>> From the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C.
[ Silence ]
>> Well, welcome everyone.
Thanks for coming here on a fine early December morning,
afternoon at this point for our third and final Conversations
with Africans Poets and Writers Events
of the Fall featuring Kenyan-American writer Mukoma
wa Ngugi.
This series is sponsored by the African and Middle Eastern Division
at the Library of Congress and it is presented in partnership
with the Africa Society of the National Summit on Africa.
I would like to thank the directors of both organizations,
Chief Mary-Jane Deeb and Bernadette Paolo,
who will each follow me with introductions.
I would also like to thank Melville House Press and Claire Kelly
for helping make this event possible.
Before we begin let me ask you to do what I'm going to do right now,
which is to find your cell phones and turn them off
so that we can make sure
that it doesn't interfere with the recording.
This event is being videotaped for webcast for the Library of Congress
and if you participate in this event you will
by default give us permission for future use of this recording.
Let me also tell you a little bit about the Poetry
and Literature Center here at the Library.
We are home to the Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry.
Our Poet Laureate is Natasha Trethewey, serving a second term.
And we put on literary readings, lectures and panels
like this throughout the year.
If you would like to find out more about events
like this you can visit our website, www.loc.gov/poetry.
You can also check out events sponsored
by the African Middle Eastern Division and check webcasts
of our previous conversations with African Poets
and Writers events at www.loc.gov/rr/amed/.
Finally, let me just describe today's program.
Mr. Ngugi will read and then we will follow
with a moderated discussion led
by [inaudible] area specialist, Eve Ferguson.
Finally, we will open up the mic, open up for your questions.
I will have a cordless mic which I will pass around.
Please wait until I get to you, hand you the mic
so we can make sure your question is part of the recording.
So, without further ado let me introduce Mary-Jane Deeb,
Chief of the African and Middle Eastern Division.
>> Thank you.
Thank you Rob and thank you all for coming again.
I'm delighted to see you in our African Middle East Reading Room
where we hold many of our programs.
And as many of you know, this is a division,
which is made up of three sections.
The African section, the Hebraic section and the Near East section.
In fact, we're responsible for 78 different countries
in the Near East, Central Asia, the caucuses
and from the entire continent of Africa north and sub-Saharan.
We also serve these materials to patrons here in our reading room
and organize programs, exhibits, conferences and other activities
that highlight these collections and that inform our patrons
about the countries and the cultures that these publications come from.
Two years ago in October 2011,
the African Release division's Africa section in partnership
with the Library's Poetry and Literature Center
and the Africa Society of the National Summit on Africa,
launched a new series at the Library of Congress entitled, "Conversations
with African Poets and Writers."
The series consists of a set of six videotaped interviews every year,
three in the spring and three in the fall with established
and emerging poets shows story writers, novelists and playwrights
from continental and the African Diaspora.
Programs include reading and a moderated discussion led by staff
in the African section
of the Library's African Middle East division.
As Rob Casper just mentioned our interviewer today will be Eve
Ferguson who is a reference librarian
for East Africa and the horn of Africa.
Today, we are honored we are honored to host Dr. Mukoma wa Ngugi,
the 15th speaker this series.
A professor of English at Cornell University.
He's a man of many talents about whom you will now hear
from Bernadette Paolo, the dynamic resident and CEO
of the Africa Society of the African Summit on Africa and [inaudible]
with Rob Casper of this unique initiative
of African [inaudible] interviews; Bernadette.
>> Thank you.
Thank you to my dear friend Dr. Mary-Jane Deeb.
Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests.
I want to thank you Dr. Mary-Jane Deeb and Dr. Robert Casper
and everyone, absolutely everyone affiliated with African
and Middle Eastern division and the Poetry and Literature Center
of the Library of Congress.
The Africa Society on the National Summit on Africa is very pleased
and indeed honored to partner with you
as we look toward our third season in 2014 of Conversation
with African Poets and Writers.
And I'm joined today by two other members of the Africa Society,
Patricia Bain who is our Director of Programs and from Uganda,
[inaudible] who is or latest intern from [inaudible].
You know given the talent on the continent and the increasing number
of African writers and poets who are becoming known
in the international arena and those in the African Diaspora as well.
I am confident that this series can go forward for decades
and feature a new artist for every-- each program.
Today I am particularly pleased to have
and to introduce a featured scholar and writer who was raised in Kenya.
Kenya, when we travel across the country and talk to students
and we ask them to name the countries on the continent
of Africa, Kenya is always one
of the first countries named and we know why.
We know that our President Barack Obama's father was from Kenya.
We know of Kenya's economic prowess and position in East Africa
and we know that Kenya is a big tourist destination.
Who hasn't heard of Masai Mara or Mombosa and going on safari
and what the Kenya, what the warmth of the Kenyan people.
What many may not know is Kenya's contributions
to the literary community worldwide.
On a personal note, Kenya was the first African country I visited
in 1985 while on Hill and afterwards I completely switched my career
focus to Africa.
In short, Kenya leaves a lasting impression.
The man whom I'm about to introduce to you
and his father are among the prominent figures
who also leave long lasting impressions
on those who do know their work.
Mukoma wa Ngugi is not only very talented,
he is versatile demonstrating his prowess as a novelist,
a poet and literary scholar.
He is the author of "Black Star Nairobi" "Nairobi Heat" an anthology
of poetry entitled, "Hurling Words at Consciousness."
And is columnist for ebony.com, a regular contributor
to "Kenya Yetu Magazine."
He was short listed for the Caine Prize for African Writing in 2009.
