Tuesday, October 14, 2014
Saturday, October 11, 2014
For two full decades I tried to get in touch with my favourite short story writer, Luis Bernardo Honwana of Mozambique. I failed because of so many reasons. I gave up after trying so much. I began to think that he had died! I respect Honwana so much. He is the author of the iconic 'We Killed Mangy Dog.' He is, alongside Charles Mungoshi and Luandino Jose Vieira, one of the reasons why I chose to write short stories from an early age. Recently, a gangly Zimbabwean journalist called Percy Zvomuya came to my office, unannounced... Now, I believe I may soon meet the great Honwana and be able to converse! If you adore Honwana's short stories like I do, follow this link: http://www.theconmag.co.za/2014/07/08/memory-is-a-mangy-dog/
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
Thursday, September 18, 2014
Bhuku Risina Basa is now available in the US through Emmanuel Sigauke at $10 USD. Email: firstname.lastname@example.org. It is also available on amazon.com. In Harare, it is available at the Book Café Bookshop, 139 Samora Machel Avenue for $11 USD. In the UK, it is available in Birmingham through Dr. Robert Masunga for £6.99 including postage. Phone: 00447788248187 Email: email@example.com
Sunday, September 14, 2014
Mukoma’s Marriage and other Stories by Emmanuel Sigauke (2004) Booklove, Gweru: Zimbabwe, ISBN: 9780797456600.+ Reviewed by Tanaka Chidora, Lecturer Dpt of English, University of Zimbabwe
Emmanuel Sigauke’s 2014 collection of short stories is still hot from the oven. I have to admit that my first bite provoked more bites until I could not just put it down.
The most striking feature of this collection is the narrator. He may not be an entirely new feature on the Zimbabwean literary scape, going back as far as Mungoshi’s Coming of the Dry Season (1972). While Mungoshi’s narrator is the brooding type (my erstwhile favourite), Sigauke’s narrator is the witty, paradoxical kind, paradoxical because much as you may want to believe in his childlike innocence, his eye for the finest details betrays that innocence.
He is precociously observant in a way that reminds me too of Naipaul’s narrator in Miguel Street. For instance, while running away from Mukoma’s disciplinary action, the narrator is not too hurried to fail to give his readers an inventory of the features of Mhototi, his village: “I shot out of the hut and ran towards Chigorira Hill, past Chimombe’s donkey, past old man Bhunga’s graveyard, jumped over graves, past the big rock behind which we relieved ourselves every morning…”.
In one sentence in which the primary purpose is to tell us of his fear of Mukoma’s whip (or fists, sometimes), the narrator tells us that they do not have a pit latrine (or Blair toilet) and one can imagine what it is like behind that rock. Sounds familiar?
In fact, Mukoma’s Marriage and Other Stories will not fail to resurrect memories of life in the village – the numerous school fights and grown-up people fights and the village bullies and gangsters, mukoma’s disciplinary regime and manhood tests (those inevitably include a fight with Simba, the strong primary school bully), the daring provocation of the ire of bees (nyuchi dzegonera), the first tentative stirrings of manhood which only need a sex-hungry Amaiguru to provoke, the church gatherings that bear promises of girls with suggestive chests, or a schoolboy’s acute awareness of the presence of the female teacher! Sigauke’s narrator offers you these familiar memories in an unfamiliar way that will not fail to make you smile or even laugh uproariously on your own at the expense of being thought crazy.
Pervading the stories like the spirit of a recalcitrant ghost is Mukoma. The most memorable aspects of Mukoma are his wives and the fights. One would have expected the collection to be entitled Mukoma’s Marriages and other Stories because the marriages are so many that sometimes one loses track of which wife the narrator is talking about.
And then the fights! The fights are so numerous and violent that one would expect Mukoma to be dead by the time the stories end. Somehow, Mukoma reminds me of our brothers back in the days. They would nurture in us the belief that a real man does not fear. A real man fights and does not wet his shorts at the mere suggestion of a challenge. A real man does not run away when his mother’s ‘breasts’ are kicked by an opponent in an extravagant show of bravery.
The character of Mukoma is not new to Zimbabwean literature. The most memorable ‘mukoma’ (brother) character is Marechera’s Peter in The House of Hunger who loves his young brother, whom he calls ‘book shit,’ in a brutal manner as if the colonial experience has taught him that only brutal expressions of delicate emotions are the way to go.
