ktravula – a travelogue!

A Review of Tendai Huchu’s “The Intervention”

“The Intervention”, a short story by Tendai Huchu, which can be read here, was recently shortlisted for the Caine Prize for African writing. Here’s my take on the work.

_____________

“Intervention” could be read in many different ways: as a tale of distant compatriots grown impotent by time and distance; the futility of armchair activism or the inevitability of same in the face of real challenges; or as a common allegory on the state of the continent in tumult.

It could, however, be read simply as a story of love, lust, disappointment, and one man’s care-free interrogation of it all. That man was Simba in this case, a poet, along with his friends, Z and Tamu (and their girlfriends).

The texture of Huchu’s story goes from casual to mundane to judgmental observations of people made by the principal character, Simba, who lives in the United Kingdom, far away from the scene of electoral action in Zimbabwe, his hometown. The story climaxes at the end of a national election in Zimbabwe where the president who has ruled since the country’s independence in 1981 was “elected” into office for another term. Then it descends gently into the chaos of domestic dispute between lovers and friends: a not so subtle subplot that had followed the story from the start.

So, is this an allegory on the state of our impotence and confusion on the continent? I’m more inclined to that conclusion. Or, in trying to find other ways to appreciate a story so ordinary yet representative of a slice of some immigrant life from a failed African country, I might be forced to dismiss it as a neophyte attempt at storytelling (at worst) or an effort carefully riddled with levity, for particular effect (at best). The characters are naïve if not simple, and prosaic if not uninspired. An example:

“…I never cast a single stone in this entire charade. I was consumed with overwhelming fury, seeing what Tamu was doing to this little princess. How could he sit there, chatting nonsense about his privacy, as she trailed the list of names from his phone.”

Apart from the fact that the last sentence is missing a question mark, the expression itself is not that striking, especially in a work of fiction aspiring to Africa’s largest literary prize.

In an earlier scene, Simba says: “I gave him my wtf face”, written exactly as quoted, with small letters for “wtf” which one assumes does not mean “Welcome to Facebook”.

Maybe the pedestrian storyline of a bunch of immigrants in England watching and pontificating about their home elections does call for equally carefree characters speaking in insipid turns of phrase. Or maybe the primary character is an extension of a writerly experimentation that didn’t quite achieve its goals. Either way, one is left with a feeling of deep dissatisfaction when it all ends. This is 2014. A failed African state and the disappointment of its emigrated elites isn’t such a tantalizing storyline except something new is added in the form of great and captivating writing.

“The kids didn’t speak Shone, so we were introduced in English, and check this out; I was “Uncle Simba”… The kid just looked at me blankly like I was talking effing Zulu.”

Effing, really? Who is this character? A twenty-two year-old Zimbabwean visiting England for the first time and intent on convincing us of his acquisition of street and teen lingo?

So, maybe the writer didn’t care much for inspiring our imagination or challenging our capacity for linguistic fireworks. Or maybe he couldn’t. We may not know until we read his other offerings.

Or maybe the story is a deliberate simplistic portrayal of simplistic existence. Zimbabwe goes on in its charade of a government. AIDs continues to ravage the continent. Sudan is now two countries. Egypt has changed its government more than twice in three years. Boko Haram has turned the fragile Nigerian state into a colander of dust and dead bodies. Kenya is fighting Al-Qaeda on its streets. Somalia is a violent ghost of whatever was there before, and Libya after Gaddaffi hasn’t lived up to Western (and African) hopes of its survival. Yet here we are in a quotidian cycle of daily vanities: dating, cheating, smoking, etc, and goofing around in our new realities, too impotent to act in any meaningful way. On this level, I understand and appreciate the effort and direction of the work. Otherwise, I should also probably go for a smoke (and hopefully not “cry like a pussy.”)

In any case, if it is the writer’s first, it shouldn’t necessarily be his worst. Next, please.

___________

First published on Brittle Paper.

