African Literary NGOs

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 African Literary NGOs
Power, Politics, and Participation

Doreen Strauhs
african literary ngos
Copyright © Doreen Strauhs, 2013.

Softcover reprint of the hardcover 1st edition 2013 978-1-137-33404-6

Doreen Strauhs, D.30- 2013

All rights reserved.

The interview with Jackee B. Batanda first appeared in Wasafiri 61 (Spring

2010). The interview with Monica Arac de Nyeko has been previously
published in The Journal of Commonwealth Literature 45, no. 1 (March
2010). Abstracts are republished with the permission of both journals.

First published in 2013 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN® in the United

States— a division of St. Martin’s Press LLC, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York,
NY 10010.

Where this book is distributed in the UK, Europe and the rest of the world,
this is by Palgrave Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited,
registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills,
Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS.

Palgrave Macmillan is the global academic imprint of the above companies

and has companies and representatives throughout the world.

Palgrave® and Macmillan® are registered trademarks in the United States,

the United Kingdom, Europe and other countries.

ISBN 978-1-349-46253-7 ISBN 978-1-137-33090-1 (eBook) DOI

10.1057/9781137330901
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Strauhs, Doreen, 1981–

African literary NGOs : power, politics, and participation / Doreen Strauhs.
pages cm
Includes bibliographical references and index.

1. African literature (English)—20th century—History and criticism.

2. African literature (English)—21st century—History and criticism.
3. Politics and literature—Africa—History—20th century. 4. Africa—
Intellectual life—20th century. 5. Authors, African—Societies, etc. 6.
Kwani Trust. 7. FEMRITE (Association) I. Title.

PR9340.S77 2013
820.996—dc23 2013014738

A catalogue record of the book is available from the British Library.

Design by Scribe Inc.

First edition: August 2013

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To Inge and Erhard Stahr
This page intentionally left blank
 Contents
Acknowledgments

List of Abbreviations

Introduction: Kenya and Uganda in the Limelight:

Setting the Stage

1 “The Landscape Had Not Its Like in All the World”:

(East) African Anglophone Writing from the 1940s

to the Late 1990s

2 African Literary NGOs (LINGOs): A Model for

African

Literary Criticism and Cultural Politics

3 The African Literary Revolution on Our Doorstep?

African

LINGOs Past and Present

4 Survival of the Fittest: African LINGOs: An

Enduring

Phenomenon?

5 “Tongues on Fire”: The Politics of Being an African

Writer

in an African LINGO in the Twenty- First Century

6 “Words That Reshape a Country” and Literary

Canons?

Agency and Narrative

7 Rewriting African Identity, Self, and Place: Civil War

and
HIV/AIDS in Fiction

8 Conclusions and Future Scenarios of the African

LINGO

in the Twenty- First Century

Appendix

Notes

Bibliography

Index
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 Acknowledgments

This book was written over several years 1 and continents and could not
have been completed without the interaction with writers, colleagues,
family, and friends!
Sincere thanks are due to Judith Adong, Elizabeth Akoro, Bill Ashcroft,
Tim Brückner, Esther de Brujin, Daniel Dubbermann, Nick Elam, Monika
Ellmann-K untze, James Fanning, Ingrid Gabel, Kristin Gerstenkorn, Ellen
Grünkemeier, Dana Hard, Regine Hess (German Embassy of Uganda),
Heymanns, Philo Ikonya, Kingwa Kamencu, Stefan M. Klose, Kerstin
Knopf, Amei Koll- Stobbe— for initiating my interest in Sheng—Margitta
Kuty, Doreen Emmler, Dina Ligaga, Maddo, Corry von Mayenburg, Mike
Mburu, Barbara
Mohr, Carla Müller- Schulzke, Grace Musila, Michaela Moura- Kocoglu,
Shailja Patel, Claudia Perner, Barbara Reich (Goethe Institute of Nairobi),
Cecile Sandten, Katja Sarkowsky, Antje Saunders, Florence Sipalla, Tirop
Simatei,
Undine Siwonia, Stahrs, Jackie Sungu, Monika Tusenko, Carrie Walker,
Manja Wolf, Maya Wys, Donald Yacovone, Jens Heinrich, and Michael
Zehm and Diana Yee, who have all inspired and supported this project at
various stages. Thank you for sharing the bliss and the blues.
Fieldwork, particularly in a foreign country, is greatly furthered by
mutual academic exchange. During my stays in Kenya and Uganda, I
received extraordinary support from Dominic Dipio, Abasi Kiyimba, Julius
Ocwinyo, as well as Patrick Mangeni from Makerere University and Chris
Wanjala from Nairobi University. Many thanks also to Joyce Nyairo, a
cultural analyst and Ford Foundation Program Officer from 2007 to 2011,
Lillian Kaviti, Clara Momanyi, Mikhail Gromov, Alina Rinkanya, Kyallo
Wamitila, Rayya Timammy, Lilian Temu- Osaki, Aldin Mutembei, John
Sibi- Okumu, Kairo Kiarie, Maddo, David Maillu, and Bantu Mwaura (rest
in peace) for very inspiring conversations. Yet any conclusions drawn from
these conversations are my own, unless acknowledged otherwise. Any
faulty conclusions therefore must not be related to anyone mentioned here.
Most importantly, I would like to express my gratitude to the
interviewees as well as to all the associated writers and staff at FEMRITE
and Kwani Trust— in particular to Monica Arac de Nyeko, Doreen
Baingana, Jackee B. Batanda,
x O Acknowledgments

Edna, Billy Kahora, David Kaiza, Parselelo Kantai, Judy Kibinge, Betty
Kikuyu,
Goretti Kyomuhendo, Beatrice Lamwaka, Moses, Beverly Nambozo,
Glaydah
Namukasa, Philo Naweru, Margaret Ntakamalize, Jennifer Okech, Barbara
Oketta, Mary Karooro Okurut, Eric Orende, Potash, Hilda Twongyeirwe,
Lilian Tindyebwa, Angela Wachuka, Binyavanga Wainaina, and Rasna
Warah.
When I visited Cambridge and Ithaca in the United States in 2009, it
was especially due to Abiola Irele at Harvard University and Ali Mazrui
from Cornell University/ Binghamton University reminding me that “the
real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in
having new eyes.”2 Thank you for your eyewitness accounts of the
historical developments around Transition, Chemchemi, and the Mbari
Clubs and thus for having encouraged my comparative reading of these
organizations in Chapters 3 and 4.
Furthermore, this project would not have been possible without the
generous support of hosts, institutions, and granting agencies. My thanks
go to James Shikwati, CEO of IREN, for sponsoring my first research stay
in Nairobi in 2006. Also, I would like to thank my colleagues at the
Christianeum and at the Federal Ministry of Education in Hamburg for
bounteously having shared my ambitions as well as for having supported
my research trips between 2006 and early 2008. I am also very grateful to
the staff at the German School of Nairobi and the German Embassy of
Uganda, as well as to Shalini Gidoomal, Addy Beukema and Frans
Bosman, Lena Hipp, and Jan Martin Witte for generously hosting me
during my research stays. Financially, my research has largely been
supported by grants from the Friedrich Ebert Stiftung. Thank you.
Insightful criticisms, helpful suggestions, consistent encouragement—
these simply fail to capture the unique support I received from Susan
Gingell, my mentor on postcolonial literatures during my time at the
University of Saskatchewan, from Marie Kruger, an invaluable consultant
on African women’s writing at the University of Iowa, as well as from my
supervisors, Sue Kossew at Monash University, Melbourne, Astrid Erll,
and Frank Schulze-E ngler at Goethe-U niversity, Frankfurt am Main. This
book represents an abridged and revised version of the PhD, defended in
Frankfurt in 2012.
Above all, I have a long-s tanding debt to David Paul Mavia, CEO at
The Kairos, Nairobi. He has been my strongest intellectual ally and
invaluable supporter from Kenya since I was an undergraduate student.
Asante sana to you and your wife, Maryanne!
Finally, once more a heartfelt thanks to Romy and those close to me for
their continuous support, immeasurable patience, and tremendous
generosity over the years.
 Abbreviations
ABC African Books Collective
AWG Australian Writers’ Guild
AWT African Writers Trust
BONGO Business- Oriented NGO
BTI Bertelsmann Transformation Index
BWAZ Budding Writers Association of
Zimbabwe
CBP Children’s Book Project
CCF Congress for Cultural Freedom
Chemchemi Chemchemi Creative Center
CKW Concerned Kenyan Writers
EALB East African Literature Bureau
EAPH East African Publishing House
ENGO Environmental NGO
GONGO Government- Operated NGO
HEB Heinemann Educational Books
INGO Internationally Oriented NGO
ICORN International Cities of Refuge
Network
IREN Inter- Regional Economic Network
KANU Kenyan African National Union
KBC Kenya Broadcasting Cooperation
LINGO Literary NGO
LRA Lord’s Resistance Army
Mbari Mbari Club
NGO Non- Governmental Organization
NRM National Resistance Movement
NPO Non- Profit Organization
ODM Orange Democratic Movement
POD Publishing on Demand
PRONACO Pro- National Conference
Organizations
QUANGO Quasi- Autonomous NGO
SMUG Sexual Minorities Uganda
xii O Abbreviations

TANGO Technical Assistance NGO

WGC Writers’ Guild of Canada
WGGB Writers’ Guild of Great Britain
ZWW Zimbabwe Women Writers
 INTRODUCTION

Kenya and Uganda in

the Limelight
Setting the Stage

“T sance . . . The African revolution is on your doorstep,” noted

the hose in the know are buzzing about an African literary renais-
American literary critics Elizabeth Schappell and Rob Spillman in 2007
about the literary dynamics in East Africa. 1 The African literary
renaissance, or indeed revolution, that has caused this buzz of excitement,
as reflected in the quotation, I argue in this book, is in fact nothing less
than the recent flowering of African literatures written in English. This
literary blossoming is well represented in the contemporary English-
language works and activities by Kwani Trust and FEMRITE, and it is in
particular with these organizations as well as their associated writers
producing and promoting this writing that this book engages. Since the
early 2000s, prizewinning authors have visibly emerged on the
Anglophone literary scenes of Kenya and Uganda and thus have brought
back the transnational spotlight to the Anglophone literature of the region.
In 2002, the Kenyan Binyavanga Wainaina was awarded the Caine Prize
for African Literature for his short story “Discovering Home.” In 2003,
Yvonne Owuor, also a Kenyan, triumphed in the Caine Prize Competition
with her short story “Weight of Whispers.” In 2004, Parselelo Kantai, yet
another Kenyan, was short-l isted for the Caine Prize with his short story
“Comrade Lemma and the Black Jerusalem Boy Band.” From Uganda,
Jackee B. Batanda appeared as Africa’s regional winner of the 2003
Commonwealth Short Story Competition with her short story “Remember
Atita.” Glaydah Namukasa took the Macmillan Writers Prize Africa for her
novel Voice of a Dream in 2005. Doreen Baingana was short- listed for the
Caine Prize of 2004 and awarded the Commonwealth Prize of 2006 for her
short story collection, Tropical Fish: Stories Out of Entebbe. Goretti
Kyomuhendo’s fourth novel, Waiting, was printed
2 O y NGOs

African Literar

by the Feminist Press in 2007. Monica Arac de Nyeko, previously short-l

isted for the Caine Prize of 2004, was winner of the Caine Prize
Competition in 2007 with her short story “Jambula Tree”; and finally,
Beatrice Lamwaka was announced as Caine Prize Nominee of 2011 with
her short story “Butterfly Dream.” Certainly, the transnational visibility of
these writers from Kenya and Uganda has been given an exciting boost by
these prizes.
The most fascinating detail about these writers, however, is the fact that
all of them have been strongly associated with and partly nurtured their
writing at one of the two currently prominent literary organizations in
Kenya and Uganda: in its early years, Binyavanga Wainaina, Yvonne
Owuor, and Parselelo Kantai have been driving forces at Kwani Trust in
Nairobi, whereas Doreen Baingana, Jackee B. Batanda, Goretti
Kyomuhendo, Glaydah Namukasa, Monica Arac de Nyeko, and Beatrice
Lamwaka have all been members of FEMRITE in Kampala. Their
association with these organizations has triggered the core interest of this
book. For over a decade now,2 I believe, these organizations have been
providing a platform for writers of various backgrounds to experiment with
form, media, content, and language, thereby giving birth to new literary
trends as well as publications that not only transform creative writing in
Kenya and Uganda but also enrich the educational sector and local civil
society3 as fora for opinion making.
To describe this phenomenon, the present study introduces the term
literary NGO (LINGO) as a distinct model for Anglophone African
creative writing and cultural politics. In detail, the book explores the mode
by which contemporary Kenyan and Ugandan writers interact with the
world of literary production and the sociocultural as well as sociopolitical
dynamics of their societies through literary activities and literature on the
basis of locally established writers’ associations. In this regard, the term
literary NGO (LINGO) embraces the literary as well as the sociopolitical
and sociocultural dimensions of contemporary Anglophone creative writing
in both Kenya and Uganda. Unfolding, the book at hand will illustrate that
LINGOs such as FEMRITE and Kwani Trust in fact are not a recent
phenomenon but have regularly been driving forces in Africa, decisively
impacting the literary as well as sociopolitical and sociocultural landscapes
3 O y NGOs

with events and creative writing by their contributing writers. These

aspects, hence the overall assumption of this book, are what render African
LINGOs both exciting and influential as institutions of interest. By coining
and exploring the term of the African literary NGO (LINGO), this book
makes an original contribution not only to the field of Ugandan and
Kenyan literary criticism but possibly even to other African contexts.
 O 4

Kenya and Uganda in the Limelight

At the Crossroads within Institutional Contexts

The book operates within in- between spaces, exploring the social, literary,
and political worlds of present African Anglophone writing, its production
sites, and its impact in Kenya and Uganda. At the core of this book, the
overall discussion revolves around issues of participation, power, and
politics. The debate in this book is thus clearly situated at intersections
between literary analysis and sociological examination. Pertinent to the
discussion is the interplay of literary and sociological methodologies,
which in the overall argument of the study are brought together in a
literary-s ociological approach supplemented by a literary close reading of
selected texts in the second part of the book.
In the field of literary studies, such a literary-s ociological approach
regularly has been rather neglected. Diana Brydon, a Canadian scholar,
devotes herself to this problem for the Canadian context in her paper
“Metamorphoses of a Discipline: Rethinking Canadian Literature within
Institutional Contexts” (2007).
In her opening paragraphs, she states,
What does it mean to explicitly think about the roles of . . . institutions
within the context of literary study? Within past divisions of disciplinary
responsibility, these may have been seen as insufficiently literary concerns,
distracting attention from the literary text and its author toward questions
about knowledge production and reception. I prefer to see it as an enlarging
of range to resituate the literary and redefine what is meant by literature and
its study. Those who care about literature (whether it be narrowly or more
broadly defined) and about informed reading practices as taught through
literary study need to ask how that reframing fits within larger institutional
changes, when most disciplines are asking about their methods and mandates
. . . Not only must we pay attention to institutions, but we must also value
them for how they can enable literary work, even while recognizing the
restraints that they impose . . . Rather than ignore these contexts, it can be
useful to study them . . . Concrete literary institutions to the CanLit
institution may be divided into three somewhat overlapping categories:
government departments, agencies, and arm-length institutions that depend
for their funding on the state; the market sector; and civil society non-profit
organizations.4
 O 5

Deliberately put here in length, Brydon’s argument— although focused

on the Canadian context— serves well as a matrix for the literary-
sociological approach key to this book. The investigation of the
institutionalized contexts around FEMRITE and Kwani Trust, their
associates, as well as the conditions of text production, access, and
promotion, I argue, are exactly what allows for the better understanding of
the ongoing in the literary worlds of these two countries. In the wake of
sociopolitical developments definitely marked by a period of literary
invisibility on the literary market for many decades and now once again
back in the limelight, the Anglophone writing tradition in Kenya and
6 O y NGOs

African Literar

Uganda has witnessed a historical momentum since the onset of the

twenty-f irst century. This historical momentum, I believe, appears as
requiring investigation,5 and it is precisely this momentum that this book
captures through its focus on LINGOs, writers’ interaction, and text
production.
In doing so, this book uses two departure points: (1) Chapter 2 develops
a theoretical model of the African LINGO, its aspects of participation,
power, and politics. This model later is productively read against (2) the
theoretical ideas of Pierre Bourdieu about the power struggles in the
literary field. In regard to Kenya and Uganda, there is no doubt that
Bourdieu’s theory cannot be directly applied, as Bourdieu draws heavily on
the national context of the French/European literary field, where LINGOs,
in contrast to the African context, have never existed in such form. A major
difference to consider in regard to the category of the LINGO certainly is
the economic factor of transnational funding that comes with the aim of
stimulating the educational and sociopolitical scenes in the context of
development aid— despite the fact that LINGOs aim at positioning
themselves as independent organizations. Bourdieu’s ideas thus certainly
cannot provide a one-o n-o ne solution for the African context.
Nevertheless, the Bourdieuian theoretical concept of the field, the notion of
the habitus, and different forms of the capital can be seen to transcend its
French context. Taken as an abstract tool for discussion, I find, the concept
provides a useful working category in order to trace strategies by which
FEMRITE and Kwani Trust, although small- scale ventures with little
literary output, gain authority, shaping the local literary canons, while
being limiting agencies at the same time.
Naturally, an interdisciplinary study by a cultural outsider, such as this
book, is a balancing act between seemingly disparate fields of inquiry,
hopefully generating a productive debate between the disciplines and
across the continents.

Competing Works
Conceptually, the book at hand investigates two aspects of contemporary
African writing: On the one hand, it looks at the latest generation of
7 O y NGOs

Kenyan and Ugandan Anglophone writers and their writing. On the other
hand, the study defines and analyzes the phenomenon of African LINGOs
in detail for the first time. In doing so, the thesis covers new ground in this
field of literary study.
To date, there have been few publications looking at these two aspects at
the same time. The oldest publication on what in this book is labeled the
African LINGO appeared in 1986 with Peter Benson’s study Transition,
Black Orpheus and Modern Cultural Awakening in Africa. 6 Benson’s work
examines the emergence and significance of two prominent literary
journals of the 1960s: the Ugandan Transition and the Nigerian Black
Orpheus, published by the early African LINGOs Transition and Mbari. In
2005, Dina Ligaga, then a PhD
 O 8

Kenya and Uganda in the Limelight

student at Witswatersrand, published the first significant essay on the

literary magazine Kwani?, issued by Kwani Trust. In her essay, “Kwani?
Exploring New Literary Spaces in Kenya,’” 7 Ligaga discusses the new
literary trends such as email and blog literature that Kwani? has brought to
the literary body of Kenya. In 2010, Grace Musila, an expert on African
writing from Stellenbosch University, released an essay on “The
Redykyulass Generation’s Intellectual Interventions in Kenyan Public
Life.” Her essay concentrates on “the intellectual contributions of the youth
to Kenyan public life”8 and illuminates the “satirical performances of . . .
Redykyulass,”9 as well as the writing and perspectives by two Kwani Trust
associates Binyavanga Wainaina and Parselelo Kantai. In the course of her
essay, Musila explores the “intellectual interventions” 10 and the ways in
which these performers and writers have contributed “to Kenyan thought
and broadly, public life.”11 In 2011, Marie Kruger’s study Women’s
Literature in Kenya and Uganda: The Trouble with Modernity for the first
time provided a critical analysis of women’s writing published by
FEMRITE and Kwani Trust. Recently, Lynda Gichanda Spencer from
Stellenbosch University “focuse[d] on the emergence of FEMRITE as a
site for the articulation of feminist critique” 12 in “Heirs of Tradition or
Veiled Anxieties? Romance, Sex, and Marriage in Contemporary Ugandan
Women’s Short Stories” (2012), and Tom Odhiambo (2012) from Nairobi
University questioned the ways in which Kwani? has renewed the Kenyan
literary and intellectual landscapes in “Kwani? and the Imaginations
around Reinvention of Art and Culture in Kenya.”13
Following the line of thought of these critical works, I look at the impact
that Kwani Trust and FEMRITE, along their contributing writers, have had
on the literary and sociocultural as well as sociopolitical arenas in both
Kenya and Uganda. Unlike any of these works, however, this book does
not aim at redefining “postcolonial” theory or the canon of (East) African
Anglophone literature. In this regard, for example, Roger Kurtz (1998),
Tirop Simatei (2001), James Ogude et al. (2007, 2012), Apollo Obonyo
Amoko (2010), and Emma Dawson Varughese (2012) have done
remarkable research. In its close reading, the book at hand provides only a
glimpse of what the publications by FEMRITE and Kwani Trust have to
offer in terms of genre, style, and content.
 O 9

Taking a literary- sociological perspective, this study rather focuses on

the establishment of FEMRITE and Kwani Trust as African LINGOs and
compares these recent LINGOs with earlier LINGOs such as Transition,
Chemchemi, and Mbari Club (hereafter referred to as Mbari). It is argued
that within a specific thematic, organizational, and spatial framework,
African LINGOs at all times have functioned as noteworthy sites of literary
innovation and public opinion making in the field of African literary
production and sociopolitical opinion making.
10 O y NGOs

African Literar

Research Material
Empirically, this study draws from a variety of material collected during
several periods of fieldwork and research between 2006 and 2011.
Publications
Through my research in both Kenya and Uganda, I was able to access all
the publications by FEMRITE and Kwani Trust of that time, especially
those that are not readily available outside the region. More than 12
publications are discussed in this study. Abstracts from the pieces
“Fw..Fw” by Muthoni Garland and Binyavanga Wainaina, “The Smasher”
by Ralph Johnstone,
“Ukombozi Wa Ki Akili Part 1” by McKah, and “The Poetry Police” by
Tony Mochama are reprinted with the permission of Kwani Trust. The
poem “I Am Tired of Talking in Metaphors” is reprinted with the
permission of Susan Kiguli.
Strategic Plans
Additionally, the book uses information from the LINGOs’ strategic plans,
valid for the period of 2007 to 2011. These strategic plans by FEMRITE
and Kwani Trust are internal documents drafted both for the long- term
planning as well as for the application to granting agencies, and I have had
unique access to them.
Websites
Throughout all the chapters, the discussion moreover draws from the
information given on the websites of the LINGOs. FEMRITE and Kwani
Trust serve as examples of how African LINGOs have been growing
alongside technological advancement in terms of combining literary
enterprise and online technology. The FEMRITE website can be accessed
at http://w ww. femriteug .org. It offers information on the LINGO and
recent events as well as a free download of publications previously printed
and sold in Uganda, whereas the Kwani Trust website, which can be found
at http://w ww. kwani. org, features podcasts, videos, audio commentaries,
blog entries, as well as links to Kwani Trust’s appearance on Facebook and
11 O y NGOs

Twitter. The Internet thus becomes a place where anyone interested in

writing, reading, and debating on literary, sociopolitical, and sociocultural
matters from Uganda and Kenya can find information on the events and
literature of FEMRITE and Kwani Trust promptly. Such broad and instant
reach of literature from local websites to the greatest transnational audience
possible is notable. Therefore, the official websites of these organizations
are being considered as material in the course of this book.
 O 12

Kenya and Uganda in the Limelight

Interviews
In particular, the argument in this study is supported by a selective close
reading of 21 qualitative interviews with writers, academics, civil society
activists, filmmakers, and journalists recorded between 2006 and 2011. In
light of the increased transnational visibility of Kwani Trust, FEMRITE,
and their associated writers, my research through qualitative interviewing
aimed to investigate these writers in terms of their attitudes toward the
LINGOs’ agendas as well as their attitude to their identity as writers, to
politics, to language, and to society at large. In the absence of in-d epth
studies on these LINGOs and writers under investigation, the qualitative
interviewing allowed for a more profound analysis of the research
questions for this book.
Although recorded at different times, all interviews were based on the
same guideline of questions. The interviewees were asked inter alia the
following questions: What do you consider exciting/important about Kwani
Trust and FEMRITE? What is the role of the writer in society? What keeps
you going as a writer? Do you believe literature should serve a social,
cultural, or political function? What do you think are the most prominent
topics in contemporary writing? What role does language play for you?
This kind of the semistructured interview, as a form of qualitative
interviewing, enabled comfortable conversations that would leave enough
space for the interviewee to talk freely, while eliciting the interviewee’s
ideas and opinions about the power of creative writing and LINGOs, the
participation of the writer in society, and politics. During my research stays
in Kenya, David Paul Mavia assisted with organizing and conducting the
interviews. In 2008 and 2009, I extended the interview series to Uganda
and the United States.

Design of the Book

The resulting book encompasses eight chapters divided into two parts:
Chapter 1 offers a selective history of the beginnings of Anglophone
writing in Kenya and Uganda, especially for those readers yet unfamiliar
with the context. This brief history also provides background knowledge
helpful in order to better situate the phenomenon of African LINGOs
 O 13

within the tradition of Anglophone writing from the region. It establishes

the starting point for the discussion of the African LINGO in the following
chapters.
Thus a first objective of this thesis is to explicate in Chapter 2 what
African LINGOs are and what they are not. The chapter provides an
overview of African LINGOs at the present and introduces FEMRITE and
Kwani Trust as prominent case studies. It charts a theoretical framework of
the African LINGO to be applied as a theoretical guideline throughout the
study. The framework
14 O y NGOs

African Literar

consists of hypotheses about the participation, politics, and power of

African LINGOs, which will be tested and analyzed in each of the
following chapters.
Chapter 3 gives a nuanced historicized reading of FEMRITE and Kwani
Trust, illuminating the extent to which they can be seen as a potentially
revolutionary transformation of the Ugandan and Kenyan literary scenes.
In this regard, the chapter touches on a blind spot in Anglophone East
African literary criticism and provides the missing link that critics—b y
celebrating FEMRITE and Kwani Trust as literary revolutionary
phenomena in the local literary worlds— at times have failed to establish
between the literary dynamics of the past and the present. In this chapter, I
argue that in fact African LINGOs have regularly played a decisive role in
the literary landscapes since the 1960s.
Having established the links between previous LINGOs and present
LINGOs, Chapter 4 examines the extent to which FEMRITE and Kwani
Trust constitute a lasting phenomenon in the literary landscapes of Kenya
and Uganda. In its first part, the chapter points out the circumstances
leading to the emergence of an African LINGO. Following my hypotheses
charted in the theoretical framework of the African LINGO in Chapter 2, I
here examine the conditions that have led to the emergence of FEMRITE
and Kwani Trust and draw similarities to earlier LINGOs. In its second
part, the chapter draws from Sarah Michael’s concept of power among
African NGOs (2004). It investigates strengths and weaknesses of
FEMRITE and Kwani Trust, contributing to the question of sustainability
of African LINGOs.
Chapter 5 opens up the second part of the study, exploring more deeply
the public role FEMRITE, Kwani Trust, and their associated writers
occupy through their creative writing. At this point of the study, the
discussion of the organizational setup of FEMRITE and Kwani Trust in the
previous chapters will have revealed that these LINGOs clearly perceive
themselves as platforms of exploring questions of language, society, and
politics as well as of provoking established conventions in the local literary
landscapes through their creative writing. Therefore, I assume in this
chapter that FEMRITE and Kwani Trust through the creative writing of
their associated authors pursue a certain interest of public opinion making
15 O y NGOs

and thus serve as platforms where discourses about literature and society
are being shaped apart from government institutions and political parties.
The dynamics of this process of opinion making, however, become thought
provoking when assuming that LINGOs are, as suggested in my theoretical
framework laid out in Chapter 2, best understood as dynamic social
networks driven by various heterogeneous actors and the relationships
among them. As social networks, I assume, LINGOs are primarily
influenced by ideas and actions of individuals, representing the core of
these networks. If taking for granted that LINGOs as living social networks
are highly dependent on the actions and writing styles of individuals, the
question that inevitably emerges in view of the public role of
 Kenya and Uganda in the Limelight

FEMRITE and Kwani Trust is the question of the extent to which these
writers as associates of the LINGOs regard themselves as actors with an
interest in contributing toward social and literary change.
Drawing largely from the ideas of Pierre Bourdieu, Chapter 6 looks at
the nature of the texts produced and promoted by FEMRITE and Kwani
Trust. The chapter also discusses the mechanisms of inclusion and
exclusion leading to a certain canon formation and to power struggles
within the local literary fields as well as within these LINGOs. The chapter
spotlights the extent to which the publications by FEMRITE and Kwani
Trust articulate contemporary dimensions of the local literary universe as
well as the recent generation of Kenyan and Ugandan Anglophone writers.
Taking up the overall argument from Chapter 6, Chapter 7 demonstrates
in greater detail that publications by writers associated with FEMRITE and
Kwani Trust are highly reflective of their immediate Ugandan and Kenyan
environments. Drawing from the results of the selective close reading in
Chapter 6, this chapter concludes the analysis of the African LINGO by
looking more closely at the degree to which the literary texts published and
promoted by FEMRITE and Kwani Trust are involved with the
characteristics and contradictions of their civil societies, thus adding to
their role as participants in a sociopolitical debate about their societies.
In closing, Chapter 8 briefly reviews the conclusions of this book and
gives an idea of future scenarios of the African literary NGO in the twenty-
first century, thus drawing attention to research questions that deserve
critical investigation in studies yet to come.
CHAPTER 1

“The Landscape Had Not Its

Like in All the World”1
(East) African Anglophone Writing
from the 1940s to the Late 1990s
 O 17
All writers are influenced by others. You can’t work in a vacuum.2
— Doreen Baingana (2008)

Introduction

B efore embarking on definitions of the African literary NGO

(LINGO), a few remarks on the literary history of Uganda and
Kenya might be helpful— particularly for the reader as yet
unfamiliar with these Anglophone writing scenes. In this chapter, I
therefore aim at giving insights into the literary and sociopolitical contexts
against which African LINGOs, such as FEMRITE and Kwani Trust, need
to be read in order to grasp more fully their present role and impact as
institutions of literary creativity as well as institutions of sociopolitical
intervention.
Inevitably, such a nuanced historical overview is selective due to the
limited scope and focus of this book on FEMRITE, Kwani Trust, and their
associated writers. However, by highlighting the major ways in which
Anglophone writers of earlier generations have experimented with forms,
language, and style of creative writing from the 1940s to the late 1990s, the
selective overview presented here will establish the starting point for the
analysis of the model of the African LINGO in the upcoming chapters. At
the end of this chapter, it will also become clear why Kenya and Uganda
have seen a shift from university departments toward LINGOs in the late
1990s, in terms of Anglophone literary writers’ collectives and creative
writing production.
12 O African Literary NGOs

A British Initiative
The beginnings of Anglophone writing in Kenya and Uganda were not
homegrown per se. They were artificially initiated, deliberately fostered,
and carefully nurtured by three major forces: the colonial government,
British university lecturers, and the British- dominated publishing industry.
In October 1945, Elspeth Huxley, 3 a colonial government officer, was
invited to advise the colonial government in Kenya on what literature
should be produced in East Africa. Huxley “submitted a report which . . .
recommended the setting up of an East African Literature Bureau to
‘produce books and other publications for the African population of Kenya,
Tanganyika, Uganda and Zanzibar . . .’” 4 Two years later, in 1947, Charles
Granston Richards implemented Huxley’s recommendations and
introduced them at the East African Literature Bureau, on which he served
as the first director between 1948 and 1963. In 1951, the bureau established
bookshops, libraries, and postal library services. Between 1948 and June
1956, the bureau produced 550 new titles, totaling over three million
volumes.5 Also, it “would edit and put effort into publishing textbooks in
English and in the four languages of the East African Community (Swahili,
Luganda, Gĩkũyũ, Dholuo-G ang). It would run a fortnightly magazine in
the above languages, distribute books for popular readership through sales
and libraries . . . [and] encourage literary creativity through offering prizes
and other awards to notable talents.” 6 In the 1950s, the bureau certainly
was the leading institution for the distribution of Anglophone literature and
educational material in both Kenya and Uganda.

The Rise and Fall of Makerere Campus

Yet, despite these efforts of the bureau, the Anglophone writing tradition
by East Africans of non- British descent at that time was virtually
nonexistent.7 Meanwhile, the literary market of Onitsha, Nigeria, was
already flourishing, and Chinua Achebe had reached a transnational
audience with his novel Things Fall Apart in 1958, writing back to
Conrad’s Heart of Darkness.
In the mid-1 950s, Kenya and Uganda, however, witnessed a pattern that
was quite common in universities across the continent: that is, further
attempts at initiating Anglophone creative writing were undertaken at the
English Literature Departments at the East African University, 8 “birth[ing]
13 O African Literary NGOs

[, as Kingwa Kamencu remarks,] the emergence of many of the first

generation of postcolonial
Anglophone African writers.”9
In East Africa, the English Department of Makerere in Kampala,
Uganda, became the center of guided creativity of the late 1950s and
throughout most of the 1960s.10 Highlighting the developments at
Makerere, Margaret Macpherson
 “The Landscape Had Not Its Like in All the World” O

13

notes in her essay “Makerere: The Place of the Early Sunrise,” “If students
were taking minor English they were encouraged to write, to try their
voices in a parliamentary speech, to act as the editorial board of a
newspaper. If they were taking major English, they were required to study
a play by Shakespeare in their first year . . . learning to act it.” 11 Later John
Sibly, one of the British lecturers at Makerere, initiated the English
Competition where students from different student dormitories, among
them Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o and Peter Nazareth, “were invited to compete in
writing and speaking.”12 The early beginnings of East African Anglophone
creative writing thus were nurtured by academic structures and supported
by university lecturers, who, like John Sibly, often were of British
background since the establishment of the East African University and the
implementation of English departments in the region were an integral part
of the colonization process by the British. In the 1960s, these academic
structures provided a boosting framework for upcoming literary talent in
Anglophone creative writing.13
Back then, Nairobi University was only a sister institution without any
great impact, while Makerere University constituted “the headquarters of
the Association for Commonwealth Language and Literature Studies and
Robert Serumaga its first president.”14 Penpoint— a student journal founded
in 1958 and issued by the English Department of Makerere University—
provided a platform for the creative works of students and those later to
become part of the first generation of Anglophone writers. 15 The drama
scene on campus was productive, and the Makerere Free Traveling Theater
was inventive with its driving forces, the Ugandan student John Ruganda
and the British lecturer David Cook, encouraging burgeoning playwrights
and actors. In hindsight, this theater was considered the birthplace of some
key dramatists in East Africa.16
Beyond this Anglophone theater scene, as the Ugandan writer Austin
Bukenya emphasizes,
novelists and short- story writers, like Robert Serumaga, Eneriko Seruma,
Laban Erapu, Davis Sebukima, Godfrey Kalimugogo, . . . [and himself with
his play The Secrets] produced their vintage work during this period. Poetry
appeared . . . in anthologies like . . . Rubadiri’s Poems from East Africa and
Okola’s Drumbeat, which featured many Ugandan poets . . . like Henry
 “The Landscape Had Not Its Like in All the World” O

Barlow, Richard Ntiru and Timothy Wangusa. In drama, authors like Tom
Omara, John Ruganda, Elvania Zirimu and again, Robert Serumaga were
crafting their theatrical works. Publication was easy, competitive, with the
rise of outfits like the East African Publishing House, the East African
Literature Bureau, as well as the opening of local branches by several
international publishers, like Oxford, Longman and Heinemann.17

Besides Elvania Zirimu, other Ugandan women writers—a lthough very

few in number—s uch as the dramatist Rose Mbowa, who in the 1990s also
was
16 O African Literary NGOs

a founding member of FEMRITE, and the novelists Jane Kironde Bakaluba

and Barbara Kimenye, made themselves heard among the male writers of
this decade.18
But toward the end of the 1960s, the creative optimism in Uganda was
fading with the center of creative writing in East Africa shifting from
Kampala to Nairobi. The repressive political regimes of Milton Obote
(1966–7 1; 1980–8 5) and Idi Amin (1971–7 9) stopped the flourishing
development of creative writing and intellectual debates in Uganda, once
radiating—l ike in the case of the Free Traveling Theater—f rom Makerere
Hill to Nairobi and Daressalaam.19 Eckard Breitinger points out that once
the center of “many intellectuals from the East African region and far
beyond . . . [with] tremendous transnational input into the cultural
scenery”20 and its literature and culture enjoying “high transnational
visibility,”21 Uganda skidded into “near total invisibility of its cultural
output outside of the country,”22 especially under the totalitarian regime of
Amin. On this note, Breitinger adds, “The 1974 world conference of the
Association for Commonwealth Literature, convened by its chairman
Robert Serumaga, nearly became a swan song for Ugandan literature [as]
[m]any of the writers and critics stayed away worrying about their security
in Amin’s Uganda.”23 By that time, a great number of Ugandan
intellectuals had already been killed or gone into exile, 24 and their audience
was slowly withering away with them.25
In the wake of these developments, Okot p’Bitek, who by that time had
already gained transnational recognition as one of the outstanding Ugandan
writers with the publishing of his long poem Song of Lawino (1966), was
dismissed as the director of the Uganda Cultural Center for having
criticized the government. He left Uganda in 1967 for Nairobi University,
where he started teaching at the Institute of African Studies. Likewise,
Taban Lo Liyong, on completing his studies in the United States, moved to
Nairobi in 1968. The hostile climate toward writers in Uganda had
discouraged him from going back home to Kampala. At Nairobi
University, Liyong joined the English Department after a short teaching
period at the Institute of African Studies. Meanwhile, Ng ũgĩ wa Thiong’o,
who had left Makerere University in 1963 for an MA program at Leeds
University, was already being celebrated as a writer from Kenya. Ng ũgĩ wa
Thiong’o was to become “the first African member” 26 of the English
Department at Nairobi University College in 1967 and eventually the “first
17 O African Literary NGOs

African to head a department at University” 27 when he succeeded Andrew

Gurr at the Nairobi Department of Literature in 1973. His early popularity
that had virtually begun as a student at Makerere paved the way for his
career. Clearly, the sociopolitical developments in Uganda brought
together Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, Taban Lo Liyong, and Okot p’Bitek at
Nairobi University around
 “The Landscape Had Not Its Like in All the World” O

15

the same time, thus enabling them to combine their commitment in

fostering homegrown literature.

Nairobi University: A Haven for Creative Minds

Not under harsh restraints of the government, Nairobi University initially
provided a space where ideas on culture and politics could prosper and
emanate into other spheres of civil society. As Kingwa Kamencu shows in
her dissertation “Literary Gangsters? Kwani, Radical Poetics and the 2007
Kenyan Postelection Crisis,” these writers-c um-a cademics “were anxious
to engage in nation-b uilding as they saw it and eagerly revolutionised [the]
. . . literature departments.”28 The three organized writers’ workshops that
represented a forum for intellectual freedom. Alongside their colleague
Henry Owuor-A nyumba, in October 1968, they demanded the abolition of
the English Department and insisted on “its replacement by [the]
Department of African Literature and Languages.” 29 After long debates, the
syllabus that Ngũgĩ and others had “perceived as too European in
orientation”30 was replaced with a new syllabus, designed in March 1969,
putting Afrophone literature at the core of the studies and radiating also to
the Anglophone literary colleges in Uganda and Tanzania. 31 Subsequently,
the Department of English Studies was changed into the Department of
Literature, and the Department of African Literatures and Languages was
established.32
With the redesign of the literature departments and their curricula, a
milestone for the critical study of East African literature in English, as well
as in indigenous languages, was set by East Africans. According to George
Ogola, this demand at that time also was in line with the Kenyan
government, which then “was keen on establishing a cultural policy that
would go hand in hand with its development programs.” 33 In the 1970s, the
Department of Literature at Nairobi University with these three leading
figures, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, Okot p’Bitek, and Taban Lo Liyong, clearly
provided room for intellectual freedom and creative expression.34
 “The Landscape Had Not Its Like in All the World” O

The Kenyan Publishing Industry in the 1970s

Anglophone writing outside the Nairobi campus was flourishing in the
1970s. According to Chris Wanjala, the transformation of the Literature
Department at Nairobi University stimulated an outburst of imaginative
writing that was accordingly boosted by the Kenyan publishing industry. 35
With his own publishing house, Comb Books, established in 1971, David
Maillu was among the first to publish in full-c olor cover and pocket size,
thus making books both visually appealing and handy. He published about
16 books a year in his mininovel series, 36 aiming at the promotion of
reading culture in East Africa. Publishing
20 O African Literary NGOs

houses like the East African Literature Bureau (EALB) and the East
African Publishing House (EAPH) obviously were “particularly keen to
snap up any budding literary talent to the extent that they often laid
themselves open to criticism for publishing some very undistinguished
material.”37 Charles Mangua, who was published by the EAPH, sold 10,000
copies of his first novel, Son of Woman (1971) in 6 months. His follow-u p,
A Tail in the Mouth (1972), sold 15,000 copies in 2 months.38 Similar
numbers were achieved by Maillu in 1976, when he sold 100,000 copies of
his own novels published by Comb Books within only 6 months. 39
University-b ased literary critics such as Chris Wanjala at that time harshly
dismissed this so- called popular writing by Mangua, Maillu, and others as
nonliterature because of its violent or low-l ife content and vulgar
language.40 Nevertheless, it was this kind of homegrown literature in
English that— in contrast to the university- based creative writing by
Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o—e xcited the local audience most.41 Commenting on
the literary boom of the 1970s in Kenya, Roger Kurtz notes, “The dramatic
growth in Kenyan writing during the 1970s is readily quantifiable . . . [T]he
New Reader’s Guide . . . includes more than one hundred Kenyan entries,
of which two thirds are novels.”42 Apart from the university-b ased creative
writing framework, the local and transnational publishing industry, now
thriving especially in Nairobi, had developed into a second framework for
upcoming literary talent in East Africa. Yet, due to the political
circumstances in the Uganda of the 1970s, this applied mostly to Kenyan
authors.43

Writers: “A Dangerous Species”44

Unfortunately, the literary boom in Kenya was short- lived. Similar to
Uganda, Kenya experienced a massive destruction of literary frameworks
as well as a harsh persecution of outspoken writers. Toward the late 1970s,
the thriving frameworks of the university departments and the publishing
industry were dissolving again for two reasons. On the one hand, the
decline of published novels was caused by economic reasons. 45 By 1976,
Comb Books, like a number of other small- scale publishing imprints, 46 was
closed down as it had lost readership and had run out of money partly due
to the banning of Maillu’s books in Tanzania. Moreover, the price for
paper had doubled by the end of the 1970s. 47 After the breakdown of the
21 O African Literary NGOs

East African Community in June 1977, “Tanzania closed its common

border with Kenya, making it impossible for the latter to export, not only to
Tanzania itself, but more damagingly to the regular markets to the south,
especially to Zambia and Malawi.” 48 Hence it turned out to be almost
cheaper to import books from abroad.49
On the other hand, the decline of fiction in the years of 1976 and 1977
was due to the increasingly oppressive climate against outspoken
intellectuals and
 “The Landscape Had Not Its Like in All the World” O

17

writers at the end of Jomo Kenyatta’s regime and under the coming to
power of the government under Daniel arap Moi. The emergence of the
Department of Literature at Nairobi University as a center of intellectual
debate impinging on political themes came to a stop in December 1977
when officials in the government convinced President Jomo Kenyatta “that
[Ngũgĩ’s latest works] Petals of Blood and Ngaahika Ndeenda were
‘subversive’ and that Ngũgĩ should be detained.”50 The successful
implementation of Kamĩrĩĩthũ,51 a community theater, reflecting on the
ideas of the failure of independence and the disappointment about the
Kenyan government in local languages, here Gĩkũyũ, seemed a threat to
people in the regime. In the eyes of these government officials, the
Department of Literature with its outspoken director, Ng ũgĩ, had crossed a
line by promoting its sociocritical ideas not only to the English- speaking
audience but also to the non- English- speaking public. 52 The detention of
Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o in 1977 therefore signaled a turning point for the
thriving cultural scene of Nairobi, the freedom for intellectuals in Kenya,
and the public role of sociocritical observers of Kenyan society.
With the election of Moi in October 1978, Kenya—s imilar to the
Uganda of the 1970s— gradually slid into dictatorship and near invisibility
of its cultural output inside and outside of the continent. Kamencu
pinpoints this turning point quite astutely when stating that “while Jomo
Kenyatta’s regime existed fairly amicably with the intelligentsia, Daniel
arap Moi’s [regime lasting up to 2002] was a paranoid ‘big brother’
state.”53 Early attempts by Moi to appear liberal 54 before long resulted in
further oppression of civil society. Although Moi, in his attempt to appear
liberal, released Ngũgĩ along with other writers such as Koigi wa Wamwere
shortly after his stepping into power in 1978, he soon allowed for massive
detentions and killings that characterized Kenya throughout the 1980s. 55 In
1981, Moi blamed the recurring disturbances at Nairobi University on
Marxist lecturers, which, according to Carol Sicherman, was a “standard
government theme in [the] following years.” 56 In June 1982, Kenya became
a one-p arty state and saw its first mass exodus of scholars, writers, and
journalists, echoing the bloody approach against writers and journalists in
Uganda at the beginning of the 1970s. From June to August 1982,
 “The Landscape Had Not Its Like in All the World” O

university lecturers were detained and often charged for possessing

Pambana, The Struggle.57
Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o had already left Kenya on June 5, 1982, in order to
attend the launch of his fifth novel, Devil on the Cross, in London. He
remained there upon hearing about his impending arrest in Nairobi.
Likewise, Okot p’Bitek had fled the increasingly oppressive climate in
Kenya earlier the same year to again teach creative writing at Makerere
University, Uganda, where civil society was slowly recovering after the
end of Amin’s regime. Taban Lo Liyong
24 O y NGOs

African Literar

had left Kenya in 1975 to become chairman of the Literature Department at

the University of Papua- New Guinea, later moving on to Southern Sudan.
In the years following 1982, more lecturers, journalists, and students
were arrested, tortured, and killed by the Moi regime. 58 In these years,
Ngũgĩ’s writing became central to the government in identifying betrayers
of the regime since “new political detainees were often asked if they had
read Ngũgĩ’s books and what they thought of them.” 59 In 1986, the frenzied
attempt to define what was fact and fiction in Kenya was ridiculously
illustrated when, as Kamencu notes, “the police put out a warrant of the
arrest for the fictional main character of . . . [Ng ũgĩ’s] novel—Matigari . . .
—i n the belief that he was a real person.” 60 Increasingly, academic
promotion depended less on research and creative writing accomplishments
and more on the absence of any political challenge to the Moi regime. 61
With its leading figures gone and further lecturers and associates
intimidated or detained, the Department of Literature at the University of
Nairobi ultimately lost its authority as the once-v ibrant center of creativity
and its role as a critical opponent of the government. The print media and
the emerging electronic media such as the Kenya Broadcasting
Cooperation (KBC) became gradually government controlled. 62 The
freedom of the press and the freedom of speech were quashed. Those
suspected of speaking against the government were muted. Creative
writing during the Moi regime, as in the earlier oppressive regimes in
Uganda, became a dangerous practice.

