New Reads: Petina Gappah Interview and a Couple of my Stories
African Writing (AW) issue number 8, a real holiday treat, is now out. It features my interview with Petina Gappah, my story "Cross Country", a great story by the talented Novuyo Rosa Tshuma, and a lot more interviews, reviews (with one by Memory Chirere)and more fiction, poetry! Here are a couple of excerpts:
AW:While on the subject of labels, let’s talk about your identity as a writer. You have made it clear that you don’t consider yourself an African writer because “it comes with certain expectations of you”. First, do you think the question of your identification with Zimbabwe, Africa, Switzerland or the universe is relevant in what you do as a writer?
PG: I am a lawyer. When the government officials I work with come to the ACWL for assistance with their trade matters, they do not come to see an African lawyer. They come to see Petina Gappah, a lawyer with more than 10 years of experience in WTO law, just as they come to see my colleagues, also experienced lawyers, who happen to be from Peru and Ireland, New Zealand and Canada, the Philippines and Germany. Where we are from is not relevant to our knowledge and experience. There was a post recently on the trade blog worldtradelaw.net where the news of my win was announced as "trade lawyer does good" or words to that effect. This is my world, a world in which I am judged and respected on achievements and performance.
I have recently become a published writer and have found myself in a world where my Africanness is rammed down my throat like it is some kind of virtue. I don't want to be read because I am an African, I want to be read because my work is good. It goes without saying that the two are not mutually exclusive, but people often talk as though the fact that I am an African is the most important thing about me as a writer. It is not. I wrote stories about Zimbabwe because I am from there, because I know the country and love it, and because I felt very strongly about what was going on there and felt I had something to say about it, because I wanted to. I have lived in Europe for all my adult life. I love Geneva, and London, and Graz and the other places I have lived in. Where I live, and how I have lived, and where I have found my place in the world is just as important to me as where I am from. It would be dishonest to pretend otherwise. My world is bigger than my country and continent, my influences are many and from everywhere. And, as a writer, I want the freedom to choose any subject I want, and adapt my voice to it. From next year, I am writing stories about Switzerland. Will I face the criticism that I have become a traitorous African writer? READ MORE on African Writing
I love the story "Cross Country" because its setting is Manicaland, Zimbabwe, on the highway.Places like Chipinge, Mutare, Chimanimani, Rusitu Valley are oases for my stories. Overwhelming. The places are beautiful, but much of what I remember has to do with transport woes. Here is an excerpt:
You have been traveling for thirty minutes and he is still talking. The truck now rumbles, and belches as it goes up steep inclines, but when it sighs, you know it will fly again before it comes to another slope. With your eyes on the speedometer, you let your ears catch snippets of what the driver is saying and you don’t even react when sprays of spittle accompany his unguarded words and spatter your right cheek. You nod instead; nod, nod, nod, remembering to keep your smile. You are not interested in knowing who this man is — neither do you want him to know who you are, because everyone laughs at your kind these days.
Let him just talk.
'Don't listen to what they say about condoms,' he says, surprising you. But you want to hear what he is going to say regarding what they say about condoms.
'Don't listen? How come?' You pinch your eyelids to squeeze out some sleep.
'What do you think is killing all these young men?' he says, licking his lips.
'What?' You are fully alert now. As someone who recently buried two brothers, you want to know what’s killing young men nowadays.
Over at Paraphilia Magazine, they have published my short story "Kennedy" (another of my Mukoma stories]. Check out the photos which do not necessarily paint an African picture. I love this, especially at a time when the identity of African writing is being discussed again. Basically, to African readers, the photos accompanying the story will not seem recognizable, but they are quite recognizable from the perspective of someone just reading the story as a "universal performance" (and I just made up this phrase...because it has to be called something).
Here is an excerpt:
What did they want to show me? Had they found a woman for me, so I would be one of those people who married immediately before departing to ensure that they would not marry abroad? These two knew I had no girlfriend and that I seemed not to show signs that I was interested in one. So maybe they were trying to fix me up with a woman. That had to be the reason—a woman for the departing man. Or maybe we were on our way to a n’anga, someone to give me good luck charms and spiritual guidance before the journey. But if we were going to a n’anga, they could have told me so. Besides, I would have preferred one of those Apostolic or Zion prophets because they didn‘t demand animal sacrifices. But, this didn‘t seem such a trip. It had to be a woman.
We exited the street and entered a dark alleyway. Now this was getting interesting.
―And we are not lost? I asked, immediately wishing I hadn‘t asked, because I had sounded—well, funny, a bit drunk, or just out of place.
The two laughed and continued plowing along, as if what I had said was irrelevant, was not the point, was a spoiler of this surprise they had for me. This woman, she better be pretty. I walked faster and smiled at the prospect of cuddling with a woman in…what…ten, fifteen, twenty minutes? That would depend on how long the walk along the alleyway was going to be. We walked on, silent still.
After a while Mukoma said, ―Get ready.
―Do you think you are ready for this, sir? asked Jakove, prodding me in the ribs with his fist.
