African Writers: Diaspora Versus Home-based?
Just some thoughts on a topic that comes up every now and then, regarding who can write better about Africa, the writer on the continent or the one based in the Diaspora. In reading the articles or debates on the topic I often find myself trying to see which category I fit in. Although I am based in the Diaspora, I have noticed that the writer in me hasn't departed Africa, and the default setting of my stories tends to be Zimbabwe. This might be because writing seems to follow the stages of my experience, and right now, the narrators are still in Mazvihwa, that place in Southern Zimbabwe, where I grew up: it's a rich setting, which I believe has much to offer the world. My stories in that place are inexhaustible and they are more interesting to me than those set in Harare (where I did my A-Level, attended university and taught high school). In fact, I have the feeling that before I capture Harare (the setting), I may skip to Chimanimani or Chipinge, then Mutare and work my way back to Harare through Rusape and Marondera. Harare was dramatic, Hararare was interesting in its own ways, but it is not the first place I go to for stories. Well, maybe it is, but the characters tend to come from Mazvihwa, and travel back and forth between the rural setting and the urban setting, and what happens in the city anchors heavily on the village, the very specific setting of Mototi, which is one of the many villages of the vast, artistically unexplored Mazvihwa. Have there been hundreds of stories written about rural Africa? Yes, plenty, but those are not my stories; in fact, no one has written my story yet.
Now, as for the Diaspora. I definitely love it where I am. Plenty of stories here too. In fact, they are being written (I journal a lot), but they are not urgent enough; as long as I am not satisfied with my exploration of Mazvihwa, I wouldn't necessarily enjoy the exploration of Vallejo, or San Francisco, or Lake Tahoe. In fact, the writing self doesn't seem interested yet in pursuing these stories. Some of them are really good story happening in downtown Sacramento, or in South Sacramento, some even on the banks of the American River, but the moment I starting thinking about rivers, it's Runde River, which separates Mazvihwa and Chivi, that calls for urgent attention.
What is the debate again? Writers in the Diaspora choose to writer about Africa because that's what sells, or because it helps them seem...something. Not I: when I write, the sense of urgency (in the process) determines what story comes out, and often, it is a story that connects with me at a deeper level. I am connected to my current environment, but not yet as deeply as I am connected to my section of Africa.
Writing is a complex process, and admittedly one of the most painful, voluntary activities we bring upon ourselves. Often, I look at those who don't write and wonder how they can afford not to be writers, how is that even possible, but then I end up asking myself, why I write. And that's a waste of time; there is no way to answer that excpet by writing. So I find myself writing.
As for benefitting from writing about Africa,[a conditon I am calling Writing While Diasporic or WWD), I can say that of my most rejected works, the ones set in Mazvihwa top the list. I suspect some require too much reader effort in familiarizing with the setting, etc. It's risky to target an American audience and then go ahead and offer a story set in Gudo or Gwen'ombe...say what? I know setting alone does not cause a story to be undesirable, but it takes some reader commitment to get used to all the names, places, cultural concepts, etc. And eventually, by page two, you should get used to them, if the story is crafted well.
In other words, writing about my Mazvihwa for an American audience can be the most challenging activity; it requires much skill and effort to make the story make sense at many levels: and a successful story has to make sense! And my first story to be published by an American journal was set in Mototi, Mazvihwa, in the 1970s, and it was deeply ethnographic, but it worked. That for me set the tone for more stories to come, on my road to thematic and story diversification. I celebrated the fact that I made it work.
I do suspect that most writers who have made it in the Diaspora with their stories set in Africa do not just write for the purpose of making money. Perhaps they did, because knowing what sells is a good skill for a writer. But there is a point in the writing when things become so personal that sales or no sales, that story has to be written. And the African stories that have emerged in the American market, for instance, are just a tip of the iceberg. It's safe to guess that over 90% of what we are writing is still getting rejected, but in a market where potentially 99% can be rejected, 10% is not that bad. Come to think of it, 1% is attractive, because then it makes you feel special for five minutes, before you move on the next urgent story.
Now, as for the Diaspora. I definitely love it where I am. Plenty of stories here too. In fact, they are being written (I journal a lot), but they are not urgent enough; as long as I am not satisfied with my exploration of Mazvihwa, I wouldn't necessarily enjoy the exploration of Vallejo, or San Francisco, or Lake Tahoe. In fact, the writing self doesn't seem interested yet in pursuing these stories. Some of them are really good story happening in downtown Sacramento, or in South Sacramento, some even on the banks of the American River, but the moment I starting thinking about rivers, it's Runde River, which separates Mazvihwa and Chivi, that calls for urgent attention.
What is the debate again? Writers in the Diaspora choose to writer about Africa because that's what sells, or because it helps them seem...something. Not I: when I write, the sense of urgency (in the process) determines what story comes out, and often, it is a story that connects with me at a deeper level. I am connected to my current environment, but not yet as deeply as I am connected to my section of Africa.
Writing is a complex process, and admittedly one of the most painful, voluntary activities we bring upon ourselves. Often, I look at those who don't write and wonder how they can afford not to be writers, how is that even possible, but then I end up asking myself, why I write. And that's a waste of time; there is no way to answer that excpet by writing. So I find myself writing.
As for benefitting from writing about Africa,[a conditon I am calling Writing While Diasporic or WWD), I can say that of my most rejected works, the ones set in Mazvihwa top the list. I suspect some require too much reader effort in familiarizing with the setting, etc. It's risky to target an American audience and then go ahead and offer a story set in Gudo or Gwen'ombe...say what? I know setting alone does not cause a story to be undesirable, but it takes some reader commitment to get used to all the names, places, cultural concepts, etc. And eventually, by page two, you should get used to them, if the story is crafted well.
In other words, writing about my Mazvihwa for an American audience can be the most challenging activity; it requires much skill and effort to make the story make sense at many levels: and a successful story has to make sense! And my first story to be published by an American journal was set in Mototi, Mazvihwa, in the 1970s, and it was deeply ethnographic, but it worked. That for me set the tone for more stories to come, on my road to thematic and story diversification. I celebrated the fact that I made it work.
I do suspect that most writers who have made it in the Diaspora with their stories set in Africa do not just write for the purpose of making money. Perhaps they did, because knowing what sells is a good skill for a writer. But there is a point in the writing when things become so personal that sales or no sales, that story has to be written. And the African stories that have emerged in the American market, for instance, are just a tip of the iceberg. It's safe to guess that over 90% of what we are writing is still getting rejected, but in a market where potentially 99% can be rejected, 10% is not that bad. Come to think of it, 1% is attractive, because then it makes you feel special for five minutes, before you move on the next urgent story.
Comments
I do wonder if there are other changes between the writings though in that a writer in the diaspora is picking up more local dialect and sayings from whatever area she or he lives in, giving the story a tiny bit of a different flavor. Do you think that could happen? I just assume that it might, knowing the various different sayings and dialects I come across in my travels around the US with work.
Also, to your first bit about how you need to write and can't imagine how others don't... I'm the complete opposite. I really can't imagine HOW writers come up with these characters and worlds and stories. I've always been so unable to do that.
Talking about this even give me another controversial thought. Perhaps, to some authors, if Africa were to suddenly become the ideal we seek - devoid of wars, famine, and where everything works perfectly - there will be nothing for them to write about. But then this is me been skeptical about some of our writers who have become experts of Africa.
However, I do agree that leaving ones country affords him to a keen sense of observation and understanding of his homeland. In fact, I find myself talking about Ghana with passion when I happen to talk to a foreigner or outside of its borders.