Conclusion
Once booming in the 1960s and 1970s, the production of fiction in Uganda
and Kenya later was not only affected by the paucity of publishing outlets
for creative writing outside the textbook industry but also characterized by
externally imposed censorship as well as by self- censorship.63
In Uganda, the economy and social situation began to stabilize with the
coming to power of Museveni in 1986. Nevertheless, the financial means
and interest in promoting creative writing outside the textbook industry
remained low throughout the 1980s and 1990s, also due to the public
memory of the oppressive regimes of Obote II and Amin. Creative writing
25 O y NGOs

continued to thrive in the country but remained underground or was kept in

the drawer.64 Throughout the 1980s and early 1990s, in fact no Anglophone
writer from within Uganda gained transnational visibility, as had earlier
writers of the 1960s. With the exception of Moses Isegawa toward the end
of the 1990s,65 many remained less visible to the outsider of the Ugandan
literary scene.
In Kenya, similarly, writers who continued writing did so in exile,
writing for the underground or the textbook industry, or exploring
journalism as an avenue for creative writing.66 Among those, Wahome
Mutahi, a novelist, playwright,
 19

actor, journalist, and humorist,67 probably was the most outspoken and
visible Anglophone writer of the 1980s and 1990s in Kenya. He became
most famous with his weekly column “Whispers,” published between 1982
and 2003 in The Daily Nation and The East African Standard at different
times. The column established creative writing successfully as a kind of
journalism during Moi’s oppressive regime. Relying on narrative forms
such as satire, rumor, gossip, and fiction, the column became a “‘site of
freedom’ within a highly circumscribed
[and politically controlled] platform, the newspaper.” 68 With regard to
Kwani Trust, Mutahi became instrumental as one of the supporting figures
of the LINGO, thus helping birth another blossoming of creative writing in
Kenya.
Apart from a few exceptions such as Isegawa or Mutahi, many writers
from the region were, however, writing largely out of the public eye from
the late 1970s up to the 1990s. Due to the sociopolitical circumstances, as
well as the lack of publishing outlets and frameworks conducive to
furthering creative writing, the Anglophone writing scene in the region for
many years hardly managed to gain attention beyond the region.
 “The Landscape Had Not Its Like in All the World” O

CHAPTER 2

African Literary NGOs (LINGOs)

A Model for African Literary Criticism and
Cultural Politics

Introduction

T he global spotlight returned to the Kenyan and Ugandan literary

arena when Kwani Trust and FEMRITE started to gain worldwide
recognition through their prizewinning contributors with the onset
of the early 2000s. In the absence of publicly vibrant meeting places and
platforms for creative expression, these organizations emerged as highly
visible fora. Whereas the transnationally renowned writing of the 1960s
and 1970s was dominated by outspoken writers and lecturers from the
universities and the publishing industry, the current literary production in
these two countries has evidently been influenced by writers who—u nlike
many of the earlier generations— were not primarily groomed as literary
talents by literature departments or publishing houses. These authors have
been publishing online and offline from within social networks, most
notably in the form of nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) such as
FEMRITE and Kwani Trust, with their own publications, reading events,
and literary festivals.
In this chapter, I establish the concept of the African literary NGO
(LINGO) and present an argument for defining it as a model for African
literary criticism and African cultural politics. In the course of this book,
this working definition will provide the overall theoretical framework for
the research questions underpinning the discussion of the LINGO.
Moreover, this chapter gives an overview of present African LINGOs and
introduces FEMRITE and Kwani Trust as prominent case studies of this
phenomenon in the twenty- first century.
22 O African Literary NGOs

Toward a Definition of the African LINGO

At this point of writing, in 2013, this book can only suggest general
outlines for the category of the African LINGO. In the future, as African
LINGOs either disappear or spring up in even greater numbers, new
features and forms will undoubtedly be identified. From today’s vantage
point, I propose the definition of LINGOs as follows: First and foremost, a
LINGO is a nongovernmental organization with a focus on the production
and promotion of literary talent, events, and publications that is situated in
the nonprofit sector.1 Following Helmut K. Anheier, this study sees “the
non- profit sector . . . [as] the sum of private, voluntary, and non- profit
organizations and associations.”2 In NonProfit Organizations: Theory,
Management, Policy, Anheier continues to note that the nonprofit sector
“describes a set of organizations and activities next to the institutional
complexes of government, state, or public sector on the one hand, and the
for-p rofit or business sector on the other. Sometimes referred to as the
‘third sector,’ with the government and its agencies being the first, and the
world of business or commerce being the second, it is a sector that has
gained more prominence in recent years— in the fields of welfare
provision, education, community development, transnational relations, the
environment, or arts and culture.”3 As nonprofit organizations, LINGOs
thus operate in a sector between public— that is governmental—
institutions and for- profit business enterprises. Given their primary focus
on literature, LINGOs belong to the field of arts and culture within the
nonprofit sector.
Second, a LINGO is a legal entity that is officially registered as a
nonprofit or not- for- profit organization. 4 As a nonprofit legal entity, an
NGO can basically be understood as “a nongovernmental entity, legally
constituted and incorporated under state law as a . . . not-f or- profit
corporation. The governance structure of the non- profit precludes self-
interest and private gain but must serve some public purpose.” 5 The label
nonprofit is therefore actually misleading since it does not mean that NGOs
cannot earn profits, per se. Legally, NGOs are allowed to earn profit. 6
Unlike for-p rofit organizations, however, NGOs need to primarily “use
their profits for their program activities.” 7 By law, NGOs can thus be
exempted from tax.8 Because of its legal status, an NGO can still
compensate its employees as long as these payments are reasonable. 9
23 O African Literary NGOs

Nevertheless, “the doctrine of private inurement is the essential dividing

line, in the law, between non-p rofit and for-p rofit organizations.” 10 In
terms of their legal status, LINGOs adhere to all these criteria.
Third, LINGOs, like every NGO, vary in terms of their organizational
forms. In theory, there is a variety of synonyms for what counts as an
NGO, such as a special interest group, a private voluntary organization, a
civil society organization, a grassroots organization, or a charity. 11
Moreover, there also
 y NGOs (LINGOs) O

African Literar 23

is a variety of acronyms used to better define the organizational structure or

thematic setup of NGOs, such as Internationally Oriented NGOs (INGOs),
Business-O riented NGOs (BONGOs), Government-O perated NGOs
(GONGOs), Environmental NGOs (ENGOs), Quasi- Autonomous NGOs
(QUANGOs), or Technical Assistance NGOs (TANGOs). 12 In view of
these varying organizational forms, the meaning and use of the term NGO
has therefore been much debated, and many definitions have been
proposed.13 When describing the NGO sector, the main problem is exactly
the sector’s organizational variety.14 In theory, the term NGO has therefore
often been deployed as a kind of catchall term for any nongovernmental
organization and has hence been considered to be simply imprecise.15
In practice, the dilemma of NGO terminology is likewise unresolved. In
view of NGO diversity, governments across the world and transnational
institutions like the United Nations or the European Union have thus far
failed to agree on a transnationally standardized definition. 16 As a result,
the term NGO is more often than not defined as a legal category on
national levels.17 This means that countries set their own standards on what
counts as an NGO and what does not. Thus the organizational forms of
NGOs vary significantly.18 In Kenya, for instance, NGOs are one of the
four primary types of nonprofit organizations that can be registered with
the Kenyan law, in addition to companies with limited liability, societies,
and trusts.19 In Uganda, NGOs exist as a legal category, along with two
other types of nonprofit organizations: trusts and foundations. 20 In Global
Standard NGOs: The Essential Elements of Good Practice, Grant B.
Stillman remarks that “if an NGO becomes a registered charity, society,
trust or foundation, it usually enjoys significant tax exemption privileges,
so long as it continues to abide by the firm restrictions, specific charitable
purposes definitions and reporting requirements.” 21 Following Stillman, it
becomes clear that in domestic law, legal categories of nonprofit
organizations basically serve to determine standards that adhere to national
tax treatment and grant regulations, as well as to public benefit status. 22
These local legal categories, however, do not necessarily create clear-
cut boundaries defining whether organizations registered as trusts,
foundations, companies, or NGOs could not theoretically still be
considered as NGOs. On that note, Stillman points out that despite the fact
 y NGOs (LINGOs) O

that “the legal form of NGOs can be diverse and depends upon home-
grown varieties in each country’s laws and practices[,] . . . four main
family groups of NGOs can be found worldwide: unincorporated
associations, trusts, charities and foundations; companies not for profit; and
entities formed or registered under special NGO or NPO laws.” 23 In line
with Stillman’s view on NGO families, the present study acknowledges the
fact that LINGOs in Uganda and Kenya can be legally registered as trusts,
26 O African Literary NGOs

foundations, or not- for- profit companies with limited liability by domestic

law, while theoretically they may still be regarded as NGOs.
Although it is well-e stablished that the term NGO is a contested term in
NGO theory and a term that organizations operating in the NGO world
may want to distance themselves from,24 this book nevertheless employs
the term NGO based on the fact that while there is no standardized
interpretation of the term, it is still the most widely used term when
referring to organizations in the nonprofit sector. 25 In suggesting the
concept of LINGOs, this study does not aim at redefining the term NGO
but at employing it simply as a working category while recognizing its
fuzziness and local varieties.
Acknowledging the fact that there are common strands of NGOs,
regardless of their legal or organizational setup, that are widely accepted in
transnational diplomacy,26 this study therefore defines NGOs very
generally as organizations existing apart from governments and
corporations, operating on a nonprofit or not-f or-p rofit basis with an
emphasis on volunteerism.27 The study perceives NGOs as formal and
professionalized bodies that aim at furthering social interests for the benefit
of others on a national or transnational level. Following this definition,
NGOs are formal because they have their own staff and locale and need to
register with the relevant government authority in their country; they are
professionalized because they have paid as well as committed volunteer
staff that can be highly qualified in the area of the NGO’s interests. 28 To
realize their interests, NGOs largely rely on external funding. 29 In this
study, NGO thus serves as an umbrella term that, in an attempt to describe
the literary dynamics of the nonprofit sector, leaves leeway for the
organizational diversity of Kenyan and Ugandan LINGOs of the present
and future.

***
Having identified the three general pillars of the societal, legal, and
organizational status of LINGOs, the following subchapter offers a more
narrow definition of the LINGO that will be employed and illustrated
throughout this book.

1. Administrative Structure and Funding

27 O African Literary NGOs

African LINGOs are largely dependent on external funding, yet in their

actions they are usually financially independent of their local governments.
While they can gain profit and pay reasonable compensation to their
employees, LINGOs reinvest their surplus in the administration of the
organization, their activities, and publications. LINGOs are structured
organizations with their own staff, locale, and financial administration. As
is common for NGOs, the LINGO’s organizational structure is also
characterized by flat hierarchies and a great number of volunteers.
 African Literary NGOs (LINGOs) O

25

2. LINGOs as Literary Institutions

Although various interpretations are possible of what comprises a literary
NGO, this study proposes the term literary NGO explicitly for those NGOs
that have the production and promotion of literature, most notably fiction,
poetry, and creative nonfiction, at the core of their interests and that also
use creative writing as their major tool of expression. Apart from the
release of novels, poetry anthologies, and short story collections, LINGOs
can also often be found to use literary periodicals for publishing texts
conforming to their respective agendas. Their focus on the production and
promotion of literature sets LINGOs apart from NGOs focusing primarily
on performing arts or from NGOs concentrating more on the analysis of
events and publications in the sector of arts and culture, such as Twaweza
Communications in Kenya.

3. LINGOs as Intermediary Organizations

LINGOs exist largely to generate programs and services that are of benefit
for others in support of nurturing literary talent, literary awards, literary
productivity, and literacy in national and indigenous languages. In terms of
their communal work, LINGOs aim at promoting creative writing and the
role of creative writing as well as reading for the individual and society
through literary workshops, reading events and conferences, as well as
writing competitions and publications. As the producers, initiators, and
creators of such programs and services, LINGOs situate themselves outside
the university context in order to attract an audience that is not necessarily
involved in academic research.
At the same time, however, LINGOs are inextricably linked with
university departments through some of their members and associated
writers. Sometimes LINGOs also cooperate directly with the university
framework in order to have their publications discussed and promoted by
researchers and students. Except for a few small- scale publishing ventures
in Kenya and Uganda, local and federal governments or private business
entities at present generally do not provide these reading and writing
programs and services in such diversity and with such immediate outreach.
With their activities and publications across the country, LINGOs therefore
contribute to filling a vacuum that in Kenya and Uganda currently is not
 African Literary NGOs (LINGOs) O

filled by academia, publishing houses, or governmental bodies: with their

independently developed programs and activities aimed at the advancement
of sociopolitical opinion making, reading culture, and the literacy of people
in their countries, LINGOs, for instance, back up the educational sector of
the local government, while they are not public bodies that work at the
command of their local government. LINGOs, as defined in this study, are
not government- operated NGOs (GONGOs). Established independently
from the government, LINGOs rather function as intermediary
organizations, mobilizing resources and facilitating the development and
interaction of individuals,
30 O African Literary NGOs

groups, organizations, and communities in terms of their creative writing

and reading skills. LINGOs thus contribute to the enhancement of literacy
in the languages and countries of their operation.

4. LINGOs and Their Transnational Dimensions

To realize their ideas, LINGOs establish transnational networks online and
offline with authors, stakeholders in the book industry, and the public
education sector both locally as well as from elsewhere in order to
strengthen the role and impact of writers and creative writing within their
societies, as well as to promote writers and publications from within their
countries and beyond. In this respect, LINGOs, such as the ZWW in
Zimbabwe, also can have branches in rural and urban areas.

5. LINGOs versus Theater for Development

Most important, LINGOs differ from NGOs in the sector of theater or
creative writing for development, since the literature produced and
promoted by LINGOs and their associated authors is at least not openly
content-t ailored to suit specific donor interests in development policy,
such as HIV/AIDS prevention. LINGOs are instead open to any kind of
innovative literary creativity as long as it is in line with the LINGOs’
individually established agenda. LINGOs do not consider themselves
donor tools but explicitly highlight their status as independent write- tanks30
of public interest. As such, LINGOs observe ongoing trends in society and
create a platform for debate and research for people sharing an interest in
areas of the LINGOs’ concern. In this way, LINGOs draw attention to
sociopolitical challenges and contribute ideas on sociopolitical as well as
sociocultural areas of their concern both in their writing and at their literary
events.
This self-u nderstanding is a difference from NGOs in the sector of
theater for development. Whereas both types of NGOs are policy driven,
NGOs in the theater for development can be said to be in particular driven
by an agenda adapted to the objectives of their changing external partners,
commissioning the NGOs for realizing the interests that are not necessarily
the interests of the NGOs themselves but rather those of their principals.
Although a certain influence of their transnational funding partners cannot
be denied, LINGOs, on the other hand, are largely driven by the policy of
their own agenda and maybe by agendas of their members and associates.
31 O African Literary NGOs

In opposition to NGOs from the theater of development, LINGOs aim at

avoiding the interest of other partners unless it is of mutual benefit in terms
of their own agenda. Most important, LINGOs are primarily driven by their
focus on literary manuscripts, events, and talent, rather than exclusively on
intervening in sociopolitical issues through literature or theater at the
command of others.
 African Literary NGOs (LINGOs) O

27

6. LINGOs and the Local Publishing Industry

LINGOs can have their own publishing companies, which are mostly
registered under the company law with their local governments and under
which they publish literature by their members, their associates, or people
who have produced literature that deserves publishing according to the
LINGOs’ agendas. As publishing ventures, LINGOs are usually small-
scale publishing outfits, largely due to their low economic capital, their
specific literary agendas, and their other primary focus on the organization
of literary activities and events. Although LINGOs with a publishing arm
thus do share common strands with publishing houses, it would be wrong
to consider them solely as publishing houses. LINGOs with a publishing
company are hybrid ventures that consist of an NGO that aims at public
benefit plus a publishing house that in turn serves to give voice to the
NGO’s mission and to generate profit that again goes back into the NGO
so as to realize the NGO’s agenda. In contrast to this hybrid construct,
commercial publishing houses are generally solely for-p rofit businesses. In
Uganda and Kenya, for- profit publishing houses, unlike LINGOs, have
regularly focused on the publishing of educational material, generating the
greatest profit in the region.31 While it is therefore correct to state that
LINGOs— like publishing houses— certainly can have the ingenuity and
efficiency of profitable enterprises, it is, however, more important to
consider that LINGOs not only are legally registered as nonprofit
organizations but also have the care and concern of nonprofit organizations
in view of their interest in benefitting others.

7. LINGOs and Their Nonprofit or For- Profit Status

Nevertheless, it is possible that LINGOs can change their domestic
nonprofit status from NGO, foundation, or trust and at some point in their
existence develop into solely for- profit businesses or into businesses that
contain both for- profit and nonprofit elements, like a kind of not- for-
profit company. Anheier points out that although the idea of the nonprofit
sector “suggests clearly defined boundaries with the public sector and the
for-p rofit sector, such sector distinctions are in reality quite blurred and
fluid. Organizations ‘migrate’ from one sector to another.” 32 For LINGOs
in Uganda and Kenya, this study assumes that they can migrate from
 African Literary NGOs (LINGOs) O

nonprofit to for-p rofit status the moment they are able to strengthen their
market potential and to run independently in financial terms and no longer
rely primarily on grants. However, if LINGOs changed into largely for-
profit businesses or government- operated institutions, they would lose
their status as a LINGO as outlined in this theoretical chapter. On the other
hand, it is also possible that LINGOs migrate into the public sector by
becoming a part of the governmental structure because the government
wants to use the NGOs’ services more readily. This, however, is unlikely
for the LINGOs under investigation in the present study. According to their
34 O y NGOs

African Literar

self- understanding, these LINGOs perceive themselves as innovative

enterprises on their own merit.

8. LINGOs versus Writers’ Guilds

While LINGOs in Uganda and Kenya definitely do share characteristics
with writers’ guilds, which usually are also NGOs, it would be incorrect to
define them as such. A writers’ guild like the Australian Writers’ Guild, for
instance, is a professional association for established and less established
writers in the areas of novel and short story writing, television, radio,
screen, and stage,33 or an organization representing freelance writers
working in film, television, radio, and new media production, as in the case
of the Writers’ Guild of Canada. 34 Although LINGOs, like writers’ guilds,
sometimes demand a membership fee, defend the freedom of expression,
and offer a platform for writers working in all these areas of creative
writing across a variety of media, as well as craft workshops for writers on
how to get published or how to improve their writing in all the media of
creative writing, they are not professional associations for writers. As a
professional association for writers, a writers’ guild chiefly provides
services for writers that ensure that their interests and rights in writing and
publishing are promoted and protected. Writers’ guilds like the Writers’
Guild of Great Britain “campaign and lobby on behalf of writers” 35 and are
“recognised as a body for negotiating minimum terms, [contracts] and
practice agreements for writers.”36 As such, writers’ guilds are like a trade
union for writers.
Lobbying for writers in this way, however, is not of concern to LINGOs.
To fight for their individual rights or to negotiate contracts with publishing
houses, writers associated with LINGOs seek agents or other interest
groups outside the LINGO. Whereas writers’ guilds are thus concerned
with the promotion and protection of writers, their works, and their
interests and rights as individuals, LINGOs are interested in the nurturing
and promotion of writers, their works, and especially the resultant newly
produced literature in view of its outreach and impact on society. In
LINGOs, writers are an essential tool who help midwife and develop the
specific literary agenda of the organization. Moreover, the fact that writers
contributing to LINGOs subscribe to the NGO’s literary agenda means
35 O y NGOs

that, also in contrast to writers’ guilds, LINGOs attract only a specific

interest group of writers. Hence LINGOs are not a catchment area for the
majority of writers but tend to represent only a fraction of a specific
interest group of writers.
In Africa, the distinction between what counts as a writers’ guild and
what falls into the category of a LINGO as defined in this study is not
necessarily clear- cut, for writers’ organizations so far are not well
established across the continent due to the limited right of free speech or
the less accepted status of writers in some countries. Writers’ organizations
that come closest to the
 African Literary NGOs (LINGOs) O

29

category of a writers’ guild but that do not fall into the category of the
LINGO as proposed in this study, for instance, are the Writers’ Guild of
South Africa, the Screen Writers Guild of Nigeria, the Association of
Nigerian Writers, the Ghana Association of Writers, and the Zimbabwe
Writers Union. In Kenya and Uganda, the Writers Association of Kenya,
the Uganda Writers Association, PEN Kenya, and PEN Uganda are
organizations that certainly do share similarities with LINGOs since these
organizations at times also initiate creative writing projects, offer craft
workshops, and organize literary events. Yet, due to their primary focus on
campaigning and lobbying for writers and the right for free speech instead
of literature of a specific agenda, they fall into the category of a writers’
guild. Since the boundaries between writers’ guilds and LINGOs in Africa
are blurred at the moment, this study proposes two further dividing lines
between writers’ guilds and the LINGOs under investigation. Unlike
organizations like PEN Uganda or PEN Kenya, LINGOs as defined in this
study are not a subsidiary of a transnational organization, functioning as a
kind of tool for a worldwide agenda, as in the case of PEN International.
LINGOs as defined in the present study are homegrown organizations that
have developed from an informal grouping of like- minded local people
into an organization of national and/or transnational attention. Second,
these LINGOs— in opposition to organizations like PEN Uganda and PEN
Kenya—c ould potentially change their status from nonprofit to for- profit
at some point in their development and emerge into a for- profit or not-
just- for- profit business.

9. Thriving in Public Space

To emerge, exist, and evolve as locally established, legally recognized, and
ultimately influential actors in public, LINGOs generally depend on a
certain level of sociopolitical leeway in their local societies. In Africa,
Michael highlights in Undermining Development: The Absence of Power
among Local NGOs (2004), “the control governments exert over the NGO
registration process and their ability to monitor and deregister local NGOs
in their countries is the most obvious manifestation of the power” 37 states
have over local NGOs. Makau Mutua notes that “in Kenya, for example,
the state under Kenyatta, Moi and Kibaki regimes viewed NGOs with
 African Literary NGOs (LINGOs) O

suspicion, if not outright dread. As a result, Kenya has historically pursued

repressive policies towards NGOs, although the Kibaki regime appeared to
adopt a less abusive approach. Both Tanzania and Uganda have closely
regulated NGOs and sought to either co- opt or muzzle them.” 38 This
implies that especially the legal status of LINGOs, as well as their sole
existence as ventures of literary enterprise and fora for opinion making,
hinge on the extent to which the right of free speech is guaranteed by the
ruling regime of a society. The moment the right of free speech is limited
for the media and the press by actions of the government, the actions and
the output of LINGOs will also be
38 O African Literary NGOs

suppressed and limited, at least in terms of their offline activities within

their local society. In addition, sociocultural aspects such as transnational
literary networks and transnational literary prizes boosting their associated
writers and publications can nurture the LINGOs’ development.
Ultimately, for LINGOs to thrive independently from government control,
a certain level of democratic structures is required.

10. LINGOs as Social Networks

To better understand the nature of LINGOs as well as the dynamics within
and among them, it is helpful to imagine LINGOs as social networks. 39
Formally, a social network can be understood as a set of actors and the ties
among them.40 These actors can be individuals as well as groups,
organizations, or websites.41 Social network theory also refers to these
actors as nodes. In “Informationalism, Networks, and the Network Society:
A Theoretical Blueprint,” Manuel Castells therefore defines a network as
“a set of interconnected nodes,”42 which is “defined by the program that
assigns the network its goals and its rules of performance.” 43 Consisting of
intersected nodes, Castells states, social networks have no center as such,
only nodes “of varying relevance for the network. The relative importance
of a node does not stem from its specific features but from its ability to
contribute to the network’s performance,” 44 and in regard to African
LINGOs, also from its ability to generate a certain level of authority
defining its level of impact within the LINGO as well as on the literary and
intellectual landscapes. Nevertheless, all nodes— despite their varying
levels of authority— are relevant for the network’s performance. Yet
“when nodes become redundant or useless,” Castells concludes, “networks
tend to reconfigure themselves, deleting some nodes, and adding new
ones.”45 Although there is no doubt that in their broadest sense, Faust and
Wassermann’s as well as Castells’ network definitions also account for
writers’ guilds, publishing houses, or even governmental institutions, the
very basic idea of the social network is precisely attractive for the
description of LINGOs in this study, since it highlights the common belief
that LINGOs, like any NGO, by nature tend to be more participatory,
innovative, unbureaucratic, flexible, and inclusive. 46 Unlike governmental
institutions or bigger publishing houses, NGOs are generally viewed as not
caught up in many debilitating hierarchies. In NGO theory, it is
furthermore assumed that NGOs have better links with the actors of their
39 O African Literary NGOs

concern and thus facilitate bottom- up development. 47 In support of this

common belief about NGOs, this book therefore proposes that LINGOs are
not static bodies but in fact are highly dynamic social networks of
heterogeneous individuals, either voluntarily committed or permanent staff
members, who do not oppose the LINGOs’ agenda, who have excellent
links in the area of their concern, and who operate in flat organizational
hierarchies within the LINGO. As dynamic constructs, these
 y NGOs (LINGOs) O 40

African Literar

social networks are subject to constant change of varying degrees in view

of the NGOs’ human resources and their financial, technological, market,
or sociopolitical performances. To see LINGOs as social networks thus
leaves room for exploring their innovative and dynamic nature, which is
highly informed by the changing pattern of relationships in which actors of
a LINGO—t hat is, individuals— interact with one another and through
whose behavior LINGOs are in turn influenced in terms of their programs
and publications. It is also in this sense that, though driven by general
objectives, LINGOs cannot be seen as a collective voice of authors. Rather,
LINGOs in their publications and actions benefit precisely from the
plurality of the voices and viewpoints of their individual authors
contributing to the LINGO through their individual writing and activities.

11. Diversity
Finally, it is important to consider that each LINGO is unique. While
LINGOs share the common characteristics presented in this chapter, they
do not necessarily display all the characteristics at the same time. In fact,
they are hardly comparable with each other beyond these general
characteristics, since all LINGOs follow distinct marketing strategies and
unique philosophies that set them apart from each other in the literary
market and their sociocultural as well as sociopolitical arenas, thereby
granting individual funding opportunities and a distinctive readership.

African LINGOs in the Twenty- First Century

A Common Phenomenon on the Continent
At the moment, the phenomenon of LINGOs is not unique to Kenya and
Uganda. It is found across the continent. In Zimbabwe, the Budding
Writers Association of Zimbabwe (BWAZ) was established in 1990 and
has since aimed at “help[ing] unpublished writers who are citizens of
Zimbabwe [to] become established writers whose works are rich in quality
of ideas, have originality and make a positive impact on the lives of people
within a society with a welldeveloped reading culture.” 48 In Tanzania, the
Children’s Book Project (CBP) was established in 1991 in response to the
acute shortage of books for children.49 Accordingly, the “CBP set out to
 y NGOs (LINGOs) O 41

assist with the production and distribution of relevant reading materials and
to encourage and support indigenous authorship.” 50 In Nigeria, the Abuja
Literary Society has been enriching the literary scene with poetry and
drama since 1999, aiming “to advance the cause of books, arts and
writing.”51 In Ghana, the leading Ghanaian woman writer, Ama Ata Aidoo,
established Mbaasem52 in June 2000 as a support structure
 O African Literary NGOs

32

for women writers. There “women writers . . . have time and peace to
work.”53 Aidoo has also been one of the driving forces at Zimbabwe
Women Writers (ZWW). Established in 1990, ZWW intends “to promote
women’s writings by means of providing writing skills, to publish
women’s writings, to disseminate information on literary activities to its
members, to promote networking with gender- related and other literacy
organisations.”54 At present, ZWW has 56 branches with over 600 members
in both the rural and urban areas throughout Zimbabwe. 55 In Nigeria,
Farafina Trust, with its head office in Lagos, in 2004 was cofounded by
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, one of the rising stars of contemporary
Nigerian writing in English. The trust aims to provide a platform for
literary expression and to give an impulse for a greater interest in literature
as well as sociopolitical debate through publications in the Farafina
magazine and the Farafina workshops. In view of the great number of
LINGOs across the continent, it therefore is appropriate to speak of the
phenomenon of African LINGOs influencing the African literary and
sociopolitical debate in the twenty- first century.
Case Studies: FEMRITE and Kwani Trust
Among this great variety of LINGOs on the African continent, FEMRITE
and Kwani Trust stand out. Not only have they gained great visibility
through their nationally and transnationally recognized prize winners, but
as Marie Kruger remarks in Women’s Literature in Kenya and Uganda
(2011), Kwani Trust in Kenya and FEMRITE have dramatically reshaped
the East African literary scene for nearly a decade now. 56 Over the past
years, thus applicable to the argument in the study at hand, these LINGOs’
writers have enriched the literary landscapes inside and outside their
countries with publications of global interest and accessibility 57 like no
other existing African LINGO has thus far.
Kwani Trust meanwhile has released six volumes of its flagship
publication, the literary journal Kwani?, a number of visual narratives, and
ten mini booklets, the Kwanini. At the same time, its affiliated writers have
continued to stir a global interest in Anglophone Kenyan writing with
essays, short stories, and poetry collections published on websites and in
short story anthologies or newspapers worldwide, apart from the Kwani
 O African Literary NGOs

Trust imprint: Binyavanga Wainaina’s satirical essay “How to Write about

Africa,” for instance, circulated on the Internet as spam (2006) and
triggered several video responses on YouTube. Essays later compiled in the
Kwanini after the Vote (2008) were previously published in transnational
newspapers.
By the time Wainaina’s essay was circulating on the worldwide web,
FEMRITE, on the other hand, had already released over 14 print
publications, including novels, short story and poetry anthologies, and life-
writing collections, at
 y NGOs (LINGOs) O 44

African Literar

its ten- year anniversary in 2006. Simultaneously, FEMRITE’s members

have triggered debates about creative writing from Uganda with their short
stories and novels apart from the FEMRITE publishing imprint. Some of
these works already have appeared in transnational publishing houses:
Doreen Baingana’s short story collection, Tropical Fish, compiled in 2005,
has seen local print runs in the United States, Kenya, Nigeria, and South
Africa. In 2007, Goretti Kyomuhendo reached global attention with her
fourth adult novel, Waiting, released by the Feminist Press in the United
States. Having won the Caine Prize in 2007, Monica Arac de Nyeko
provoked a controversial debate about homosexuality in Uganda with her
short story “Jambula Tree,” previously published in Ama Ata Aidoo’s
collection of African Love Stories (2006). Among the African LINGOs
focusing on women’s writing, FEMRITE has been the only African
LINGO so far that has contributed to the women’s writing scene on the
continent with such outreach and diversity. There is no doubt therefore that
Kwani Trust and FEMRITE have occupied an important position in literary
production in Kenya and Uganda, respectively, over the past 10 to 15
years.
Origins of Diversity
As opposed to transnational literary subsidiaries such as PEN, these two
LINGOs, as outlined in the definition of the African LINGO earlier on in
this chapter, have developed from an informal grouping of like- minded
people into an organization of transnational significance. Their
establishments were triggered by different motivations.
The idea of FEMRITE was conceived by Mary Karooro Okurut, then a
professor of English Literature at Makerere University. In early 1990,
Okurut wanted a space for women to write and to publish their works. 58 Her
dream had emerged out of personal anger. Looking back, Okurut
remembers: “When I was a lecturer at university, a lecturer for literature,
one of my undergraduate students had a manuscript and she tried to get a
publisher, but the publishing houses said: ‘No, we don’t publish women’s
literature.’ And this was poetry. So first and foremost according to her the
publishers would say: ‘No, look, this is poetry. Nobody will buy the book.
Secondly, you being a woman there is probably lots of feminist stuff which
 y NGOs (LINGOs) O 45

is boring in the African context.’”59 Okurut was of the opinion that women
had many stories to tell and that, on the contrary, those poems and stories
in fact mattered a great deal in the African, and especially in the Ugandan,
context.
Unsure how to begin, Okurut initially talked to some of her colleagues
at Makerere University. Among them were professors of literature and of
linguistics and communication, writers, and poets such as Shirley
Byakutaga, the “late Catalina Matovu, Susan Kiguli, the late Prof. Rose
Mbowa, Jane Alowo,
 O African Literary NGOs

34

Edith Natukunda, Monica Chibita, Aaron Mushengezi and Austin

Bukenya.”60 Through these conversations, the idea of how to organize a
women’s writers’ group that would be both visible to and audible for the
public and be able to actually publish works took shape in Okurut’s mind.61
In 1995, Okurut finally gathered a few women in her office at the
Literature Department, Makerere University. 62 Looking back, Hilda
Twongyeirwe, the present project manager at FEMRITE, remembers that
on that afternoon Anne Ayeta Wangusa, Lilian Tindyebwa, Martha
Ngabirano, Judith Kakonge, now deceased, Susan Kiguli, Margaret
Ntakalimaze, Philo Rwabukuku, Rosemary Kyarimpa, Goretti
Kyomuhendo, and Hilda Twongyeirwe shared chairs in Okurut’s small
office.63 Twongyeirwe recalls that “Mary’s eyes danced with excitement as
she addressed us, ‘We need a room of our own . . . where we can fish out
one another, encourage and help each other to shed our inhibitions and
write. I know we shall make it. We need an organized women writers’
group.’”64 Okurut would hold a few more meetings in her office at
Makerere University, until the office became too small for the growing
number of interested women. After a while, space and freedom away from
the “enclosed little walls”65 of the university were thus needed “to explore
the ideas that were growing with each meeting.” 66 Although the idea of
FEMRITE therefore was born within a university framework, the steps
leading to its establishment as a LINGO were taken outside the campus.
FEMRITE’s desire to break free from the academic framework in Uganda
also once more highlights the shift in the Ugandan production of literary
creativity from Literature Departments and for- profit publishing houses to
frameworks outside the university, like LINGOs.
In pursuing the divorce from the university framework, Okurut managed
to gain space for the women’s group at the National Theatre in Kampala.
At the National Theatre, an interim committee was set up to keep track of
the growing group and its ideas. Okurut became the chairperson, while
Goretti Kyomuhendo was elected treasurer, Hilda Twongyeirwe took
responsibility as the publicity secretary, Margaret Ntakalimaze was
assigned to be the research and documentation secretary, and Rose
Kyarimpa was nominated general secretary.67
 O African Literary NGOs

According to Twongyeirwe, it was only in the process of formalizing

the loose group of women into an organization of potential women writers
at the National Theatre that Okurut and her followers decided that their
organization needed a name. This was the moment when Monica Chibita, a
lecturer in Mass Communication at Makerere University, suggested
“FEMRITE.” Twongyeirwe points out that “‘FEM’ stood for our gender
identity while ‘WRITE’ stood for our professional identity.” 68
Acknowledging its presence in capital letters gives evidence of how
determined these women were to make the LINGO visible in
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public space. They have been united by the common goal of making the
female voice heard in Uganda.
Since Okurut had initiated the constitution of the organization, the
founding members, in the process of naming the organization, nicknamed
Okurut Mother Hen “for gathering . . . [the women] like a hen gathering
her chicks.”69
What is encoded in the metaphor of the Mother Hen is both the respect for
Okurut’s ambitions as well as the self- understanding of the organization as
a flock of women writers that owes its origin to Okurut and that sticks
together according to Okurut’s vision. The respect for the founding mother
at FEMRITE is displayed to every visitor. A picture of Okurut is hung in
the major office at the FEMRITE compound. Okurut’s picture in
FEMRITE’s office is a strong nonverbal statement not only of honoring
Okurut but also of underlining FEMRITE’s case of wanting to give voice
and visibility to women writers and women’s stories in Uganda’s society.
Okurut’s picture in the FEMRITE office marks the FEMRITE offices as
women’s territory, a space where women rule, 70 and to every visitor, this
also acknowledges FEMRITE’s feminist mission.
Like FEMRITE, Kwani Trust started with a dream. In 2002, Binyavanga
Wainaina came back to Kenya after having spent ten years in South Africa.
Like many Kenyans of his generation who could afford to, Wainaina had
moved there after high school in order to study, for Kenya in the early
1990s was on the brink of an economic and social collapse. Upon returning
from South Africa, Kenya, and especially Nairobi, struck Wainaina as a
place of unique creativity that, in his eyes, went beyond his imagination. 71
He captured some of these impressions in the editorial of Kwani? 01 in
2003:
Lately I seem to meet all kinds of interesting people. Mostly young, self-
motivated people, who have created a space for themselves in an adverse
economy by being innovative. I have met a guy who engraves glass with
exquisite skill; . . . I have met people who never studied music, but who have
created a style of Hip Hop that is completely Kenyan; writers who never
studied literature who are writing at a level I did not know existed in this
country. I have met a film director who managed to make a film in three
weeks, with virtually no budget, who made another film in Sheng, using
 y NGOs (LINGOs) O 49

unknown actors . . . I have met a writer who has the power of words to evoke
place like no Kenyan I know. He works as a gardener in Nairobi.72

To Wainaina, this upsurge of creative expression, which, again in his eyes,

“appear[ed], without prompting, all over the suburbs and villages of this
country,”73 meant that Kenyans were again becoming “confident enough to
create [their] own living, [their] own entertainment, [their] own
aesthetic.”74
Intrigued by this personal impression of a vibrant Nairobian creativity,
Wainaina wanted to create a magazine as a platform of expression for
Kenyan artists and writers in Kenya. The magazine, Wainaina hoped,
would allow for
50 African Literary NGOs

the creation of an aesthetic that would not be circulated to the Kenyan

public
“from the corridors of a university, or from the Ministry of Culture, or by
the French Cultural Center.”75 Also, he was hoping the magazine would
finally give visibility and recognition to local writers inside Kenya through
reading activities and publications.
In terms of the founding story of the magazine Kwani? and the LINGO
Kwani Trust, there has been a sense of mythmaking. This mythmaking
includes claims according to which Wainaina’s connections with the Caine
Prize for African Writing and especially his friendship with Nick Elam, the
administrator for the Caine Prize, decisively helped advocate for a Kenyan
writers’ platform in regard to financial support, thus making Kwani? a
physical reality. Inevitably, such an idea would evoke the notion that
Kwani Trust and Kwani? are actually a Kenyan offshoot deliberately
coinitiated by the Caine Prize and later supported by the Ford Foundation
to further creative writing in Kenya, thereby indirectly helping fulfill the
Caine Prize goal of seeking out previously unknown literary talent in the
region of East Africa. This impression of cooperation between the Caine
Prize Board, the Ford Foundation, and Binyavanga Wainaina manifested
itself because Kwani? and Kwani Trust emerged in the period between
Wainaina’s winning of the Caine Prize in 2002 and Yvonne Owuor’s being
awarded the Caine Prize in 2003.
According to Nick Elam, however, assumptions about a mothering
relationship between the Caine Prize and Kwani?, as well as active help
with the establishment of Kwani Trust from the Caine Prize Board
Members, are absurd. Closer to the truth, Elam asserts in a phone
interview, is that the beginnings of Kwani? were primarily ignited by
Wainaina’s ambition, networking, and marketing strategies but not in any
way decisively and directly furthered through the Caine Prize nor
Wainaina’s personal friendship with Elam. When asked about the
connection between the Ford Foundation and Kwani Trust and the role that
Elam played in establishing it, Elam seemed surprised:
I don’t think I had any role to speak of in the formation of Kwani Trust . . . I
knew the manager at Ford Foundation in Kenya, . . . but their support for
Kwani? was not the consequence of any intervention of mine. It seems to
51 African Literary NGOs

have happened in parallel. I happened to know him just as I knew

Binyavanga and so on . . . We [at the Caine Prize] have always valued the
cooperation with Kwani? . . . [, but there is no kind of institutional
involvement] . . . [A]t no point did we set out to set up Kwani?. Kwani?
came to existence without our being aware that it was going to happen. Part
of the reason why it happened perhaps was because Binyavanga won the
Caine Prize. But he wasn’t at that point sort of saying to me: “Look, I want
to set up a literary journal.” If he had, I would have encouraged him warmly.
The Caine Prize involvement and my involvement was a happy case of
working in the same field at the same time. Rather than having any kind of
direct involvement
 y NGOs (LINGOs) O 52

African Literar

in the foundation of Kwani?, it’s a case of people who have the same kind of
basic objectives not necessarily working institutionally together, but
certainly by our activities encouraging each other. It’s not in any sense true
that as the Caine Prize we set out to found a literary journal in Kenya. We
just didn’t. We played a passive role, and although it’s passive and not
active, we are very proud of it.76

The journal Kwani? and the LINGO Kwani Trust emerged out of a
homegrown movement that in its initial idea was independent of any
institutional support from other non-K enyan organizations. Wainaina only
actively pursued the formation of the journal Kwani? after the Caine Prize
award ceremony and upon his return to Nairobi in the late summer of
2002.77 Although Wainaina spearheaded the initiation of Kwani?, it is
crucial to note that at all times during the formation of the journal, he was
actively supported by other public relation specialists, writers, artists,
bloggers, journalists, and filmmakers. Among those sharing
Wainaina’s dream and helping write the proposal for the Ford Foundation
were Muthoni Garland, Yvonne Adhiambo Owuor, Parselelo Kantai,
Martin Kimani, Judy Kibinge, Andia Kisia, Kairo Kiarie, Tom Maliti,
Rasnah Warah, Irene Wanjiru, June Wanjiru, Ciuri Ng ũgĩ, Stanley
Gazemba, and many others but also long-e stablished Kenyan writers such
as the late Wahome Mutahi. Before coming together to form the idea of
Kwani?, some of these founding writers had already been part of a loose
group of writers, editors, and artists seeking ways of establishing outlets for
Kenyan creative writing.78
In the wake of the registration of the Kwani Trust, a process of
formalization toward a functioning venture took place: an editorial and
management committee was called in place with Binyavanga Wainana as
the founding editor, Billy Kahora as the assistant editor, Kairo Kiarie, an
event manager by profession, as the general manager, and other permanent
staff established, like Eric Orende as the accountant, Annette Majana as the
assistant manager, responsible for fund management and public relations,
as well as Mike Mburu, responsible for sales and distribution.
 y NGOs (LINGOs) O 53

The African LINGO in the Twenty- First Century: A Homegrown Concept

Interestingly enough, Kenya and Uganda have thus displayed similar
literary dynamics in terms of recent LINGOs entering the market. The idea
of the African LINGO, however, is not invented for the purpose of this
book. In fact, the model of the African LINGO as a vehicle for literary
expression and sociopolitical interaction has been articulated and promoted
locally. FEMRITE and Kwani Trust both explicitly highlight their status as
NGOs in their strategic plans, thereby indirectly confirming the theoretical
framework of the African LINGO outlined in this chapter.
54 O African Literary NGOs

FEMRITE defines itself as “an indigenous, non- governmental, non-

profit making women’s organization that promotes Ugandan creative
women writers through publishing their works” 79 with an aim of
“disseminating gendersensitive literature in Ugandan society.” 80 It has a
registered publishing imprint, FEMRITE Publication Limited, which is
registered with the Uganda Register of Companies. FEMRITE Publication
Limited has been listed as a company limited by guarantee, without a share
capital, since 1998.81 According to the FEMRITE Strategic Plan 2007–
2011, “the organization is therefore a legal entity allowed to engage in the
business of manufacturing and selling publications[, but] . . . [b]eing a
Non- Government Organisation, FEMRITE is exempted from paying
income tax and whatever surplus made through the sale of her publications
is not for the benefit of any person but for the Association as a whole.” 82
Since 1996, the organization has officially been registered as an NGO in
Uganda’s capital, Kampala, under the Ugandan Non- Governmental
Organizations Registration Statute of 1989.83
Unlike FEMRITE, Kwani Trust is not per se registered as an NGO.
Initiated in the second half of 2002, it was registered as a trust in Kenya’s
capital, Nairobi, in early 2003. Registering as a trust was, however, not a
decision made in preference of a certain legal category. It was a pragmatic
decision. The trust was formed because it was the quickest legal body to
form and to subsequently allow for the absorption of grants and donations.
In light of the grants the Ford Foundation was ready to give, it was
necessary for the LINGO to register as swiftly as possible.84
Yet until recently, the form of the trust has been critical for the LINGO.
The formation of the trust had involved a trust deed setting up the trust
with trustees listed on it as custodians of any assets that the trust should
hold. This setup has meant that the trustees of Kwani Trust 85 have been
individually and personally liable should the trust undergo any legal battles
or different interests of any kind. This level of exposure for the trustees
could have been problematic.
Due to this critical point and also driven by the interest in enlarging its
revenue from the publications in order to gain greater financial
independence, Kwani Trust wanted to change its status. Wachuka remarked
on this in September 2009:
55 O African Literary NGOs

So the next phase, which we have begun recently, is to incorporate the Trust
as a corporate body, which means that you create a company that has limited
liability that is owned by the Trust, which becomes the company through
which all business is done. Kwani Trust would therefore remain a ‘parent’
organisation, with its trustees holding the said company in trust. A company
with Ltd. liability would exist as an entity of the Trust, with the Trust
channeling any grants received into it for operations. One has to pay 1% of
the total amount to be put in here to the government, but otherwise, this is
the structure most suitable for us. The great
 y NGOs (LINGOs) O

African Literar 39

thing about having a Ltd. Company, though, is that we can then venture into
profit- making, so long as any returns are channeled back to the operations of
the Trust.86

In June 2011, however, Kwani Trust was finally granted recognition

according to the Kenyan Trustees (Perpetual Succession) Act Cap 164. On
this, Wachuka notes in February 2013,
In effect, the incorporation of the Trust did away with our need to create a
Ltd. company as the exposure for our Trustees as I mentioned above was no
longer an issue as this incorporation grants the Trust the status of a corporate
body. It is important to note that we had pursued the Ltd. Company as an
alternative simply because the incorporation process was taking an unusually
long time, and we thought this might have been an option in reducing our
Trustees’ risk and exposure in the meantime, or should the incorporation not
materialize . . . [The] earned income from books, events and other activities .
. . is ploughed back into the Trust’s overall activities, and the set-u p as an
incorporated Trust allows for this arrangement as long as a clear distinction
between grant and earned income is made in our records and paper work
submitted to relevant regulatory bodies such as the Kenya Revenue
Authority.87

With its nonprofit and for- profit elements, the LINGO remains in the
NGO sector due to its overall nonprofit setup. Had it evolved into a Ltd.
company, Kwani Trust could have eventually existed in what Anheier
described as the blurred zone of the nonprofit sector 88— that is, on the
brink of becoming an independent for- profit publishing venture and write-t
ank. With its attempts at status change, Kwani Trust gives evidence of the
fact that, as suggested in the definition of the LINGO in this chapter,
African LINGOs can have the ingenuity and efficiency of profitable
enterprises.
Both FEMRITE and Kwani Trust are highly aware of their NGO status
and certainly familiar with the rhetoric that comes along with this labeling.
The analysis of the African LINGO as a model for African writing and
cultural politics in this book therefore needs to be seen as a descriptive
process, not as inventing the idea of literary nonprofit ventures.
 y NGOs (LINGOs) O

Conclusion
The introduction to these two LINGOs, FEMRITE and Kwani Trust, in
this chapter has drawn attention to the fact that these organizations
represent two very different manifestations of African LINGOs in terms of
their objectives, publications, and organizational structure. By analyzing
FEMRITE and Kwani Trust, this study will not only give insights into the
location, setup, and agenda of African LINGOs; more generally it will also
allow for a glimpse of
58 O y NGOs

African Literar

the diversity of LINGOs. The power, politics, and participation of these

LINGOs and their associated writers in regard to the production process of
literature, cultural and sociopolitical dialogue in view of history, the
present, and the future will be explored in the next chapters of this book.
 CHAPTER 3

The African Literary Revolution on

Our Doorstep?
African LINGOs Past and Present

A revolution would imply a departure from some other thing. A literary

revolution would also imply that there are diametrical differences between
what was and what is.1
— David Kaiza (2008)

In Uganda, I would really call it a revival.2

— Patrick Mangeni (2008)

Introduction

B oth literary NGOs (LINGOs), FEMRITE and Kwani Trust, have

celebrated themselves as new and revolutionary phenomena. After
attending the “Kwani? Litfest” in December 2006, the US
American literary critics Elissa Schappell and Rob Spillman announced
that “those in the know are buzzing about an African literary renaissance.
Nowhere is this more evident than at the Kenya Kwani? Litfest. The
African revolution is on your doorstep.”3 Kwani Trust has been using her
statement for marketing purposes to advertise its publications and literary
activities.4 Using similar language, FEMRITE, on the other hand, has been
promoting itself as “a wildfire, [that is] starting up a literary revolution in
the country.”5 In this chapter, I argue that FEMRITE and Kwani Trust, in
contrast to these assumptions and their self- marketing strategies, are not
entirely new or truly revolutionary phenomena. Rather these LINGOs give
evidence of a blossoming of the Anglophone literary scene in Kenya and
Uganda in the twenty- first century.
60 O y NGOs

African Literar

A look back will reveal that LINGOs like FEMRITE and Kwani Trust
in fact already existed in Africa, participating in the production of literature
as well as in the initiation of cultural and sociopolitical dialogue. In
Nigeria, Kenya, and Uganda, three literary nongovernmental ventures
surfaced at the beginning of the 1960s. For a while, I believe, these
LINGOs then existed as a third literary framework where Anglophone
literary writing from the region as well as elsewhere from Africa could
thrive apart from the university campus and the publishing industry. Those
LINGOs, particularly influential in the Anglophone writing sector of
Uganda and Kenya, were the Chemchemi Creative Center in Nairobi,
modeled on the Nigerian Mbari Clubs, and Transition, a LINGO from
Kampala.
As early examples of Anglophone African LINGOs, thus my guiding
hypothesis in this chapter, the Nigerian Mbari Clubs, the Kenyan
Chemchemi Creative Center, and the Ugandan Transition share similarities
with FEMRITE and Kwani Trust in at least four aspects: (1) their common
objectives and ambitions, (2) their organs— that is literary periodicals, (3)
their funding, and (4) their output in terms of their impact as publishing
ventures. In the following discussion, these similarities will be highlighted
while also illustrating the differences between the African LINGOs
selected for discussion. Examining these aspects in greater detail will
moreover make it clear that the LINGOs of the 1960s as well as the present
LINGOs have been driven by networks of people spanning across and
beyond transnational borders, triggering contacts and synergies between
writers as well as critics from around the world. In this regard, I argue,
these African LINGOs, like those LINGOs of today, have operated as
intermediary organizations, mobilizing resources and facilitating the
development and interaction of individuals, groups, organizations, and
communities in terms of their creative writing and reading skills as well as
their ideas and visions on society.6
61 O y NGOs

Common Objectives and Ambitions

The Beginnings: The Mbari Club and the Chemchemi Creative Center
The phenomenon of the prominent Anglophone LINGO in Africa can be
said to have its origins in Nigeria, emerging on the stage of literary
production with the onset of the 1960s. From there, this institutional pattern
radiated to Kenya and Uganda soon after. The Mbari Club was the first
Anglophone LINGO and arts center in Africa, achieving transnational
recognition after Nigeria’s independence from the British Empire in 1960.
The club was established on the wave of the Nigerian euphoria about fresh
Anglophone writers from Nigeria who like Amos Tutuola and Chinua
Achebe had been leaping onto the scene
 y Revolution on Our Doorstep? O

The African Literar 43

of world literature since the late 1950s. 7 A brainchild of the German

Africanist Ulli Beier,8 the club was cofounded by Es’kia Mphahlele, 9 and
the then emerging Nigerian authors Wole Soyinka, Christopher Okigbo,
John Pepper Clark,10 previously cooperating together at the English
Department of Ibadan on the students’ magazine, The Horn. Amos Tutuola
and Chinua Achebe, who had come up with the name 11 “mbari,”12 were
considered honorary members as they were not actively involved in the
club.13 Being the oldest among these writers actively involved at Mbari,
Mphahlele was appointed the first president of the
Mbari Committee.14
Mbari was set up in Ibadan, Nigeria, in 1961 as “a nonprofit
organization.”15 It was established “as an intended center for the activities
of all artists in Nigeria, Africa, and the black world generally” 16—a n
ambition that Gene Ulansky defined as the missing link uniting African as
well as Afro-A merican culture and literature.17 Soon, the Mbari Club of
Ibadan had two main offshoots, the Mbari- Mbayo Club of Oshogbo,
founded in 1962 by the Nigerian dramatist
Duro Ladipo alongside Beier and Mphahlele, and the Mbari-E nugu Club
of Eastern Nigeria, established in 1963. Apart from the advancement of
creative writing, the two Mbari offshoots especially constituted a platform
for sculpture, painting, and theater performance.18
With its activities as a locally based literary enterprise, the impact of
Mbari on the Anglophone writing tradition in the continent was, however,
not limited to West Africa. In 1962, the LINGO was the driving force in
organizing the Conference of African Writers under the patronage of the
Makerere English Department, Uganda. 19 It was the conference where
“together with Van Milne from Heinemann, the idea of the Heinemann
African Writers’ Series was first discussed”20 in East Africa, and Ngũgĩ wa
Thiong’o walked up to Achebe to hand over the manuscripts of his first
two novels, thereby triggering his transnational writing career and
reputation.21 The Nigerian critic Toyin Adepoju is therefore of the opinion
that Mbari proved “catalytic in the development of modern African visual
and verbal art.”22 Considering its activities, Mbari was not just influential in
Nigeria but indeed also instrumental in triggering Anglophone writing in
Kenya and Uganda.
 y Revolution on Our Doorstep? O

Three years after the establishment of the Mbari Club, in 1963, and in
the wake of the Conference of African Writers at Makerere with hardly any
East African presence at all,23 Es’kia Mphahlele moved on to Nairobi
where he established the Chemchemi Creative Center. The center was
intended as an East African equivalent of the Nigerian Mbari Clubs 24 and
accordingly was designed to introduce creative arts in Kenya and Uganda
to a wider audience than the university colleges in Kampala, Daressalam,
or Nairobi at that time could hope to reach. 25 Mphahlele formulated the
common objectives of Chemchemi as follows: “We try . . . to help the
writer, the artist, the musician—a nd the
64 O African Literary NGOs

non- artistic intellectual— to negotiate the tricky bend which lies between
their basic Africanness and outside cultures, to help them contain the shock
that they experience in confrontation with other cultures that have different
sets of values from theirs . . . In short, Chemchemi tries to create the
necessary climate for an integrated personality . . . We rely mostly on
writers, artists, musicians, actors and intellectuals to guide us, as the [sic]
articulate, sensitive people in any nation.”26 Like Mbari, Chemchemi aimed
at the inclusion of various arts such as drama, painting, and music but in
particular aimed at furthering Anglophone creative writing. Being a
“sister”27 of the Mbari Clubs, as Mphahlele pointed out, Chemchemi was to
“be inspired by the same aims, although the methods of achieving them . . .
obviously [would] be guided by local national conditions.” 28 In terms of its
target group, Chemchemi, unlike Mbari, thus was not open to the “black
world generally.”29 Focusing on what Taban Lo Liyong had called the
“literary barrenness in East Africa,” 30 Chemchemi concentrated on
promoting creative writing almost exclusively from East Africa.
Different Agendas, Familiar Patterns
Over forty years into independence, the dichotomy of the colonizer and the
colonized might have become less prominent for Kwani Trust and
FEMRITE. Nevertheless, the present LINGOs share similarities with
Mbari and Chemchemi in terms of their common objectives and ambitions.
These overall similarities surface specifically in the institutional goals, the
LINGOs’ promotion of literature across the media and their strengthening
of transnational connections, their strategies with regard to
professionalizing literary talent and targeting the youth, their thriving in the
public arena outside the academic network, and finally, in their attitude
toward literature as a means of sociopolitical commentary. Despite the
differences between the LINGOs, the examination of these specific aspects
in the following paragraphs will reveal a common pattern in the general
ambitions and objectives of Mbari, Chemchemi, FEMRITE, and Kwani
Trust, thereby bringing to the fore key features of the African LINGO as a
model for African creative writing and cultural politics in the twenty-f irst
century.
65 O African Literary NGOs

