Author of "Mukiwa" Shortlisted for Michael Kelly Award
Only on Saturday I discussed Peter Godwin with a Facebook (now real life) friend at the Sacramento Writers' Conference. When she found out I was from Zimbabwe she told me she had just finished reading an amazing book by a Zimbabwean author, entitled When Crocodile Eats the Sun. I knew the title but I had forgotten that it was written by Peter Godwin, but because we were talking about memoirs, I ended up telling her that I had loved Mukiwa: A White Boy in Africa, a book which came out in 1997 (Harper), right when I was beginning to miss home. So anything that reminded me of home, food items, newspapers stories, books, anything, would have sufficed. Mukiwa was extraordinary in its balanced approach to the story of growing up in Zimbabwe, marketed by Harper Perenial as Africa.
My friend said, "Well then, if you liked Mukiwa, you will love When Crocodile Eats the Sun."
"I'll look for it, " I promised.
Then today I visited Zimbabwe's Artsinitiates website and guess who was in the main headline? Peter Godwin, on the shortlist of a prestigious international award. The story by UK-based Tinashe Mushakavanhu reveals that this award is worth USD 25 000 and the winner will be announced on April 16 in Washington. The Michael Kelly Award was created by Atlantic Media Company Chairman David G. Bradley after Kelly's death while covering the war in Iraq in 2003. It is awarded to journalists who excel in "the fearless pursuit and expression of truth".
Peter Godwin, now a Vanity Fair journalist, was born in the Chimanimani area of Zimbabwe.He grew up in the Rhodesia UDI era and during the war that led to the transition to Zimbabwe.The memoir is a record of Godwin's experiences during the time.
When I read the book in 1997, I still had a strong attachment to Chimanimani because only a year earlier I had been a high school teacher there. My teaching in Chimanimani only lasted four months, but the richness of the experiences often make me think I lived there for years.
Initially, in reading Mukiwa, I was looking for something familiar; I wanted Godwin to mention the places I still remembered, like Skyline Junction, Biriwiri area, Rusitu. I wanted him to mention the rivers, the mountains, the dangers of the place. Yes, the dangers, the mystery. Chimanimani Mountains were known by the locals as mysterious, with stories of people who had vanished in the ranges. The locals reported that ancient voices could be heard at certain times in the mountains, songs, drumming. I knew too that when I was in Harare there had been news about a group of students who had disappeared in the ranges, and most people knew of tourists who were said to have vanished there. I wanted Godwin to talk about such things.
And there were more dangers in Chimanimani, especially in the Rusitu Valley where I taught. The jagged terrain generously created breathtaking views of massive landslides. Each landslide meant someone would be absent from work for days, because roads were blocked and no buses would risk coming to Risutu during stormy days. I remembered the paydays teachers would be stuck in the area unable to travel to the banks in cities. I wanted to see this in Mukiwa.
The rivers were dangerous too. A student from our school (Ndima High)had been taken by the local river. She was on her way to school with a group of other students. When they reached the river, her peers agreed not to cross because the water level was too high. It was just another day they had to miss school, but the girl said she could not miss school. She braved her way into the water and was immediately swept away by the vicious currents. I wanted Godwin to cover similar stories. And to a great extent he did, but he moved further into something deeply personal yet highly relatable to any readers with compassion.
Mukiwa offers a "vivid, moving account of growing up in Rhodesia during the end of white rule" says the blurb. The story traces Godwin's life into adolescence and adulthood, revealing the experiences in the Chimurenga war and the transition to black rule. The book is compelling in its specificity, a story that says, "My writer cares about me even if you don't read me." But a story that says that ends up being read by millions. Mukiwa became an international bestseller, the only book by a Zimbabwean author which I could find at Borders or Barnes and Noble for a long time. I was proud, showing it to anyone who could look.
Mukiwa introduced the Zimbabwean memoir to the world. Some called it "an invaluable addition to the literature of Southern Africa" and for a long time I agreed. Now there has been an explosion of "white boy" and "white girl" growing up in Africa stories, which were further popularized by the unavoidable Alexandra Fuller (For many weeks I would see Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight on the front tables of Borders and Barnes & Noble, and when later I became an inventory manager of one of these chains, I saw and talked about it a lot. A lot.
I see the memoir genre expanding in Zimbabwean writing. Someone needs to write a biography of Zimbabwe, or a fictional work where Zimbabwe is a character telling its story. I know I can't do that yet because I am still working on my family, and my protagonist has not even reached puberty. But I digress.
