Author: fictioningdevelopment (Page 5 of 7)

Writing Violence…

March 30, 2014 / fictioningdevelopment / 0 Comments

While working on a short story on domestic violence recently, I was privileged to get a colleague review it. ‘It lacks suspense, no action, not gripping, it fell flat like a biography’, this was his response. To bring it alive, he suggested we add some action. This he did, by injecting some dose of violence, a scene with a strong narration of one violating one’s kind. Amazingly, the story came alive with suspense! It took the ambiance of most familiar fiction novels I know.

I am still amazed at the ease with which violent writing came to my colleague, unlike it came to me. I have tried to look at this event with a gender lens; are male writers better at writing on violence than women writers? This is a huge argument, but gendering this, is not the focus of this article.

At the soul of this piece is the need to explore how writers of literary fiction have engaged with the theme of violence in their work. Do they write to excite, inspire or discourage violence, or do they just flirt with violence for the purpose of adding shock to their work?

No work of fiction is written in a vacuum. All of them cling to issues that are of relevance to the society. Violence is trending in almost every society these days, governments no longer hold monopoly to violence, in all forms of unruly politics, citizens now exercise rights to different types of violence. You may call it terrorism, war, sexual or physical abuse, mutilation, child abuse or anything else. All of these names rest on violence; the act of violating one’s kind. The reality of this in our society cannot be ignored. From the city streets to the country sides, within our homes and in our daily lives, like air, violence is speedily and easily penetrating our life.

The rising number of war, the growing incidence of terrorism especially among developing countries, introduced a very high note in the rhythm of global violence. Like most violent acts, terrorism uses force to attain political end. What makes it incomprehensible is that the victims often have no relations or affiliation to the political issues they fight. Perpetrators of this type of violence, show a profound disconnection that amounts to hatred of one’s kind, a disregard for life and all it represents. This facts make me wonder if such disconnection and disregard are experienced by writers and their readers when conjuring, narrating or engaging violence in novels? I am still unable to comprehend violence, I cannot effectively narrate it fictionally, and hence I cannot answer to these experiences.

While the above questions represent questions of process, the questions on intent are also important. What is a writer’s intention for projecting violence? It seems to me that some writers use violence in their narratives to compel action in our society. For example, the generation of Apartheid writers in South Africa would use violent narratives to reflect the evil of the existing apartheid system and incite people against racism and injustice. Other writers may need to inject violence to gain a balanced reflection of a true society, considering that violence is understood to be organic. A later group of writers may use violence because it sells; it shocks or can indeed be entertaining.

Cormac McCarthy’s ‘Blood Meridian’, ‘American Psycho’ by Bret Easton Ellis among others are example of fiction novels reeling in violent narratives that should disturb even the coldest hearts. While they are highly rated, I may highly underrate such dark writing for exciting violence. This category of literature, often termed ‘Transgressive Fiction’ or ‘disturbing Novels’ are characterized with presenting protagonists who thrill with terror and taboo, with all willingness to portray forbidden behaviors or shock readers. Like the terrorist of the real world, they are emotionally disconnected. Their striking detachment from life enables them to dice, slice and saw their fellow humans. Novels in this genre have been subject to many obscenity trial, but are often permitted.

Novels do not just entertain, they impact. Engaging with such blood-drenched books with routine killing of women, children and everything alive, I often ask, how are they helping shape the society, how are they contributing to helping people change their mental paradigms on violence, towards the peace and well-being our world so desperately needs? This may be defended as another genre of literature, yes a ‘disturbing genre’ with huge fan base to whom such violence is comprehensible and perhaps entertaining. But are there no better way of creating these types of work without indecorously portraying violence in all its stark nakedness?

It’s an understanding that violence is organic in our society, I am not sure if such violence can be extinct in fiction writing but I am sure we can change the stories around it to ensure we do not glamorize violence. Writers have a responsibility to reflect in their work, the world as we want to see it. I agree with Gail Larsen that ‘if you want to change the world, tell a better story’. I still believe that it is possible to live an inviolate life. Perhaps, we can indeed start with how we project violence in writing.

– Written by Adaobi Nkeokelonye

In Memory of Water…

March 21, 2014 / fictioningdevelopment / 4 Comments

Almost everything in the universe has a bit of water in it, the oceans, lakes, rivers and streams in different landscape are all connected to water. Hence 22^nd of March every year is remarkably set aside to celebrate water all over the world. Still in its decade of water, the United Nations Water, with a theme on ‘Water and Energy’ for this year, brings to our attention, the water-energy nexus.

It is also pleasing that we can find in prose, poetry and drama, so many scenes and themes that celebrate water. I did not have to search too far before finding writers like Thomas Hardy among others who have written on water. Our choice for poetry below was because it is richer with water as a major topic and it comes from a writer that truly cares about nature

Wendell Berry

Talk of what it means to be an Octogenarian that still throws up the peace sign, the poet Wendell Berry comes to mind easily. He is not just an environmental activist, but accordingly, he has been described as a ‘prophet of responsibility’. Admirably, Wendell has maintained a family farming tradition that spans over 200 years, tilling the soil of Kentucky. Above all, he is a writer, a poet of repute with a lot of earthy poems to show for it. In his words, “It’s mighty hard right now to think of anything that’s precious that isn’t endangered.” And for sure , water is endangered, hence his special book titled ‘Farming: a handbook’ holds within its pages, a thought provoking poem on water.

WATER

I was born in the drought year.That summer my mother waited in the house, enclosed in the sun and the dry ceaseless wind, for the men to come back in the evenings, bringing water from a distant spring. Veins of leaves ran dry, roots shrank.