Institutional Goals
In terms of its institutional goals, FEMRITE concentrates on six major
objectives that in its strategic plan are outlined as follows: One of its
institutional goals is to (1) promote reading and writing in Uganda, largely
in English, but to a minor extent also in indigenous languages. Through (2)
publishing creative works by Ugandan women, FEMRITE aims at
increasing the number of local women writers to gain national and
transnational recognition. (3) Focusing on
 The African Literary Revolution on Our Doorstep? O

45

networking and advocacy, FEMRITE intends to promote Ugandan

women’s writing and to enhance its profile nationally and transnationally,
as well as to contribute to the process of improving the policy environment
of the publishing industry in Uganda toward greater gender equity.
Pertinent to the objectives of FEMRITE also is (4) the encouragement of
women writers to help improve their writing and personal empowerment
skills.31 As a forum for discussions about reading and writing, FEMRITE
finally aims (5) to work toward providing space and facilities for its
members to write as well as to have access to books and other reading
materials for inspiration and encouragement in the organization’s Resource
Center, a library room on the premises of FEMRITE. 32 In all its objectives,
FEMRITE thus far has concentrated largely on the Ugandan women writer
and the promotion of literature and literacy inside Uganda rather than in
any other African country.
In contrast to FEMRITE, Kwani Trust has been highlighting its
transnational ambitions beyond Kenya since its emergence, thus clearly
reflecting ambitions of Mbari. According to its strategic plan, Kwani
Trust’s four goals are

to produce and distribute original and dynamic literary products to spark a

renaissance of interest in literature by the general public of Kenya, and by an
international community of readers,

to seek out new writing talent, encourage and develop it; and make local,
national and transnational opportunities for promising writers,

to find new ways to distribute literary material that is dynamic; using new
media, the informal sector and the enterprise of individual booklovers,

to encourage the interaction of literary and other creative personalities, skills

and ideas from all over the world in Kenya and from Kenya to the rest of the
World.33

Kwani Trust—s imilar to Mbari back then—i ntends to promote creative

writing from its home country of operation inside the country just as much
as on global scale. In contrast to FEMRITE and seemingly in line with
 The African Literary Revolution on Our Doorstep? O

Chemchemi and Mbari, Kwani Trust in its institutional goals does not limit
itself to a specific target group of writers.
Although its publications have regularly included contributions from
nonKenyans, Kwani Trust has recently begun to promote writing from
elsewhere in Africa even more strongly. 34 On May 17, 2010, Kwani Trust
acknowledged that “opportunities when African writers meet on the same
pages at the continental level are few and sometimes, decades apart,
especially when this congregation is within Africa itself . . . Kwani Trust is
pleased to announce such a congress with the launch of this Africa- wide
Short Story Call Out.”35 The LINGO thereby
68 O African Literary NGOs

echoed an ambition Mbari also expressed in regard to the publications

resulting from the first Africa- wide conference at Makerere in 1962. This
parallel between Kwani Trust and Mbari gives evidence of the
intermediary function that African LINGOs seek in their ambition of
uniting writers and collecting publications from across and increasingly
from beyond national borders.
Despite their individual differences, both FEMRITE and Kwani Trust—
like Mbari and Chemchemi—c learly aim at providing a platform and a
meeting place for emerging as well as already established writers.
Strengthening Transnational Connections
In particular, the intermediary aspect that FEMRITE and Kwani Trust
share with earlier LINGOs is revealed in their strengthening of
transnational connections. Apart from its radio and television appearances
during the annual Kwani? Litfest— frequently bringing together writers
and academics from all over Africa and the diaspora— Kwani Trust offers
two regular events in Nairobi: Since 2005, Kwani Trust has been inviting
the public to the Kwani? Poetry Open Mic, mostly held at Club Soundd 36 in
Hamilton House on Kaunda Street every first Tuesday of the month at 7
pm. The Sunday Salon Nairobi is a prose reading series that takes place
every third Sunday of the month at Kengeles, Lavington Green. Started in
New York City in the summer of 2002, the prose series expanded to
Chicago in 2006. In Nairobi, the Sunday Salon opened in spring 2007 “via
a transatlantic connection established between Salon founder, Nita Noveno,
and Kwani? Readings founder, June Wanjiru,”37 Binyavanga Wainaina’s
sister. Since then, the Sunday Salon Nairobi has grown into a well-v isited
gathering, showcasing recent fiction of Kenyan writers “in reflecting the
rights, and the wrongs of the Kenya they live in and love.” 38 This event
once more highlights Kwani Trust’s transnational connections, as it is a
corporate reading venture directed in New York City, Chicago, and
Nairobi.39 Additionally, for its annual literary festivals, Kwani Trust has
been inviting scholars and writers from South Africa, Nigeria, Sierra
Leone, Uganda, and the United States. Stressing the transnationality within
Kwani Trust and its publications, Kamencu concludes that “Kwani . . . is
a[n] . . . amalgam of writers of various nationalities [such as the Canadian
journalist in residence, Arno Kopecky], but mostly Kenyan, straying into
and out of its fray, a . . . group of nationals and internationals situated all
69 O African Literary NGOs

over the world.”40 Although the trust started out as an organization that was
specifically seeking to explore the Kenyan voice and identity through
literature, it has meanwhile grown into an organization that in its activities
and publications has started to position itself as a pan-A frican LINGO
coming from a Kenyan perspective.
 The African Literary Revolution on Our Doorstep? O

47

The objective of coming from a local perspective with a pan- African

ambition can also be traced in the events, publications, and setup of Mbari
and Chemchemi. Chemchemi, led by South African writer and critic
Mphahlele, invited writers from West Africa and South Africa to conduct
its writing classes.41 Similarly, Mbari invited authors and artists from
outside Nigeria— such as from the Sudan, Mozambique, or Ghana— to
participate in writing events and poetry nights as well as to exhibit their
art.42 Moreover, Mbari associates also represented quite an interesting
blend of committed people of different citizenship: although Nigerian
writers and artists were most prominent at Mbari, the German Ulli Beier
and Ghanaian Ama Ata Aidoo—t o just mention a few examples—w ere
associates of this LINGO. Obviously, African LINGOs therefore can be
said to have always been fostering transnational connections to a certain
extent, which makes transnationality not just an objective but indeed a key
feature of the African LINGO.
At the same time, however, the extent to which transnationality surfaces
as a key feature of an African LINGO varies widely. In regard to its
member structure, FEMRITE has been exclusively limited to Ugandans.
Certainly, the LINGO has always displayed transnational elements on a
lower level since 1996, by inviting— like Chemchemi did— keynote
speakers from different countries to its annual literary events as well as by
opening their weekly readers’ club to expatriates and locals alike. As of
today, the LINGO has held over ten public readings and eight annual
literary festivals in Kampala; it made about forty documentaries in the now
defunct series “Writers’ Dawn” on Uganda Television, hosted by Patrick
Mangeni, a Ugandan playwright and friend of FEMRITE. This show
provided “a platform to writers of different nationalities to discuss their
work and even perform some of it.”43 Moreover, FEMRITE has conducted
over six hundred weekly reading clubs held on the FEMRITE premises in
form of the Monday Readers’ and Writers’ Club and the monthly Book
Club, open to both men and women of different nationalities.
Notwithstanding these transnational features, FEMRITE operated almost
exclusively locally in terms of its events and publications up to 2008.
But in 2008 FEMRITE repositioned itself in terms of its transnational
objectives and opened up for greater exchange beyond Ugandan borders.
 The African Literary Revolution on Our Doorstep? O

Due to a growing interest in wanting to sustain itself as a leading LINGO

for African/ Ugandan womens’ writing, FEMRITE started to reach out to
other women writers’ LINGOs across Africa seeking their support in
establishing itself as an umbrella organization of African women writing.
FEMRITE came up with
the program of the Regional Writers’ Residence that would allow for the
cooperation with other women LINGOs such as the Zimbabwe Women
Writers (ZWW) without diminishing their autonomy. The first Writers’
Residence was organized in November 2008 and brought together women
writers from eight
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different countries.44 According to FEMRITE, the LINGO’s “main strategy

in bringing together women writers from across the continent is to create a
sense of belonging for African writers’ groups— a sense of belonging that
will inspire women to write and to support one another.”45

Professionalizing Literary Talent

A major objective of African LINGOs is the professionalization of literary
talent. An integral part of FEMRITE’s Writers Residence in 2008,
conducted under the motto “Shared Lives,” was “to create opportunities for
new literary women voices in Africa.” 46 The gathering resulted in the
LINGO’s first publication of writers from different places in the continent,
Pumpkins Seeds and Other Gifts (2009), providing a mixture of short
stories and poetry. During its annual week of literary activities, FEMRITE
offers, for example, courses on character design and the creation of
suspense in fiction writing. In like manner, Kwani Trust invites
applications for writing courses. Displaying greater affinity with electronic
media, Kwani Trust has also conducted workshops on blogging.
When looking at African LINGOs in historical perspective, such
professionalizing of literary talent can rightly be said to have been a feature
characterizing the model of the Anglophone African LINGO since its
emergence in the 1960s. The insight into Mbari and Chemchemi earlier on
has shown that LINGOs then also offered specific writing classes for
different target groups of burgeoning writers to professionalize local
literary talent. This has especially been an ambition of Chemchemi as to
spark off a greater number of Anglophone publications by East African
writers. Some of the creative writing pieces thus produced were published
in Nexus, the students’ journal of Nairobi University, in The East Africa
Journal, as well as in Mbari’s The Black Orpheus. At FEMRITE, much of
the fictional material produced during its workshops has been used for the
submission to literary prizes and the publication of the LINGO’s
anthologies since the 1990s.47 This is a striking parallel to Chemchemi.
At FEMRITE, the professionalization of literary talent—t hat is, the
notion of female authorship in particular—i s strongly connected to the
idea of personal encouragement and female emancipation. “Training
workshops are regularly organized to help and equip the members with tips
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on how to deal with the issue of self-c ensorship,” 48 Kyomuhendo points

out in her essay “To Be an African Woman Writer: Joys and Challenges.”
With its management training courses, personal empowerment courses, and
team- building workshops, FEMRITE aims at boosting the confidence of
its members’ personal and professional lives as both members of society as
well as female writers.49 The empowerment of women in additional courses
apart from courses on writing is crucial, Goretti Kyomuhendo argues,
because women in Uganda still “have to learn [not only]
 The African Literary Revolution on Our Doorstep? O

49

to challenge unfavorable literary canons, [but also to challenge] sexism, the

politics of exclusion and other numerous prejudices that they have to
endure in their paths towards writing themselves into self-e xistence.” 50
Unlike Kwani Trust, FEMRITE— in accordance with its interest in
strengthening womanhood in Ugandan national development— thereby
emphasizes its developmental aspect of both personal and literary
emancipation of its female writers more strongly. In terms of the African
LINGOs looked at in this study, the idea of combining the
professionalization of writing skills with social empowerment can be said
to present a new feature not just for Uganda but more generally to the
model of African LINGOs in the twenty-f irst century. It reflects the
increased attention women have been given in African countries.
The professionalization of literary talent at African LINGOs is,
however, regularly limited. Apart from its reading events for high schools,
these empowerment courses at FEMRITE as well as the writing classes
conducted by Kwani Trust are not free of charge. At Kwani Trust, anyone,
whether African or non- African, can join as long as they are able to afford
the classes. Writing experience and a publication record are seldom
required. But at a cost of about 64 USD a week not everyone is able to
afford such training, taught by transnationally acclaimed writers,
established journalists, or national prize winners. 51 At FEMRITE,
membership is required prior to participation.52 Its specific classes are free
of charge but only open to paid- up members of FEMRITE, who due to the
LINGO’s agenda are almost exclusively women and Ugandan. With the
exception of their radio and television programs, as well as public debates,
the professionalization of literary talent at both LINGOs is therefore
restricted, quite in contrast to Mbari and Chemchemi. At times this
financial aspect at FEMRITE and Kwani Trust therefore has the effect of
creating a niche for the well- off, urban middle- class, Anglophone
Kenyans and Ugandans or expatriates who can afford to spend this amount
of money on reading and writing events.
Thriving Outside the Academic Network?
Notwithstanding the fact that writing and reading workshops suggest a
level of academic involvement, it is furthermore interesting to note that
 The African Literary Revolution on Our Doorstep? O

LINGOs past and present have always distanced themselves from being
labeled academic institutions. Instead, they have highlighted their ambition
of constituting a nonacademic forum for society. With regard to Mbari, Ulli
Beier, for instance, acknowledged, “We have very small premises with an
art gallery in which we have tried to be less indiscriminate than, frankly, an
institution like British Council and so on and so on.” 53 Mphahlele made it
clear that “as an . . . institution, Chemchemi is not subject to the kind of
bureaucracy that is peculiar to universities. This in turn makes it possible
for the largest number
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of people— Africans, Europeans and Indians— to use its facilities, to

nourish it with ideas for development. It should also be emphasized that
none of the ‘Mbari’ centers, including Chemchemi, intends to, or can ever,
compete with local universities, even although we may seem to duplicate
functions: in reality we do not do this.” 54 In a personal interview recorded
in 2006, Wainaina remarked about Kwani Trust, “We occupy a space that’s
post- school or afterschool.”55 Thereby, Wainaina clearly distanced Kwani
Trust from educational institutions such as high schools, colleges, or
universities. The LINGO partners with Nairobi University for some of its
public debates, such as during its Litfests, but would not highlight this as a
close and prominent partnership.
According to Twongyeirwe, FEMRITE—l ike Kwani Trust—p erceives
itself primarily as a LINGO that works with other literary associations to
find outlets for women writers. At the same time, however, FEMRITE also
highlights the fact that it “work[s] in partnerships both with primary and
secondary schools . . . [to] develop the reading culture from there.” 56 On the
university level, FEMRITE has in particular cooperated with the Institute
of Gender Studies at Makerere University, joining the LINGO’s activities
and discussing its publications. FEMRITE understands itself as a partner of
academic institutions, yet not as an academic institution per se.57
The LINGOs’ ambition of wanting to occupy a nonacademic space is
rooted in the idea that these organizations aim at promoting a reading
culture and at professionalizing literary talents from different backgrounds,
who, unlike Anglophone writers of earlier decades, are not necessarily
trained at and involved with English Literature departments. By
representing themselves as academic institutions or by affiliating
themselves too much with academic and educational institutions, LINGOs
would immediately limit the circle of their audience and members. As
pointed out in Chapter 1, creative writing in Uganda and Kenya for a long
time has regularly been associated either with the universities where many
of the prominent writers operated from in the 1960s and 1970s or with
educational material and textbooks for schools. This notion of creative
writing as being a part of the textbook culture, however, is an aspect
African LINGOs do not want to have attached to themselves. Therefore,
they are strongly driven by the ambition to constitute an autonomous forum
77 O African Literary NGOs

that, as in the case of Chemchemi, Mbari, Kwani Trust, and FEMRITE,

might cooperate with academic institutions but that distances itself clearly
from being an academic institution.
Admittedly, it needs to be remarked that despite their ambition of
situating themselves in the nonacademic sector, it is a fact that the lines
between academia and nonacademia at African LINGOs have been
inevitably blurred due to the professional background of some members
and participants. Wole Soyinka and Ulli Beier at Mbari, Es’kia Mphahlele
at Mbari and Chemchemi,
 The African Literary Revolution on Our Doorstep? O 78

Wambui Mwangi and Binyavanga Wainaina at Kwani Trust, and Mary

Karooro Okurut and Susan Kiguli at FEMRITE were or are actively
involved as both associates of their LINGOs as well as professors of
literature or creative writing teachers at universities. This blurring of the
lines between LINGOs and academia was acknowledged by Mphahlele in
1965 when he remarked, “We do not intend to compete with local
universities . . . [Nevertheless] we are able to find common ground, and do
in fact attract students and lecturers in our various activities such as
lectures and workshops.”58 The fact that academically trained people are
found behind African LINGOs derives from the fact that the establishment,
registration, and funding of a LINGO require both a certain level of
financial independence in terms of being able to already cover for the basic
needs of everyday life as well as a certain level of literacy.
Seeing Literature as a Tool for Sociopolitical Intervention
Additionally, striking similarities between LINGOs of the past and present
surface when looking at the mission statements and activities of these
literary institutions, revealing their understanding of the role of literature
with regard to its implications for society. Es’kia Mphahlele remarked that
the mission of Chemchemi was “to look for points of harmony between
tribal modes or to reconcile them; to help the writer, the artist, . . . —a nd
the non-a rtistic intellectual— to negotiate the tricky bend which lies
between their basic Africanness and outside cultures.” 59 This vision of
using literature for grasping the sociopolitical ongoing at Chemchemi
reverberates in the mission of Kwani Trust. Kwani Trust aspires to largely
draw “those artists associated with interrogating a Kenyan identity, trying
to find who . . . [they] are, here and now” 60 and “to create a society that
uses its stories to see itself more coherently.” 61 In order to get people to
read again, Kwani Trust aims “to provide them with a forum that helps
them answer questions about themselves.” 62 Its activities and each issue of
Kwani? have therefore focused on different concerns of society. The
Kwani? Literary Festival in August 2008 was devoted to the role of the
writer in fast-c hanging conflict and postconflict situations, and the recent
issue of the journal, Beyond the Vote: Maps and Journeys, released in
March 2009, explores Kenya in the context and violent aftermath of its
2007 elections.63 Following its discussion forum “The Kenya We Want”
and its short story competition “The Kenya I Live In” of 2009, Kwani
 The African Literary Revolution on Our Doorstep? O 79

Trust in February 2010 invited “writers to submit poems [for the ‘Kenya I
Know’ Poetry Call Out] that explore the multiple realities we live in, the
moments that define our public and personal lives, be they located in our
parents, our childhood; high school and/or college, our adventures
accessing and conquering (or not) workplaces, what parenthood begins to
look like; the things that change, the things that remain the same.”64
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52 O African Literar

Kwani? 06 is about a certain generation, and therefore only invited

entries from writers born after September 12, 1978; 65 Kwani? 07 focuses on
Kenyan perspectives from the diaspora. Similarly to Chemchemi in the
1960s, Kwani Trust situates itself as a forum for writers and artists that not
only aims to promote reading and creative writing in the country but also
regards literature as a tool for making sense of questions about Kenyan
identities, tribal issues, and sociocultural as well as sociopolitical
developments.
Kwani Trust’s attitude of sociopolitical and sociocultural impact also
rings true for the Ugandan context today where FEMRITE seeks to provide
“a platform for creative women writers to contribute to national
development through creative writing.”66 When interviewed on the
intended impact of FEMRITE publications in July 2008, Twongyeirwe
stated, “I think what we look at for the future is to have our works
influence politically and socially.”67 As at Chemchemi and Kwani Trust,
literature at FEMRITE is seen as a medium that can contribute to public
discourse and social development, although FEMRITE’s attitude toward
society differs in that it focuses mainly on the sociopolitical role and
identities of women as well as children and the role of literature in
Ugandan school education.
Although in different ways according to their unique agendas, the
LINGOs past and present have clearly focused on highlighting and on
commenting on sociocultural and sociopolitical aspects of their societies
aside from their objective of promoting and professionalizing literary talent
and literature.

African LINGOs and Their Periodicals

Purpose and Plurality
It is quite common for African LINGOs to have a journal or magazine as
an outlet for their literary as well as sociopolitical agendas. Established by
the Germans Ulli Beier and Jahnheinz Jahn68 in 195769 and initially
published and distributed with the help of the Nigerian Ministry of
Education, the journal Black Orpheus, for instance, was later linked to the
Mbari Clubs. The journal appeared under the Mbari Imprint 70 and became
 y NGOs

the flagship publication of the LINGO, selling for approximately eight

USD.71 Chemchemi distributed its monthly bulletin Chemchemi News;
Transition’s major publication was its literary journal Transition.
FEMRITE launched its literary magazine New Era: The Magazine That
Portrays Our Identity and Dignity in July 1997. It was later followed by its
sister local- language magazine, Ateker. According to FEMRITE, “the two
publications were meant to strengthen the networking program as they
were used as tools for the dissemination of information, with the following
objectives: They
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provided an avenue for women writers and some of the stories which do
not find their way into mainstream media. They highlighted and addressed
some of the issues which impede women’s contribution to development.
They promoted Ugandan culture.”72 The magazines could be bought from
FEMRITE for 1,500 Ugandan shillings in Uganda, for two USD in other
East African countries, and for five USD for expatriates or readers outside
of East Africa, although FEMRITE hardly managed to distribute its
magazine beyond Uganda due to administrative reasons. With these
magazines, FEMRITE aimed at portraying the identity and dignity of
women “as women, giving people information, interesting material to read
and a platform to air their views.” 73 In total, FEMRITE produced thirty
issues of New Era. A monthly magazine, New Era dealt with “topics
ranging from relationships, cookery, children’s stories and others societal
concerns,”74 domestic violence, AIDS, abortion and pregnancy (all in New
Era, July 1997, No. 1), polygamy, and homosexuality (New Era,
November 1997, No. 4). Moreover, the magazines included crosswords and
children’s competitions, short stories, poems, and interviews with Ugandan
writers. Unfortunately, New Era and Ateker ceased to exist in March 2002.
This was largely “because of problems associated with revenue collection
and distribution.”75 The journals were replaced in September 2002 by the
biannual journal, Wordwrite. However, due to a shortage of human
resources at FEMRITE, Wordwrite has not survived beyond two issues.
Featuring crosswords, recipes, and children’s stories much more than
creative writing, FEMRITE’s magazines clearly served less as a literary
magazine per se but functioned much more as women’s journals and as
sociopolitical statements since the idea of the journals had originally
emerged out of the desire to attack the “unscrupulous people [who] had
taken advantage of the lack of affordable reading material and cashed in on
pornographic magazines . . . [which] as always, were portraying women as
sex objects or toys to please men by posing half-n aked.” 76 In the eyes of
FEMRITE, the creation of New Era was a way of stepping ahead “in
characteristic style”77 to “save the situation”78 and to contribute to the
respect of women in Ugandan society. The simultaneous interest of
FEMRITE’s Anglophone journal in literary and gender issues, which has
been the first of its kind in Uganda, for instance, constitutes a dramatic
 y Revolution on Our Doorstep? O 83

difference between the LINGOs under investigation as well as the literary

landscapes in both Kenya and Uganda. FEMRITE’s magazines to this
extent carried the notion of a social and literary revolutionary aspect in the
region.
As can be seen from this selection, periodicals have been used by
African LINGOs to publish texts that conform to their respective agendas.
They may be used for mere information purposes in the form of a bulletin,
as was the case at Chemchemi, or they may be used as sites for publishing
largely nonfictional articles on various social and cultural issues, as was the
case at FEMRITE. In
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54 African Literar

some cases, such as at Mbari, Transition, and Kwani Trust, journals are
primarily literary, functioning as the major publishing outlet for the
LINGOs’ fiction.
Certainly LINGOs are, however, not the only institutions that publish
journals. If read against the historical landscape, journals of African
LINGOs have been thriving among a great plurality of periodicals. Since
its inception in 2003, the journal of Kwani Trust has sometimes been
referred to as the first literary journal from the region of East Africa. 79 This
notion is misleading, yet owed to the fact that Kwani? was the first visible
journal to have come out of Kenya after many years of oppression and
silence in the region. An examination of the landscape of literary journals
in East Africa clearly illustrates that Kwani? is not the first journal but only
one out of many journals that have appeared in Kenya and Uganda. In
terms of its layout and the incorporation of text genres, it has undeniably
been influenced by a whole tradition of African literary journals that were
thriving in the 1960s and 1970s. Among these were the Makerere
university journal Penpoint, which is now Dhana, and the Nairobi
University journals, Nexus, that Mphahlele used also as a literary outlet for
the Chemchemi Creative Center. Later the university journal Nexus was
followed by Busara, which today is known as Mwangaza. As student
journals of the Literature Department at the Nairobi University and
Kenyatta University, these journals, like Penpoint at Makerere or The
Horn at Ibadan University, have largely contained poetry and prose by
students.
While the number of literary journals remained low in Uganda
following the political turmoil in the 1970s, Kenya had an average of 36
periodicals full of literary experiments that had been published regularly up
to the mid1970s.80 According to George Ogola, “these included Drum,
True Love, Men Only, Trust Viva and Joe”81 and included publications by
writers from both the nonacademic as well as the academic framework,
such as Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o.82 Due to the sociopolitical circumstances under
the Moi regime, such journals later largely circulated in the underground:
here Mwanguzi, Kenya Twendapi?, Cheche Kenya, Coup Broadcast,
Upande Mwingine, Article 5, Kauli Raia, Tunakataa, Pambana, and
People’s Weekly were among the most active underground periodicals. 83
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Cheche Kenya and Pambana were issued by the December Twelve

Movement.84 Whereas these periodicals tended to primarily publish
political essays and columns, Kauli Raia- Tunakaata provided an example
of underground resistance poetry that was composed by the group Upande
Mwingine during the mid- 1980s.85

Kwani? versus Transition

Although certainly not the first literary journal in the region, Kwani? has
been an outstanding example in the region for almost ten years. This
subchapter will
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focus on Kwani? and Transition because of their prominence as literary

journals in Kenya and Uganda that FEMRITE with its rather sociocultural
and now defunct journals as well as Chemchemi with its bulletins have not
achieved. Despite the fact that earlier journals existed, until the emergence
of Kwani? the country did not have a journal that had such global outreach
and that was in circulation for so long. Kwani?’s prominence as a literary
journal on both the national and transnational levels embodies a
revolutionary notion for Kenya.
Yet, in view of periodicals produced by African LINGOs in this region,
Kwani? resembles the founding story and success of Uganda’s Transition.
Transition was a LINGO that, similar to Kwani Trust at its emergence,
was largely defined through its magazine, 86 rather than a LINGO of other
publications. At the age of 23, the editor, Rajat Neogy, born in Uganda 87
and of Ugandan- Indian background, had just returned from his studies in
London with a degree in political science, eager to make a contribution to
society:88 “‘Society as it is, for what it is, [is] totally unacceptable to me for
obvious reasons. It cannot be changed; there is no satisfaction in Utopian
intellect. I do not want to change it. I am an outsider. I accept my
inaccessibilility [sic] to others. I don’t make a fetish of being ‘outsider’ . . .
Since I am surrounded by stupidity and I am not selfish (because not
possessive or acquisitive materially or spiritually) I have a certain duty . . .
I have to add my contribution, in iron and steel . . . in permanence.’” 89
Neogy had heard of the West African literary magazine Black Orpheus
and, “impressed by the success[,] . . . was determined to try something
similar in East Africa.”90 With Black Orpheus, Beier, the founder of the
journal, had hoped to stimulate literary activity in West Africa to provide
“a vehicle for the new [black] writers who would emerge.” 91 Akin
Adesokan draws the connection between Black Orpheus and Transition,
stating that “Neogy too intended a vehicle on which the wagon of intellect
may travel for certain distances.”92
Transition started off by publishing local writers. In the inaugural issue
of the magazine, Neogy declared “that Transition’s ‘constant aim is to
search and encourage writers and poets from East Africa.’” The early
issues of Transition thus saw the publication of “a short story by John
Nagenda in Transition 2 (December 1961), and a story by Ngũgĩ wa
 y Revolution on Our Doorstep? O 87

Thiong’o (then James Ngũgĩ) in Transition 3 (January 1962).”93 Both

Nagenda and Ngũgĩ, however, were at the University of Makerere at that
time and there, as Stephanie Jones remarks, “already involved with its
literary magazine, Penpoint.”94 According to Abiola
Irele, there was hence “an early danger, the likelihood that Transition
would simply become another ‘restricted’ University of Makerere
magazine.”95
But, typically for African LINGOs and their activists, Neogy wished to
clearly distance himself and Transition from the academic sphere.
Stephanie Jones draws attention to the fact that in “Notes from a
Dangerous Man’s Diary” (Transition 1, September 1961) Neogy
considered, “‘academic life [as]
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a leveller of mediocrity— not compatible for [sic] genius like mine, a few
others like me.’”96 She concludes that “Neogy was obviously not
comfortable with th[e] limited focus”97 of his magazine, running the danger
of being an echo of Penpoint. In contrast to Penpoint, which was largely
limited to the university discourse and in terms of production dependent on
academia, Neogy wanted a magazine that would stir a debate beyond the
realm of the university and catch the public’s eye. In his mind he had “an
independent, intellectual magazine about culture and the African creative
scene,”98 Valerie Humes99 recalls. Neogy strove to situate the magazine and
himself outside the English Department on Makerere Hill and to create a
nonacademic platform for literary pieces and intellectual debates.
Hence Neogy gradually widened the scope of contributors to Transition,
thereby redefining the idea of a literary magazine in the context of East
Africa and putting Kampala, Uganda, on the map in terms of transnational
debates on the literary scene in Africa. In reference to this attempt, Jones
highlights that “in Transition 8 (March 1963), Neogy’s editorial announced
plans to produce a
West African edition of Transition, edited by Okigbo [, involved with The
Horn, Black Orpheus, and the Mbari Clubs,] . . . [to bring about] ‘a closer
understanding and sharing between East and West Africa.’ At the same
time, his vision also reached beyond West Africa, promoting Transition 9’s
‘breakthrough into the international scene’ through the publication of ‘the
first translations to appear in the English language of the . . . Swedish poet
Tomas Transtromer.’”100
With this choice of poems and other nonlocal publications in Transition
8 and 9, Neogy cut across cultural boundaries and color bars at a time when
East Africa was just gaining independence and literary magazines in West
and South Africa had been largely concerned with the promotion of
“black” writers only. In this regard, Transition, in contrast to Black
Orpheus,101 was progressive. Through its transnational contributions in
1963, Neogy established Transition as a magazine that was not limited to
local or “black” contributors.
In the following years, Neogy collected voices from writers all over the
continent. Among them were Okot p’Bitek and Taban Lo Liyong from
Uganda; Grace Ogot and Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o from Kenya; Chinua Achebe,
89 O y NGOs

Wole Soyinka, and Chris Okigbo from Nigeria; Cameron Duodo and Ama
Ata Aidoo from Ghana; Dennis Brutus and Nadine Gordimer from South
Africa; David Rubadiri from Malawi; as well as writers from the Sudan,
Ethiopia, Zambia, and Tanzania.102
In terms of the magazine’s sociopolitical significance Adesokan adds,
“Transition . . . [became] the battlefield for such questions as African
socialism, pan- Africanism, the status of ethnic and racial minorities,
political partisanship as against free speech and literary ‘universalism’, the
use of indigenous languages versus Western languages and the role of
Western critics and literary
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standards.”103 Apart from promoting literary talents,Transition gradually

evolved into a journal that was also occupied with questions about creative
writing and its sociopolitical impact in Africa.
In Transition 37 (October 1968), the American Paul Theroux described
the magazine as having established an transnational profile, quoting the
opinion of the New York Times that Transition is “‘Africa’s slickest,
sprightliest, and occasionally sexiest magazine’” 104 and referring to The
Toronto Globe and Mail, which understood the magazine as “‘Africa’s
most outspoken and wide- ranging magazine.’”105 Seven years after its
establishment, Transition had made its way from local to worldwide
attention and had developed into a platform for literary and sociopolitical
debates, selling 12,000 to 17,000 copies, with each issue and paying 150
dollars per contribution at its peak.106
Although unlike Transition, Kwani? emphasizes fiction on a larger scale,
Kwani? has become for present-d ay East Africa what Transition used to
be in the 1960s— not the first but presently the most visible literary journal
in the region of East Africa with both continent-w ide and worldwide
recognition, although it has not yet achieved such high circulation.
Like Rajat Neogy, Binyavanga Wainaina felt he wanted to make a
lasting contribution to the arts scene of Kenya by giving voice to the
literary efforts ongoing in the country. Both journals, Transition and
Kwani?, were driven by individuals who upon returning to their countries
of birth pursued their dreams of capturing the contributions on literature,
culture, and politics through a literary journal. As outlined in Chapter 2,
though, Wainaina, unlike Neogy, was not so much a single driving force
but much more supported by a whole team of writers and media experts. At
this point it is also worthwhile to add that both authors took their
inspiration from other already existing African journal initiatives: Neogy
had taken his inspiration from Black Orpheus in Nigeria, West Africa,
whereas, according to Dina Ligaga, Wainaina’s idea of the creation of
Kwani? was influenced by the arts journal Chimurenga from South
Africa,107 to which he had contributed with parts from his work
Discovering Home.
Despite the differences between Transition and Kwani? in terms of their
specific content and the sociopolitical framework of the time of their
 y Revolution on Our Doorstep? O 91

existence, a similarity surfaces with regard to their layout. In her essay

“Kwani? Exploring New Literary Spaces in Kenya,” Dina Ligaga
establishes a connection between Kwani? and Transition, arguing that in
terms of layout, Transition always allowed “for the publication of fiction,
picture narratives, articles, photography and a host of other artistic forms,
widening the scope of what can be published within a literary journal[,
which is] a style that Kwani? visibly adopts.”108 Indeed, Kwani? issues have
featured comic strips, photos, creative nonfiction, and fiction that echo the
style of Transition and that, when looking at the inspiration for Transition,
also echo the style of Black Orpheus.
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Although Ligaga makes a crucial point by pointing out the parallel

between the layout of Transition and Kwani?, I argue in this chapter that
Kwani?’s style and even the style of Transition and Black Orpheus need to
be seen in a wider context of other influences. Apart from Transition,
Kwani? has been indirectly influenced by a whole tradition of nonacademic
Kenyan journals and periodicals of the 1970s, such as Drum and Joe. The
latter was initiated by Hillary Ng’weno, a Kenyan journalist, and Terry
Hirst, an English artist. It was regularly published in Kenya between 1973
and 1979 and “employ[ing] street- wise language in comic strips, fiction
stories and thematic columns to explore everyday problems of the urban
population,”109 provided a space for the popular literature that, as shown
earlier, was dismissed as nonliterature by literary critics from the university
framework.110 Joe was partly modeled on the journal Drum, initially
founded by the British James Bailey, R. J. Stratford, and R. J. Crisp and
“established in the 1950s in South Africa to cater for the black urban
population.”111 Later, Drum published separate editions for West, East, and
Central Africa.112 Dorothy Woodson argues “that individually and
collectively, these writers developed a new form of journalism . . . [that can
be called] the ‘Drum School.’”113 George Ogola quotes Woodson saying
that “it was a kind of writing that ‘had a certain immediacy and vibrancy to
it . . . in spite of their own frustrations, the writers were capable of laughing
at themselves and this gave a particular bittersweet ambiance to the
magazine . . .’”114 In the 1950s, Es’kia Mphahlele, who, as noted earlier on,
had a substantial influence on Black Orpheus as well as the LINGOs Mbari
Clubs, Chemchemi, and Transition, had been one of the vibrant literary
columnists at Drum. Therefore, it does also not seem far- fetched to argue
that Black Orpheus bore traces of the early Drum development before
turning into a unique product of its own. In the same way Transition,
inspired by Black Orpheus, can be said to have been influenced by
elements of the earlier Drum development. Moreover, the cross-f
ertilization of genre and layout that all these literary journals, including the
Ugandan version of Transition and the Nigerian Black Orpheus, have
displayed to various degrees was also a distinctive feature of Drum in the
1950s. Ogola highlights that “Drum featured a number of genres: poetry,
short fiction, cartoons, gossip columns, [or] letters columns [sic].” 115 In this
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regard, Ogola argues, Drum could be considered a prototype of African

literary magazines.116 With its Kenyan issues,
Drum also influenced earlier Kenyan journals like Joe and “Whispers.”117
Indeed, Kwani Trust is highly aware of the existence of this earlier
tradition of journals on the continent. Kwani? 01 with the essay “A Brief
History of Genocide” on the Rwandan situation includes a reprint of an
article by Mahmood Mamdani from the US- based Transition. In a note
about the journal beyond the essay, the editors of Kwani Trust comment on
the history of Transition as started by Neogy and describe its contemporary
role as a magazine published from the
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United States. In the last sentence of its remark, the editors acknowledge
kinship with the historical version of Transition (1961– 76) by pointing
out, “Like Kwani?, Transition is dedicated to finding and nurturing the
next generation of African litterateurs.”118 In Kwani? 03, which right from
its cover with cartoon characters in disco fashion evokes a sense of the
1970s, one can find pages of Joe Magazine from 1975 to 1978: such as a
title page of the September issue of Joe magazine in 1976 followed by a
number of cartoons from the November issue of the same year, letters to
the editor of the Joe magazine, and a reprint of the review of Dillibe
Onyeama’s novel Sex Is a Nigger’s Game.119 Interestingly enough, these
pages of Joe are not listed in the table of contents of Kwani? 03. By
embedding the pages of Joe but not announcing their existence in the table
of content of Kwani? 03, I believe, the editors at Kwani Trust identify and
align the journal with the tradition of Joe in a self-e xplanatory manner.
This connection is not something that the editors intend to highlight or
celebrate in Kwani? 03 as a document of literary history but rather a kind
of tradition of journal writing that the LINGO revives and carries on by its
inscription of Joe in Kwani?.
Notwithstanding the fact that the magazine was directly inspired by the
South African journal Chimurenga, Kwani?’s idea of combining various
literary genres and layouts reflects a trend. This trend was started by Drum
in South Africa in the 1950s and in later decades further developed by
Black Orpheus, Transition, the Kenyan issues of Drum, Joe and
“Whispers,” all of which at times (like in the case of Black Orpheus and
Transition) were also directly influenced by each other. Despite the fact
that Kwani?’s layout style is certainly distinct, a look at the history of the
layout of literary journals in Africa reveals that the idea of genre crossing
in African literary journals has been triggered and influenced by a whole
tradition of literary journals on the continent. To introduce cartoons and
photography together with fiction writing therefore is not a trend that
Kwani? has introduced to the literary scene of Kenya. Rather it is a trend
that in regard to the layout of literary magazines at African LINGOs, the
writers behind Kwani Trust have revived and developed further.
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Funding
There is no doubt that the most interesting parallels between the LINGOs
of past and present surface especially in regard to their funding. Not only
does the insight into the funding background reveal the LINGOs’
dependence on external funding, but it also highlights a strong tradition of
links with transnational organizations up to the present. All the previous
and contemporary LINGOs under investigation in this book have primarily
relied on or benefitted from transnational donors. Commenting on this fact,
Vivian Paulissen argues
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that in the African context funding is almost natural since nonprofit cultural
and literary initiatives on the continent have always been challenged to
sustain themselves independently and to date have hardly been supported
by the government or local private businesses because cultural and literary
products have never enjoyed high priority. 120 The fact that this situation has
remained largely unchanged until today definitely needs to be read as both
a marker for the lack of interest in furthering creative writing by
government institutions as well as a marker for the low market for
Anglophone creative writing in Kenya and Uganda in the twenty- first
century.
In the 1960s, the Mbari Clubs of Nigeria, the Chemchemi Creative
Center, and Transition were all funded largely by the same foundations
from overseas. At some point of their development, they were thus
financially supported by the Congress for Cultural Freedom (CCF) 121 and
the Fairfield Foundation. Mphahlele, previously the first president of
Mbari, was the director of the CCF African program from 1962 to 1963.
He recommended Ulli Beier to John Thompson, the Executive Director of
the Fairfield Foundation,122 who, as Peter Benson notes, “signed the money
over to Beier’s Mbari Cultural Center . . . to be used as Beier saw fit.” 123 In
parts the Mbari Clubs were, however, self-s ustained as the profits from a
café in Ibadan that sold beer and lunches provided the foundation upon
which the initial Mbari Club and its activities were organized. Although
Mbari did not rely just on the funding, it enjoyed the funding of the CCF
for activities and promotion tours in Nigeria and beyond until 1964;
thereafter the American Fairfield Foundation, the parent organization of the
CCF, stepped in and continued supporting Mbari financially. Some
activities at Mbari were also already sponsored by the Ford Foundation, 124 a
New York– based foundation supporting nongovernmental projects in the
Middle East, Asia, Latin America, Russia, and Africa, that with its arts and
culture program has been active in West Africa since 1958. In Kenya,
Chemchemi was not self- sustained in any way, but right from its start by
Mphahlele was set up with the financial support of the CCF and the
Fairfield Foundation.
In contrast to Chemchemi and as in the case of Black Orpheus and the
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Mbari Clubs in Nigeria, the sponsoring of Transition through the CCF and
the Fairfield Foundation came in only after the magazine had been initiated
and printed several times. The funding of Transition started at the end of
1962 after Es’kia Mphahlele had introduced Rajat Neogy to John
Thompson, the executive director of Fairfield Foundation. In his analysis
of the funding dynamics behind Transition, Akin Adesokan points out that
“the decision to support Neogy’s Transition was taken largely by
Thompson himself on the recommendation of Mphahlele simply on the
grounds that Neogy was a capable editor who stood for ideals that [the
Fairfield Foundation, represented by] Thompson wanted to see
strengthened in Africa— that is multiparty democracy, freedom
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of speech; predominance of intellectual over bureaucratic, political,

military and traditional tribal elites; and a continued cultural interchange
with, and allegiance to the West.” 125 Neogy agreed to the funding because
he had run into debts producing the first issues of Transition.”126
Similar to these historical LINGOs, Kwani Trust and FEMRITE have
largely relied on European and American donors, which, as in the case of
the Ford Foundation, highlights the link between the earlier and
contemporary LINGOs. In its first years, Kwani Trust received between
100,000 USD and 255,000 USD from the Ford Foundation. 127 This funding
has increased alongside the LINGO’s output in terms of projects, events,
and publications (2009: 395,000 USD; 2010: 20,000 USD for Litfest 2010
in Nairobi and 7,751 USD for Exploring Mobile Technology for Social
Development in New Delhi; 2011: 600,000 USD).128 With its East African
chapter established in Nairobi in 1962, the Ford Foundation aims to
“support efforts to secure the safety and well- being of citizens; expand
democratization and civic participation; strengthen the capacity of local
philanthropies and nonprofits; advance creativity in the arts, strengthen
freedom of expression and celebrate diversity in heritage and identity; and
build new partnerships for peace and social justice.” 129 The Ford
Foundation’s long- term funding of Kwani Trust suggests that the Ford
Foundation considers Kwani Trust an organization contributing to social
and literary change in Kenya.
A similar situation of transnational funding presented itself in Uganda
where FEMRITE in its early years was primarily funded by the Humanist
Institute for Development Cooperation (HIVOS), a Dutch NGO. Between
1998 and 2008 FEMRITE thus received 18,393.17 USD up to 43,736.94
USD.130 HIVOS strives for the long-t erm improvement of the
circumstances of poor and marginalized peoples in Africa, Asia, and Latin
America and for the empowerment of women in particular. According to
its web page, HIVOS is guided by humanist values such as human dignity,
self- determination, an aversion to dogmas and totalitarian regimes, and a
sense of mutual solidarity. Being an organization that aims at promoting
women writers in Uganda, FEMRITE was granted the money on the fact
that its objectives were concordant with the ideas of HIVOS. The funding
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stopped because HIVOS usually does not support organizations for more
than ten years.
Similar to Mbari and Transition, the funding at Kwani Trust and
FEMRITE by transnational donors emerged through personal contacts only
after the ideas of the LINGOs were already in circulation. This underlines
the fact that LINGOs initially are homegrown institutions usually started
without external funding in the background. The beginnings of Kwani? at
its initial online version in late 2002 were supposedly funded by Wainaina
and some private donations before the Ford Foundation stepped in.
Likewise, FEMRITE had no financial
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means in the beginning. According to Hilda Twongyeirwe, “FEMRITE’s

initial activities were run with donations from the American Center,
Kampala and other well- wishers such as Coca- Cola (Uganda) and Uganda
Airlines”131 before HIVOS stepped in, initiated through a personal contact
by Mary Karooro Okurut. To date, Kwani Trust and FEMRITE, similar to
Mbari, support their organizations to a small extent through the revenue of
their publications, membership fees, or the tuition fees for their writing
classes. Nevertheless, in absence of substantial local funding, they still rely
heavily on non- African donor support for most of their programs and
publications.
When comparing these funding structures behind previous and
contemporary LINGOs, conclusions about the transnational funding
situation at African LINGOs can be drawn. It becomes clear that the
transnational funding of Kwani Trust and FEMRITE certainly is not a
recent phenomenon; African LINGOs have always relied on sponsorship.
Mostly this sponsorship has been non-A frican and even more
interestingly, the Ford Foundation has been a financial supporter of African
LINGOs since the 1960s. There is no doubt that the relationship between
the sponsoring and the LINGOs’ agendas is indeed a tricky aspect because
— taking into consideration the objectives donors naturally have— funding
automatically implies a potential level of inescapable dependency between
the donor and the grantee working both ways.132
Yet the influence of transnational funders on the content of the
LINGOs’ activities and publications is less publicly promoted and thus less
traceable in LINGOs than is the case with organizations from the sector of
theater for development. When asked in 2008, the Ford Foundation in
Nairobi claimed in personal conversation that Kwani Trust and other
grantees in the region are not obliged to follow any requirements. The only
requirement for Kwani Trust, according to the interviewee, is to keep
enriching the cultural and literary scenes with innovative writing and
events. A similar statement was given by HIVOS when asked about their
interest in funding LINGOs like FEMRITE or ZWW. Despite these
statements, a certain interest of transnational donors such as the Ford
Foundation and HIVOS in LINGOs like Kwani Trust and FEMRITE
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cannot be denied. The extent of the actual influence, however, remains a

matter of speculation.
Yet the influence of non- African funding on African LINGOs could be
concluded in retrospect. Thus the case of Transition provided a moment
where the impact of non- African funding was reflected in the development
of the journal. Drawing from his research, Adesokan claims that after
Transition received funding by Fairfield Foundation, the magazine grew
more sociopolitical in its content. While this was certainly also due to the
fact that Neogy had a great interest in sociopolitical issues, Adesokan
argues the impact of the contact between Neogy and Fairfield Foundation
therefore was traceable in the way the magazine
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developed.133 With regard to FEMRITE, however, the opposite is the case,

suggesting that non-A frican donors of LINGOs actually do not have a
traceable impact that can be said to have influenced this LINGO
considerably: despite the fact that HIVOS stopped its funding in 2008, the
NGO has thus continued to focus heavily on literature about women’s
rights and visibility in Ugandan society as would have also been in the
interest of HIVOS and as FEMRITE had already done before HIVOS
stepped in.
With regard to their funding, the major difference between NGOs from
the sector of theater for development and LINGOs such as those under
investigation in this study is their self- conscious resisting of the impact
through sponsorship. LINGOs consider themselves as independent write-t
anks. The funding by a donor has not been seen as a manipulating force by
these African LINGOs. In the 1960s, Neogy agreed to the funding because
he needed the money in order to realize his visions of Transition, according
to which the magazine was to grow into a vehicle of literature and
intellectual debate outside of Uganda.134 The values of the Fairfield
Foundation in terms of providing space for intellectual debates accorded
with Neogy’s ambitions. In its beginning, the sponsoring of Transition in
Uganda was based on mutual interest.
This sense of mutual interest, translating into an idea of partnership
between the donor and the grantee, is echoed in the LINGOs of the present.
In a personal interview, Hilda Twongyeirwe highlighted that the LINGO
would rather close its office than bend down for a donor and change its
objectives. When asked about the difference between FEMRITE and an
NGO from the sector of theater for development, Twongyeirwe said,
Quickly, the similarity: I think, both serve or work towards contributing to
society to cause positive change, but the difference is for us, for FEMRITE,
the donors do not proscribe what we do. We identify what we want to do and
then we ask for support. And now I don’t really look at it in terms of donors,
but in terms of partners. Sometimes they may have the money, but it’s not
what you want to do, so you don’t take the money. But we partner in such a
way that they have the financial muscle, you have the issues that you would
like to put forward, so you work together. And sometimes they are also
interested in the issues. Like in the project of making heard the marginalized
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woman, we look at the issues that are affecting us here, the women here, and
then we look at how we can write these stories and avail them to the reading
public, so that they can know what is happening. So it’s really the other way
around. We look for partners to bring forward our home-grown ideas. If the
development partners keep thinking that literature and culture are not good
areas to support then we may not survive as a conventional NGO, but we
shall survive as a group, as a family. We shall remain.135
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To her, it is the LINGO that chooses the donor as long as it represents

values the NGO identifies with and not vice versa.
Binyavanga Wainaina, in a personal conversation in 2006, argued along
similar lines. When asked about the impact of donors, he highlighted that
writers and Kwani? are not intended to be policy makers or mouthpieces
for interest groups but that their tasks lie with creating fictional worlds and
instigating public debates, according to Kwani Trust’s agenda, that make
people think either way. Sharp criticism against NGOs is also found in
Wainaina’s memoir (2011).136 Although critics of Wainaina’s statement
could argue that Wainaina did not want to reveal the actual agreements
between the Ford Foundation and Kwani Trust in the interview, the fact
that Kwani Trust strives to move toward the possibility of greater financial
autonomy through the establishment of a not- for- profit company in the
near future while sticking to its thematic setup also underlines the
LINGO’s self- understanding as an independent write- tank.
Although it would therefore certainly be simplistic to argue that the
funding has no impact at all on the LINGOs, it is interesting to consider
that present LINGOs, as Transition did earlier on, assert themselves as
independent organizations. Typically African LINGOs such as FEMRITE
and Kwani Trust as well as Mbaasem and Farafina nowadays acknowledge
their “funding partners” on their websites. 137 LINGOs thus understand
themselves as business partners of their donors with whom they choose to
work together, supposedly only once the mutual objectives are in line with
the LINGOs’ agendas.

