Friday, October 19, 2012
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
Sunday, October 14, 2012
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
Thursday, October 11, 2012
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...'
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...'
Monday, October 1, 2012
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
Thursday, September 13, 2012
BEN OKRI IN SOUTH AFRICA
Ben Okri, the internationally renowned writer (winner of the Booker Prize) utterly charmed a packed audience at University of Cape Town's Jameson Hall as he delivered the Steve Biko Memorial Lecture.
The occasion was of course UCT’s annual Steve Biko Memorial Lecture, which routinely manages to bag a big-name speaker. In the past these have included a star-studded roster of African writers – Ngugi wa
Thiong’o, Chinua Achebe and Zakes Mda have all previously appeared on the lectern – so in some ways Okri was, if anything, overdue.
The criteria used to select the annual Biko speaker seem quite hard to discern. The speaker’s job is to “commemorate the life and death of Biko”, but the rest seems left pretty open. Last year’s speaker was
ideally equipped to speak expertly on the subject of Steve Biko, since Sydney Kentridge represented Biko’s family at the inquest into his death.
While Ben Okri’s address lionised Biko and stirringly invoked the need for identity pride and an African re-birth, Okri revealed himself to be a little shaky on a few South Africa-specific matters.
There was some mixing up of Struggle dates, a reference to the “Cape of Wise Hope”, and a mention of the “KwaZulu” people. But it seems churlish to even mention these slips; so lyrical, rousing and goodhearted was Okri’s address. It’s fair to say, however, that if the audience had arrived hungry for ways to make new meanings of current national strife – the mining labour meltdown, service delivery protests, Malema having the ear of disgruntled soldiers – they might have left unsatisfied.
Okri’s writing draws on esoteric strands – Yoruba folklore, the spirit realm, magic realism – and the critiques he offered of the political status quo were generally metaphor-draped and veiled.
He did make mention of Marikana, however, saying that he believed Biko would have expressed concern over the police shootings. “The use of Apartheid laws to try the miners is shocking to the international
community and has disturbing resonances with [Biko’s] own death,” Okri said. This was one step ahead of Biko Foundation CEO Nkosinathi Biko, who in his prefatory remarks said that the timing of Okri’s visit was
important because it offered an opportunity to “reflect on recent developments which have tested the maturity of our democracy”.
Okri paid tribute to the anti-Apartheid struggle, speaking movingly about how it had inspired generations of Africans. Calling the Struggle “the background to our lives”, he said that the very existence of South Africa’s Apartheid state when he was growing up “posed questions that went right to the heart of injustice, and made
us question the existence of God Himself”. Sharpeville, he said, “awoke us from our moral sleep”, and the voice which pierced their mfinds and consciences was that of Steve Biko, murdered 35 years ago to
a day.
But if Biko were here today, Okri said, he would be asking difficult questions. Questions like: Is the society just? Are we being truthful about one another? Has there been a change of attitudes and assumptions on both sides of the racial divide? Or, more pessimistically, “Has there been reconciliation without proper
consideration? Have the things he fought about merely mutated like cancerous cells?” Perhaps, Okri suggested, Biko would look around him today and find that “too much has been given away too soon”. The
difficulty is that “generosity without steel can be a weak thing, and steel without generosity can be cruel”.
Okri said that for most of his life it seemed unthinkable that Apartheid would ever be overcome. “It seemed like an unalterable fact, like fate, or the moon, or hunger.” But Apartheid was ended, and with that ending comes new challenges. Okri invoked the metaphor of Apartheid as a long, nightmare-laden sleep, and the democratic era as a new day. “With awakening, a new question is posed. The nightmare is over, but what do we do with the day?” People go about healing in different ways, he said. For some, healing is “probing the wounds, seeking causes and redress”.
For others, “healing is dreaming…a chance to transform themselves out of all that trauma”. It was clear which one he advocated as superior.
His rhetoric was invigorating, an exhortation for self-discovery, self-improvement, an end to complacency or entitlement – these are the lessons Okri takes from Black Consciousness. “No one will hand us the
destiny that we want,” Okri said. “Courage and ingenuity and toughness are required much more for the days of sunlight…Freedom was just the overture. Freedom may turn out to be a very small part of the story of a people. The real story begins with what they did with that freedom.”