In 2010 he was short listed for the Penguin Prize for African Writing
for his novel manuscript, "The First and Second Books of Transition."
I have no doubt that after his appearance and all this,
he will not only be short listed, he will be the winner of those awards.
Mukoma holds a PhD in English
from the University of Wisconsin in Madison.
An MA in creative writing from Boston University and a BA
in English and Political Science from Albright College.
He is an Assistant Professor of English at Cornell University.
A former co-editor of "Pambazuka News" and Political Columnist
for the "BBC Focus on Africa" magazine.
His columns have appeared in the "Guardian",
"International Herald Tribune", "Chimurenga", "Los Angeles Times",
"South African Labor Bulletin" and "Business Daily Africa
and he has been a guest on "Discovery Now" " Al Jazeera ",
and the "BBC World Series."
Essays have appeared in "World Literature Review",
"Black Commentator", " Progressive Magazine"
and "Radical History Review."
His short stories have been published in "Wasfiri",
"African Writing", "Kenyan Review" and "St. Petersburg Review"
and his poems in the "New York Quarterly",
"Mythium" "Brick Magazine, Kwani
and "Tin House Magazine" among other places.
He was born in 1971 in Evanston, Illinois and we're proud
to claim you as an American even though you were raised in Kenya
and grew up in Kenya before returning to the United States
for his undergraduate and graduate education.
He is currently based in Norwalk, Connecticut.
He is the son of the world renowned African writer Ngugi wa Thiong'o.
We appreciate the participation of those of you
who are attending this program at the Library today.
I think we were joined by another distinguished professor
because I can't see clearly
but I think that's [inaudible] in the back.
Also welcome those of you who have the opportunity
to review this program online in the future.
Stay tuned to our next series in 2014.
But right now please join me in welcoming Mukoma.
Mukoma.
[ Applause ]
>> Mukoma wa Ngugi: Thank you.
You can hear me?
Okay. Thank you for coming and also thank you for the introduction.
You know I couldn't turn down the invitation to Library of Congress.
I don't know like you carry such gravitas.
Yep, you got to make.
So, so I was in London just a few-- I came I think two days ago.
So, if I'm a bit sloppy I'll blame it on jetlag.
What I thought I would do is give you--
do a little bit of readings from you know my three books.
One from "Black Star Nairobi", then one from my book of poetry
and then one from "Nairobi Heat" as a way of--
because I've been thinking about you know my different genres
and you know what ignites them.
You know I've kind of been thinking it's poetry and music.
So, I'll try to read snippets that sort of tie that in you know.
And I came to this realization because I'm actually working
on a novel about musicians, you know.
Because after looking back
on my work I realized well maybe I've been trying to add a book
about musicians all along.
So I'll first read from "Black Star Nairobi".
And the passage I want to read it's after one of the characters
who has been killed and they have been mourning that character.
And the, Muddy who is a poet decides to, as part of that mourning
to recite one of her poems.
What I should mention briefly is because I mentioned "The Gambler"
by Kenny Rogers is that Kenyans,
we love Kenny Rogers, at least my generation.
And I think Jimmy Kimmel invited Kenny Rogers
and showed him drunk Kenyans singing to "The Gambler".
"Hey Muddy, I missed your performance, Janet yells to drown
out the calls for "The Gambler" to be rewound.
Muddy stood up a bit unsteadily and let her dreads hang out.
They got the attention of the mourner-turned-party revelers.
A song, a painting, a poem, a word is a story.
So let me tell you a story, a story about..., she seemed lost
and smiled, as if inviting us to tell her what the story should be.
She continued after the pause.
Let me tell you a story about a word.
One word that is as old as the very earth we walk on,
a word that crosses boundaries, that swims underneath the currents
of culture; a word that is a language.
A word that is a language.
Let me tell you a story about the word love.
When love was born, love was living.
This love that was newborn and old.
This love decided to walk the earth and the young love say
to older love, or was it the other way around.
Love say to love, love is birth.
Love is living and love is death.
Love is gentle.
Love is fierce.
Love is violent.
Love is living and love is death.
Love is God and love is the Devil
and love forgets more than it remembers.
But, tonight this morning that is still a night,
she took a deep breath that cut through our quietness.
Love is the vehicle that drove us here.
Love is all.
Love is us."
So and then I'm going to do something a bit unusual,
which is to read you the ending of the book.
But I promise there are no spoilers to it.
You know because what happened was I was reading, I was reading an essay
about writing you know and the essay was talking about endings.
And then I realized well like it would be so much fun to end a novel
with a question you know.
So, it's-- I'm reading this passage just
to show I could end a novel with a question.
A man selling conga drums laid his load by her feet,
pulled one from his pile of wares and joined both of them.
Muddy was syncopating her cadence so that the words
and her voice became an instrument.
So then it was no longer her words that mattered but her voice.
You went on like that [inaudible] of different instruments coming to join
in and we had a fucking orchestra of voices and African instruments.
And in the middle of them, Muddy arms raised, palms curved inward,
her voice raising up and down like a bird gliding over a stormy ocean.
I thought I'd had it all, but not the sound
of her voice [inaudible] The sound of Muddy's voice wrapped
around the [inaudible] at Titi that had now taken the lead improvising
above the rest of the instruments.
And in Titi's eyes a fostering instrument you know
from western Kenya from the [inaudible] people.
The music, the single notes held together
by Muddy's voice while Alkahan guided me through a nightmare.
I wanted to pray.
I listened closely.
There was a clash of instruments and voices
but there was also some tense harmony in there
like a dinner with [inaudible] lovers.
