1. Melissa Kiguwa is the the second Ugandan that was this year, longlisted for the Writivism Short Story Prize for her story, The Wound of Shrinking. I set out to find out who this Melissa is and it turns out, she just published her first collection of poems, Reveries Of Longing.
3. Have you heard of Lawino Magazine? You have up to 15th June for your short stories, poems and spoken word poetry to make their first issue. Read submission guidelines here.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie Nigerian-born Adichie is the author of three novels, most recently the critically acclaimed Americanah. The book describes the affecting journey of a Nigerian woman who takes her chances in America as an emigrant, not because of poverty or hunger in her homeland, but to escape what she calls the “oppressive lethargy of choicelessness.” The book is also a penetrating discourse on what it means to be black and how views of identity differ between African Americans and American Africans. In addition to her brilliant storytelling skills, Adichie has stepped into the realm of politics with her TED talk called “We Should All Be Feminists,” said to have inspired the Beyoncé song “Flawless” and various opinion pieces.
5. There are very few Ugandan writers that market their work the way inspirational writer, Bake Robert Tumuhaise does. If you have not heard about his book, Tears of My Mother: Nyamishana, you have definitely been living under a rock where his social media campaign for his book obviously could not reach you.
Tumuhaise will be hosted by Femrite as the author of May today at 5:30pm at the Femrite offices. I am not so big on inspirational/self-help books but I want to hear more about his marketing strategy.
7. I am very wary of movies that are based on novels. especially novels that I have read and loved such as Half of A Yellow Sun. But I love Thandie Newton and Anika Noni Rose (both delivered fierce performances in For Coloured Girls) and so I have many reasons to look forward to this movie. Nigeria is a going through a crisis at the moment and their film censorship board decided to add the delay of releasing Half Of A Yellow Sun to the existing political crisis. Movie Director Biyi Bandele explains Why Nigerians cannot watch the country’s biggest movie.
7/7 is Sooo Many Stories’ way of helping you beat the Monday blues. 7 things that are making me happy in the literary world.
Bwesigye bwa Mwesigire: Stories are life and there is no life without stories, without reading…
Courtsey Photo
Bwesigye bwa Mwesigire is a writer and law graduate of Makerere and Central European Universities. He is a British Council Global Change-maker, a Harambe Entrepreneur Alliance Associate, a Youth Advisor to Washington, a Generation Change Uganda Chapter member and a Do School Theater Fellow. His work has appeared in literary and academic publications, including the Uganda Modern Literary Digest, Short Story Day Africa, Saraba magazine, New Black Magazine, AFLA Quarterly among others. Presently, he teaches Human Rights at Makerere University and Law at St. Augustine International University.
Brian is a co-founder of Centre for African Cultural Excellence (CACE), the organisation that brings you Writivism.
Bwesigye was such a delight to chat with. Here is what we talked about:
What is Centre for African Cultural Excellence (CACE) and what inspired you to start it?
Cace was started out of depression. Living in Budapest, where more than 90% of the population speak Hungarian, while studying at an American university and reading so much Euro-centric theory opened a part of me that I had always taken for granted. Cliche? I know it is but my African-ness dawned on me so much in 2011/2.
Not so much was familiar about my surroundings. Yet so much in London was familiar to me. So much in Boston was not new. Hungary was alienating largely because of a lack of soft power that Britain and the US have, thus making London and Boston almost feel like home, yet they are not necessarily Africa.
So, the consciousness as to the lack of African soft power was born of this depression. CACE as an idea was started to promote and develop African soft power. Literature, music, theatre, film etc grow a people’s soft power so much that they feel comfortable living anywhere in the world, because they are present. Soft power guarantees one’s presence in the world. So, at the Harambe Bretton Woods Symposium (HBWS), our team of two (Ateenyi Kyomuhendo and myself) was joined by Naseemah Mohamed and we founded the Centre for African Cultural Excellence.
When did Writivism come in?
Writivism as an idea was born months after the HBWS. It was born at the British Council Global Changemakers Euro-Africa Youth Summit in Brussels. I was part of a Human Rights group that thought that literature does not only entertain, but that literature or art generally is also political in nature. It is activism already, even if the idea it stands for may be art for art’s sake. That in itself, art is activism. So, writing and activism are not different at all, hence the combination of writing and activism into Writivism.