If Godwin, Fuller and others popularized the growing-up-in-Africa memoir, new writers like Jennifer Armstrong and [insert name here] will take it to new heights. I am reading Armstrong's Minus Morning and already she is breaking memoir-writing rules. I expected that since, knowing her work on Marechera, I said to myself, "Jennifer's memoir? I've gotta see this."
The last decade in Zimbabwe is a rich resource for the memoir.Pain needs to tell its story. And while your stories are spefically Zimbabwean, be prepared to describe them as generally African because that's the taste the readers have already in their mouths. Book in the category have already been marketed by their American and British publishers as "yet another compelling story of an African childhood", " a boy soldier in Africa," "a white's tale about Africa's mysteries". Stories sell this way, and Zimbabwean writers could use some money right now. The thing to bear in mind is that these books are often compelling, and yes, they are to a great degree African; in fact, readers like my friend at the Sacramento Conference can easily figure out that they are Zimbabwean, or South African, or Kenyan. And that, dear readers, is what matters in a story, that it particularizes an experience which can easily be marketed as African, as universal, as something that will touch the hearts of many.
For those who haven't read Mukiwa, here is a taste of the work. I am a sucker for first sentences, and this one happens to be lovely: " I think I first realized something was wrong when our next-door neighbour, oom Piet Oberholzer, was murdered." Let's read the whole first paragraph, actually, "I must have been about six then. It was still two years before we rebelled against the Queen, and another seven years before the real war would start." Notice how Godwin invokes Smith's UDI right away? Most writers in this genre have done the same.
Here is Jennifer Armstrong in her recently-published memoir: "It was an extremely innocent time: we had (and this "we" presumably included me) just declared war on our black population in Rhodesia. It was UDI, a time of proclaiming our independence from Britain....Unilateral Declaration of Independence--that was on everybody's mind before I was born" (page 3).Armstrong goes on to point out that UDI was her sibbling, because it was three years old when she was born: "a sibling of mine who shadowed me in every direction and who I would later get to know."
Here is Godwin again: "It was well after dark as they drove up towards Skyline Junction, when they saw the rocks on the road. At first they thought it was a landslide, a common enough event on Manicaland roads" (10). Tell me about it, I would say to myself as I read the book in 1997.
Of course, Mukiwa lends itself to this all-Africa applicability that has been used in the West to market these memoirs: "It gets light very quickly in Africa. One minute it's bight and then the earth turns a bit more and suddenly it's morning" (13). I still enjoyed it, overlooked the generalization, and come to think of it, wasn't the place we came from, this Zimbabwe, not in Africa?
But in places, Mukiwa surprised: "Drowning was a common cause of death.... Africans were forever falling into rivers, usually on their way from beer drinks. Few of them could swim even when they were sober." I have a question mark in the margin, expressing disappointment in what then I regarded an error, but who knows, the Africans he may have known, maybe one or two, could have appeared like a whole clan of Africans to the young mind of the narrator. What I wanted to say at the time was that rural folks in places like Chimanimani knew how to swim; swimming was always a major pastime, in deep, dangerous pools. But I let it go; this was, remember, the only Zimbabwean book I had been able to find on American bookshelves. And it was doing a great job of refreshing my memory on Chimanimani.
And the familiar continud to shine in the book: "In those days we called African men 'boys'. We had cook boys and garden boys, however old they might be. African nannies were called girls" (14). Here was an honest voice with a critical edge, so that gave me pleasure as a reader. This sentence offended me at first: "Like most Africans he didn't know his exact age, and he didn't have a birth certificate" (19). I underlined it, then when I came back to it, I reminded myself that it was actually true. Growing up in Mazvihwa I had known many people who had no birth certificates, and those who did not know their exact birth dates; some only knew that they had been born in the year of the dark clouds, or in the year of the drought. So, okay, this was acurate; it was interesting actually; in fact, Godwin had beaten me to it--the portrayal of this odd truth about people in the village.
I liked the use of the Shona too, but found the explanations unnecessary. If you choose to include Shona, a really beautiful language, then skip glossaries and parenthetical translations. Cast the untranslated parts of the language in a context the reader will still understand without worrying about what the words mean. Of course, there are several positions on this issue. Some say don't include untranslated words and phrases altogether; others say offer explanations and glossaries, while yet another group says use the untranslated words but present the context in such a way that the reader does not lose anything. My position will require a separate post to clarify.
Congratulations to Peter Godwin for this great honour and for putting Zimbabwe and Africa on the map.