And all my life I have dreaded the return of that year, sure that it is still somewhere like a dead enemy’s soul. Fear of dust in my mouth is always with me, and I am the faithful husband of the rain. I love the water of the wells and the springs, and the taste of roofs in the water of cisterns.

I am a dry man whose thirst is praise of clouds, and whose mind is something of a cup. My sweetness is to wake in the night after days of dry heat, hearing the rain.

Photo by UNwater

Wendell Berry writes with honesty and grace of a prophet and a poet. The poem on water carries a message with an urgency that crosses distance and national boundaries. It spreads to every nook and cranny, where water flows. Published in 1970, this poem portrays the reality that most people live today. For many, they have only memories of water; they mostly know dryness. Life for them is a picture of dry hot days with no crops surviving for harvest and barely clean water to quench their thirst. In particular, these experiences are reflected especially among the ‘bottom billion’ that live in slums and impoverished rural areas, lacking access to safe drinking water, adequate sanitation, sufficient food and energy services. According to the World Water Development Report, people who lack access to improved water sources and improved sanitation are also those who mostly lack access to electricity.

Beyond raising inter-linkages between water and energy as the theme of the day demands, we can do more. We can contribute to policy dialogues and relevant discussions on making water accessible especially to children. Every drop of effort in the ocean of change can prevent thousands of children from dying due to treatable diarrhea, largely linked to lack of clean water and sanitary conditions.

– Written by Adaobi Nkeokelonye

Africa’s Third Liberation

March 18, 2014 / fictioningdevelopment / 0 Comments

It’s midnight Saturday 15th of March 2014, some families stayed awake with grief stricken faces. Close to twenty of their young graduates who left them that morning for the National Immigration Service recruitment examination had not returned home. They will never return home, they were gone; dead in the stampede, trampled to death by over six million fellow Job seekers vying for four thousand opening in Nigeria’s immigration service. There is no better indication to confirm that a third liberation is becoming long overdue for most African country.

Greg Mills and Jeffrey Herbst’s ‘Africa’s Third Liberation’ has been by my bed side in the past week. Coincidentally, I have read this book alongside ‘the Incorruptible Judge’ by D. Olu Olagoke which I reviewed here. Representing different genres of literature and published in different era, I had no challenge finding their linkages. This two books are my best bet at conceptualizing linkages between unemployment and corruption as projected in Africa and perhaps world over.

As children, we took pride in acting good plays. We were our own cast, our own stage and costume managers and producer. Our stage was the pure red earth beneath Africa’s moonlight. Yes, for us it was not just the sun that rises, the moon sets and rises too, giving light to our immature performances. The Incorruptible Judge was a favorite play with its good story line. It taught us the the words ‘bribery’, ‘corruption’ and ‘unemployment’. Of the three, unemployment was a word we didn’t clearly understand until we grew into graduates and job seekers. Perhaps the incidences mentioned above now gives more meaning to unemployment.

Written in 1962, almost three decades before we encountered it, D. Olu Olagoke presents a story that different generation can relate to. As captured in the review, ‘ The Incorruptible Judge and the Incorrigible Liar’, it tells of a time when in the face of crime, whistle blowers like Ajala the job seeker were commended and given justice by the legal system. It was a time when the values of the society reflected in the education we received and the expectations we had, there was in practice, no conflict. Our understanding of good and bad was in no way blurred. Consequently we knew bribery was bad and that it only births corruption. Apart from warning on the evil of bribery and corruption, D. Olu Olagoke with his play might have tried to excite our imaginations and prepare us for a season of joblessness.

‘Africa’s Third Liberation’ reflects back on the journey of African countries from about seven decades ago, to 2011. Seven decades

African Independence Map by www.geocurrent.info

ago to the present time creates a wide space for reflections and deductions. Though Olu Adegoke writes at almost the same time, Greg and Jeffrey did a more extended and indepth work. They conceptualized the sub-Saharan African Journey of liberation in this era (1960’s and above) into three. Africa’s first liberation meant freedom from the colonist’s racial government. The second one was (or still is) freedom from Africa’s liberators. The long overdue third liberation addressed in this book focuses on Africa’s economic growth through reassessing their present political economy characterized by corruption, capitalism, elitism and social inequality.

If D.Olu Adegoke envisaged a failed state weakened by corruption then, he is prophetically correct. Greg Mills and Jeffrey Herbst’s reflection on sub-Saharan Africa’s development experiences and their reality today, projects a continent with rich resources littered within the boundaries of its fragile states. The widespread unemployment, a veneer of justice, pervasive impunity all climaxes in weak leadership which is a continental malady. Relatively, while the Incorruptible Judge espouses glimpse into the future where power is abused and public trust is betrayed by leaders using public power for private gain, ‘Africa’s Third Liberation’ gives a roadmap out of it.

A cross section of applicants at the NIS recruitment test in Abuja,Nigeria

Sharing a strong theme of pervasive unemployment as seen in the experiences of Ajala the young school leaver in ‘The Incorruptible Judge’, Greg Mills and Jeffrey Herbst likewise expressed that for all Africa’s progress, jobs for young people remains an extra-ordinary challenge especially for sub-Saharan Africa where formal sector employment is endemically low and falling. The demographic dividends of yesterday’s children being todays’ workers are being lost with all its exciting development opportunities. This lack of jobs for young people fosters slow growth of Africa’s middle class. This is imperative for any country’s development.