After the summit, we secured a $2,500 grant from Global Changemakers and piloted the project in Uganda. The idea is the connection of literature to reality, through connecting readers to writers, running a mentoring program, workshops, a festival, school tours, a short story prize and public readings.
What has been the response by writers to the Writivism call?
The pilot was warmly received in 2012. We had limited the eligible writers to only Ugandan residents belonging to a 15-25 age group. We received about 50 entries.
This year, we felt confident enough to roll out the program to the entire continent. We recruited a Board of Trustees comprising Zukiswa Wanner, Lizzy Attree, E.C Osondu, NoViolet Bulawayo, Chika Unigwe and Ayikwei Nii Parkes and with their advice we have been able to grow the program further.
We had twenty mentors from all over Africa on the program, held five workshops in Nairobi, Kampala, Abuja, Harare and Cape Town, involving over 60 writers in the process. Entries for the Writivism Short Story prize this year hit the 200 mark and we are excited about the interest in the forthcoming Writivism Festival.
I would say that Writivism has been warmly welcomed by the writing community.
How would you describe the Ugandan writing scene at the moment?
It is easier to describe the Nigerian or Kenyan or South African or Zimbabwean writing scene, I think. May be a case of the ability of the outsider to look in better than the insider trying to describe what they are part of. They may not describe themselves properly because the mirror may tell them lies. But seriously, if you allow me to, I think there is much and not much to talk about the Ugandan writing scene at the same time. This year alone, there are a number of regional writing workshops happening in the country. We are building strong institutions: there is FEMRITE, The Lantern Meet of Poets, OpenMic Uganda and many more. There is a lot of activity. Ernest Bazanye once wrote that Uganda is a publishing desert but with a lot of literary activity.
Unfortunately, it is publishing, whether in print or online that actually shows the literary activity to the outside, but also to the inside. Hence it becomes easier to talk about the Nigerian or Kenyan or South African or Zimbabwean writing scene.
But there is hope, as I have said above. Institutions are growing, and the internet is opening doors that did not exist, or were shut to Ugandan writers before.
What challenges have been cited by writers?
I have heard many bemoan the lack of opportunities. I have heard others claim that they have nothing to motivate them to write. Others say it is not economically viable to write. Some also talk about the reading culture. That it does not exist in the country. On my part, I think (although you have asked challenges cited by writers – not me) that the major challenge is a lack of hunger for excellence and success. The writers are not hungry enough. My mentor, Jackee Batanda, would say not mad enough.
Which writers inspired your interest in writing?
I used to love literature (not writing) from my school days. I admired the authors of the works we studied in school. So, I started off writing, which was really trying to be an Achebe, a Naipaul, a Ngugi, an Armah of my day. Then in my Senior Six, my Literature teacher, the Late Bernard Wafula Mukhata brought me to The Sheraton and The National Theatre to attend sessions of the British Council Crossing Border program. There were various writers in Kampala. I had not read much work written by many of the writers at those events, so I did not pick much inspiration from them, except the confidence that indeed writing is possible in our times. I spent my Senior Six vacation chasing the writing dream. Looking for a computer at NetMedia Publishers where Solomon Bareebe worked, and giving him what I considered well-written manuscripts then. I gave up when I joined Law School at Makerere.
In 2010, as I completed my undergraduate studies, Facebook delivered Nick Twinamatsiko’s Chwezi Code. I loved the book because the story was set in a familiar environment. For the first time in my adult life, I read myself, my relatives, my people, my times etc in a novel! But at that time, I was more inspired to market/promote local literature, than to write.
Along the way of doing this, I have since met more writer-preneurs. Writers who are also entrepreneurs whose business is promoting writing. Think Achebe, and what he did with African Writers Series. Think Binyavanga and what he is doing with Kwani?, Rachel Zadok and what she is doing with Short Story Day Africa, Hilda Twongyeirwe and what she is doing with FEMRITE, Goretti Kyomuhendo and what she is doing with African Writers Trust, Jackee Batanda with Success Spark and Beverley Nambozo and her BN Poetry Foundation. These are the writers who inspire me to date.