There was a tug of war, but the more each
of them pulled the more it brought them closer.
They were fighting but not to destroy each other.
They were fighting to build.
They were fighting.
They were calling out to each other.
They are competing.
It was all to do with something they felt we could all use.
Something they're offering us to take or leave behind.
And once we took it, this rage that was love, this [inaudible]
that claim to be or want us to become of it.
We did not justify a machete or a gun,
but the musicians were building.
I on the other hand did not build.
Mary had died and to bury her we had killed many more.
And to get Sahara for killing Amos we had killed many more again.
It struck me, I was part of the problem.
I was just several rungs above the Saharas of this world.
So were O and my wife to be, Muddy.
I listened closely to the voices, the drums and the strings.
The refrain was asking a simple question over and over again, why?
And now let me, I have ten minutes.
Okay so let me read you a poem called "Transparencies"
about the Rwandan genocide.
You know this is because both of the novels are concerned in Kenya,
in "Black Star Nairobi" about the [inaudible]
that happened in 2007, right.
You know that's the background to the plot and also the war on terror.
And then "Nairobi Heat" I was interested
in unearthing I don't know the intimacies of violence that came
with the genocide in Rwanda.
You know and so this is the poem I wrote a long time ago.
I wrote this in probably the I don't know maybe 2000 or thereabouts,
you know way before I worked on the novels.
So I began to think that some
of these things have just been cooking for a long time.
"Once they lived together.
The dead looked like pictures of the dead."
And this is a quote from Philip Verbiage.
"The dead looked like pictures of the dead" Philip Verbiage.
"What is this thing [inaudible comments]
and the sharp end of machete.
Hack your wife, then reach into her womb for your unborn child.
There is something about a man swinging an ax once, twice, thrice,
forced to wipe off a trickle of sweat and then again and again
until brain and blood become mud.
[inaudible] washed away in floods of blood and [inaudible] in resignation
as a million or so people died at the hands
of their fathers and brothers.
So let me read you the opening pages of "Nairobi Heat."
And I probably should have said it with this one
so that I can tell you the narrator, his name is Ishmael.
He is an African-American who goes to investigate a murder.
His suspect is an African in Madison,
Wisconsin so he's a professor who teaches there.
And he finds that to solve the case he has to go to Kenya
where there are a lot of random refugees.
And he himself is also on a quest you know.
Well they have identity but we can discuss more of these things
in the-- when we are having the discussion.
And I'll tell you, you know the story behind this, which is yeah
and so I'll tell you that when you sit down.
"A beautiful young blonde was dead and the suspect,
my suspect, was an African male.
I was traveling to African in search of his past.
What I found there would either condemn or save him.
As you can imagine, my business was urgent.
How may times have I thought of Africa?
Not many, I'm afraid.
Yes I knew of Africa, after all it was the land of my ancestors,
a place I vaguely longed for without really wanting to belong to it.
I might as well say it here.
Coming from the U.S. there was a part of me that had come
to believe Africa was a land of wars, hunger, disease and dirt even
as my black skin pulled me towards it.
So how many times had I thought of Africa?
Not many, not in a real way.
The funny thing though was now that I was actually in a plane on my way
to Africa, I found myself surrounded by whiteness,
the passengers, the crew and the pilots.
It was early May and I gathered from my conversations around me
that my fellow passengers were business people, tourists
and hunters from Texas; the usual, I supposed.
I looked outside, watching the full moon hover in the sky beyond the tip
of an aeroplane wing, childishly,
imaging it to be catching a free ride.
We traveled for a while like that, the moon surfing on the wing
until the pilot warned us, in that proper British accent
that we have come to associate with efficiency, to prepare for landing.
The moon leapt back into the sky as we pierced the clouds
and below I saw what looked like an island
of lights engulfed by perfect darkness.
Then we landed and everyone clapped.
I was tired and a little tipsy
from the complimentary Budweisers the crew had offered me.
And so it was that a little bit drunk I took my first steps
in Africa.
Yeah, if you want more poetry, just let me know, yeah.
Yeah, I can read another one, okay.
So, okay let me read you a poem that I wrote.
It's called, "A Letter to my Nephew."
And it's a poem about Ken Saro-Wiwa whom in 1996 was hung
by the Nigerian government because he was an activist.
I guess the destruction of the environment
and the exploitation of the Ogoni people.
So, and you know I wrote this very clearly because it was a time
when everybody knew that he charges against him had been fabricated.
And you know and I guess the corporations were so strong you know
that even though amnesty, you know political activists, politicians,
everybody knew he was still hanged.
And the story goes that they tried to hang him three times.
I don't know how people get to know this you know, but they tried
to hang him three times before they finally succeeded.
And this particular poem the images I use are from my own,
you know I grew up in a rural area in the [inaudible] and where I grew
up there was a swamp where as kids I remember would go and get clay
to make pots with my kid sister.
Letter to my Nephew.
"The sun is locked in evening, half shadow half light,
hills spread like hunchbacks over plains,
branches bowing to birth of night.
It's an almost endless walk
until the earth opens up to a basin of water.
You gasp, even the thin hairs on your forearm breathe, flowers wild,
two graves of man and wife lying in perfect symmetry,
overrun by wild strawberries.
Gently you part the reeds, water claims the heat from the earth,
you soak your feet, then lie down hands planted into the moist earth.
Late at night when you leave,
you will fill your pockets with wet clay.
But many years from now, you will try to find a perfect peace
in many different landscapes, drill water out of memory
to heal wounded limbs of the earth.
