Thoughts on Helon Habila's 'Oil on Water'

This is my first encounter with Helon Habila's work. As he is increasingly becoming more important in the canonization of African literature (he won the Caine Prize in its second year and he recently anthologized African short stories with a respected publisher), I thought I should read him right away. And what better way to introduce myself to his work than through his recent novel, 'Oil on Water', which takes readers to the Niger Delta. I say take, as opposed to invite, because from the moment you hear the narrator's voice, you are taken on a voyage as if you were foreign to the Niger Delta, which, in my case, is true (never mind that earlier today, a lady outside the grocery store asked me if I was Nigerian and I told her what I was, and the lady with whom she was standing quickly said: "You are my neighbour and I said, "Are you Mozambican?" and she said, "No, I'm South African").

 As I begin reading the novel, I am following a narrative thread that recalls Joseph Conrad (not the prose style, no, no) in the voyage and expedition trope. We are going up a river in a boat, we are navigating, and we are journalists, two of us, accompanied or guided by some locals, a father and a son, the latter a speaker  of Pidgin English, saying things like: "You no well, sir, thas why . I think say you go stop here rest small..." and the other a lad who needs an outsider to help him pursue his dreams for success, because he can't make it his village.

The narrator, Rufus, a recent graduate of journalims school, on a mission to make his breakthrough in his field, encounters people whose languages he cannot name. He knows he can't understand them, but he does know what they are speaking. I don't if as a reader I should expect him to know what the language is at least, but I have to realise that in some African countries hundreds of languages are spoken, and I have to leave room for people in such countries not being able to name the language. Besides, it's a minor issue in the story's premise.

The story centers on Rufus and his career role model, the drunkard Zaq, whom he met when he came to give a commencement speech on his journalism graduation. Meeting him was an opporunity any journalism student would have wanted to have, and for Rufus, connecting with  Zaq became a reality when he found himself stuck with him when, on that first night they met, he became so drunk he passed out and had to use the help of Rufus. So began a professional relationship that had landed them together on this mission: navigating up a filthy river in search of white woman who has been kidnapped by millitants in the Niger Delta. Their assignment is to confirm the woman is alive, to take pictures, and to make the militants "understand that nothing must happen to her. She's a British citizen..."

This makes for an excellent premise for the novel. It is a subject readers are likely to find interesting as it serves multilple purposes: first, the novel is already set in an Africa full of problems, but this problems play on the stage of multi-national interests, a lot of wealth is at stake, and major players in the global landscape are involved. Then there is the hot subject of militants, rebels, ransom seekers responsible for cause instability in a place full of oil wealth--even the editor of the newspaper Zaq works for understands that this mission will lead to a real scoop: "an opportunity is an opportunity. How often does the oil  company come knocking on your door, asking for a favor?" But where Habila excels in dealing with interesting and far-reaching subject matter is in including a kidnapped white woman in the story.

 In the depth of trouble-ridden Africa, to put the white wife of a British oil executive adds an interesting layer to the story. It is actually the life of the story. While consistent with reality in these oil-rich places, where groups seeking opportunity or freedom may cause this kind of havoc, the premise of the story is chosen so well that it almost seems like a gimmick to garner extensive reader interest. This has been done before in African literature, and it will continue to be done; the writer who understands how it works stands to benefit from it. But even that, in the context of this story, is also a minor issue; it gets the reader into the narrative: what matters then is what happens one we are in. Is the story delightfully rendered? How is the narrative thrust? How about the story's arc? How soon do we relate this single story to general human concerns while not losing sight of its distinctiveness? In all these fronts, Habila delivered.

This is a gently told story, not a breathless, forward-thrusting mystery or miplaced adventure, but a patient, nuanced and lucidly moving story. The narrator weaves the connecting tissues of the story from the present to the past and back without boring us  with details that slow down the story. The style stays consistent with the prosaic unfolding of a journalist memoir, but we are invited in the subjective core of the story-teller, his dreams, his fears, his ignorance, and like a good journalist, his willingness to observe and learn. Observation is the key to these journalists' expedition. First they will observe, take notes, photos, and then they will report.


The journey is dangerous for them, and it has uncertain consequences. Hope is smitten,  but the journalistic urge takes over, because that which endangers makes good reportable material. The waters they navigate are dangerous because of toxins, Zaq catches a disease, whole villages are being wiped out by the toxins in the water, and then there is the lurking danger of militants and government soldiers. When armies and rebels hunt each other, the innocent villagers are caught in the middle, are victimized, are killed. Here, the author shows the injustice of it all, shows who the real victims are. What the protagonist takes us through are the two imperatives of preserving the feeling driven by simple compassion towards fellow humans and and the dictates of ambition for a successful journalism career, and further, the call of fame for the journalists involved and the companies they work for.

The books is an easy read, yet deceptively simple. Ultimately, it becomes a strong statement against social injustice driven by greed in the oil industry.