―I just don‘t know what it is. So, I don‘t know,I said.
―Just toughen up, he said.
―I‘ve to be tough?
READ MORE on Paraphilia
AW:While on the subject of labels, let’s talk about your identity as a writer. You have made it clear that you don’t consider yourself an African writer because “it comes with certain expectations of you”. First, do you think the question of your identification with Zimbabwe, Africa, Switzerland or the universe is relevant in what you do as a writer?
PG: I am a lawyer. When the government officials I work with come to the ACWL for assistance with their trade matters, they do not come to see an African lawyer. They come to see Petina Gappah, a lawyer with more than 10 years of experience in WTO law, just as they come to see my colleagues, also experienced lawyers, who happen to be from Peru and Ireland, New Zealand and Canada, the Philippines and Germany. Where we are from is not relevant to our knowledge and experience. There was a post recently on the trade blog worldtradelaw.net where the news of my win was announced as "trade lawyer does good" or words to that effect. This is my world, a world in which I am judged and respected on achievements and performance.
I have recently become a published writer and have found myself in a world where my Africanness is rammed down my throat like it is some kind of virtue. I don't want to be read because I am an African, I want to be read because my work is good. It goes without saying that the two are not mutually exclusive, but people often talk as though the fact that I am an African is the most important thing about me as a writer. It is not. I wrote stories about Zimbabwe because I am from there, because I know the country and love it, and because I felt very strongly about what was going on there and felt I had something to say about it, because I wanted to. I have lived in Europe for all my adult life. I love Geneva, and London, and Graz and the other places I have lived in. Where I live, and how I have lived, and where I have found my place in the world is just as important to me as where I am from. It would be dishonest to pretend otherwise. My world is bigger than my country and continent, my influences are many and from everywhere. And, as a writer, I want the freedom to choose any subject I want, and adapt my voice to it. From next year, I am writing stories about Switzerland. Will I face the criticism that I have become a traitorous African writer? READ MORE on African Writing
I love the story "Cross Country" because its setting is Manicaland, Zimbabwe, on the highway.Places like Chipinge, Mutare, Chimanimani, Rusitu Valley are oases for my stories. Overwhelming. The places are beautiful, but much of what I remember has to do with transport woes. Here is an excerpt:
You have been traveling for thirty minutes and he is still talking. The truck now rumbles, and belches as it goes up steep inclines, but when it sighs, you know it will fly again before it comes to another slope. With your eyes on the speedometer, you let your ears catch snippets of what the driver is saying and you don’t even react when sprays of spittle accompany his unguarded words and spatter your right cheek. You nod instead; nod, nod, nod, remembering to keep your smile. You are not interested in knowing who this man is — neither do you want him to know who you are, because everyone laughs at your kind these days.
Let him just talk.
'Don't listen to what they say about condoms,' he says, surprising you. But you want to hear what he is going to say regarding what they say about condoms.
'Don't listen? How come?' You pinch your eyelids to squeeze out some sleep.
'What do you think is killing all these young men?' he says, licking his lips.
'What?' You are fully alert now. As someone who recently buried two brothers, you want to know what’s killing young men nowadays.
Over at Paraphilia Magazine, they have published my short story "Kennedy" (another of my Mukoma stories]. Check out the photos which do not necessarily paint an African picture. I love this, especially at a time when the identity of African writing is being discussed again. Basically, to African readers, the photos accompanying the story will not seem recognizable, but they are quite recognizable from the perspective of someone just reading the story as a "universal performance" (and I just made up this phrase...because it has to be called something).
Here is an excerpt:
What did they want to show me? Had they found a woman for me, so I would be one of those people who married immediately before departing to ensure that they would not marry abroad? These two knew I had no girlfriend and that I seemed not to show signs that I was interested in one. So maybe they were trying to fix me up with a woman. That had to be the reason—a woman for the departing man. Or maybe we were on our way to a n’anga, someone to give me good luck charms and spiritual guidance before the journey. But if we were going to a n’anga, they could have told me so. Besides, I would have preferred one of those Apostolic or Zion prophets because they didn‘t demand animal sacrifices. But, this didn‘t seem such a trip. It had to be a woman.
We exited the street and entered a dark alleyway. Now this was getting interesting.
―And we are not lost? I asked, immediately wishing I hadn‘t asked, because I had sounded—well, funny, a bit drunk, or just out of place.
The two laughed and continued plowing along, as if what I had said was irrelevant, was not the point, was a spoiler of this surprise they had for me. This woman, she better be pretty. I walked faster and smiled at the prospect of cuddling with a woman in…what…ten, fifteen, twenty minutes? That would depend on how long the walk along the alleyway was going to be. We walked on, silent still.
After a while Mukoma said, ―Get ready.
―Do you think you are ready for this, sir? asked Jakove, prodding me in the ribs with his fist.
―I just don‘t know what it is. So, I don‘t know,I said.
―Just toughen up, he said.
―I‘ve to be tough?
READ MORE on Paraphilia
Comments