But as you see, they inspire my interest in being a writer-preneur, with emphasis on the -preneur. I think all writers need entrepreneurship skills. I think we need more writer-preneurs than just writers.
Which Ugandan writers do you enjoyed reading?
Okot P’Bitek. Cliche? Maybe. But I love his Acholi-Nglish. But of course I am also a keen student of his philosophy. I wish all his work was compulsory reading to every Ugandan, especially the collection of his essays Artist, the Ruler. I wish he were alive today. I think he died too young. Reading him is sheer pleasure, but also a good kind of ‘incitement’.
Why should we write?
I do not know. Most of the time I write because I am angry; to rant or heal myself of whatever ills I still harbour. To liberate myself. But I also write because I must. The most eloquent reasons for writing have been given by my favourite Indian writer and activist, Arundhati Roy. She says:
“Writers imagine that they cull stories from the world. I’m beginning to believe that vanity makes them think so. That it’s actually the other way around. Stories cull writers from the world. Stories reveal themselves to us. The public narrative, the private narrative – they colonize us. They commission us. They insist on being told. Fiction and nonfiction are only different techniques of storytelling. For reasons that I don’t fully understand, fiction dances out of me, and nonfiction is wrenched out by the aching, broken world I wake up to every morning.”
This is why I write more non-fiction than fiction, I think. It is “wrenched out by the aching, broken world I wake up to every morning,” and this happens even when living outside Africa.
Why should we read?
I think as long as we are alive, we should read, to remain alive. This is like asking me why we should eat. To stay alive. Because those who do not read are dead? I think. (If we interpret reading widely to include listening to literature. I believe that there is such a thing as oral literature, so bear with my comparison.)
From childhood, even before I learnt how to ‘read’ and ‘write’, I was already reading (by listening to) folktales. Stories are life and there is no life without stories. Without reading. Stories are like food. A basic need, we can’t do away with.
There is a school of thought that chastises writers that write for competitions. They say writing for competitions affects the writers’ creativity as they are forced to write a certain way to ensure they win. Infact, it was William Faulkner that said, “I’ve never known anything good in writing to come from having accepted any free gift of money. The good writer never applies to a foundation. He’s too busy writing something.” What are your thoughts on this? What are the pros and cons of writing for competitions?
I disagree. Context is everything. Some people send their stories to competitions in order to earn credibility. Some target the amount of money on offer. Some want to develop their craft because competitions at times are more than just the money. There are competitions like Writivism, the Caine Prize etc that include workshops, mentoring and other things that develop the writer’s craft beyond the money.
Most probably it is populated majorly by writers who failed to win any competition; a sourgraper’s paradise. To reduce writing competitions to the prize money is a great sin.
What are some of the most common mistakes writers make when they apply to the competition?
Not following the most basic of instructions/guidelines. Word-counts for example. Even inclusion/exclusion of personal details. It is not rare to find a manuscript that has a name, yet the instructions clearly state that no mark as to the identity of the writer should be included. Or some other simple guidelines like send the story as an attachment, and you find the story in the body of the email. And sometimes it is the good writers, those whose stories will no doubt enthral the competition judges that make such basic mistakes.
Sometimes this costs them the entire competition, and other times they survive, depending on who is administering the prize.
Next week, Bwesigye will be back to tell us everything that we need to know about the Writivim Festival.
7/7: Use commas. Don’t be a psycho
1. I am currently working on my submission for Jalada’s Afrofuture Anthology. You should be doing the same.
2. Word porn’s twitter page teaching me words I will probably never use.
3. Horror? Fantasy? Dystopian? Sci-fi? Alternative history? Magical realism? All 3000 words of it? 5000 words maybe? You have up to 30th June to submit Short Story Day Africa’s Terra Incognita writing competition. Details here.
4. Seriously, use commas.
5. Melissa Kiguwa and Ssekandi Ronald Sseguja made the Writivism longlist. A shortlist of five will be announced on June 1st and on the evening of June 21st, the winner of the $400 prize and other auxiliary prizes will be announced.
6. I have some left-over Kitenge material that I could use for book covers.
These guys did it for a historical cause, of course.
