo, which was published when he was in his early twenties.



This is a full length work which is experimental in its own way with a mixture of graphic monologue, flashbacks, interesting conversation and panorama of characters that make the book come alive.



Now we come to Teboho who was classically described as having “the type of transcendental literary talent that makes fellow writers wince with jealousy. The young man is a worthy successor to the world time greats like KE Ntsane, JJ Moiloa, KPP Maphalla and many others. One of his masterpieces, Pelong ya Lerato is prescribed for high schools in South Africa. His other works are Lejwe la Kgpiso, Ntsunyakgare, Mehlolo e tsamaya le badumedi.



Can we suggest that other literary gems are waiting to be discovered and be published? My experience as a publisher, as people used to provide me with manuscripts, some were very promising indeed. It is very easy enough to suggest as people are fond of doing that talented writers will always get published sooner or later. In fact many potentially great writers have been frustrated over the years. Some of them even having their books published post-humously perhaps even by luck in the end.



This brings me to the subject of self publishing which many people are denigrating as if the world is coming to an end when you self publish. And incredibly large number of all time great writers have more or less self published during their careers. The Bronte sisters all paid for their books, Initially Thomas Hardy had to guarantee printing expenses before his early books could come out, Mark Twain in America was famous for self publishing, Virginia Woolf started her own printing press and even published other authors. The late Saro Wiwa of Nigeria started his printing press too and many of his books are available in our local libraries. These were all celebrated writers and are still the greatest.



I am not saying that people must not try to improve themselves or go to the mainstream publishers. As Zakes Mda, one of the all time great writers in the African literature says in his latest book Sometimes there is a void,: "If you believe that what you have written is good you must not allow anyone to change it as people are different." Some publishers rejected Madonna of exelsior but the others accepted it. This teaches us that One man's meat is another man poison. Just because one publishers do not like a book that does not mean that that book is badly written.



Let us briefly consider one of the all time great writers in the English Literature George Orwell, author of Animal farm and Nineteen Eighty-four. His books where always rejected but now he is one of the best writers the world has ever seen. So, who has the right to say a book is great or not?



My experience as a publisher, as people used to provide me with manuscripts, some were very promising indeed. it is very easy enough to suggest as people are fond of doing that talented writers will always get published sooner or later. In fact many potentially great writers have been frustrated over the years. Some of them even having their books published post-humously perhaps even by luck in the end.


Before I round off I think it is pertinent that we should look at the subject of literary criticism. It is a pity that as African writers we confuse criticism with negativity; that is "trashing and slashing" a book. It also bothers me that many of us claim that criticism is 'fault finding', this is simply not true! The evaluation of a book necessarily included pointing out what a particular reviewer or critic does not like about the work.

Need we repeat that world wide writers ranging from Shakespeare to the Nobel award winning author Tony Morrison these days are criticised thousand times over and over again? If we are true writers we should be envious that countless books have been published on the great writers world wide.

As Africans, Sesotho writers, how will our legacy be passed on when we are afraid of criticism? When we are not evaluated by reviewers or critics who are we writing for?

Let us face it: our goal should be to have whatever we have written evaluated stringently on a regular basis. Free State writers forum and Free State PanSALB must be seen on the vanguard.

The other day, I was at UFS Library and I counted about ten critical books written about Omoseyi Bolaji. This is what we Sesotho writers must strive for. How many studies have been published on our distinguished writers?

At least, the greatness of Doctor Khotso Maphalla can be further proven or illustrated by the fact that he has quite a number of critical books published on his books. They include the following; Stylistic analysis of novels of KPD Maphalla by Yvonne Makhubela, Art and Ideology of poetry of KPD Maphalla by the same writer; and Study of some aspects of KPD Maphalla's poetry by Professor Moleleki Moleleki.

I was also happy that there is a special book; a critical study written on Wiston Mohapi titled Race relation in post-apartheid Sesotho farm novels. This study is written by MP Mokhele and is a must read.

Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you very much for giving me this opportunity to embark upon a brief treatise; I believe we have touched on certain salient aspects of Sesotho literature with some emphasis on the Free State here. This is a dynamic genre that we Sesotho speakers, readers, can do all we can to ensure that our body of literature continues to increase both, in quality and quantity!
Text of a speech - its English equivalent here - delivered by Mr Pule Lechesa at the MACUFE wordfest in Bloemfontein city

PIX ABOVE: Lechesa, poet Skietreker (Seape) and O Bolaji at the wordfest

THE PYRRHIC VICTORY

A short story by Omoseye Bolaji

Tebogo Mokoena was quite elated to see his old friend, Biggie - even as darkness encroached upon them. Tebogo was visiting "his" Botshabelo after a long time and to his shock had chanced to see Biggie. They had
agreed to have a drink to celebrate their serendipitous encounter!

Tebogo, more familiar with the terrain guided Biggie to a nearby pub hoping that it would still be open. "If Charles is there he'll keep the place open for us alright" he said. "Charles is the guy who takes care of the pub...cleans, serves people. A friendly, if lugubrious person,"

Biggie grinned. "Lugubrious, eh? That's a word I like!"

Charles was indeed delighted to see Tebogo and could hardly believe his eyes. "Ntate!" said he. "It's been a long time. I was just about to close this place...no customers...but now it'd be my pleasure to serve you.
How's your wife?"

"Khanyi is fine," Tebogo said. He knew Charles was most likely still alone; sadly in his relative poverty. So Tebogo just said: "And how's your boss? (the owner of the pub)"

Charles grimaced. "You know how it is. I am a slave, but no complaints..." He went on to serve both young men who were now ensconced behind one of the tables. As Tebogo took in the news briefly on a TV set, Biggie perused a newspaper.

"Come and join us," Tebogo said generously to Charles. "You are my malome and by rights you should be on your way home by now...let me buy you a drink...come and sit with us" Soon Charles was beside the other two, drinking.

Biggie suddenly laughed. "Hey Tebogo!" he said. "I have always liked this word, or rather phrase...the expression: pyrrhic victory, I'm sure you know what it means," Tebogo nodded.

"What's a pyrrhic victory?" Charles asked.

Tebogo replied: "I think it is a type of success, a type of victory so costly and terrible that one cannot be happy about it. Eh, Biggie?"

Biggie grinned. "Yes more or less. Legend dates it back to King Pyrrhus of Epirus who 'won' a war at such cost that he said something along the lines: 'if I have another victory like this I will be completely ruined and finished!'" He and Biggie laughed.

But Charles was strangely quiet; a saturnine, mournful expression on his face. His mien embarrassed the other two. Presently Charles said: "Pyrrhic eh? Interesting. It reminds me of my life, my fate. I never
told you before, Ntate Tebogo why my life was ruined. You can say it was a pyrrhic victory for me..."

Both men, startled and moved by the genuine pathos in Charles voice stared at him, listening as he went on: "You don't know my background, but for once I will talk about it. Obviously you must have heard from
others that I used to be quite comfortable, with a business I was doing - the family business I inherited. I had a decent house and cars. All was going well till I fell crazily in love - or lust - with a certain woman. She was the most beautiful, sensational woman I had ever met.

"The point is I told myself that I must have her at all costs. I was told by many that she was a mercenary, she ruined men with all her demands but I did not care. I was quite ready to be destroyed for this gorgeous woman to be my own. I did not care whether she liked or loved me or not. I just wanted her the way a man wants a woman...

"At the time I had the resources and set about the task. Although I had been warned she was a very 'expensive and greedy' woman I was still surprised at the extent of her greed. Nobody could buy so many useless expensive clothes etc and make financial demands like she. But as long as I kept on dishing out the money she pretended to like me and at a point even moved in with me. I got what I wanted - but at what cost!

"I neglected the company and spent all the profits and savings...but at that time I did not mind, so long as Betty - that's her accursed name - was with me. Well - the truth must be told (we are all men) it
got to a stage where I was bankrupt. Completely. Betty sensed this and started becoming hostile...to cut a very painful story short, she finally announced (when there was no more money to spend) that it was
better we ended it and just remained friends. Friends! Even that was a  lie; she could not wait to be rid of me!