LINGOs and Their Impact on the Local Publishing Industry

Trendsetting, but Small-Scale if at All
Finally, a look at African LINGOs of the past and of the present verifies
the hypothesis put forward in the theoretical outline in Chapter 2,
according to which it is characteristic for an African LINGO to register its
own publishing arm. Although Chemchemi is an exception, Transition,
Mbari, Kwani Trust, and FEMRITE had or have their own publishing
arms, having quite a trendsetting impact on their local environments. When
Black Orpheus, for instance, faltered in the wake of the decline of Mbari,
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Bernth Lindfors remarked, “The disappearance or transformation of Black

Orpheus marks the end of an era in the history of African literature, an era
of pioneering explorations and startling new discoveries, many of which
were first mapped in the pages of Black Orpheus.”138 Mbari had registered
its indigenous publishing firm in December 1961. 139 According to Jeanne
Dingome its impact was trendsetting, since Mbari “as a publishing
concern . . . provided Nigerian [and other West African] writers with a
forum and facilities which had never been available locally.”140
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With regard to FEMRITE, there also is no doubt that its publishing arm
has transformed the Ugandan if not East African literary landscape
decisively. Although Ugandan women writers such as Barbara Kimenye
(1928–2 012) had been actively writing and publishing since the 1960s,
female writers in both Uganda and Kenya141 were largely underrepresented
until the mid- 1990s.142 “In Uganda . . . women enjoy numerical superiority,
being fifty-o ne percent of the total population. But when it comes to
publishing, the story reads different. Out of about one hundred and fifty
published writers, only thirty are women,”143 Goretti Kyomuhendo points
out in her essay “To Be an African Woman Writer: The Joys and
Challenges.” Through FEMRITE’s publishing arm for aspiring women
writers, the literary scene in Uganda has changed dramatically toward
greater gender equity. The publication of a limited number of novels,
anthologies, and poetry collections may not appear “revolutionary” to the
non- Ugandan observer. Yet, given the paucity of publishing outlets in
Uganda and the lack of interest in creative writing by Ugandan women in
particular, FEMRITE can be said to have had a significant effect on the
availability and visibility of women-a uthored fictional materials in the
country. The visibility of such materials is likely to be of significance for
the next generation of Ugandan women writers. In this sense, as a
publishing venture it has definitely been a new phenomenon to the
Ugandan literary scene and carries a revolutionary aspect. Similar to
Mbari, FEMRITE has had a catalytic impact on the development of the
Anglophone writing tradition in East Africa.
Likewise, Kwani Trust, as shown earlier, with its journal being the first
of its kind in terms of duration, can be said to have had a pioneering impact
on the contemporary Kenyan literary scene. If read through the lens of
history, however, the impact of Kwani Trust needs to be put in perspective.
The print publishing formats that the LINGO put forward as quite
revolutionary in terms of its Kwanini series are not a novelty. The Kwanini
strongly remind one of David Maillu’s flourishing book series of the
1970s, a format that Kwani Trust can be said to have revived with its
miniseries, conscious or unconscious of the fact that it originated with
Maillu’s Comb Books venture. In terms of their print publishing formats
such as periodicals, novels, anthologies, or minibooks, the present LINGOs
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FEMRITE and Kwani Trust have not come up with entirely new products.
Their print products rather give evidence of a reawakening of the literary
scenes in Kenya and Uganda that, as described briefly in Chapter 1, have
already seen immense literary successes. Nevertheless, the publishing
ventures of African LINGOs have a pioneering function.
Despite African LINGOs having a trendsetting influence with their
publishing arms, the impact of their publishing imprints is significantly
small due to their low economic capital and output. When asked of the
impact of Mbari publishing on the African readership in his interview with
the South
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African–b orn writer Lewis Nkosi, Beier remarked about the size of the
publishing arm of Mbari: “Mbari is not a commercially very well organized
publishing house. We’re very small and so on, but we do print poetry,
2,000 copies at a go and we sell them quite easily within a year . . . Which I
think . . . is not bad at all.” 144 In this regard, Mbari as a LINGO with a for-
profit publishing venture foreshadowed a trend that in terms of its print
runs reflects the small-s cale publishing trend at the contemporary LINGOs
FEMRITE and Kwani Trust.
A concrete hint at the print run of FEMRITE’s publications can be
found in Kiguli’s essay “FEMRITE and the Woman Writer’s Position in
Uganda: Personal Reflections.” In this essay, Kiguli recalls that her poetry
collection, The African Saga, published by FEMRITE in 1998, sold out
with two thousand copies within 6 months. The same, according to Kiguli,
was true about the second print run.145 In 2008, Hilda Twongyeirwe
assumed that in the over 15 years of its existence, the LINGO had sold
more than a couple of two to three thousand copies of various publications
at first print runs but never, however, over ten thousand copies of a single
book at a time as was the case with works of fiction released by the local
publishing industry in the 1960s or 1970s. The reason for this is twofold:
on the one hand, the fact of FEMRITE’s publications being considered as
women’s literature has limited the interest group and, on the other, the
LINGO has never published more than two to five thousand copies of a
book in its first print run.
Kwani Trust, on the contrary, has used its sales numbers as a marketing
strategy to position itself visibly in the book and donor market. The
LINGO was proud to acknowledge that 700 copies of its first paperback
issue of Kwani? sold in one week at the Nairobi Bookfair in 2003. If one
tries to find exact numbers of the journal’s print run over the years, one is,
however, likely to find contradicting statements: in the article “Kenya’s
Rising Culture Hub,” published in the US American The Christian Science
Monitor on January 18, 2010, Billy Kahora claims that Kwani Trust has
sold up to 15,000 copies of its annual Kwani?. “For this space [meaning
Kenya or the African continent], that’s incredible . . . I mean a good
monthly journal sells 5,000 copies,” Kahora argued in the article. 146 Yet,
according to Mike Mburu, the person in charge of sales at the LINGO,
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each print run of Kwani? has approximately 1,000 to 2,000 copies, leading
into a second or third print run if the copies are sold out. 147 Considering
Mburu’s numbers, Kahora’s earlier remark represents the overall number
of all Kwani? issues that Kwani Trust has sold between 2003 and 2010.
This is confirmed when comparing Kahora’s numbers against Wainaina
stating that by 2006 Kwani Trust had sold over 12,000 copies in total. 148
Clearly, Kahora’s comment therefore rather needs to be seen in the light of
a marketing strategy aimed at positioning Kwani Trust as a significant
publishing enterprise in the Kenyan as well as non-K enyan book market.
In view of history, Kwani Trust’s sale numbers
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of 12,000 to 15,000 copies in over seven years of its existence, as of now,

is not extraordinary and is even underwhelming if, for example, compared
to the circulation of Transition. During its time in Uganda, Transition
flourished “with an ultimate paid circulation of 12,000 copies” 149 per issue.
In terms of their impact as publishing ventures, African LINGOs past and
present have certainly conveyed a regional interest in their publications.
Nevertheless, the sale numbers so far have frequently represented
dwindling numbers in view of the overall sales that single authors such as
Mangua or Maillu, for instance, achieved in less than a month within the
grooming framework of the local Kenyan publishing industry of the 1970s.
Although FEMRITE and Kwani Trust have been hailed for their
publications and writers on a transnational level with their visibility and
reputation lionized through transnational prizes and positive comments by
transnational critics, their status as local publishing ventures in the region
is considerably small, publishing as in the case of FEMRITE even
irregularly subject to their funding.
Benefitting from Electronic Publishing
Yet, in contrast to earlier LINGOs, FEMRITE and Kwani Trust benefit
from technological advantage, allowing for regular availability and
visibility of their publications online. The LINGOs’ strategies of electronic
publishing and e- promotion certainly help increase their impact as
publishing ventures beyond the local market and contribute to a
globalization of local literature as territorial boundaries disintegrate and
obstacles of local publishing dissolve through the Internet. Although the
LINGOs’ strategies of promoting their literature via the Internet can be
considered to be quite revolutionary in view of the history of the African
LINGO, the promotion of creative writing is not an aspect that these
LINGOs have introduced to their local literary scenes. As Ikoja- Odongo
from the Department of Information Science at Makerere University points
out, electronic publishing in fact has become a familiar pattern in East
Africa since “publishers and organisations alike have created websites for
promoting local information thus cutting barriers of time and space.” 150
Thus the LINGOs’ e- publishing strategy is rather an indicator of the
overall development of the publishing landscape in East Africa.
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With the registration of their small-s cale publishing ventures,

FEMRITE and Kwani Trust have, however, played a practical role in that
they have furthered the publication of Anglophone creative writing despite
the paucity of publishing outlets. When emerging in 1996 and 2003,
FEMRITE and Kwani Trust stood out in the publishing market despite
their being small- scale imprints, with their transnational prize winners
foreshadowing a renewed interest in fiction in their local publishing
market. With their publications and activities, the
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LINGOs have democratized the local publishing industry even though

bigger publishing houses enjoy a greater monopoly of distribution
networks.

Conclusion
Through the nuanced historicized reading of FEMRITE and Kwani Trust
against earlier African LINGOs I have illustrated that African LINGOs, in
spite of the differences inherent in their unique setup, environment, and
agenda, have been intermediary and trendsetting organizations, facilitating
literary, cultural, and educational development as well as sociopolitical
opinion making within as well as beyond territorial borders and at times
regardless of national and ethnic belonging.
Although FEMRITE and Kwani Trust certainly do carry revolutionary
aspects in regard to their impact on the literary landscapes in Kenya and
Uganda, they are, however, not a recent, nor truly revolutionary,
phenomenon on the literary stage of East Africa. In terms of their
objectives, organs, funding structures, and the role of their publishing arms,
these contemporary LINGOs are innovative, yet— like earlier LINGOs—
also not overwhelmingly big- selling initiatives. Rather, FEMRITE and
Kwani Trust, I argue, have been an indicator of what Kimani Njogu, in
regard to the recent literary dynamics in the region, has defined as “an
upsurge of creative, artistic and cultural works.”151
 CHAPTER 4

Survival of the Fittest

African LINGOs: An Enduring Phenomenon?

Introduction
Unlike in the 1960s, the present- day NGO sector in Africa is booming as
African NGOs have benefitted immensely from the overall increase of
funding. Since the 1990s, non- African development aid agencies renewed
their development policies in sub- Saharan Africa by shifting their funding
objectives from governments to NGOs. Tina Wallace remarks in her essay
“The Role of Non- Governmental Organizations in African Development:
Critical Issues” that NGOs then were considered effective development
partners “at a time when states were seen to be weak or corrupt.” 1 If shortly
after independence, African literary NGO (LINGOs) like Mbari,
Chemchemi, and Transition existed alongside only a few nonprofit
partners, FEMRITE and Kwani Trust at present are just two of numerous
other wide- ranging and diverse nonprofit ventures in the cultural sector. In
order to succeed and visibly sustain themselves in such a plethora of
nongovernmental activities in the twenty-f irst century, having power is a
matter of importance for LINGOs. According to Sarah Michael, NGO
power can be defined as “the ability of an NGO to set its own priorities,
define its own agenda and exert influence over others even in the face of
opposition from the government, donors, transnational NGOs and other
development actors as to achieve its ends.”2 The necessity for LINGOs to
assert power in order to survive in an increasingly competitive global
marketplace where funds are limited and stretched— thus my guiding
hypothesis in this chapter— is vital with regard to their sustainability and
influence3 in the literary sector. In her analysis of the African NGO sector,
Michael concludes that it is essential for local NGOs to continuously be
able to set their own priorities, to define their agendas, and to exert
influence in their area of operation if they are
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to realize their objectives in the long run.4 This means that if a LINGO does
not succeed in reaching its goals, its sustainability and influence are at
stake.5 Michael concludes that the position of NGOs within their respective
societies is bound to be a temporary once, since their existence depends on
a variety of unstable and unpredictable factors such as local politics (i.e.,
the sociopolitical climate), sociocultural agendas (i.e., changing donor
priorities), or NGO staff moving on.6
Indeed, a look back into the history of African LINGOs shows that, in
the 1960s, these organizations—a longside university departments and the
publishing industry—t hrived as a third, but only temporary, framework for
literary production and interaction: Mbari, Chemchemi, and Transition
disappeared five to ten years into their existence. Obviously, they
succumbed to the precariousness of their position, for various reasons. The
question emerging in view of FEMRITE and Kwani Trust in the twenty-
first century is whether African LINGOs—a s a model for African writing
and cultural politics—a re perhaps inevitably temporary and unstable
frameworks rather than enduring institutions. Perhaps it is in the very
nature of a LINGO that its noninstitutional agenda prevents its longevity.
Would this also imply that the shift of Anglophone literary production
toward LINGOs, which Kenya and Uganda witnessed in the twenty- first
century, is bound to be a fleeting one? Or, have the overall conditions for
African LINGOs changed in view of the NGO sector thriving in Kenya and
Uganda?
Interestingly enough, Kwani Trust and FEMRITE have been thriving
over 9 and 15 years respectively. The question is whether this fact signals a
new kind of stability, and whether African LINGOs like FEMRITE and
Kwani Trust therefore have the potential of growing into a model that will
continue to contribute to literary productivity in Kenya and Uganda. In
light of these questions, it is important to understand the circumstances
leading to their emergence and the obstacles hindering their
institutionalization. Providing answers to these aspects, I discuss the
significance of present African LINGOs in this chapter.
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The Development of African LINGOs

For African LINGOs to emerge, exist, and evolve as locally established,
legally recognized, and ultimately influential public bodies depends not
only on personal initiatives but especially on a political climate allowing
for free speech and for transnational funding of the NGO sector. In
addition to these sociopolitical conditions, sociocultural aspects such as
literary networks and literary prizes boosting their associated writers and
publications can nurture the LINGOs’ development.
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The Sociopolitical Situation

Mbari in West Africa as well as Chemchemi and Transition in East Africa
were established very shortly after independence was gained in Nigeria
(1960), Kenya (1963), and Uganda (1962), when the sociopolitical arena
was lively and society was hoping for more democratic participation for
all. After years of authoritarianism, Africa has again experienced
significant changes in its political landscape since the beginning of the
1990s.7 These developments in Africa were, as Julius Nyang’oro points
out, not unique to Africa, but part of “a global movement toward political
liberalization: that is—a uthoritarian regimes in Eastern Europe and Latin
America, most notably in Brazil, Argentina and Chile disintegrated,” 8 as
well. In Africa, Nyang’oro highlights, “most of the authoritarian regimes—
m ilitary or one-p arty systems—h ave liberalized, partly in response to
popular protests but also as a result of transnational forces.” 9 As in the
1960s, Kenya again experienced a gradual democratization between 1992
and 2002 as President Moi came under pressure from transnational donors
for his policy of corruption and restriction of human rights. 10 The
democratization was triggered by the repeal of section 2(a) 11 of the Kenyan
constitution, allowing for a multiparty system in 1992, and the inauguration
of President Kibaki, promising greater political and personal freedom in
2002.
People in the sector of mass media and creative expression celebrated
these sociopolitical developments between 1992 and 2002 as a second
independence. In a personal interview recorded in October 2006, Paul
Kelemba “Maddo,” one of the leading cartoonists in Kenya, recalled the
early 1990s as follows:
I’m criticized as the first cartoonist in Kenya to draw Moi—a t least in a
magazine that was published . . . I have it here. Look. Published in
November 1992. And the magazine is called Society. The editor disappeared
from the office the whole day.— laughter— But one funny thing is that there
were no reactions and since there were no reactions everybody just started
drawing including my colleague over there, called Gado . . . Eventually we
got used to drawing the president. There were two major changes, I think:
1992 and 2002. And the major credit was given to the cartoonists, the
illustrators who were bold enough to make a statement in a newspaper and
 S O

when nothing happened, other people just started to be more bold, too and it
was sort of like you opened a door.12

Maddo’s observations ring true when recalling that the early 1990s also
were the time when Wahome Mutahi’s columns and books grew in
popularity among the Nairobian urban population and his theater company,
Igiza Productions, filled the bars and pubs of Nairobi with sociocritical
plays in English and Gĩkũyũ. The tickets for Mutahi’s bar plays sometimes
were sold out in weeks. Similarly, in 1998, John Kiarie, Tony Njuguna,
and Walter Mong’are, then still undergraduate students at Kenyatta
University, redefined Kenyan theatrical performances
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with their group Redykyulass, boldly satirizing sociopolitical issues and the
Moi regime in public. Quickly, the group became famous through public
performances and a television show, also featured on transnational media
like the BBC, and touring the United States. Whereas Mutahi was the
prominent critical literary voice of the 1980s and early 1990s, the
Redykyulass group became the leitmotif for a fresh and younger generation
of artists and writers emerging in Kenya in the late 1990s.
Describing his impression of the vibrant literary and cultural scene of
Nairobi in his editorial to Kwani? 01, Wainaina connected the now visible
generation of literary talents to the idea of Kwani?. “So shall I call this new
generation, the Redykyulass Generation. This is the Kenya that Kwani? is
about,”13 Wainaina noted. The establishment of Kwani Trust coincided
with the change of president and Wainaina’s winning of the Caine Prize in
2002 at a time when cartoonists, comedians, journalists, artists, and writers
had already been exploring their freedom of expression for almost ten
years. The emergence of Kwani Trust therefore needs to be seen in the
light of the far more open political climate between 1992 and 2002.
Unlike Kenya, Uganda has not seen a change in the overall political
framework since the late 1980s. The present government in Uganda, the
National Resistance Movement (NRM), has been in power since 1986.
Since its taking power, the press in Uganda, being an indicator of free
speech, has largely lost its diversity. Initially assuring freedom of the press,
the NRM was soon concerned about the consequences of this promise to
liberalization. Throughout the late 1980s and early 1990s, as Ali M. Tripp
states, “editors were . . . imprisoned on treason charges and some
publications were banned. Individual journalists came under repression . . .
[I]n the late 1980s there were roughly thirty English language papers and
magazines; by the late 1990s there were only two major English daily
newspapers.”14 To date, the newspaper landscape of Kampala remains
dominated by two English newspapers, The New Vision and The Monitor,
whereas print newspapers in indigenous languages such as Luganda are
less prominent. This is also due to a lack of regular readers for newspapers
in indigenous languages owed to a lack of money and literacy. Apart from
these Anglophone newspapers, mainly multinational publishing houses and
Fountain Publishers, Inc., a local publishing house, dominate the
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publishing of textbooks and fiction.15 Since the NRM government has been
consistently diminishing the freedom of the press in Uganda for the past
twenty years, Ugandan cartoonists, journalists, and writers have certainly
not experienced the liberalization that Kenyans did. 16 In fact, the constant
stifling of an independent and multifaceted media industry in Uganda up to
now has been among the reasons a rich culture of writers in Uganda has not
truly reemerged until today. In contrast to Kwani Trust, FEMRITE was not
brought
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urvival of the Fittest 73

about by a change of government or a sudden democratization of the

media. Rather, Uganda’s authoritarian regime has militated against
unrestricted NGO activities in the literary and cultural sectors.
Under these authoritarian circumstances, it seems surprising that
FEMRITE as a Ugandan LINGO has managed to enrich the Anglophone
literary scene of the country with various publications and conferences
since 1996 and has even entered the transnational arena with numerous
prize winners. Moreover, in the context of a patriarchal society like Uganda
with “traditional and deep-r ooted gender inequality,” 17 where women
struggle with domestic violence and fight for acceptance in the economic
sector as well as for recognition of their human rights, for women writers
to dominate the literary scene to the cultural outsider may appear to be
even at odds with the Ugandan sociopolitical framework.
Interestingly enough, however, FEMRITE owes its emergence to
democratic structures legally implemented within the autocratic regime.
Indeed, FEMRITE can be said to have been instigated as a direct result of
the Uganda women’s movement progressing since the assumption of power
of Yoweri Museveni in 1986. Motivated by their participation in the
transnational women’s conference in Nairobi in 1985, Ugandan women
like Mary Karooro Okurut fought for the emancipation and integration of
women in the sociopolitical sphere when Museveni came into power in
1986. After some hesitations, Museveni grew to like the idea of integrating
women into the political arena, for this legally recognized equity of men
and women in public office, allowed the state to uphold the goal of
establishing the One-M ovement System.18 Uganda has had a strong
representation of women in both political and academic leadership since.
At the beginning of the 1990s, this sociopolitical autonomy for Ugandan
women was further increased by two other factors that influenced the
growth of women’s sociopolitical visibility all over the African continent:
an increase of educational opportunities for women, especially in higher
education, and once again a change in transnational donor strategies that
now favored nonstate initiatives, and women’s and children’s organizations
in particular.19 In Uganda, women’s organizations moreover actively helped
revise the 1995 constitution, ensuring one-t hird of female representation in
local government.20 Women were encouraged to participate in public events
 S O

and to engage in the political process. This more equitable approach to

gender politics enabled FEMRITE to be successfully established, despite
the government’s wary eye on freedom of expression.
The comparison of the sociopolitical circumstances under which
FEMRITE and Kwani Trust have emerged allows for two conclusions:
Certainly, African LINGOs— like Mbari, Chemchemi, Transition, and
most recently Kwani Trust—t end to emerge in particular out of
democratization of society and as a result of a liberalization of the art scene
enabling greater leeway for free
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expression. LINGOs thereby could be seen as an indicator of

democratization as well as a marker of the individuals’ ambition to make
use of this freedom of expression. On the other hand, the circumstances
that furthered the emergence and development of FEMRITE clearly show
that African LINGOs do not exclusively emerge in democratized societies
but may also rise in rather autocratic regimes with limited freedom of
expression. Nevertheless, a prerequisite for those LINGOs’ successful
existence is a minimal level of democratic structures guaranteeing their
registration and public visibility as well as facilitating transnational
funding.
The Sociocultural Situation
Whereas the sociopolitical conditions allowing for the emergence of
platforms for creative expression in the twenty-f irst century were different
in Kenya and Uganda, the major sociocultural frameworks fuelling the
interest in creative writing were similar in both countries and display
similarities to those of the 1960s. Like the earlier LINGOs, the present
LINGOs have been able to operate through long- term funding and due to
global interest in the NGO sector and have even benefitted significantly
from the overall increase in transnational funding, much more so than the
LINGOs of the 1960s.
In addition to the long- term funding, two major conditions affected the
present LINGOs decisively: the Crossing Border Program of the British
Council and the Caine Prize for African Writing. These two initiatives in
alignment with the personal commitment of LINGO associates have taken
the activities and as yet unknown writers at Kwani Trust and FEMRITE
beyond the local market.
Both FEMRITE- and Kwani Trust–a ssociated writers participated in the
Crossing Border Program, with Ugandan writers benefitting from and
identifying with the program more than Kenyan writers. In personal
interviews, Kenyan writers mentioned the program in passing, while
Ugandan writers stressed the benefits of the program at length. Patrick
Mangeni, for instance, saw the program as
the most significant program that has developed and contributed to writer’s
development. A number of publications have arisen from this initiative and a
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number of FEMRITE members who were also on this program have won
transnational Literary Awards. Examples include Monica Arac de Nyeko—
W inner of the 2007 Caine Prize, Jackee Batanda, and Glaydah Namukasa
who won the Macmillan writers Prize 2006. The program was valuable in
terms of clarifying your thinking and in terms of it helping to enhance how
our writing is communicating . . . I think one of the most significant aspects
of the structure of this program is that it guided us through phases: you write
stories; then you get somebody who looks at the stories and for example,
helps you to develop them into a sound collection.
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urvival of the Fittest 75

FEMRITE didn’t have the capacity to do that, at least not on the scale that
we were handling literature in the Crossing Borders program. The Crossing
Borders program came to fill in this big gap. And soon we had about five
books published as a result of this initiative. There were also stories and
poems in a number of transnational and local collections. And given the
networking capacity of the British Council the published works have
received greater publicity that would have been possibly achieved had the
works been published locally . . . I think it’s been an inspiration and a
motivation because some of the writers who had then set their mind on
winning one of these writers’ prizes actually won them.21

Especially in the eyes of Ugandan participants, the Crossing Borders

program broke the isolation of the emerging Ugandan writer in that it
provided research, editing, and publishing opportunities that FEMRITE
until then could not provide on the same level. For Ugandan writers
affiliated with FEMRITE the Crossing Border Program was a decisive
opportunity opening up further transnational networking options that in
turn have enriched the transnational networking capacity of both
FEMRITE and its associated writers.
Kwani Trust was influenced more strongly by the Caine Prize for
African Writing. The winning of the Caine Prize by Kenyans two years in
the row resulted in a renewed global interest in Kenyan writing and in turn
boosted the transnational visibility of Kwani?— which contained the
prizewinning stories. “I dare say if Kwani? had started out as just another
idea, it would have taken much longer to have the transnational impact it
has had,”22 Parselelo Kantai remarked in a personal interview on the role
the Caine Prize has played for Kwani Trust.
Through Wainaina and Kwani?, the Caine Prize has enjoyed a great
popularity among interested writing talents in Kenya, and among Kwani?
associates in particular. Despite the fact that FEMRITE writers such as
Doreen Baingana and Monica Arac de Nyeko have successfully applied for
the Caine Prize short story competition and have been either short-l isted or
awarded the prize, their connection to the Caine Prize has so far not
resulted in a cooperation between FEMRITE and the Caine Prize
committee for workshops in Uganda. In the case of Kwani Trust, the
contact with the Caine Prize led to a number of Caine Prize writers’
 S O

workshops in Kenya. As in the case of the Crossing Border Program and

FEMRITE, proximity to the Caine Prize and the cooperation between the
prize trust and Kwani Trust has been furthered through personal
relationships and synergies shared between the LINGOs, the British
Council, and the Caine Prize Trust.
In fact, the Caine Prize and the Crossing Borders program are
characteristic of a tradition of prizes and writing programs in Africa.
Although different in their origin and ramifications, literary prizes and
initiatives by non- African institutions have frequently played a significant
role in stimulating creative
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writing and writers in the continent.23 LINGO activists, however, are aware
of the ambivalent role of these prizes and writing programs: Though
writers such as Mangeni reflect on the advantages, writers such as
Wainaina also publicly distance themselves, 24 thereby stressing writers’
ambition of independence while highlighting the dependence of writers’ on
the prize industry, especially in countries where fiction writing only has a
small market. Eventually, I propose, it is through personal connections and
individual decisions, yet not through the LINGOs’ agendas, that LINGO
associates nurture with prizes and writing program initiatives.

Factors Limiting the Influence and Sustainability of African LINGOs

In concluding, this chapter identifies reasons limiting the influence and
sustainability of African LINGOs. Whereas Latin America, which like
Africa also witnessed a wave of democratization in the early 1990s, has
powerful local NGOs,25 influential local NGOs in Africa are rather absent. 26
In terms of NGO power in Africa, Michael notes, “We think of . . .
multinational and international organizations . . . , whether international
NGOs originating in the North, like CARE, Save the Children, . . . and the
Intermediate Technology Development Group (ITDG), or multinational
NGOs or NGO networks originating in the South, like Six-S , ENDA
Tiers-M onde, the Council for the Development of Social Science Research
in Africa (CODESRIA) and the African Medial Research Foundation
(AMREF).”27 In the sector of literary and cultural events, powerful
institutions and initiators that come to mind are Alliance Francaise, the
Goethe Institute, Oxfam, PEN, and the British Council, followed by
transnational foundations such as the Ford Foundation. Rarely does one
immediately think of homegrown NGOs. In the past decade, FEMRITE
and Kwani Trust have been an exception in the LINGO sector.
The visibility of homegrown NGOs frequently depends on a variety of
factors such as the sociopolitical climate, changing donor priorities, or
NGO staff moving on. To remain influential, African local LINGOs need
to maintain characteristics that allow these organizations to cope with
external and internal factors threatening and weakening their sustainability
127 O y NGOs

and influence.28 In the following, those external and internal factors are
referred to as threats and weaknesses.
Due to the limited scope of this book, this chapter will look at three
threats and two weaknesses that have prevented African LINGOs past and
present from continuing to operate as vibrant places of literary production
and intellectual debate. The threats to be examined are the negative
consequences of non- African funding, the suppression of free speech, and
the limitations of publishing distribution networks. The weaknesses being
identified are political
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77

commitment and crisis management. The LINGOs’ ability to successfully

resist such threats and weaknesses, I argue, ultimately helps them better
ensure their power and stability as enduring institutions in the African
literary market.
Negative Implications of Non-African Funding
Non- African funding can have negative implications for the sustainability
and local influence of a LINGO. Michael argues that in Africa “the control
governments exert over the NGO registration process and their ability to
monitor and deregister local NGOs in their countries is the most obvious
manifestation of . . . [the] power [states have over local NGOs].” 29 In the
case of Neogy’s Transition, the Ugandan government under Obote
displayed this power in
1968. The flourishing of Transition came to a stop on October 18, 1968,
when Neogy was jailed for having criticized the Ugandan government in
Transition,30 although this, as Paul Theroux remarks, was “something he
[Neogy] had been doing for years.”31 The reason for Neogy’s imprisonment
in 1968 was rather due to the fact that his reputation in Uganda had already
been shaken a year before, when it was revealed that the Congress for
Cultural Freedom (CCF), sponsoring Transition, “was . . . financially
backed by the CIA.”32 The news of the CIA behind the CCF funding also
affected Mbari in the same year, leading to a conflict between Beier and his
Nigerian colleagues Wole Soyinka and John Pepper Clark over the future
of Mbari and the continuation of the LINGO through other funding.33
When the CIA funding behind the CCF was revealed, 34 Neogy and
Mphahlele were shocked.35 With regard to the impact of this news on
Transition’s reputation in Uganda, Stephanie Jones remarks, “While it is
clear that Neogy, his editors, and contributors were unaware of the CIA’s
involvement, any evidence that the organization approved of Transition
was, as Neogy himself put it in the interview ‘a long-a waited stick with
which to beat the magazine’.[36] . . . [T]he discovery of the link troubled the
magazine’s editors, and particularly challenged Neogy’s sense of integrity.
It heightened the stakes of long running debates in the magazine on
‘commitment’ in art and cultural production, and provided Obote with
ammunition against Transition and its editor.”37 When Neogy was released
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from prison in March 1969 due to a transnational media campaign, initiated

by his wife Barbara and Ali Mazrui, going back to the editing of Transition
was impossible.38 Mazrui convinced Obote that “Transition is not Neogy
and Neogy is not Transition.”39 Consequently, Obote would have allowed
Transition to continue with Mazrui as its editor. Mazrui, however,
declined.40 Stripped of his Ugandan citizenship, Neogy left. 41 In 1970, he
moved to Accra, Ghana, where he continued editing the magazine up to
1973. He then permanently shifted to the United States and left the
magazine in the editorship of Wole Soyinka in Ghana
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in 1974. Soyinka renamed the magazine Ch’indaba, “combining the

Swahili word for ‘to dawn’, and ‘indaba’, the Matabele word ‘for a great
council.’”42 The journal, however, did not survive due to a lack of
committed staff and a lack of funding, thus also putting an end to the era of
Transition in Africa.
Transition was the first LINGO from the region to be struggling with the
implications of funding. Its problems with non- African funding in its early
times provide a sense of the challenges that LINGOs such as FEMRITE
and Kwani Trust could face at some point, should their transnational
funding turn out to be backed up by a political agenda not in line with the
sociopolitical framework of their immediate environment. Thus far, the
transnational funding of Kwani Trust and FEMRITE has not been
problematic for the LINGOs in the way it has been for Mbari or Transition.
Still the LINGOs have been affected by another negative aspect that
comes along with funding— that is, the dependence on non- African
donors in the absence of local funding structures. Whereas Kwani Trust, as
of 2012, continues to enjoy the patronage of the Ford Foundation, covering
their major income for the staff, office, and publications, FEMRITE has
been challenged to make ends meet. Since HIVOS stopped funding, thus
covering for the major costs for the staff and office building, FEMRITE
has survived through membership fees, 43 book sales,44 and short-t erm
funding by various donors.45 Surviving through short- term funding,
according to Makau Mutua, in fact is quite typical for African NGOs as
donors “are more interested in quantitative, rather than qualitative,
indicators . . . [and] shy away from funding long- term strategic work.”46
Long- term strategic work is, however, vital to African LINGOs.
Without continuous and substantial funding, the LINGOs’ level of
visibility, their activities, and their outputs are sporadic. Yet exactly this
donor dependency at the same time stifles the LINGOs’ work as staff
members—i n lack of long-t erm funding— are continuously busy
composing grant proposals and in doing so have less time for creative
work, or even critical reflection on funding structures. 47 As discussed
earlier, LINGOs such as FEMRITE and Kwani Trust claim that they do
look critically at funding structures and would rather close down offices
than bend down for a donor. Nevertheless, one might wonder who owns
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the agenda and ideas of the LINGO in light of transnational donor

agendas48 and to what extent the donor- grantee relationship is based on
mutual interest and mutual dependence. Although this issue remains a
delicate balancing act, it seems typical for present- day LINGOs as under
investigation in this book to claim their ownership and to highlight their
status as independent writetanks, last but not least by visibly
acknowledging their donor structure on their websites. With non- African
funding being, however, limited by its amount, duration, and purpose, the
sustainability and performance of African LINGOs constantly depends on
their versatility in developing strategies for greater
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79

financial autonomy. A lack of continuous sponsorship, I think, leads to a

limitation of the LINGOs’ power or even to their decline unless LINGOs
manage to strengthen their for- profit features.
Suppression of Free Speech
Since LINGOs depend on a certain level of sociopolitical leeway, it can be
assumed that the greater the latitude of public opinion making in a society
as guaranteed by law and actual practice, the greater also the publicly
visible output in terms of publications and activities. This is also measured
in the LINGOs’ independence from their local governments in regard to
their local performance and enterprise. The moment free speech is limited
so are the LINGOs’ public activities within their local society. In Kenya
and Uganda, the suppression, detention, and killings of writers in the 1970s
and 1980s gives evidence of this fact.
The present sociopolitical climates in Kenya and Uganda have clearly
furthered the development of FEMRITE and Kwani Trust. Nevertheless,
events between 2007 and 2009 have made it obvious that the right to free
speech still remains at risk in these countries. Seven years into the
existence of Kwani Trust, in 2007 and 2008, two events in the
sociopolitical arena of Kenya recalled the sociopolitical climate of the
1970s and 1980s. They illustrated the fragile state in which the present arts
and writers’ community including Kwani Trust continues to exist. First, in
December 2007, the outrage over the presidential elections destroyed the
faith in personal liberty and democratic participation. The presidential
elections on December 27, 2007, according to which Kibaki was reelected
president of Kenya, were considered to have been manipulated. The anger
over electoral fraud led to violent clashes between supporters of Kibaki and
the candidate of the opposition, Raila Odinga, spreading rapidly to major
cities and densely populated rural regions, most notably in Western Kenya.
After weeks of negotiations, the situation was eased with Kibaki remaining
in office and with Odinga elected as vice president. Yet the belief in
another independence and a new era of democracy signaled by Kibaki’s
stepping to power in 2002 crumbled. Second, steps taken by the Kenyan
government at the end of 2008 indicated that free speech in Kenya is not
fully guaranteed. In December 2008, the Parliament passed the Kenya
 Survival of the Fittest O

Communications (Amendment) Bill 2008, which is an amendment of the

Kenya Communication Act of 1998. The bill leaves untouched Section 88
of the Kenya Communication Act of 1998 and includes Section 88 of the
1998 Act under Part X—M iscellaneous Provisions in Article 138 “Powers
on Occurrence of Emergency,” by which the minister of information and
communications is given the authority to raid a Media House and to
impound and confiscate its equipment when a state of emergency is
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declared. It is in the hands of the minister to declare a case of emergency or

raise security concerns. According to this bill, he also has the right to direct
the government- appointed Communications Commission of Kenya to
investigate and control the content of what is being broadcasted by the
media houses.
The public resistance to the government after the presidential elections
and Kibaki’s signing of the Communications Bill 2008 led to government
actions against the public in 2009. Throughout 2009, outspoken journalists,
human right activists, and writers were thus restricted in their right of
assembly and free speech: on February 18, 2009, for instance, three
Kenyan activists, while hoping to talk to the ministers of agriculture and
finance about the looming famine in Western Kenya, were said to have
been arrested and beaten by the Kenyan police after peacefully standing
outside Parliament. Among these three activists was Philo Ikonya, the
president of the Kenyan chapter of PEN. While it could be argued that this
arrest of Ikonya in February was accidental since she was among a group
of other demonstrators in front of the Parliament, the second arrest of
Ikonya in September 2009 illustrates that the government had started to
turn against writers and therefore against the freedom of creative
expression. Ikonya was once more arrested for illegal demonstration while
reciting poems in Uhuru Park, Nairobi, together with a few other poets
such as Kingwa Kamencu, at that point also a close Kwani Trust associate.
On September 8, 2009, Kamencu left the following message for her friends
on Facebook: “PEN Kenya president Philo Ikonya and Bunge la
Mwananchi member Jacob Odipo were arrested this afternoon (Tuesday
8th September) while peacefully reciting poetry outside Integrity center. I
was with them a few minutes before it happened, there was no rowdiness
or disturbance. They are currently held at Kilimani Police Station for
‘illegal demonstrations.’”49
A day later, Ikonya and Odipo were released. But as of 2009, Kamencu
noted about the sociopolitical situation in Nairobi on Facebook, “The
police have taken to illegal detentions to intimidate those that speak out.” 50
At that time, these instant messages on Twitter and Facebook did not find a
broad audience, nor did they attract transnational attention on a large scale
because they were restricted to those who had signed up for the accounts of
their senders. Nevertheless, these messages were clearly evidence of the
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fact that the celebrated freedom of speech and the liberated media in Kenya
were once again at risk.
The arrests of writers’ activists like PEN Kenya director Philo Ikonya
are reminiscent of the situation that earlier writers such as Ng ũgĩ wa
Thiong’o or Wahome Mutahi faced in Kenya under Moi. Memories of the
1970s especially come to mind when taking into account that Ikonya is
currently residing in Oslo, Norway, where she has been given political
refuge as a guest writer by ICORN. According to personal conversations
with human rights activists, she could face immediate arrest and court
cases upon reentering Kenya.
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The government reaction against outspoken writers and journalists

between 2007 and 2009 as well as Ikonya’s case at present have certainly
revealed how fickle and fragile the public existence of LINGOs like Kwani
Trust still is in contemporary Kenya. Unlike in the 1970s, when the
government largely turned against writers from the university sector
because they were prominent figures in the public debates, a government
suppressing creative expression at present would be more likely to target
LINGOs such as Kwani Trust, as this organization constitutes one of the
most prominent frameworks of literary production and intellectual debate
in present- day Kenya.
Although Uganda, with the exception of Northern Uganda, 51 has enjoyed
political stability for over twenty years now, the sociopolitical climate is
clearly autocratic and at times brutal to those speaking up against the
government. Since the revision of the constitution in 2005, political parties
and interest groups have been allowed to register in a largely unrestricted
manner and to operate freely. In practice, however, Ugandan “state
authorities limit the activities of these groups if they consider the activities
to be detrimental to the interests (or security) of the state . . . [and] carry
out massive intimidation campaigns, which have been unable to muzzle all
critical voices.”52 Overall, the political climate under Museveni “is
characterized by a carefully balanced fusion of relatively open discussions
on the one hand and keenly felt control (and sometimes intimidation and
outright threats) on the other hand.”53
The situation for outspoken writers therefore is ambivalent. In
September 2009, Kalundi Serumaga, the son of the once politically
persecuted writer Robert Serumaga, became part of the present statistics.
He was immediately arrested and brutally beaten after having criticized the
government’s politics toward the Baganda riots on the weekly television
show Kiboza, on which Kalundi Serumaga was a regular guest. His arrest
was covered in Ugandan blogs and in The Monitor. FEMRITE remained
quiet, but Kalundi’s arrest was broadcast by Kwani Trust, to which Kalundi
has been a contributing essayist and workshop conductor for creative
writing. Kwani Trust reacted with an open letter, distributed through its
online newsletter, as well as through its Twitter and Facebook accounts,
stating, “We, friends, colleagues and fellow writers from East Africa and
beyond, wish to condemn in the strongest terms possible, the unlawful
arrest, torture and detention of Mr. Kalundi Serumaga.” In this “Statement
 Survival of the Fittest O 137

on the Unlawful Arrest, Detention and Trial of Ugandan Writer Kalundi

Serumaga,” Kwani Trust criticized the Ugandan government sharply and
called for worldwide action to send text messages and protest letters to the
Museveni government. To support this appeal, Kwani Trust invited anyone
from anywhere in the world to sign the statement online by leaving their
names on the Kwani Trust website. Kwani Trust thereby positioned itself
politically, displaying traits of Transition. FEMRITE did not want to
confront and criticize
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82

the government on that matter, thus possibly putting at stake its existence
as a LINGO in Uganda. This behavior might have been due to self-c
ensorship and a certain level of anxiety still lingering in Uganda in view of
the instructive cases against Neogy and others at the end of the 1960s and
throughout the 1970s.
Kwani Trust was immediately concerned about the future situation for
writers in today’s Uganda. In its open letter, the LINGO announced,
That state forces were brazen enough to abduct a well-k nown media
personality in the presence of witnesses is an extremely worrying indication
of the direction the Ugandan government is taking against perceived critics.
It is chillingly reminiscent of similar scenes from Uganda’s violent past
during which prominent personalities were abducted and disappeared by the
State. The treatment of Mr. Serumaga is a sad throw- back to a generation
ago when his own father, the playwright, actor, novelist and freedom fighter
Robert Serumaga was persecuted by the Idi Amin government, and later
murdered in 1980. We are worried that the charges of sedition brought
against Mr. Serumaga today, September 15, 2009, are the start of a tragically
familiar pattern of intimidation and repression.54

Although Kwani Trust herewith expressed a justified concern about the

freedom of speech in Uganda, it needs to be considered that Kalundi’s
arrest in fact was not so much the beginning of a sudden harsh action
against outspoken writers. As the outline of the overall political climate of
Uganda has shown, Kalundi’s arrest rather needs to be seen in perspective
with other arrests of journalists, which Ugandans have frequently
witnessed since the coming to power of the Museveni regime in the 1980s.
But even if journalists in Uganda have been frequently detained, there is no
doubt that Kalundi’s arrest gave evidence of the fact that Ugandan writers
and journalists openly critical of the political regime still face publicly
visible sanctions by the state.
Unlike Kwani Trust, FEMRITE has never publicly positioned itself
against the government of Uganda in its over 15 years of existence. As a
women’s organization, FEMRITE has been permitted by the government to
express women’s voices and support a reading culture among high school
students, thereby being seen to promote Museveni’s emphasis on women’s
and children’s visibility in society. 55 This, I argue, is what has nurtured
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FEMRITE’s literary freedom. Given the ambivalent state of freedom of

speech in Uganda, FEMRITE’s latitude currently guaranteed by the
government could, however, be in danger if the LINGO or its associates
were considered to be going against the government’s policy.
External Limitations to the Publishing Distribution Network
In Chapter 3, I illustrated that LINGOs generally are small- scale
publishing imprints, which manage to increase the visibility of their
publications through
 Survival of the Fittest O 140

transnational connections with non-A frican stakeholders as well as

through online technology. With regard to their local influence, it is
moreover crucial to consider the number of external obstacles that greatly
inhibit their impact within their countries. Overcoming these external
obstacles could increase the sustainability of their publishing arms by
allowing for increased revenue. This, however, poses a challenge to
LINGOs on the continent since print publications by LINGOs such as
those by both FEMRITE and Kwani Trust are largely available only within
their home countries rather than at bookshops across the continent.
FEMRITE publications are mostly available in Kampala. With the
exception of the university town Mbarare in Kabale District, the
publications are virtually not available for people elsewhere in the country
unless they are part of the school syllabus. 56 In regard to the situation of
bookshops and libraries in Uganda, Robert Ikoja-O dongo, a professor of
Library and Information Science at Makerere University, adds that
bookshops outside Kampala are generally not well stocked, while public
libraries “are few, small and poorly funded”; 57 school libraries especially
are nearly nonexistent and where they exist, they often “are in name
only.”58 In its analysis of libraries in Uganda, the World Bank Study of
2008 points out that a lack of understanding by both teachers and students
of the role and function of a school library, a growing inability to use
libraries properly even when they are well established, and a lack of
commitment from either Ministries of Education or individual schools to
the development and use of school libraries also contribute to the lack of
public and school libraries. Where stock exists, it is generally old and often
irrelevant to current curricula and teacher and student interests because
literature is not compulsory in school and this contributes to a lower
interest in fiction.59 This is an aspect that FEMRITE aims to change but
obviously cannot to a great extent just through its small-s cale publishing
company and the distribution of books in bookshops. After all, “rural
Uganda accounts for over 80% of the entire population and reading
facilities are scarce in such locations.” 60 As a literary venture, FEMRITE
therefore, unlike the Zimbabwe Women Writers with its 56 branches in
rural areas, has primarily been an urban phenomenon so far with its
influence largely limited to Kampala.
Kwani Trust print publications are largely sold in bookshops,
convenience stores, and supermarkets in the country’s capital as well as a
 Survival of the Fittest O 141

limited number of shops in Mombasa. Outside Kenya, Kwani Trust

publications meanwhile are available through online bookstores. 61 In
Kenya, the number of bookshops with Kwani Trust publications is
dwindling if compared to over seven hundred bookshops in Kenya. 62
Countrywide, the distribution of Kwani Trust print publications could be
increased if they were part of the school syllabus, but as of today, none of
the publications by Kwani Trust associates has made it to the syllabus due
to the regulations by governmental school policy institutions,
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where literature, like in Uganda, is not compulsory and thus is not given
high status. Like Uganda, Kenya moreover also faces the problem that
bookshops in more rural areas are poorly stocked while public as well as
school library services need improvement. 63 In Kenya, where the rural
population at 77.8 percent64 accounts for the majority of the population,
Kwani Trust like FEMRITE in Uganda is primarily an urban phenomenon.
Ultimately, there are four additional factors that limit the national
outreach of LINGOs like FEMRITE and Kwani Trust considerably and
ultimately threaten their influence:

1. Language and Literacy: Despite the fact that the literacy rates in
bothcountries are fairly high, this is not necessarily true for the
knowledge and literacy of English, which dominates the publications by
Kwani Trust and FEMRITE. Thus the number of people able to read and
understand the publications is restricted. Especially in some rural
districts of Uganda and Kenya, literacy rates even in mother tongues and
school enrolment rates rank much lower than in urban districts.65
2. Income: Furthermore, the annual income of the majority of the
population in Kenya and Uganda is below the poverty rate. In low-
income areas of urban centers like Nairobi and Kampala as well as in
rural areas the search for basic needs such as food, water, and clothes
proves a challenge at times, especially in bigger families. About the
situation in Kenya, Joan Wamae, a Nairobian book buyer for Metro
Bookstores, stated in 2009, “Kenya is a developing country. Lots of the
money goes into basic needs: food, electricity, water. Just getting by is
what most people do. So a reading culture needs an economy with
people with dispensable income. We rely on people who have
dispensable income because the prize of books and just even where they
are sold—e xcept maybe on the streets— requires people to have that bit
of extra money to buy.”66 In Uganda, Julius Ocwinyo, editor at Fountain
Publishers, Inc. Ltd., adds that fiction “‘is not a money spinner because
few Ugandans have the money or interest to support it.’” 67 FEMRITE
books prove expensive at a price of 10,000 to 15,000 Ugandan shillings
where the poverty rate—t hat is, the percentage of people living on less
than 2 USD a day—i s over 55.3 percent.68 In Kenya, where the poverty
 O African Literary NGOs

rate, at 39.9 percent,69 is lower than in Uganda, still only a small number
of people can afford or would be willing to buy Kwani? at a cost of 23
USD,70 or even Kwaninis at a cost of 10 USD. With regards to Uganda,
Ikoja- Odongo adds, “Cost of education especially secondary up to
university leaves little money for books.” 71 Secondary education and
university training is also not free
 Survival of the Fittest O 144

in Kenya. For many people in Kenya and Uganda, books for leisure
are therefore a luxury.
3. Infrastructure, Climate, and Safety: Outside the urban centers in Kenya
and Uganda, the infrastructure is regularly characterized by poor roads
and unreliable transport, making it more expensive for people to get to
places where schools and libraries operate and where books are sold. It
is also more difficult for bookshops to get their books delivered. In some
areas, harsh climatic and geographical conditions are a challenge for
human survival; in conflict areas, such as once in Northern Uganda, civil
unrest continues to displace large numbers of people and make living
areas insecure in terms of both personal security and health issues.
Obtaining and selling books in such regions constitutes a challenge if
not an impossibility for small-s cale publishing ventures like LINGOs
with their limited economic capital.
4. Distribution Partners: The distribution of print publications to
bookshops beyond the territorial borders or to remote areas causes costs
for small publishing ventures like FEMRITE and Kwani Trust that
would diminish their profitability. As of 2012, the number of books sold
would not necessarily exceed or even meet the transportation costs to
selling partners outside Kenya or Uganda. At the same time, it can be a
challenge just to get the publications placed in active book outlets in the
LINGOs’ direct environment, as they often need to negotiate with
bookshops or rely on other partners. In order to have its journals stocked
and promoted, Kwani Trust, for instance, relied on Book First for a few
years, “a [Kenyan] chain of bookshops with book stores in all Nakumatt
outlets . . . [as well as at] Tusker Mattresses and Uchumi
Supermarkets.”72 According to Mike Mburu, to get placed in all these
other bookshops, a publisher has to go through Book First. Obviously,
Book First had also agreed to have Kwani Trust’s publications
distributed to Nyali, Kisumu, and Eldoret. In Mburu’s view, the
distribution, however, failed in the early 2000s particularly because
Book First did not deliver and promote the publications as planned. 73
Due to challenges such as the four outlined here, the local impact of the
publications by FEMRITE and Kwani Trust is limited until these
LINGOs develop strategies to overcome these external factors.
 Survival of the Fittest O 145

On the other hand, FEMRITE and Kwani Trust have succeeded in

establishing transnational networks online with both local as well as
African and non- African authors, stakeholders in the book industry and the
public education sector in order to increase the visibility of their writing
through electronic publishing and to thus overcome the obstacles of
distribution. Although the
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problem of local and regional distribution is partly solved through

electronic publishing, the question of literacy and language and the access,
availability, and affordability of the Internet still restricts the benefit of
electronic publishing and publishing on demand production within the
territorial borders of Uganda and Kenya. According to the most recent
World Bank Statistics, only eight out of one hundred people in Uganda
have access to the Internet; in Kenya, nine out of one hundred people have
access to the Internet.74 As of now, access to the Internet is virtually
nonexistent in certain rural areas and remains mostly limited to urban
areas. Despite the fact that Internet cafés and Internet hotspots exist across
these countries, the number of literate people able and willing to spend
money on Internet usage is low since many people, as mentioned earlier,
live below the poverty line. Even if these people spent money on Internet
usage, many of them would not necessarily access the websites of
FEMRITE and Kwani Trust possibly due to a lack of interest and a lack of
knowledge of English. Thus, although the provision of e- publishing
increases the visibility and accessibility of publications considerably, it
does so merely for a fraction of society at the moment. With their online
services as well as with their print publishing services and urban reading
and writing activities, Anglophone LINGOs like FEMRITE and Kwani
Trust cater only to a minority of the population.
Political Commitment
It is not only external influences such as the oppression by a governmental
regime that are a danger to the power and sustainability of a local LINGO.
In fact, the political commitment of the LINGO can have a similar effect if
the LINGO becomes too entangled with sociopolitical concerns. In the case
of Mbari, for instance, it was not only the individual struggles over the
problems with the CCF funding that led to instability in the LINGO. 75
Rather, things were falling apart due to the involvement of Okigbo,
Soyinka, Achebe, and Clark in and against the cause for Biafra. With Beier
and Mphahlele already gone, Soyinka in detention, Okigbo dead, and
Achebe and Clark in deep conflict over the rightness of the Biafran cause, 76
Mbari collapsed.77 The case of Mbari suggests that involvement with
political issues as well as conflicting internal political views can result in
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the collapse of a LINGO. To date, however, FEMRITE and Kwani Trust’s

involvement in political issues—s uch as the fighting against women’s
violation in the case of FEMRITE, or the support for imprisoned writers
and its resistance against the government during the postelection crisis in
the case of Kwani Trust— have not led to the LINGOs’ collapse. At this
stage of writing, it is therefore difficult to estimate the effects of this
commitment on the sustainability of contemporary LINGOs.
 Survival of the Fittest O 148

