Talking to Chinua Achebe About His Year 

By Okey Ndibe

Last Friday, a few colleagues and I gathered at the Annandale, New York home of Professor Chinua Achebe to interview him on literature and life. Joining me were Sowore Omoyele, Oyiza Adaba, and Joyce Abunaw, a Cameroonian who teaches African literature at the University of Connecticut.  

Achebe, Africa’s greatest novelist, who is at the very top of the top tier of living writers, is an exciting and rewarding interview subject on any day. But there is a particular reason that Achebe is on every literature-loving person’s lips this year. 2008 happens to be the fiftieth anniversary of the publication of Things Fall Apart, Achebe’s classic of the encounter between Africa and Europe and the tragic dimensions of that clash.  

In order to appreciate the scope of Achebe’s achievement in this novel, we should consider the following: Things Fall Apart is the all-time most widely read novel by an African author; fifty years into its life, it continues to outsell most just-released novels; it has been translated into more than fifty languages around the world, making it the most translated work by an African author; it is a staple of humanities courses on all the continents; it has made every list of the most important books of the last 100 years; it has also been named one of the most remarkable books ever written; it has spawned whole libraries of theses and dissertations around the world. To commemorate its fifty vibrant years of existence in the republic of letters, celebrations have been lined up in various parts of the world, including Nigeria, Portugal, India, Kenya, Gambia, England, the U.S., Jamaica, France, South Africa, Brazil and Ghana.  

In short, the novel has become an essential part of our humanistic heritage. It belongs in that rare company of books that every person with a claim to liberal education is expected to be acquainted. Things Fall Apart has become an integral part of the global literary landscape. So much so that it is possible to stipulate, when we meet an otherwise literate person who has never read it, that such delinquency constitutes a colossal deficit in the person’s aesthetic, literary and historical imagination.  

The Association of Nigerian Authors (ANA) had asked me to interview Achebe, inviting the living legend to reflect on his novel’s extraordinary travels and fortunes, its assured place in canon, and its pervasive influence on African and world literature, literary theory and history. I felt immensely fortunate when Achebe agreed to do the interview, and fixed Friday, February 15, 2008 as the date. I had interviewed Achebe numerous times in the past, beginning in 1983 when I was a rookie reporter at the Concord Group of newspapers. But I had the intuition that this was going to be a particularly special interview for two main reasons.  

One reason had to do with the quality of excitement elicited by the golden anniversary of Things Fall Apart. A few weeks ago, a Nigerian scholar who teaches in the United States told me that he had never witnessed anything approaching the scale of interest and depth of attention in a novel’s fiftieth birthday as was being lavished on Achebe’s first novel. The other issue had to do with Achebe’s longstanding role as one of Nigeria’s most eloquent voices of conscience. Much as my instruction from ANA was to harvest Achebe’s meditations on his oldest, yet timeless, novel, I was not going to forego the opportunity to tease out what the novelist thinks when he thinks about Nigeria. With his nation mired in the morass, it seemed to me that many Nigerians would be interested in his insights.  

Achebe’s trademark sense of the ironic and his flair for concision were on display during our one-and-a-half hour interview. Part of Achebe’s power as a writer and intellectual lies in his ability to speak with disarming simplicity and clarity about the most difficult issues. Like George Orwell, he recognizes that language can be, and is often, used as much to obfuscate as to communicate. His choice is to deploy language in the service of communication, and to communicate ideals and ideas that expand our collective humanity. Having made that choice, Achebe chooses his words with great care. In his presence, the effect is of a magical experience of watching a man as he chewed and tested out each sentence before he permitted it passage.  

He talks like a man who eschews linguistic pretentiousness and affectations, a wise man who abhors the self-indulgent circuitousness that marks, and mars, much of what passes for contemporary intellectual speech. Many years ago, he told me that his image of a true expert is not one who knows a subject so thoroughly that he can befuddle others. Instead, he stated, a true expert should demonstrate mastery by breaking down arcane and puzzling issues in codes that non-experts are able to grasp.  

Last Friday, Achebe left no doubt that he remains a stickler for clarity of thought and expression. My first question to him was to ponder his first novel’s amazing journeys, its capacity to speak to people across cultural lines. Did he ever expect that this novel was going to become the phenomenal success it is, not just in sales and reach, but also in being able to illuminate for our world the tensions between societies, the existential tussles that lend drama to human history. Achebe responded in a vein that I had never heard him speak before. What emerged in his answer was the impression that the novel is a product both of the author’s desire as well as the story’s mystical volition. “This was my story,” Achebe remarked, then added, “I don’t know why the story chose me” to tell it.  