"Meanwhile I lost everything...I was alienated from my family, my company liquidated, I lost the house, cars...everything. But this does not really pain me. What will always haunt me is the despicable way I
treated my mother when i was crazy over Betty. At a stage I heard my own mother cursed me. She died before I could make up with her. The funeral was hell a thousand times over for me as the story spread
about how I, extraordinary buffoon that I was, had let a woman destroy my life. It was terrible..." At this stage tears came into Charles' eyes.

Tebogo, always empathetic, turned his face away with sadness. Biggie seemed rooted to the spot, his face implacable and now rather haunted too. Almost unconsciously Tebogo squeezed Charles hand. Tebogo
thought: Everywhere men are complaining about how women are ruining and using them these days; I am so lucky to have a wonderful, good, caring wife. Poor Charles...

"Ah I was a laughing stock for years my friends..." Charles went on. "It is a pity when one is crazy over a woman one is just that - crazy. One becomes like a wilful dog refusing to heed the whistle of its owner...it is like a curse. I lost everything. I was close to suicide when two things happened to keep me alive somewhat: firstly a distant cousin of mine, knowing my plight gave me his small mukhukhu to stay in. It is a beastly, disgusting place, but I appreciate it. Then I was given this job by another man who had heard what had happened to me,"

Biggie was thinking that yes, Charles' plight was unfortunate but it was not the end of the world. He should move on. He is a defeated man psychologically, Biggie thought. That hang-dog expression of his and
the sickly, weak way he carried himself. What he needed was some spirit! Charles must bounce back!

Biggie said diplomatically: "Eh Ntate, you know it is not really the end of the world. Whilst we are still alive great things can happen to us again. At least you are still alive..."

Charles' mournful look became accentuated. "Actually I am not really alive. I am a dying man. There is no fight left in me. I must just wait till the inevitable end comes. You see, Betty also gave me aids...hiv...she herself died from it a couple of years ago,"

Tebogo winced. Biggie felt an overwhelming sense of frustration. Nobody deserves this, he thought.

Charles sighed. "So you see, I understand what a 'pyrrhic victory' can be. I wanted Betty at all costs...I got her, and I was ruined in the process. Suke..."
Above photo: Omoseye Bolaji

THERE WAS A COUNTRY. New book by Chinua Achebe

  A review of Achebe's new book  

    'In more ways than one, Chinua Achebe in his new book, There Was A Country, returns to the very beginning, that is, his beginning. From that beginning he succeeds in completing an unfinished circle which for long has been left hanging in the air.

The 1967-1970 Nigerian-Biafran war in which an estimated three million

people died, most of them Achebe’s Igbo people, was a tragedy. What

would have been a greater tragedy was Achebe not providing for the

unborn generations his pivotal view of the event, and a sharp

cross-examination of the actors. In There Was A Country, Achebe does

it the Achebe way.



In Part One, Achebe reveals the golden days of Nigeria and how through

hard work and support from his family he positions himself to receive

the baton from exiting colonialists at the dawn of Nigeria’s

independence. Achebe’s story in this regard is the story of how the

Igbo, in only 30 years, were able to bridge the educational gap that

the people of the then Western Nigeria had as a result of early

exposure to Western education. Achebe’s early childhood story and path

to success mirror the drive that has propelled the Igbo since they

became part of Nigeria – a drive that came from the republican nature

of Igbo society that abhors royalty, encourages competition, and

rewards personal achievement. In stories about personal struggle,

rugged determination and unique foresight, Achebe makes it known that

there is no magic wand behind the Igbo emergence and attainment of

preeminent position in the Nigerian project other than by sheer

industriousness. The consequence of this accomplishment was an

immediate fear of Igbo domination. That fear quickly took hold in the

psyche of other Nigerians and practically truncated the Nigerian dream

of Achebe’s generation.