7. Jennifer Makumbi won last year’s Kwani? manuscript project and she has already bagged this year’s Commonwealth Shortstory Prize- Africa region. I have not read much of her work but this story blew me away!
Thank you for the inspiration, Jennifer Makumbi!
7/7 is Sooo Many Stories’ way of helping you beat the Monday blues. 7 things that are making me happy in the literary world.
im|press you with my flaky fonts and American’t accent?
Save you fifty on a bootlegged DVD?
Hash Tag, TheSystemIsStupid
Hash Tag was published in the Suubi Collection. It is a collection of short stories and poems from the African Writers Trust’s creative writing programme produced in association with the British Council.
There is another myel; a dance tonight. I hate dances. I only attend them because Muzungu says it’s part of the therapy. We call him Muzungu because he’s light-skinned like a whiteman.
–Dancing shakes out the pain and terror from your bodies and you’re reborn, he says. Perhaps our Tipu, our spirits wait in the air for us to invite them to dance, he adds. But my Tipu, my spirits are not near me. I do not dance because I cannot stand. That’s why I hate dances. I also hate dances because I lost my legs in a myel.
My friends and I had wandered from Lacor camp. We live in camps because one night Tek Gungu-government soldiers came to our homes shouting in Swahili ‘funguwa mulango! Open the door!’ and ordered us to the government protected camps. We left with only the clothes on our backs. And in the camp we found other families like ours. The camp is one big homestead with many little huts built together; you can hear the neighbours snore. Our huts encircle the Tek Gungu acting as shields against the Kony rebels.
The food provided by World Food Program was not enough. We escaped from the camp in search for food. We found a garden and dug out cassava with our hands. Then we danced in glee. I jumped up and down then I felt myself being flung in the air. My mouth opened to shout but the voice stuck in my throat. I came to in Lacor hospital. Mother’s eyes were red and swollen. She wiped my face with her favourite scarf.
–Mama, why are you crying?
— A landmine has stolen your leg.
–Why me mama? Why? I cried
–Sssh, she cooed, don’t cry. Our ancestors will lend you their spare legs.
She kept crying, Aiie Rubanga. God. Our ancestors do not lend me their legs and my old legs have not grown back. When I go into the land of sleep, I meet my legs walking alone. I ask them to come back to my body but they run away. I try to chase them but cannot run after them. I feel a tingling pain in my legs and I hear a scream. I wake to the sound of my voice resounding in the room. My sheets are wet.
At the myel, I always sit and watch the others. Their ancestors have lent them legs. Sometimes, when the music breaks through my body, I nod my head and swing the remains of my legs. Today Muzungu gives me new legs.
–You can join in the myel today. My heart knots in fear. Dancing blows your legs away. The new legs are uncomfortable. They are different from the ones in my dreams. As I nod my head to the music, Muzungu speaks beside me, Lanyero, dance with me. I shake my head in fear but he holds out his hands and smiles. His eyes comfort me. I place my trembling hand in his and stand. I can’t find strength in my new legs. He supports me. When my new feet touch the ground, I fear I will soar in the air and wake up to find mother crying by my bedside. They stand firmly.
–Join me Tipu, I whisper. A tingly feeling flows to my heart then warmth and perhaps hope. I see my spirits waiting.
–Come dance with me. In Muzungu’s eyes my face smiles back at me. The pain and terror are gone. I am reborn.
Jackee Budesta Batanda is a Ugandan journalist, author, speaker and entrepreneur. Dance With Me won the Africa regional award for the Commonwealth Short Story competition in 2003.
I Beg You | Laban Erapu
“If you think your eyes will give you away….” Photo by Edward Echwalu
‘I beg you,
If you feel something like love for me,
Not to let me know it now
When I feel nothing so certain for you.
Wait until you’ve conquered my pride
By pretending not to care for me.
I beg you,
If you think your eyes will give you away,
Not to give me that longing look
When you know it will force the moment
Wait until our heatbeats have settled
Then put your head on my shoulder.
I beg you,
Not to let us surrender to passion
Until our liking has grown to love
Let’s stop and look back
Let’s draw apart and sigh,
Let’s stand back to back,
Let’s say goodbye for the day
And walk our different ways
Without pausing to wait
For an echo to our last word.