You will watch as machines turn your pond inside out,
spit the two graves inside out in search of sleek wealth.
Many years later, after much blood has been lost and your pond drained
of all life you will wonder,
shortly before you become the earth's martyr, what is this thing
that kills not just life but even death?"
Do you want me to read?
With "Black Star" and "Nairobi" I was very concerned
about how I would portray the violence.
And what I wanted to do was to rate the violence in such a way
that you wouldn't be-- I wanted to rate it in such a way to make it
so physical so that as you are reading it you know you get a sense
of discomfort.
So, obviously I succeeded by seeing if you will feel uncomfortable
with all of the violence.
So this is the passage.
So what happened in Kenya was--
there were [inaudible] of the violence right
and I remember a friend of mine by the name
of Martin Kimani [assumed spelling] actually.
I emailed a bunch of writers you know and he said,
you know well the kind of chatter I'm hearing,
the kind of chatter I'm hearing is very different from what we're used
to because he was saying there was something about the language
that was being used it was unlike in other elections, right.
So, you know but we are Kenyans.
So he said well, Kenyans are scared of bloodshed.
You know, after all, we shed so much during the independence,
you know the struggle against the British that we are sort of immune
to what happened in Rwanda.
So there are ways in which the violence took a lot of us
by surprise, even though in hindsight really it shouldn't have.
You know so in the current sort of [inaudible] that's a movement.
So, you know they are investigating their own case
of the murdered African-American male.
This is in [inaudible] and they just went about their business.
And you know people keep hearing this chatter you know,
but they see machetes from China and so on and so forth.
But [inaudible] body of business
and then suddenly they find themselves caught
up in the violence.
So and then they have no choice,
but even if they don't survive essentially they have
to go-- they have to fight back.
So I want to read you a passage where now they have--
where they have essentially been chased by a group
of essentially young men and some policemen you know
who had taken their side, you know who had been broken along the sight
of ethnicity in [inaudible] plantation.
"A few rows down I hear an AK47.
It's not us and I calm the fear that comes
with knowing the efficiency of the weapon.
I crawl on my belly and hide between some bushes
as two machetes swish past me.
I kill them both, shoot them in the back and advance and keep crawling
on my stomach, waiting so I can pick out the AK.
An AK fires in my direction and I stayed
down as the [inaudible] smell walks my way.
Graded by the silhouette and his long police overcoat hitting
against the leaves I shoot at the mass.
He falls. I crawl to him.
I can feel his warm blood against the coolness
of the dead leaves on the ground.
I slighter, groping for his extra magazines.
I find them, tuck my block into the small of my back and pick up is AK.
I have an AK47 I shout to my comrades.
More AK fire coming from the year and once again I wait
and then continue crawling until the policeman is almost standing
over me.
He sees or senses me but it's too late to recoil his arms
and clear the length he needs for the AK.
I edge just a little bit closer, spin onto my back
and fire the AK into his chin.
He topples backwards.
I can feel a sudden burst of rainwater,
but I know it is blood splattering on my face.
Before he hits the ground I'm firing to whoever is behind.
We slowly and much less methodically dig a hole through the [inaudible].
We sound more organized.
The young man and what is left
of the police force lose all the will to fight.
They slow down and keep slowing down until ahead
and around us there are no more flashlights.
We make it to the clearing and back to the path of the house.
It's only then that we realize that [inaudible] was with them.
It's only then that we realize that Gartier [assumed spelling] is not
with us and we start to O's .45 reporting back
to us followed by [inaudible] silence.
Muddy places her hand on my should.
I shuddered her touch.
She spins me around so that I'm looking at her, her face glowing
from the flames of the burning house.
How many of them were armed she asked?
"I don't know Muddy, all of them, some of them", I say.
Not all of them have guns.
Not all of them could even have hacked
up in machetes, you understand?
Some of them were young, jobless, hopeless men.
Peer pressure forced some of them to belong to the gun.
If amnesty comes here tomorrow and they count the bodies,
this will be a massacre no matter what we say.
But you know what you know, okay.
Should we have let the [inaudible] burn
with the house so that we could escape?
Should we have let them kill us?
Muddy enough, O yells from the [inaudible].
Enough, we need to get the hell out of here.
I did not ask her [inaudible comments].
We make to her place and we sit up all night waiting
for them to regroup and attack.
They don't and sunrise finds us with O lost
in thought trying to make his omelet."
So for O making the omelet, you know he has been making this omelet,
he has been trying to-- he's sort of obsessive compulsive.
He has been trying to perfect making an omelet you know
for 10 or so years.
So it's the only thing he makes and sometimes it comes out well
and sometimes it doesn't.
[applause] Thank you.
>> Thank you very much and I welcome here and I want
to let you know you did give away [inaudible]
because I've read "Nairobi Heat."
>> Mukoma wa Ngugi: Oh, did I.
>> So you gave away part of "Black Star Nairobi", but that's okay.
So I wanted to start our discussion by asking you
when did you start writing and also if you could talk
about the relationship between your critical work,
journalism and literary writing.
>> Mukoma wa Ngugi: You know my father is a writer you know,
so when I was growing you know I was his errand boy so to speak.
You know so he'd send me to get him tea, to buy the newspapers you know
and then I would come and just hang out in his office, you know.
And you know it's, I don't know so writing, I had the idea of writing.
I had that idea from a very, very young age,
but my first written work I would say I was probably like nine.
You know I remember it vaguely.
It was a poem about two boxers.
I don't know why, you know.
In terms of my relationship between my different genres I like to think
of it as a musician does, which is to be able
to play multiple instruments and each one
of them does something different, you know.