There is often an air of wonder, even bemusement, when Achebe speaks about the global power of Things Fall Apart. A man whose style revolts against any advertisements for himself, he reports that he had no grounds to expect that the novel would become such a literary powerhouse. But he never nursed doubts about the innate gravitas and narrative ambition of his story. Many years ago, he told me: “There’s no question at all that the story of our encounter with Europe was one of the most important stories of our time.” 

Things Fall Apart is my favorite novel to teach. For me, part of its appeal is the inexhaustibility of its insights. Each time I reread the novel in order to teach it, I find new things to leave me astonished and in awe. Each rereading becomes, in some substantial way, like a first reading. Given this experience, which few other novels have yielded, I am awed that Achebe wrote it when he was in his mid-twenties. If one didn’t know the author, one would have guessed that a much older writer, perhaps a fledged novelist in his sixties, composed the novel. When I broached the idea, Achebe took the opportunity to speak about the paradox created by colonialism: that Europe, which trumpeted itself while denigrating Africans, left Achebe—as well as other educated young Africans—with the burden of telling Africa’s story. European-style education had displaced Africa’s elders; it fell to the young to take up the mantle of telling our narratives and rescuing the continent from cultural degradation and historical denudation.  

For Achebe, this challenge of standing up to speak through texts in place of the silenced elders must have come at a steep price. He has seen Nigeria, like much of Africa, stumble from one man-made disaster to another. He has also written about this tragic history, in fiction, poetry and essays. In his youngest novel, Anthills of the Savannah, he asks: “What must a people do to appease an embittered history?” He invoked that line last week as he contemplated Nigeria. It is a question that takes on greater urgency by the day, and remains largely unanswerable.  

Asked about his thoughts on Nigeria, Achebe responded with a passion mediated by disappointment. “I think of Nigeria as home,” he said, and then paused momentarily. “It is a frustrating home, sometimes an irritating home, but it is home,” he underlined. After another weighty pause, he added: “If I had my way, this interview would be taking place in Nigeria.”  

It was as subtle, and yet as clear, a statement of the writer’s exilic anguish as it is possible to make. Achebe carries the scars of Nigeria on his body, having sustained serious injuries in a 1990 car accident that left him paraplegic. In his wheelchair, Achebe’s towering spiritual strength is profoundly evident. He told us about a friend who visited him while he was hospitalized in England shortly after the accident. The visitor wondered aloud why such an unfortunate accident should befall Achebe. Achebe’s response to the man was: “Why not me? Do you have another person you would rather put in my place?” He has a too penetrating insight into the tragic essence of human existence to waste time bemoaning his fate, or wallow in self-pity.   

When one of us asked Achebe what it would take for him to seriously consider returning permanently to live in Nigeria, he answered that he wants a country whose best doctors don’t flee abroad en masse, and a place where one could buy antibiotics without the fear that it was fake. His two anecdotes vivified part of the trouble with Nigeria, to borrow a phrase from the title of his polemical book on his country’s travails.  

Achebe’s magisterial stature as writer, intellectual and conscience point up, and rebuke, Nigeria’s largely desultory narrative. From his American address, Achebe continues to radiate moral courage. Three years ago, he boosted Nigerians’ spirits by rejecting former President Olusegun Obasanjo’s offer of a national honor. His public letter spurning the tainted investiture was a classic of principled repudiation of the crude excesses of banal power. Achebe wrote to Obasanjo: “For some time now I have watched events in Nigeria with alarm and dismay. I have watched particularly the chaos in my own state of Anambra where a small clique of renegades, openly boasting its connections in high places, seems determined to turn my homeland into a bankrupt and lawless fiefdom. I am appalled by the brazenness of this clique and the silence, if not connivance, of the Presidency.” When we brought up the matter, Achebe noted simply that he was in no mood to accept a national honor from the kind of leader that Obasanjo had become.  

As we took leave of Achebe, after nearly four hours, we came away with gratitude for the generosity and unassuming presence of this man who tells our stories to the world and who seeks, and speaks, truth—especially to power.   