It was this fear of Igbo dominance that made much of Nigeria and their

British cheerleaders to interpret the 1966 coup as another phase of

Igbo domination. The majority of the coup plotters were Igbo officers;

their number included Chukwuma Kaduna Nzeogwu who, as Achebe reveals,

was Igbo by name only because he regarded himself as a Northerner. The

perception that the Igbo had an agenda of domination also accounted

for the ferocity of the atrocities unleashed against them – to a

degree that had never been witnessed anywhere in Africa before, and

hardly since. Achebe, ever a believer in Nigeria, at first wanted to

stay put in Lagos. It was only the systematic killing of Igbo in Lagos

that forced him to return to the East.



For those who have not read most of Achebe’s essays, he discloses how

the conflict between the old Igbo culture and the emerging Christian

society became the source of his masterpiece, Things Fall Apart. From

his mother, he learns how to bring out changes in a gentle manner

without being intimidating. He narrates how his mother fought and

achieved victory for Christianity and women’s right and freedom by

merely challenging the taboo of a woman harvesting a kola nut. Ominous

feelings creep through a reader as Achebe unwraps, layer after layer,

how the middle class of his time were basking in the illusion of

independence and the promises of a new great nation, totally missing

the signs of its impending doom. I find it a timely lesson for members

of today’s middle class Nigerians that do not see the shaky foundation

of the Nigerian nation. The similarity is very striking.



When Achebe delves into his life story, he is ever the teaser. He

will, like a priest, let the wine in the cup glaze the readers’ lips

and then he will pull the cup away. When he tells you about how a

group of vacationing students working at the Nigerian Broadcasting

Corporation, NBC, came to his office to demand equal pay, he tells

readers that their leader was Christie Okoli from Awka, his mother’s

hometown. He volunteers to readers that his interest in her grew after

the articulate way she spoke. As you wait for more, he informs you

that, “two years into our friendship, Christie and I were engaged.”



The Part Two of the book deals with life in Biafra. For those still

wondering what happened in Biafra, this section is a gift from

providence. Using personal stories, Achebe paints a vivid picture of

what life was like in Biafra. He exposes the actors in the war and the

roles each played. He quotes extensively from several sources as he

presents the assessment of Ojukwu and Gowon, the primary actors in the

war. He even quotes sources opposed to Ojukwu’s position and point of

view, like Ambassador Ralph Uwechue. Achebe argues that some questions

will be debated for generations. One of such questions has to do with

the security reasons behind Ojukwu’s rejection of Nigeria’s federal

government’s proposal for a road corridor for food and the federal

government’s rejection of Ojukwu’s alternative. Every now and then, he

interrupts the theories of several schools of thought to have his own

say. For instance, Achebe has no doubt that, following the ethnic

cleansing of Igbos in the North and the federal government’s

connivance in the drastic act, Biafra’s secession from Nigeria was

inevitable whether Ojukwu was there or not.



Achebe writes with great moral authority. Often he writes a phrase

like, “forty years later I still stand by that assessment.” When

Achebe makes his summations, they are as apt as his press releases.

When he tells stories, they are as succinct as any of the novels that

made him famous. Through the stories of his friendship with

Christopher Okigbo, including their effort to run a publishing company

during the war, Achebe recasts that extraordinary poet and educates

those who hold the poet in contempt of literature due to his decision

to go to the war front. Like so many surprises in the book, Achebe

reveals that he, too, would have been lost during the war in several

instances, including in a plane mishap while on a diplomatic mission

for Biafra to Senegal.



Achebe describes meeting Aminu Kano for the first time during peace

talks in Kampala, Uganda in 1968. Aminu Kano was part of Nigeria’s

delegation led by Anthony Enahoro. The Nigerian delegation, Achebe

recalls, espoused the total “crush of Biafra.” He writes that Aminu

Kano was not pleased by how the matter was being handled. “That

meeting made an indelible mark on me about Aminu Kano, about his

character and his intellect,” Achebe writes. Achebe will later in life

take a failed detour into politics, joining Aminu Kano’s political

party.