I think the poetry captures the-- poetry by definition is intimate,
so it captures an intimacy and allows me to explore emotion in ways
that I can't or don't in fiction.
With the fiction it allows me to take my characters
to extreme situations you know.
So that is actually what they do.
So, in "Black Star" and "Nairobi Heat" the settings,
they are extreme situations.
I can do that in ways that I can't in let's say political writing.
Because in political writing you're supposed to know.
I mean you can't-- I guess you could
but [inaudible] and then the question.
So with fiction I can take the character to extremes
and at the same time be allowed not to know, right.
Whereas in political writing there's usually a more immediate, immediate,
an immediate issue I'm addressing.
I went to see Ray Charles once.
This is in the early 2000s.
And what was about him was-- what was interesting about him was
that he could play the clarinet, the piano, he could sing you know.
So, I like to think of myself as a Ray Charles,
the Ray Charles of [inaudible].
>> I think we have to-- I think we have to share this mic today.
So, what or who are the major influences on your work?
>> I would definitely say the single most influence was my father,
you know.
Because [inaudible] for the American writers and for them things happened
between them in the book.
Maybe they see a book and there's nothing
that guides them to [inaudible].
So in Kenya, for example, we have one major [inaudible]
so a population of 40 something million.
For all of Africa we have like maybe [inaudible]
so we don't have really writing from
a young age and so on and so forth.
So, I grew up seeing writing being done
and I could see the different [inaudible comments].
I never had doubts you know that I could write a book.
So, in that regard it has been very influential,
in terms of writing as a dream.
But in terms of now you know [inaudible] it's definitely
Gerald Barrax.
You know he's not a well known poet but he's most--
his most famous book I guess is, it's called "An Audience of One."
And what I like about Gerald Barrax,
about that particular book is his ability
to tell a story in a very beautiful way.
You know like one of his poems is about driving you know
at night you know and then getting home and then look at the windshield
and there all these bugs.
He asked them you know and if I can do this to these,
to these bugs [inaudible] to me.
And you know he writes, and he says he writes all this because he can.
There are people like Walter Mosley, "Devil in a Blue Dress."
That [inaudible comments]
because he's able to within the form
of [inaudible] like Raymond Chandler.
You know it's supposed to be, usually it's a white detective
and maybe a little bit drunk and a little bit sexy, you know.
[inaudible] same genre and be
able to talk about American issues [inaudible comments] you know same
thing, same genre and be able to talk
about issues of gender.
You know we think the framework [inaudible]
But my interests are wide you know, writing literature.
But [inaudible] was of Jon Clare and someone who described
him as an [inaudible comments] you know because for him he could write
about the most [inaudible] or the most highest thing.
And so I-- in terms of my reading that way [inaudible comments].
You know that's all we grew up reading you know.
[ Inaudible comments ]
You know the book in class.
You know, yeah so [inaudible] writing as well.
>> Okay I think you kind of partially answered this earlier,
but why did you choose to write popular fiction,
specifically the crime novel as your creative outlet?
>> Mukoma wa Ngugi: Well for many reasons.
You know the first one is to sort of pay homage to people but you know
in "Nairobi Heat" [inaudible] because when writers
like my father [inaudible] was sent off to prison
and exiled there was this [inaudible] in terms of literature
and really it was popular writers who kept you know
that kept this literature alive.
You know, so if you read [inaudible] a series
of [inaudible] you find again [inaudible]
but they also carry the qualities of the day, you know joblessness,
living in the city, city versus rural
and sometimes they would [inaudible comments].
So to sort of pay homage you know to those guys,
but at the same time I wanted to challenge of the envison of high
and low, because it bothers me.
It bothers me that somehow you know I create novels as seen as less.
But if you go to movies and enjoy them and talk about them, right.
So, I wanted to challenge that envision of high and low, you know.
And you know I'm a literary scholar.
And so I want to be able to do that, my way of--
I also wanted to be read.
You know I didn't want to write a book that's only going
to be read by two people, you know.
I wanted to be read as well and also to entertain.
You know this is a long story, but when my father was sent
to exile we grew up [inaudible] But groups
of families would get together and tell stories you know.
So he was raised by my grandfather, but mostly--
[ Inaudible comments ]
You know under authority, you know where they're out solving issues.
So my [inaudible] me and my sister, we were too young.
You know [inaudible] and being able to tell everything in stories.
I always wanted to do that, you know tell a story that's just fun
to read.
And I like when you go to a movie and the movie is so good
that people clap at the end.
You know I want to create a novel
that will make you clap at the end you know.
I don't if that will work, but that was my ambition.
>> Okay great.
I did want to ask before I get to the next question,
I understand "Nairobi Heat" has been an option for a movie.
>> Mukoma wa Ngugi: Well it is an option
but it's not really promising you know.
And it's one of those things
where it might happen and it might now, yeah.
I mean I'm hoping it does.
I mean it would be good for the pocket you know, yeah.
>> Okay in your novels "Nairobi Heat"
and "Black Star Nairobi" you have two main characters.
Why did you choose those two characters and why did you choose
to extend their story beyond the first novel?
>> Mukoma wa Ngugi: And so I've always been interested
in [inaudible] in Africa and African-Americans.
I've been here now, I went to Kenya,
but I've been here for 20 something years.
So, and I've always been interested in-- if you think of Obama right,
to African-Americans he's a black American.
To Kenyans he's Kenyan, right.
And it's very rare you hear Kenyans talk about slavery
or you know what Barack Obama means
to African-Americans and the history here.
