A Heritage of great writers & filmakers
“How true! Life’s problems are like trees. We see the trunk, we see the branches and the leaves. But we can’t see the roots, hidden deep down under the ground. And yet it is their shape and nature and how far they dig into the slimy humus to search for water that we need to know. Then perhaps we would understand.”
Maryse Condé, Crossing the Mangrove
The great Guadeloupean writer, the Grande dame of Caribbean literature, Maryse Condé has transitioned to the land of our ancestors at the age of 90. Condé’s work has touched so many throughout the world, as it was a bridge between Africa, the Caribbean, and Europe. Her best work, Segu, has been one of my favorites. My first encounter with Maryse Condé’s work, was when I read her book “La Belle Créole.” Then I read Segu, and really that was it! I was sold… It was unforgettable, strong, and vivid. This book might actually be among the first historical fiction books written by a person of African descent on one of the ancient African kingdoms spanning several decades. Set in the 18th century, it followed the life of Dousika Traore, a royal adviser in an ancient historical kingdom based in Segu in modern-day Mali, torn apart by the arrival of the slave trade and Islam. It reminded me of the Alex Haley’s Kunta Kinte or Roots saga. It was deep, rich, and truly captivating.
In “I, Tituba: Black Witch of Salem,” Condé told the story of a slave who was one of the first women to be accused of witchcraft during the 1692 Salem witch trials. It was based on the story of an American slave who was tried for witchcraft. Honestly, up until then, I could not fathom that a Black woman could have been on trial back then in the United States; but in reality, given how Africans were uprooted from the continent, and their religion, and spirituality, it should not have come as a surprise.
I read her other book, The last of the African Kings which is a fictional account following King Behanzin’s offsprings and entourage when he was in exile in Martinique, and their lives in the caribbeans and then the United States, after the French deported him there. It skillfully intertwined the themes of exile, memory, hope, loss, with Africa always in the background.
After that, I read her other books A Season in Rihata, The Crossing of the Mangrove, La Vie Scélérate (Tree of Life: A Novel of the Caribbean), Desiderada.
Her themes always embraced motherhood, femininity, race relations, slavery, the Caribbeans, and Africa. Her novels drew upon African and Caribbean history. She has written over 20 novels,
Throughout her life, she was awarded France’s Legion of Honour in 2004, and twice nominated for the International Booker Prize – first for her entire body of work in 2015, then in 2023 for her final novel, The Gospel According to the New World. In 2018, she won an award set up in place of the Nobel Prize in Literature, which was engulfed in scandal. Condé was the first and remains the only winner of the New Academy Prize in Literature, whose judges praised the way she “describes the ravages of colonialism and post-colonial chaos in a language which is both precise and overwhelming“.
The excerpts below are from the Guardian.
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… Born Maryse Boucolon in Guadeloupe in 1934, the youngest of eight children, Condé described herself as a “spoilt child … oblivious to the outside world”. Her parents, she told the Guardian, never taught her about slavery and “were convinced France was the best place in the world”. She went to Paris at 16 for her education, but was expelled from school after two years: “When I came to study in France I discovered people’s prejudices. People believed I was inferior just because I was black. I had to prove to them I was gifted and to show to everybody that the colour of my skin didn’t matter – what matters is in your brain and in your heart.”
Studying at the Sorbonne, she began to learn about African history and slavery from fellow students and found sympathy with the Communist movement. She became pregnant after an affair with Haitian activist Jean Dominique. In 1958, she married the Guinean actor Mamadou Condé, a decision she later admitted was a means of regaining status as a black single mother. Within months their relationship was strained, and Condé moved to the Ivory Coast, spending the next decade in various African countries including Guinea, Senegal, Mali and Ghana, mixing with Che Guevera, Malcolm X, Julius Nyerere, Maya Angelou, future Ivory Coast president Laurent Gbagbo and Senegalese film-maker and author Ousmane Sembène.
