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Afrosuspense is a style of storytelling to which I subscribe. It necessarily focuses on African themes (such as African characters, background, language, culture, and idioms). It also uses the universal storytelling vehicle of delivery called suspense, in order to hold the reader’s interest, in anticipation of a surprise ending.
Forgive my redundancy, as I repeat, for dramatic effect, that I call this narrative style Afrosuspense, which I define as a focus on traditional African flavor and ethnic idioms, but which is also immersed in the popular story-telling tradition of engaging literary suspense, in order to arrest the reader's interest, with a promise of a surprise ending.
Until the moment of publishing this article on the website of Nigeriavillagesquare today, there has not been, to the best of my knowledge, any other literary claim to the term Afrosuspense.
To be sure, the style of writing or storytelling that I have defined as Afrosuspense above is not new to
Africa
and certainly not new to Igboland. Storytelling, in typical African traditions, especially orature, encompasses many genres, all of which are often delivered with suspense; these genres include adventure, crime, wayo, rhythmic sing-a-long, fantasy, mystery, horror, and romance. But my Afrosuspense is strictly a written form of the storytelling genres (as opposed to orature). It follows two primary formulas: (a) it must be suspenseful and (b) it must provide authentic African ethnic flavor in the story itself.
The difficult part of this type of storytelling is the incorporation into the story of authentic flavors of the African heritage, language, culture, idioms or proverbs. I try to solve this problem, whenever possible, by placing such African language, culture, idioms or proverbs side-by-side with their English translations in my stories.
Placing an idiomatic expression side-by-side with its English translation achieves two immediate goals: First, it preserves the language in its original form for contemporary and future readers who may have better or different translations while serving as a necessary citation to the source of the writer’s material. Second, it provides literary life and blood to the ethnic language and thus promotes the language and culture of our people. If you read enough African literature, you will notice that African storytellers who write in English have, mostly, been satisfied with just translating into English their ethnic traditions without corresponding provisions of the vernacular translated.
Our distinguished mentor, Professor Chinua Achebe, in both Things Fall Apart and Arrow of God, wonderfully weaved the narratives in ways that remained as faithful as possible to the Igbo culture and idioms. But the proverbs and other ethnic idioms were, mostly, written in English. Those who speak the Igbo language know that Achebe’s translations did not always capture all the ethnic nuances of what was translated. Translation and interpretation are two different processes. As one translates proverbs from one language to another, one is inescapably giving one’s own personal interpretation (meaning) of what is translated. The Igbo have long recognized that there cannot be just one way of interpreting events because, as they put it, anaghi ano ofu ebe enene mmanwu (one does not sit in one spot to watch a masquerade dance).
Professor Achebe himself knows the problem of which I write. For example, he once gave an interview in which he admitted that his translation of “chi” as ‘personal god’ was not quite right and that ‘personal spirit’ might have been a better translation. But it was medicine after death. This is one of the reasons that, as a student of the Achebe school of storytelling, I go one step further than the master, by striving, in the story, to preserve the original of much of what I translate, so that others, now or in the future, may distill from them additional or variant meanings. I am, after all, just one translator of our collective heritage so that my perspective may not always be the only, or even the proper, one.
Our other distinguished mentor, the Kenyan novelist, playwright, and essayist Ngugi Wa Thiong’o, who wrote several novels in English, including Weep not Child, later tried to solve this problem of potential loss of meaning in translation by writing and publishing all his subsequent novels in his native language of Gikuyu (See Ngugi’s Decolonising the Mind: The Politics of Language in African Literature (1986).
Following each publication of a novel in Gikuyu, Ngugi would then publish a translated English version of the same book. The first novel he published in Gikuyu was an instant bestseller in
Kenya
, surpassing the expectations of the writer and his publisher. Some critics argue that publishing his stories first in his native language is an extreme way of fighting the erosion of our culture, but, as Ngugi properly noted, language and culture cannot be separated; to him if you lose your language, you lose your culture because, in his words:
"Written literature and orature are the main means by which a particular language transmits the images of the world contained in the culture it carries. Language as communication and as culture are then products of each other. . . . Language carries culture, and culture carries, particularly through orature and literature, the entire body of values by which we perceive ourselves and our place in the world. . . . Language is thus inseparable from ourselves as a community of human beings with a specific form and character, a specific history, a specific relationship to the world." (Decolonising the Mind, pages15-16).
Again, to be sure, there had been, before Ngugi, some African pioneering giants who promoted their ethnic cultures by doggedly writing and publishing in those ethnic languages. For example, Chief Daniel Olorunfemi Fagunwa had several published titles in Yoruba, including his classic Ogboju Ode Ninu Igbo Irunmale, which was later translated into English by Professor Wole Soyinka; and Shabaan Robert, a great poet from
Tanzania
, proudly wrote in Kiswahili.