For more on Okey Ndibe, visit: www.okeyndibe.com

Photos courtesy of Oyiza Adaba

Robot  Villager

# 1 ...Read the full article. Posted by Robot| 18.02.2008 19:44

okwute  Villager

# 2 Wow,thats a big one there Okey,thank you. Achebe has shown us a little of what it is to lead a good life and make honesty a way of life. The prof. is the pride of africa and his book 'things fall apart' like this writer, okey ndibe pointed out,is a book that comes with more and fresh discoveries at each read. Another attribute of this great man is his humility,his life is one of a very humble, low keyed one and as much as friends and fans try to exalt him ,he manages to keep himself lowly. I wish the good old professor,more healthy and eventful years on earth as we need more of him in nigeria and in africa as an epitome of selflessness and honesty. Posted by okwute| 18.02.2008 21:22

slay  Villager

# 3 okey, a good article as always. where can we read the entire interview? mr. achebe is an african icon. he represents the best of who we are as africans and in particular, as nigerians. when all is said and done, we do have the best of humanity right next to us as we equally have the worst of humanity. how else do you explain how mr. achebe and the ubas come from the same state? the good lord has a sense of humor! when nigerians talk about how bad and terrible we are as a people, i remind them of heroes (albeit, reluctant) like mr. achebe and dare i say, mr.fela anikulapo kuti. these are nigerians who have debated the issues of our country without sinking to the typical religious or ethnic diatribe. they are heroes who know that our problems are not created by this or that group; that our problems are created by the cleptomaniacs of our society.....the thieves and rogues amonst us. this is the utmost lesson i have learnt from mr. achebe. i first read things fall apart as a ten year old in boarding school and later as a 18year old in college in america and most recently, as a father of two boys, one eight, one ten. we will be reading things fall apart beginning tomorrow. and they will grow up knowing that, as nigerians, we are an intelligent people, an honest people, a generous people and a good people. we shall not be defined by the worst of us, but by the best of who we are. mr. achebe, thanks for making me proud to have been born in the same country as yourself. thank you for making me the proud, honest and smartworking nigerian that i am. thank you. Posted by slay| 18.02.2008 21:50

