Showing posts with label Claudette Oduor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Claudette Oduor. Show all posts

Thursday, 5 July 2012

“The Past is Always Better Than the Present”


Rethinking Eastern African Literary and Intellectual Landscapes is a new book, a collaborative effort between East African academics, writers and thinkers. The book launched at the Goethe Institut in Nairobi on the 3rd of July, 2012.

While introducing the book, Dr. Tom Odhiambo reaffirmed the urgency and need of such endeavours by East African thinkers. He lamented the baleful disregard of arts and humanities by university administrations in Kenya where it frequently occurs that academics are unable to secure funding for their projects ‘because their work is not scientific enough’.

Dr. James Ogude explained how the book was conceptualized; it is an attempt at finding ways to re-energising intellectual scholarships within East Africa.

“We may work with the world, but it is necessary to have our own local interventions,” Ogude said. “A society that relies on foreign voices to tell its own stories is a dying society.”

Ogude recounted the intellectual climate of the 60s. “We have never looked back at that era and captured the intellectual traditions,” he said and illustrated how Ngugi and others led the intellectual revolution. “This book attempts to reassert East Africa as an important site of culture and intellectualism.”

Ogude shared details of his recent meeting with Ngugi. “Ngugi and I reminisced on those days gone. See, back then, we never quite realized the contribution of scholars in the region. And then Ngugi asked me where in Nairobi the book was to launch. He laughed when I told him, said we are still relying on the patronage of former colonial masters. What happened to our own homegrown spaces? Why do we never take the initiative?”

Ogude explained how received theories (from the west) inflected the manner of perception of our own experiences by reversing the hierarchy of our intellectual values. This is what Ogude terms as ‘The African Urgency’, one that needs to be addressed.

“The humanities are the crucible of society. We can produce technocrats, but society needs its thinkers.”

Dr. Godwin Murunga criticised the learning of African Studies as a distinct, monolithic unit. “I do not understand why, in this day and age, a university in Africa would teach African Studies. Have we, all this time, been studying aliens?” he asked. “Why must we depart from history, from literature, from art, and look for Africa in a place called ‘Africa Studies’?”

Murunga spoke of the global politics of education and the bearing of one’s academic affiliations to one’s global visibility (a severe reality that makes African scholars virtually invisible). He also spoke of the pitiful internal dynamics of our own institutions, the astonishing ways in which our universities self-annihilate.

Dr. George Ogola discussed the politics of the exiled African intellectual. He explained that diasporic intellectuals are often dismissed as inauthentic precisely because of their absence, a criticism that ignores the moral and material realities. Intellectual traditions do not follow linear trajectories, and many intellectuals and thinkers are so because of the anxieties of exile.

Ogola explained that the book is important due to its decolonisation of modernities, and due to the fact that the book not only focuses on Kenya or Africa but transcends it.

“This book is both historical and contemporary,” he said. “It redresses concerns of thematic insularities. It questions, for example, not just the patriarchy of European imperialism, but of African nationalism. What is the place of the woman as producer of intelligent output? Whose intelligent traditions are we engaging with, and where is the place of the woman in this?”

After a brief musical interlude during which the gripping Makadem performed, the audience was allowed to field questions. One particularly resonating one came from someone that spoke heatedly of what he termed as ‘positive primitivism’.

“The past is always better than the present,” he said, levelling his criticism against the intellectuals who looked back at the 60s and 70s through rose-tinted spectacles. “The revolution of the 70s meant to bring African voices at the centre of departments, and to put English aside. What then would have been the logical conclusion?”

He explained that in his opinion, African voices are best heard in African languages. In Kenya, there is a larger body of work in Swahili today than there was in English in all of the 60s, 70s and 80s combined.

“Why then do we say that literature has died? Back then, we were unhappy about expressing Kenyan voices in foreign languages. What we hear now is a dominant story, one expressed in English. Does it mean that if it a voice does not speak in English then it does not exist?”

In answer to this, Ogude expressed satisfaction at the growing body of work in Swahili and other local languages. He warned, however, that it will come to naught should this work be ignored by intellectuals.

“We need to engage with these works,” he said. He went on to address the criticism against such ‘positive primitivism’ with regards to the nostalgia of the 60s and 70s:

“Makerere, the University of Nairobi were functional institutions back then. We need not sweep realities under carpets. We must face ourselves, demand answers from ourselves. It is inevitable that intellectualism will plummet if student bodies increase exponentially without concomitant increase in academic resources. What we are seeing right now is a phenomenon where our students do not go through university, but university goes through our students!”