Unable to speak local languages and presumed to hold francophile sympathies, Condé struggled to find her place in Africa. “I know now just how badly prepared I was to encounter Africa,” she would later say. “I had a very romantic vision, and I just wasn’t prepared, either politically or socially.” She remained outspoken until she was accused of subversive activity in Ghana and deported to London, where she worked as a BBC producer for two years. She eventually returned to France and earned her MA and PhD in comparative literature at Paris-Sorbonne University in 1975.
Her debut novel, Hérémakhonon, was published in 1976, with Condé saying she waited until she was nearly 40 because she “didn’t have confidence in myself and did not dare present my writing to the outside world”. The novel follows a Paris-educated Guadeloupean woman, who realises that her struggle to locate her identity is an internal journey, rather than a geographical one. Condé later recalled the Ghanaian author Ama Ata Aidoo telling her: “Africa … has codes that are easy to understand. It’s because you’re looking for something else … a land that is a foil that would allow you to be what you dream of being. And on that level, nobody can help you.” “I think she may have been right,” Condé later wrote.
… She gained prominence as a contemporary Caribbean writer with her third novel, Segu, in 1984. The novel follows the life of Dousika Traore, a royal adviser in the titular African kingdom in the late-18th century, who must deal with encroaching challenges from religion, colonisation and the slave trade over six decades. It was a bestseller and praised as “the most significant novel about black Africa published in many a year” by the New York Times.
Slavery dealt a big blow to Africa. It dealt a big blow to her strength (imagine losing millions upon millions of some of your strongest children), to her self-confidence (imagine her children fearing for their lives chased into the depths of forests and savannahs), and to her soul. Then came colonization with forced labor, depersonnalization, confiscation of History, disregard for local cultures, cultural alienation, and colonial oppression. Slowly, the awakening is upon us; and slowly Africans are linking back to that glorious past of African civilizations, science, and cultures. The poem below by Ivorian author Véronique Tadjo is anchored upon that re-discovery of the African self in all its splendor, and connection to its roots in order to continue the legacy.
The poem “Raconte-moi” was published in Latérite / Red Earth, written in homage to Senufo culture, which won a literary prize from the Agence de Coopération Culturelle et Technique. The poem below was re-published re-published in Anthologie Africaine: Poésie Vol2, Jacques Chevrier, Collection Monde Noir Poche, 1988, and translated to English by Dr. Y. Afrolegends.com .
“Raconte-moi” de Véronique Tadjo / “Tell me” from Véronique Tadjo
| Raconte-moi
La parole du Griot Qui chante l’Afrique Des temps immémoriaux Il dit Ces rois patients Sur les cimes du silence Et la beauté des vieux Aux sourires fanés Mon passé revenu Du fond de ma mémoire Comme un serpent totem A mes chevilles lié Ma solitude Et mes espoirs brisés Qu’apporterais-je A mes enfants Si j’ai perdu leur âme ? |
Tell me
The word of the Griot Who sings Africa From times immemorial He says These patient kings On the peaks of silence And the beauty of the old ones With faded smiles My past returned From the depths of my memory Like a totem snake To my ankles linked My loneliness And my hopes shattered What will I brink To my children If I lost their soul? |
Below is ‘Ma vie est une chanson‘ or ‘My Life is a Song‘, a love poem by Cameroonian author Francis Bebey, a poem celebrating his love for the African woman, in this case for his lover. As we remember that Francis Bebey was multi-talented as a journalist, writer, sculptor and musician, it is no surprise that the title of his poem is “My Life is a Song”. He even headed the UNESCO music department researching and documenting traditional African music. In the poem, he highlights that he was born from the love of the earth with the sun, thus a birth that was very celebrated and a life full of love. As we read the poem, Bebey’s love for his country is abundantly clear as he dreams of taking his lover there, and not only that, but lets her know that his country is where to find the love between the earth and the sun; it is almost as if he was telling all that he was born on the equator. Moreover, let’s face it, the link between the earth and the sun is undeniable, unbreakable, unavoidable, constant, and forever omnipresent. He is so taken by the love so much so that his life is a song that he will sing everyday to his precious one. Wouldn’t you all like to be loved like that? Enjoy!