Fine Naija Bobo  Villager

# 4 Thanks Okey Ndibe for this great piece. Here also is an interesting, but clearly old piece on Prof Achebe by our fellow villager here (although he has been scarce on the Village of late), which I looked at this morning. SOURCE: http://www.globalpolitician.com/2944-nigeria-nobel _________________________________________________ Chinua Achebe And The No... Ugochukwu Ejinkeonye - 7/1/2005 _________________________________________________ It is becoming widely known, even outside purely literary circles, that November 16 is the birthday of Professor Chinua Achebe, the widely known and read author of the famous classic, Things Fall Apart, the indisputable father and rallying point of African literature, and an imposing figure in the world literary arena. Expectedly, at that time annually, from several parts of the globe, the drums sound and encomiums pour out. This has come to become an annual ritual in which friends and admirers of the literary giant celebrate with great excitement. And as the cards and goodwill messages flow into Ogidi, South-East Nigeria, (or presently Bard College, New York), to honour the literary patriarch and "big masquerade" confined to a wheel-chair since 1990 due to an unfortunate automobile accident, it is doubtful if what I have come to term the "annual October irritation" does not in some measure affect the mood of the foremost author's day and moderate what ordinarily is his inalienable right to celebrate in peace with his family and friends without interference. Although I have not tried to find out how Achebe feels about this, yet the yearly irritation I personally feel before and after an incestuous “gaggle of Swedes” (apologies, Chinweizu) who constitute the "Divination Priests" of the Nobel Academy gather in their obviously stuffy chamber in Stockholm to pronounce a new entrant into their "Great Writers Union" takes appreciable toll on me and affects any impulse I may have to rejoice with Achebe on his day. Incidentally, I have no problems with the tiny crowd of probably four or five "literary diviners" who carry out their yearly oracular consultations in far-away Sweden. My problem lies more with the critics, literary journalists and opinion writers, the world over. Achebe's birthday is in November, and the Swedes have chosen October as the month to announce their distinguished national prize which their countryman, Alfred Nobel, put in place quite some time ago. But the media have also instituted a tradition of making Achebe the principal topic of discourse each time the prize is to be announced, even the years he was not nominated for it, so much so, that the Babel and din linger into the author’s birthday. Several rambling theories are concocted, fantasies are wound together, and annoying speculations about Achebe's "chances this year" are thrown up. It has become a time of sloppy analyses and barely literate "re-evaluations" of Achebe's work; a time of specious inputs to Achebe criticism. The undue fanfare elaborately advertised in all these gratuitous dissipations of energy makes one wonder whether there has become an unspoken understanding among the tiny mob of self-appointed king-makers in Stockholm and their naive cheer-leaders in the media that the Nobel Prize for literature was specially set up so that Chinua Achebe can win it! Can't they just do their thing a little less riotously and leave the poor man alone to have his peace? Why should Achebe annually become the issue? Is it not even a huge irony, and utterly ridiculous, that almost all serious discussions about the Nobel prize for literature seem to revolve around the very man whom the "literary experts" have long "proved" not qualified for the prize? But then, come to think about it: can we in all honesty say that the millions of informed Achebe readers in many languages of the world who read the foremost author with great enthusiasm and unequaled passion really need the pronouncement of the four or five probably balding "wise men" in Sweden to "confirm" that the judgment they have long passed on Achebe was not wrong-headed? Indeed, it is difficult to get over the monumental insult that the whole wide world must never dare to voice their well considered judgment on an author and his work until some self-appointed dictators of literary merit enter their literary coven in Stockholm and pronounce a "validation" on their long established preference? I refuse to be part of that unfortunately seemingly successful blackmail and literary slavery. Once the Swedes announce the winner of their prize, the same over-indulgent literary barristers will descend on Achebe again: He should have done this or that in his work. His work which they had praised with unparalleled enthusiasm before the "Great Announcement" from Stockholm would suddenly develop this flaw and that flaw. Others will blame him for not following the multitudes to worship at the "Western Literary Shrine" located somewhere in Europe and America, for holding views which the literary "masters" are uncomfortable with, and for giving the Nobel Academy the impression that their prize is just like any other national prize of any other country, that he is bigger than it, and that he might even spurn it should they decide to award it to him. My plea to all these over indulgent "experts" and champions of wild speculations is to allow some quiet to ensue so we can at least have an undistracted state of mind to go on "playing our game" while they played theirs. I want to mention in passing here that I admire Professor Femi Osofisan a lot and that he is somebody I so much would have avoided joining issues with. Even when he took a whole full page of The Guardian, Lagos, (Sunday, July 4, 1999) to launch an unprovoked attack on me simply because I dared to re-appraise late John Munonye's place in our literature, I decided to let that pass and over-looked his gratuitous abuses. (see Ugochukwu Ejinkeonye: "John Munonye: A Writer Most Wronged", The Guardian, Lagos, (Sunday, June 13, 1999:p.42). Indeed it was clear to me and all discerning readers that the only reason for Professor Osofisan's "rejoinder" was to simply advertise his essay in which he gave Munonye a couple of paragraphs (but which he proudly called "a lot of readings which Ejinkeonye needs to catch up with"), and register his undisguised annoyance that neither Professors Charles Nnolim and Adebayo Williams who had earlier written on Munonye, nor I, betrayed any awareness of the existence of his "great" piece in our essays. I do not really know why he should take it all out on me when Nnolim, and even Williams (who wrote right under his nose there, at near-by Ife) who had treated the topic long before I did, demonstrated no knowledge of the existence of Osofisan's essay, even though Osofisan