My friend said, "Well then, if you liked Mukiwa, you will love When Crocodile Eats the Sun."
"I'll look for it, " I promised.
Then today I visited Zimbabwe's Artsinitiates website and guess who was in the main headline? Peter Godwin, on the shortlist of a prestigious international award. The story by UK-based Tinashe Mushakavanhu reveals that this award is worth USD 25 000 and the winner will be announced on April 16 in Washington. The Michael Kelly Award was created by Atlantic Media Company Chairman David G. Bradley after Kelly's death while covering the war in Iraq in 2003. It is awarded to journalists who excel in "the fearless pursuit and expression of truth".
Peter Godwin, now a Vanity Fair journalist, was born in the Chimanimani area of Zimbabwe.He grew up in the Rhodesia UDI era and during the war that led to the transition to Zimbabwe.The memoir is a record of Godwin's experiences during the time.
When I read the book in 1997, I still had a strong attachment to Chimanimani because only a year earlier I had been a high school teacher there. My teaching in Chimanimani only lasted four months, but the richness of the experiences often make me think I lived there for years.
Initially, in reading Mukiwa, I was looking for something familiar; I wanted Godwin to mention the places I still remembered, like Skyline Junction, Biriwiri area, Rusitu. I wanted him to mention the rivers, the mountains, the dangers of the place. Yes, the dangers, the mystery. Chimanimani Mountains were known by the locals as mysterious, with stories of people who had vanished in the ranges. The locals reported that ancient voices could be heard at certain times in the mountains, songs, drumming. I knew too that when I was in Harare there had been news about a group of students who had disappeared in the ranges, and most people knew of tourists who were said to have vanished there. I wanted Godwin to talk about such things.
And there were more dangers in Chimanimani, especially in the Rusitu Valley where I taught. The jagged terrain generously created breathtaking views of massive landslides. Each landslide meant someone would be absent from work for days, because roads were blocked and no buses would risk coming to Risutu during stormy days. I remembered the paydays teachers would be stuck in the area unable to travel to the banks in cities. I wanted to see this in Mukiwa.
The rivers were dangerous too. A student from our school (Ndima High)had been taken by the local river. She was on her way to school with a group of other students. When they reached the river, her peers agreed not to cross because the water level was too high. It was just another day they had to miss school, but the girl said she could not miss school. She braved her way into the water and was immediately swept away by the vicious currents. I wanted Godwin to cover similar stories. And to a great extent he did, but he moved further into something deeply personal yet highly relatable to any readers with compassion.
Mukiwa offers a "vivid, moving account of growing up in Rhodesia during the end of white rule" says the blurb. The story traces Godwin's life into adolescence and adulthood, revealing the experiences in the Chimurenga war and the transition to black rule. The book is compelling in its specificity, a story that says, "My writer cares about me even if you don't read me." But a story that says that ends up being read by millions. Mukiwa became an international bestseller, the only book by a Zimbabwean author which I could find at Borders or Barnes and Noble for a long time. I was proud, showing it to anyone who could look.
Mukiwa introduced the Zimbabwean memoir to the world. Some called it "an invaluable addition to the literature of Southern Africa" and for a long time I agreed. Now there has been an explosion of "white boy" and "white girl" growing up in Africa stories, which were further popularized by the unavoidable Alexandra Fuller (For many weeks I would see Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight on the front tables of Borders and Barnes & Noble, and when later I became an inventory manager of one of these chains, I saw and talked about it a lot. A lot.
I see the memoir genre expanding in Zimbabwean writing. Someone needs to write a biography of Zimbabwe, or a fictional work where Zimbabwe is a character telling its story. I know I can't do that yet because I am still working on my family, and my protagonist has not even reached puberty. But I digress.
If Godwin, Fuller and others popularized the growing-up-in-Africa memoir, new writers like Jennifer Armstrong and [insert name here] will take it to new heights. I am reading Armstrong's Minus Morning and already she is breaking memoir-writing rules. I expected that since, knowing her work on Marechera, I said to myself, "Jennifer's memoir? I've gotta see this."