Writing Process Blog Tour

This idea (modeled around ancient chain letters) through my friend Nwachukwu Egbunike. The idea of the Blog Tour is to give bloggers/writers a chance to talk about their craft and what they are doing at the moment. Then pass it on. Nwachukwu’s own confessions can be found here on his blog. Here now are my answers to the four questions in the Tour, and I’m passing the torch on to Ayodele Olofintuade, Pearl Osibu, and Dami Ajayi. Their bios follow my answers.

1) What am I working on?

I have always worked on many projects at once. This blog is one. From the many times I’ve come close to closing it down, I’ve come to a realisation that it is a work that will continue. And from the response I’ve got (especially from those who come back to read old posts even when I’m not here), it seems that it is doing something in the world that many people wish should continue.

A collection of my latest poems has been sent to editors for feedback but won’t be published until all ts are properly crossed.

Two years ago, I also started a book on collected observations on language and language attitudes, particularly in Nigeria. I have come to the conclusion that our language policy is flawed, and that our current state is influenced by our inability to take new risks and try out new things because of age-old attitudes and untested assumptions, some forced on us by the British colonial rule. Over the last hundred years, a new language and a new identity has formed. We have a choice now to explore who we are (separate from what the colonialists told us we are), in order to evolve a proud and distinct identity that we share with the world. (No publishing offer yet, so here’s your chance, world!)

I’m also translating a contemporary Nigerian novel into Yoruba. I’m done with just one chapter, and that’s because I haven’t given it all my attention.

2) How does my work differ from others of its genre?

Well, the work on this blog is different in that it has helped me pursue a number of research ideas that I may not have thought about, or pursued with as much vigor, if there wasn’t an audience for it. My recent visit to Abeokuta is one of such instances, as is many other travel pieces here that eventually led me to asking relevant questions in concrete directions. They start usually as improptu travel experiences, but always leads to directions that clarify thoughts and opinions, and questions that I have pondered for years.

I’m not alone in using the new media for reaching new audiences, but I like the position that this blog fills, both for me and for those to whom it matters.

In this way, I haven’t fully entered the Nigerian literary pool. But what is this pool anyway? Just books? Printed words on paper? I’ve observed it as thoroughly as I can, from many angles. My poems have been published in places, but I have never intended them to change anything fundamentally. They are just my solo way of interacting with my lived experiences.

My thoughts and projects on language however seem innovative, if I say so myself. Attitude around what currently exists seems to have calcified around complacency: “This is what we have. Why change it?” I find that extremely disturbing. so, if I can change anything, I hope that it is changing current language attitudes, and helping to call attention, and change, to the current limitations of our British experiment.

3) Why do I write what I do?

This is cliche, but I write because I can. However, I have found blogging to be a more liberating medium than paper and pen ever were. In a recent interview with Global Voices (please read it), I argued that the next frontier in literature is electronic publishing. And until we have writers whose sole portal are electronic platforms winning prominent literary prizes (like the Orange, Pulitzer, Nobel, etc), we haven’t made as much progress yet. I believe this to be true. Writing is writing. The distinction between whether it is printed on a papyrus or published on a wordpress blog shouldn’t be a limiting factor to its appreciation. In any case, the internet now might reach a lot more people.

Those who have followed this blog will agree that it hasn’t been limited to language issues either. My fascination with travel and history is beginning to convince me of future opportunities in larger work in anthropology and historical non-fiction. The History of the Yorubas, by Samuel Johnson, for instance, needs a serious updating. I’m interested in a number of endeavours that bring me close to the treasures of history, language, and literature. In most cases, the demarcations aren’t very clear cut.

4) How does my writing process work?

As erratic as you can imagine. I have moments where I can’t get up from my working desk until I’ve written dozens of pages; when everything works as smoothly as they should, and words come on schedule. And I have weeks when nothing works, and all I do is watching historical documentaries, old musicals, or American comedy shows. What is common with each mood is the unconscious working of the ever active brain. Some people can summon words at will, and produce masterpieces at the first prompting. I’m not like that, but in many cases, I surprise myself – which tells me that the brain has been working and making the right connections behind my back.