claimed it "has been published several times over." But I have let that pass and it has in no way diminished my admiration and high regard for the distinguished author of Morountodun And Other Plays. I think I can appreciate Osofisan's pains. After investing much effort to ensure a piece was published several times over in several journals, it is understandable that he is miffed that people can still not find it, hence the need to employ every available opportunity to advertise it. The only thing I wondered at was why he needed to gather all that verbiage in order to do just a simple advert. That he never tried as much as refute any point I made in my piece in his said "rejoinder" makes his intention all the more clear. Well, like I said elsewhere, I have over-looked all that and the professor is still my good friend. But I find his reaction to the announcement of V.S. Naipaul, the West Indian writer, as the year 2001 winner of the Nobel Prize for literature in very bad taste. Much as I would have loved to refrain from commenting, I have found out that I just could not. Writing in The Comet, Lagos, (Sunday, October 28, 2001:p7), Professor Osofisan said that the fact of Naipaul winning the prize has served to further prove him right and re-enforce his belief that Achebe could still win the Swedish prize. This statement appears harmless, but Osofisan knows full well that he is deliberately being mischievous. In clear terms what the professor is saying is this: if a writer like V.S. Naipaul can win the Nobel Prize, then Achebe can also win it. I do not know the criteria on which Femi Osofisan bases his comparison but my feeling is that he was only using that opportunity to embark upon the deliberate mischief of trying to subtly acquit the Nobel Committee of their long established act of employing less than literary criteria to give out their prizes. Indeed, V.S. Naipaul's prize was long over due. He has all the credentials the European literary "masters" are asking for. I suppose Prof Osofisan read his friend, Kole Omotosho's reaction to V.S. "Nightfall's" prize in a late 2001 article in The Guardian, Lagos, but I should think that one of the most perceptive views on Naipaul came from his fellow Caribbean, Ivan Van Sertima in his book, Caribbean Writers (1968). Says Sertima of Naipaul: "His brilliancy of wit I do not deny but, in my opinion, he has been overrated by English critics whose sensibilities he insidiously flatters by his stock-in-trade: self- contempt". Even Osofisan himself agrees that Naipaul is "so self-hating" and possesses a wit that panders only "to the tastes of his colonial master." Makes me think that the next Nobel prize winner may probably be Yambo Ouologuem, the author of Bound To Violence, who, like Naipaul, has long worked hard to “earn” the prize. Can Osofisan sincerely say that he truly believes that the Swedes have not given their prize to Achebe because of literary short- falls in his work? Because that seems to me to be what Osofisan is implying, to "console" Achebe and his fans, to go on praying and hoping, believing that one-day, Achebe might "qualify" for the prize. For a writer of his status and accomplishment, who has risen to command the respect of many, this statement coming from Osofisan is most unfortunate. In fact, it marks a painful setback in African literature's march to stabilized independence and literary self-determination. Ike Okonta, a younger Nigerian writer who lives in Oxford appears to have a better insight into the issues at stake. For him, the Nobel Committee would not be too foolish to give Achebe their prize. Doing so, he says would amount to grandly legitimising “heresy.” According to Okonta: "The reading world, including, the Nobel Committee, know this fact: that Chinualumogu Achebe is not only the greatest writer to come out of Africa, he is also, perhaps, the one writer in the world today who, through his work, single-handedly changed the way in which one people, their history and culture are perceived by another. After the publication of Things Fall Apart in 1958, the myth of a dark Africa, peopled by savages without history and so without a story, a myth assiduously cultivated and peddled by European explorers and mercenary soldiers of the Frederick Lugard variety, was smashed forever. The guardians of the Western literary cannon in Oxford and Stockholm and Harvard have not forgiven Chinua Achebe for this 'heresy'. He is widely seen as an 'uppity nigger' who does not know his place, who does not accord white 'Massa' sufficient respect. Above all, Achebe is considered the cultural equivalent of Kwameh Nkrumah, Amilcar Cabral, and Patrice Lumumba, great Africans who made it clear from the outset that their life's mission was to rid the continent of the armed robbers and rapists that had held her down for five centuries. It is significant that all three were removed from power by the West, and in the case of Cabral and Lumumba, murdered in cold blood by agents of Western imperialism. Had Achebe's terrain been politics, there is no doubt in my mind that he too would have gone the way of the others, felled by a bullet fired from London or Washington. 'Heretics', those that challenge the status quo, are meant to burn at the stakes, after all. Is it likely that the Nobel Committee, which in truth is merely the cultural arm of a rapine project intent on gobbling up all that is non-Western, will reward Chinua Achebe for insisting so powerfully and so brilliantly in his novels, essays, and poems that Africa was not one long night of savagery before Europe came calling in the fifteenth century?" (ThisDay, Lagos, Sunday, October 29, 200:p7) But does Achebe really need Sweden's Nobel prize? Or put differently, which will dignify the other, Achebe or the Nobel? Obi Nwakanma see it this way: "Frankly, I think that Achebe does not need the Nobel prize. The Nobel prize will merely dignify itself if it is awarded to Chinua Achebe. Everyone recognizes that he is among the greatest writers living on earth today. The real significance of Achebe was captured by that announcement in London two years ago in 2000, when he, Wole Soyinka and Derek Walcott were invited to a special program. The announcement read: 'Two Nobel Laureates and a legend.' There is no greater honour." (USAfricaonline.com. June 4, 2002.) Be that as it may, we can still ignore all the exasperating noise of October and continue to yearly celebrate the birthday of the "Eagle On The Tallest Iroko", who despite all he has done to ensure that African literature is freed from the apron strings of Europe and evolve its own standards and its own voice, still refuses to accept that he almost single-handedly gave African literature its identity, bearing and autonomous entity. Sometime in 1987 or so, Achebe was a guest at