And that freedom, Okri suggested, has not always been well-spent. “One might say that African nations began with hope, fell into chaos and staggered into dependency,” he said. “African nations came, saw and
squandered.” Mistakes have been made continent-wide, he said: dictatorship and tyranny; corruption as part of the fabric of everyday life; a depletion of natural resources by those at the top; the erosion of civil liberties; and “a failure to realise that nations can die like companies or individuals”.
If Biko were here, his cry today would be for Africa to get its house in order, Okri suggested. Black Consciousness demands that people take responsibility for their lives, including their choice of leadership.
“The leaders that you have say something about the kind of people that you are,” Okri said, which caused a ripple around the room. “Black Consciousness demands that we blame or praise ourselves for our
leaders because we have enabled what they become.”
The title of Okri’s talk was “Biko and the Tough Alchemy of Africa”, by which he meant the process of transforming society. There are two ways to do this, Okri said: the dry way and the wet way. The dry way
is “short and dangerous”, and involves varying degrees of dictatorship, a unified people and a focused vision, as was attempted unsuccessfully in the Soviet Union. The wet way is “long and safe”.
After all, he said, “America needed two hundred years and a civil war to become itself”; the suggestion was that Africa, too, needs time. “Let us be tempered,” he said. “Let black learn from white and white
learn from black.”
In conclusion, Okri brought it back to the South African man whose memory he was there to honour, and his “martyr’s immolation” 35 years ago. But Okri’s fundamental call was pan-African: for the overhaul of
Africa’s self-image, and the necessity of re-writing Africa’s future in aspirational terms rather than conforming to “the Africa they write about”.
“Our future is greater than our past,” he concluded, to a standing ovation. “Bless you all.”
Sunday, September 9, 2012
REVISITING GOMOLEMO MOKAE
Gomolemo Mokae is rightly regarded as one of the most outstanding, well respected Black writers in the country. Author of at least six works, he has contributed solidly to arts and culture.
He is a fairly versatile writer, though he has done very well in fiction in particular; also writing and publishing novels, short stories, works in his native Setswana, and an excellent academic study on Robert McBride. Mokae has also contributed to criticism.
Perhaps his most famous work is his novel, The secret in my bosom which was hailed as probably the first detective/mystery work published by a Black South African. It is an interesting, humorous work which deserves more attention than it has received.
Surprisingly, Mokae has attracted relatively very little criticism of his work over the years. Yet Free State writer and critic, Flaxman Qoopane, has published the following about Mokae’s The secret in my bosom:
“...for example, Gomolemo Mokae’s detective novel, The Secret in my bosom, can be called a success, but I have always believed it has a major flaw. Is it really possible that the lady in question (Moloi) would not be recognised by anybody till late, despite undergoing surgery?”*
Yet the truth is that by even average standards, over the last decade or so, Mokae’s literary output seems to be very small, considering his great talent. This columnist is well aware that he was very sick for some time, yet the world still expects more from this distinguished writer.
Gomolemo Mokae’s published books include Nnete ke serunya, Masego, Kaine le Abel, Short not tall stories, The secret in my bosom, Robert McBride, a coloured life
- KA Motheane
Reference
• Omoseye Bolaji: Perspectives on his literary work. (Book) 2003. By Flaxman Qoopane. (Page 17)
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Literary Criticism an integral part of literature
By Raphael Mokoena
It is shocking the general ignorance that surrounds the sphere of literary criticism; which has actually been around for centuries. In Africa it is not uncommon to see some experienced writers, never mind highly educated people regarding literary criticism as a much despised, negative thing. It is not uncommon to hear critics even being called “failed, frustrated writers”
Criticism continues to cause hatred and divisions amongst many African writers who should know better. Some even go as far as claiming that it is ‘unAfrican”, as if books should only be praised and not evaluated in any way. The simple truth is that if our writers really want to be taken seriously or respected beyond their family or closest friends, they have to be criticised.