At the same time, however, political commitment can also be seen as

having a negative impact on the literary output of a LINGO, for it
influences, if not limits, the range of its literary output decisively. Although
not criticizing the present regime directly, FEMRITE has made it its
“business to record”78 the stories of Ugandan women who have been
“forced to endure terrible things,” 79 and to record and publish largely
creative nonfiction as in fictionalized true-l ife accounts “of marginalized
women in different fields.”80 Presently, this is one of FEMRITE’s major
programs, by which the LINGO aims to “inspire the reader and listener to
construct meaningful social and political opinions towards a collective
responsibility for our societies.”81 The idea of the project entitled “Making
Heard the Untold Stories of Marginalized Women” 82 was developed by
Goretti Kyomuhendo83 and developed further under the present FEMRITE
project manager, Hilda Twongyeirwe. At the moment, Twongyeirwe points
out, this is FEMRITE’s “main program that feeds into the sociopolitical
scene, because that is where the political and social contexts intersect.” 84
But it is also to this project that FEMRITE can allocate most of their funds
for publication now that the LINGO can no longer rely on a major donor.
Nevertheless, the LINGO, aiming to maintain its autonomy as an
independent write-t ank, also seeks this intersection between the literary
world as well as the sociopolitical context. As Twongyeirwe highlights,
“FEMRITE selects the topics in relation to topical issues or areas of need
and . . . does not get commissioned to write but . . . commissions writers
after it gets funds for the project.”85 Between 2003 and 2009, FEMRITE
released five of these life- writing collections, revolving around issues of
Ugandan women and law, women and HIV/ AIDS, women in armed
conflict situations, and women and female genital mutilation: Tears of
Hope: A Collection of Short Stories by Ugandan Rural Women (2003),
edited by Violet Barungi and Ayeta Ann Wangusa; I Dare to Say: Five
Testimonies by Ugandan Women Living Positively with HIV/AIDS (2007),
edited by Susan N. Kiguli and Violet Barungi; Today You Will
Understand: Women of Northern Uganda (2008), compiled in cooperation
with IRIN Radio; Farming Ashes: Tales of Agony and Resilience (2009)
and Beyond the Dance (2009), both edited by Violet Barungi and Hilda
Twongyeirwe. Since the most of these publications have been published
since 2007, it could well be argued that the trend of committing itself to
documenting women’s human rights in fiction has increased at FEMRITE.
 Survival of the Fittest O 149

This trend and the lack of funding to publish other manuscripts not only
might be seen to limit the scope and content of FEMRITE’s creative
writing output but eventually might urge Ugandan women writers to
publish their creative writing elsewhere and no longer under the banner of
FEMRITE. Thus the political commitment of FEMRITE could lead to a
changed perception of the LINGO. Locally, the LINGO might soon be
perceived as a sociopolitical body promoting women’s human rights rather
than a
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writers’ organization, and on a transnational level, FEMRITE might

eventually lose its reputation as the writers’ organization nurturing
Ugandan literary talent of transnational interest. Such a changed perception
and the limited scope of its literary output at FEMRITE could result in a
loss of writers and future writing talents, as well as a lack of interest from
transnational and national stakeholders from the literary market and the
cultural funding industry. It is in this way that FEMRITE’s political
commitment to women’s rights eventually could lead to the collapse of
Uganda’s women writers’ organization.
Crisis Management
The previous LINGOs Mbari, Transition, and Chemchemi, as was shown
in this chapter, withered away because of repressive government action,
disagreements among staff members, as well as because of their strong
involvement in political unrest. Their ability to institute crisis management
enables LINGOs to compensate for the threats and weaknesses identified in
this chapter. Crisis management constitutes a kind of emergency plan and
comprises alternative strategies, counteracting and neutralizing any of the
threats and weaknesses that LINGOs might face. An astute knowledge of
its operating environment and thus a significant awareness of both its
threats and weaknesses aid LINGOs in putting crisis management in place,
when necessary.
At the same time, however, an awareness of threats and weaknesses
does not guarantee that the LINGO is able to recognize a crisis in time and
to react appropriately. The appropriate reaction to a crisis, I argue, again
depends on people in the LINGO identifying the crisis and implementing a
strategy to prevent or minimize the crisis. Provided that the threats and
weaknesses are not overpowering and inescapable, an ability in crisis
management can help prevent a LINGO from decline. In the case of Mbari,
Chemchemi, and Transition, a lack of crisis management contributed to
their decline, because they were unable to compensate in time for the
threats and weaknesses they were facing.
In their strategic plans, Kwani Trust and FEMRITE point out a number
of threats and weaknesses. Despite the unique nature of each LINGO, the
weaknesses identified by both organizations display common strands,
151 y NGOs

thereby also revealing the common challenges African LINGOs face

regardless of their unique agenda and location. A lack of staff and time
management as well as a need for a greater investment in team- building
capacity are thus highlighted as potential weaknesses in both organizations:
Kwani Trust is aware of its need for additional team- building
opportunities, insufficient human resource capacity, and a need for time
management skills. Similarly, FEMRITE has recognized the need to
improve project management skills, poor administrative structures, and
understaffed positions. Finally, Kwani Trust and FEMRITE both consider
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urvival of the Fittest

it necessary to enhance the quality and relevance of their products and to

diversify and secure their financial resources. The identification of these
weaknesses also sheds light on the LINGOs’ interest in for-p rofit
strategies, thereby giving evidence of the fact that LINGOs, despite their
nonprofit status, have similar concerns to those of profitable enterprises.
FEMRITE and Kwani Trust worry about insufficient revenue from their
publications and events, and about ways for enhancing their
remuneration.86
In terms of threats, FEMRITE identified three threats for its strategic
plan of 2007 through 2011: the rising costs of publishing, the loss of
bestselling authors to other publishers, as well as a negative bias against
women writers as feminists. Interestingly enough, FEMRITE has not
commented on its sociopolitical environment, which is due to the fact that
FEMRITE is critical of some sociopolitical issues in its society, such as the
oppression of women, but does not conceive the overall sociopolitical
environment as a threat to its existence. So far, FEMRITE perceives the
present regime under Museveni as a long- deserved period of peace
considering the years Uganda witnessed under Idi Amin.
In its strategic plan for 2007 through 2011, Kwani Trust identifies “the
context under which [it] . . . operates . . . [as] characterized by myriad
challenges,”87 such as the concentration by regional publishers on the
education and development sector with creative writing not being a focus
area for regional books, the lack of strong collaborative links among the
arts and cultural enterprises of the region, the wrong belief that the public
in the region does not read, the absence of spaces that facilitate creative
interactions and conversations, the lack of exchange of creative ideas,
expansion of literary spaces throughout the country and region, and the
lack of funding and related support systems for writers and the literary
sectors of East Africa. It further identifies the absence of arts and creative
knowledge development in the national school curriculum, the absence of a
social and political infrastructure to support the growth of national and
regional creative and knowledge industries, and the existence of strong
social development movements that culminated in the dominance of
message- oriented, social development– themed artistic activities (e.g.,
HIV film, corruption songs).88 To Kwani Trust, the biggest threat—a nd
 S O 153

thus an external factor it cannot influence—i s the unstable political and

economic environment in the country.89
Indeed, Kwani Trust was taken aback by the political unrest in 2007 and
2008 after the presidential elections and found itself in a situation where it
had to react and position itself quickly. Due to the promising era Kibaki
had started in 2002, Billy Kahora states the fresh writers in Kenya “were
like almost everybody else, naíve and hopeful”90 when the election violence
occurred. In the light of this unexpected situation, the LINGO reacted in
two ways: First, Kwani Trust helped establish the group of the Concerned
Kenyan Writers (CKW)91
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and sent out writers to collect material in areas such as the Rift Valley,
where the violence was particularly high. Second, the LINGO put a
substantial part of its financial means into the payment of these field trips.
From January to early May 2008, the group of the CKW created a kind of
neutral space, a writers’ tribe, where writers of different ethnicities and also
from outside the Kwani Trust group met and discussed the ongoing social
and political issues, while people were divided and fighting each other on
the basis of tribal identity. In contrast to Mbari in times of Biafra, Kwani
Trust so far has displayed crisis management at a time of civil unrest and
ethnic conflict without getting too involved and without falling apart.

Conclusion
In this chapter I illustrated that Kwani Trust and FEMRITE have benefitted
from the shift of transnational funding to the NGO sector. Whereas the
liberalization of the sociopolitical climate has furthered the emergence and
development of Kwani Trust, the case of FEMRITE in Uganda also has
revealed that LINGOs emerge in relatively stable and autocratic regimes.
This highlights the fact that LINGOs as homegrown nonprofit ventures are
inevitably bound to develop according to their local sociopolitical and
sociocultural environments. The circumstances contributing to their
development cannot be generalized. They are as unique as the LINGOs’
objectives and literary agenda. Still, a minimum level of democratic
structures allowing for their registration and public performance is
important.
The duration of their existence in their present political environments
suggests that Kwani Trust and FEMRITE as LINGOs have become
accepted and established bodies enjoying freedom of expression. Yet
government actions in Kenya and Uganda between 2007 and 2009 have
also illustrated that the sociopolitical situation for contemporary writers
and institutions of creative writing remains complicated after all, thereby in
fact mirroring a familiar pattern of political persecution that Ugandan and
Kenyan writers faced in earlier decades.
In the end, Michael therefore is right when claiming that although
NGOs can gain significant power and sustainability for quite some time, at
155 O y NGOs

least their influence, if not their very existence, is ultimately bound to be

temporary. African LINGOs are subject to external factors that the
organizations cannot always influence unless they manage to compensate
for threats and weaknesses effectively at all times. At the moment, the
dependency on funding in the light of limited local markets for creative
writing and the lack of government support probably remains the most
prominent challenge to the LINGOs’ sustainability.
 CHAPTER 5

“Tongues on Fire”1
The Politics of Being an African
Writer in an African LINGO in the
Twenty- First Century

I ignore the term African writer. I write. Among other things. Full stop. Place
myself as far away as an Indian ocean speck of sand is from disgraced
Pluto’s fifth moon.
— Yvonne Owuor2

Introduction

T he discussion of the literary NGO (LINGO) in the previous

chapters revealed that African LINGOs past and present have not
simply been producers of literature. Rather, literature produced
within and promoted by African LINGOs is equally regarded as an
instrumental site for cultural, social, and political commentary. According
to their objectives and activities, African LINGOs have clearly perceived
themselves as independent write- tanks aiming to explore questions of
identity, to contribute to nation building, and to challenge the literary
mainstream.
In the case of FEMRITE and Kwani Trust, these ambitions for both
social and literary change have been most obvious in their institutional
goals. On a metalevel, it can be concluded that FEMRITE and Kwani Trust
aim not only at the promotion of literature and literary talent but also at
reinvigorating local civil societies, which is an aspect they share with other
exclusively sociopolitically oriented NGOs. Unlike these other
organizations, though, LINGOs aim at reinvigorating civil societies
primarily through literature.
 Yet their sociopolitical ambitions are somewhat more problematic if one
considers the very nature of LINGOs. By giving the concrete definition of
LINGOs
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92 A

in Chapter 2, I proposed that LINGOs are best understood as dynamic

social networks that are driven by heterogeneous actors and the
relationships among them, while the officially registered structure of the
organization as an NGO and its locale represent the formally constituted
frame, the skeleton if you like, providing the infrastructure for these
literary networks. As social and literary networks, LINGOs are primarily
driven by ideas and actions of individuals, who represent the core of these
networks.
Taking it for granted then that LINGOs as living social networks are
highly dependent on the actions of individuals, the question that inevitably
emerges in view of the public role of FEMRITE and Kwani Trust, then, is
to what extent these writers, as associates of the LINGOs, regard
themselves as having an interest in contributing toward social and literary
change. Where do the associated writers see themselves and their creative
writing in relation to their place in and their contribution to politics and
society? And how exactly does their self- perception differ from that of
writers of earlier generations? In this chapter, I provide answers to these
questions by contrasting the views of early writers against the views of
present writers, gained in personal interviews.

Wrestling with Politics in the 1960s and 1970s

Regardless of their association with a LINGO, the notion of writers in the
African context has been frequently connected to their social responsibility
and their involvement with politics.3 Some of the first-g eneration writers
of Anglophone literature, moreover, regularly linked the notion of the
writer to the image of the traditional oral storyteller in African societies as
well as to the notion of “art . . . [being] functional” 4 and “an integral part of
a community’s wrestling with its environment.”5 In the 1960s, Chinua
Achebe,6 for instance, regarded writers as teachers, 7 who then could not “be
excused from the task of re-e ducation and regeneration that . . . [had to] be
done.”8 His perspective on the role of the writer in “The Novelist as a
Teacher,” published in 1965, often was perceived as the dominating self-
understanding of African writers in the 1960s. 9 Achebe assigned a public
role and social responsibility to African writers.
 O frican Literary NGOs

Coming from a perspective of political commitment, Wole Soyinka, at

the same time, argued more drastically that the African writer had a duty to
directly “engage with the sociopolitical struggle of society or to withdraw
completely.”10 In his eyes, African writers after independence had arrived at
a state of disillusionment in light of corrupt local politicians failing to
fulfill the promises of liberation. In his essay “The Writer in a Modern
African State,” Soyinka thus reminded his fellow writers in 1967, “The
artist has always functioned in African society as the recorder of mores and
experience of his society and as the voice of vision in his own time. It is
time for him to respond to this essence
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of himself.”11 In Soyinka’s view, African writers in the 1960s were people

who had a duty to comment on and fight the inequalities in their societies
caused by politicians. Soyinka himself therefore, in contrast to Achebe,
was actively committed to practical politics as a political activist in the
Biafra War during his time at Mbari. A writer and political activist,
Soyinka has continued to join and support political causes. In 2005, for
example, he joined the Pro-N ational Conference Organizations
(PRONACO) participating in the reformulation of Nigeria’s constitution,
and in 2006, he “[co]founded a new political party: the Democratic Front
for Peoples’ Liberation (DFPF), that . . . put up candidates on a platform of
pluralist democracy in Nigeria’s elections.”12 Soyinka has remained a
critical observer of Nigerian society as well as a harsh critic of the Nigerian
government throughout his life.13 In all these years, he has not accepted the
fact that he is in exile but rather considers his absence from Nigeria a
“political sabbatical.”14
Okot p’Bitek, unlike Achebe and Soyinka, connected the role of the
writer more strongly with African indigenous community life and the role
of traditional storytellers, preserving the history, structure, and identity of
their communities in their oral stories and proverbs. In his essay “Artist,
the Ruler,”15 p’Bitek proposed that artists “create . . . the central ideas
around which other leaders, law makers, chiefs, judges, heads of clan,
family heads, construct and sustain social institutions.” 16 Grounding his
thinking in the role of the oral storyteller in traditional African
communities p’Bitek argued that artists 17 were the initiators of community
life, providing and sustaining the rules of social order, which the “political
chieftain, who comes to power with the aid of his soldier and rich business
brethren, . . . merely puts . . . into practice in ruling or misruling the
country.”18 P’Bitek suggested that African societies have only two types of
rulers: “the artist” and “the political chieftain.” To him, literature
eventually was a sociocultural and sociopolitical instrument, laying the
foundations of society.
In the 1970s, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o considered “every writer . . . a writer
in politics,”19 who, because literature is “produced by life which has
economic, social and political aspects . . . [,] cannot remain neutral.” 20
Driven by Marxist thought, Ngũgĩ argued that “for the Kenyan artist, the
 O 161

most minimal step towards freedom is a total immersion in the struggles of

Kenyan workers and peasants.”21 The pen of a writer should therefore “be
the voices of the people”22 and “give voices to silence.”23 He regarded those
African writers writing in English as “a petty intellectual army of . . . [the]
native ruling class”24 of those Kenyans who had taken over to rule after
independence. As “products of colonial universities,” 25 Ngũgĩ argued, those
writers “never really accepted the possibility of their becoming true literary
guerrillas of the masses in their quest and struggle for liberation.” 26 In order
to exert influence in their societies, Ngũgĩ argued more
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94

strongly than any of the other writers mentioned that it was vital for the
Kenyan writer, and in fact the African writer per se, to completely abandon
English and to instead turn to indigenous languages of the African
continent. He proposed that “language as communication and language as
culture are then products of one another,”27 concluding that it would
therefore be paramount for African writers to communicate primarily in
their indigenous languages if they wanted to be heard and recognized by a
wider local audience. Following his line of thinking, Ng ũgĩ wa Thiong’o,
then still James Ngũgĩ, legally changed his name to the Gĩkũyũ variant
Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o on September 21, 1977. He thereby publicly underlined
his attitude to what he believed was necessary for the development of
Kenya’s society and the role of the writer within it.
Despite his call to African writers to take on a political role, however,
Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o has not continued committing himself to political
struggle in contemporary times. Although a politically committed and
outspoken activist in Kenya especially in the 1970s, Ng ũgĩ— unlike
Soyinka— has stopped actively engaging in current sociopolitical affairs of
Kenya. When asked by Kenyan writers and activists during the postelection
violence in 2007 and 2008, if he— being a renowned key figure in East
African literature— could not try to establish contact with President
Kibaki, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o responded only very briefly in an email
exchange with Firoze Manji:28

Dear Ngũgĩ
Please see the message below. Is there any way that you would be able to reach
Kibaki. The situation reported is terrible ———— Firoze

Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o to Firoze Manji, January 3rd, 2008

Dear Firoze,
Excellent message!! But the last time I was in direct or indirect touch with
Kibaki was 1977!!!!!!
Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, Director, Transnational
Center for Writing and Translation,
Distinguished Professor of English and
Comparative
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Literature, UC Irvine29

Obviously Ngũgĩ was unwilling to engage in political struggle in order to

help contemporary writers and activists enter into a dialogue with
politicians. Although a matter of speculation, Ng ũgĩ’s reaction might have
been due to his memories of imprisonment as well as the memories of the
violence he and his relatives experienced during a visit to Nairobi in 2004.
Yet, at the same time, Ngũgĩ’s reaction irritated contemporary writers
and activists as, prior to the presidential election in December 2007, he had
addressed the people from Limuru, his home community, in an open letter
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“Tongues on Fire”

written in Gĩkũyũ. In that letter, he had encouraged his community to “vote

wisely and send Kibaki a person of known integrity.” 30 In contrast, in the
wake of the anxiety in Kenya during the presidential elections in 2007 and
2008, writers such as David Maillu31 and members of the Redykyulass
Comedians ran for political offices.
As Anglophone writers of the early generation with a significant
influence on the Kenyan and Ugandan literary scenes, Achebe and
Soyinka, once both active at Mbari, and p’Bitek and Ng ũgĩ in the 1960s
and 1970s considered African writers to have the authority and duty to be
active critics of and commentators on their societies. Bearing in mind these
attitudes by African writers, the writers’ sporadic engagement in political
affairs as in the case of Soyinka, Maillu, or the Redykyulass Group to date,
and considering the fact that civil society has remained embattled in the
region, it becomes clear as to why the label of the African writer, and
hence ultimately the question of the contemporary Kenyan and Ugandan
writer as a public figure and as a writer-c um-a ctivist at an Anglophone
LINGO, is loaded with sociopolitical connotations.
The individual views on society and politics by the contemporary
writers interviewed in the course of this book are thus crucial to consider in
regard to the nature of LINGOs. To a certain extent, the writers’ opinions
reveal their self- understanding as writers and as individuals in society.
FEMRITE’s slogan “Power to the Pen,” for instance, reminds one of
Ngũgĩ’s credo, that the pen should “be the voices of the people” 32 and “give
voices to silence.”33 If the associated writers of FEMRITE or Kwani Trust
clearly perceived themselves as public intellectuals with a sociopolitical
responsibility, wanting to directly impact the politics and inequalities of
their societies through their texts, it could be argued that they positioned
themselves as well as the LINGO much more as a political than merely a
literary framework and eventually intended their texts to function directly
as sociopolitical documents. Their self- placement as African writers at an
African LINGO then would not only echo the perspectives of earlier
writers but also echo the political commitment of previous LINGOs: with
the contributions in his journal, Neogy at Transition, for instance, wanted
to make his “contribution [to society and the ongoing political debates] in
iron and steel, i.e. in permanence.” 34 At Mbari involvement with political
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issues as well as opposing views on political concerns among its associated

writers resulted in the collapse of the LINGO. The views presented in this
chapter by present LINGO associates illustrate how the present- day
LINGOs as social networks and their publications in particular are to be
located in relation to ongoing literary, sociopolitical, and sociocultural
dialogues in their countries. Additionally, I argue, the statements allow for
a conclusion about the extent to which Anglophone LINGO writers
through their writing indeed have the specific intention of reinvigorating
both civil society and the literary world.
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Straddlers, Activists, or Simply Writers?

The findings of the interview series show that the relationship between the
LINGO as a public body with a specific agenda as opposed to the self-
understanding of its associated writers as public actors cannot be clearly
defined. It has proved to be rather ambivalent.
In the interview with Beatrice Lamwaka, a nationally awarded
children’s book author and nominee of the Caine Prize 2011, she
highlighted as follows: “I joined in 1999 and got involved in many
activities. And some of the FEMRITE members are my best friends now
because of what we want and because our goals are similar.” 35 What she
appreciates about her membership at FEMRITE is the fact that getting into
writing residences or publishing outlets is “easier when . . . [she]
mention[s] that . . . [she’s] a member of an established organization, like
FEMRITE.”36 Lamwaka is part of the LINGO because it offers her a place
to write and to be with like-m inded people, while it also gives her a certain
level of visibility and boosts her recognition as a writer within Uganda as
well as outside the country. When asked if a writer had a social
responsibility or public role, Lamwaka stressed, “My role I think is to write
my experiences . . . I don’t think the writer really has a responsibility
though . . . I actually don’t like politics too much.” 37 Being of Acoli
background from Northern Uganda, Lamwaka finds what motivates her
really are “not issues about colonialism” 38 but the stories of her local
environment. She argues, “I come from a region that has been going
through war for twenty- two years and sometimes I look at them and
wonder if someone knew their stories, if they died with their stories . . .
And then sometimes I decide to write their stories, not exactly their stories
of course but from my point of view.”39
Lamwaka’s vocation as a writer is nurtured by her passion for creativity
and the emotional bond with her home region. “I am an Acoli and I am a
woman and that’s really my perspective,” 40 she says in relation to her
identity. According to Lamwaka, her capturing of stories from that area is
not primarily intended to cause change. Even FEMRITE’s texts and audio
stories about women in conflict, Lamwaka thinks, “may not change
anything directly, if it’s meant to change anything. But it creates
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awareness.”41 The public role and impact of literature issued by FEMRITE,

Lamwaka argues, rather surfaces “when people read and relate to it in some
way that it can definitely play a role.”42
To Doreen Baingana, the joining of FEMRITE upon coming back from
the United States was guided by her desire for a writers’ community.
“FEMRITE [is] where I find people who are interested in the same things
as I, who have the same aspirations and with whom I can discuss literary
stuff,”43 says Baingana. Despite their belonging to a change- driven
framework like FEMRITE, though, Baingana argues writers should not be
assigned a specific public role:
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“Tongues on Fire”

It’s true that writers may have a platform, but they should be able to use it
only if they want to. Some write, but remain quiet and just let their pieces
speak, or let others interpret what the pieces say. For African writers
especially, whether we like it or not, society or the loud- mouths in society
expect us to speak on its behalf. Should we jump to this tune? Next, we’ll be
told what to write! It’s been argued that traditionally that vast time before
colonialism oral literature in many African societies served various societal
roles beyond the personal satisfaction of its creator. Well, we have moved
on. I’d be so pleased if my work happened to “speak for the masses” or was
the “voice of the voiceless,” but I cannot make this the reason to write. For
me it’s personal. If you are deeply engaged in what you are doing and are
gifted, your work cannot but must resonate for others and have an impact
beyond your aims and ambitions. But it is not a must that this has to be your
intention: to fulfill a certain societal role . . . I definitely think literature
should not have a message! But literature that is good literature in the end
has a social impact and can cause social change . . . Writing with the
intention of putting a message across usually affects the quality of the work.
The only duty writers should have is to create a piece of art . . . For those
writers who want to be politically or socially relevant, fine, go ahead! But I
don’t think that should be imposed on a writer.44

Baingana thinks that contemporary writers are not “overtly political as

Ugandan writers in the sixties.”45 Today, writers are not “really thinking
about general national themes, . . . the stories are more personal, even
though they do have overarching political themes . . . [T]he personal is
political, and the political is personal.” 46 In Baingaina’s eyes, it would be
good if writers had a certain level of public impact, but it is something she
thinks writers cannot influence and therefore should never make an
imperative for their writing. It is thus not the writer who needs to appear as
a public figure with sociopolitical responsibility but rather the text that can
become relevant and cause change.47
In regard to her identity as a Ugandan writer, Jackee Batanda echoes
Baingana: “In the African context our stories seem to be always interlinked
with these sociopolitical issues, but I guess for most of us it’s really just
like: ‘Oh, I had this story and I wanted to write it!’” 48 Over the years,
Jackee Batanda’s understanding of the role of the writer has changed
hence:
 O 169

When I started out, I felt my role was to explain who I am to the world, but
after some time I realized that as I grew up in my writing that it doesn’t
really matter. When you get bombarded with literature from Britain and the
US, they don’t have to explain to us who they are. It’s just about their
stories. So for me and my writing has moved towards that view point. It’s
more about the story. I don’t write to give history or geography lessons. It’s
more about creating characters for entertainment. It could be educational.
Different issues as they hit me. Although I don’t deny the role of the writer
as the eye of society, the silent critic, I don’t look
170 O African Literary NGOs

at is as my role to explain: Look this is Africa. Guys, we are really not like this!
No, because I think good art is not about explaining. It should speak for itself.49

In Batanda’s eyes, writers are mostly silent critics because “a writer writes,
whereas it should be left to the academics and critics to label the
writings.”50 Although acknowledging a certain role of the writer in society,
Batanda, like Baingana, clearly denies any obvious public role of the writer
as the mouthpiece for society. In her eyes, it is also rather the text the
writer produces that can generate impact in different contexts, but not the
writer as a person. Her commitment to FEMRITE has first and foremost
been initiated by the fact that “FEMRITE is an organization that helps
women writers, writer-w anna-b ees to get into the real world of writing” 51
and thus supported Batanda in realizing for herself “that it is okay to write
about . . . [herself], about the Ugandan experience, the African
experience”52 because “once a story is good, . . . it’s just going to be loved
everywhere.”53
Monica Arac de Nyeko also argues that her belonging to FEMRITE and
her peripheral involvement with Kwani Trust at writers’ classes has been
motivated by the fact that these organizations “have been important
institutions that have given writers space for ideas.” 54 For Arac, to discover
FEMRITE was an eye- opening experience, because coming “from a place
where . . . [she] grew up thinking that there was not space for [her] to
write,” she suddenly realized that “you don’t have to be a dead old English
man to be a writer.”55 Arac believes that LINGOs and other “bodies which
foster creativity and encourage ideas therefore are just as important as
building schools or preserving the ecosystem.” 56 Such organizations are
“part of a dialogue”57 because “through such organizations writers were
also invited more often to other events and given more space to talk in
public.”58 According to Arac, writers should be given public visibility and a
public platform. Yet, at the same time, she personally refuses to be bound
by any categories, making it very clear that although it would be “a little
irresponsible to say that you just write your stories and that’s where you
leave it at,”59 she is “very weary about these big expectations towards
writers or those writers who supposedly start to write because there is this
really big political problem and they go and solve it.” 60 To Arac, “writing is
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not motivated by any sort of huge agenda,” 61 although “there are certain
things you cannot ignore.”62 Writing about Kitgum, her hometown in the
conflict zone of Northern Uganda, for instance, “is almost imperative” 63 to
her, because one has “to capture the things there which we mustn’t forget
and which should never happen again.”64 Primarily, however, Arac
“write[s] because [she] enjoy[s] it.”65 It’s not her role as a public actor but
rather the moment “you as a reader find that the stories other people write
or that [she] write[s] are relevant”66 that creative writing gains a public
momentum in her eyes. “It is great when it finds a relevance in the larger
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“Tongues on Fire”

scheme of things,”67 Arac says. After all, creative writing is a universal

experience. “At the end of the day for me, I’m Acoli first; I’m Monica; I’m
Arac; I’m Ugandan; I’m African. So I’m many things and it’s good to be
that because I wouldn’t like to put myself in a pigeonhole,” 68 Arac
concludes.
At the same time, such views on the sociopolitical duty of the writer and
literature are opposed by other writers affiliated with FEMRITE. Another
young writer, for instance, is convinced that “a writer voices out issues to
the society. A writer helps people to tell their stories. And you may find
that at times these stories that were told, work as a point of awakening in
society.”69 Following her understanding, a writer is a commentator as well
as a mouthpiece of society and therefore inevitably has a duty that is
connected to the public. This writer’s view here echoes perspectives of
writers of the earlier generation. Nevertheless, this writer would not
necessarily argue that her commitment to FEMRITE is primarily driven by
the want for social change. Like the other writers discussed here, she thinks
of FEMRITE primarily as “a platform for young writers to excel, exposing
them to the writing and publishing world.”70
In particular, some of the FEMRITE members of the older generation in
their forties and fifties echo the perspectives of earlier African writers more
strongly. In her essay “FEMRITE and the Woman Writer’s Position in
Uganda:
Personal Reflections,” Susan Kiguli points out,
I want to passionately protest against social injustice and when I do, I base
my imagination on characters and images that form my reality as a Ugandan
woman. I do not want to be restricted by social conventions, for instance
when I wrote the poem: ‘I am Tired of Talking in Metaphors,’ I did it partly
because I was outraged by numerous newspaper reports of cases of ‘women
battering’ in Uganda. I wanted to add my voice to the public debate on
domestic violence and the private and public abuse of women . . . I wanted to
protest against the psychological and physical abuse of women in my society
and it did not matter that these women were not related to me by blood; after
all in my culture, they are all my mothers, my sisters and my nieces . . . As a
woman and a writer, I find myself writing most about the people I know best
and without doubt more women than men inhabit my world. I do not see
why I should be treated like some kind of strange phenomenon because I
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choose to take a logically obvious step. But I have the presence of mind to
realize this happens and I sometimes have to accept labels because I do not
want to be part of the institutions that have fought to have their women out
of the public domain.71

Similar to Kiguli, Lilian Tindyebwa is of the opinion that the role of

literature and society certainly is social and political. “I believe that
literature should carry a social or political message because as I was saying
we should write with a purpose. Then we can be able to bring ourselves
closer to the ideas of society that we want,” 72 she said in the personal
interview. On this notion, Margaret
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African Literar

Ntakamalize added, “The role of the poet in society is educating the public
on topical issues. Not only the Ugandan public, but also people in other
African countries. Worldwide. So that people get to know what is
happening in our country, Uganda.”73 Another writer of the older
generation stressed, “A writer makes people see, looking at what is wrong
in society and commenting on it. But also looking at what is beautiful and
what is commendable.”74 In a personal interview, Mary Karooro Okurut, as
the key initiator of the LINGO, argued that “definitely, a writer should
have a responsibility. There must be social responsibility because writers
are like journalists as they can’t just write irresponsible stuff.” 75 In her eyes,
“literature has either a social or political message somewhere—e ven if
sometimes one is not aware of the message but in the end it’s always
there.”76 The perspectives of these older FEMRITE writers, according to
which literature definitely carries a social or political message, could be
linked to their age, as they belong to a generation that—b orn and raised in
the 1940s, 1950s, and 1960s—r esonates with the horizon of sociopolitical
and sociocultural experiences that was characteristic for some writers of
the 1960s and 1970s. At FEMRITE, it seems, there is a generation gap
between younger and older writers with different views on what concerns
the public role and impact of the writer in Uganda.
Writers associated with Kwani Trust do not share the view of this older
generation of FEMRITE writers but rather think along the lines of the
younger FEMRITE generation as represented in this chapter, particularly
by Baingana, Batanda, Lamwaka, and Arac. This shared aspect is likely
due to a similarity in age, since Kwani Trust– associated writers in their
majority also are mostly in their twenties up to their early forties. In a
personal interview recorded in October 2006, Binyavanga Wainaina
pointed out that he is “concerned about Kenya, but concerned about the
fact that many things in Kenya talk about nation building when they
haven’t actually identified what nation is because the issue of ethnicity and
the role it has played in Kenya up to date needs to be thoroughly addressed
and explored first.”77 Although concerned about the discourse of ethnicity
and nation building in Kenya, Wainaina emphasized that he is a writer and
not a politician. His job as a writer “is to create fictional worlds where
Kenyans interact and transit within those spaces of national and tribal
175 O y NGOs

identities . . . That’s the thing I do. There is nothing else. If it happens to

dovetail with something else, then, good, but it isn’t in my primary writing
concerns. There will be times in my writing career when civil society will
be like: ‘He is crazy!’ And there will be times when they will say: ‘He is
not trying to build our nation; he is trying to tear it down.’ Whatever it is:
we don’t have answers; we build worlds. We are not anti- globalization
activists. And if we happen to be so as citizens that is not about the
fictional creation of the universes. There is something apart from that that
happens.”78
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“Tongues on Fire” 101

In fact, the public attention Kwani Trust generated especially after its
literary festival in December 2006 resulted in the awarding of Binyavanga
Wainaina with the Young Global Leader Prize by the World Economic
Forum for his potential to contribute to shaping the future of the world.
Wainaina declined the nomination, writing to the board, “The problem here
is that I am a writer. And although, like many, I go to sleep at night
fantasizing about fame, fortune and credibility, the thing that is most
valuable in my trade is to try, all the time, to keep myself loose,
independent and creative . . . [I]t would be an act of great fraudulence for
me to accept the trite idea that I am ‘going to significantly impact world
affairs.’”79 Kwani Trust as an institution and his creative writing as a mode
for free expression are not the stage from where Wainaina would have
liked to intentionally speak out to and influence the public.

***
After the postelection violence in Kenya in 2007 and 2008 the writers
around Kwani Trust started to reevaluate their role in society for a moment,
which resulted in the repositioning of the guiding theme for Kwani? 05 and
in the founding of Concerned Kenyan Writers. In light of the fraud
election, Kenyan writers were again going through a moment of
disillusionment for an instant in time as had previous writers in light of
growing autocratic regimes in the 1970s and 1980s. This disillusionment
was also noticeable in the second period of the interview series conducted
in 2008 and 2009. In light of the postelection violence in Kenya,
Wainaina’s attitude on the role of the writer and the role of Kwani Trust
had changed. At the peak of violence among the public and the silence of
the media between December 2007 and February 2008, he and other
associated writers became actively involved in collecting stories from the
conflict zones as to comment and reflect on the events from the point of a
writer. Certainly, Wainaina here used his authority as a writer and at that
time as a driving force at Kwani Trust to document sociopolitical issues.
Therefore, he was in a way directly involved with politics after all. In
February 2013, Wainaina once more clarifies his understanding as a writer,
stating, “I am a public citizen of Kenya devoted to changing Kenya, and
the work Kwani Trust has done to open an opinionated, diverse and
 O

powerful literary space cannot be divorced from political action. The body
of work Kwani Trust has produced shows this quite clearly. Fiction is only
one aspect of that experience, and has too, its own political power.”80
Parselelo Kantai, more so than Wainaina, sees his role as a writer and
founding member of Kwani Trust as one that has always been to actively
engage “the state of its formerly unchallenged legitimacy . . . [to end] the
silence and secrets of the past.”81 Kwani Trust “has broken with the old
mould,” Kantai said, “because it has provided a forum where a multiplicity
of experiences of
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102 African Literar

Kenyanness are presented, discussed, and celebrated.” 82 Both before and

after the election violence, his role as a writer, Kantai argues, has been to
contribute to the process of public opinion making.
Following the postelection violence, Judy Kibinge, a film artist and
founding member of Kwani Trust, claims that the way the contemporary
artists and writers now see themselves in society has changed: “A few
years ago, I would have claimed: An artist has no responsibility. Just tell
what you feel . . . [M]y role is rather to reflect about life as I see it. And
that sounds really selfish, but I think that is it. But I think now after this
election crisis what has happened is you are forced to look at what you are
and it gets harder to write as lightly as before.” 83 While Kibinge does not
think the election crisis truly changed the role of the writer, it did, however,
result in a shared point of experience for today’s Kenyan writers from
which these contemporary writers are writing and which may influence
their writing in one way or another.
In view of the postelection violence, Kingwa Kamencu, as one of the
youngest Kwani Trust volunteers, agrees with Kibinge, proposing that
literature always is a reflection of its time. Kamencu points out, “At Kwani
Trust, we are engaging with issues of the day, we are attempting to use
words to rebuild the country as we deconstruct it, examine it and rebuild it.
We have realized the immense power of words and numerous ideas have
come out with this. Paramount to writers today and around Kwani Trust is
no longer the Empire. Instead of writing back to the Empire we need to be
writing to ourselves to change our worldview and to reflect on our
problems more and see what can be done about them.” 84 Literature at
Kwani Trust and in general, Kamencu states, “can [thus] become the
reference point to a country’s history [as during the election crisis in 2007
and 2008] . . . ; it can set the pace for the collective society’s values, beliefs
and aspirations; it can [also] censure the political class going out of line.” 85
Yet this does not mean that “the writer [even after the disillusionment of
the postelection violence] has a responsibility per se,” 86 Kamencu
highlights. Regardless of his or her commitment to an organization,
Kamencu believes, “every writer should write as they will” 87 and then
decide for himself or herself if he or she wants to be “committed writers or
not.”88
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English— Still a Language That Is Not One’s Own?89

Unlike Anglophone writers of earlier generations, where the question of
using English was much discussed by writers from the university
frameworks as well as in publications at Transition, writers at Kwani Trust
and FEMRITE consider that the debate about the use of English for
creative writing is outdated. Due to its prominence in global business and
media, as well as its status as an official
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“Tongues on Fire” 103

language in both Kenya and Uganda, English has become deeply

entrenched, with national varieties of Kenyan and Ugandan English on the
rise.90
It has therefore also become a natural medium for expression in
literature.91 On using English in her writing, Goretti Kyomuhendo thus
commented, “Language and African writing is quite a tired topic.
Sometimes when people outside Africa ask me, ‘So why don’t you write in
your African language?’, I start by correcting them that there is no such
thing like one African language in the same way as there is no such thing
like one European language.”92 Although English in Uganda still remains a
social marker of authority and higher education, Kyomuhendo stressed, it
has also become a natural tool of communication for many Africans in
their everyday lives, and as such it has also become a natural tool for
creative writing.93 Nevertheless, it is certainly different for other writers or
LINGOs operating, for example, in indigenous languages.
For the Ugandan writer, Kyomuhendo notes, wanting to write in English
is owed to the setup of the linguistic continuum: in Uganda, to write in
English is vital in order to communicate effectively across the linguistic
boundaries of the various indigenous communities. After Swahili, English
is considered one of the official languages, with Luganda being spoken
regionally, especially in Central Uganda. Since there is no language in
Uganda that would be understood throughout the country, English has
become a lingua franca, officially accepted but not very well spoken by
everyone. A medium of instruction in schools, English, according to
Kyomuhendo, is considered to be rather free of ethnic markers that could
lead to ethnic disagreements and irritations otherwise. 94 At FEMRITE,
English is seen as bridging linguistic boundaries and as glossing over
ethnic differences.
Similarly, the use of English is not questioned by writers frequently
submitting their texts to Kwani Trust. “I write in English because it’s the
language I am most familiar with and which most of us currently use,”
Kingwa Kamencu pinpoints the opinion of many LINGO contributors. 95 In
Kenya, in contrast to Uganda, Kiswahili exists as a co-o fficial language
alongside English and is a compulsory subject at school. Although it is not
widely spread as a means of communication in everyday life, Kiswahili
 O

recently has begun to enjoy greater prominence in commercials and urban

music. Whereas English dominates everyday communication in central
Uganda (with Luganda spoken in Kampala), urban Kenya, and Nairobi in
particular, is dominated by English with Sheng and Kiswahili variants.
With the onset of the new millennium, Sheng in particular has gained
momentum as an identifier for a generation of writers and artists aiming to
question as well as to embrace the dynamics behind ethnic, linguistic, and
sociopolitical divides in the country.96 Kantai emphasizes, “In place of
English and Kiswahili constituted as the main currencies in which life [in
Kenya] was transacted across the ethnic divides, we now speak and
embrace
 O y NGOs

104 African Literar

Sheng.”97 Some writers submitting their work to Kwani Trust have

therefore looked at the language question differently, also submitting
creative writing in Sheng. In present-d ay Kenya and within the pages of
Kwani Trust publications, the language question therefore has actually
shifted from the discourse around the use of English toward the
incorporation of mixed local linguistic codes of English that are not yet
accepted as standard languages but that are a characteristic element for
some of the present generation of writers. With their largely Anglophone
publications both FEMRITE and Kwani Trust as Anglophone African
LINGOs, although operating within different sociopolitical and
sociocultural contexts, impact the contemporary Anglophone scene without
debating the use of English for their publications.

Conclusion
In terms of the contemporary writer as a writer- cum- activist and public
figure in society, the selective statements by associates of FEMRITE and
Kwani Trust allow at least eight conclusions:

1. Although many writers interviewed feel that their experience, their

immediate environment, and the ongoing sociopolitical and
sociocultural discourses in Uganda and Kenya are in one way or another
reflected in their writing, they argue that— unlike earlier writers—i t is
neither their job nor their duty to directly fight for social and political
change. Rather, their texts— as autonomous bodies— can gain a
momentum of public relevance and social change, maybe even
educating the public on a certain issue or mapping spaces and revealing
any kind of dynamics in their societies through fiction that would remain
invisible otherwise. Such educational effect, however, would be due to
the perception of the text by an audience, instead of the author inevitably
intending the text to have impact on an audience.
2. Furthermore, these writers largely distance themselves from being
pigeonholed as writers of a distinct label and especially from being
branded as an African, Kenyan, or Ugandan or a male or female writer
per se. This is a self- understanding that differs from prominent writers
 O y NGOs

of earlier generations formerly active at LINGOs and discussed in this

study. In the process of defining their otherness and in pursuit of their
self against the erstwhile European powers, writers like Soyinka, Ng ũgĩ,
Achebe, or p’Bitek tended to highlight their identities as African writers
as well as Nigerian, Kenyan, and later on G ĩkũyũ writers. Contemporary
writers interviewed for the purpose of this study stress that, to them,
 O

“Tongues on Fire” 105

identity is fluid and, although clearly defined by local markers, it is

certainly not confined by territorial or ethnic borders.
3. In contrast to writers of earlier generations, writers within FEMRITE
and Kwani Trust do not link their role to the role of the traditional
oral storyteller in any overt manner. Although they are entrenched in
oral and written contexts due to their educational or ethnic
backgrounds, writing literature regardless of its style and form and
being a writer to them is a universal experience that they share with
other writers around the globe. Depending on their agendas, this
attitude toward the oral context could naturally be different at other
African LINGOs.
4. Likewise, English has become a natural tool of expression for all
theAnglophone writers of FEMRITE and Kwani Trust, the use of
which is no longer debated at these literary frameworks. Rather,
English at these LINGOs has increasingly been used in its different
Kenyan and Ugandan varieties alongside Kiswahili, Sheng, or other
indigenous languages in an almost self- explanatory manner.
5. Most important, these writers thus not only have articulated their
readiness to experiment with language but have once more expressed
their interest in challenging and changing literary mainstream as well
as established perceptions of Anglophone African writing. Today’s
literature, in their eyes, thus is not so much occupied with the
politics of the nation- state at large, the questions of colonialism, or
writing back to the empire. Rather, texts at present focus on
illuminating the politics of individual spaces and on giving highly
personal insights on various sociopolitical and sociocultural issues
such as personal relationships, HIV/ AIDS, civil war, or city life
with all its facets of ethnic interaction and economic differences.
Such localized writing— the writers have argued in their interviews
— gives birth to texts mapping as yet unknown spaces and
illustrating personal stories of Kenyan and Ugandan lives, which in
terms of its diversity, have been lacking in Kenyan and Ugandan
writing until now.
6. Interestingly enough, these writers either are not aware of or
deliberately do not draw a direct connection between their
 O

engagement at the LINGO and the LINGO’s sociopolitical agenda.

Often, they tend to emphasize their individuality and autonomy apart
from the LINGO. In terms of their attitude toward creative writing,
their individual standpoints on the role of literature at least do not
contradict with the LINGOs thematic focus. At FEMRITE and
Kwani Trust, associated writers thus definitely are committed to
creative writing as well as to the debates on ongoing sociocultural
and sociopolitical issues. Yet, in opposition to the LINGOs’ overall
objectives and ambitions, these writers largely do
186 O frican Literary NGOs

not perceive themselves primarily as writers who “stand up and lead

the way . . . [l]ike soldiers to the frontline.” 98 It can therefore be
assumed that the realization of the LINGOs’ agendas as well as the
selection of certain texts for publication strengthening the LINGOs’
mission probably are influenced by a minority of members of the
organization, who either are more committed to the LINGOs’ calling
or display greater authority within the LINGO, for instance through
their being members of the editorial board.
7. The statements by most writers from FEMRITE and Kwani Trust
hence highlight the notion of the African LINGO as a heterogeneous
social network that is driven by individuals who, despite their
belonging to such literary framework, conceive of themselves as
autonomous actors with their personal literary and intellectual
ambitions. They join the LINGO primarily for two reasons: First, in
the absence of many creative writing structures in their countries, it
is there that those interested in literature find like-m inded people
interested in creative writing. Second, depending on the prominence
of the LINGO, upcoming writers can build their own careers as
writers more visibly on both a national and a transnational level.
8. Finally, it is worthwhile to add that the writers’ distancing
themselves from the notion of the African writer as a public and
outspoken figure in the course of this interview series does not seem
surprising in light of the history in both Kenya and Uganda, where
pictures of outspoken writers were publicly burned and writers were
persecuted for many years. From today’s vantage point, the memory
of such events as well as the unstable political climate for free
speech obviously still seems to result in a certain level of auto-c
ensorship among contemporary writers, which, it could be argued, in
a way was also echoed in the interviews. The question of the politics
of being an African writer at an African LINGO in the twenty-f irst
century thus ultimately remains unsettled. The attitude toward
politics depends on both the objectives of the LINGO and the group
of writers driving the network, as well as on the sociopolitical
circumstances impacting these writers, their activities, and their
creative writing.
 CHAPTER 6

“Words That Reshape a Country”1 and

Literary Canons?
Agency and Narrative

Introduction
To recall the setup of the Anglophone literary landscapes in Kenya and
Uganda at this point of the book may seem repetitive, but it will be helpful
to contextualize the discussion of agency and narrative at African literary
NGOs (LINGOs) that I examine in this chapter. From between the late
1940s until the late 1990s, the literary worlds in Kenya and Uganda
consisted of at least six large frameworks within and from which
Anglophone writers were acting, writing, speaking, and drawing their
overall authority in terms of literary standards and literary production: (1)
university literature departments (at Makerere and Nairobi University), (2)
the indigenous and multinational publishing industry (i.e., producing
textbooks as well as books that were considered “popular” literature),
(3) exiled authors, (4) journalism (i.e., newspaper columns like
“Whispers”), (5) the theater (i.e., campus theater, open air theater
[Kamĩrĩĩthũ] or pub theater [Iziga Productions]), and (6) LINGOs
(Transition, Mbari, Chemchemi, FEMRITE, Kwani Trust).
These literary frameworks were highly interconnected. In terms of their
transnational and transinstitutional setup they were linked: writers would
move from one framework to another, or be involved with one framework
more than with another at various stages of their career both within their
countries as well as increasingly across territorial borders. From Nigeria,
for example, Chinua Achebe engaged at the Mbari Clubs but later emerged
most visibly as a university lecturer at Ibadan University, Nigeria, and in
the United States. Achebe was also a driving force in the African Writers
Series in the UK. Wole Soyinka was deeply involved with the Mbari Clubs
and with Neogy’s
189 frican Literary NGOs

O A

Transition but as a writer later drew his authority largely from the
academic framework as a university lecturer at Ibadan and Ghana
Universities. In Uganda and Kenya, Okot p’Bitek, Ng ũgĩ wa Thiong’o, and
Taban Lo Liyong at one point all contributed to the LINGO Transition yet
gained their greatest authority as writers and university teachers associated
with and writing from the literature departments at Makerere and Nairobi
Universities. In the case of Ngũgĩ, Soyinka, and Liyong, one finds writers
who for most of their lifetimes have been writing from places of exile. On
the other hand, David Maillu was never active in university literature
departments but used the local publishing industry to promote his writing
(Comb Books Ltd.). In the 1980s and early 1990s, when the university
departments had lost their authority due to the political circumstances in
Kenya, Wahome Mutahi gained authority as a fiction-w riter-c um-j
ournalist, promoting journalism—t hat is, newspaper columns such as
“Whispers”—a nd the pub theater as platforms for literary
experimentations. With the beginning of the new millennium and the
increased accessibility of the Internet, a seventh framework has
additionally emerged with the worldwide web, providing a plethora of
opportunities for self- promotion and publishing.
What was already obvious in earlier decades of the Anglophone literary
tradition in Kenya and Uganda was that in terms of literary standards some
writers, their works, and the frameworks they were writing from were in
competition with each other. The institutions and writers struggled for
authority and legitimation as to who counts as a real writer, or what kind of
work or writing style was more accepted by literary critics or the reading
audiences. As noted in Chapter 1, this competition in Kenya, for instance,
surfaced most visibly in the 1960s and 1970s with the dismissal of popular
literature as produced by multinational and indigenous publishing houses
and the celebration of literature by writers actively involved as lecturers in
university departments.
In this chapter I argue, then, that the writers associated with FEMRITE
and Kwani Trust have contributed to a more flexible understanding of
literature and the places where this literature thrives by promoting online
material as well as print material, which in terms of its contents and forms
has worked against the established canon of the local literary mainstream.
190 frican Literary NGOs

With their publications, African LINGOs, it is argued here, contribute to a

democratization2 of the literary landscape. By way of example, this chapter
will illuminate the different ways in which FEMRITE and Kwani Trust
have managed to challenge prevailing opinions, to gain authority, and to
question the conventional mainstream in the literary landscapes of their
countries. The discussion is supported by an analysis of selected literary
material, which in turn will be read against statements by local literary
critics and LINGO associates in order to highlight the
 “Words That Reshape a Country”and Literary Canons? O

109

interaction between literature and its reception in Kenya and Uganda in the
twenty- first century.
In its first part, I discuss the nature of the literary material in terms of
form, language, and content abstracting from Bourdieu’s theory on the
field. As the discussion unfolds, I will illustrate how these texts have
influenced the perception of the LINGO and the writers by literary critics
from the region, thus ultimately defining their role in the local literary
worlds. In concluding, this chapter looks at the power relationships within
the LINGOs.