The poem ‘Ma vie est une chanson‘ by Francis Bebey, was published in Anthologie africaine: poésie, Jacques Chevrier, Collection Monde Noir Poche, Hatier 1988. Translated to English by Dr. Y. Afrolegends.com.
| Ma vie est une chansonOn me demande parfois d’où je viens
Et je reponds “je n’en sais rien Depuis longtemps je suis sur le chemin Qui me conduit jusqu’ici Mais je sais que je suis né de l’amour De la terre avec le soleil” Toute ma vie est une chanson Que je chante pour dire combien je t’aime Toute ma vie est une chanson Que je fredonne auprès de toi Ce soir il a plu, la route est mouillée Mais je veux rester près de toi Et t’emmener au pays d’où je viens Ou j’ai caché mon secret Et toi aussi tu naîtras de l’amour de la terre avec le soleil Toute ma vie est une chanson Que je chante pour dire combien je t’aime Toute ma vie est une chanson Que je fredonne auprès de toi. |
My Life is a SongI am sometimes asked where I come from
And I answer “I don’t know For a long time I have been on the way That leads me here But I know that I was born from the love between the land and the sun” My whole life is a song That I sing to tell you how much I love you My whole life is a song That I hum next to you Tonight it has rained, the road is wet But I want to stay close to you And take you to the land where I come from Where I hid my secret And you too will be born from the love of the earth with the sun My whole life is a song That I sing to tell you how much I love you My whole life is a song That I hum next to you. |
Let’s open the year with this quote from Steve Biko, the leader of the Black Consciousness movement which guided the movement of student discontent into a political force unprecedented in the history of South Africa, culminating in the Soweto uprising of 1976, which helped in toppling the apartheid regime. His quote below applies to all societal problems, it is the issue of the haves and the have-nots, racism, classism, exploitation, and is of great actuality.
“The greatest weapon in the hand of the oppressor is the mind of the oppressed.” Speech in Cape Town, 1971
At the end of 2021, we celebrated the win of Senegalese author Mohamed Mbougar Sarr, the first man from sub-Saharan Africa to win the prestigious literary Prix Goncourt, 100 years after René Maran who was the first person of African descent to win the prize for his controversial novel Batouala. Mbougar Sarr’s winning novel, La plus secrète mémoire des hommes (The Most Secret Memory of Men), tells the story of a young Senegalese writer living in Paris who stumbles by chance across a novel published in 1938 by a fictional African author named TC Elimane, nicknamed “the Black Rimbaud” by an ecstatic Paris media. The story, described as a reflection on the links between fiction and reality, follows the life of a cursed African writer echoing the real-life experience of the Malian writer Yambo Ouologuem who in 1968 was the first African winner of the prix Renaudot, but was later accused of plagiarism, and had to flee France back to his natal Mali, to live a reclusive life, and die in utter misery.
Now thanks to Mbougar Sarr’s work, the publishing house Penguin Modern Classics is re-publishing the Yambo Ouologuem’s book over 50 years after his work was pulled out and banned. Le devoir de violence (published in English as Bound to Violence) was first published in 1968 by Editions du Seuil. After winning the Prix Renaudot that very year, Ouologuem became a celebrity equated to the likes of Leopold Sedar Senghor. “Ouologuem’s novel is harshly critical of African nationalism, and in fact reserves its greatest hostility for the violence Africans committed against other Africans” (Richard Posner on Plagiarism, the case of Yambo Ouologuem). For many critics, Africans in particular, Ouologuem’s book is a validation of the twisted views of the West on Africa who exonerate themselves of the violence they committed on Africans throughout centuries.