________

I’m passing the torch to the following people. Check them out:

Ayodele Olofintuade

She is the author of Eno’s Story which was shortlisted for the Nigerian Prize for Literature a couple of years ago. She has also spearheaded a number of book reading initiatives meant to bring the printed word to young ones across the country. She blogs at TotallyHawaya-Haywire.blogspot.com

Pearl Osibu

She is a Fashion Designer/Stylist, Nigerian writer and blogger. She runs the blog Fifty Shades of Me where she publishes her short stories and keeps up a commentary on topical, social issues. Elsewhere, her works have been published in Sentinel Nigeria eZine, Jetlife Magazine, Metropole etc. She lives in Lagos, Nigeria. She blogs at Fifty Shades of Me.

Dami Ajayi

He is a medical doctor and poet. He was shortlisted for the Hume Prize for Poetry last year, and has been published in a number of online and print publications. He is the co-founder of Saraba Magazine. He blogs at Mr. Ajayi

_____________

They will all have a week to create their own blog post and answer the four questions, so look them up.

#BringBackOurGirls vs #WhiteSaviourIndustrialComplex

By Temie Giwa-Tubosun

—-

Here is what I know:

Trying to hijack something you did not create is wrong. Claiming credit for what you did not do is a generally douchey move and it’s deplorable and folks should be called out on that.

However, I disagree that raising money for the education of girls in developing countries and trying to harness global interest in this issue that the plight of the Chibok girls raised is exploitative. We must find and save our girls and we must also help the millions who want to go to school but can’t. We must save these 270 girls but also all their sisters and daughters all over the developing world.

Girl Rising (with whom I am not in any way connected apart from being co-delegates at the Women Deliver Conference in Malaysia, in April 2013) aims to raise money to this cause. I know it is not a scam because they work with the Women Deliver’s Catapault platform to raise money and to distribute to deserving organization working on ground. Their partnership precedes the development of #bringbackourgirls movement and it has raised money for this issue before. The money doesn’t go to Girl Rising nor to Ramaa Mosley. It goes from the Catapault Platform directly to deserving organisations in the country where needed. In this case, Nigeria.

This is the text from Catapault’s Facebook page:

You can directly support girls education in Nigeria through Girl Rising and Catapult’s emergency project. Every text, every donation adds up. http://bit.ly/1shYMgB #BringBackOurGirls

I believe it will be a great tragedy if we fail to #bringbackourgirls or to help their sisters if we get bogged down in petty disagreements. The money being raised, as far as I know it, by GirlRising isn’t going to the pocket of anyone. And Nigerian organisations who believe that they can use any of it in pursuit of a better life for girls anywhere in Nigeria can apply to get any of it. It is not limited to Chibok, yes, but it is in pursuit of girl education which is a noble goal bigger than this one albeit important story. The arguments against vain and self-aggrandizing patronage the type of which we have seen in the past from well-meaning but ignorant western interventionists is a valid one, but in my opinion irrelevant in this particular matter.

Find out more at http://www.catapult.org/about/who-we-are and http://girlrising.com/nigeria-action/

You can also follow the money here: http://www.catapult.org/project/bring-back-our-girls

Meanwhile, let’s #BringBackOurGirls now!

—-

Temie is a fellow of the Global Health Corps, and is the the founder of One Percent Project, an organisation working to improve access to safe and secure blood donation and transfusion around Nigeria, and creator of the LifeBank App.

Worth Nothing: Bring Back Our Girls!

It has been more than three weeks since over 200 girls were abducted at Chibok in Borno State by the Boko Haram terrorist organization. They have not been found yet.

More than three weeks ago, about 234 girls from a school in Chibok Local Government in Borno State in the North-east of Nigeria were kidnapped from school. Only two or so of the girls escaped. The disturbing event has turned attention of the world on my country again, for the wrong reasons. Boko Haram, the group that carried out the attack and took responsibility, have been a present threat in the country since about five years now (and a few have asked why it took this long to get the world’s attention).