Corruption, which is the common thread that runs through the poor development of the continent, cannot be ignored as responsible for endemic unemployment. While Justice Faderin sought to deter this in the fictional society he represented, Greg Mills and Jeffrey Herbst projects it better in Malawi, an African country which remains one of the world’s poorest. It can’t be exclusively said that corruption is solely responsible for this level of poverty, but it also cannot be excused as reason why three-quarters of their population lives below US$1 a day. Greg and Jeffrey explored the trajectories of Malawi presidents from the time of late President Hastings Banda (who declared his self, president for life ruling from 1964 to 1994) to the time of President Bakili Muluzi, through to the time of President Bingu wa Mutharika.

Picture on Farm Input Subsidy Program (FISP) by malawidemocrat.com

The clear difference in their tenure was notably the nature of venality, escalating corruption from being very centralised, to being widespread, open and consequently, more sophisticated with a carefully developed chain. Everything trickles down, whether good or bad. This is the case with the Malawi government’s Farm Input Subsidy Program (FISP). This reform helped build food sufficiency and improve lives for a while in an internationally acknowledged way; but it also gave scope and further created a ring for massive corruption among bottom ladder farmers on-selling the fertilizers and the elites managing the corrupt processes. Hence Malawi lost more years of growth to venality.

Despite the author’s comparison of sub-Saharan Africa to Central America’s country like Guatamela (the murder city of the world) where corruption is the way of life, African countries have in different ways proven they can grow. Holding 60% of the world’s most arable land and other resources, yes Africa can upswing their destiny away from poverty and endemic unemployment.

As the authors project, venal Malawi, poster boy Nigeria, war-land Congo among other countries alike, need to exercise the will to challenge vested interested which is the root of corruption. Otherwise the states will remain weak, festered with social inequality and infested with joblessness which may trigger radicalization of politics and criminality. We are reminded that citizens empowered by technology and power are no longer tolerant like before as can be seen in the Arab spring.

The authors of Africa’s Third Liberation recommends a clear departure from the trend of leadership conflicting with interest and encourages African leaders to take full responsibility for their country’s economic destiny, as steps for upswing economic growth. However my addition will be an essential factor which they and most of us seem to ignore.

Lexis Nexis Project Rule of Law Banner.

In my understanding, fragile states have undermined laws, indeed the quickest way to weaken a state is to weaken the legal system and make its constitutions a paper tiger. Hence, strengthening the legal system remains a strong indicator for progressive growth in this region. Legal systems are important for institutionalizing and securing reforms that can create jobs and promote any proposed development models. A strong legal system encourages rule of law, providing mechanisms for accountability, transparency and political stability. This creates space for implementing forward-leaning policies and most of all good leadership. As Justice Faderin, the incorruptible judge puts it, ‘if the citadel of justice is corrupt, what will happen to the body politics? It will be completely rotten and collapse’.

There is a linkage between graft and unemployment as they are interconnected. Reducing unemployment or corruption is impossible without a refashioned process of law that enables a fair and functional state. Imposition of the rule of law will be the bedrock of development in African states; it will ensure supremacy of the law over all citizens, no matter how powerful they are. Africa needs the return of the incorruptible judges to strengthen the law and create a corruption free state, perhaps this will clearly differentiate Africa’s second liberation from the proposed third liberation.

– Written by Adaobi Nkeokelonye.

The Incorruptible Judge and the Incorrigible Liar

March 7, 2014 / fictioningdevelopment / 10 Comments

Back in the days; three decades ago and beyond, ‘the Incorruptible Judge’ by D. Olu Olagoke was a must-read for most Nigerian in-school children at primary or junior secondary level. Finding it in the bookshop almost three decades after gave me a nostalgic feeling. I knew I had to read it again wearing the lens of an older person. The world around me has changed greatly in the past 30 years, but expectedly this book didn’t change. My understanding of it, its relevance and the interpretations I could give to it has surely changed.

In the play ‘The Incorruptible Judge’, we meet Ajala, the graduate with a completely worn out shoe telling tales of unlucky miles he has walked trying to get a job. He is the son of a carpenter father and a petty trader mother with six more siblings to cater for. His education remains indebted and his first salaries if employed will make up for that. Despite his excellent track records, unlucky Ajala has been unable to reap the dividends of his investment in education. Ajala reminds us of the sea of graduates mostly in African countries who spend years before they may finally be employed as a result of Job scarcity. Yet they are saddled with responsibilities they cannot wish away.

His application to the Government Development Department as a Third Class Clerk in their office ushers a chance meeting with his contemporary Femi. Unlike Ajala, Femi represents the privileged children of the rich who have no experience of lack. He is employed through his father’s network. Femi vets Ajala’s application pack just before he meets with the grey haired, heavily spectacled Establishment Officer Mr. James Ade Agbalowomeri whose personality cows the young school leaver.

Capturing a competitive space with many qualified personnel and few jobs to get around, Mr. Agbalowomeri sets getting “Kola” and not just qualification as the condition for employing Ajala whom he claims to fancy. “Kola” in Africa is a nut fruit from the kola tree, a symbol of appeasement used in social and private settings, it is also known as the food of the ancestors. Kola nuts are an important part of the traditional spiritual practice of culture and religion in West Africa, particularly Nigeria, but it symbolizes other things too. It is the pseudonym for bribery. In this case, the Establishment Officer’s “Kola” is £5 (five pounds) bribery. He insists Ajala must bring this and is able to bring it considering his credit worthiness for a study loan still hanging over his life. Despite his plea, a completely dejected Ajala is further harassed by the words of the officer who boasts of threatening non-compliant employees with dismissal or issuance of bad discharge certificate. This scene is not unpopular to many Job seekers today. It projects directly the imbalanced power relation between the employee and the employer in many societies which creates vulnerability.