a Writers' Symposium organized in Dublin by the Irish Arts Council to mark the one thousand years of the founding of the city of Dublin. On the morning of the day Achebe was to speak at the convocation, the Irish Times carried a major story in which a columnist referred to Achebe as "the man who invented African literature". Before commencing his presentation that day, Achebe used the occasion to dissociate himself from that view. Though he tried to introduce a superstitious ring to the reason that informed his disclaimer, what is very clear is that Achebe believes that African literature is a communal ethos that has always been with our people in its oral forms until he came forward to unabashedly articulate our story whose existence the colonialists had denied, and re-construct our image which they had distorted. So despite his monumental contribution to the evolution of what is today known and accepted as African literature, he does not still think any one person should be in a hurry to lay "too heavy a proprietary hand on the smallest item in (our) communal enterprise in creativity," the person’s clearly pioneering efforts, notwithstanding. (Okike: 30, Nov., 1990: p9). But of course, anyone who had followed Achebe's literary progress, the lectures he has given from day one and the interviews he had granted would have no problems placing him. African literature is now engaging serious attention of scholars around the world as a very rich corpus with its own standards, ethos, rhythm and identity. But many would conveniently forget that while Achebe argued at forum after forum that African literature is real, and that that is where he comfortably belongs, his contemporaries were prostrate, cap in hand, before the European "literary Lords" pleading to be accepted as "international" and "universal" writers, vowing and swearing that their Africanness was a mere coincidence, and that they were too big to be confined within the crude fences of African literary aesthetics. Of course many got accepted, and some were rewarded handsomely for saying and doing the "right" things, and for intermittently throwing impotent "bomb shells" aimed at discouraging the growth of African literature, but the undeniable fact is that African literature remains their only abiding identity today, and that without the rescuing hand and landing space of African literature, many of them would have since been lost in the dark bottomless pit of Euro-universalism. We salute Achebe for his consistency and clarity of vision and thought, and for holding on tenaciously to his "unpopular" views and allowing time to vindicate him. We thank him for the African Writers Series of which he was founding editor, and which made it possible for many of the "international writers" of African origin to be discovered and published in the first place. By his stature and merit, Achebe could be published anywhere. But he preferred to be counted among his kith and kin, guiding and pruning them, and using his looming image to authenticate the Series even when other "established" writers spurned the venture, describing it as putting African Writers in a "ghetto-like grouping". We understand that Africa has long been "proved" and concluded a "primitive" tribe with a mindless past, but Achebe was not ashamed of his "primitive" and "undeveloped" race, their past and literature; he spurned the pride of place offered him by the Euro-universalists, insisting on finding for African literature its own place, instead of leaving it an appendage of Euro-world literature. Before an Association for Commonwealth Literature and language Studies meeting at Makarere University, Uganda, in January 1974, Achebe declared: "I hold, however, and have held from the very moment I began to write that earnestness is appropriate to my situation. Why? I suppose because I have deep-seated need to alter things within my situation, to find for myself a little more room than has been allowed me in the world. I realize how pompous or even frightening this must sound to delicate sensibilities, but I can't help it". Also, after a brilliant outing in Canberra, Australia, in the summer of 1973, Professor Manning Clark, a distinguished Australian historian wrote to Achebe and pleaded: "I hope you come back and speak again here, because we need to lose the blinkers of our past. So come and help the young to grow up without the prejudices of their forefathers..." This kind of sincerity is so touching. It is most unfortunate that while the "authentic universal" people are realizing that they had long been mired in pitiable self-delusion, African intellectuals are falling over themselves to announce to the world, like Booker T. Washington, in his book, Up From Slavery, they are scared of losing their chains. I must confess that I do not always agree with Achebe, especially on his views about Christianity, which like many intellectuals, he sees from a negative and largely misunderstood perspective. Indeed, Christianity (not the life-less, orthodox, ritualistic and perfunctory variety), unlike other beliefs is not just a religion, but a real, valid experience, explainable only by the experiencer. And because the carnal mind is incapable of understanding spiritually discerned matters, the average intellectual falls easily into the common error of dismissively criticizing what he lacks the capacity to understand, his monumental intelligence in literary and social matters, notwithstanding. One would have wished that Achebe would enter his closet and sincerely ask God to reveal Himself to him instead of continuing to base his impression about Christianity on what he observed from some hypocritical, racist, and unedifying attitudes of some orthordox European missionaries, the life-less rituals, perfunctory ceremonies and hypocritical life-styles of today's orthodox sects, or the scandalous effusions of all these un-called and clearly unregenerated charlatans that have infiltrated Pentecostalism and true Christian circles. The Christian God is not a European or American. He belongs only to those whose ways are right in His sight. And that is why, from Africa now, recovery efforts are being directed to the mostly backslidden West. I personally know a Nigerian church that organizes a yearly conference since 2000 now, where it brings together church leaders from several parts of the world, at no cost whatsoever to the participants, including air fares to and fro, to teach them what Christianity really is. You can see what I mean. I would also expect Achebe to yield some grounds on the issue of Igbo orthography, and sacrifice his own preferred alphabets, in order to make way for the evolution of a standard Igbo orthography, so that hope could still be retained of rescuing Igbo language, presently gasping for breath, from