And [inaudible] African-Americans are talking
about what Obama might mean.
So, I've always been interested
in how African-Americans view each other.
That they see each other through the eyes of [inaudible]
because if you grow up here you grow up watching--
the same views as everybody else.
And if you grow up in Kenya you grow
up with the same views of African-Americans.
So when they two of us meet we are really seeing each other
through that veil, right.
And it creates a lot of tension.
So, I wanted to have a character Ishmael, who is African-American,
who is having a personal identity and put him in Kenya.
That is what happened, right.
And a lot of interesting things happen and he asserts himself.
You know he is able to assert himself--
[ Inaudible comments ]
>> African-Americans through Ishmael.
We all-- [inaudible] was interested in equality
of people he met along the way, very valid people but at the same time
who you can see [inaudible].
And it all came about because when my family went back to Kenya
and my father was in exile they went back [inaudible] And the people
who attacked them were arrested and put on trial.
Now when I went for the trial because of the danger we had
to get police protection.
So a detective was assigned to my father.
So, we spent--
[ Inaudible comments ]
We'll put him in jail and it would be the same movement.
So, with the same-- it seemed like they were protecting us, right.
[ Inaudible comments ]
Well the guy came and they hijacked us.
You know, of course, I had to speak for myself, you know.
[inaudible] which means I can speak for myself.
I can stand up for myself.
[ Inaudible comments ]
With Muddy, with Muddy the question can we heal through poetry?
Can we heal through words which is, she's a survivor.
She's a survivor of the Rwanda genocide who was also a [inaudible]
so she can also be truly violent you know when you read the book.
You can see in "Black Star Nairobi" she is more violent
than Ishmael in that book.
And she's also a poet, so she's trying to heal through,
to heal herself through poetry.
So, I would just [inaudible] can we heal through words, yeah.
[ Silence ]
>> Okay my next question.
You were born in the United States but raised in Kenya and returned
to the United States for your higher education.
Can you talk a little bit about the state of contemporary literature
in Kenya and also about immigrant literature, how you connect to
or what to challenge in that term?
>> Mukoma wa Ngugi: [inaudible] the first part of the question.
>> The first part of the question was can you talk about the state
of contemporary literature in Kenya?
>> Mukoma wa Ngugi: It's frightening you know and this is due
to [inaudible comments] like it was short listed.
[ Inaudible comments ]
Literary scene.
But for me it was an exciting thing to come out of Kenya.
[ Inaudible comments ]
So it's a perspective from a maid.
And I kept thinking so progressive thinkers,
you know even in my one books I'll have a progressive take
on the [inaudible] you know.
Either someone will discuss it in a positive way and so on and so forth.
But in the past I think we were seeing,
I think we have seen literature that was a book written by a maid.
And
when you read it you realize actually how little Kenya has
changed because [inaudible] class perspective and she's writing
as a member of the upper class.
And if you read it and somebody told you this is a book from the 1930s
and a British Columbian you would believe it.
And if you got to a rich person's home in Kenya you know
like [inaudible] you go to somebody's house
and they'll have a [inaudible]
and they'll have a maid in a maid outfit.
They will have [inaudible] so to
me that is-- I think there's a future
for African literature to more voices.
So there is not a lot of people who think that we are [inaudible]
or you know we are here progressing.
We also denied our agency.
[ Inaudible comments ]
>> And the second part was about immigrant literature.
>> Mukoma wa Ngugi: With literature contemporary is hardly a place.
I think it wouldn't be-- language would have a [inaudible]
for not letting him say well literature [inaudible]
and all the countries in
the world you know if we can say about literature.
But then you also have the problem if [inaudible] in the literature
so you can have your literature in-- you know the same complaint we have
about African in terms of the writers.
You know to me it's an important
contemporary, but at the same time it can increase--
when I was in London mostly the thing was--
we were there with [inaudible] and it was funny story,
but I'll tell it to you anyway.
So, we got there because my dad read some books written
by Ben [inaudible comments] you know and then she got really excited.
And we went and bought some books and he signed them.
[ Inaudible comments ]
I was like wow, this is not good.
You know please find my book.
Oh yeah the book is in the crime section.
So she went and got it from the crime section.
And for me I liked that actually.
[ Inaudible comments ]
Where my dad's books are so--
and we ended up agreeing that she should have some
in the crime section and some of them
with the [inaudible] literature.
So it was a nice way to say-- for me I was happy to have my
book in the crime section as opposed to either immigrant
or even African literature.
You know so that's why,
I think about it carefully with contemporary.
You know we don't want to imprison the literature.
>> Okay thank you.
You participate in the Global Self Cultural Dialogue Project
at Cornell University where you now teach.
Can you discuss the initiative and what is your role in it?
>> Mukoma wa Ngugi: The Global Self Project the goal is to--
so if you look at post Columbian period you can learn
about a lot of the U.S. scholars.
It's usually in relation to the West, let's--
[inaudible comments] it's all in
relation to the West [inaudible comments] in the West.
Then for us we have to have a conversation that would be--
that would level the playing field, right.
You know so we have conversation where you know between Africa
and Latin America, for example.
So the south, between Africa or African Americans
or between Africans [inaudible].
You know you want to get away from that idea that we can only--
in the same way like from Kenya to let's say Ghana,
you have to go through Europe.
You don't want it to break, to break that reliance on you know
on European thinking and allow
for historically available relationships to come [inaudible].
And because of the literature a lot
of African writers have been influenced
by African-American writers.