In Part Three, Achebe makes an indisputable case against Nigeria in

the way the war was prosecuted. He raises the question of genocide,

makes hard-hitting arguments and levels his case against the Nigerian

government. Ever unapologetic, Achebe does not spare the heroes – be

it Awolowo or Gowon. As always, his moral message is “resolute.” He

slams Obafemi Awolowo for allowing his political ambition to diminish

his humanity. He holds Awolowo responsible for “hatching up a

diabolical policy to reduce the numbers of his enemies significantly

through starvation – eliminating two million people, mainly members of

future generations.” He cites Awolowo’s policies as the minister of

finance during and after the war as evidence that his desire to secure

permanent advantage for his Yoruba people superseded his inner good

angel. Achebe does not spare Anthony Enahoro and Allison Akene Ayinda,

supposedly intellectuals who backed Awolowo and, of course, the naïve

Gowon who was in charge. Achebe points out the irony of it all – that

all those who had hoped to benefit from the emaciation of Igbo people

ended up becoming victims too. The British lost investments through

the indigenization decree; the Yoruba and Gowon’s Middle Belt people

are still trapped in a dysfunctional country, all suffering from its

consequences.



In offering solutions, Achebe suggests a series of questions about

“ethnic bigotry,” corruption and pure impunity that will keep Nigeria

busy for a long time. He has no problem describing characters

operating in the Nigerian political arena as “bum in suit,” “poorly

educated,” “half-baked,” and “politicians with plenty of money and

very low IQs.”



Throughout the chapters, Achebe punctuates the stories with interludes

of poetry. They stand as exhortations, as hanging tears, flags, stop

signs and as asterisks. Most of the poems are from his past

collections. He preserves for generations yet unborn the role played

by the likes of Dick Tiger, Gordian Ezekwe and Carl Gustaf von Rosen

during the Biafran war.



By going beyond the Biafra war in this memoir Achebe shows how the

fear of Igbo dominance led to the dethronement of meritocracy and the

enthronement of mediocrity. In that single move, Nigeria opens the

flood gate for corruption, impunity and failure that has remained the

trademark of Nigeria to date. Beneath the crisis playing itself out in

Nigeria’s landscape today - most especially in cities like Lagos,

Abuja and Port Harcourt- is still that fear of Igbo domination.



In Part Four, Achebe performs a reappraisal of Nigeria’s sordid

journey. He connects the failure of the Nigerian state and the rise of

terrorism to Nigeria’s long history of condoning violence.



“Nigeria’s federal government has always tolerated terrorism.

For over half a century the federal government has turned a

blind eye to waves of ferocious and savage massacres of its

citizens – mainly Christian Southerners; mostly Igbos or

indigenes of the Middle Belt; and others – with impunity.”



Achebe finds a solution in good leadership as exemplified by Nelson

Mandela. In the postscript, he spotlights Mandela as the epitome of

the kind of leadership that Africa needs. He urges Africans to seek

“sustenance and inspiration from Mandela.” No one will disagree with

that. However, he does not mention the Arab Spring or the possibility

of its replication in sub-Saharan Africa. He, therefore, maintains his

conclusion in The Trouble With Nigeria that leadership is squarely the

problem. For younger readers not conditioned to wait indefinitely for

change, the question left unanswered is, if leadership fails to come,

then what?



Achebe’s memoir is not just an epitaph for Biafra. It is also a

warning to Nigeria. If Nigeria fails to find its purpose and achieve

it for all of its people, a new generation of writers may have the

misfortune of writing a similar epitaph for Nigeria – There Was A

Country Called Nigeria. And for Biafran babies and their upcoming

generations, the idea that there was a country carries a subtle

message that what was could still reincarnate.



In There Was A Country, Achebe like a priest, illustrates to Nigerians

how to partake in the Biafran Communion. To be a partaker, one must

drop all malicious intents and repent. In briefs, citations,

exhortations and excommunications, Achebe maps out the path for

Nigeria to figuratively come to the Lord’s table.