Seeking solution out of this, Femi his friend acts as the voice of reason, reminding him of the value their principal instilled in them as students. “Remember what the principal says about taking or giving bribes? It is the canker eating into the very fabric of our nation. We as the future hopes of this country must steer clear of bribery…whether he calls it Kola or money, I am sure it is still bribe”. Ajala is encouraged to approach the Police, demanding justice as he learns the act of bribery is criminal.

Mr. Agbalowomeri got his token bribery of £5, and true to his word, he gives Ajala a confirmation letter of employment with a commencing salary of £172.10 per annum. Detective- Sergeant Okoro arrived to the office of the Establishment Officer the moment Ajala coughed to signal him the bribe has been received. The search for the marked £5 notes (with recorded numbers) was instructed on the officer who was in denial.

Indeed the real ‘kola’ is edible, but the £5 currency note as a ‘kola’ is no bread and butter. Crestfallen Mr. Agbalowomeri had a grip on his throat as Seargent Okoro forced him to spit out the currency notes which he was trying to swallow in an attempt to destroy evidence. He was indeed the very picture of despondency.

Narrating his story, he swears on God as witness to his friend Mr. Duroayo whose Son in-law Justice Faderin has been assigned to try his case. Bribery is in Mr. Agbalowomeri’s vein, giving ten pounds and a bottle of whisky, Mr. Durodayo was commissioned to win his son inlaw over with a gift of twenty five (25) guineas, and later fifty (50) guineas.

The moral climax of the play is the judgement given by Justice Faderin who does not take bribe. With every form of emotional blackmail strategically instituted through familial and tribal relationship, Justice Faderin who was inclined about the case, took no lenient view. In emphasizing the law as no respecter of person, he said ‘if the citadel of justice is corrupt, what will happen to the body politics? It will be completely rotten and collapse.’

The grey haired, heavily spectacled Mr. James Ade Agbalowomeri, with 20years experience as Establishment officer of the Government Development Department, with many family responsibilities is in the dock. Mr. Agbalowomeri, the son of the Ogbuluefon of the famous Kiriji War has been charged in a sensational court case. He with his illustrious pedigree swore with the bible in the witness box and severally called God as his witness but God was asleep.

Where bribery fails, mercy plea may help. The guilty man pled for mercy quoting hackneyed Shakespeare “the quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth…” He is finally refused his option of a fine and sent to 3years imprisonment with hard labour by a Judge who understands the necessity of deterring others from following a bad example.

Published in 1962 and republished in 2011, this play, written in very simple language has remained a classic. It has become even more alive in our society of today perverse with cases of bribery and incessant corrupt practices than it could have been in the years the author wrote it. While the author in his preface states that the Incorruptible Judge is not primarily meant to teach morals, my experience of engaging it as a child taught me otherwise. It was my first encounter with the word ‘bribery’ and its true meaning. It triggered my imagination of the power of the law; my first engagement with a book bringing alive a fictionalized courtroom performance. But I ask, how well did the values this book sought to imbibe withstand time?

More than anything else, this book raises more questions for me now, especially on the experiences of job seekers world over. I am reflecting deeper on the situations of employment and rule of law, and their linkages to development in today’s world. To better conceptualize this, I will be comparing the Incorruptible Judge with Greg Mills and Jeffrey Herbst’s ‘Africa’s Third Liberation’ in the very next post.

– Written by Adaobi Nkeokelonye

Who are we Fighting?

February 17, 2014 / fictioningdevelopment / 13 Comments

It’s Tuesday night, I am still relieving memories of my engagements for the 14^th of February. These days, my personal life and my work life seem thick as thieves. I am reading Suey Park’s post sent to me by a friend. Suey says dating can be hard for activists because for people like her “love is not about sacrifice and scarcity but about equality, justice and community.” Hence activist are better dating them self; it is easier for activists to date one another because others would not understand when “you have to attend a street protest at night.” This is arguable but also interesting.

Like her, I spent the day rising with billions of people all over the world for ‘One Billion Rising Campaign’. While women, girls, men and boys can be victims of violence, this campaign focused on women and girls only. With my personal quote ‘Rise up, let’s Silence Violence, not Women’, I talked to friends, using all social media links available to mobilize support for the cause. Rather than ending my day on an ideal candle light dinner table with litters of red roses and wine, I landed in bed tired from the appreciation of my fellow justice seekers and the mockery of my anti-feminist family and friends, one of whom is my brother Godson. Everything about our action seemed to rob off wrongly for my anti-feminist brother who feels as if I am fighting him and other men. Though I realize that the cause I stood for is far beyond me and him, his perspective provoked a food for thought; what are we fighting? who are we really fighting against? Is it the men, the system or is it those who perpetrate violence against women?

It’s a night after the Valentine’s eve and am getting more clarity to my mind’s questions. Am chatting with my Italian friend Maurizio,

‘I hate the Maman,’ he said to me.

‘Who is the Maman,’ I asked.

‘They are African women exploiting and blackmailing other African women to prostitution… they blackmail these women, with voodoo rites, threatening to kill their relatives in Africa if they do not prostitute’ he explained. ‘In Italy, women are migrated in ships for prostitution…Write an article on this please’ he requested.

