Showing posts with label England. Show all posts
Showing posts with label England. Show all posts

Friday, March 15, 2013

Too Much sweetness at AWT International Writers’ Conference.

The first story that was told at the Writers’ Conference, which none of us will ever forget did not come from Prof. Jack Mapanje, or Nii Parkes, but from two prostitutes. A Norwegian man died after a night with two prostitutes. Upon their arrest, the prostitutes said that the man must have died from too much sweetness. From 7 to 9 March 2013, African Writers’ Trust organized an international writers’ conference in Entebbe. The Director, Goretti Kyomuhendo, resident in the UK, created this space for us to talk, write, learn and create. It was unforgettable. The dominant theme at the conference was Afropolitanism and the question of continental identity with the mobility of Africans all over the world. There have been large exoduses from decades and decades ago for reasons ranging from seeking alternative education and economic opportunities, tourism, escaping political strife and so on. And then there were questions about returning to the continent and if it really did feel like home. In his keynote address, Prof. Mapanje, renowned Malawian poet did not have a solid answer as to whether returning to Malawi after two decades in the UK, really felt like home. The conference had several writers from the diaspora whose names were followed by Accra/UK, DRC/Norway, DRC/Netherlands and Uganda/UK. This is the real situation of many who have lived and continue to live across two continents and for many reasons, unable to identify one single country as their home. It is an indisputable reality and one that I learned from after hearing their stories of challenges of living as a writer in the West. Contrary to the justification many of us try to give ourselves when we are not writing or pushing our creativity beyond its limits, we who live here want to believe that ‘they’ in the West, have it easier because they live next door to publishers, dine with literary agents and have coffee with prize givers. Hardly. They too have 24 hours in the day with which to work and create, have children to look after and bills to pay. Did I mention that the weather most times in unfavourable and can be compared to Margherita peak on Mt. Rwenzori. And nothing brought made this clearer than the readings from Kwani? 07, which Doreen Baingana and Kalundi Serumaga opened up to us. Billy Kahora, managing Editor of Kwani? led a very reflective session and explained the motivation for the theme for the latest edition of the East Africa literary journal, Kwani?, which was Africans in the diaspora Doreen’s was a true account of being mistreated at the immigration department before entering the United States. The confrontation by the officials because of the choice she made not to apply for US citizenship and instead return to Uganda, resonates the binary standards of immigration policies. The disparity between the West and the beautiful and complex continent of Africa is further examined in an article by Alphonse Muambi, Congolese journalist currently residing in The Netherlands. The articles entitled, African elections, a naïve European ideal? indicates that the European desire for democracy on the continent is detrimental to the well-being of African populations. There was a lot of discourse as well about how we can collaborate as writers to use available digital tools to widen our audiences and opportunities for publishing and listening to Chikoti’s views on this and his Malawi experience as well as Rais Boneza from Norway/DRC, Dwalu, a children’s author from Liberia and even the Ugandan writers like Beatrice Lamwaka, Hellen Nyana, Harriet Anena, Baingana and Twongyeirwe. It is safe to say that we must tap into the prospects from the internet and keep on writing. The conference was followed by many other events in Kampala, one of which was an African Writers’ evening organized by Nii Parkes, which he runs in England on a quarterly basis. And true to the celebration of Women’s Day, Beatrice Lamwaka read from two different anthologies and bravely bore the Q and A from the audience. Rais entertained us with an oral form of poetry in singing verse and Nii, true to his amazing self, ended on a high with the West African mosquito, detailing the issues of youths in America who live and think like gangsters but are no match for the perils of malaria. Goretti Kyomuhendo is farsighted. The session with employees from Barclays Bank and Stichting Doen, the sponsors of the event, discussing possible collaboration with the literary arts is testimony to this. She embraces challenge with a dignified fierceness and I am so grateful. I am honoured to have met astounding writers from Uganda, the entire continent and the diaspora, from whom I picked incredible wealth for my own writing. Asanteni! By Beverley Nambozo Nsengiyunva

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Sacrifice, poem by my friend from Lancaster, Alex Evans

Sacrifice by Alexandra O’Toole Evans We loved the tenderness of this poem by Alexandra, especially its unlikely physical manifestations. A perfect way to start the week. Enjoy! . Sacrifice . When you are out there, hanging from lengths of rope, with nothing but pipes and pieces of corrugated metal to break your fall; and the sea, surrounding you, soothing you, ever threatening to swallow you whole, I am in the kitchen, shaking earth from root vegetables; scraping off their rough skins, before I chop them into pieces and drown them in scalding water. . Do you think I don’t know the risks you take? Guilt and uselessness gnaw at me every day. So I make lists, and tick things off as I go, charting my success in crosses out and cups of tea; marking my days with memories made digital and sending them to your inbox out at sea. To the east: where you hang from lengths of rope. . . . Alexandra O’Toole is currently editing her first novel and has just completed an MA in Creative Writing at Lancaster University. When she’s not writing or blogging about writing at http://alexandraotoole.wordpress.com she works with businesses to help them connect with their audiences through stories. Tags: Kumquat Poetry poetry poem Alexandra O'Toole

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Lancaster-the week that was, Summer of 2011.



Where do I even begin to talk about the enriching week at Lancaster during the Summer School? And do I love that we were not in London? Of course. Because here the houses and gardens are more Ugandan style, with flowers, trees, space, water and everything London is not. And do we love that the Professors are so non imposing? Oh yeah. They have huge profiles, award-winning publications and their confidence and self-assurance as writers comes from something deeper than all that.
Lancaster, inanimate, grid-like, empty that Summer so all 16 of us in the class have to create an acceptance of warmth, hugs and listening ears for the week in order to survive in the otherwise quite vacant academic space. Oh yeah, there was a group that had hired a little of the space for a Karate camp and a few Asians there for a pre-English course but pretty much, we only had each other. It was easy for Maria and Shola, whose warmth diffused any tension and whose light heartedness and glows were always welcome. And then, Martin, whose novel could easily, easily win an award.
It had been long since I was in class and my last class was full of Ugandans and a few Kenyans and Tanzanians. This was at a whole new level of a global experience. Lancaster is all into diversity, so it helped that the 4 Africans in the class added to the aesthetics and also enriched the literature discourse. By enriching, I do not mean shouting others down because of a disagreement on Chimamanda’s novel but rather bringing our own experience and ideas to the core of discussions.
On the first day, it took me about 30 minutes to get to my room and not only because I suck at map reading but because the only person who could help was a cyclist we met 15 minutes into the walk who gasped at how far we were from Cartmel college. Everyone complained about the beds but they have never slept in Mary Stuart where you carry your own mattress, duvets, sheets, soap and many students sleep in garages because of the limited accommodation. It is incomparable.
In the evenings, we had readings, first from our tutors and then us. There were always polite nods of approval afterwards, I like the character’s diction, I like your style, oh and I like your humor, and it is very clever the way you delivered the surprise at the end. Most of these comments came from people who were half awake. It is not easy after a four course meal to sit in comfy sofas with a glass of wine in hand and expect to pay full attention to one hour of readings. Isn’t there a law against that kind of thing?
I loved Lancaster, truly I did. I love being with people who take literature seriously and are so engaged where you don’t have to exchange business cards and pretend to be interested but where everyone is really cut out to be a writer.