Saturday, 2 June 2012

Binyavanga Wainaina's Memoir Launches in Nairobi

A year after its release in the US and in the UK, Binyavanga Wainaina’s critically acclaimed memoir One Day I Will Write About This Place finally came home to Kenya, with a launch at Nairobi’s Railway Museum.

“I hope that the beautiful cover of the Kenya version of the book will make up for the delay in launching it here at home,” Binyavanga said, and explained the grim situations that conspired against the original plan to launch the book in Kenya before its international debut. It was a combination of things—the Kenya shilling weakened against the US dollar, and then Binyavanga had a stroke, and then he lost his father just before the book came out.

The Nairobi launch was a cosy, intimate affair. Bibliophiles and literature enthusiasts huddled together on tightly bound bundles of hay. Heads and feet bobbed to Just A Band’s DJ set of house, funk, disco, and all the pleasant noises in between. And in the background, rain pounded the rustic remains of locomotives that once, between the forties and seventies, plied East Africa.

The Nairobi launch of the book coincided not only with Kenya’s Independence Day celebrations but also with Queen Elizabeth's Diamond Jubilee celebrations (coincidentally, it was while at Aberdare National Park in Kenya in 1952 that the Queen learnt of her father's death and her own forthcoming coronation).

That the book is written in English is quite plainly attributable to Kenya’s colonial heritage. Perhaps, then, there is something to be said of the Railway Museum as a venue for the book launch, with its quaint locomotives both as symbols and as residues of colonialism. Or, perhaps, that is excessive reading between the lines?

Following several brief introductory speeches, Kwani?’s Managing Editor and 2012 Caine Prize shortlisted writer Billy Kahora told anecdotes from years of working with Binyavanga at Kwani?, a literary magazine that Binyavanga founded upon his winning of the Caine Prize in 2002.

Copyright Mwangi Kirubi

Binyavanga held a short reading of his book, introducing the audience to his eclectic, breathing, twisting words, to the vibrancy and innocence and swirling colours of his childhood. It is a childhood that most of his Kenyan audience was familiar with, judging from the ease at which grins and chuckles broke. He read:
Nakuru is a high-altitude town at the bottom of the Rift Valley. This geography-class contradiction confuses me. Ciru and I like to call Kenya’s tallest building Kenyatta Cornflakes Center.
Brown is near. Green far. Blue farthest. The hills in the distance are dark. Maasailand.
From here you can see Kenya’s main highway- the Mombasa-Kisumu Road, where there are often long, long lines of army tanks and trucks going to the Lanet barracks. Uganda is still falling. Idi Amin ran away. They killed all the prisoners and left blood and guts in the prison. Some bodies had no heads. Tanzania and Museveni attacked Amin. Mum is on the phone a lot with uncles and aunties. Most of them are now all over the world.
President Moi says Kenya is an Island of Peace. President Moi says Somali Shifta bandits are trying to destabilize Kenya. Somali Shiftas don’t tuck in their shirts. The king of Rwanda is nearly seven feet tall and is always standing outside Nairobi Cinema, where women come and kneel in front of him. He is not allowed into Rwanda. He is a refugee. He used to flirt with Mum before she met and fell in love with Baba.
After the reading, Binyavanga had a conversation with Granta’s Deputy Editor, Ellah Allfrey. The chat was frank, on wide-ranging topics such as childhood masturbation, death in the family, generational (and general) differences between East, West and South African writers, the manifestations of colonialism in literature, the machinations of the global publishing industry, the delicate balancing act between the need for candour and the risk of naked vulnerability in writing, what makes Binyavanga’s book a memoir and not an autobiography, and whether or not it was written as Africa’s answer to books such as No Mercy: A Journey Into the Heart of the Congo, Dark Star Safari and The Zanzibar Chest.

Copyright Mwangi Kirubi
Binyavanga recounted some of the bizarre and less bizarre events that brought him continental and international acclaim, the ensuing struggle to live up to and even scale his own past successes, and his plans for the future. He also revealed that a West African version of One Day I Will Write About This Place is forthcoming from Farafina Books.

Eric Wainaina, perhaps the most recognisable, most socially conscious face in Kenyan music performed Joka, a song penned by writer Parselelo Kantai. And then, as though in self-fulfilling prophecy of the title of the song, long, winding queues snaked their way to the book-signing table.

Claudette Oduor