Photo by Grain Media

I have for the past few days pondered and researched on the character of the Maman. Woven around the Maman are stories of young African girls whose minds have been raped by stories of paradise Europe and easily shipped away from family and friends and the otherwise better life they had. Like mannequins in motion, they stand in stiletto heels, their breasts cupped in painful brassière that remind them that their flesh knows no freedom anymore. The Maman’s are their pimps who smear the windshield of the lives of enslaved prostitutes with fear and illusion buried in an oath with a promise to destroy the lives they left back at home.

Jagua Nana by Cyprian Ekwensi, is one literary book that presents us with a psycho-social case in point for prostitution. It links its characters and narratives to the realities of prostitution in our world. Reviewing it here, we had explored the dynamic sentiments around the flesh for cash business, from the legal, health and the economic angle. Bertolt Bretchs work, Der gute Mensch von Sezuan (literally translated the good woman of Setzuan) which we also reviewed here, unveiled the Johns behind the mask of prostitution. I am not going back to these lines of thinking.

What provoked me to write this is that unlike most of us will expect, the Mamans are women, not men. Yes, the Italian Mamans (or Madams as they are also called) are African women exploiting the body of other African women. Mamans blackmail their fellow women, throwing them on the sidewalks of prostitution and sometimes get them killed.

Defining Violence as a violation of human right is not new. Subsequent developments in international law and in interpreting CEDAW (Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination against Women) have recognized violence as constituting a violation of women’s human rights; that is disproportionately directed against a woman because she is a woman or that affects women disproportionately. It includes acts that inflict physical, mental or sexual harm or suffering, threats of such acts, coercion and other deprivations of liberty.

Chatting with Maurizio, I came out thinking that the fight for gender equality and against gender based violence may as well entail women fighting their fellow women for their freedom and well-being. I am trying to be judgmental of the Maman, but again I ask myself, perhaps there is a vicious circle here? Are Maman’s not also one time victim of the oppressive system of violence they uphold?

Whether victim or not, the reality of this story is that women too are emerging as perpetrators of gender based violence. Women and not just men are in different ways supporting the structure and culture of violence.

A profound truth with implication for feminist interventions like ‘one billion rising’ is the realization that sometimes we must fight our self and not another person. We must dance our self off suckling and keeping faith in any system that rapes our mind and violates our well-being.

I believe in the sacredness of every human soul, in the truth that we can all live an inviolate life. This faith drives my support for social causes like the ‘one billion rising’, standing for justice and equality . Rising against violence for me means standing against the systemic structure that promotes violence and persons that support it, it is not about prejudicing and fighting men specifically. As we rise, we must keep our focus on separating the issue from the people.

Am sparing a thought today for that battered woman who lost her soul to violence, remembering she will never come home again. To her Sons and Daughters, to the women and girls who have sustained scars in their heart, souls and flesh, whose bodies have been weakened and mutilated, I hope you dance. Rise, Release and dance to the non-violent rhythm of freedom.

Come February 14^th 2015 and every day of my life, I will continue to rise and dance against systems and actions that promote violence and impunity for persons that perpetrate violence, be they men or women.

Am I colour-blind or is it a grey street?

February 14, 2014 / fictioningdevelopment / 0 Comments

Today, Billions of People are participating in the One Billion Rising Campaign. ‘One Billion Rising’ is a global campaign to end to violence against women, rise for justice and promote gender equality. RISE, RELEASE, and DANCE to demand justice and end impunity! Rebloging this post which I contributed in, I am showing support to end violence against women and girls worldwide.

Who is an African?

January 19, 2014 / fictioningdevelopment / 6 Comments

We become a ghost when we have no identity, this is true. But choosing our identity can mean sitting on the horns of a dilemma where we struggle to fit into many social boxes that just don’t fit our lives perfectly.

Ama Ata Aidoo’s ‘The Dilemma of a Ghost’ is a meticulous and thought-provoking rendition of the struggles we face choosing an identity. From cover to content, her ingenuous creative prowess presents to us the conflicts of identities in the main characters of Eulalie Yawson and Ato Yawson. Eulalie is the African-American wife of Ato who by reason of marriage returns to the Africa she identifies with. But she is regarded by her Ghanaian in-laws as a “black white woman” hailing from no identifiable tribe and a descendant of slaves. She is happy to be in Africa- her roots, but she is not welcomed. Ato, is the prodigal son, who returns from the United States to his home in Africa to begin a new life with a new bride. He is caught in the struggle of marrying his American ideals to Africa’s realities. This presents a potential conflict as the experiences of these two categories have less in common. Thus, he is alienated from his family and his heritage and also from his wife; westernized Eulalie cannot understand Ato’s loyalty to his tribe and people, Ato Watson is caught at the crossroad of negotiating his true identity.

The focus of the drama ‘The Dilemma of a Ghost’ captures the trans-generational differences in the viewpoints of African Americans and those who are native Africans. But it indirectly raises issues of diminishing boundary lines in defining people’s identities. The Dilemma of a Ghost essentially creates a space for us to negotiate our identities in an era with many identity clashes where the boundary lines are getting blurry.

Who is an African? This is thought provoking as territoriality or links to African ancestry, limitedly defines an African. Does a conscious commitment to the cause of Africa legitimize one’s claim on the African identity? Is an African just a dark skinned man or woman? Of course it is simply not a racial category. Pondering on this question makes one realise just how fluid the African Identity, just like other identities have become.

Picture from Vakwetu Styles

Reflecting on this topic, I remembered a time when colour mattered. It was in the twilight of the summer term, autumn was drawing near, and there was sunshine and a nip of coolness in the air. I felt rejuvenated as I walked into the library, clad in my dress made of brightly coloured African prints. In that dress and with my kinky hair, I felt different from everyone else. I did not blend with my environment but I had no inferiority complex. I needed my looks to bang the drum about my root, my country, my continent Africa and the culture regardless of whether or not it conflicted with the ideals of England, a country where I live. Yes I am a young African woman schooling in the English man’s country, but I will not miss a moment of flaunting my African Identity.