Chapter by chapter, as it is dramatized in the Book of Common Prayers,

Achebe, son of a catechist, beseeches Nigerians to kneel humbly. He

proclaims the sins and he guides them as they confess their sins. He

pronounces absolution of sins for those who repent. In flashes of

dramatic interludes, like a priest, Achebe then picks the bread; and

when he has given thanks, he raises it up and breaks it and gives it

to Nigerians, saying; take, eat, this is the Biafra which is given for

you, do this in remembrance of Biafra. Likewise, after admonishments,

he takes the cup and when he has given thanks, he gives it to

Nigerians saying, drink you all for this is the blood of Biafra, which

is shed for you and for many for the remission of sins, do this as

often as you can in remembrance of Biafra.



It is not clear whether this burdened generation of Nigerians still

crippled by its non-reconciled history will understand the essence of

this Achebe doctrine. What is clear is that Achebe has drunk the

remaining wine after communion. One gets the feeling that what is left

is for him to turn to the congregation and say, go home for the mass

is over. Because of what Achebe has achieved in this book, we cannot

let Biafra go even if we want to. Just like Biafra, because of this

personal history, centuries from now when the novel is dead and

buried, the new generation that will inhabit the territory currently

called Nigeria will always remember that there was a writer named

Chinua Achebe...'

SESOTHO LITERATURE THROUGH THE DECADES

By Pule Lechesa

Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to express my profound gratitude to those who facilitated this epoch-making FREE STATE WRITERS FORUM (FSWF) WRITERS INDABA. I believe that the future and legacy of our culture, linguistic, social and of course literary trends can only be further enhanced by workshops like this.

I do not want to encroach on the territory of any other speakers today; hence I shall try to be concise and economical; in the process I hope I will be able to provide glimpses into Sesotho literature in particular and if possible African literature in general.

It is always good to start with the provenance of things, to wit the genesis – the very beginning. How did what we call “formal literacy” start. The general picture all over Africa is that, the early missionaries were pivotal in introducing this element of western writing orientation. This was also the case when the missionaries arrived in Lesotho shores sometime towards the end of 1833. They built schools where they taught Basotho who to read the bible and write so that they could help them propagate Christianity.

That is when we saw the sudden emergence of pioneering figures in Sesotho Literature. I have in mind the generation that dominated the 1907 to 1930 period. Thomas Mofolo, author of the following books: Moeti wa botjhabela (1907), Pitseng (1910) and lastly the most controversial book that was translated into so many languages Chaka (1925). Motsamai who wrote a book called, Mehleng ya madimo - The era of the cannibals. Mofolo’s former school teacher, Lechesa Segoete also registered his name in the literary circles with a didactic book called, Monono ke mohodi ke mouwane, roughly translated Riches dissipate like mist or vapour.

Ladies and gentlemen, one of the African scholars, Ntate Moloi has rightfully pointed out that, “To appreciate Sotho creative writing one must understand the socio-economic and political milieu in which Sotho writers find themselves.”

You will remember that out of these books that I have mentioned it is only Chaka and Mehla ya madimo that were not hailed as perpetuating the pagans’ beliefs and customs. It was crystal clear that the teaching of the missionaries was that the African customs and religion were to be rejected out-rightly. They used the quarterly newspaper Lesedinyana la Lesotho that they founded in 1863 to criticize them. This paper also played a pivotal role in promoting literature as books like Chaka were serialized in it before they could be published in a book form.

The other generation of writers with a different mindset emerged between 1930 and 1960. My mind goes to the names such as A Nqheku known for his novella, Arola naheng ya maburu- Arola in a whiteman’s land. BM Khaketla Meokgo ya thabo - Tears of joy. GM Guma and many others. This generation had to tap into genres such as poems, short stories, historic novels and so forth. Guma curves a niche for himself as the outstanding historic novel writer.

Between 1960 and 1990 the writers were writing mainly about industrialization and urbanization. Books that were highly political in content were suppressed. The censorship could not stop writers like Jac Mocoancoeng and KE Ntsane from writing their counterparts who were writing protest poems in English.