But if we keep on saying yeah,
let's deconstruct the U.S. then we [inaudible] relationships.
So that was one thing, allowing people from the global south
to be propositioned with each other.
The other one was to get away from
[inaudible] that also hates knowledge, right.
You know [inaudible] that quite frankly I don't understand
and I highly doubt [inaudible] I really doubt
that anybody really understands each other.
To me it's-- people agree nobody should say the emperor is naked,
you know.
Some people [inaudible] and really there's nothing being said.
So for us, we have to be able to take these ideas from the
global south and talk about them in ways that anybody can assess them.
And at the same time to have this idea
to be [inaudible] and so on and so forth.
[ Inaudible comments ]
[ Silence ]
>> Okay, my last question before we open it up to the audience
to ask questions is kind of [inaudible] question.
How do you see the future for African
and African Diaspora writers?
What steps need to be taken to broaden the readership
of African literature to the international community?
>> Mukoma wa Ngugi: You know in terms of bringing African writing
to be more available internationally,
so what has been happening, young people like me you know [inaudible]
and then somehow either get our books to Kenya.
For example,
"Nairobi Heat" it came out in South Africa and I think it was 2011 here.
And so a few months ago it [inaudible] in Kenya.
[inaudible] is being published in Kenya yet.
[inaudible comments] So what would make me happy actually would be
to have my book first year's success in Kenya you know and then
from that success give me a reputation
and then slowly work its way,
you know work its way to a national market.
I mean really [inaudible comments]
it is not very good for the African [inaudible] tradition.
And also the other thing we need to think
about is how we are viewing literary criticism.
You know there's a lot of criticism now of the [inaudible].
There was critique solely on whether it portrayed a positive
or a negative view of Africa.
So, there are criticism that's coming
out that [inaudible] you know they want us to be out here
as Ambassador's of Africa.
You know that is the [inaudible] of literature.
It's the question, the contradictions in societies.
So, for me [inaudible] silencing.
It's a brilliant book that talks
about [inaudible] it's very beautiful.
It's very, very beautifully written.
But it's exploring let's say [inaudible]
in Zimbabwe, what is it for?
Who gained from it?
The question about China, maintain a presence in Africa,
it's really the sort of question.
It's also raising questions about our own existence
in the U.S. You know if we keep thinking that the Diaspora is here
to feed Africa's image then we're missing out on a lot
of things that are happening.
So, and [inaudible] were invited to Seattle to be
with [inaudible comments] so we were saying we need
to get someone hear to talk with us.
We are a community in crisis.
You know so many things were happening, either drugs,
not finishing college and then other things were you know [inaudible]
so it's the children who then become the targets--
[ Inaudible comments ]
Which is to make impossible for you to live in the U.S.
if you don't have papers.
You know, so it's a lot of families, not only just Kenyans.
But a lot of [inaudible] families have been affected.
[inaudible]
So if we keep projecting this sort of literature on the basis
of what is creating a positive image,
it means the more serious questions, the more ideal questions
of our existence in the U.S. are not being explored.
>> Okay, at this point my questions are done.
I did want to acknowledge the presence of our last African poet
and writer, Abdourahman Waberi, who came to visit.
And I want to at this time take, take this
opportunity to open up the floor to questions from the audience.
I'm quite sure you have many.
And Rob Casper will pass the microphone.
>> Two quick questions.
One an extension of what [inaudible] the state
of popular writing [inaudible] I'm just wondering--
[ Inaudible audience question ]
Just movies or TV or-- that's my first question.
And my second question is--
[inaudible comments] is the role of language in that.
[ Inaudible audience question ]
>> Mukoma wa Ngugi: So I can only answer anecdotally
because you know, so you can't quote me.
But I think, okay first the question [inaudible].
Alright so it creates a very complicated question
because we say Africans don't read.
But then, how much do the books cost?
You know, I mean if it's a question of bread or a book you know,
you know then the person will choose the bread, right.
Then also, when I go to Kenya people are like interested
in what I'm doing, interested in the literature.
I was in there for [inaudible] of existence and they held,
you know they held a lot of events and they were all packed.
When [inaudible] to University
of Nairobi he was giving a presentation.
It's if he was giving [inaudible] people were all over you know.
And with my dad same thing.
And so I think there's an interest of reading.
I think it's a question of whether books you know,
whether the books are getting to the people
in a way they can access them.
In terms of popular fiction, I'm not really sure.
I know fiction has been doing well, but I can't say you know,
that I don't know for sure.
I can't answer that one you know with any, with any confidence.
>> Any other questions?
[ Silence ]
[ Inaudible audience question ]
But why did you do that and what is the significance of that to Kenyans
and what's the impact of that type of writing?
Is that more accessible [inaudible]?
>> Mukoma wa Ngugi: Well, I mean it is accessible.
And one of the stories he tells is about of him--
so the simplest explanation he has given is that,
and to me the most elaborate one as well is that he wanted to read,
he wanted to write a book his mother could read, you know.
You know because his mother, my grandmother,
couldn't read English right.
You know and there's something.
I don't know, I mean you want to be read by your mother, you know.
But then, of course, that one takes a lot of other issues of the role
of English as a language of [inaudible] of mobility,
as a language of economics, you know and the
role of English then in the Diaspora African languages.
You know, so if you back to how English grew,
if you look at the history of English you will find people
like [inaudible] and Shakespeare but people like [inaudible] were working
against the grain, you know.
You now back
in the 1300s they couldn't use--
English was seen as a vulgar language.
That the view, they say English is a vulgar language.