total extinction. What will further happen to Igbo language if everyone continues to write in his or her own dialect as he advocates? Wouldn't we have a Babel situation, with our children utterly confused as to which one to adopt for mutual intelligibility among their peers? In a brilliant interview with The Paris Review (Winter 1994-1995), Achebe said something I would have wished he hadn't said: "There are grammarians who now sit over the Igbo language the way Dennis did in 1906 and dictate it into Standard Igbo. I think it is a terrible tragedy. I think dialects should be left alone. People should write in whatever dialect they feel they want to write. In the fullness of time, these dialects will sort themselves out. When I write in the Igbo language, I write my own dialect." When will this “fullness of time” arrive? I have read Achebe's Igbo poems, and I sincerely believe that his rejection of the Standard Igbo goes beyond dialectal chauvinism. His spellings appear to be more of a carry-over from the English orthorgraphy than an attempt to reflect dialectal sound variations. I believe that he has sufficiently made his point about the mistake of Dennis (which I think is his main concern), but he will agree with me that Standard Igbo has undergone a lot of orthographical metamorphosis, and as it is today, it now has very negligible semblance to what Dennis produced in 1906. Presently, Igbo language remains the only major language in Nigeria that has the lowest readership, and has ably frustrated all attempts to even publish a newspaper in it. I wonder if we can still talk about Igbo literature any more, because after a modest research I carried out recently among school children, I now seriously doubt that many of them have heard about Tony Ubesie or F.C. Ogbalu! But the linguists and Igbo language scholars have no reason to allow the language to die, even if Achebe, who is not a linguist, still goes on to experiment with his own preferred alphabets. Did the English use as excuse Bernard Shaw's vigorous proposition of changes in English orthography to let their language die? Creative writers are given to innovations and experimentations and Achebe cannot be an exception. Now, it must be clear to everyone that these points of disagreement with Achebe cannot in any way diminish his great and invaluable contributions to African literature. Today, Achebe can smile that despite all internal and external roadblocks, he has found for African literature "a little more room than has been allowed" it. It is a thing of joy that he did not need any endorsement from Stockholm, Oxford or Harvard to do this. The fitting tribute we can continue to pay Achebe is that we do not take African literature back to Euro-fashioned chains and slavery, by giving free hand to the literary colonizers to use the seductive power of their " cash-box" prizes to crown our "kings" for us, by way of proclaiming to us who they have, by their "superior" literary taste "discovered" as a "leading" and "better" writer in Africa. Let us crown our own kings by ourselves, and if the West refuses to accept them, who cares? Achebe also founded the Association of Nigeria Authors (ANA) to provide Nigerian writers a forum to organize themselves, articulate ideas, re-assess and assert themselves in the world. It is hoped that ANA will endeavour to continue upholding the shining ideals of its founding father. It has a responsibility to allay the growing fears in informed quarters that it is gradually assuming the toga of a socio-political club. I also appreciate the fact that many ANA members are engaging the attention of “international" prize-awarding bodies, and are actually bringing home these prizes. These, as praise-worthy as they are, must not become the criteria to determine who is who in Nigerian and African literature. It is only a country populated by fools that allow foreigners to choose and crown their own kings for them. Ngugi has long warned us to be very wary and "never succumb to the poisonous and divisive flattery of our enemies". I feel insulted that Europeans are instituting prizes solely to "discover" and reward "good" works from Africa. I just hope that this is not another means of "teaching" us what "good" literature is and which one has met with Euro-universal standards, and therefore the best to come from Africa. Assuming Nigeria has had governments that are a little less philistine, ANA literary contests should have by now risen in stature as to award prizes that could even attract contenders from anywhere in the world. What does it take? Is it not to raise the monetary value of the prizes? It is a big shame that a country that has produced the likes of Tutuola, Achebe, Soyinka, Okigbo, Okara, Osundare, Aniebo, Osofisan, Ike, Sofola, Rotimi, Okri, etc., is wanting in the capacity to reclaim its clearly lost status as the rallying ground for African literature. In my view, and I think I am right, the only thing that makes most these foreign prizes more coveted and even respected in Nigeria than the ANA prizes is just their capacity to make their recipients instant millionaires. And that is why many of us are really sad about the scandalous controversy that has engulfed the newly endowed $20,000 NLNG Prize for Literature. I also look forward to when the Nigerian government or corporate organisations would help endow literary prizes capable of attracting the interest and respect of many Nigerians. Unfortunately, to expect the current Nigerian president who goes to Europe and America to seek counsel and permission to even prosecute the minutest of his country's programmes to aid the total de-colonization of our literature would amount to stretching optimism beyond its malleable limit. But I am told that for just shamelessly and obscenely flaunting their flesh before the eager ogling eyes greedy voyeurs, the beauty pageants’ winners go home with as much as 1 million naira as salary and other goodies. Yet Nigeria's creative enterprise is treated like an orphan! As we annually celebrate with Achebe, let us realize that African literature, indeed, Nigerian literature, is on trial. Achebe has tried his best for us, to clear the way and show us the path. We may be scared of accepting this, but not so, many other people. Sometime ago, I was told that at a Literature Conference somewhere in the early 1990s, a consensus was reached among the participating scholars that the earlier title of "The Eagle On Iroko" given Achebe at the famous Nsukka Symposium in 1990 to mark his sixtieth birthday was inadequate. Consequently, Achebe was unanimously declared the "Eagle On The Tallest Iroko". That, I am sure, speaks volumes of what Chinua Achebe has come to mean to millions of his readers and admirers around the world. Posted by Fine Naija Bobo| 19.02.2008 05:17