Excerpts below are from the Guardian. You can also check out the blog created by Ouologuem’s daughter or Richard Posner on Plagiarism, the case of Yambo Ouologuem at Amardeep Singh, or The Tortured Legacy of Yambo Ouologuem.
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In 1968 the books pages of the French newspaper Le Monde excitedly praised an uncompromising new novel, Bound to Violence, going on to salute its author as one of “the rare intellectuals of international stature presented to the world by Black Africa”.
The newspaper’s words, written in tribute to the young Malian writer Yambo Ouologuem, sound condescending today. Back then, however, the intended compliment was genuine and many European critics soon agreed: the publication of Ouologuem’s strange novel really did mark the arrival of a major new talent.
But the literary world can be brutal, and particularly so for a young African novelist living in Paris who was attempting a fresh twist on conventional storytelling.
Fellow African writers began to express shock at Ouologuem’s harsh parody of his own culture. Three years later damaging accusations of plagiarism had also emerged, including a public skirmish with Graham Greene, which ended Ouologuem’s short career. He retreated into the life of a recluse, returned to Mali and died in 2017, having never published again.
Now, 50 years after this scandal, Penguin Classics is to bring out a new English edition of Bound to Violence in a bid to rehabilitate the gifted author and introduce him to new readers.
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I found this poem by the great South African writer, activist, educator, journalist, and poet, Dennis Brutus, “Hopes for a better world.” I found it quite appropriate in these times. Dennis Brutus is known as one of the most prolific South African writers. Born in then Southern Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), Brutus grew up in Port Elizabeth (Gqeberha) where he was classified as “coloured” under South African apartheid codes. He was an activist against the apartheid government of South Africa in the 1950s and 1960s, best known for his campaign to have South Africa banned from the Olympic Games due to its institutionalized segregation system of apartheid. He is among Africa’s greatest and most influential modern poets.
This poem, “Hopes for a better world” was written on a trip from Caracas, Venezuela, to Durban, South Africa. At the beginning of the poem, Brutus stated, “There are lively political struggles in our time, particularly in Venezuela, Ecuador and Bolivia.” The poem is really about the outlook one has on life, the wish for simple joys, and the hope that something good will come. It highlights simple needs: the joys that come from a smile, the appreciation of frankness, openness, and friendliness.
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“Hopes for a better world” by Dennis Brutus
Walking those ragged, pitted sidewalks
where walkers, shoppers surged
one had a sense of buoyant hope
surges of confidence, unleashed desire:
the broad-grinned ice cream vendor
frank gazed waitress swabbing spills:
all had a friendliness and trust:
it was good to walk those cordial streets
companioned by one striving to serve
Caracas to Durban, 2008-09, for p.b.
Our hearts go out to those who have been displaced from their homes, and lands, because of conflicts, wars, famines, floods, etc., as we have seen with the conflicts in the East of the Democratic Republic of Congo, Sudan, the earthquake in Morocco, the floods in Libya, the western funded conflicts in Sub-Saharan Africa, and much more. Among the displaced, women and children are particularly at risk, as they face violence, maternal health, malnutrition, reproductive complications, inadequate access to water and sanitation, and other diseases.
I found this gem of a poem by our venerated Chinua Achebe, “Refugee Mother and Child.” In this poem, Achebe highlights the case of the refugee mother who has to watch her child die because she cannot feed him, the one who still hopes for a miracle. Achebe particularly offers a comparison of a Madonna with her child in her arms, to the horrors of a refugee mother whose child is on death’s bead; or a normal day when this woman was not a refugee, to her life as a refugee. It is very heart-wrenching. This poem was written during the time of the Biafran war or Nigerian Civil War of the late 1960s; Achebe found poetry easier to write in the tough times of war. Let’s all send a prayer to our refugee mothers and children, and to refugees all over the world.
Enjoy!