There were many Igbo writers too, whose goals were the preservation of the culture. Among them was F.C. Ogbalu who gave us, among other books, the incomparable classics Omenala Igbo (Igbo Customs) and Okowa Okwu (Igbo Dictionary). I call this class of ethnic language writers pioneers. But the painful reality that ethnic language writers have come to accept, as Ngugi himself realized, is that a literary work must target the widest possible audience. To reach that wider audience, English, French, Portuguese translations became necessary. So Ngugi does both: he writes the novel in his native language and then he translates his story into English.
My writing style, Afrosuspense, bridges the chasm between those African storytellers who write exclusively in English and those who write exclusively in our ethnic tongues. My writing style reaches a greater audience than the story would if written only in a local Nigerian language. My stories are not written entirely in English or entirely in the native language. The numerous foreign and African readers who do not speak my language will still pick up my book, retain the option of ignoring the vernacular in my story as they read, but still read the story, while the aficionados will be instantly introduced to the authentic ethnic expressions as they read. And as I have already argued earlier, this style preserves for posterity that which is translated. Today, the title of Hillary Clinton’s book “It Takes a Village [to raise a child]” is credited to Hillary Clinton. Does anybody even know from what African ethnic language she took that proverb? No. The best that commentators do (search the WEB) is admitting that it is an African proverb. With passage of time, Hillary Clinton and
America
will become the original source of that proverb. That’s how we lose the precious gems of our languages and, by extension, our cultures.
Let me hasten to add that I do not mean to compare myself to the giant African writers whose names I have mentioned above. Other than my first novel, The African Girl, a copy of which Professor Achebe blessed and autographed for me a few years ago when I met him in New Jersey, have I even written anything that is worthy of comparison with the works of the giants? Nonetheless, I want to make a difference. I want to make a difference even if it is only one book or only one short story that I write. If that one book or one short story educates even one person about my culture, Afrosuspense will have achieved its modest goal.
I have purposely set my goal very low as I walk in the shadows of the giants. With such a modest goal today, I can sleep peacefully with the knowledge that tomorrow critics cannot accuse me of being a failure. Each time that I can cook up an interesting story of ethnic flavor with sufficient ingredients of suspense to hold the interest of the reader, I increase the chances that such reader will take a bite of some of the ethnic delicacies and, in the process, keep coming back for more. Just one reader, and only one reader, who is educated by my writing is what I need to achieve my goal. Perhaps you are the one.
Wayo Guy and other Nigerian Short Stories
Dear villagers, distinguished trailblazer Big-K, and trendsetter Shoko:
Igbo people say umu nna bu ike (one’s kindred is one’s strength). Therefore, I have come to you, my kindred, to announce the birth of my new baby whose name is “Wayo Guy and other Nigerian Short Stories”. This child was conceived in this village before your eyes. For almost two years, numerous villagers have urged me to deliver this child. I initially resisted. But they persisted. I have finally done what they requested. A picture is said to be worth a thousand words; therefore, I have attached a picture of the baby.
To assist me in delivering this announcement to you, my kindred, I have brought you these items: a calabash full of palm wine; a basket full of kola nuts; two cows; two goats; four chickens. If there is anything else that I have missed, I humbly ask you to please advise me because my father told me that onye ajuju anaghi efu uzo (one who asks questions does not get lost).
To the Yoruba in the house, I say E se e. Se gbadun ni (Thank you. You are wonderful).
Bee ni, enyan to-da nie.
To the many Igbo here, I say Ekene dili unu umu nne m na umu nna m (Thank you my brothers and sisters).
To the Ijaw in the house, I say thank you for reminding us that bietebe keme ama miengha (no man is an island). That is why today I have come to thank the villagers.
I have just seen some Hausa brothers and sisters coming to the square. I welcome them: Sannu da zuwa. Ina kwana? Na gode. (Welcome. How are you? Thank you).
I see many faces of many other ethnicities. Naija people, I throway salute to una well well. I dey greet una.
I hereby offer my new baby to you for your blessings. If any villager has any questions about my writing and stories, I will be glad to answer them.
Thank you.
Acknowledgements:
1. The Offended Chi in Achebe's Novels – Austin J. Sheldon
2. Decolonising the Mind: The Politics of Language in African Literature - Ngugi
3. Mother, Sing For Me - Ngugi
4. Poems of Black Africa, edited by Wole Soyinka
5. African Writers Talking, (Heinemann)
6. www.Ijawdictionary.com
7. Ije Odumodu jere (1963) – Leopold Bell-Gram
8. Omenuko (1933) – Peter Nwanna
9. Ala Bingo (1937) – D.N. Achara
10. Ogboju Ode Ninu Igbo Irunmale – D.O. Fagunwa
11. The Rise of the Igbo Novel (1978) - Emenyonu
12. The African Girl - Chima Uchendu
13. Wayo Guy and other Nigerian Short Stories – Chima Uchendu
Please visit the following link to purchase the book
http://www.authorhouse.com/BookStore/ItemDetail~bookid~50707.aspx
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Posted by Robot| 07.02.2008 10:42