Zanderlex  Villager

# 5 Thank you Okey Ndibe. Thank you. Keep up the good work. Thank you one more time. Thank you. Posted by Zanderlex| 19.02.2008 06:41

Austyn O Azoganokhai  JJC

# 6 I think this piece by Okey Ndibe should have been titled: African Greatest Writer speaks with African Best! That 'Pa Okonkwo' has mapped his indelible print in the sand of African Literature needs no over-emphasising.But that the likes of Prof. Ndibe are toeing the steps of the''The Eagle on Iroko' gladdens the heart. Chinuayelugo Achebe,Long may you live!May the fountain of your knowledge keep flowing.. Okey,thank you so much. Posted by Austyn O Azoganokhai| 19.02.2008 07:37

ozion ozumba  Villager

# 7 " If I had my way, this interview would be taking place in Nigeria". I must confess I got goose pimples reading this line. How the good old Prof must be missing home. But can our dear country guarantee the safety and health this cerebral man of latters in his present state? Thanks Prof ON, Sowore & Co for making this encounter possible as we gear up for the Golden Jubilee of Things Fall Apart. Again, the Nobel question begs. Am told that Achebe's criticism of Josef Conrad, and the fact that Soyinka has got it are factors holding the Swedes from recognizing the global Achebe. But who cares, like our poeple say:'oji ife nwata, aka lobe ya ilo, owetue' After all, the shortlist for the Booker Price had some Nobel Laurettes whom Chinualumogu beat to the tape. May God continue to keep you Nna anyi. Posted by ozion ozumba| 19.02.2008 07:37

nallanah  Villager

# 8 Prof Ndibe, Well done!! ...but where is this interview? ...until I read it, I will not be very happy with you; and I guess I speak for quite a number of us here in the NVS. Posted by nallanah| 19.02.2008 08:11

dele26  Villager

# 9 ='Achebe'> “I think of Nigeria as home,” he said, and then paused momentarily. “It is a frustrating home, sometimes an irritating home, but it is home,” he underlined. After another weighty pause, he added: “If I had my way, this interview would be taking place in Nigeria.” Uuummm …… ‘enu agba lobi tingbo’ please don’t ask me to interpret. Consult your advanced learner's Yoruba dictionary The Nigerian politics is like the Mud festival in the UK, I can not see an Achebe or Emeagwali undress and roll in the mud like a two year old Posted by dele26| 19.02.2008 10:49

dele26  Villager

# 10 =Achebe> “I think of Nigeria as home,” he said, and then paused momentarily. “It is a frustrating home, sometimes an irritating home, but it is home,” he underlined. After another weighty pause, he added: “If I had my way, this interview would be taking place in Nigeria.” Uuummm …… ‘enu agba lobi tingbo’ please don’t ask me to interpret. Consult your advanced learner's Yoruba dictionary. The Nigerian politics is like the Mud festival in the UK, I can not see an Achebe or Emeagwali undress and roll in the mud like a two year old. Posted by dele26| 19.02.2008 11:11