I beg you
If you find yourself interlocked
In my embrace,
To kiss me and keep me silent
Before I start making promises
That time may choose to by-pass –
Wait until our hands are free,
Then listen to me;
Wait until our love is primed
Then give me your hand.’
This poem was published in ‘Poems from East Africa’, an anthology of poems edited by David Rubadiri and David Cook which is available in Ugandan Book stores and online here:
#TBT features poems and stories that were published back, back, back in the day. The ones that make us sigh, “Those were good times!”
It Is Runonko Time | Bwesigye bwa Mwesigire
It is Runonko Time
Bwesigye bwa Mwesigire
We gather particles of soil, ebinombi.
We gather dry stalks of wambuba.
We use sticks to gather potatoes from gardens that are not ours.
It is time to collect, build, burn, smash, clear, cool and eat; It is Runonko Time.
I am to build the runonko, so, I aim for the stronger binombi.
Rutebarika is to gather wambuba; sometimes he brings other dry sticks, the smaller eucalyptus
branches that have fallen off.
Kariisa is to bring potatoes, but he is barred from going to our gardens.
It is time to collect, build, burn, smash, clear, cool and eat; It is Runonko Time.
Rutebarika comes first and finds me half way up the small house that I am building.
He says the door I have put is small, so I dismantle everything.
Kariisa comes before I start rebuilding, he brings with him a heavy harvest of potatoes and we decide to build together.
It is time to collect, build, burn, smash, clear, cool and eat; It is Runonko Time.
We put the bigger binombi on the base, after digging a small depression in the ground.
Then we put the smaller binombi, the door is wide enough for several sticks to fit at once, so we put the sticks.
Now, we just need a fire.
It is time to collect, build, burn, smash, clear, cool and eat; It is Runonko Time.
A wambuba stick rubbing against a stone, or a stone rubbing against a stone, we have the fire.
We light up our house of binombi, the sticks are now burning.
Just after the sticks have burnt out we put the potatoes through the same door, making sure they fit in the small depression.
We smash the now hot binombi on top of the potatoes and then withdraw.
It is time to collect, build, burn, smash, clear, cool and eat; It is Runonko Time.
Rutebarika goes to chase birds from their sorghum field, he will re-adjust the scare-crow by dressing it in a new coat.
Kariisa goes to check whether the goats have strayed while I go to check on my trap for moles in our sweet potatoes‘ garden.
It is time to collect, build, burn, smash, clear, cool and eat; It is Runonko Time.
The mole, yes the fukuzi itself is there in the trap, with its two soiled teeth hanging out of its mouth and a stain betraying a stream of blood.
In excitement at the success of my trap, I whistle to my friends from the garden and field, we rush to our runonko, where we meet at almost the same time.
It is time to collect, build, burn, smash, clear, cool and eat; It is Runonko Time.
Kariisa‘s dog keeps watching the trap, which is still holding the dead fukuzi by its neck.
We ignore the dog, and clear the soil we made out of the binombi.
We use sticks to avoid being burnt by the hot soil.
It is time to collect, build, burn, smash, clear, cool and eat; It is Runonko Time.
The potatoes are hot, like volcano lava.
We let some air blow away the heat and then light a new fire, so we can roast the fukuzi for Rukamba, Kariisa‘s dog.
It is time to collect, build, burn, smash, clear, cool and eat; It is Runonko Time.
The fukuzi does not have to roast well, burning hair does not smell sweet.
We throw the fukuzi at a safe distance, Rukamba follows its gift.
We go to find our potatoes, now warm.
We sit down, peel the potatoes with our bare fingers, and eat.
It is time to collect, build, burn, smash, clear, cool and eat; It is Runonko Time.
It Is Runonko Time is a story from Fables out of Nyanja. This story has been reproduced with the author’s permission.
Heard of those stories that were told under the open night sky, stars shining and a chirping soundtrack brought to you by the crickets around the fireplace? #FirePlaceUg features those kinds of stories. Fables, folktales, myths and legends.
Submit your fireplace tales to: kaboozi@somanystories.ug