Authority Matters
In the local environments of their immediate operation, African LINGOs
thrive in a literary space where their status and the recognition of their
publications— apart from their perception by an audience and by literary
critics—i s additionally defined through the writers’ educational and social
backgrounds as well as through the dynamics of their network and their
literary ideas. It is in this context that Pierre Bourdieu’s theory of the
literary field in an abstract form provides a quite useful tool to better
comprehend the ways in which these writers, the LINGOs, and their
publications thrive.
In The Rules of Art: Genesis and Structure of the Literary Field,
Bourdieu proposes that any literary world is a “field of struggles,” 3 in
which agents and systems of agents compete for higher positions of
authority and dominance over others. These positions of authority, he
stresses, vary “considerably depending on different periods within the same
society, and depending on different societies.” 4 If applied to the concept of
the LINGO, this means that as changing networks, LINGOs certainly
display changing clusters of actors of authority at different times.
Following his field theory, Bourdieu suggested that actors in their
aspiration for authority actually are caught in power lines of various
independent fields (i.e., the field of political power, or the field of economy
apart from the literary and artistic fields). 5 In turn, these fields are
embedded in the broader context of what he termed the “field of power,” 6
symbolizing the whole of society. He conceived of these fields as dynamic
 “Words That Reshape a Country”and Literary Canons? O

concepts that are as contested terrains within which agents of various

backgrounds and with various interests fight for their highest level of
authority within a network of interactions between a plurality of forces. 7 On
a metalevel, all these fields exist as more or less autonomous universes
with their very own laws and logics.8 Bourdieu therefore conceived of
society as “an array of relatively autonomous but structurally homologous
[and internally highly heterogeneous and competitive] fields of production,
circulation, and consumption of various forms of cultural and material
resources.”9
193 O frican Literary NGOs

Any field—t hat is, any social space—a ccording to Bourdieu, hence
would be best understood as a space where the available or newly created
positions the individuals inhabit within the various fields are informed by
the individuals’ habitus and their amount of capital, which in its different
forms is unequally distributed among individuals. 10 In Bourdieuian
terminology, habitus is defined as “a system of durable, transposable
dispositions, structured structures predisposed to function as structuring
structures, that is, as principles which generate and organize practices and
representations that can be objectively adapted to their outcomes without
presupposing a conscious aiming at ends or an express mastery of the
operations necessary in order to attain them.” 11 It is a set of dispositions—
social, cultural, religious, historical, and political— leading the individual
to generate individual strategies that he or she uses to claim his or her
position in the various fields. The habitus is durable in that it begins with
the inculcation of dispositions at early childhood and lasts a lifetime; it is
transposable as it allows the individual to develop strategies in diverse
fields; the habitus is a system of structured structures since the dispositions
incorporate the social conditions of their inculcation and thereby account
for similarity in habits of agents from the same social class. Finally, the
dispositions of the habitus are structuring structures in that they enable the
individual to generate practices adjusted to specific situations.12
Capital, on the other hand, is a resource that agents fight for by using
their habitus and interests in any given field. In the economic field, for
instance, agents compete for the accumulation of economic capital,
whereas in the literary field, competition “often concerns the authority
inherent in recognition, consecration and prestige” 13—t hat is, in cultural,
symbolic (e.g., defined through academic degrees or titles as well as
literary prizes), and social capital. In his essay “The Forms of Capital,”
Bourdieu points out that “social capital . . . depends on the size of the
network of connections [she or] he can effectively mobilize and on the
volume of the capital (economic, cultural or symbolic) possessed in his
own right by each of those to whom he is connected.” 14 With regard to
cultural capital, Bourdieu identifies three forms according to which cultural
capital exists “in the embodied state, i.e. in the form of long-l asting
dispositions of the mind and body [that is individual knowledge]; in the
194 O frican Literary NGOs

objectified state, in the form of cultural goods (pictures, books,

dictionaries, instruments, machines, etc.), which are the trace or realization
of theories or critiques of these theories, problematics, etc.; and in the
institutionalized state, a form of objectification which must be set apart
because, as will be seen in the case of educational qualifications, it confers
entirely original properties on the cultural capital which it is presumed to
guarantee.”15 In its embodied state, cultural capital, unlike economic
capital, “cannot be accumulated beyond the appropriating capacities of an
individual agent; it declines and dies with its
 “Words That Reshape a Country”and Literary Canons? O

111

bearer (with his biological capacity, his memory, etc.).” 16 Since it is thus
linked to the person “in his[/her] biological singularity” 17 it is difficult to
distinguish between the “inherited properties (ta patroa) and acquired
properties (epikteta), i.e., those which an individual adds to his[/her]
heritage.”18
In regard to the African LINGOs under investigation, I add literary
capital19 to the concept of capital. Literary capital would be the capital
LINGOs promote and fight for through their publications in the literary
fields in dependence on and the selection from the literary capital proposed
by their contributing writers. Similar to cultural capital as defined by
Bourdieu, literary capital can exist in the (a) embodied, (b) objectified, and
(c) institutionalized states, as (a) in individual creative writing styles and
creative writing experience, (b) in the form of short stories, poems, novels
or nonfiction in books, literary magazines, or digitized spaces such as
email, blogs, or SMS, or (c) published through the LINGO as platform for
creative and intellectual debates.
Taken together, the agents’ habitus and the accumulation of all those
different forms of capital determine the position of African LINGOs along
the power lines in any field. In the case of LINGOs like FEMRITE and
Kwani Trust, it is largely the sum of the habitus and capital of its agents
that determine the LINGOs’ position, turning them into visible literary
networks, which stand out among other literary initiatives such as Jahazi in
Kenya or PEN in Uganda.

Kwani Trust: Power Struggles

In the Anglophone Kenyan literary field, the power lines as well as the
struggles over positions and authority already surfaced both offline and
online the moment Kwani Trust entered the stage with its transnationally
recognized prize winners and publications. While Kwani Trust advertised
itself as a “serious publication . . . [which] has been positively reviewed in
all major newspapers and other media in East Africa and
transnationally . . . [,] featured in the Washington Post, the Miami Herald
and The Independent in the UK [with] Kwani? stories read on BBC,”20
 “Words That Reshape a Country”and Literary Canons? O

other voices like the voice of Mwenda wa Micheni inside the literary field
of Kenya, confronted Kwani Trust with harsh criticism.21
As “a trained teacher of literature,” Mwenda wa Micheni, a BA of English
Studies of Nairobi University and a literary critic at the Kenyan Nation
Media Group regularly commenting on Kwani Trust since its emergence,
“beg[ged] to differ”22 when it came to the perception of Kwani Trust. In one
of his early articles on Kwani Trust “Kwani? Flouts Writing Rules,”
published online on the Kenyan platform ArtMatters in 2004, one year
after the appearance of the LINGO’s first print issue, Mwenda wa Micheni
praised Kwani Trust for its emergence but railed against it in terms of its
snobbish attitude, style, and language.23 He downplayed the popularity and
quality of Kwani? and its coinitiator
197 O frican Literary NGOs

Binyavanga Wainaina by comparing the magazine and the author to

standards of British and American language and literature. Mwenda wa
Micheni argued that despite the fact that “‘Discovering Home’, a short-
story volume by Binyavanga Wainaina, and Kwani? journal have been
hailed variously as representing ‘the very best of what Kenyan writers can
produce’ and as being ‘world class literature’, . . . [o]ne sees in Binyavanga
Wainaina [only] a writer who has a love for writing but is lacking in
authorial vision, . . . [and whose writing thus fails as good short story
writing if measured against] Allan Edgar Poe [sic], the father of the short
story.”24
In his final note on Kwani?, Mwenda wa Micheni therefore concluded
that
above all else, Kwani? is an alternative voice of the street voices that have in
the past not been given a medium of expression . . . A lot may thus have
been said about how great Kwani? is. That is not in dispute. However, the
future of creative writing does not lie with informal, slang, or Sheng that
does not respect rules of grammar, punctuation, style and convention. After
all every game has rules by which it should be played. Why should it be any
different with writing that is meant to communicate ideas? For Kwani? to
dream of ever becoming a classic in the league of Shakespeare or Tolstoy’s
writings, it must be packaged in acceptable universal standards and use the
current language of the world—standard English.25

The striking aspect in Mwenda wa Micheni’s argument is that when

criticizing Kwani? and Wainaina in 2004, Mwenda wa Micheni decided to
clearly dismiss these aspirations and experiments of homegrown literature
at its emergence by measuring their quality and future potential against
European, especially British, and North American standards of language
and literature. Having claimed his position within the literary field through
emphasizing that he was a trained teacher of literature, Mwenda wa
Micheni positioned himself as a guardian of what he considered the
established rules of literary merit. According to Mwenda wa Micheni, (1)
photographs, cartoons, or matatu slogans do not belong in the Kenyan
literary field; (2) if used, cartoons would have to be “universal and
timeless”;26 (3) to use Sheng, slang, or nonstandard English, disregarding
grammar rules, is not acceptable for Anglophone quality writing, which
198 O frican Literary NGOs

would have to be in “standard-E nglish” 27; and finally (4) a poem that like
Ralph Johnstone’s poem “The Smasher” is made up of matatu slogans,
Mwenda wa Micheni argued, “leaves one doubting . . . [Kwani?’s] ability
to comprehend poetry [since] [t]he stanzas stand very far apart that one
cannot connect one to the next hence leaving one speculating whether the
poet was writing many poems and then accidentally stringing them
together.”28
Notwithstanding their contributions to the literary field, Kwani? writers
like Binyavanga Wainaina or Kwani? poets like Ralph Johnstone,
according to
 “Words That Reshape a Country”and Literary Canons? O

113

Mwenda wa Micheni’s conclusion in 2004, one year after the publication

of the first paperback journal, do not deserve to be considered serious
writers in the Kenyan literary scene because they fail to reach the standards
that in 2004 Mwenda wa Micheni aimed to protect. Thereby, Mwenda wa
Micheni echoed orthodoxies in the Kenyan literary field that in one way or
another obviously had survived since the 1970s.
In this brawl over authority and literary standards, Binyavanga
Wainaina commented on the image of the Kenyan guardian of literary
standards. In an interview with the East African Standard in 2005,
Wainaina attacked the dogma of language and style in Kenyan literary
criticism as well as the setup of the literary field, stating, “I felt very
complimented recently, in a conversation with a senior newspaper editor
who said that he has ‘intellectual’ problems with Kwani? because it is not
‘serious’ enough. By serious, I took him to mean ‘selfimportant’ or
‘pompous’. The fact that Kwani? has become popular has rubbed
establishment types the wrong way. Intellectual debate in The Sunday
Standard Literary Forum days was very incestuous: the same old people
talking to each other.”29 Njogu adds, “The self- appointed gatekeepers (and
there are more gatekeepers than producers in Kenya’s literary spaces) are
generally useful when it comes to protecting their own intellectual
production— which usually focuses on the negation of others to promote
themselves. They are usually full of ‘should nots’ and ‘don’ts’ and
pronouncements of ‘purities’ and ‘authenticities’—t hey of course are
always perfectly ‘pure’ and ‘authentic’— they have no place in the hurly
burly world of creative production.”30 According to Wainaina,
contemporary Kenyan literary critics are self-r ighteous as they appoint
themselves only to protect their own positions rather than gaining their
authority through a mutual exchange with the makers of literary products
by criticism that would be reflective and more in tune with actual literary
production. Wainaina thereby implies that contemporary Kenyan critics
have rather remained static and conservative, deliberately lagging behind
actual literary dynamics, as they are afraid of losing their positions of
authority otherwise. Thus, he implied in 2005, local critics are incapable of
evaluating literary dynamics in Kenya, and so they serve no useful purpose.
 “Words That Reshape a Country”and Literary Canons? O

Both Mwenda wa Micheni’s and Wainaina’s comments from 2004 and

2005 are only selective. They are, however, worth considering since they
are the best conflicting attitudes exemplifying two extreme positions at
different ends of the continuum of power struggles in the Kenyan literary
field, once again illuminated by the emergence of Kwani Trust. In 2007,
Kimani Njogu, a Kenyan professor of literature and the editor of Jahazi,
defined these power struggles as an “acrimonious distance between the
emerging art practitioners (writers) and scholars as . . . [such as] between
Kwani? and academicians at the Literature
201 O y NGOs

African Literar

Departments in Kenya, especially evident in newspaper columns in the

recent past.”31

Matatuisms: Ralph Johnstone’s Poem “The Smasher”

Ralph Johnstone’s poem “The Smasher” gives an insight into the kind of
poetry by which the LINGO has highlighted this distance shortly after its
emergence in 2003. “The Smasher,” published in Kwani? 01, stretches
over 6 pages and consists of 24 stanzas, of which each is made up of 4 to 6
lines in free verse. Frequently, each stanza is followed by 1 or 2 lines,
setting the stanzas apart from each other while functioning like headlines
and concluding remarks. The poem represents a collection of matatu
slogans, which in the following will be referred to as matatuisms. Usually,
a matatuism is understood as a term to describe matatu culture. 32 In this
study, the meaning of matatuisms is applied for the Kenyan literary field to
describe the usage and the embedding of matatu slogans in literary context.
Johnstone introduces his poem with the subtitle “A Poem Written by
Kenyan Matatus (Plus Two Buses and Two Trucks).” 33 Instead of giving
his name as an author, he substitutes the authorship of the poem by a
personification of Kenyan matatus, two buses, and two trucks. This
personification humanizes vehicles of the public transport system, thus not
only giving the source of the matatuisms, but also inviting readers to relate
to these inanimate objects in a personified way. By turning matatus, buses,
and trucks into authors of a poem, Johnstone transforms these vehicles of
the public transport system into voices that claim space and attention in the
literary field.
Through this personification of Kenyan matatus, buses, and trucks in the
subtitle to his poem, Johnstone also locates his poem regionally and alludes
to a cultural protocol that Kenyans and non-K enyans who have
experienced the public traffic system in Kenya are highly familiar with. In
her essay “Seeing Ourselves in the Mirror,” Shailja Patel, a Kenyan spoken
word artist, gives a taste of the role matatus play in Kenya, pointing out, “If
anything is seen, heard and felt on Kenyan roads, it is the matatus.” 34 With
his poem, Johnstone thus touches on an element of everyday life that any
of the readers or hearers of his poem is acquainted with, since vehicles of
public transport cut across social, ethnic, religious, educational, economic,
202 O y NGOs

or political orientations. This is especially the case in urban places like

Nairobi with a very dense population. Here matatu culture is a very vital
part of everyday urban life where the matatus, their drivers, konkodis, and
passengers constitute a living unit. These vehicles of public transport are
places where passengers of different backgrounds come together.
 “Words That Reshape a Country”and Literary Canons? O

115

Each matatu design and each matatu ride are unique experiences,
illuminating the various backgrounds and interests that people inhabit. 35
With its colorful graffiti, stickers, and slogans, matatu culture reflects the
moods and the ongoing of social life with great immediacy. 36 According to
Phiks, a Nairobian matatu designer, this immediate reflection of social
interaction is part of the reason the Kenyan government has tried to ban
matatu culture because “the media of graffiti can be used to raise
awareness or inspire action”37 on various issues of society that, as was the
case in 2007 and 2008, can lead to conflicts more quickly. In Kenya,
matatus are thus not simply inanimate objects but rather pieces of art
themselves, functioning as the dynamic mouthpieces of matatu crews.
Mbũgua wa Mũngai hence defines matatu culture as a “culture keeping
in step with social change.” He pinpoints the situation in urban centers like
Nairobi, concluding that “matatu after all, are a key site of interaction in
urban life where countless hours are spent waiting for and sharing these
vehicles with strangers and acquaintances; as such it is a social space
where meanings are negotiated and quotidian experiences processed.” 38 At
times, wa Mũngai adds, these meanings and quotidian experiences are also
linked to icons from the literary world such as quotes from Mutahi’s
barroom theater or his column “Whispers.”39 In Kenya, matatu culture is a
kind of art that like Mutahi’s columns and bar theater is therefore clearly
associated with social and political criticism. Despite the fact that in Kenya
laws have regularly set out to ban the matatu design, matatu culture has
been thriving with loud music and with DVD movies shown on flat screens
for the duration of the trip, as well as with icons of film, hip- hop, or
American comics spray-p ainted on the outside of the matatu since the
1980s.40 In Kampala as well as other urban centers of Uganda such matatu
culture is not common at all. It is therefore precisely this kind of Kenyan
culture with its sociopolitical and sociocultural complexities that Kwani?,
by publishing Johnstone’s poem “The Smasher,” brings into the Kenyan
literary field.
Unlike Mwenda wa Micheni’s claim, the matatuisms in the poem are
not strung together by accident. On the contrary, I suggest, they do allow
for readers to connect one stanza to another contextually. Set apart from the
rest of the text, the introductory matatuism “Trust Me” and the concluding
 “Words That Reshape a Country”and Literary Canons? O

matatuism “We Shall Overcome” of the poem function like a pair of

brackets. If read as a unit, they inevitably connect in terms of content,
appealing to the audience to trust and to believe that any problems will
ultimately be overcome. They also provoke various questions: Who shall
trust whom? What shall be overcome? Who is “we”? Especially the
concluding matatuism “We Shall Overcome” alludes to the context of
religious or sociopolitical movements, leaving a certain level of ambiguity
whether the poem is an appeasement of inner doubts or an appeal for
action. The introductory and concluding matatuisms embrace the
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complete text and set an encouraging as well as an almost religious tone for
the entire content of the poem.
This tone of the poem is intensified throughout the poem’s stanzas,
describing inequalities of urban life and reminding the reader/listener to
keep going strong despite any obstacles in life. It becomes obvious that
Johnstone, despite the fact that he has collected matatuisms of very
different meaning, arranges those matatuisms similar in meaning in such a
way that they transform into a stanza that carries a message of its own. This
is, for instance, the case in the last stanza of the poem:41

Never Say Die— Never

Never Quit
No Pain No Gain
No Doubt
God’s Timing Is Perfect.42

Here it is suggested that one should stay strong despite any hardships in
life since the ultimate power over everything lies with God. When read
together, each matatuism in this last stanza enters into a contextual relation
with every other.
This contextual relation is enforced through the arrangement of the
matatuisms in such an artistic way that produces, for instance, anadiplosis
and anaphoric reference. Anadiplosis can be found in the first line where
“Never” resonates almost as an exclamation for a second time at the end of
the first line and then is taken up again as the beginning word in the second
line, whereby the exclamation of “Never” from the end of the first line is
transferred into the next line. This “Never” also connects the two lines
contextually in that “Never Quit” functions as a reinforcing appeal of the
“Never” in the first line. Through the repetition of the word, one is almost
urged to hold on to life and to never despair. Anaphora is prominent in
lines three and four of this stanza. Here the “No” becomes the connecting
element. At this point, the anaphora provokes a moment where the poem
reaches out to the audience, encouraging it to face life with all its risks.
Such encouragement is especially achieved through the arrangement of
these matatuisms like aphorisms as in line three of the last stanza: “No Pain
206 O y NGOs

No Gain” conveys the message that in order to succeed in life one needs to
struggle to achieve or gain something. The following line “No Doubt”
contains an ambivalent meaning in that it can either be read to relate to the
aphorism in that there is no doubt that pain and gain in life are two
elements inextricably linked, or it can be read as a continuation of the
aphorism calling out to the reader not to
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have doubts. In that way this line also echoes the message of the first and
second lines of the stanza.
At the same time this line introduces the last line of the stanza, for “No
Doubt” / God’s Timing Is Perfect.” Depending on how one would put the
emphasis in this stanza, “No Doubt” also works as a reminder according to
which there can be no doubt that God is the ultimate power. In fact, the
anadiplosis and anaphoric reference in this stanza build up to a climax to
which the last line with its statement about the perfect timing of God
presents the moment of greatest importance in the stanza.
This last stanza also connects to the previous stanzas of the poem
contextually. The previous stanzas thus can be read like polyphony of
urban voices illuminating various social spaces that, it is suggested through
these last stanzas, in Kenya exist together. An example of this is given by
stanzas 14 and 15 of the poem:

Dangerous Minds

Undertaker Senior
Junior Mafia
Undertaker the Mighty
Mafia
Hawk Big
Timers:
Nasty Boyz

Surprise!
Common Man
Born To Suffer
Innocent
Hostage
Innocent Blood

Shit Happens43

Set apart from the stanza by a white line, “Dangerous Minds” introduces
stanza 14 about street gangs like a headline, whereas “Shit Happens,” also
 “Words That Reshape a Country”and Literary Canons? O

a single line and set apart from the stanza, closes stanza 15 about the
“Common Man” like a concluding note. Again these two single lines can
be seen to function like a bracket for the 2 stanzas given here. As is implied
in stanza 14, there are those who obviously do not adhere to social rules but
pursue illegal and informal ways of life. They are the “Dangerous Minds”
one might have to fear. Throughout this stanza, the ambiguity of the term
undertaker is deliberately played by the
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repetition of the word in various connections: thus there is the “Undertaker

Senior,” the older or maybe more experienced one and the “Mighty
Undertaker,” the one that is either more dangerous or more influential than
the others; in its slang meaning undertaker here comes to mean a kind of
person ready to take on any business or who stipulates businesses for
others. Yet in combination with the acknowledgement of the criminal
world of the “Junior Mafia” and “the Nasty Boyz,” it also brings up the
connotation of the undertaker as a person who manages funerals and in the
context of the poem may be rather experienced to know how to let people
disappear without notice. In the context of Kenya, the undertaker also
could be read as a sociocritical allusion to the many unsolved killings
occurring in Kenya and in Nairobi in particular.
In terms of stylistic devices, the matatuisms in stanza 14 are again
arranged in a way that allows for the contextual relation of the lines within
the stanza where matatuisms as in “Junior Mafia / . . . / Mafia Hawk” are
connected through epanados, as well as through a form of diacope that is
produced by the repetition of undertaker with “Undertaker Senior” in the
first line and “Undertaker the Mighty” in the third line. These rhetorical
devices create a pattern within the stanza that establishes the contextual
relations between the lines.
Opposed to the world of the “Nasty Boyz” is the “Common Man” in
stanza 15. The first line of this stanza, “Surprise!” with its exclamation
mark introduces the world of the “Common Man.” This representative of
society, as is suggested through the second and third lines, is “Born to
Suffer” and “Innocent.” If read against the previous stanza, the lines of
stanza 15 become part of a greater context. Thus it may not be surprising
that the “Common Man,” who stands in opposition to the “Nasty Boyz,” is
born to suffer because he or she does pursue illegal and informal business
to wiggle through life but as a consequence maybe suffers more of social
injustice than “Undertaker the Mighty” or the “Junior Mafia.” The
“Common Man” is “Innocent,” an “Innocent” / “Hostage” in fact, if lines 2
and 3 are read together. Again with stanza 14 in mind, the remark of the
“Innocent” / “Hostage” can be understood as if the “Common Man” cannot
help but become hostage of his or her ordinary life and at the same time
hostage of the underground world because he or she is bound to feel the
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consequences of the undertakers’ behavior. In this regard the last line of the
stanza is ambivalent again: it can be read as “Innocent Blood” of the
“Common Man” that is eventually spilled maybe through the hands of the
“Dangerous Minds”; it could also be read as a final statement about the
nature of the “Common Man” as being a social group that unlike the
“Dangerous Minds” is “Innocent Blood.” In rhetorical terms, the last line
“Innocent Blood” can be read as inductive reasoning about the “Common
Man” as a social group that creates a sense of victimization of the
“Common Man” in view of corruption and criminality as caused in society
through the
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“Dangerous Minds.” This inductive reasoning ultimately culminates in the

concluding remark “Shit Happens,” which—i n view of the victimization
of the “Common Man” before—c omes across as a paradoxical
interference yet in fact turns out to be a veridical paradox: by ending with
the phrase “Shit Happens,” Johnstone achieves an almost cynical effect,
suggesting that life is imperfect and a site of struggle where some gain and
others live in pain. This statement about life again foreshadows what is
expressed in the last stanza of the poem, where, as already shown, readers
are reminded to accept the struggles of life and to ultimately trust in the
higher power of God that will help each overcome the individual
challenges.
Johnstone’s poem arranges the matatuisms in a way that uses a
polyphony of voices, representing different social spaces, blended in with
various aphorisms as well as appeals, which if taken together capture the
heterogeneity of a social cosmos at a certain moment, that again changes
along with social events. The polyphony of this poem mirrors the diversity
of the matatu culture but also captures the diversity of a social cosmos of
Kenya. The poem is an example of abstract poetry where verse makes little
sense grammatically or syntactically and therefore relies highly on rhythm
and intonation in oral performance. As shown through the present analysis,
contextual relations run through the whole poem. It is precisely because of
the arrangement of the stanzas on page that the poem can be read through
various lenses and from various perspectives, of which the one presented
here is only but one out of many. In this way, the poem reflects not only
the changing nature of the social cosmos but also the diverse backgrounds
of the people that inhabit Kenyan society. By making Kenyan matatus, two
buses, and two trucks the speaking subjects, and by arranging the
matatuisms in an overall contextual relation, Johnstone’s poem brings
matatu culture into the center of the literary field, evoking the idea that
matatuisms also need to be seen as a kind of literary expression, thriving in
Kenya as a medium of art and as a site for sociopolitical commentary, and
that they therefore deserve attention in literary spaces.44
While the poem serves as an example by which Kwani? promotes new
spaces of literary expressions that connect with forms of communication in
the sociocultural and sociopolitical arenas, 45 it also serves as an example by
 “Words That Reshape a Country”and Literary Canons? O

which Kwani? in giving Johnstone a platform in its journal, challenges

established positions in the literary field. In this sense, the double meaning
of the title of Johnstone’s poem comes full circle: “The Smasher” can be
understood as both an appeal to accept matatuisms, a highly socialized—
that is, homegrown— form of creative expression in the Kenyan universe,
as well as a provocation, implying that the nature of this poem sets out to
break conventional rules of literary expressions in the Kenyan literary field.
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Sheng(’speare): McKah’s Poem “Ukombozi Wa Ki Akili”

Apart from introducing matatuisms in the case of “The Smasher,” Kwani?
has frequently incorporated Sheng texts. Whereas the first issue of Kwani?
in 2003 did not include any texts in Sheng, but only interviews translated
from Sheng into English with the Nairobian hip- hop bands Mashifta and
Kalamashaka46 about the relevance of Sheng for the Kenyan urban cosmos
and a translation of Kalamshaka’s Sheng song “Moto” (Fire) in English,
the subsequent Kwani? journals offered a variety of Sheng poems, song
lyrics, interviews, and short stories that within the pages of the journal are
left untranslated. Kwani? 02 contains two short stories in Sheng, “Nyof
Nyof” and “Nairobi Reloaded” by Jambazi Fulani. Kwani? 03, thus far the
issue with most Sheng material, contains a Sheng poem, “Zana Za Vita
Nashika” by Kama, a band member of Kalamashaka; a fictional
conversation in Sheng via SMS, “Machoco, maSMS, Hanyaring na
Kompe,”47 by Roger Akena, Sheng interviews and song texts with and by
members of the hip-h op bands Mashifta and Kalamashaka, as well as the
short story “Captured,” by the writer and hip- hop musician Mwas
Mahugu. Kwani? 04 includes poems by the hip- hop music collective Ukoo
Flani Mau
Mau,48 while Kwani? 05 Part One and Part Two again offer a short story
by Mwas Mahugu, “Habari Ndiyo Hiyo!,”49 the poems “Kura”50 and
“Ndoto, Ni Ukweli Zeuja Kweli,”51 by the Mashifta band member G-W ijii,
as well as two poems, “Die Nasty” 52 and “Watu People’s Dilemma,” 53 by
Kitu Sewer, also a band member of Mashifta. Despite their English titles
these pieces are in Sheng.
Apart from the Sheng texts inside the journals, Sheng statements on the
cover of Kwani? have appeared regularly. On the cover of Kwani? 03, for
instance, the self- confident statement from a Mashifta song, “Badala Ya
Aerial, Ekeni Sufuria Niwapee Food Ya Ubongo,” 54 catches one’s attention
above the lettering Kwani?. The cover of Kwani? 05 Part I, devoted to
narratives on what Kenya became during the ethnic clashes in 2008,
promises on its cover: “Kwani? Hung’arisha haswa!”55 With such
statements on the cover, Kwani? aligns itself with Sheng subculture,
thereby not only again attracting a specific audience but also positioning
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itself in hybrid in- between spaces—t hat is, in a continuum where

language functions as a marker of specific sociocultural and sociopolitical
backgrounds. “A new Kenya is developing from the margins. It is chaotic
and unstructured but it has a distinct voice,” Kantai concludes about the
role of Sheng in personal conversation. As a linguistic code of in-b etween
spaces and in constant flux, Sheng thus becomes a metaphor for the
Kenyans living within the “fluid borders” of what surviving and living
mean in present- day Kenya, where after almost thirty years under a
repressive regime, people have been seeking to define their cultural
identities in light of a more democratic atmosphere. With its publication of
Sheng texts and statements in Kwani?, Kwani Trust
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121

highlights the exploration of the variety of spaces that the LINGO,

according to its mission, has set out to illuminate and to question.
As can be seen from these examples, Kwani Trust, by embracing Sheng,
provides a platform for what Kantai termed the “Sheng Generation.” 56
Although English remains the major language in most of Kwani?’s
publications, Kwani Trust has been continuously encouraging its writers to
submit pieces in both Swahili and Sheng for Kwani? as well as for their
latest short story callout “The
Kenya I Live In” in 2009 and the poem callout “The Kenya I Know” in
early 2010. For Kwani Trust, writing in Sheng clearly is an integral part of
Kenya’s literary landscape and Sheng itself— a crucial medium for
creative expression, which needs to be incorporated into the literary world
next to English and Swahili in order to display present- day Kenyan
realities more comprehensively.57
At this point in the argument, it could certainly be argued that is not
unusual for Anglophone African LINGOs to publish in various Afrophone
languages: Mbari included publications in Yoruba, “Malozi and Wapangwa
creation myths, Luo songs, Swahili poetry”58 in Black Orpheus.
Chemchemi allowed for performances in Swahili and conducted writers’
workshops on the issue of translation from English to African vernaculars
and vice versa,59 and in the 1990s, FEMRITE issued its journal Ateker with
contributions in local languages. It is thus obviously quite common for
Anglophone African LINGOs to also incorporate texts in local languages
as to represent their environment more fully. Nevertheless, the
incorporation of Sheng in the case of Kwani Trust is a special case because
the usage of Sheng is hotly debated. Although regionally tinged versions of
Sheng do exist in rural areas of Kenya and in parts of Tanzania, Sheng—i n
its most vibrant form— has been a typically Nairobian phenomenon, and in
its linguistic register, it has been largely reflective of urban Kenyan
realities. Sheng therefore has a limiting aspect in terms of its regional
registers.60
With regard to its social prestige, Sheng exists between the official
languages English and Swahili.61 Githerio describes it most accurately as a
peer language, which in the case of the Nairobian Sheng by and large
follows the grammar of Standard Swahili. Despite the fact that the
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grammar semantic games, and borrowings largely from English and many
other local languages aimed at excluding cultural outsiders “make it appear
very different from Standard Swahili on the surface, . . . Sheng is clearly a
version of Swahili” but not yet “a proper pidgin, much less an evolving
Creole.”62 With its vast majority of users being children, adolescents, and
young adults up to the age of thirty, Sheng, according to Githerio, “is an
age- marked urban dialect of Kenyan Kiswahili whose outer form [through
characteristics such as widespread lexical borrowing and phonological
reduction] is pidgin- like.”63 Sheng therefore also has a second limiting
factor in terms of the age of its users.
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Most important, however, Sheng has a third limiting factor in terms of

the socioeconomic background of its users. Although it can be heard in
almost every corner of Nairobi, it is largely spoken by people from Nairobi
Eastlands. The Eastlands feature the greatest number of the city’s low-i
ncome residential areas. Here, Sheng often is the language of the day and
by some people spoken far better than their mother tongues or Kiswahili. 64
On the contrary, Sheng is less frequently spoken and in its linguistic
diversity also less well understood by people in the Westlands, traditionally
Nairobi’s entertainment center with a rich cluster of restaurants, shops, and
bars that attracts largely expatriates as well as wealthy Kenyans. In terms
of its lexicon, Sheng is thus more reflective of Eastland realities.
Since its “borrowed lexemes . . . [are continuously being] manipulated
while more are coined,”65 the vocabulary of Sheng moreover is in constant
flux. As a dynamic phenomenon with new lexemes and semantic meanings
coming in while others are phasing out, Sheng is already outdated the
moment it is captured on page. Highly informed by specific social
backgrounds, the unstable vocabulary is in fact also used to draw group
distinctions as well as belonging and immersion in a specific
socioeconomic environment. This is why Sheng, in terms of its social
prestige, has also been associated with slang, a linguistic phenomenon
usually associated with informal language use featuring a rapid turnover of
its vocabulary and specific jargon that serves as a marker of membership
and solidarity within a certain social group.
Having practiced the incorporation of Sheng texts for literary
expressions for over seven years now, Kwani Trust can rightly be said to
have canonized the language in its publications despite harsh criticism
against the usage of Sheng in a written context from both literary critics
and linguists. The incorporation of Sheng in literary context is not quite
new for Kenya’s literary scene since Sheng has previously been used in a
literary context, such as by Wahome Mutahi in “Whispers” during the
1980s and 1990s. Mutahi would embed Sheng phrases that, because of
their frequency and popularity, such as today’s word kwani, either were
commonly known by a Kiswahili audience or would otherwise be
translated or rendered within the text.
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Kwani Trust, however, has decided to include texts that are entirely in
Sheng and to leave them completely untranslated and unexplained. Taking
into consideration the limiting factors of Sheng, these texts in their totality
are limited to a certain audience, except for a few generally understood
passages. “Without a basic competence in Kiswahili (and even this alone
may not suffice), the text just presented would be completely foreign to the
English speaker,”66 Lillian Kaviti, a professor of linguistics at Nairobi
University, concludes in relation to Sheng texts in general. In Kwani?,
these Sheng texts thereby are not merely
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adding flavor to an otherwise Anglophone work but due to the popularity

of Kwani? are given full visibility in a literary context.
Kaviti’s conclusions also ring true if one— as a non- Sheng speaker and
cultural outsider to the Kenyan universe— wanted to fully comprehend the
Sheng texts in Kwani?. In terms of language, they are truly embedded in a
specific local context. For readers unfamiliar with Kiswahili, Sheng, or
Engsh, the material in Sheng therefore establishes a distance between them
and the text. Postcolonial theory terms this distance the metonymic gap. As
the “most subtle form of abrogation,”67 the metonymic gap “is that cultural
gap formed when appropriations of a colonial language insert unglossed
words, phrases or passages from a first language, or concepts, allusions or
references that may be unknown to the reader.” 68 Since the incorporated
material in Kwani? includes whole texts, phrases, or passages unglossed,
the complete Sheng text confronts these readers with a metonymic gap.
Sheng texts in Kwani? hence clearly function as an alienation strategy that
in Kwani? is employed to delineate differences between cultural insiders
and outsiders. If cultural outsiders wanted to understand these texts, they
would be forced to delve into the Kenyan linguistic universe, to translate
the texts or to have them translated by cultural/linguistic insiders. Yet,
considering the absence of Sheng dictionaries and the rapidly changing
nature of Sheng vocabulary, this venture would be a challenge unless one
connects with Sheng speakers from the area. In a way, Kwani Trust by
publishing Sheng literature unglossed thus provokes a cultural exchange
between sociocultural and linguistic spaces that may not take place
otherwise.
What is particularly striking in the case of this unglossed Sheng material
in Kwani? is the authorship of these publications. As remarked earlier, the
authorship of these texts often can be related to hip- hop singers of
Mashifta, Kalamashaka, or Ukoo Flani Mau Mau, who have largely
emerged from Nairobi Eastlands. In the urban context of Nairobi, these
bands have been especially prominent among the younger generation and
people living in the low- income areas of Nairobi Eastlands. Here hip-h op,
as in the case of Ukoo Flani Mau Mau, is seen as nurturing upcoming
talent from disadvantaged socioeconomic backgrounds, as a way out of the
slum toward another life. Associated with images of the ghetto and
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gangster culture, Sheng—a part from Kiswahili—t herefore has emerged

into the most prominent language of Nairobian hip-h op. Due to its
popularity and matatu culture transporting Sheng and hip-h op across the
city, this hip- hop is being listened to and distributed widely across
Nairobi, thus also gaining attention across linguistic and socioeconomic
borders within the city. As the language of hip- hop, Sheng has become a
medium of social critique, capturing life in the low- income areas and
giving voice to frustrations.
In Kwani?, this kind of expression and the topics that Sheng promotes
are documented in interviews and song lyrics. From his first interview with
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Kalamashaka in Kwani? 01 in 2003, Wainaina returned “somewhat shaken,

thinking that maybe there is another song being sung in this country, sang
by that other Kenya, the urban forgotten, who are tired of being at the
bottom of the pile. So many people filled Uhuru Park to sing happy songs,
hoping maybe that this time somebody has been listening to them when
they sang of the despair. I hope we, on the other side, are listening.” 69 By
including primarily texts by these bands, Kwani Trust gives visibility and
voice to “that other Kenya,” thereby textualizing a specific urban identity
through Sheng and capturing its characteristics, concerns, and viewpoints.
In “Ukombozi Wa Ki Akilia Part 1,” Samuel Kang’ethe Ngigi, also known
as MC Kah, a hip- hopper who is also part of the music collective Ukoo
Flani Mau Mau, calls upon the young generation to unite and change the
power structures of the status quo:
Ukombozi Wa Ki Akili Part 170 Liberation of the Mind Part 171
Wanasiasa wa plot vile wata grab ma plot Politicians are scheming
pahali pagetengenezwa industries, How they will grab plots
mashule pangetengenezwa jela na Places reserved for industries and schools
hospitali ka mathare Places reserved for jails and hospitals like
wasee wali wazimika na shika nare Mathare[72]
nilikuweko titanic ikigonga iceberg The people got mad and were on fire
politicians waki brag vile walitoa pesa kwa I was there when titanic was hitting the
harambee iceberg
wanasiasa pamoja na wenzao ma pastor kwa Politicians bragging how they gave in
kanisa fundraising
sadaka kudaiwa ni kaa za kiasari politician Politicians and their bedfellows Pastors of the
kuchukulia civilian, alien kwa uwanja Church
wa haki na ukweli Offering being raised like money for Caesar
hatari ikiongezeka ma revolutionary tayari Politicians treating civilians like aliens on
vijana wa mtaa, sambamba na issues of justice
sanaa As danger increases revolutionaries are ready
sanaa kutumwagikia ka manna kwa Young people in the suburbs [ghetto] got
sana skills [artistic]
kwa danger zone tu reason kama These skills are endowed on us like manna it’s
mababu too much
meditation za revolution zifikie african in the danger zone we should reason like the
population sages
mwisho wa struggle ponderings of revolution should reach should
reach the African population the
end of struggle
According to McKah, politicians and “their bedfellows Pastors of the
Church” cannot be trusted to truly work for the wealth of those not in
power. Although politicians and church members boast about funds that
222 O y NGOs
they raise for those in need, they, in McKah’s eyes, are indeed led by their
own greedy interests in money, thereby depriving powerless people of their
rights and property.
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In light of this injustice, McKah’s lines almost sound like a warning to

those he accuses of a misuse of their power and like an encouragement to
those deprived and frustrated by the socioeconomic circumstances. The
narrative voice points out that “revolutionaries are ready” should the
socioeconomic situation grow unbearable. These revolutionaries, according
to the poem, are the young people in the slum/ghetto who got artistic skills
that are not self- attained but in fact endowed on them like a gift from a
higher power, ultimately qualifying them more to rule and overcome the
dishonest politicians. McKah’s text ends with an appeal where the lyrical
persona affiliates himself or herself with the young and gifted
revolutionaries who should follow their vocation, unite, and think like
“sages” about social change. If their “ponderings” reached not just the
Kenyan but the “African population,” it would mean “mwisho wa
struggle”—“ the end of struggle,” not just in Kenya, but supposedly in the
rest of the continent. To the lyrical persona in this text, the future of a self-
d etermined and democratic life for everyone in the continent definitely lies
on the shoulders of the young generation, the “sages” of Africa, who if they
only trusted themselves and their godly gifts, could bring about visible
change.
In Kwani?, Kwani Trust acknowledges such Sheng poems and song
lyrics as “Sheng’speare.” An acknowledgement of this can be found in
Kwani? 03 where a white lettering of Sheng’speare on a black page
introduces the section of poems and song texts by McKah as well as
subsequent interviews with other hip- hoppers. 73 By including this page in
Kwani? as a single page, Kwani Trust highlights the elevated status it gives
to Sheng poetry. Moreover, the word Sheng’speare itself as well as the
lettering in a kind of old British font clearly allude to Shakespeare poetry.
This similarity, which might appear like a play on words to the cultural
outsider, is not accidental. In the Kenyan context, Sheng’speare is a
rendition used to describe “the high level Sheng which is as complex as
Shakespeare English (high value),” says John G Njue, a teacher of Swahili
at Iowa University.74 By not only incorporating Sheng poetry but by in fact
highlighting and thus celebrating it as Sheng’speare, Kwani Trust certainly
— against odds among critics— demands a space for this kind of poetry in
the literary landscape of Kenya. If read against the promise on Kwani?’s
 “Words That Reshape a Country”and Literary Canons? O

covers according to which the magazine represents “Africa’s BEST

Creative Writing,”75 “Original and Genuine,”76 the emphasizing and
canonization of Sheng material clearly appears like a provocation and a
challenge to established norms in the Kenyan literary field.
By embedding texts of hip- hop musicians like McKah, Kwani Trust
eventually establishes two aspects in the Kenyan literary field. First, the
LINGO suggests, lyrics of songs can just as much be recognized and
function as literary texts, by which boundaries between music and literature
as two different media or two different fields, the musical and the literary
field, disintegrate; and
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second, music just as much as literature is a reflection of concerns, ideas,

and perspectives on contemporary life. This “project of renewal” 77 that
Kwani Trust has devoted itself too, according to Kantai, “is being
replicated elsewhere: in the urban sound of music, in the media where
young journalists are continuously exposing corruption and robbing the
state of its formerly unchallenged legitimacy. This emergent democracy [in
Kenya] has come in spite of the betrayals and backroom deals of a cynical
leadership. It is brash and noisy, but it understands fundamentally that the
silence and secrets of the past are no longer an option.” 78 This fragile yet
emergent democracy that Kenya has witnessed since 2002, it can be argued
in light of the Sheng texts in Kwani?, is in fact taking place within the
pages of the magazine, where the incorporation of matatuisms as in the
case of “Smasher” as well as the incorporation of Sheng texts alongside a
variety of cartoons, nonfiction, and fiction in English in Kwani? translates
into a democratization of literature with regard to its content, language, and
forms.
Blog, SMS, and Email: The Vain Jang’o Letter— “Fw..Fw”
When asked about the importance of the Internet and the interaction of art
for Kwani Trust, Binyavanga Wainaina replied in personal conversation in
October
2006,
The biggest movement so far has been the group of the bloggers— the
blogging community and its growth is phenomenal and inside there are poets
and politics, commentators, guys linking information about what is going on
in the banks of Kenya. Expression left the printed page a while ago and one
of the things that Kwani? is trying to do is to make interaction between those
spaces and trying to find out how to make those things exciting. One of our
marketing tools for instance is sms which brings people to our readings.
We’ve been very careful to use all these kinds of media. We’ve once had a
love story by sms in long Sheng that every one is screaming about.79

In Kenya electronic media and social web spaces on the Internet as well as
SMS technology enjoy a growing popularity that is cutting across ethnic,
social, religious, and personal backgrounds, although this is truer for the
226 O y NGOs

urban population with a certain level of literacy and a certain level of

access to electronic facilities as well as socioeconomic means. Kwani Trust
has consistently worked toward disintegrating the borders between online
and offline communication by incorporating and exploring email, blogging,
and SMS technology as narratives for literary expression since its first
issue and most prominently in Kwani? 04, released in 2007.80 Dina Ligaga
therefore was right when predicting in 2005 that “the growing popularity of
email [and from today’s vantage point of 2012, it would have to be added
also that of blogging and sms] as . . . form[s] of
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communication, a space for interaction and site for creativity in Kenya is

recognised within the spaces of Kwani? as a potential area of
exploration.”81
In her article “Kwani? Exploring New Literary Spaces in Kenya,”
Ligaga highlights the example of the “Vain Jang’o Letter.” Published in
Kwani? 01 in 2003, the letter has, however, remained the only example of
email usage in Kwani? to date. Wainaina introduces the email as follows:
“A year or so ago, I received this forward, a story in ‘Engsh’[ 82] by an
anonymous Kenyan. I sent it around; it was very funny, but annoying—
written by a major wannabe, so Muthoni and I decided to respond.” 83 While
keeping its original form, Wainaina and Garland transform the Email into a
creative two-p art narrative—w ritten by a Luo man and a response by a
Gĩkũyũ woman. Both characters use the email mode in order to tackle the
ethnic differences and personal perceptions of their private encounter.
In Kwani? 01, the Luo author of the anonymous email becomes Vain
Jang’o, which to cultural outsiders could read like a real name at first sight
but actually is a telling name functioning as an ironic remark at the Luo’s
personality: “Jang’o is a sheng word used to refer to Luo men in general
who are often known for their materialistic, flamboyant and showy nature
that projects them as vain,” 84 Ligaga points out. The first part of the
narrative contains the email in which Vain Jang’o presents himself as a
well- situated and sophisticated man who stresses his desired self- image
by showing off his ability of speaking Engsh. In the narration, his usage of
Engsh has a humorous connotation considering the fact that he would want
to use the language to underline his nature as a Jang’o.85
While “chilling in Cactus,” a posh bar in Nairobi Westlands, “the other
Sato [Saturday]”, Vain Jang’o spots a girl he wants to impress because her
outward appearance appeals to him. This impression, however, crumbles
when he talks to her: “Kwanza [Firstly],” he points out, “the baby has a
deep rural Okuyu [Gĩkũyũ] accent you know the one where the Rs and Ls
are kabisa [totally] interchanged. Oh no!”86 Vain Jang’o continues to talk
about the woman whose lack of education apart from her accent gets him
disinterested. The second part of the narrative contains the response by the
girl justifying herself in Engsh and dismantling Vain Jang’o’s fake
demeanor. It becomes clear that the girl is not “‘a brainless bimbo’ that
 “Words That Reshape a Country”and Literary Canons? O

Vain Jang’o patronizingly looks down upon, . . . [but actually] a beautiful

girl from Kiambu,”87 who has a clear sense of her social status, the
environment around her, and the goals she wants to achieve in the future.
In her analysis of “Vain Jang’o,” Lillian Kaviti from Nairobi University
adds that “as the story unfolds, both Vain Jang’o and the girl betray a
hidden contempt for each other based on negative stereotypical attitudes
the Luo and Gĩkũyũ communities are assumed to harbour towards each
other.”88 They therefore use Engsh to present themselves.89
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The title “Fw..Fw,” short for forward, already points at “electronic mail
language”90 as well as at the fact that its content has already been
forwarded at different times. On page, the letter and its response appear as
an open window of an email program identifying Binyavanga Wainaina
and Muthoni Garland as the recipients “@[email protected]
@[email protected],” thereby visually emphasizing the email mode while
indirectly writing Wainaina and Garland as the authors of the fictitious
response into the narrative.
By pointing at the forwarded message format of the narrative in the title,
Wainaina and Garland illustrate that “email allows personal narratives to
be told in public while still remaining paradoxically private”: 91 Instead of
confronting the Gĩkũyũ girl directly, Vain Jang’o decides to share his
private impressions of the girl afterward through email with anonymous
recipients from where the email is forwarded to others like Wainaina and
Garland and thus becomes public while still remaining specifically private
in terms of its content. The email format enables Vain Jang’o to
communicate with as many people as possible as well as others to forward
his message, transcending the personal sphere and inviting the public for a
response. This invitation for the response of others is in fact deliberately
wanted by Vain Jang’o as becomes clear in his email. His rhetorical
question “Guess what gentlemen?” reveals that Vain Jang’o intended to
share his private experience with male recipients of the email like in an
open letter. The fictitious response by the G ĩkũyũ woman, Ligaga argues,
could therefore also be read as a response that such an email might invite
from the online community, and one could add that this then invites even
unexpected responses from women, who were not addressed by Vain
Jang’o.
Garland and Wainaina in “Fw..Fw” highlight the ways in which
Kenyans channel private issues informally in times where digital
technology impacts personal lives decisively, by adopting the email mode
and the usage of Engsh for fiction writing. Through its usage of Engsh and
the tackling of ethnic tensions between Luo and G ĩkũyũ as well as people
with higher and lower education, the narrative provides a sense of life
realities in today’s Kenya. These life realities are expressed online and
offline. The incorporation of the email mode in Kwani? dissolves the
borders between online and offline media. These borders dissolve the
moment Kwani Trust decides to bring the narration into the printed form of
230 O African Literary NGOs

its literary magazine that also circulates in public— similar to email

communication in the online world. In doing so, Kwani Trust not only
gives insights into life realities of today’s Kenya but also suggests
considering email as a space that can be used for creative expression and
that hence is worth considering in order to grasp a more comprehensive
picture of contemporary literature from Kenya.
This merging of online and offline media are further pursued in Kwani?
03, which contains the Sheng love story in SMS by Roger Akena, and in
Kwani? 05 Part II, which includes a great number of SMS messages from
the postelection
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129

violence, as well as in Kwani? 04, which introduces blogging in its

publications for the first time. The 14 blog entries in Kwani? 04 include a
range of essays as well as fiction. With the deliberate incorporation of
email, SMS, and blogging, Kwani Trust promotes a flexible notion of
literature. The LINGO and its contributing writers demand that the very
definition of what counts as literature as well as the sites where literature is
being created and the ways an audience deals with creative expression need
to be redefined.
To Kwani Trust, I propose, the digital media inhabit creativity just as
much as print media do. In opposition to print media, Kwani Trust suggests
through its publications, digital media allow for a worldwide and instant
marketing of texts and also invite an audience from Kenya and worldwide
that otherwise might not engage with literature in print but that is drawn to
creative expression by the currently prominent digital formats of email,
SMS, or blogging. Thus the LINGO and its published writers contribute to
a renewed understanding of literature and the places where it thrives.
Literary Gangsters?
Similarly to Mwenda wa Micheni, this breaking of rules and challenging of
the literary field by Kwani Trust through the incorporation of matatuisms,
Sheng, SMS/blogging, cartoons, and urban slang led Egara Kabaji, a senior
literary critic and lecturer, formerly at Kenyatta University and now at
Masinde Muliro University, Kenya,92 to attack the LINGO and its
associated authors in order to diminish their status in the literary world. In
one of his columns in the East African Standard, Kabaji insulted Tony
Mochama, a journalist at the East African Standard and a poet associated
with and published by Kwani Trust. Kabaji described Mochama as “a
literary gangster whose godfather is Binyavanga Wainaina.” 93 With these
comments, Kabaji labeled both Mochama and Wainaina as literary
gangsters, thereby implying that the writing coming out of Kwani Trust
and its associates endangers the peace and disturbs the literary
establishment.
His comments about Mochama and Wainaina suggested that the LINGO
itself is a literary gang, a kind of mafia in the literary field, that threatens to
undermine the body of Anglophone Kenyan literature with its ruthless
 “Words That Reshape a Country”and Literary Canons? O

behavior and lack of respect for what the aesthetics of literature ought to be
according to a certain academic standard that Kabaji is seen to protect. Not
only did Mwenda wa Micheni’s comments earlier as well as Kabaji’s
criticism again echo the conflicts of “good” and “bad” writing that had
manifested themselves in Kenya between literary critics and the producers
of literature in the 1970s; Kabaji’s comments, like Mwenda wa Micheni’s
remarks, also once more provide evidence of the power lines in the Kenyan
Anglophone literary field. Their
233 O African Literary NGOs

reactions make visible in practice what Bourdieu abstracted in his theory

about the dynamics of the literary field: The Kenyan literary field like any
other literary field “is a veritable social universe where, in accordance with
its particular laws, there accumulates a particular type of capital and where
relations of force of a particular type are exerted. This universe is the place
of entirely specific struggles, notably concerning the question of knowing
who is part of the universe, who is a real writer and who is not.” 94 As has
become obvious from their statements, critics like Mwenda wa Micheni
and Kabaji were rather skeptical about accepting Kwani Trust and its
associated writers as real writers, acknowledging that the kind of writing
put forth did not belong to the Kenyan literary universe, shortly after the
LINGO had entered the stage.
In turn, however, one could argue that with their critical reaction toward
the writing of Kwani Trust, Mwenda wa Micheni and Kabaji actually
pinpointed the role of LINGOs within the literary field. Indeed LINGOs
like Kwani Trust need to be perceived as literary gangs—n ot in the
negative sense Kabaji intended, but in view of the dynamic structure of the
literary field rather in a very positive sense, fulfilling a quite crucial
function. When entering the literary field, LINGOs like Kwani Trust and
their associated writers serve as lawbreakers in that they enter the game for
literary capital within the literary field and put into question established
orthodoxies, defined rules, limitations, and hierarchies of the field that
those in dominant positions within the field try to protect.
As a new entrant to the literary establishment, Kwani Trust and its
associated writers set out to transform it. According to Kwani Trust in
2003, this ambition was necessary since the problem was that “the literary
intelligentsia, together with African publishers and founders of literary
projects have lost touch with a new generation of Africans who are sick of
being talked down to; who are seeking to understand the bewildering world
around them—v alidated in print.” 95 So Kwani Trust and some of its
associated writers burst out to establish themselves as a counterforce to
what they understood to be the mainstream and conventional canon. As can
be seen from the previous subchapter, Kwani Trust has clearly considered
matatuisms, SMS, Sheng, blogging, and email as a means that would help
234 O African Literary NGOs

establish a counterposition as to reposition perceptions of Anglophone

literature in Kenya.
Unlike Mwenda wa Micheni and Kabaji, Steve Partington, a literary
critic and poet who at times has also been associated with Kwani Trust,
concluded “that the idea behind Kwani? is to tap into unexplored areas
such as the ‘hip hop, fresh poetry, non-d idactic fiction, emails, SMSs,
cartoons . . . [to] describ[e] and creat[e] a Kenyan culture that is varied and
wonderful.’”96 In relation to Partington’s comment, Ligaga adds that
“Kwani? explores new literary spaces
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131

using existing popular forms of expression that reflect social and cultural
activities in Kenya and generally experiments with hitherto unexplored
areas.”97
Partington and Ligaga, I believe, are only partially right. Sheng, slang,
and cartoons have previously been explored by writers as was illustrated in
Chapter 3. Nevertheless, Partington and Ligaga make a vital point when
emphasizing that Kwani Trust does not hesitate to explore new media for
literary usage. The LINGO thereby contributes to the revival of the debate
about what has previously been termed and spurned as popular literature,
calling into question the borders of what is considered “good” and “bad”
literature. This has also already been obvious in its provocative title,
Kwani?, which means “So What?,” and the dreadlocked man on the front
page of Kwani? 01 and 02. Kwani Trust thus made a clear statement of
wanting to question established orthodoxies of the literary field, while
remaining unimpressed by the reactions and opinions of the “self-a
ppointed gatekeepers”98 in the Kenyan literary field.