But no mukoma character in Zimbabwean literature has ever been as relentless as Sigauke’s Mukoma. From the beginning of the each story to the end, Mukoma is not altered by events; he alters them. His love for the narrator is like an electric tug between brutality and affection. And reading the mind of the narrator concerning Mukoma is a challenge. Does he love Mukoma? Does he fear him? Even readers are left with serious uncertainty concerning Mukoma because one rarely knows what it is that will make Mukoma angry – sneezing while he is busy reading his magazines, or glancing at a picture on one of his magazines, or spraining your ankle, or not supporting him in one of his numerous fights or even supporting him!
What is it that produced such a character?
Is it South Africa and its notorious Wenera? Is it colonial Rhodesia and all its brutalities? What is it that Mukoma is fighting? He seems to be fighting with everything and everybody. He fights to get possessed by an ancestral spirit; he fights not to get possessed; he fights with the war veterans; raising his young brother is a war for him; he fights with some of his wives; he fights with his lodger; he fight in the village; he fights in the city…he fights all the time.
Talking of the city, the narrator suddenly comes to town and he is in Form Four. Any narrator who shifts from the village to town is usually expected to narrate the shock of his first urban experiences, the shock of the transition from country dawns to city lights. But not this narrator. He just naturally narrates his urban experiences as if he was born in the city. Instead, he chooses to take us on a journey of Mukoma’s marrying patterns which, ironically, do not vary. Maybe the only variation is when he ‘marries’ a landlady. Otherwise, many of his wives are the kind you would find at Kubatana Beer Garden any time any day. In all these marriages, Mukoma says the first and the last word. Even when he asks for the narrator’s opinion concerning his choices, the only opinion the narrator can give is support.
It is very attractive for many Zimbabwean writers whose stories are set in the 70s to devote themselves to the war. of liberation. In this collection, that war is like a shadow that flittingly passes by. In fact, while the war is raging on, Mukoma is fighting his own kind of war. Even after the war, he fights with those who have been to the war! Those who have been to war hate Mukoma for enjoying the fruits of the independence yet he never fought for it. Concerning the fruits of independence, our very clever narrator is quick to point out that they included “two droughts so far and, therefore, government or donor-grain handouts to the village…”
I have a feeling that this kind of narrator has not been properly exploited in Zimbabwean literature. The narrator’s unusual humour, his calmness and his inimitable love for digressions make Sigauke’s collection worthy one’s money and time. I cannot wait to hear what readers will say concerning this collection, especially the womenfolk. This is the story of Fati, the narrator, and his half-brother, Mukoma, and Mukoma’s women. The women are an interesting lot. They keep coming. They keep making babies for Mukoma. Most interestingly, they keep getting fed up and going and before you blink twice more women come to take their places. I know this aspect of the collection is going to attract the interest of a certain section of readers.
Sometimes, it is vain to explain how good something is when the best one can do is to let the good speak for itself. I therefore find it prudent to conclude with a generous quotation from the collection:
‘By the time Brutus stabbed me, Mukoma had already left to fight with the Mhere boys. Earlier in the morning, at home, he had told me that he just wanted to come and hear my English, and to see if I had the right gestures for it, adding that he was not interested in the prize-winning ceremony that would follow the big performance, nor did he care about meeting with my teachers to discuss my progress. I don’t think when he left I had finished dying because even before Mark Anthony arrived at the scene, Half the audience had left the play and gone to watch Mukoma’s fight. Miss Mukaro, the teacher who had directed the performance, came to where I lay dead and whispered, “Caesar, your big brother.” I sprang up and looked where Mukoma had been standing and saw that he was gone.’
Zimbabwean writer, editor and poet Emmanuel Sigauke is currently Professor of English at Cosumnes College (in Sacramento California). He was born in Mazvihwa in the southern part of Zimbabwe.
Saturday, September 13, 2014
Published by amaBooks of Zimbabwe and several other publishers, The Gonjon Pin and Other Stories is a collection of short stories by African writers shortlisted for the Caine Prize 2014 and from the Caine Prize annual writing workshop held in Vumba, Zimbabwe during the same year.