Walking past the many looming shelves that divided the Library into sections, he was sitting there. He was reading but not in a fixated way. I thought I could walk past unnoticed, but he saw me walking closer and we had to greet again. His name is John Harris. Though we belonged to the same institute, he was not my friend. Subconsciously, I had for unknown reasons kept away from this six foot tall man. He had the Caucasian skin colour with a very youthful body tending towards that of an athlete. By observation, John was not one to be put down when he needed to make a point; he was charismatic and knew very well how to stand in his power. I was used to him addressing me in an endearing way, again he whispered, ‘Hi Sweetheart!’ I responded with some feeling of endearment, asking how far he had gone with his dissertation.

‘I have just started’ he responded. I couldn’t help giving a hoot of laughter; a distraction for the library environment and the whispery tone of our conversation, so I stopped. We were one month away from submitting the dissertation which had loomed over every graduating student’s life since the last two months. Perhaps he had gone on a long fun holiday and just resumed, I thought. ‘Where are you from John?’ I asked. ‘I am African’ he said.

His response left a waft of sour taste in my mouth. Perhaps I expected to hear he was from Europe, I wanted him to pick another identity, yes, anywhere else but not Africa, not my continent. His tongue didn’t speak English in the African way. His skin was not dark, it was not close to brown, and he was neither Mullato. He had the privileged Caucasian skin. His claim on the African identity suddenly made me struggle with mine momentarily.

What was it in Africa he laid claim to? Was it her poverty, war and corruption? Maybe it was the typical European’s romanticism of Africa, or perhaps it’s something about her great wildlife. His response troubled me; I felt as though someone was taking from me without my permission.

Now, I am acquainted with John who has neither the presumed name nor the colour of an African, yet he is African. John is a British/South African but does it make him less of an African? This era is filled with rupturing thoughts forced by daily changes we experience. Like John, I also may not qualify for every detail in my ideological constructions of an African. Despite my skin colour, my citizenship, my dress and hair styles, I may be found wanting in another person’s definition of an African.

Clearly, my understanding of racial and national identities has been entangled with historical memories and constructions of race which continue to influence how we relate with people from other geographical spaces. My construction of an African is a reinvestment of subjectivities perhaps reinforced by years spent in international development practice. Was John aware of the grip his skin colour has on defining power and powerlessness in Africa? Like Eulalie Yawson, am I aware of the connotations and conflicts my other identities may have on my claim to an African identity? While these may be invisible to us and quite normalized, I am thinking there may be need for us all to re-evaluate our respective presumptions of our identities to better appreciate it.

Concluding, neither I nor Ama Ata Aidoo can speak for who is or is not an African. Africa is a mother with arms large enough to embrace all. It starts with feeling you validate and share with her soil, and her people in seasons of laughter, hunger, of rain, of sunshine and abundance.

– Written by Adaobi Nkeokelonye

I wanted the Queen back, but now the King is gone!

December 17, 2013 / fictioningdevelopment / 14 Comments

Picture from www.ezakwantu.com

Dear Madiba,

I wonder why I did not get into the social media excitement of mourning you! After a deep introspection at the wave and frenzy given to your demise globally, I asked myself why I felt less loyal to you all these years, and why I think people are giving you much more honor than I felt you alone deserve. With some reflection, I acknowledged that somewhere in my heart, the desire of that feminist child I was, still felt strong subconsciously.

Over the years, I wanted Queen Winnie back, but now you are gone. Madiba, I had fantasized through your time in jail that one day, the African King and Queen who fought for their people’s freedom will together be honored. I imagined you both standing tall, with clenched fists thrusted into the Zephyr and with a shout of Amandla, declare that Africa will live happily ever after again. But as it was just my fantasy, it never became a reality. I felt your divorcing her shrouded her contribution to freedom fighting; it was like only in marriage to you, was she made relevant. I felt you helped abdicate her as Mother of Africa. Winnie was your fighter, for 27years, she kept you alive, by putting your story out there; she gave us the Madiba we now adore and she heard your last breath!

Yet this divorce masked everything. Unlike a man, a woman charged with corruption and violation of human right, and most of all Marital unfaithfulness to a husband absent for three decades should not be forgiven, protected, or honored with love. She must not be part of the pristine leadership circles that we have in Africa.

Decades after my heartbreak from this legendary separation, I realize that some of my sentiments perhaps were subjective coming from the heart of a then 12year old girl who understood less of the politics and fabric of marriage, leadership and the power relations therein. For this, I felt less loyal to you all these years.

Madiba, you were not my greatest Hero, but what I saw at your funeral quickened me; it made me think again. Now I realize that with the innocence of my childhood, I had judged you too hard. As you once said, it takes a sinner to be a saint. In retrospect, I acknowledge that what you represented was more than just a husband. I can confess that even though you may have failed as the idealist husband of my childhood to Africa’s Queen Winnie, you never failed us as a Father. In that role, you stood strong and tall like the African Iroko. Hence I will call you Tata!

Tata, you embodied forgiveness. You may not have forgiven the woman that jailed your heart easily, but you sincerely forgave all those who tried to jail your body and your dream for Africa. In that, your spirit found the freedom to fly into many loving hearts in all nooks and cranny. Your forgiveness did not seek justice; it sought for peace and reconciliation. In our political landscape noted for war; a region where children received guns from Santa Claus and know the trigger as the only resolver of conflict, your acts of reconciliation remains an exemplar.