Ridiculing the Critic: Tony Mochama’s Poetry

Collection What if I Am a Literary Gangsta?
In the case of Tony Mochama, the disrespect for the claimed authority of
those literary critics who, like Ebari Kabaji, refused to rethink the
opportunities that the fresh literary material, as represented by Mochama
and Kwani?, holds for Kenyan literature was directly translated by
Mochama to his creative writing and used to position himself within the
literary scene. Titling his first book of poetry What if I Am a Literary
Gangsta?, Mochama reacted to the disapproval of Kabaji by accepting,
almost celebrating, rather than refusing the label of the literary gangster.
The interrogation “What if” in the title of Mochama’s book echoes the title
of the LINGO’s literary journal, Kwani?, thus also revealing both
Mochama’s interest in provoking his readers as well as a sense of literary
experimentation.
Demanding Free Speech: Tony Mochama’s Poem “The Poetry Police”
Apart from the introduction to What if I Am a Literary Gangsta, this kind
of criticism is also vividly reflected in Mochama’s hilarious poem “The
 “Words That Reshape a Country”and Literary Canons? O

Poetry Police,” published in Kwani? 03 in 2005 and republished outside

Kwani? in his poetry collection What if I Am a Literary Gangsta?. Here the
lyrical persona presents himself as a poet who has obviously broken the
law and is thus followed by “The Poetry Police”:

In- between Deviant

And Partington Street
I am stopped by the sirens
Of the Poetry Police.
237 African Literary NGOs

“OK, mister,” they bawl on the fog-horn

“step out of your Limerick, with
your hands against the metaphor.
There is a tang of irony in your
breath
And your eyes glazed with imagery.”
My fingers, they say, smell of allegory
And they search my back-pockets for
an Illegal stash of Genius.
“Now,” they bark, “walk the pentameter
But if you cross the perimeter,
We’ll shoot.” (Poetry doesn’t stop bullets,
This is not the Matrix. Poets aren’t Marxists.)
They shall charge me,
With writing while Under the Influence of
Thinking! When I run out of poetic tricks I shall
commit syntax.
Ferry my body out in a Verse,
And bury me, in the Symmetry.

In the poem, expected words are substituted with literary figures such as
“Limerick” instead of “car,” “metaphor” instead of “wall,” a “tang of
irony” instead of a “tang of alcohol” in the breath, the “smell of allegory”
on fingers instead of the “smell of hashish” maybe, “an illegal stash of
Genius” instead of “an illegal stash of cannabis/drugs” in the back pockets,
to “commit syntax” instead of “suicide” and “to bury himself in the
Symmetry” instead of in the “cemetery.” Thus contradictions are created
not only on a formal but also on an associative level, producing the
rhetorical irony by which the poem comes alive.
Due to the juxtaposition of the “poetry police” and the lyrical persona,
two groups are immediately delineated: the watchdogs of poetry laws and
the poet ready to breach these laws. The world the poet lives in is a strict
one where poets are expected to conform; if they do not respect the
pentameter and cross the perimeter of conventional poetry, they risk their
life. Irony, imagery, allegory, and a stash of Genius have the same effect as
drugs and are thus illegal. The comparison between drugs and “irony,” or
“an illegal stash of Genius,” here is deliberate so as to create an association
238 African Literary NGOs

with the physiological effects of drugs and that of “irony” and “Genius,”
which, as implied in the poem, can be similar and possibly lead to
increased self- confidence and courage.
The lyrical persona is ready to take the risk of breaching the rules.
Already the fact that he is caught off Deviant Road signals his readiness to
pursue his personal poetic tricks outside the compliant space. He does not
fear to be jailed. In fact, “They shall charge me, / With writing while Under
the Influence of Thinking!” he proclaims, almost proudly, because writing
and independent
 “Words That Reshape a Country”and Literary Canons? O

133

thinking to him are an indispensable unity. He therefore finds it amusing

that this is an act of punishment. His mocking of the poetry police and the
rules they protect climaxes in the last stanza, in which the poet suggests
that the greater misery to him than jail would be if he ran out of his poetic
tricks. He would be ready to commit poetic suicide by killing his poetic
self and turning to syntax, burying himself in symmetry.
The role he assigns to himself ultimately remains ambivalent: is he a
poetic gangster breaching the rules the poetry police is rightly trying to
protect, or is he the victim of a system that robs him of independent
thinking, stifling any kind of emergent originality and threatening his life
in pursuit of creativity? This role remains ambivalent because taken that
the consumption of irony and imagery as side effects of an illegal stash of
Genius have given them the self- courage to mock and dare the world he
lives in, it could also be that his mocking is hiding a bitter and desperate
self tired of living in this dull and restrictive society. For, despite all the
mocking, he is aware that he is weaker and eventually would have to give
in: “(Poetry doesn’t stop bullets, / This is not the Matrix. Poets aren’t
Marxists.)” he remarks parenthetically. This statement functions as a
crucial hint at the poet’s perspective. Although he presents himself as
almost invincible and invulnerable in confrontation with the poetry police,
the side note reveals his vulnerability— since this is not the Matrix, clearly
an allusion to the American movie The Matrix where Neo, once in charge
of the matrix code, can stop the bullets by the agents, the Matrix police. A
poet, however, according to the lyrical persona, cannot dodge, slow down,
or stop bullets; in his eyes, poetry is not powerful enough to overcome the
poetry police and its system. Also poets, according to the lyrical persona,
aren’t Marxists, which could be read as a hint to Ng ũgĩ’s call according to
which writers- cum- intellectuals should become part of the masses and
help instigate a social and political revolution. Quite in contrast to that,
however, the lyrical persona in this poem, obviously, thinks that the poet is
not supported by the masses but rather a loner, to whom suicide is the only
self- determined decision left to make.
Eventually, the poetry police is a metaphor for the literary critic or the
political regime that does not truly allow outspoken and freethinking
individuals. It thus becomes a sociopolitical critique of the lack of total
 “Words That Reshape a Country”and Literary Canons? O

freedom for expression, which in Kenya, as shown earlier on, remains an

embattled right up to date. If read as a metaphor for the literary critic, the
poetry police echoes Mochama’s criticism of critics like Kabaji earlier on,
highlighting critics who fiercely protect a certain literary field, stifle
creativity, and shut themselves out of the creative process that they should
actually be observing and analyzing, instead of condemning.
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134 African Literar

FEMRITE: Power Struggles

FEMRITE’s writing saw light while the women’s movement of the 1990s
was at a height in many parts of Africa as well as Latin America. Other
literary agents, like Fountain Publishers, were in the beginning rather
doubtful when looking at FEMRITE, not knowing what to expect. 99 The
cooperation surfaced only later— for instance, with the publication of
literary material by FEMRITE writers such as Mary Karooro Okurut,
whose novel The Official Wife was printed by Fountain Publishers in 2003
and later sold and promoted electronically by
FEMRITE.
Moreover, it is worthwhile to remember that unlike Kwani Trust,
FEMRITE was instituted as an idea within the academic framework at
Makerere University, before leaving the academic sphere. Apart from the
fact that it was women expressing themselves through creative writing, the
fact that FEMRITE first emerged from within an academic framework
accounts for the reasons FEMRITE was less harshly criticized by
university critics when it emerged. Academics at the Departments of
Literature and Music Dance and Drama— such as late Prof. Rose Mbowa,
Prof. Austin Bukenya, a doyen of Ugandan creative writing and teaching,
and Dr. Susan Kiguli, among others— supported Okurut’s dream. The
moment FEMRITE emerged on the literary scene, the LINGO therefore
was less likely to receive harsh criticism from university literary critics
since many academics like Bukenya appeared to be friends with or, in the
case of Mbowa, Kiguli, and Okurut herself, had even joined as members of
the LINGO. Moreover, FEMRITE, in contrast to Kwani Trust, did not have
to compete for its position in the literary field as much since there simply
were not any direct competitors in terms of women writers’ institutions.
When FEMRITE entered the literary stage, it was hence accepted as a fresh
literary framework and, unlike Kwani Trust, not sharply criticized in the
beginning.
 O y NGOs

Opposing Patriarchy: Mary Karooro Okurut’s The Official Wife and

Goretti Kyomuhendo’s Secrets No More
Two years after the establishment of FEMRITE, with the publishing of its
first five major titles in 1998, criticism against FEMRITE, however,
emerged in terms of its feminist leanings and the quality of its writing, in
particular its use of vulgar language. In its first years, Kaiza states,
“because of its feminist leanings, FEMRITE was thus criticised for
intentionally demonising men in the work it produces.”100 Kyomuhendo
opposed this view, highlighting the notion that “the writers tell their stories
the way they conceive them and want to tell them. It is not FEMRITE
which tells them how they should tell these stories.” 101 In particular, the
language in which FEMRITE authors like Kyomuhendo herself
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135

or Mary Karooro Okurut have presented the physical relationship between

men and women earned FEMRITE and some of its members a feminist
reputation.
In Okurut’s novel The Official Wife, for instance, the protagonist Liz
compensates for her despair and anger about her husband’s affair with the
house girl by coarsely pointing out the differences she sees between men
and women in terms of their relationship toward sexuality. The Saturday
after Liz caught her husband, Ishaka, in bed with their house help she goes
to church. In church, Liz “feel[s] as if heavy stuff is falling off from within
and without . . . [her] body”102 until suddenly she smells the perfume of her
husband. “The beast!” she thinks and shouts out at him loudly: “You dare
come to kneel before God when this morning I caught you with your tail
[emphasis in original] between the house- girl’s legs?” 103 Liz is so enraged
over the behavior of her husband, which she perceived as an insult to God,
that she does not feel ashamed that she “was so pissed off . . . [she] hadn’t
realised that . . . [she was] shouting” 104 in church. When asked to behave by
the pastor since she is “before the Holy Table,” 105 she reacts hurt and
furiously, scolding her husband: “With such scum trying to make a
mockery of God’s wonderful gift to mankind?”106 At the same time she is
aghast that her husband shows no sign of remorse but stands there “holier
than the Angel Gabriel . . . [l]ooking so angelic you can think any time you
will see this glowing halo around his head.”107
In this situation, she is also appalled by the behavior of the male pastor.
Disappointed by the lack of support for her rage against her husband, she
“storm[s] out with the grace of a soccer hooligan mad at the referee who
has refused to award his team a redeeming penalty in injury time.” 108 Still
in anger, she comes to the conclusion that in her situation it would not help
if she
sacked this girl and brought in a new one, it would be the same story. Ishaka
would pounce on her . . . His philosophy is: it does not matter whether he has
sex with a graduate or an illiterate village calico because after all, he asks,
does a vagina go to school? What obscene rubbish! And therein lies the
fundamental difference between men’s and women’s sexuality: most men
have sex with only the vagina while women have sex with the whole man
and not just his penis. Some of these modern girls are very daring. And I say
 “Words That Reshape a Country”and Literary Canons? O

bravo to them because they teach the philandering men a thing or two about
how not [emphasis in original] to handle a woman.109

Ishaka is demonized by Liz through her reference to him as the “beast” and
“scum.” In her description of Ishaka as lacking remorse for his behavior
and as taking on an angelic look, even shouting after her “Liz, remember
Jesus came to save sinners like me,” she ultimately constructs him as a
blasphemer. In her frustration about her husband’s behavior Liz in fact
extends her criticism of Ishaka against the church, which on this occasion
supports Ishaka’s
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African Literar

blasphemous behavior by calling to order Liz to behave but does not show
out Ishaka for having mocked the holy promise of marriage, “God’s
wonderful gift to mankind.” Being a male, the priest in Liz’s view fails as
an objective referee in this situation and thus even the church is here
constructed as a patriarchal institution through the priest. The church failed
to fulfill Liz’s expectations as a place for her psychological retreat where
she turned in order to be protected from the injustice she feels she
experienced as a woman. In her emotional conclusion to her situation, Liz
generalizes Ishaka’s behavior by pointing out that in fact any man is a
philandering man unable to resist physical temptations and careless about
the woman as an individual, reducing her only to a sexual object. She
applauds the self-c onfident and more emancipated women of the younger
generation who, unlike her, would already know better how to handle a
situation like she is experiencing with Ishaka. In a society where men are
not punished for their polygamous behavior toward their wives, not even
by the church, Liz sees emancipation of women as the way out of being
victimized. In this abstract from Liz’s life, the feminist leanings of this
kind of FEMRITE writing surface clearly.
Liz’s conclusions about men’s ruthless attitude toward women in
Uganda seem to be verified on another occasion by the behavior of the
Colonel in Kyomuhendo’s Secrets No More. As the Colonel and his
soldiers enter the house of Mukundane and her husband, Bizimana,
accusing Bizimana of having supplied guns to oppositional groups of the
government, Mukundane falls victim to the whims of political power
demonstrations. The Colonel rapes her to put her husband under pressure
and to humiliate him. The scene is observed by Mukundane’s daughter,
Marina:
As she watched, the Colonel struggled out of his trousers and stood there
naked, his manhood obscenely pointing in front of him. In one swift
movement, he was on top of Mukundane. She put up a feeble resistance but
she might as well have reserved that energy. The two soldiers holding her
down were too strong for her . . . Mukundane tried to push the Colonel away
but only succeeded in igniting him the more. Like a possessed man, he began
pounding her . . . [Mukundane] was gritting her teeth in pain . . . The two
soldiers holding her down had relaxed their hold and were staring intently at
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the movement of the Colonel’s body; their eyes shining with desire as they
awaited their turn.110

Similar to Liz’s situation, the language of the narrator in Kyomuhendo’s

novel criticizes the unequal power relationship between men and women
directly, although less coarsely. The Colonel stands naked with “his
manhood obscenely pointing in front of him.” The adverb “obscenely”
hints at the Colonel’s selfconfidence in this situation. Moreover, the fact
that he is on top of Mukundane “in one swift movement” suggests that
such situation is neither unfamiliar
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nor unsettling for the Colonel but rather a kind of routine. The weakness of
Mukundane is expressed through the hint at her “feeble resistance” and
constructed against the behavior of the Colonel. Mukundane’s resistance
ignites him even more. Like a possessed man, he pounds against her.
Similar to the idea of male sexuality in Okurut’s The Official Wife, the
Colonel and his soldiers in Kyomuhendo’s Secrets No More are
represented as insensitive men, oblivious to Mukundane’s feelings and
pain. By raping her, the Colonel degrades Mukundane to a physical object
that he literally enjoys conquering in order to demonstrate his social power
over Bizimana. The phallocentric power that the Colonel exercises over
Mukundane is furthermore intensified by the two soldiers holding
Mukundane down. They virtually become the Colonel’s accessories and
likewise show no remorse at his behavior. Instead, their eyes shine with
desire for Mukundane as they await their turn. The soldiers’ grip on
Mukundane eases not because they want to allow her to resist the Colonel’s
attack but because they get aroused in anticipation. Mukundane thus falls
victim to the sexual desires of the Colonel and his soldiers, vilified through
the language in the novel.
The biased language in the novel gives away the feminist leaning in
Kyomuhendo’s Secrets No More. Okurut’s The Official Wife and
Kyomuhendo’s Secrets No More represent two examples of FEMRITE’s
early writing and give an idea of the ways in which FEMRITE writing has
provoked its readership and proclaimed the inequality of the situation of
women in Uganda and their attitude toward male and female relationships.
In these works, the protest against male power and gender inequalities is
loud and clear.111
Promoting Women’s Rights: Susan Kiguli’s Poem “I Am Tired of
Talking in Metaphors”
Similar to the two novels by Kyomuhendo and Okurut, Kiguli’s poem “I
Am Tired of Talking in Metaphors,” published in the poetry collection of
The African Saga (1998) criticizes male behavior in Ugandan society.

I Am Tired of Talking in Metaphors

I will talk plainly

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Because I am moved to abandon riddles.

I will tell you how we held our heads
In our hands
Because the owl hooted throughout the night
And the dogs howled as if in mourning:
We awaited bad news
We received it
Our mother blinded in one eye
Crippled in the right leg
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Because she did not vote

Her husband’s candidate..
I will remind you
Of the time the peeled plantains
Stood upright in the cooking pot
We slaughtered a cock
Anticipating an important visitor
We got her:
Our daughter— pieces of flesh in a sack
— Our present from her husband. No, I
will not use images I will just talk to
you:
I do not fight to take your place
Or constantly wave my fist in your face.
I refuse to argue about
Your “manly pact”
With my father—
Buying me for a bag of potatoes and pepper
All I want
Is to stop denying Me
My presence needs no
metaphors I am here
Just as you are.
I am not a machine
For you to dismantle whenever you whim
I demand for my human dignity.112

Kiguli wrote the poem “following the presidential campaigns and

elections in 1996 and [her] . . . knowledge of what had been happening all
along but had gone unreported.”113 The poem begins with the description of
the violence that women experience at the hands of their husbands while
highlighting the anxiety women go through in anticipation of this violence
at the same time. Although the pain as well as the violence is voiced, it is
not articulated in any accusatory manner. Interestingly enough, these
aspects, in opposition to the texts by Okurut and Kymomuhendo, are rather
stated as mere facts without displaying any overt emotions of grief, anger,
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or despair that might be justified in light of the fact that the mother was
crippled and the daughter was killed by their husbands.
Instead, these emotions linger in the silence between the lines. It is what
is not articulated in the poem that holds the reader in suspense and that
triggers emotions in the readers’ minds. By “refus[ing]” to talk about “the
manly pact” but by still describing it as a pact between Ugandan men from
which they draw their right of power over women and by which women
can be bought for “a
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bag of potatoes and pepper,” the lyrical persona condemns it indirectly.

The comparison between the “manly pact” and the women as “a bag of
potatoes and pepper” in stanza four creates a dichotomy between men and
women, constructing the unequal power relationship between those
objectifying and those objectified. Without stating it directly, the lyrical
persona reveals the way by which women in Ugandan society are reduced
to objects such as “a bag of potatoes and pepper,” which is voiceless and
passive, yet ironically enough, nutrition indispensable for survival of
mankind.
Throughout the poem, this effect of the delineation between men and
women as two separate social groups is especially achieved by the usage of
pronouns. The plural personal pronoun “we” in stanzas one and two is not
used in the inclusive sense (you and I) but in the exclusive sense (someone
else and I but not you) as most explicitly, for instance, in “I will tell you
how we held our heads.”114 The juxtaposition of the “you” versus the “we”
and the possessive determiner “our” excludes the person talked to. Since
the “our” in the poem is linked to women as in “Our mother” and “our
daughter,” it becomes clear that the person talked to and hence excluded
from the “we” are the men the lyrical persona addresses. The identification
with “we” and “our” moreover reveals the identity of the lyrical persona as
a woman.
The dichotomy between men and women, which the lyrical persona
constructs, is, however, dissolved at the same time. The power relations
within the poem thus shift as the lyrical persona moves from the
description of the violence and pain in the first two stanzas, to a very self-
confident agenda of demands against men actively voiced by the lyrical
persona in stanzas three, four, and five. The self- determination of the
lyrical persona builds through the introductory sentences to each stanza.
Whereas the introductory sentences to the first two stanzas, “I will talk
plainly” and “I will remind you,” first and foremost signal that the lyrical
persona wants to make a point, the introductory sentences of stanzas three,
four, and five not only demand a right to speak but already define the terms
on which the lyrical persona is willing to speak and what she demands:
“No, I will not use images,” “I refuse to talk about,” and “All I want.”
 “Words That Reshape a Country”and Literary Canons? O

The presence of the “I” and “you” in the absence of the “we” and “our”
in the last three stanzas is noticeable and eventually leads to the dissolution
of the dichotomy between the powerful and the powerless when the lyrical
persona states

. . . stop denying Me
My presence needs no
metaphors, I am here
Just as you are.
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I am not a machine
For you to dismantle whenever you
whim I demand for my human dignity.

Demanding her presence and equal place in society alongside the man, the
lyrical persona transcends the image of the victim-c um-o bject and
emancipates herself. The emancipated “I” emerges again through a
pronoun, “Me,” indicating self- confidence through the capital letter.
Acknowledging her presence in capital letters, shows that the lyrical “I” is
astutely aware of her physical presence and her rights as a human being.
Equality between men and women is achieved when the lyrical persona
announces her presence on the same level as men in “I am here / Just as
you are,” thus dissolving the dichotomy and inequalities between men and
women constructed earlier on.
Notwithstanding the fact that the lyrical persona criticizes patriarchy and
highlights womanhood, it is interesting to note that she does not directly
demand the replacement of patriarchy by matriarchy. “I do not fight to take
your place,” she points out, thus not attacking the supremacy of men. Her
appeal in “I demand my human dignity,” speaks of a strong person who in
the light of the inequalities women experience within the Ugandan
patriarchy has managed to sustain a sense of sanity and dignity, and despite
all the pain obviously accepts patriarchy as the ruling system after all. Her
call for human dignity, it could therefore be argued, is not a call for the
overcoming of male authority but an appeal to men for their humanity.
Considering the fact that the demand for her “human dignity” is the only
true emotional statement in absence of the expression of any other
emotions and direct accusations makes the appeal of the lyrical persona
even stronger. Since the poem furthermore ends on this demand of “human
dignity,” the appeal by the lyrical persona for gender equality and respect
resonates with the reader in a powerful manner.
At the same time, however, the appeal of the lyrical persona to Ugandan
men can also be read differently. Despite the fact that she obviously
accepts patriarchy after all, it could also be argued that her demands are
anything but submissive. The lyrical persona illustrates that male power
over women in the Ugandan context is expressed as well as exercised
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through nonverbal communication as in physical strength and violence.

Unlike men, however, she just wants to communicate verbally to make her
point. “I will talk plainly / . . . I do not . . . / . . . constantly wave my fist in
your face,” she points out. Showing that she is able to communicate
effectively verbally and refusing to take revenge through physical violence,
the lyrical persona actually attacks and dismantles male authority since her
way of communicating does not result in mutilation and killings. If read in
this way, it could therefore be argued that the lyrical persona embarrasses
men by illustrating that they, contrary to her as a woman,
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141

are either unwilling or unable to communicate verbally. She thereby

criticizes men of arrogance or lack of soft skills, adding a tinge of irony to
her appeal for human dignity by highlighting that she is not in need of
threatening through violence because she is able to voice her concerns and
desires. Bearing in mind the strength and pride in her womanhood in the
poem, her actively articulated agenda for human rights could ultimately be
read as a patronizing, if not even slightly condescending, ultimatum, not
only criticizing, but actually ridiculing male authority in view of her self-
confidence.
Like Okurut and Kyomuhendo in their novels, Kiguli ultimately breaks
with a taboo. Her taboo is not so much the depiction of male violence
against women through language and detailed description, but much more
through the self-c onfident announcement of “talk[ing] plainly.” In the
Ugandan context as well as in other contexts of African society, Sylvia
Tamale, senior lecturer in the Department of Law at Makerere University,
points out, women’s sexuality and emotional subordination through men
“is usually mediated through metaphors and symbols.” 115 In the poem, the
lyrical persona breaks with this taboo as she is “moved to abandon riddles”
and “tired of using metaphors.” The presence of the “I” throughout the
poem emphasizes the direct communication of the lyrical persona thus
underlining her personality and existence as a “subject” and refusing to
label her as an “object.” Her refusal of speaking in metaphors about her
feelings appears as the breaking with a social convention, a taboo, in the
context of Uganda.
Demanding Equal Treatment
In Uganda, such explicit and continuously strong proclamation of gender
issues, women’s concerns, and self- confidence as expressed in some of the
FEMRITE writing has not been welcomed by some male critics since it
offered a rather uncomfortable picture of male behavior that, according to
these critics, had never been criticized previously in such a blunt way.
Apart from the explicit description of sexual abuse as well as vulgar
language, moreover, the description of sex scenes highlighting the lust of a
woman in detail through female authorship had never been tackled in
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Ugandan literature, where women’s lust and grief are generally

communicated indirectly, as Kiguli’s poem highlights.
In Secrets No More, for instance, the protagonist, Marina, as a grown-
up, has an affair with Dee. In a private moment with Dee, “a throbbing
sensation was beginning to grow inside her and an animal-l ike sound
escaped her . . . Marina was aroused to the highest heights . . . At first, she
thought she was having a dream. Then she felt the damp, but warm sticky
liquid trickling between her
thighs and gingerly felt for its source; it was still hard.” 116 On the public
reaction to Secrets No More and The Official Wife in Uganda, Susan Kiguli
remembers
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that such presentation of the material provoked a fierce debate, especially

among the male audience.117 Alongside a number of other FEMRITE
writers, Kyomuhendo and Okurut were labeled as “that emerging club of
women whose pastime is literature through sex.”118 The criticism of
FEMRITE’s feminist leanings in the Ugandan literary field is not just a
power struggle over content and language but also a power struggle over
emancipation and authority between the sexes.
Taboo Breakers?
In Uganda’s literary field, FEMRITE therefore has functioned as a literary
gang. Especially shortly after its emergence, the LINGO would publish
works that would call into question the patriarchal canon of literary works
as well as the dominating male authorship. The LINGO has contributed
toward deconstructing patriarchy through fiction in a society where—b
efore the emergence of FEMRITE— publishers would reject a woman’s
work on the basis that it was written by a female author. By 2006, at its
tenth anniversary, FEMRITE had developed into an accepted player and an
integral part of the Ugandan literary scene. The LINGO had managed to
transform the Ugandan literary field to the extent that, as Kaiza notes in his
review of FEMRITE in 2007, “young male writers in Kampala say wryly
that they ought to write under women’s names to get published.”119

LINGOs as Sites of Struggle

Kwani Trust and FEMRITE have served as a visible counterforce to the
status quo for many years. Like any new entrant to the literary field, they
have sought to position themselves among other literary agents in the field.
Inevitably, established positions of those actors already in the field were
called into question and, like in the case of Kwani Trust and FEMRITE,
have been fought for and have been constantly negotiated. Yet how exactly
do LINGOs choose and promote their texts? And in which ways is their
role as a taboo breaker and literary gang ultimately limited?
Given that they are dynamic networks of heterogeneous writers, it is
important to understand that FEMRITE and Kwani Trust as LINGOs are in
fact force fields and sites of struggles just like the literary field itself, in
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which positions of greater authority can change—t o echo Bourdieu—“

considerably depending on different periods,” 120 as actors withdraw while
others arrive. Individuals with their own writing style or ideas on the
LINGO’s mission therefore naturally influence the construct of the LINGO
to varying degrees. Just like in the literary field, there is a power situation
within the LINGOs themselves. Necessarily, topics and themes within the
LINGO and consequently the LINGO’s output
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in terms of its material and activities keep changing only to the degree that
individual actors of dominant positions in the network manage to influence
the LINGO. In the case of Kwani Trust, for instance, Billy Kahora and
Binyavanga Wainaina for many years have been major actors within the
LINGO due to their being founding members and editors of Kwani?. At
FEMRITE, the power positions shifted with the departure of Goretti
Kyomuhendo as the long- standing project manager.
In addition, FEMRITE and Kwani Trust as LINGOs, like other NGOs,
have flat hierarchies. Flat hierarchies exist when the top management is
conducted in “a collegial, board of directors, fashion, or all subordinate
units below the highest level of the organization are regarded as
hierarchical equals, or both.”121 In nonprofit organizations like LINGOs, the
interaction between all units depends on the active participation of
dedicated volunteers who generally work on equal administrative levels
under a board of directors.122 As a result, LINGOs often are not faced with
the same organizational complexity at the administrative level as are bigger
publishing houses or government bodies. NGOs supposedly are more
permeable to ideas that come from their various agents within the network
and can react more quickly, for they are, as I outlined in Chapter 2,
generally less likely to be caught up in tall hierarchies. Theoretically,
LINGOs therefore would be almost bound to regularly bring forth literary
forms or themes that might be considered fresh, innovative, inacceptable,
or unusual to other agents in the literary field because they come directly
from the producers of art/writing and their immediate environment and not
through the more complex negotiation processes writers can face at large-
scale publishing houses. It is thus not surprising that FEMRITE and Kwani
Trust could challenge the literary scene with material that was not so very
mainstream, and, as in the case of Kwani Trust’s publications around the
election crisis in 2007/2008, they were able to react almost immediately to
dynamics in their environments.
Yet, at the same time, there is also a chance that LINGOs, despite their
dynamic network structure, flat hierarchies, and nongovernmental funding,
stop being laboratories of fresh literary capital and nurturing new literary
talent. In the process of institutionalization and professionalization, the
personal structure at a LINGO can remain rather stable with a number of
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key actors holding the greatest amount of authority for years. Actors with
the greatest authority in the area of the LINGO then, I suggest, would
maintain the greatest presence and authority in view of the organization’s
literary output.
Kwani Trust
Indeed this is a trend evident in the publications of Kwani Trust from 2002
to 2009. Despite the fact that Kwani Trust has published a great number of
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formerly unpublished authors in Kwani?, the LINGO in those years

likewise published a great number of texts by the same authors. A look at
the table of contents from Kwani? 01 to Kwani? 05 reveals that Kwani
Trust allowed for 103 authors to be published in the magazine, out of
which a core of authors have appeared frequently. Interestingly enough,
however, those published more often were Kwani Trust staff, Kwani?
editorial members, Kwani Trust project volunteers, or founding members.
Thus Binyavanga Wainaina appeared most often from Kwani? 01 to
Kwani? 05; Stephen Partington and Tony Mochama were the most
frequently published poets throughout Kwani? 02 to Kwani? 04; while
Potash in Kwani? 04, the issue devoted to blog literature, was the most
frequently published blogger. Since Kwani? 01, Sheng poetry and song
texts have been represented most often by the band members of Mashifta
and the Kalamashaka Trio. Both hip-h op bands at that time were among
the most prominent stakeholders in the Kenyan hip- hop scene. Within the
pages of Kwani? 01 to Kwani? 04, the authors and Kwani? staff team
Binyavanga Wainaina, Billy Kahora, Wambui Mwangi, Dayo Forster,
Muthoni Garland, Doreen Baingana, Parselelo Kantai, Mukoma Ng ũgĩ,
Judy Kibinge, Muthony wa Gatumo, and Andia Kisia appear with up to
two pieces per collection.
Likewise, the names of the Kwanini authors also sound familiar. As of
2012, the Kwanini series included pieces by Binyavanga Wainaina,
Chimamanda Adichie, Yvonne Owuor, Wambui Mwangi, Parselelo
Kantai, and Richard Onyango. With its Kwanini series, as well as with its
journal, Kwani?, Kwani Trust has favored certain authors. Notwithstanding
the fact that the LINGO among the over one hundred published texts in
print has still included a great number of fresh voices, it becomes clear that
Kwani Trust has displayed mechanisms of inclusion and exclusion in terms
of authorship and writing style.
The fact that the same core of authors has appeared regularly in Kwani?
has not been due to a lack of submissions. On the contrary, Kwani Trust—
due to its visibility in Kenya—h as been swamped with submissions since
its emergence. This has been stated by Ebba Kalondo in her introduction to
Kwani? 02 where she pointed out that she was “petrified” by the number of
submissions that included “writing of all sorts [:] . . . [s]tories, poems,
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deeply personal documents that people gave us. Some of them handwritten
in mouldy notebooks.”123 In a personal interview, recorded in Nairobi in
2006, a Kwani? associate highlighted similarly: “There are about 2,000
submissions of which 97% can’t be published in Kwani?.”124 The
relationship between the number of submissions and the high percentage of
the material that cannot be used in Kwani? displays a striking imbalance.
When asked about this imbalance, another Kwani? associate at that time
stressed that in order to get published in the magazine writers need to have
“a Kwani? sensibility.”125 For the Kwani? sensibility of 2006 the following
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145

definition was provided: “The Kwani? sensibility, at this time of the

magazine, means writing the Kenyan story from a Kenyan disposition as
opposed to writing about Kenya from being without, but I guess if you are
without you have the within- perspective telling the Kenyan story.” 126 This
statement spotlights the publishing philosophy behind the magazine three
years into its existence.
In holding on to a Kwani? sensibility, Kwani Trust for many years has
been a platform catering rather to a fraction of specifically selected writing
that would ultimately help the journal fulfill what Kwani Trust promises in
its institutional goals: that is “to represent the best writing that Africa has to
offer.”127 With the names of Binyavanga Wainaina, Chimamanda Adichie,
Yvonne Owuor, and Parselelo Kantai, Kwani Trust published transnational
prize winners and largely well-k nown authors of the contemporary
generation of African writers. Moreover, the Kwanini stories, like
Onyango’s “The Life and Times of Richard Onyango” and Wambui
Mwangi’s “Internally Misplaced,” either have appeared in Kwani?
previously or, as in the case of Owuor’s “Weight of Whispers,” Wainaina’s
“How to Write about Africa,” and Kantai’s “The Cock Thief” have been
short-l isted for or awarded the Caine Prize. The authors’ presence in the
Kwani Trust publications shows that at Kwani Trust the fulfillment of this
institutional goal in fact translates into a marketing strategy that came
along with a certain level of cultural and symbolic capital in addition to
literary capital writers contributing to Kwani Trust needed to display
between 2002 and 2009: looking at the list of authors in the Kwani Trust
publications from 2002 to 2007 (Kwani? 01 to Kwani? 04), it becomes
clear that first, authors needed to display a certain level of education in
terms of reading and writing in English or Sheng. Second, those authors
most published by Kwani Trust thus far had to display a certain level of
symbolic capital as through worldwide recognition through prizes and
publications, or they needed to display national popularity among a specific
target audience as in the case of Kalamashaka and Mashifta. Third, the
authors’ being published by the LINGO regularly corresponded to their
level of involvement with the LINGO and its mission statements—t hat is,
their individual authority as defined by their belonging to this literary
network. So far the LINGO has set its standards for the best writing of
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Africa not just according to the transnational reputation of an author but

also according to the closeness of these authors to the LINGO.128
Only with its latest editions of Kwani? like in Kwani? 05 Part One and
Part Two (2008 and 2009), which in terms of content and authorship was
deeply affected by the events of the postelection violence, Kwani Trust has
included a greater number of pieces by authors of very little literary or
journalistic exposure. While those authors dominating especially the earlier
issues of Kwani? are still present in these issues, they for once do not
dominate these issues.
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Its mechanisms of inclusion and exclusion in its early years have laid
Kwani Trust bare to harsh criticism inside Kenya. Chris Wanjala, a Kenyan
Professor of Literature, stated,
At the outset of Kwani? workshops, the eminent writers from abroad who
came to facilitate in the Kwani? training meetings were people who did not
know about the growth of literary traditions here in East Africa . . . It was,
therefore, felt, then, that to belong to Kwani? you had to be a member of a
local elite who uncritically admired views on literature from outside. And
besides you were forced to read your poems in posh restaurants with some
artificial accent and afford an expensive trip to Lamu as you accompanied
these “international” writers, who in any case were sufficiently funded to pay
for those kinds of excursions. The IT had just arrived and you needed your
own facilities like mobile phones, laptops and kindles to match.129

Indeed Kwani Trust, in its early years, had been a literary “elite of sorts” as
Wanjala remarked. Not only did those authors published most often until
recently hold a degree of higher learning, but they also share similarities
across their professional and economic backgrounds: Wainaina has had
experience in South African journalism before establishing Kwani Trust
and before moving on to become a professor of creative writing in the
United States; Parselelo Kantai has been a Reuters Fellow at Oxford
University, a journalist- cum- editor at Ecoforum, an environmental
magazine, as well as the director of The Native Intelligence Trust. He has
been published in various journals, newspapers, and magazines, including
The Journal of East African Studies and The Sunday Times (South Africa).
Billy Kahora, like Wainaina, studied in South Africa, gaining a BA in
journalism and a postgraduate diploma in media studies from Rhodes
University; Tony Mochama gained a law degree from Makerere University
before becoming a journalist at The Standard; Charles Matathia, also
known as Potash, formerly active at Kwani Trust, holds an MA in
Sociology from Nairobi University and has been a freelance journalist
since. With many of its main actors with experience and professional
backgrounds in media, marketing, and journalism, Kwani Trust for a long
time has actually consisted of a quite conventional core group of university
professors-c um-w riters and journalistscum-w riters, who display
transnational experience and high cultural as well as transnational social
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capital. Therefore, their habitus, economic situation, and social status

inevitably have been dramatically different from the majority of the
Kenyan population. “It looked frighteningly exotic to belong to the Kwani?
Fraternity, but I guess this image of the group is waning,” 130 Wanjala adds
on this note in 2013. With a greater diversity of submissions by writers
outside the former core group of Kwani? founding writers also, the social,
economic, and
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educational background of authors submitting to Kwani? in the future

might diversify.
FEMRITE
A similar process of institutionalization and canonization has occurred at
FEMRITE. In terms of its authors, FEMRITE, just like Kwani Trust, has
rather come to canonize a limited number of certain authors. A look at the
list of authors published in FEMRITE publications from 1998 to 2009
reveals that, similarly to Kwani Trust, the organization has kept to a core of
writers reflecting the core of members and permanent staff at the
organization. Although FEMRITE has allowed for approximately sixty
writers to publish, that core of writers— Kyomuhendo, Kiguli, Lamwaka,
Tindyebwa, Twongyeirwe, and Barungi, for instance—a ppear most
frequently. FEMRITE thus appears inclusionary and exclusionary not only
in terms of the content of the texts it canonizes but also in terms of the
writers who participate.
Moreover, FEMRITE, like Kwani Trust, also has taken to canonizing
prizewinning stories in their publications. FEMRITE’s collection Gifts of
Harvest (2006) includes de Nyeko’s short story “Strange Fruits,” short-
listed for the Caine Prize in 2004; the short story “Going Home” by Juliane
Okot Bitek, which won the Commonwealth Broadcasting Short Story
Competition 2004 and the BBC Radio Short Story 2005; and the short
story “Dance with Me” by Jackee B. Batanda, which won the
Commonwealth Short Story Competition 2003– 04. The incorporation of
prizewinning stories of its members in one collection at FEMRITE
suggests that Kwani Trust’s promotion of renowned authors is not an
exception but in fact a strategy that African LINGOs employ in order to
promote the status of the organization and its literary output and ultimately
to heighten the recognition of their publications in the literary market
beyond their countries of operation.
FEMRITE, like Kwani Trust, hence also can rightly be described as
what Chris Wanjala called “an elite of sorts.” 131 Beatrice Lamwaka and
Monica Arac de Nyeko both gained BAs in English literature from
Makerere University before moving on for a master program in human
rights. Similarly, some of the older writers, such as Twongyeirwe, Kiguli,
 “Words That Reshape a Country”and Literary Canons? O

Kyomuhendo, Okurut, and Naweru have a degree in English literature and

work either writing fiction or working and teaching at university level or
high school level. The exceptions of the prominent FEMRITE members are
Glaydah Namukasa with a degree in midwifery and Doreen Baingana with
a BA in law from Makerere University and an MA in creative writing from
Maryland University (in the United States). Like the Kwani Trust writers,
prominent FEMRITE members display a great amount of cultural capital
through their degrees from institutions of higher learning. As in
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the case of Kwani Trust, their lives are dramatically different from those of
the majority of the Ugandan population in many ways. They belong to
what could be considered the upper strata of Ugandan society.
In view of exclusionary aspects, critics moreover complained that
FEMRITE has emerged into a predictable if not even prescriptive actor.
When interviewed on the limitations of FEMRITE, Joyce Nyairo identified
the LINGO as one of “the most conservative spaces in terms of gender.” 132
Nyairo remarked that in her view the gender dynamics within arts and
literary organizations such as FEMRITE are in fact “frightening!
FEMRITE clings to womanhood in a very traditional way without seeing
the whole definition and creation of manhood and womanhood precisely
connected to certain types of masculinity which also need to be
interrogated and understood in order for women to also occupy a certain
space. You can’t stay away from that conversation for too long without
becoming stale.”133 Abasi Kiyimba, full professor of literature at Makerere
University, likewise remarked in personal conversation that giving voice to
women’s sufferings in Uganda certainly has added a new dimension to
both social discourse and the Ugandan literary field, but at the same time it
has also limited the discussion of literature to women’s writing at
FEMRITE. According to Kiyimba, “the question that discomforts some in
scholarship in Ugandan literature is whether this is all there is to say or
whether we can create a space for other issues to come up and be
debated.”134 With regard to its discussion of gender issues and its
publications, Kiyimba like Nyairo suggests that FEMRITE opens up as to
keep itself and its literary output relevant in the literary market place.
According to these critics, FEMRITE has come to canonize a one-
dimensional perspective of gender dynamics because the LINGO is
convinced that women’s rights and stories in Uganda still are not
represented strongly enough.
In the course of the fieldwork undertaken for this study, it became clear,
however, that the younger generation of especially Ugandan urban writers
like Batanda, de Nyeko, and Lamwaka thinks differently about that and in
relation to gender also feels moved by other topics. In her interview,
Batanda remarked, “I reckon you have seen a difference between the older
and the younger generation here. Just looking at FEMRITE the works
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published by the earlier generation were more concerned with femininity

and domestic violence. Whereas we, the younger generation, write more
about things that concern us directly . . . We write about war because that is
what we have known. And also about other social norms like
homosexuality as in Monica’s story ‘Jambula Tree’ because these are
newer trends that are happening.” 135 In a way, the younger FEMRITE
members like Batanda feel that there are more issues that FEMRITE could
engage with gender-w ise in order to be more up- to- date with the actual
gender debate in the country.
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149

Excursus: “Jambula Tree” and Perspectives on Homosexuality from

Uganda
FEMRITE’s reaction to Monica Arac de Nyeko’s short story “Jambula
Tree” thus provides an example by which the gulf between the older and
the younger generation of women writers surfaces. De Nyeko’s “Jambula
Tree” is set in the estate of Nakawa in Kampala. Among the description of
everyday life in the estate and future dreams of young people growing up,
the story is concerned with the love relationship between Anyango and
Sanyu. The short story unfolds as a personal letter from Anyango to Sanyu,
describing life in Nakawa Estate while revisiting the memories of their
childhood and adolescence they both share. After all these years, Anyango
tells Sanyu, life in Nakawa has not changed. It “is still over one thousand
families on an acre of land they call an estate. Most women don’t work.
Like Mama Atim they sit and talk, talk, talk and wait for their husbands.” 136
Anyango writes that it is from Mama Atim, her “next door neighbour” 137
that she learns about Sanyu’s return to Nakawa. This news encourages her
to write the letter.
As the letter unravels, one comes to know that Anyango and Sanyu have
already known each other from primary school. They became friends, as
Sanyu “stood tall . . . [w]hen the bigger kids tried to bully” 138 Anyango.
Even later, the girls kept in touch even when they were on different
secondary schools and their parents disliked their friendship. Their
friendship also lasted despite the fact that Sanyu’s family with her father
working “at the Ministry of Transport” 139 was richer than Anyango’s
family. Anyango’s father had left her mother for a younger wife and “never
sent . . . a single cent to buy food, books, soap or Christmas clothes.” 140
Together, Sanyu and Anyango would dream about their future away from
Nakawa Estate that “threatened to engulf . . . [them] and turn . . . [them]
into noisy, gossiping and frightening housewives.” 141 They would also
dream about running away from Sanyu’s dad, who is not quite the “perfect
husband.” Sanyu hated him for touching her inappropriately, while her
mother “would not believe . . . [her] . . . [,] never did.” 142 Throughout this
first part of her letter, Anyango comments on various issues such as the life
and women in Nakawa, the situation at school, and the sexual abuse by
Sanyu’s dad rather directly. She recalls the shared memories vividly.
 “Words That Reshape a Country”and Literary Canons? O

It is only toward the end of the letter that Anyango also comes to
directly speak of the love between her and Sanyu. The thought of maybe
seeing Sanyu again after all these years gets Anyango excited and it is
rather slowly that Anyango in fact dares to show her anticipation. In the
first lines of the letter, Anyango leaves only hints of the intimate
relationship, recalling almost shyly if not even insecurely that Sanyu “left
without saying goodbye after that . . . one night no one could make . . .
[them] forget.”143 However, “things never did die down,” 144 although
Anyango had hoped so. “Our names became forever associated with the
forbidden. Shame. Anyango—S anyu. . . . —n aked,”145 Anyango writes. At
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times, she still feels stigmatized in Nakawa, imagining “shame trailing

after . . . [her] tagged onto the hem of . . . [her] skirt,” 146 but in all these
years she has preciously preserved the memory of her and Sanyu. With
Sanyu absent from Kampala, Anyango admits that she has thus regularly
wished for connecting with Sanyu’s “dreams across the desert and water to
remind . . . [her] of what lines . . . [they] crossed.” 147 Not only does
Anyango thereby reveal a sense of insecurity about what she felt for Sanyu,
but also— though indirectly— already displays the longing for Sanyu that
has never left her since that night.
This longing of Anyango is once more exposed more explicitly in the
last paragraphs of the letter when Anyango eventually overcomes her
shyness and vividly retells the sexual encounter between her and Sanyu
under the jambula tree. Suddenly, Anyango is passionately outspoken:
When you came back during the holidays, . . . your breasts . . . were like two
large jambulas on your chest. And that feeling that I had, the one that you
had, that we had— never said, never spoken—swelled up inside us like fresh
mandazies . . . You were not shocked. Not repelled. It did not occur to either
of us, to you or me, that these were boundaries we should not cross or think
of crossing. Your jambulas and mine . . . You pulled me to yourself, and we
rolled on the brown earth that stuck to our hair in all its redness and
dustiness. There in front of Mama Atim’s house. She shone a torch at us. She
had been watching. Steadily like a dog waiting for a bone it knew it would
get; it was just a matter of time.148

In the letter, Anyango tells Sanyu that she did go “for confession the next
day, right after Mass.”149 There she told the pastor that she had “sinned” 150
because it had “been two months since . . . [her] last confession.” Yet she
did not confess the incident between her and Sanyu. In her eyes, what had
happened between them was not a sin. “And there in my head, two plus
two jambulas equals four jambulas . . . I was not sorry,” 151 Anyango
highlights. The love and passion for Sanyu was natural in her eyes.
Anyango’s deep love for Sanyu also surfaces when Anyango admits that
she has kept the only letter she got from Sanyu like a treasure in a box and
looks at it regularly. Five years after their night, this letter reveals that
Anyango’s feelings were not one-s ided. Indeed, Sanyu also kept thinking
of Anyango: “A. I miss you. S.” 152 Their love, it is implied through Sanyu’s
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note to Anyango, is based on mutual terms and a strong bond that has
survived despite the discrimination against them.
At the end of the letter, Anyango’s excitement of possibly seeing Sanyu
results in a love statement: “Sanyu, I am a nurse at Mengo hospital. I have
a small room by the hospital, decorated with two chairs . . . and two
paintings of two big jambula trees which I got a downtown artist to do for
me. These trees have purple leaves. I tell you, they smile. I do mostly night
shifts. I like them; I often see clearer at night. In the night you lift yourself
up in my eyes each time,
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151

again and again. Sanyu, you rise like the sun and stand tall like the jambula
tree in front of Mama Atim’s house.” 153 In expectation of Sanyu’s arrival
from London in Kampala on the next day, Anyango’s final words
eventually serve as an invitation for Sanyu to Anyango’s own place by
Mengo hospital, away from the gossiping housewives in Nakawa, where
she and Sanyu could meet again below the picture of the two jambula trees.
With “Jambula Tree,” de Nyeko produced not only the first lesbian story in
Anglophone Ugandan writing but, more important, a lesbian story and love
confession that from the perspectives of its two main characters Anyango
and Sanyu presents homosexuality as natural.
In light of the ongoing public discourse in Uganda, such a story is
provocative as homosexuality is a highly sensitive topic in the country. By
law, Uganda’s Penal Code in Act 145 has been punishing homosexuality. 154
Since 2009, aggressiveness toward the issue of homosexuality in Uganda
has increased in view of the new Anti-H omosexuality Bill. Human rights
activists have been afraid that the implementation of the Anti-
Homosexuality Bill not only would diminish the rights of gay, bisexual,
and transgender people but would also violate the protections guaranteed in
the Constitution of Uganda, ensuring the independence for human- rights
NGOs. According to human rights activists, this bill would eventually also
make it easier to discriminate against “writers, artists, scholars, journalists,
performers, of any sexual orientation, whose work might be interpreted as
‘promoting homosexuality.’”155 In December 2012, the bill was to be
passed despite protests worldwide.156
Interestingly enough, FEMRITE as an organization, which actually aims
at fighting for women’s rights in Uganda, has kept silent about the
homophobic developments in the country, although the situation for
women’s rights in Uganda could ultimately be threatened, as well. De
Nyeko was congratulated by FEMRITE members on winning the Caine
Prize. Yet the LINGO has done nothing in terms of instigating public
debates, nor has it included or promoted de Nyeko’s as a reading
recommendation or for discussion about gender and sexuality in Uganda.
This indeed allows for the confirmation of Nyairo’s and Kiyimba’s
criticism of FEMRITE as a rather conservative space of gender debate.
FEMRITE’s aim of especially “making heard the voice of the marginalized
 “Words That Reshape a Country”and Literary Canons? O

woman, because that [according to Twongyeirwe] is where the political

and social contexts evolve,”157 appears in contradiction when it comes to
the marginalized identity of women’s sexual orientation. Thus FEMRITE
at the moment comes across as a limited space of gender debate glossing
over women with a different sexual orientation.
De Nyeko, who is not gay, later regretted that she justified herself in
front of the media, for in her eyes the story is just about love. The reason
she had written the story was actually not so much for making a political
statement but initially rather just a kind of spontaneous idea when she was
thinking about a unique
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152 O African Literar

love story for Ama Atoo Aidoo’s collection of love stories from the
continent. The motivation behind the story was therefore not to broaden the
concept of gender at FEMRITE or in the Ugandan context, which again
gives evidence of de Nyeko’s distancing herself from being a politically
engaged writer. Nevertheless, de Nyeko’s text of course achieved exactly
both— an indirect broadening of FEMRITE’s concept of gender on the
transnational level since she has been identified as a member of FEMRITE
in all her interviews on “Jambula Tree,” and, at the same time, the
revelation of the generation gap, limited gender perspectives, and at times
rather prescriptive canonization strategies at FEMRITE. The case of de
Nyeko’s short story highlights the dynamics in which FEMRITE as a
LINGO excludes aspects of gender and female identity in Uganda, while it
gives evidence of the fact by which writers associated with the LINGO
explore their own avenues and topics outside the framework, thereby
influencing the position of the LINGO in the literary field indirectly.