The last decade in Zimbabwe is a rich resource for the memoir.Pain needs to tell its story. And while your stories are spefically Zimbabwean, be prepared to describe them as generally African because that's the taste the readers have already in their mouths. Book in the category have already been marketed by their American and British publishers as "yet another compelling story of an African childhood", " a boy soldier in Africa," "a white's tale about Africa's mysteries". Stories sell this way, and Zimbabwean writers could use some money right now. The thing to bear in mind is that these books are often compelling, and yes, they are to a great degree African; in fact, readers like my friend at the Sacramento Conference can easily figure out that they are Zimbabwean, or South African, or Kenyan. And that, dear readers, is what matters in a story, that it particularizes an experience which can easily be marketed as African, as universal, as something that will touch the hearts of many.
For those who haven't read Mukiwa, here is a taste of the work. I am a sucker for first sentences, and this one happens to be lovely: " I think I first realized something was wrong when our next-door neighbour, oom Piet Oberholzer, was murdered." Let's read the whole first paragraph, actually, "I must have been about six then. It was still two years before we rebelled against the Queen, and another seven years before the real war would start." Notice how Godwin invokes Smith's UDI right away? Most writers in this genre have done the same.
Here is Jennifer Armstrong in her recently-published memoir: "It was an extremely innocent time: we had (and this "we" presumably included me) just declared war on our black population in Rhodesia. It was UDI, a time of proclaiming our independence from Britain....Unilateral Declaration of Independence--that was on everybody's mind before I was born" (page 3).Armstrong goes on to point out that UDI was her sibbling, because it was three years old when she was born: "a sibling of mine who shadowed me in every direction and who I would later get to know."
Here is Godwin again: "It was well after dark as they drove up towards Skyline Junction, when they saw the rocks on the road. At first they thought it was a landslide, a common enough event on Manicaland roads" (10). Tell me about it, I would say to myself as I read the book in 1997.
Of course, Mukiwa lends itself to this all-Africa applicability that has been used in the West to market these memoirs: "It gets light very quickly in Africa. One minute it's bight and then the earth turns a bit more and suddenly it's morning" (13). I still enjoyed it, overlooked the generalization, and come to think of it, wasn't the place we came from, this Zimbabwe, not in Africa?
But in places, Mukiwa surprised: "Drowning was a common cause of death.... Africans were forever falling into rivers, usually on their way from beer drinks. Few of them could swim even when they were sober." I have a question mark in the margin, expressing disappointment in what then I regarded an error, but who knows, the Africans he may have known, maybe one or two, could have appeared like a whole clan of Africans to the young mind of the narrator. What I wanted to say at the time was that rural folks in places like Chimanimani knew how to swim; swimming was always a major pastime, in deep, dangerous pools. But I let it go; this was, remember, the only Zimbabwean book I had been able to find on American bookshelves. And it was doing a great job of refreshing my memory on Chimanimani.
And the familiar continud to shine in the book: "In those days we called African men 'boys'. We had cook boys and garden boys, however old they might be. African nannies were called girls" (14). Here was an honest voice with a critical edge, so that gave me pleasure as a reader. This sentence offended me at first: "Like most Africans he didn't know his exact age, and he didn't have a birth certificate" (19). I underlined it, then when I came back to it, I reminded myself that it was actually true. Growing up in Mazvihwa I had known many people who had no birth certificates, and those who did not know their exact birth dates; some only knew that they had been born in the year of the dark clouds, or in the year of the drought. So, okay, this was acurate; it was interesting actually; in fact, Godwin had beaten me to it--the portrayal of this odd truth about people in the village.
I liked the use of the Shona too, but found the explanations unnecessary. If you choose to include Shona, a really beautiful language, then skip glossaries and parenthetical translations. Cast the untranslated parts of the language in a context the reader will still understand without worrying about what the words mean. Of course, there are several positions on this issue. Some say don't include untranslated words and phrases altogether; others say offer explanations and glossaries, while yet another group says use the untranslated words but present the context in such a way that the reader does not lose anything. My position will require a separate post to clarify.
Congratulations to Peter Godwin for this great honour and for putting Zimbabwe and Africa on the map.
Comments
Naval Langa
PAINTINGS GALLERIES-TONES OF COLOURS
i feel you about the translations/explanations thing. i havent read mukiwa (yet!) so this is not based on the book, but i'm of the opinion that writers can still say without explaining, and when it's properly done, readers will still be happy. recently in one of my workshops, my leader was actually commenting on how it's refreshing to see these other languages (other than spanish) on the page, even though they don't understand them coz it adds a certain freshness. but then - in defense of godwin, i think it's his training and work as a journalist that inteferes with things, that urgency to explain things perhaps??? dunno.
that being said, i'm excited for godwin...and hope his success inspires more zims to mess with the genre because yes, we do have such stories to tell! arise zim lit!