Caine Prize Blogathon: Phosphorescence

Diane Awerbuck, in her story (find it here) about Brittany, a teenager perhaps taking the teenage a tad too far, and who goes swimming with her grandmother, Alice, to whom she has been sent by her father for a change of scene that might help her deal with her teenage crisis, writes in a gradually engrossing style, one that creeps on you with its personal and light emotional undertones.

Phosphorescence is subtly deft in its portrayal of a relationship between a grandmother and her granddaughter. It portrays without stating – the entirety of the story is the statement. Alice understands that applications of the strict codes she grew up with (“Her granddaughter stared disbelievingly…straight on, in a way that Alice herself would never have dared to regard her elders, especially her own grandmother…”) wouldn’t be useful in helping Brittany overcome her crisis. She therefore lets her own spontaneity connect with her granddaughter’s, and takes care not to spoil the fun in the process (“Let Brittany have something that wasn’t spoiled”). Their shared moment of almost being caught and of escape solidifies their bonding (“For some of the way, they held hands”).

The story’s engrossing prose grows on the reader, and is infused with symbolisms (for instance, “…made their way into the darkness, aiming for the light”) in a natural and unforced way, so that what results is a beautiful piece that demands a re-read for full appreciation. As with most stories whose core themes are simple, everyday human interpersonal relationships, as opposed to “heavy themes” such as war, poverty, and death, it has an understated quality, one that may not be fully apparent from a single read.

Brittany’s crisis is in fact mentioned as if in passing, a brief, almost insignificant flashback. The story therefore is forward looking; a sort of statement that Alice and Brittany’s swimming session is the beginning of a process.

It is hence no small feat that Phosphorescence is able to hold one’s attention from start to finish, largely due to its lovely, almost poetic prose that doesn’t rely on a powerful, haunting or emotionally draining theme. This is its main strength.

Caine Prize Blogathon: The Intervention

Tendai Huchu’s The Intervention, shortlisted for the Caine Prize for African Writing this year (find the link to the story here), carries as much heft in analogy as it is lighthearted. A group of Zimbabwean friends in the United Kingdom meets socially, and what unfolds is a half-hearted intervention aimed at resolving a couple’s relationship problems – an intervention that is hindered by news on television on elections in Zimbabwe, and is, ultimately, as unsuccessful as the real life intervention in that country.

The story’s lightheartedness grips one from the first paragraph, and serious minded folks may find it a little superfluous that it has been shortlisted in the first place. They might find the thin prose a little off-putting. Older folks, having to ruminate over phrases like “effing Zulu”, “got me a Bud”, “ultra-crap”, “meant a fart”, and more, might find it a flippant reminder of the waywardness of the language of modern youth. “Afro-poets” might find resonance with the narrator’s sudden poetic outburst, as spontaneous and passionate as it is; in fact, they might find the entire story a poetic polemic of Africa, an anguished cry of whither the motherland. Huchu actually provides a wonderful description of poetic souls:

“There’s a sixth sense by which poetic souls become aware of one another. By poetic souls, I mean not only poets or readers of poetry, but those for whom poetry induces profound emotion and a heightened understanding of the world.”

For the young and young at heart good timers, well, they might see it as a jolly good story on how not to take life too seriously.

However, let not the story’s lightheartedness and simplicity deceive you. It is a well meaning commentary on quite a number of issues – Zimbabwe’s and Africa’s malaise and hopeless interventions; lives in exile – such as helplessness (“Nothing we said or did meant a fart”) and dislocation (kids not speaking Shona); and contradictions – Z is secretly happy that The Party has won as he has a pending asylum application which would have been jeopardized if the opposition won. The analogies are all too clear, and quite apt. There is no scratching of the head, no attempt at literary esotericism, and thus the story is easy to connect with.

Is Huchu’s offering a throwback to NoViolet Bulawayo’s We Need New Names – whose juvenile humour and lightheartedness makes reading through heavy themes effortless, much like The Intervention? Will it win as We Need New Names won? Well, we just have to wait and see.

Caine Prize Blogathon: The Gorilla's Apprentice

The shortlist for the 2014 Caine Prize for African Writing was announced on April 22, 2014 (see the shortlist and links to the stories here). As has become customary, bloggers are encouraged to give their thoughts on the shortlisted stories.

I therefore begin with “The Gorilla’s Apprentice”, written by the well-known Kenyan writer and director of Kwani?, Billy Kahora. Set against the backdrop of the 2007 post-election violence in Kenya, it is at once a story about the individual and the collective – the individual lives of Billy; his mother Claire; a fugitive from the 1994 genocide, Professor Charles Semambo; and Sebastian the gorilla, as well as the collective lives of Kenyans in the grip of the post-election violence.

Jimmy and Semambo are attached to the gorilla for different reasons. For Jimmy, the attachment is a form of escape from poverty and a broken family – his mother is separated from his father, alcoholic, and has numerous boyfriends. For Semambo, well, he is presented as having a history from Rwanda with the gorilla. Hence, as their individual lives become worse, so does that of the Kenyan collective, and the Rwanda genocide becomes an unstated reference point as to what might result.

It is a good story, told in straightforward prose, and it highlights some important issues such as corruption, poverty, inequality, prostitution, broken families, animal welfare, and of course the post-election violence. The simple prose may cause one to underappreciate the import of these issues.

The portrayal of Jimmy as an introverted young man troubled by poverty and a broken family is very convincing; and so is that of his mother as losing grip of herself slowly to alcoholism. Semambo is also believably seen as edgy and haunted by his past. Sebastian the gorilla, with his looks of resignation borne of an awareness of his time, and his restlessness when the post-election violence – in his mind a throwback to the genocide – breaks out in nearby Kibera, aptly conveys a human side of the animal. Perhaps the convergence of the human and the animal (people butchering each other in the violence) is the crux of this story (“as the two figures became one”).

However, there’s a nagging feeling of loose ends that needed to be tied up. For instance, the reason why Jimmy had to take a photo of Semambo isn’t quite clear. Did he want to blackmail Semambo? Does Semambo get the photo finally? Their trip to Jimmy’s house seems a little preposterous, seeing that when Jimmy once again asks if Semambo can teach him to talk to Sebastian the gorilla, they immediately set off to the Animal Orphanage (Sebastian may not have much time), forgetting the reason why they had to go Jimmy’s house in the first place.

In general, I believe The Gorilla’s Apprentice is a relevant and conscientious reminder of the Rwandan genocide and the 2007 post-election violence in Kenya. Given what is happening in various parts of the African continent, especially in South Sudan and the Central African Republic, we must never tire of these reminders.

A Bird Anonymous

Pretty little bird

I see you up high, perched, and unstill

Ruffling brown feathers, ruffling black tail

Perhaps you’re itching, I do not know

Looking up, guarded

Looking down at me, guarded still

Silhouetted against the sky blue

The sun shining on you

What you think of me, I do not know

But you chirp, not singing, but chirping

Maybe at a mate, maybe at your young

Maybe still, at your frustration

Truth is, I do not know

Standing tall, tail bobbing up and down

Breast puffed, neck stretched

And eyes bright, looking this way and that

Jumpy, excited, maybe worried

I want to, but I do not know

Finally, suddenly, flaps of wing on wing,

Quick and rhythmic, musical

And off you go, maybe bored

Maybe miffed I didn’t chirp back

Maybe I’m not good company, I do not know

I catch myself – a void now covers me

Alone, with a wistful sigh

And a smile embarrassed

Over a mind lost on a bird anonymous

Why, although I try, I do not know. 

Picture credit: Inhabitat.com