Many things have happened since the news of this abduction took place. Concerned Nigerians have forced the Nigerian government to acknowledge the abduction, and finally accept the offer of help from the United States Government. This is a good thing. It might however be too late as intelligence reports have pointed to the likelihood that the girls may have been scattered or sold to different parts of the region. Today, the US special forces arrived in the country. The next couple of days and weeks should be interesting.

Meanwhile, the social media campaign that forced our inept and unresponsive government to finally say, if not do, something, continues. Here was the first tweet carrying the hashtag. It was inspired by a passionate plea by Oby Ezekwesili, a former Nigerian Minister, at an event in Port Harcourt, Nigeria about a week after the kidnapping (though, in a somewhat sad and predictable twist, ABC News today attributed the organic, locally-generated campaign to a Los Angeles woman who joined in at least a solid week AFTER Nigerians already lit up twitter with the hashtag).

As a teacher of school kids of similar age range, the presence (and success) of Boko Haram threatens everything I hold dear. Unfortunately, I live in a country where the government, as properly described by the New York Times editorial is “deeply troubled”, “corrupt”, with “little credibility”, and if I might add, filled with unjustified hubris that cares only for the sustenance of its own political survival. Nothing illustrates this more than the fact that it took foreign, outside, pressure (acquired through the dogged use of social media by concerned citizens with the #BringBackOurGirls hashtag) to even get the president to address the issue or acknowledge its existence after about two weeks!)

There are already op-ed pieces in the nation’s journals calling attention to the possibility that we may never find those girls anymore. Not in one place anymore, obviously. More importantly, not in the same sane and decent state of mind. A very legitimate concern poignantly illustrated in this piece in the New Yorker. Nigeria has a number of deep and troubling issues, top of which is leadership. Every other issue (corruption, terrorism, poverty, decaying infrastructure) has stemmed from this first issue of leadership.

Since the attention of the world is on us now, legitimately, though for an uncomfortable reason, it’s also a time for some self reflection. But those interested in a more nuanced discussion about our expectations from this foreign intervention should follow Nigerian writer Teju Cole on twitter. This is what I mean. The girls may be found. Actually, now with the help of the US Special Forces, it is likely that the trails may get clearer. What kinds of girls are we getting back, however? What would be left of them physically and psychologically, and into which country are they returning? The same one that let them down in the first place? How many more will be killed and maimed, and how do we defeat an ideology that has refused to die?

In the end, it will not just be a Nigerian, but a human, problem. And we should not be deceived as to its quick and clean resolution. I’m not.

The Church at Abeokuta

The Cathedral of St. Peter at Ake, Abeokuta, is the oldest church in Ake, the oldest church in Abeokuta, the oldest church in Western Nigeria, and – due to the proximity of the town to the Atlantic Ocean and the coming of the first missionaries – the oldest church in all of Nigeria. Built reportedly in 1898, it served as a rallying ground for a number of initial missionaries to Abeokuta many of who played other roles in the government of indirect rule between the Crown in England and the chiefs in Egbaland. The foundation of the church was laid by one Reverend Andrew Desalu Wihelm around 1846, and completed during the time of Henry Townsend.

One of the most known pastors of the church include the Reverend Josiah J. Ransome Kuti (also known as the grandfather of Fela Anikulapo Kuti, the inventor of Afrobeat), among many others. A hall in the church premises is named after another famous pastor, the Reverend Henry Townsend.

In some ways, it is the Southern equivalent to the Church in Wusasa – also a first in the north, built in 1902 – whose survival depended very much on the hard work of volunteer priests battling a society that – at the time – very much resisted the change it represented. In the account written in Wole Soyinka’s 1981 Autobiograpy Ake – the Years of Childhood, most of the early missionaries faced life-threatening confrontations with the elders of the town to whom Christianity represented a real and present threat. Many churches fell down after being visited by men from the local cults, sometimes while people worshiped inside. In the case of the Wusasa church, the threat came from the Muslim societies in the north who felt threatened by the new religion. That these structures have lasted so long is homage to maintenance, but more importantly, the cultural place they occupy in the societies that own them.

« Older Entries Newer Entries »