Let us scrutinize Ntsane poem titled Dumedisa Base from his book called Mmusapelo. It reads thus:

Dumedisa Base

Dumedisa Base, o kgore,

O kgore makumane a weleng tafoleng,

Tafoleng ya Base ho tletse difannora,

Fannora tsa sekgowa hase ho kgadisa…



Here is my rough translation of the poem

Greet a white master!

Greet a white master for you to be satiated to plenitude,

To be satiated to plenitude with leftovers fallen from his table,

On his table is a surfeit of delicious assorted food,

Wow! You will feel like devouring this food,

They tantalize the taste buds of a passer-by Kaffir…



This poem was met with mixed feelings, as some were saying that he wanted blacks to accept being under a white master. But I beg to differ as the last sentence of the poem he urges Blacks to do something about this situation. White people realized the impact it made and they had a second edition that omitted this poem.

It is astonishing the travails that African female writers went through before they made their mark in the literary world. Even in the seventies and eighties, Mama Miriam Tladi who is the first black female writer to publish a novel in South Africa went through hell to get her book out. Even in the sophisticated countries like England, it was initially a mission impossible for Buchi Emecheta an internationally acclaimed female writer to set her feet on the writing path; read her memoir called Head above the water.

Thus we can imagine how incredibly difficult even further back for female writers including Sesotho writers to have their books published. You will remember how Buchi Emecheta talks about how her ex-husband tore her early manuscript. When I used to be a publisher myself, one female writer once shared with me a similar story of how her parents destroyed her manuscript. Virginia Woolf says for a woman to be a writer she must first have a “big house and money before thinking of writing.”

Mama Tladi says “everywhere where black women used to work their masters would lose their temper if they could see them reading; not to talk of writing!”

She also pointed out that Black women do not have time to think and analyse things properly. To write a novel, one has to be able to analyse the situation or circumstances they are living under. Another problem which is still prevailing even in this dispensation is that most women do not have confidence in themselves.

Hence, those few women who were able to publish their books despite daunting obstacles should be commended. It is no surprise that these female writers are particularly concerned with the plight of children and women. Sesotho female writers, just like their world female counterparts, Buchi Emecheta, Mariam Ba (Senegal) relentlessly lament through their creative work the travails women faced.

Let us look at Mme Suzan Sefatasa in her book of short stories called Makomo. In a short story, called Joo nnaa, bohlolohadi wee, she chronicles how widows used to be discriminated against in the society. In another one she laments the lack of respect for the grannies in our community. It seems to me that the difficulties of such women in Sesotho writing in no way rises to the terrible level of the female protagonist in the book of Lauretta Ngcobo which are rather heart-breaking.

I call upon the young budding writers to acquaint themselves with the writings of Mme Albertina Makgokolotso Mokhomo, Mamothibeli Sehlabo, Dr Maramane Matabane Tshabalala and Susan Sefatsa.

Literary museums are a thing of beauty. It is a repository of the literary legacy of the past, present and future. And South Africa is lucky in particular to have the best national English Literary Museum in Africa.

Visiting this museum leaves one spellbound by the manner in which every literary material is kept, filed away and even computerized over there. I have in mind primary products which are the books, then critical works on every writer, supplementary clippings by way of newspapers, journals, magazines, interviews, with different writers.

There is no doubt in mind that we should strive to ensure that our Sesotho literary Museum should be brought to the sophisticated and convenient to the level of Grahamstown. These days we no longer have to travel to Grahamstown physically, we just send an email; an enquiry. We are thereafter sent a stunning comprehensive and literary profile on the protagonists.

How nice will it be if our proliferating students can go to the literary museums here in the Free State and do electronic researches on our outstanding writers such as Ntate KPD Maphalla, Winston Mohapi, Professor Nhlanhla Maake and many others And everything can be computerized, including the bibliographic details, supplements etc...

• Excerpts from a speech delivered by Lechesa at the Workshop in Bloemfontein on 27th Sep 2012