Like the current president of my country, I remember you were sometime a shoe-less school boy, but unlike him, your leadership supported structures that will ensure that in the future, no child will be shoe-less or school-less. Poverty is not good, in many ways, you reminded us that poverty is not a native of Africa, but a traveler. Sometime in the past, I remember you had said that “overcoming poverty is not a task of charity; it is an act of justice. Like slavery and apartheid, poverty is not natural. It is man made and can be overcome and eradicated by the actions of human being. Sometimes it falls on a generation to be great. You can be that generation let your greatness blossom”. To us young Africans living in a landscape marked by extreme poverty and conflict, your departure makes these words our duty call.

Pray for us Tata, pray that we learn that it has fallen on our generation to make Africa great again; that we understand that such greatness does not come with complacency, but as your life teaches us, we need a bit of anger. Pray that our eyes open to see that true men like you who fought for Africa are now but a dying breed.

Tata, you taught us that we must always do something about what we do not like, talking about it is never enough. Pray God to grant us the wisdom of knowing how to commit to a cause in the same way that men like you and women like Winnie staked their lives. May we learn that true change does not happen by tweeting, sharing pictures and articles on social media. Wearing ribbons or keeping memorabilia of support for social causes may only add entertainment value. May we learn that with a little more courage, we can still rise under our scotching sun.

Thank you for gracing our world with your presence Tata. I cannot deny you greatness, for according to Mencius, “the great man is he who does not lose his child’s heart”. In truth, you won our hearts. If truly the spirit of the dead watches over the living, I pray thee Tata to watch over Africa. Daughters and Sons of the Sun do not say goodbye, hence I will say Kachifo; until dawn comes, Rest well Tata! Africa misses you already…

Written by

Adaobi Nkeokelonye

Writing in the Field…

October 16, 2013 / fictioningdevelopment / 9 Comments

Fiction writing comes alive with a lot of creativity. Be it prose or poetry, the creativity which a writer weaves into it, is often sparked or ignited. One of the triggers for creative writing I know is travelling. I am not talking of the act of being an imaginary foreigner. When you physically travel a lot, I suppose you will many times find lots of things you will want to share. Travel is expensive, but if you are lucky to have a career that encourages travelling, you are thus blessed with many inspirations.

Working in the Social Development sector is interesting. Over the years, it has garnered for its self and its practitioners, an identity. As people identify with their occupations like being a social worker, I can proudly say I am a development worker. Such identity is nourished by the many travels we ought to do considering the different issues and people you will have to work for and with.

With travelling comes reflection. Few days ago,while on a trip, I reflected on the impact travelling and working on different development issues has made on my life. I notice there is an unconscious act of surrounding your space mostly with people of like mind; who think and aspire to reshape the world. This produces what I call living in a cosmopolitan bubble. This bubble has been strengthened with so much knowledge and confrontations, which many times are greater than us. We are provoked to anger and passion, sometimes misjudgement of people who cannot see the urgency in the change we want to institute. We forget that unlike us, they have not travelled the many routes, seen hills of different shades, and seen people of different colours, culture and landscape.

There are more advantages we gain working in development. A rising number of development workers are taking to creative avocations; taking advantage of their insights and travels to produce creative piece evoked by reflections on the breathtaking landscapes, transformations, people, issues and perhaps nature. I have friends like Anne Chia, Carrie Ann amongst others on wordpress. Most of the others are inspired to do travel writing but are either too busy or too shy to publish.

I went reading from development workers who are doing some creative work and are perhaps too shy or too busy to publish. I found the work of my friend Victoria Nwogu. Vicky is a brilliant Nigerian lady who works for the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) as a Gender Advisor. On her working visit to Somalia, she was inspired to do the creative piece which she titled ‘Blow me Jeje’ below.

Blow me jeje!

My dear dear friend
Your cool caress on my face as I descend
Ah! I realize you’ve come along
And I have been away too long
How nippy and sprightly you feel
The jolt back there, when I felt the craft keel
I’ll never tire of your playfulness
Hey! I squeal as you ruffle my skirts

I can see you’ve come by in the night
Everything covered in dust so light
Naughty thing that you are
I almost thought you a burglar
When you stubbornly shook my window
I peered out in fear, but not even a shadow
Then I knew it was you
Sneaking up to command my view

You sound angry this fretful morn
Your wail, like a woman facing scorn
Boisterous and passionate in your ire
We cower as you unleash your temper
I wouldn’t want to be your rival
A clash with your power would be fatal
With what shall we assuage your fury?
Perhaps a roof or a sapling, but not a baby!

I feel like dancing
In tune to your infectious prancing
But you race past me as I reach with yearning
I see your other lovers persisting
Your attention leaves a twinge of pain
But oh joy, when you turn to me again
Virile men can’t face your great might
As you consume everything in sight

Now my sojourn is at its end
Till we meet again dear friend
Blow me jeje!

No, it’s not what you think. Its not an ode to a lover; its a poem written in honour of the Southwest Moonsoon Wind. According to Vicky, the Moonsoon wind comes every year from late May until late August, blowing over the Gulf of Aden from the western Arabian Sea onto the Eastern coasts of Africa. While the winds rarely reach gale force scale, there are a few days in the months of July or August when the speeds could reach a maximum high of 34 to 40 knots. She was privileged to experience the fury and the fun of this wind in Puntland in Somalia. This experience did merit an ode or ‘amateur poetry’ as she called it. For me, this poem has a good composition, verses and depth of expression, I cannot be asking for too much from a spontaneous writer.