And then when you get to people like Samuel Johnson in the 15 or 1600s
when you solidify [inaudible] in his preface he says that for him authors
essentially are the [inaudible].
You now I forget exactly how he terms it, but he says that authors
and writers are [inaudible] identity.
So at any rate, English had to fight against,
either against French and Latin you know.
And now the African languages have to do the same, you know they have
to fight against English.
But for him he was very careful to say that--
he is not saying that English shouldn't be used, you know.
He wants a more democratic space for languages to be equal.
When I was growing up, and he himself as well,
but when I was growing up in the 70s we would get punished
if we spoke the [inaudible].
And I remember some of my friends would get together during the break
time and would hide somewhere and would speak the [inaudible].
It was as if we
were doing something illegal.
You know, you now the court case, the court case that we attended
for the people who were attacked [inaudible] the court itself was
being conducted in English.
Now the
gangs that attacked them don't speak English so you have
to have an interpreter and this was a Kenyan court.
You know so you have to have an interpreter
who then was using Swahili, right.
And these guys, you know their Swahili is not that good
and Kenyans Swahili-- you know it sort of sucked.
But you know, so in a way it was almost
like justice twice removed you know.
And [inaudible] the Constitution was in only
in English and so on and so forth.
So, I think what he wants more than anything is a democratic,
a democratic playing field for all languages.
But to go back also to the question of identity you know what--
amongst the kids in Seattle who were invited, invited us there,
the one thing they all had in common was
that they didn't speak an African language and they felt
that they needed to be able to speak an African language.
And it's for complex reasons,
but one of the reasons why they didn't speak any African language is
because their parents, when their parents come here
like everybody else their kids was [inaudible] so they go
like this and speak English.
But what happens
then is that, and they'll also give them a name like [inaudible] right.
So if you're bringing up a kid
in the U.S. [inaudible] what's their refrain?
It's where are you from?
Where are you from?
They don't have any-- they don't have any way of answering
that question, you know.
But language, so one of the things, some of those things it was come
in groups so they could then be taught either [inaudible]
or Swahili or-- so I don't know.
Language is central, it is central
to answer ones identity, you know and yeah.
>> Any other questions?
I think we have time for one more.
>> Thank you again for your wonderful, wonderful presentation
and for your [inaudible].
I wanted to ask you, it is really something that I've been thinking
of for quite a while and you put it in the
form of [inaudible] a form of literature, African literature,
African-American literature or Indian literature and African-
American [inaudible] you think of the Indian literature.
This compliance, units boxes in literature.
If you, if you don't, if you remove the [inaudible] do you think
that the [inaudible] of the
particular voice [inaudible] will become [inaudible] too?
And this goes beyond literature.
It goes [inaudible] but is there, is there a [inaudible] to removing
that also is very [inaudible comments]
from [inaudible] literature?
>> Mukoma wa Ngugi: Well, I think it would do both, right.
The way I look at it, there's a question of the interest or quality
of the novel right, that has nothing to do with [inaudible].
So the
category we can think of them when we say, when you are writing
and you're reading a review
and it says you know African literature we need
to have more cell phones you know in our literature.
That's a question of reception, you know.
But if-- but then there's the
question of the intrinsic quality of the novel, you know.
You know and I think that wouldn't get there either.
I think if I wrote you know "Nairobi Heat"
where they sold African literature it would carry a unique culture
or questions, unique questions about you know either
culture here or culture in Kenya.
So, I think the main problem really is the question
of reciting something outside the book.
You know I think a solution is actually to have,
to allow the books also to migrate
within a bookstore, for example, you know.
So have on in African literature but also have them
in other sections, because people
discover books.
One of the problems with those [inaudible] is people discover books
by browsing, right.
But if you're an African book then to sample, of course,
an African book in a bookstore you have to go to the Africa section.
You know so there's acquisition of discovery.
Myself I think it's important to talk about African literature and I
think it's also usage.
Now, people will argue I just went
to interview [inaudible] saying there's no such thing
as African literature because African literature, because we have
over 54 countries and thousands and thousands of languages
and so forth, which is true.
But when I say, when I say African literature I don't mean
that there's only one kind.
You can use that term without losing, without losing the great
diversity of people you know.
Something [inaudible] if I say Africa I don't mean there's only one
person and only one you know, and only one culture.
We can name-- one single name can carry the complexity.
You know I think the problem with-- when it comes to--
if I say European literature then someone will understand immediately
is that you're not talking about one book or one writer.
But when you say
African literature, there's that assumption you know.
But I don't think because there are issues
with reception we should run away from contemporaries.
I think we just need to talk about them in a way
that allows their complexity.
So in other words we should do something
that allows what [inaudible] that allows, the frees the books, that
allows them you know to be [inaudible] with other books,
from other different cultures and nations and genres.
But at the same time, yeah we need a name.
[inaudible] we need new names, but yeah.
>> Well, I want to thank everybody for coming.
I would be remiss by not mentioning that next Thursday,
December 12th marks the Kenyan Jubilee, 50 years of independence.
So, we've seen-- a lot of us are familiar with the movie [inaudible]
"Literature", which marks a lot
of the voice of the beginning of independence
and now we've seen the transition through the son
to contemporary literature dealing with Kenya, not Kenyan literature.
We won't box it in like that,
but I think this has been a very enlightening conversation.
I want to thank Mukoma wa Ngugi for giving us some insight
and thank you all for coming to this program.
Thank you very much.
[ Applause ]
>> Okay.
[ Inaudible background discussion ]
>> Thank you.
>> This has been a presentation of the Library of Congress.
Visit us at loc.gov.