There has been much debate about the importance of representation in the media of film recently. For a long time, we didn’t see certain characters that existed in our every day portrayed on screen. Was it too difficult to tell stories akin to the lives we lived especially as Africans? Was it too difficult to cast actors and actresses who could play these characters? No, certainly not. Remember when Black Panther came out and for weeks after the release date, the cinemas were still packed? It wasn’t just because it was a fantastic movie but that it was a blockbuster featuring a predominately all-star black cast led by a black director. Where, then, does this gap come from? Perhaps the gap was to do with our literature. As Africans, the characters we saw or lived with were not translated into characters on the pages we read.
For a long time, Africans were subjected to versions of our story ─written by others that subjected us to certain often derogatory descriptions of our way of life, appearance, and cultures. This was not just in the medium of film but in literature as well. The African was the savage or the slave, often included in the story for comic relief by exaggerating his or her features and inability to speak the colonial language. The world ate it up. African literature ─literature written by African writers for primarily African audiences counters this. Not just for our benefit but for the benefit of those who see us. Little by little, these stories, poems, scripts are breaking down barriers and destroying stereotypes which have long been believed; something which may seem unimportant to some, but is necessary to us all. The popular African proverb, “Until the lions have their own historians, the history of the hunt will always glorify the hunter,” Chinua Achebe comes to mind.
Like many readers in my generation, I grew up reading everything but African Literature. It pains me to say that up until a few years ago, the most I’d read was the texts we were required to study for the literature class and a few earlier publications by FEMRITE (which I particularly enjoyed. The protagonists were usually female). While interesting these texts were largely from a period that I found difficult to imagine. I’d never actually seen these things, after all; only their effects. But it is important that I, and many my age, never forget stories like those. They keep our history alive. Texts published during and after colonialism give us a clear picture of that. We cannot possibly understand where we are or where we are going if you do not know where you have come from. Would we have the grasp on Ugandan politics which we do now if it weren’t for greats like P’ Bitek? I can hear you asking, “But do we have a grasp on it?” and to that, I say that’s a discussion for another article. The point is, a lot of what we are going through now can be understood by simply looking at the recorded events of what went on some five to six decades earlier. People that do not know their origins will never understand their future.
While books like those we studied for literature classes dealt with our history, many of the books which I (and many readers within my age bracket, I’m sure) have had the opportunity to read more recently fall into the contemporary category looking at life as we know it. The language used, the lifestyle described, the characters created, the settings described all read as elements we could just walk out of our houses and into. We’re living this literature.
Reading Kopano Matlwa’s Evening Primrose gave me a relatable depiction of mental health. I remember thinking, “I can see myself in this one!” That is not to say that mental health had not been discussed in literature by African writers prior; it just hadn’t been discussed as explicitly. When I read Chigozie Obioma’s An Orchestra of Minorities, it was easy to relate to the characters. Like them, most of us have felt lost and unsure of where we’re headed or why we do the things we do. Oyinkan Braithwaite’s My Sister, the Serial Killer perfectly portrayed a character that’s had to live in someone else’s shadow their entire life, even though they have a lot to offer if given the chance. Books like these show that you can be both African and susceptible to certain emotions, despite what many of us were taught to believe.
It has not been a smooth journey to this point. For example, many of the books which were published by Africans in colonial Africa had to be green-lighted by the colonialists themselves. For this reason, we did not get the fully rounded characters we deserved. In the last thirty years or so, though, that has changed and because of it, the rest of the world is beginning to see Africans for who they are: storytellers. I saw an American blog, for example, that listed what its writers felt were the thirty best books of the last decade. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Americana made-the-cut. One may argue that it is not much but goodness, a decade or two ago, that may not have been possible; she achieved it while telling a story about Nigerian characters experiencing life as authentically as possible.
It would be difficult to adequately explain the intricacies and diversity of African cultures to a non-African without the help of literature by African writers. The statement “Africa is not a country” rings true. Non-Africans find it difficult to understand that while Africans may look the same on the surface, there are differences in their way of life and descent. We are similar, we aren’t the same. By studying literature from different regions of the continent, you begin to see the differences and therefore appreciate each culture as it is as opposed to clamping them all together under the umbrella of ‘African culture’. The depth and richness of the continent are celebrated through its cultures, in this way. African stories need to be told as diversely as possible; the African way.
We’ve certainly made great strides as far as representation is concerned, particularly in the last decade or so. Still, I cannot say that this form of literature has reached its full potential. I long for the day when a writer of African descent being nominated for (and even winning!) an international prize for literature will not be as newsworthy as their skill as a writer will. For now, though, we celebrate small victories and we can say that finally, more African writers are getting their day in the sun.
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