On receiving this anthology just before the Harare launch, I quickly notice that it is a massively solid book. I am intimidated. I am used to reading the usually thin volumes normally associated with short books in Africa. But since these are stories from one of the most prestigious awards in African literature today, I hope that quality will pay for the volume. I do not remember the last time I felt like this about a book.
I do not want to start with the shortlisted stories. I want to make my priorities right. I have been invited to anchor the discussion at the Harare launch. Some of the writers based in Zimbabwe will even give a reading. I quickly go for the Zimbabwean stories.
Having been raised on the short stories of Luis Honwana, Charles Mungoshi and other writers from the Southern African sub region, I find Lawrence Hoba’s ‘Pam Pam’ a very comfortable landing pad. Due to my background, this is the story that speaks most directly to me. The sensitive child is snooping into the seemingly unusual world of the grownups who are also trying to come to terms with the most ‘weird’ in their midst. Muffled voice. Understatement. Power play. A surprise ending. Hoba’s deft engineering- one soft word on top of the other… and on top of the other, almost like bricks, tells me that this was not easy to write.
‘The Sonneteer’ must be the ‘craziest’ story in this book! I am hoping that somebody will agree with me. I love the deluge of sonnets towards the end because it is a clever way of flourishing out after such a deep rendition on the tumultuous Zimbabwean condition. The story ends in successive loud spurts like a gas canister unleashed onto a hapless crowd. I like stories like this one, driven by silences – especially by what characters do not say to one another. We are no longer reading but are also writing the story alongside Philani Nyoni. The language is vigorously god forsaken and its rigors remind me of the late Marechera.
Later, at the launch itself, I was impressed by Isabella Matambanadzo’s views. Her ‘All The Parts of Mi’, just like Abubakar Adam Ibrahim’s and Chinelo Okparanta’s are stories about betrayal, intimacy and courage. During the discussion, I asked Matambanadzo about what she thinks about the use of the erotica in stories. Her candid answer sent the audience roaring in approval. It took us a while to return to silence.
‘The Intervention’ by Tendai Huchu is part of the Caine 2014 short list. It confirms my thoughts about his previous stories, especially the one which I have been struggling to translate from one language to the other. Here is a writer who has an eye for dramatic irony and the incongruence of human character. His stories challenge the reader to work from many points of view.
In ‘The Murder of Ernestine Masilo’ by Violet Masilo, the protagonist dies slowly from the first time you meet her. Her death is not shocking but why she dies is riveting. You are left with a feeling that a flower has withered before anyone could pluck it and place it in a vase. If only there was enough love…Typical character in typical circumstances.
‘Music From A Farther Room’ by novelist Brynon Rheam is a story filled with utmost colours and sounds and wide spaces. It is a piece of painting or tapestry. If it were a piece of cloth, this story would flatter in the wind like a kite, landing on its nose until somebody picks it and throw it back into the sky just in order to see it and shout like toddler! I read it over and over for the sheer serenity that it gives me.
Had it come in good time, Barbra Mhangami-Ruwende’s ‘Blood Work’ could have been shortlisted! It is filled with a delicate tension right from the statement ‘I don’t like black people’ up to the end and you are always on the edge. I hope I am not being prescriptive but this looks like my favourite story in this book, at least for now.
I then hurry to the winning story itself, ‘My Father’s Head’. I had read elsewhere that it is story filled with sad memories. I do not disagree but I discover that it is full of sweet sadness with more of sweet. Sad but not depressing. The kind of balance associated with kopjes. On the second and even third reading, I begin to feel that this is about a daughter’s celebration of a father’s not so happy life. The language is syrupy, describing expanses of time and dwelling on tiny-tiny details of life like the paw of a dog and the flutter of a butterfly. I agree with the judges. It was right that this story won. Maybe it is not a story after all. It is life.
Among the short listed stories, I also have lots of respect for Billy Kahora’s ‘The Gorilla’s Apprentice’. Loneliness of people, and of animals too? A unique and unfulfilled camaraderie between victims from different communities? This story could just have won.
However, in just a few of these stories here, adjectives tend to pile on top of one another; adverbs trip over each other. Colons clog the flow of even short paragraphs, and the plethora of semicolons often cause the reader to throw up his hands in exasperation. If you are able to forgive the very few overwritten pieces, the Gonjon Book is something to carry on a journey.
+ a review by Memory Chirere