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REFUGEE MOTHER AND CHILD
Chinua Achebe
No Madonna and Child could touch
that picture of a mother’s tenderness
for a son she soon will have to forget.
The air was heavy with odors
of diarrhea of unwashed children
with washed-out ribs and dried-up
bottoms struggling in labored
steps behind blown empty bellies.
Most mothers there had long ceased
to care but not this one; she held
a ghost smile between her teeth
and in her eyes the ghost of a mother’s
pride as she combed the rust-colored
hair left on his skull and then –
singing in her eyes – began carefully
to part it… In another life
this would have been a little daily
act of no consequence before his
breakfast and school; now she
did it like putting flowers
on a tiny grave.
A Senegalese couple, Mame Bougouma Diene and Woppa Diallo, has made history this week by winning the Caine Prize for African Writing. It is the first time in the history of the prize that it is awarded to a couple. Diallo is a lawyer and activist while French-Senegalese American Diene is a humanitarian and a short-story writer. They are married.
Their winning story, “A Soul of Small Places,” drew inspiration from Diallo’s personal experience of gender-based violence in Senegal. Her story highlighted themes of violence, revenge, love, and loss, mirroring her own life experiences. She revealed to the BBC that her personal struggles served as the inspiration behind the story.
Congratulations to this couple, and excerpts below are from the BBC. Please take the time to also read articles at the Guardian and the Caine Prize.
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Senegalese writing duo Mame Bougouma Diene and Woppa Diallo have won this year’s prestigious Caine Prize for African writing, making it the first time a pair has won the award.
Their story A Soul of Small Places is inspired by Diallo’s experience of gender-based violence in Senegal.
Her story weaves through themes of violence, revenge, love and loss.
“The story is simply my life. It’s the struggles I’ve been through that have inspired me,” Diallo told the BBC.
It was praised for its deep storytelling and ability to celebrate love while also addressing pressing global issues.
… They met when Diene was visiting a shelter in northern Senegal where Woppa was speaking about her advocacy against gender-based violence.
“The co-authoring comes from the fact that the story could not have been written if I hadn’t met Woppa and if I hadn’t heard Woppa speak,” he says.
… The Caine Prize winners receive a cash gift of £10,000 ($12,000), as well as featuring their work in the 2023 Caine Prize anthology.
The award for a short story by an African writer published in English had a record-breaking 297 entries from 28 different countries this year.
As we talk about neo-colonialism, and the new scramble for Africa, I thought about sharing this poem ‘They Came‘ by Cameroonian writer François Sengat-Kuo published in Fleurs de Latérite, Heures Rouges Éditions Clé, 1971. I had previously shared this poem here. In the poem, Sengat-Kuo talks about colonization and how Africans were fooled by European missionaries who were always preceding European explorers and armies. I particularly like the sentence: “they came, … bible on hand, guns behind.” Jomo Kenyatta, first president of Kenya, said it slightly differently, “When the missionaries came to Africa they had the Bible and we had the land. They said ‘Let us pray.’ We closed our eyes. When we opened them we had the Bible and they had the land.” (Nobel Peace prize Laureate, Desmond Tutu, of South Africa, is said to have popularized the quote). How true! In the days of colonization, Europeans claimed to be bringing civilization and Christianity to pagans across the globe. Today, they bring development, globalization, and democracy… same ol’ thing → submission and slavery to the people. Enjoy!
| Ils sont venus
au clair de lune au rythme du tam-tam ce soir-là comme toujours l’on dansait l’on riait brillant avenir ils sont venus civilisation bibles sous le bras fusils en mains les morts se sont entassés l’on a pleuré et le tam-tam s’est tu silence profond comme la mort
|
They came
by the light of the moon to the rhythm of the tam-tam that night as always we were dancing we were laughing brilliant future they came civilization bibles under the arm guns in hand the dead bodies piled up we cried and the tam-tam was silenced profound silence like death |
African Heritage 