Picture of sea waves from the Southwest Moonson Wind as Captured by Vicky.

On a lighter side, we can exhale while on the job in a creative way. It could be doing a poem, it could be taking a picture or sharing a story that makes our world Richer. Perhaps we would never know about some places or things if someone doesn’t write about it. Thank you Vicky for this windy ode. As the poem says, blow me jeje, blow me gently; may the wind of development blow us gently.

There Was A Country by Chinua Achebe: My Review!

October 13, 2013 / fictioningdevelopment / 14 Comments

Why would I review an Author’s personal account of the realities of his time on a page that deals with fiction and development issues? Drawing from a background of literature and history, I believe that the book ‘There was a Country’ by Chinua Achebe gives deeper insight into the development of the country Nigeria. It gives relevance to the past and the future of our world perhaps projecting the need of a better perspective for younger generation trying to understand their root.

This book comes littered with thought provoking poems that gives the right ambience to the issues discussed. It speaks of an era when renowned authors responded to development issues using fiction writing that produced satiric works like ‘Before the Black out’ by Wole Soyinka and Man of the People by Chinua Achebe amongst others. It tells of the role of a writer in social and national development. Chinua Achebe emphasizes that ‘if a society is ill, the writer has a responsibility to point it out’. It highlights the political position of creative writing in the advancement of development in any era.

Beyond this, the book indeed has placed a moral lens on how we as young people view our history and our past leaders (villains and heroes alike). It helps one position the intentions of the many giant nations, especially the western nation in the development of Nigeria. It is here to help us look through our national pathologies and indeed unlearn things that will stop ugly history from repeating.

The Biafran war remains a very political issue; it is not spoken of without raising a tribal dust. Its realities are barely known to people like me who were born three or four decades ago. For most of us, Biafra was that war that failed to divide Nigeria; it’s when the people of Ibo descents wanted a country of their own. Not many of us have strived to understand clearly the roots of this desired separation. Perhaps it has been politically hidden in our education. As the Author clearly asked, ‘why has the war not been discussed, or taught to the young, fourty years after its end?’

Reading this book, momentarily estranged me from my generation and I kindled to the life and truth of the Author’s generation, it gave my life more depth, meaning and resonance. I understand the war began not just as a result of belligerency raised by some primitive Ibo tribe. It was not a war between progressive nationalist and retrogressive tribal bigots. By Achebe’s projections, it started with a military coup that was misconstrued and given a tribal colour, it was stirred by a pogrom committed severally against a group. It was fuelled by manifold rivalry allowed by a complacent government.

When you read of the Asaba and Calabar Massacre, amongst others followed by the many pogroms that preceded it in Nigeria, you may like myself be tempted to ask if an apology by the incumbent leaders at the time was enough? Did this belated apology change the fact that there was genocide in Biafra? Will it change the alterations their acts had done to the present day people and their families who as the children of yesterday watched their father and brother’s bloods splashing on their faces and settling in violation on the earth?

I am not trying to raise a settled dust, No! The dusts are not settled! Again and again they rise with the tornadoes of many injustice and cycles of inter-ethnic and inter-religious killings littered all over Nigeria. They are there in the life and family of the many Ibo fathers, who were Biafran casualties, who wake up spontaneously angry, violent and abusive to wives and children for reasons they do not know. Perhaps they still duck under cover, hear the howls of pain, picture Biafran babies with washed out ribs and blown out bellies starved into submission in a landscape where the air is heavy with odours of blood. Hmmnn…to the children of yesterday, there is a cry for justice. To the children of today, there is a hunger for peace. But there will be no peace without justice.

Achebe’s personal accounts, gave an insight into the genesis of election rigging (another national cancer) as an eclectic seed of the West. The manipulations of the embittered British Colonists aided the transfer of power to the then most conservative elements in the country hence inspiring the perpetual death of faith in genuine democracy. The character of the independence given to the country Nigeria came with so much ease that one would wonder if it were not a Greek gift.

This book showcased landmark events that could have catalyzed development in Africa. But rather our leaders compromised or altered them with mediocre thinking which enshrined our government. Perhaps we may need to ask what our acclaimed altruistic leaders had done with the ingenuity of the Biafran scientist and think-tanks who fourty decades ago, could pilot planes and generate technologies they used to fight their cause. These people survived for years refining their own oil and maintaining their vehicle with no western aid or resources. What happened to the indigenous skills of this group of people who did what the Europeans may have tagged impossible for Africa in that time? In three years of the war, necessity gave birth to great inventions which if integrated into national development could advance a nation and perhaps a continent. But alas, we buried them all, we buried true African independence with the memories of men and women en-masse that died for their faith.

The late writer paid his last due by putting in our hands the gift of a little history book and now I can confidently say that ‘There was a Country’! I am always of the opinion that our African fathers failed us by their choices and decisions in a revolutionary era. Now I am tempted to say that my generation may be on the verge of failing our children by being complacent and not questioning many past and present conventions, for fear that we will raise another dust! But must Biafra come again?

By Adaobi Nkeokelonye

Author: fictioningdevelopment (Page 5 of 7)

Writing Violence…

In Memory of Water…

Africa’s Third Liberation

The Incorruptible Judge and the Incorrigible Liar

Who are we Fighting?

Am I colour-blind or is it a grey street?

Who is an African?

I wanted the Queen back, but now the King is gone!

Writing in the Field…

There Was A Country by Chinua Achebe: My Review!

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