Unfortunately that is why so many African writers are completely ignored or not acknowledged in the real literary world. There are writers who claim to have published 2,3 and more books who have never been evaluated even in the mildest manner. Such are not genuine writers; they are at best ignorant dabblers. Why are some writers scared of criticism?
In the western world, books – and even movies – stand or fall according to criticism. If critics do not like a movie then it can result in financial disasters of loss of millions of dollars or pounds...writers whose books are given a pass mark will invariably have good sales and receive tremendous boost to their writing career. More important, such books will go down well during the passage of time for coming generations. The reviews, criticisms etc will in many cases out-last the physical book itself.
Let us go back to a few early African books published which history has now deemed great successes. Amos Tutuola’s The palmwine drinkard was published overseas many decades ago, and nobody seemed to take note initially. Then a well known poet, Dylan Thomas chanced to read the book and praise it! Almost overnight his critical opinion pushed the book into an African classic and Tutuola into one of the all-time great African writers. Without Dylan writing about the work, the book will probably have been forgotten quickly. Other writers like Chinua Achebe and Ayi Kwei Armah received incredible boosts from early positive reviews too...decades after such reviews were published they still appear on the blurbs of reprints of these books!
Another interesting thing is that despite what some might claim that critics are “frustrated writers”, a large number of them, perhaps even virtually all of them are successful or distinguished writers. Such is the case in Africa too. Achebe, Wole Soyinka, Ngugi, Molara Ogundipe, Es’kia Mphahlele, Njabulo Ndebele, Lewis Nkosi etc are/were excellent writers as well as literary critics too.
Still staying in Africa, why do we regard such writers as outstanding anyway? The real reason is because their books have attracted tremendous critical attention. Whenever we try to do research on them we realise there already exist so many studies published on them. Writers like Achebe, Es’kia, Ngugi, Soyinka, Armah, Ndebele, Senghor, Bolaji, etc can boast of at least ten to twenty different critical books published on them.
Yet this, by world standards is actually nothing much! Great European or American writers like James Joyce, Samuel Becket, Virginia Woolf, Mark Twain, the Bronte sisters, etc have HUNDREDS of such critical books published on them. We need not imagine how many hundreds of books have been published on William Shakespeare! It is clear that the western world puts emphasis on critical appreciation of its writers. Hence their immortality and respect is assured for ever. So, why should Africans be scared of what would reinforce their literary legacy?
Okay, so there are “sympathetic” critics, and those who are more ruthless. I do not believe that even “ruthless” critics can destroy a book amongst discerning, intelligent readers. All the great writers have been ruthlessly criticised every now and then; and it even often generates more interest in a book. In South Africa a critic like Crystal Warren is obviously on the sympathetic side; whilst the late Lewis Nkosi, and the likes of Pule Lechesa can be categorised as “more stringent” (rather than ruthless!)
I grew up in the Free State and I am proud to say that the Province is one of the most vibrant in Africa when it comes to literary appreciation. Scores of reviews written by myself, Pule Lechesa, Paul Lothane, etc have found themselves in many journals and centres of literature around the world. The success or failure of any published work depends on how many reviews, studies it can attract; and Paul Lothane recently got it right when he wrote this about the work, Free State of Mind (Authors: Nthabiseng Jah Rose, Rita Chihawa and Lebo Leisa):
"...The book, Free State of mind has also been a critical success. The poetic work is the brainchild of Nthabiseng JahRose Jafta, Rita Chihawa and Lebo Leisa. It is a great achievement that the book has attracted positive reviews from literary figures like Bolaji, Hector Kunene, Mathene Mahanke, Napo Masheane, Sabata Mpho Mokae, Mpikeleni Duma, etc..."
I have not read the book,(Free State of mind) but after reading all the reviews of the work on the internet (even including that of Pule Lechesa), like everybody else I can say the book is very successful. That is the reality of literature. The academics call it the “oligarchic” approach – i.e those interested anywhere in the world will check whether there are any reviews etc of a book, read them, and form an opinion based on the majority.
And as for those writers who never attract any such reviews or criticisms, it is a shame indeed...
(Excerpts from a speech delivered by Raphael Mokoena at a literary workshop in Stellenbosch recently)
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