Conclusion
This chapter has revealed that contemporary African LINGOs like
FEMRITE and Kwani Trust definitely have been hotbeds of new literary
material and talent, effectively challenging the status quo of the Kenyan
and Ugandan literary fields. The literary capital brought into the literary
scene by Kwani Trust and FEMRITE has contributed to the
democratization of their local Anglophone literary canon: Whereas Kwani
Trust has repositioned the rules of creative writing in Kenya primarily by
reviving forms such as cartoons and slang prominent in earlier literary
journals and introducing new forms of literary material such as blogging,
email, SMS, and Sheng, FEMRITE has achieved a change in the gender
ratio in the Ugandan literary field through content, authorship, and female
character perspective. By challenging the orthodoxies and by bringing out
fresh literary capital, I argue, Kwani Trust and FEMRITE thus have truly
developed the literary field, which also gives evidence of their mission as a
literary NGO. With their publications, the LINGO and their associates
have contributed to greater literary democracy in the literary scene—
although certainly in different ways within the countries of their operation.
 y NGOs

At the same time, however, these literary achievements have not been
without their shortcomings. While Kwani Trust and FEMRITE have been
dynamic networks, they also have developed into conventionalized and
quite conservative spaces promoting a certain flock of authors as well as a
certain kind of writing. Despite their unique agendas, the LINGOs
therefore have been influenced by mechanisms of inclusion and exclusion,
ultimately limiting the diversity of topics and genre. Such editorial
strategies at the LINGOs have led to a certain canon of literary works and
forms that are not necessarily representative of the
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153

greater majority of writers in the countries. These works canonized by the

LINGOs are rather illustrative of a fraction of writers from their early
twenties to their early fifties, who in the case of these contemporary
LINGOs often share similar educational, professional, and economic
backgrounds— significantly different from the majority of the population
in their home countries. Such limited setup and literary output by the
LINGOs has been criticized by literary critics from within Kenya and
Uganda. Yet, considering the fact that a LINGO survives only by
maintaining its specific agenda, such limitations are a natural consequence
of institutionalization and to some extent in fact a necessary process for the
survival of these organization. Moreover, this can ring true in light of fickle
democratic structures when speaking out against government authorities or
taboo topics (e.g., homosexuality) can risk the LINGOs’ survival. There is
no doubt that FEMRITE and Kwani Trust have noticeably affected the
literary fields of their immediate environments. Through the nature of their
publications, they have instigated literary as well as sociopolitical dialogue
among the producers of literature, critics, and audiences. But at the same
time, I conclude, this relationship between agency and narrative at African
LINGOs themselves constitutes a site of contention.
 CHAPTER 7

Rewriting African Identity, Self,

and Place
Civil War and HIV/AIDS in Fiction

Introduction

T he discussion of the nature of selected publications in Chapter 6 has

illustrated that the texts published or promoted by FEMRITE and
Kwani Trust are highly reflective of their immediate Ugandan and
Kenyan environments. They are not so much preoccupied with writing
back to the (colonial) empire—a notion that has previously been applied in
postcolonial theory and thus has also been a recurring notion in the
discussion of Anglophone writing from East Africa. Rather, I suggest, the
texts published and promoted by the contemporary literary NGO (LINGOs)
as well as their associated writers are occupied with a kind of writing back
to the stereotypical African identity, place, and self. In making this claim,
my argument in this chapter echoes Evan Mwangi, who in Africa Writes
Back to Self (2009), demands “that African fiction should be read not as
exclusively ‘writing back’ to the [Western] metropolis but more
meaningfully as writing back to itself in order to address issues such as
AIDS, sex and gender alongside classical themes such as colonialism.” 1
Drawing from the results of the selective close reading in Chapter 6, I
conclude the discussion of the African LINGO in this chapter by looking
more closely at the degree to which the texts by FEMRITE and Kwani
Trust are involved with the politics of their civil societies, thus adding up
to their role as public participants in the sociocultural as well as
sociopolitical debate of and about their societies.

Bearing Witness, Being Heard: Survivor Narratives and Testimonials

Life writing has been a cornerstone of contemporary writers for recording
trauma and memorializing suffering. Writers at FEMRITE have made it
their
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“business to record”2 the stories of Ugandan women who have been “forced
to endure terrible things.”3 To record and to publish true- life accounts “of
marginalized women in different fields”4 is presently one of FEMRITE’s
major programs. With this kind of writing the LINGO aims to “inspire the
reader and listener to construct meaningful social and political opinions
towards a collective responsibility for our societies, addressing both a
Ugandan and non- Ugandan audience.” 5 Between 2003 and July 2009,
FEMRITE has released five collections, which the LINGO promotes as
“true life stories.”6 As briefly acknowledged in Chapter 4, these collections
revolve around the issues of women and law, women and HIV/AIDS,
women in armed conflict situations in rural Uganda, as well as women and
female genital mutilation. Tears of Hope contains “the stories of eight
different women in southwestern Uganda who endured shocking abuse of
their [human] rights, but went on and fought to re- claim their lives;” 7 I
Dare to Say is about “five courageous women [from southwestern Uganda]
with varying experiences in finding out their HIV+ status and living with
HIV/AIDS.”8 Today You Will Understand presents 16 stories of women
from Northern Uganda who narrowly escaped the violence by LRA (Lord’s
Resistance Army) rebels. Similar to this, Farming Ashes is made up of nine
stories “of women from northern Uganda who have survived the LRA
conflict,”9 whereas Beyond the Dance “is a compilation of testimonies and
poems about the humiliation of female genital mutilation . . . It
encompasses accounts, factual in some cases and lyrical persona others, of
the experience of this practice lived or witnessed, and the visceral
responses to the practice.”10
The women portrayed in these five collections have faced extreme
human pain and massive psychic trauma. They have endured domestic
violence, feared for their lives in civil war situations, or suffered from
public disgrace due to their HIV/AIDS status. Above all, many of them
have fought for their survival.
With its twin edition, Kwani? 05, Kwani Trust has also focused on
stories of survival. Under the section “Revelation and Conversation,” this
edition contains interviews with inhabitants from regions of Kenya affected
by riots during the postelection violence. Involved in the election
campaign, these interviewees have either witnessed or actively participated
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in the riots. Within the pages of this edition, their individual accounts are
enriched by the incorporation of SMS, flyers, and emails circulated during
the postelection violence.
In this subchapter, I argue that with their story collections as well as
their interviews, FEMRITE and Kwani Trust showcase the genre of
survivor narratives and testimonials.11 These survivor narratives and
testimonials function as a tool by which African LINGOs contribute to the
process of sociopolitical and sociocultural opinion making.
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African Identity, Self, and Place

FEMRITE
When reading FEMRITE’s life- writing collections, it becomes clear that
there is a common strand running through all the anthologies. Regardless
of whether they have been suffering from HIV/AIDS, judicial injustice, or
domestic violence, the women portrayed in all the collections are
constructed as survivors. Joyce in Today You Will Understand survived an
attack of the Lord’s Resistance Army whereas her niece was “axed to
death”12 and her “husband’s face had been sliced into four pieces with a
machete”;13 Frieda in Tears of Hope has managed to successfully organize
a life of her own after years of extreme domestic violence, in which her
husband finally threatened to kill her “with a bright new panga
[machete].”14 As presented in the stories, their life experiences have
eventually turned Joyce and Frieda into survivors. “All central figures have
a strong survival instinct and none of the narratives leaves the reader in
despair,” Dominic Dipio, a senior lecturer of English literature and film at
Makerere University, notes in her foreword to Farming Ashes.15 This
survival instinct, as the close reading of Frieda’s story will show, in fact
rings true for all survivor narrative publications by FEMRITE.
The second strand the narratives share is the fact that they are all based
on true- life accounts, recorded by personal interviews between FEMRITE
women writers and women from southwestern and northern Uganda. Many
of the interviewed women are farmers who barely make ends meet. The
stories are personal insights cutting across the multiethnic and
multilinguistic continuum from these regions of Uganda. Inside the
FEMRITE collections, these stories come together to form a greater
picture, suggesting that the challenges and hardships these women endure
are not unique but rather typical for women across Uganda, and in more
rural areas in particular. Embedded in the greater context of an anthology,
these FEMRITE texts thus form a more generalized statement about the
situation of the rights and status of women in rural Uganda. Certainly, the
references to the protagonists’ ethnic and linguistic backgrounds render the
stories in a local context, making it more difficult to comprehend every
detail unless one is familiar with the multiethnic and social continuum of
 Rewriting O 158

Ugandan society. Nevertheless, the translation of the stories into English

also makes them accessible to a non- Ugandan audience.
Despite these common aspects, the narratives vary significantly in terms
of their format and style. Jackee B. Batanda, contributing to the anthology
Tears of Hope, remembers, “We had guiding questions on what to look out
for, but the entirety of the story depended on the writers. The main
guideline was to look for unique untold stories.” 16 Based on true- life
interviews often recorded in local languages but translated into English and
embedded in a fictionalized framework, the stories of FEMRITE’s life-
story collections are creative
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nonfiction. The texts straddle the world of fiction and nonfiction to varying
degrees as the individual authors decide to merge the comments of their
narrators in the stories with personal comments by the interviewee, at times
making it hard to distinguish who reports what.
In “Frieda’s World” from Tears of Hope, Frieda is presented as a
survivor of domestic violence against women, which as Michael König et
al. point out in “Domestic Violence in Rural Uganda: Evidence from a
Community-B ased Study” is common practice and a serious problem
seldom directly addressed in public.17 At the beginning of the story, the
first-p erson narrator gives her impressions on the protagonist first, thereby
entering immediately into Frieda’s world: “She does not look any different
from thousands of Bafumbira peasant women. Frieda is only thirty-f our
years old, small and strong. Her rough hands grip mine firmly. The soil of
the field she has been working on still clings up to her elbows like a thick
coating. Her arms are thin and jut out from under her torn dress like sticks .
. . Her hair knows only the rough blue soap, expensive in the village for
her, but for those with cars given free at the petrol stations in the city.” 18
According to the narrator, Frieda does not stand out as a woman. She does
not look any different from thousands of Bafumbira peasant women,
implying that her story is not unique but only exemplary of many other
similar stories among rural Bafumbira women. Frieda is presented as a
woman living at the lower level of society and as someone of little social
power. Being a peasant, Frieda thus has a hard time to make ends meet.
She is thin and her clothes are torn. She is poor and cannot afford better
soap than the rough soap in the village that, as the narrator notes almost
ironically in view of the social differences in Uganda, would even be given
for free to her if she were richer and living in the city. The narrator
interprets and judges Frieda by personal impressions as someone who is
poor and lacks social authority. Reading the personal impression of the
reporting narrator, one cannot help but look at Frieda through the narrator’s
eyes. Frieda’s strength and hunger for life can only be guessed by means of
the narrator’s hint about Frieda being strong and gripping the narrator’s
hand firmly.
Earlier on in her life, Frieda has experienced extreme violence at the
hands of her husband and managed to escape from there eventually: “She
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did not get any money from her man though he was working as a porter on
one of the big building sites . . . Sometimes she wondered where he put his
wages, but she never dared ask him. He was the kind of man one would not
ask too many questions.”19 Throughout the first part of “Frieda’s World,”
one comes to witness Frieda’s fear and anxiety, disgrace and pain during
this marriage as the third-p erson narrator shares Frieda’s experiences with
her husband in greater detail: “With ability she had not thought him
capable of, he suddenly jumped forward with a thick stick in his hand. He
hit her hard on the back . . . She was
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African Identity, Self, and Place

beaten again and again, sometimes nearly to death . . . [F]or the next
fourteen years, the whole cycle kept repeating itself.” 20 Through the
detailed depiction of her experience, Frieda is constructed as a victim of
domestic violence, passively enduring the pain and helplessness in view of
her husband’s brutality for 14 years. Her status as a victim reaches a climax
when the narrator reports that Frieda’s husband “made love to her like a
savage”21 and one day “went to the bedroom from where he returned with a
bright new panga”22 threatening to kill her. This mode of narration
strengthens Frieda’s image as a victim with regard to her husband’s
behavior since once cannot but strongly dislike the husband and truly
empathize with Frieda about her being powerless, hurt, injured, and almost
killed.
In the course of the story, the reconstruction of Frieda as a survivor is
largely achieved by a shift in narration from third- person toward a focus
on the witnessing first- person narrator and Frieda’s own words:

“I had nothing to lose by going there,” Frieda says. “There was no harm in
going to Kisoro and trying to find out whether that office could help me . . .
The man in the office was not difficult to talk to . . . He gave me a letter, one
for my husband and another for the Local Council Chairman. He wrote that
in all matters concerning the house 23 and the land . . . the Legal Aid Office in
Kisoro had to be asked for advice. On top of that, each party, that is me and
my husband, had to come with a witness to the office to discuss our case.”
“Whom did you go with” I ask.
“I went with the woman who used to give me and my children refuge . . .” . . .
“And your husband, who did he go with?”
“His brother.” . . .
“And your husband’s brother, what did he say?” I ask.
She laughs. “He said exactly the same thing—t hat my husband is terrible
when he is drunk and harassed me and the children . . . That man in that
office was the first one to help me. He told me if my husband sold anything
again, I should not be afraid to report him. Then he would go to prison.”24

Not only do Frieda’s supposedly original words give evidence of the fact
that she has survived the brutal attacks by her husband and is now a person
able to laugh again. The report about her courage to go and fight for her
rights regarding the house that she had built with her own money and that
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her husband wanted to take away from her suggests that she is also a
winner and eventually a survivor of the local judicial system, which, as the
narrator critically remarks, generally enables men like Frieda’s husband,
who “bribed all the members of the council with beer to be on his side.”25
The first-p erson narrator witnessing the protagonist’s story in “Frieda’s
World” concludes her account by turning Frieda’s story into a general
example of
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what women and children have to endure since “there is no law in Uganda
that specifically addresses domestic violence.” 26 The narrator’s comment is
extended into an appeal to the audience of this text, hinting at the flaws in
the Ugandan judicial system and expressing her hope: “So the criminality
of the offences that constitute what we refer to as domestic violence are
pricked from various legislations, especially the Penal Code Act, Chapter
106, Laws of Uganda. Maybe in future, women such as Frieda will be
better protected not only by laws but also by communities that care more
about the welfare of women and mothers.” 27 Thereby Frieda’s personal
story is projected onto a larger sociopolitical foil. It serves to critique the
lack of protection of women against domestic violence by men and calls
for the need to publicly address this problem in the Ugandan judicial
system. The witnessing narrator thus comes full circle by connecting
Frieda, the woman who looks just like any other among thousands of
Bafumbira women, to a more generalized group of African/Ugandan
women and mothers. By bringing to attention “the welfare of women and
mothers,” the narrator underlines the women’s crucial role as reproducers
and nurturers for the development of any society. Since Frieda’s experience
is linked to a critique of Uganda’s judicial system and the implicit demand
for communities to care about mothers and women, “Frieda’s World” can
be read as sociopolitical commentary about the life of women in the
Ugandan context.
In the FEMRITE survivor narratives, the reporting narrator becomes the
confessor functioning as the interpreter and judge of the protagonist’s
account, thereby remaking the victim into a survivor. This reporting
narrator not only bears witness to the protagonists’ confession but also
bears witness to their survival. Within the FEMRITE survivor narratives,
both the confessing protagonist and the witnessing narrator as the confessor
are caught in a dual play: the process of confession and the process of
bearing witness. Especially in those FEMRITE survivor narratives of the
short story form, there is hence a sense of mutual dependency between the
protagonist and the narrator. The protagonist cannot be remade as a
survivor if she has no one to bear witness to, while the narrator cannot bear
witness of the survival without the personal disclosure of the protagonist.
In view of the FEMRITE survivor narratives, “survival and bearing witness
161 frican Literary NGOs

[indeed] become,” like Terence De Pres notes in the epigraph to this part,
“reciprocal acts.”28
In this interaction between the protagonist and the narrator in the
FEMRITE publications, readers become observers that also bear witness.
They witness the protagonist’s accounts, the narrator’s impressions, and
the narrator’s bearing witness, as well as their own feelings to the extent to
which they as readers are evoked through witnessing the protagonist-n
arrator interrelation. It is in this threefold interaction between the
protagonist, the witnessing narrator, and the reader that the protagonists
become reconstructed as survivors in the text.
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The fact that all FEMRITE’s survivor narratives are made available to a
readership through print publications also adds a public momentum to
these survivor narratives. The personal opinions on sociopolitical aspects in
Uganda as expressed in the survivor narratives by the reporting narrator
and the protagonist through the acts of confessing, witnessing, and judging
gain public attention the moment they can be accessed by a national and
transnational audience. It is in this sense that these survivor narratives can
be read as sociopolitical commentaries of public interest; the personal
becomes political.
Kwani Trust
Survivor narratives within the pages of Kwani? 05 differ from those of
FEMRITE in terms of genre. Unlike the FEMRITE survivor narratives, the
survivor narratives in Kwani? are not in short story form but are rendered
as nonfictional personal interviews. They are therefore of a more
journalistic genre than the fictionalized stories by FEMRITE. Still, their
effect is similar to the interviews that FEMRITE collected for its anthology
Today You Will Understand. “In March [2008], we [at Kwani Trust] armed
a team of young writers with voice recorders and sent them across the
country to hear what people had to say,” Arno Kopecky remembers in
hindsight of the preparation for Kwani? 05. The twin issue of Kwani? 05
includes 44 out of “almost 200”29 interviews from low- income areas in
Nairobi such as Mathare, Dandora and Kibera as well as interviews from
more rural and small- town areas such as the Rift Valley, Eldoret, Nakuru,
Kisumu, Kisii, and Kakamega. It also contains a section of interviews by
campus students from different regions, thus again highlighting the
LINGO’s interest in staging the viewpoints of the younger generation.
Similar to the majority of FEMRITE’s stories, the interviewees in Kwani?
range from their late teens and early forties in terms of age. The people
interviewed— like the protagonists in the FEMRITE survivor narratives—i
dentify themselves neither as writers nor as journalists. In the case of
Kwani? 05, they are students, farmers, sales(wo) men, teachers, or pastors.
In one case, Kwani? 05 included an interview with two brothers of second
grade from primary school so as to show how deeply the election of 2007
moved people of any generation and educational background.30
 Rewriting O 162

Reflecting on the postelection violence from different geographical

locations as well as from various ethnic and social backgrounds within
Kenya, these interviews— like flashlights— throw light on the riots from
unique personal perspectives, coming together to a greater picture of the
country- wide uproar within the pages of the magazine. Thus thirty- year-
old Stephen Kioko from Ngei, Huruma estate, points out that when the
violence broke out, “I sneaked back to my house and fetched a bow and
some arrows . . . — we managed to chase the ODM people [Orange
Democratic Movement] away and they never
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162 O A

attacked the area again . . . Violence is not good. But then again, . . . I have
no regrets . . . It’s called self- defense.”31
Daniel, a “father of two, born and raised in Dandora” exclaims, “This
violence was caused by the politicians . . . [T]hey made us fight each other,
they used us. I was on the frontline fighting, I threw stones and that makes
me a fool.”32 When asked if he was involved in any fighting or witnessed
any fighting after the elections, Moses Nginya Nderitu, an 18-y ear- old
student at the Nakuru Boys High School, recalls, “On January 1st, raiders
attacked our school at noon. They burnt schools, homes, shambas and took
cattle and electronics. One of my aunts was feeding her cattle and was shot
through her stomach with an arrow.” 33 Jesse Njoroge, “Owner of the
‘Sunset Restaurant’ at Nakuru Showground, and the manager of the IDP
camp there from January 1st until April 18th” 34 2008, helped organize
people against the violent attack by others. Njoroge remembers, “people
were coming in en masse with a lot of injuries. These were people who had
been attacked right here in town.” 35 Asked if he helped in “organiz[ing] the
Gĩkũyũ fighters,”36 Njoroge points out, “We all knew they [the Kalenjin]
were coming, and we knew we would have to fight back . . . I had no other
option [than to organize the Gĩkũyũ fighters]. We had about ten thousand
young men here in the camp.” 37 Mercy Murugi, a volunteer working at the
Internally Displaced Persons (IDP) camp in Nakuru’s Afraha Stadium,
acknowledged, “I was not involved, but witnessed a lot. I remember one
Friday when young Gĩkũyũ men attacked the Luos . . . They would force
every man to strip naked and those who were not circumcised were
killed.”38 Kezia Wambui experienced the violence in her own house: “We
were attacked around 3 a.m. . . . They . . . raped my cousin dragging out my
husband who I never saw alive again. They chopped him up and threw him
into the river, warning us of dire consequences if we tried to rescue him.” 39
The twenty-y ear-o ld Irene Muneni, a Kamba from Mathare, lived with her
Luo boyfriend until the ethnic hostilities, and her refusal to join the
violence turned her life upside down:
Before elections, my boyfriend and I had a good life and nobody imagined
anything nasty would happen after we voted . . . On election day I voted for
Kalonzo[40] since I am a Kamba. That day my boyfriend came and said our
relationship had ended because I had not supported Raila[ 41] like he wanted
 frican Literary NGOs

me to. He even said he was to come and force me to join the Luo crowd who
were throwing stones at rivals . . . That night my boyfriend came with my
landlord. They said since I had refused everything they had told me, they had
no option but to rape me . . . I wonder whether I will be married since I hear
no man wants to marry a woman who has been raped.42

Yusuf Lumumba, a matatu tout from Kakamega, remarks plainly that this
violence was also ignited by members of Parliament. Before the elections,
Lumumba
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Rewriting African Identity, Self, and Place

reports, “an MP came and hired us with money to go and fight. But with
my cowardice I refused to go . . . You are just bought by 100 shillings, and
you may lose your life in the process.”43 Within “Revelation and
Conversation,” all these texts bear immediate testimony to the ferocity that
broke loose across the country within minutes after the announcement of
the election results, when houses were burnt down houses, friendships were
reduced to the marker of ethnic belonging, and many people were left
homeless, injured, or killed. The texts also reveal the ways in which
members of parliament were involved with corrupting fair campaigns on
the ground and with instigating the violent clashes in favor of their own
position within the government, thus confirming firsthand what
transnational newspapers such as The Washington Post could only
speculate about.44 Being personal statements from various regions, the
interviews capture a great diversity of the social as well as personal
situations, shedding light on the atrocities, anger, anxiety, and pain people
experienced during this conflict. At the same time, these texts serve as
valuable pieces of investigative journalism, unveiling firsthand information
that government officials within Kenya have supposedly tried to keep back.
Hence Stephanie McCrummen, a journalist with the Foreign Service of
The Washington Post, points out that until 2009, “the [Kenyan]
government has moved slowly on reforms, blocking any domestic judicial
process for trying the perpetrators of the violence, who are widely believed
to include Kenya’s political elites.”45
With the interviewer present in the Kwani? texts through guiding
questions, a double if not triple framework of reporting and witnessing is
constructed, bringing the information from the ground to worldwide
recognition. On site, the interviewee becomes the reporter of the events
reporting to the interviewer who witnesses his or her story and reports
these events again in interview form for the magazine, where these stories
ultimately become witnessed by the readers of Kwani? 05. Similarly to the
reporting narrators in the FEMRITE narratives, the interviewers in the
Kwani? narratives serve as middlemen of information. Through the
publication in the magazine this personal information eventually gains a
public momentum, for it can be accessed by a readership worldwide.
 O 166

In turn, these personal interviews also bear testimony to the question of

another survival, since they present views on the survival of the belief in
unity and democracy that had dominated the era of Kibaki before the fraud
election in 2007. Shem Chiengo, a 23-y ear-o ld Kisii resident of
Garatakwa Village, where all houses were burnt, 46 concludes in the
aftermath of the violence, “You can live, but, you are not going to live a
normal life like before. Now we know anything can happen.” 47 A Gĩkũyũ
hawker reports that now after the violence the idea of unity in his region is
gone, stating, “[Since] the chaos, differences emerged among tribes leading
to divisions. Many of my Luo and Kisii neighbors don’t talk to me
anymore just because of tribal differences.”48 Lin’Gabo
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164 O African Literar

Samson Opanda, a 19- year- old student, echoes such ethnic distrust: “Most
of my neighbours . . . all fled. Many died. I lost three Luo friends who were
fleeing Ponda. I will never trust my G ĩkũyũ friends again.”49 Mama Owiti, a
kiosk owner from Dandora, believes that with the eruption of these ethnic
clashes “a seed has been planted, and in the next elections the harvest will
be plentiful violence.”50 Different from Samson Opanda and Mama Owiti,
however, Vincent Ochiengo from Kiambu, Eastleigh, looks beyond the
ethnic differences, stating optimistically, “I am a Kenyan . . . I must vote
[again], for its my right,” 51 “though the leaders remain selfish.” 52 In regard
to the issue of violence and unity, these interviews therefore suggest that
the spirit of democracy and of a Kenya previously united in the belief of
fair and democratic elections has not survived in Kenyan civil society apart
from a few people who like Ochiengo are holding on to the dream of
Kenyan democracy and unity.
The SMS, flyers, and emails53 in the same edition of Kwani? 05 once
more highlight the aspects of anxiety and despair, of violence and threats.
Giving the exact time and date, some SMS messages illustrate how anxiety
and violence built up within minutes:

Kenyans are not being attacked by Ghosts in Rift Valley or Coast. Organised
Gangs are on the prowl with their Generals busy inciting in safe bases.
06/01/2008, 13:1954

Losd n I av 2 stay indors coz am Gĩkũyũ n am scared if they find out they might
burn me . . . Am so scared where i am. Thnx. 06/01/2008, 14:0155

Here at mukinyai 30km from Nakura past Salgaa people are burning houses and
killing at this time. We need urgent help. Please help us. 06/01/2008, 17:3556

These SMS messages either are connected as single texts to people in

photos, evoking the sense of speech bubbles, or are projected as texts
sometimes overlapping on photos of camps and a broken cell phone. The
LINGO thereby contextualizes these texts on a visual level, creating a more
comprehensive picture of the situation for those readers who have not
witnessed the situation directly. In similar fashion to the matatuisms in
 y NGOs

Johnstone’s “The Smasher,” these texts thereby in fact generate a

polyphony of voices and media—w ith their specific logic of representation
—a gain illuminating various spaces of individual fates and perspectives
and their mediatization.
Not providing an author, date, or time, but similar to the Vain Jang’o
letter “Fw..Fw”, a text in email mode in Kwani? 05 warns of the political
consequences should Raila gains power: “Tribal clashes will be the order
of the day and they could start in Earnest on the day Raila is sworn in as
president!”57
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Rewriting African Identity, Self, and Place

Moreover, two flyers from opposing ethnic communities express death

threats on a double page:

ALL LUOS AND KALENJINS ARE OUR ENEMIES FOR THEY ARE
KILLING OUR PEOPLE IN THE RIFT VALLEY. THEY HAVE 48 HOURS
TO
VACATE OUR LAND OR SWIM IN THEIR OWN BLOOD. ALL LAND-
LORDS HOUSING THEM ARE ADVISED TO OBEY THESE ORDERS OR
THEIR HOUSES WILL COME DOWN BY FIRE. MUNGISH
[MŨNGĨKĨ58]59

WE AS KALENJIN COMMUNITY WOULD LIKE TO INFORM THE

GĨKŨYŨ WHO LIVE HERE AT SOLAI (IN RIFT VALLEY) TO
IMMEDIATELY LEAVE THE FARMS YOU OCCUPY OR ELSE WE
WARN YOU THAT WE SHALL ATTACK YOU FORCEFULLY
ANYTIME.60

Through the juxtaposition on a double page, the hatred between these

two opposing ethnic communities is accentuated. Simultaneously, this
juxtaposition also deconstructs the opposition between these groups, by
revealing their common interest of being ready to kill and of wanting
control over the land. This similarity between the ethnic communities, it is
thereby suggested, actually puts both communities on the same level in
terms of their readiness for violence. The juxtaposition on the page
therefore not only showcases how deep the hatred runs but also shows that
no community can truly claim to be a victim of violence and
discrimination, for they are little better than the others in terms of their
readiness for extreme violence. With these texts, Kwani Trust thus
provides insight into the ongoing social and ethnic tensions of its
environment, habitually manipulated by national politicians and
paramilitary groups such as the Mũngĩkĩ sect.
It is precisely the literary effect of SMS, email, and blogging that render
the testimonials of Kwani Trust even more interesting, since this kind of
fictional representation gives evidence of the increasing mediatization of
literature in the twenty-f irst century. Additionally, the usage of electronic
modes in fiction as in the case of Kwani Trust add an authenticating flavor,
 O 170

highlighting the way in which certain topics such as the violence in remote
areas are being negotiated in complex media landscapes and otherwise
would have not been articulated.
With the genre of the survivor narrative and the testimonial, both
LINGOs promote texts that clearly make a contribution to the ongoing
debates about actual topics of their civil societies. In line with the LINGOs’
individual agendas, these texts spotlight information on women’s rights
and female poverty in the case of FEMRITE as well as the views on
Kenyan identities and on Kenyan politics in the case of Kwani Trust. With
these texts, the nature of these organizations as LINGOs— with an interest
in furthering public opinion making
166 African Literary NGOs

apart from the development of the literary scenes—s urfaces most vividly.
Their exploring of information on the ground and their reframing of it
within the pages of their publications for the attention of both a national as
well as a transnational audience gives evidence of their participation in a
bottom- up development, which NGOs by the nature of their setup are
regularly involved in.
With regard to FEMRITE, the texts give voice and visibility to those
women in Ugandan society that often go unheard because they are not part
of the negotiating arena. The protagonists of the narratives have been
marginalized in many ways: they are poor and as victims of domestic and
political violence muted because they lack the power to speak out and to be
heard. In this chapter, it was, however, shown by the example of Frieda’s
story that FEMRITE survivor narratives follow a pattern where the
protagonists are first presented as victims and later reconstructed as
survivors through the process of confessing and witnessing as initiated by
the reporting narrator. In this way, the protagonists who are presented as
marginalized and powerless are eventually endorsed with a voice that is
being heard. They are written into the center of attention and into power.
FEMRITE’s survivor narratives thereby become a sociopolitical statement,
claiming that these women too are part of the sociopolitical negotiating
arena in Uganda. By focusing on women from rural Uganda, FEMRITE
explores sociocultural and sociopolitical spaces that in public media often
remain unexplored in this kind of detail. In this regard, Kyomuhendo points
out, “In Uganda, many stories of abuse and brutality against women go
unreported, or are not given adequate coverage in the media, largely
because they are considered as a normal occurrence. Only in circumstances
where a woman has committed a derogatory and humiliating act, such as
cutting off her husband’s penis, or burning her rival with acid, will such a
story find its way into the main stream media.” 61 FEMRITE works to bring
these unreported spaces to public attention. The LINGO thus adds a
multiple number of voices to a broader picture of public information
business that hardly surface otherwise. With its genre of survivor
narratives, similar to its novels analyzed in Chapter 6, FEMRITE breaks
with social taboos and disrupts uncomfortable silences in regard to the
patriarchal system of Ugandan society.
167 African Literary NGOs

In similar fashion, Kwani Trust has entered the political realm by

specifically collecting and publishing material on the postelection violence
that, according to Kwani Trust, has not been acknowledged in public
discourse. By incorporating and juxtaposing material from very different
and opposing ethnic communities, Kwani Trust has brought together a
unique pool of views that due to the ethnic hatred and lack of dialogue
among the ethnicities are hardly exchanged in society otherwise. The
LINGO thereby has also deconstructed prevailing opinions of opposing
ethnic communities, highlighting that in the course of the
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Rewriting African Identity, Self, and Place

postelection period all ethnic communities have in fact been equally

responsible for the ethnic violence.
At the same time, these testimonials in Kwani? have shown that despite
the hatred and distrust, the country was united by common feelings of
anxiety and a thirst for peace and dialogue on every side. “It is our hope
that, taken together, these testimonials articulate an essential quality all
countries have to accept before they can work as a nation: Unity,” Kopecky
concludes in his foreword to the interviews. As a compilation of texts
within a literary magazine revealing common feelings that cut across ethnic
boundaries, the texts in Kwani? 05 achieve precisely that—t o promote a
sense of unity in the absence of solidarity. With many interviewees
moreover pointing out that earnest dialogue and peace can only emerge
when the officials of the government start to really further democratic
exchange and fair elections for all ethnicities that move beyond ethnic
markers, the material can ultimately be read as a public appeal to Kenyan
politicians.
This involvement in the bottom- up promotion of information is exactly
what again shows the LINGOs’ ambivalent role as both producers of
literature as well as agents participating in the process of public opinion
making. By shedding light on sensitive and silenced truths in conflict areas
and by incorporating viewpoints from different social and economic
backgrounds otherwise unnoticed by public media, FEMRITE and Kwani
Trust contribute not only toward democratizing the literary canons but also
to democratizing the sociocultural and sociopolitical knowledge of and
about their civil societies.

Hope and Hopelessness: Negotiating HIV/AIDS in Fiction

Exploring the development, concepts, and understanding of AIDS on the
African continent in his study As They See It: The Development of the
African AIDS Discourse (2005), Raymond Downing draws attention to a
disparity within the dominant discourse about AIDS in Africa. Although
“news items about AIDS in Africa repeatedly find their way to the front
pages of newspapers in Europe and North America,” he argues, it is mostly
“the same players and themes [that] recur: the UN and its statistics of
 O 168

doom, the pharmaceutical companies and their profits, the activists and
their passion, and the hapless African governments lost in poverty and
corruption.”62 Meanwhile, he explains, “little is reported about what
African[s] . . . think about their epidemic.” 63 The problem here, according
to Downing, is not that Africans have not written about the disease; rather,
the “problem is that these African views are for the most part not read by
people in the West,”64 which leads to the false impression that “Africa is
[rather] ‘silent’”65 about the disease. In this context of the perception of
AIDS in
168 African Literary NGOs

Africa, Downing notes that African fiction can provides insights into the
ways in which AIDS is viewed by Africans in Africa.66
Downing’s thoughts about African fiction are pertinent to this chapter
because they point to a core question about the very role that African
institutions publishing and distributing fiction on AIDS play within the
making of African AIDS discourse. African LINGOs such as FEMRITE
and Kwani Trust— which operate within, across, and increasingly beyond
national borders and seek to achieve social development in their home
countries— constitute an exciting subject to look at in the context of
African AIDS narratives. For it is within LINGOs that the institutional
framework with an interest in public opinion making and a commitment to
fiction— the major medium of the LINGO— intersect. To what extent then
are African LINGOs sites where fiction on AIDS is explicitly discussed or
promoted?
Facts and Fiction
In Women’s Literature in Kenya and Uganda: The Trouble with Modernity
(2011), Marie Kruger observes that “in East Africa, the mobility of
workers, of military personnel, and of those displaced by political conflicts
accelerated the spread of . . . [the] disease that reached epidemic
proportions by the mid- 1980s.”67 Due to the civil war raging in Northern
Uganda and the high number of AIDS fatalities in the country, Uganda was
particularly affected: Uganda’s overall population thus dropped 19 percent
between 1986 and 1993.68 “All that was left were grandmothers and infants,
small children who today are becoming sexually active . . . [leading] to
HIV once again increasing [also] in present- day Uganda” 69 because
governmental interventions on public AIDS education have been on the
decline.
Local fiction on AIDS was published alongside the initial spread of
AIDS in East Africa. In the wake of the growing number of local
publishing outlets in the 1990s, this was especially true for Kenya. In
Kenyan fiction, AIDS is central to Carolyne Adalla’s Confessions of an
AIDS Victim (1993), Marjorie Oludhe Macgoye’s Chira (1997),70 Meja
Mwangi’s Cross Roads: The Last Plague (2008 [2000]) and Joseph
Situma’s The Mysterious Killer (2002). Although political campaigns on
169 African Literary NGOs

confronting AIDS were more active in Uganda than in Kenya, the

publication of Anglophone fiction in Uganda and consequently fiction on
AIDS remained low due to the lack of publishing outlets in the country at
the time.
AIDS narratives in Uganda emerged only with the growing presence of
women writers after 1996. These women writers have been exclusively
linked to FEMRITE. The first works to emerge from the circle of
FEMRITE writers were Hope Keshubi’s novel To a Young Woman (1997),
published by Lukesh Ltd. in Kampala, Uganda, and Mary Karooro
Okurut’s The Invisible Weevil
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African Identity, Self, and Place

(1998), published by FEMRITE Publications Ltd. Comparing the number

of AIDS narratives of the 1990s from Kenya and Uganda, it becomes
obvious that the fictional AIDS discourse in both countries was shaped by
female authors. If AIDS fiction in both countries was dominated by women
writers during the 1990s, a side issue to consider in this chapter is whether
there has been a shift toward more balanced male-f emale authorship
alongside the growing numbers of publications by Kwani Trust in the
twenty- first century.
Perspectives and Publications
The findings of the interview series conducted for this book have shown
that writers associated with FEMRITE and Kwani Trust certainly consider
AIDS to be one of the major topics that writers of their generation have
grappled with in contrast to writers of the 1960s and 1970s. Nevertheless,
writers at FEMRITE— in opposition to those at Kwani Trust— tended to
emphasize AIDS more often in the interviews as a matter affecting their
society that should be reflected in contemporary African fiction. Although
the reasons for this trend at FEMRITE remain a matter of speculation, a
possible explanation can be found in the writers’ exposure to AIDS-i
nfected women in rural Uganda. In 2005 and 2006, FEMRITE sent out a
great number of the writers- cum- members interviewed for the purpose of
this study with the goal of recording stories on AIDS- infected women in
rural Uganda. These recordings were subsequently translated, fictionalized,
and compiled for the LINGO’s life- writing collection I Dare to Say,
published by FEMRITE Ltd. in 2007. This collection was the first (and at
present remains the only) collection of personal AIDS stories from Uganda.
Apart from I Dare to Say and Mary Karooro Okurut’s The Invisible Weevil
(1998),71 FEMRITE Ltd. has not published creative writing with AIDS
themes. In view of the over twenty publications published and promoted by
FEMRITE, the number of AIDS narratives therefore is rather low.
According to FEMRITE, the low number of AIDS narratives by FEMRITE
Ltd. has largely been due to a lack of funding, as well as to the fact that
transnationally successful novelists such as Goretti Kyomuhendo, Doreen
Baingana, and Glaydah Namukasa have been published by other large-
scale publishing houses with greater transnational outreach. AIDS
 Rewriting O 170

narratives published by transnational publishing imprints are Glaydah

Namukasa’s Voice of a Dream, released by Macmillan in 2006, and Doreen
Baingana’s transnationally renowned short story collection Tropical Fish.
All these texts by FEMRITE members confront the disease and illustrate
the reaction of the infected, of their families and friends, and of their
immediate environments in local fictional contexts, thereby signaling the
relevance of this topic for both contemporary Ugandan writing and
Ugandan society. It is thus in terms of AIDS narratives that FEMRITE and
its
170 African Literary NGOs

associated authors, with their survivor narratives, short stories, and novels,
have been articulating new dimensions in Anglophone writing from
Uganda since AIDS narratives in English entered the literary stage in
Uganda increasingly with the emergence of FEMRITE.
In contrast, at Kwani Trust, AIDS has not occupied a major spot in
publications since 2002. There is only one short story within the pages of
Kwani? dealing explicitly with AIDS, Muthoni Garland’s “The Obituary
Man,” which appeared in Kwani? 04 in 2007. Unlike FEMRITE, Kwani
Trust has not lacked financial means to publish on this theme. Kwani Trust,
as shown earlier, has more funding available for publications than
FEMRITE, which is currently forced to publish project bound. It seems
AIDS-r elated stories either have not been selected for publishing or simply
have not played such a major role for the writers associated with Kwani
Trust. Interestingly enough, however, the short story in Kwani?—l ike
those texts by earlier Kenyan writers and those by writers around
FEMRITE—w as written by a woman. The reason women writers both in
Kenya and Uganda obviously have tended to tackle the issue of AIDS more
often ultimately remains a matter of speculation.
From this overview of the body of fiction as published and promoted by
Kwani Trust and FEMRITE as well as their associated writers up to now,
three conclusions can be drawn: The writing promoted by FEMRITE and
Kwani Trust has not contributed to a greater balance of male and female
authorship of AIDS narratives from the region. Second, a glimpse at the
case studies of FEMRITE and Kwani Trust reveals that African LINGOs
are not inevitably sites where AIDS narratives are located and advertised.
At the time of this writing, it seems that only FEMRITE and some of its
associated writers consider AIDS in their fiction, thereby positioning their
works within the African AIDS discourse. As all these texts are in English
and are available at online bookstores around the world, they can be said to
have contributed to African AIDS discourse across and beyond national
borders. Through works by the transnationally renowned FEMRITE
members Namukasa and Baingaina published by transnational publishing
houses, the issue of African AIDS discourse can be said to have reached
out from Kampala to the rest of the world on a transnational literary stage,
suggesting that “Africa is not silent” 72 on this issue. Also, FEMRITE has
171 African Literary NGOs

contributed to a transcultural perspective on African AIDS discourse not

just because English serves as a lingua franca worldwide but also because
English in Uganda, as Kyomuhendo pointed out, serves as a lingua franca
across ethnic boundaries and ethnic sensibilities. At the same time,
however, this kind of AIDS narrative is limited due to the limited number
of speakers with a high level of fluency in English. It has only been with
the airing of its various survivor narratives on the radio (which has
occurred sporadically since 1996) that writers and LINGOs have promoted
their survivor narratives in ethnic contexts.
 Rewriting O

African Identity, Self, and Place 171

Third, considering the limited amount of AIDS fiction compiled and

published by the FEMRITE editorial board in true-l ife collections such as
I Dare to Say as well as the single short story within Kwani?, one may
assume that it is perhaps merely to a certain extent that African LINGOs
such as FEMRITE and Kwani Trust serve as platforms where AIDS
narratives are explicitly published and promoted. In concluding, the
discussion will therefore turn to a selective close reading of the AIDS
narratives by FEMRITE and Kwani Trust. Examining the narratives Voice
of a Dream and “The Obituary Man,” this subchapter will look at how
AIDS is presented and dealt with by the characters in the fiction by LINGO
associates.
Voice of a Dream
Glaydah Namukasa addresses AIDS in her coming- of- age novella Voice
of a Dream. Released by Macmillan Publishers Ltd, the book design was
not so much influenced by FEMRITE Publications Ltd. The book was
illustrated by Enoch Yaw Mensah, a Ghanaian artist and illustrator
cooperating with Macmillan for that purpose. His illustrations run through
the narrative framing it from its first to the last chapter. The cover
illustration as well as the black- and- white sketches within the novella
certainly make the publication more appealing to a younger readership.
With 3 to 6 pages each, the 13 chapters are rather brief, thus moreover
signaling that this novella is primarily aimed at juvenile readers. Voice of a
Dream is explicitly promoted at FEMRITE Reading Tents for secondary
school children. The novella puts the AIDS debate into the context of
topics such as first love and dreams of life that young people can identify
with in particular.
The coming- of- age story revolves around the 16- year- old Christine
Nanfuka, referred to as Nanfuka, who is forced to leave behind the
“preciously balanced days”73 and “varied enjoyments of”74 the prestigious
St. Louis Secondary School of Kampala. She needs to rush to her parent’s
house in Kitala, a village approximately 25 kilometers outside Kampala on
the road toward Entebbe. Entering the village, Nanfuka senses that her life
will take a dramatic turn. Her feeling of unease is translated into her
perception of the village environment: focalized through Nanfuka’s
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perspective, “Kitala . . . [appears to have] taken on a different appearance

today.”75 Usually, people would give her “envious looks,” 76 staring “at . . .
the only girl in the village studying at a boarding school . . . [to] becom[e] a
nurse.”77 Now, however, “the looks suggest something she can only wait to
know.”78 The dramatic news is broken to her immediately as she arrives at
her parental house, where Nanfuka finds her four siblings, Rosa, Kato,
Wwassa, and the one- year- old baby sister Anna, abandoned by her mother
and with her father in bed, sick and “a shrivelled likeness of himself.” 79
When
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her father tells her that he is very sick, Nanfuka is instantly disillusioned:
her world full of memories of cheerful schooldays crumple within seconds.
It is also already at this early moment in the narrative that the genre of the
bildungsroman surfaces clearly: from one moment to the other, Nanfuka
has to grow up— her future dream of becoming a nurse crumpling. With
her father not being able to pay for her school fees anymore, Nanfuka
immediately assumes, there is no way that “by the age of twenty-t hree she
would . . . be . . . independent, and her family dependent on her.”80
Things fall apart when, in her instant despair, Nanfuka turns for help to
the neighbors. Having heard the words from her father, Nanfuka
immediately

races through the coffee trees, to their neighbour’s compound. The

neighbour’s wife is making her way across the compound to the kitchen
when she hears Nanfuka shout. ‘Help, Maama Jojo, my father is dying’
‘Your father has been like that for a long time,’ Maama Jojo says, not looking
at Nanfuka . . . Suddenly, she stands up straight. ‘He was in hospital for two
weeks.
He requested to be brought back home. That’s he’s been for a month.’
‘But he’s dying . . .’
Maama Jojo resumes her sweeping.81

Nanfuka’s repetition of the same phrase as in “Help, my father is dying”

and in “‘But he’s dying . . . ,’” hint at both Nanfuka’s shock and her
helplessness, perhaps even at her juvenileness since she seeks help from
another adult instantaneously. The aposiopesis in Nanfuka’s last statement
clearly signals that Nanfuka has not yet comprehended the fact that her
father is dying of AIDS. Instead, she cannot understand why Maama Jojo
would not want to readily help her in this situation. It is only later that “it
dawns on . . . [her] that if she doesn’t work hard, she has no future.” 82
Being the oldest sibling in the family, Nanfuka realizes that with her
mother and father eventually gone, she cannot rely on her village
community but will rather have to take instant action in order to take over
the responsibility for her siblings and the farm as well as the family’s
income in order to make ends meet.
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On the contrary, Maama Jojo’s reactions— her avoiding of looking at

Nanfuka at first and then her resuming the sweeping— reveal her level of
discomfort. She knows Nanfuka’s father is dying of AIDS but will not say
so directly to Nanfuka. Even when sensing that Nanfuka still does not fully
grasp the actual situation as well as the health status of her father, Maama
Jojo chooses to remain silent, unwilling to break the social taboo of talking
directly about the disease. It is only out of empathy that Maama Jojo gives
away the information about the hospital, hoping that maybe this piece of
information would suffice for Nanfuka to better understand the situation
her family finds itself in. Within
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African Identity, Self, and Place 173

the narrative, the interaction between Nanfuka and Maama Jojo gains
symbolic character, for it is the only interaction between Nanfuka and a
member from the village community revolving around the disease of her
father. The reaction by Maama Jojo sheds light on AIDS discourse in the
Kitala community, where to speak about AIDS certainly is considered a
social taboo. In light of this interaction between Maama Jojo and Nanfuka,
the knowing and less envious looks Nanfuka had felt upon her when
entering the village also gain deeper meaning. As the omniscient narrator
observes, “her family’s misfortune made it to the gossip charts in Kitala.” 83
The moment AIDS marked the body of her father, taking him out of the
anonymity of the carrier of the virus, not only stigmatized her father but in
fact pushed her whole family, including Nanfuka—o nce the shining star of
her village—t o the periphery of the village community, with its
“venomous stares and whispered conferences”84 about her.
In Voice of a Dream, it is only when her aunt, Aunt Naka, tells Nanfuka
about her father’s disease that Nanfuka begins to understand why her father
is dying, why her mother might have left, and what implications this could
ultimately have on her own life and the life of her siblings. “Your mother is
gone for good . . . Your father is dying of AIDS. He’s leaving you with
four children, including a baby who is definitely HIV positive,” 85 Aunt
Naka tells Nanfuka bluntly when visiting the house a few days later. In
terms of AIDS discourse in Kitala, it becomes clear that if one names the
disease, then it is only within her nuclear family. As the only remaining
relative living nearby, Aunt Naka could be expected to assist Nanfuka.
Instead, however, she has little interest in supporting her niece and rather
wants to see Nanfuka married off immediately, so that she herself can
claim both the house and land that belonged to her brother. In these
troubled times, the only person helping and caring is Nanfuka’s teacher at
St. Louis, Nurse Kina. When Nanfuka tells Nurse Kina that she cannot rely
on her aunt, Nurse Kina devotes herself to Nanfuka and her siblings.
At this point of the narrative, those unfamiliar with the local context
miss a crucial point since the narrative does not go on to explain these
dynamics in greater detail. What is, however, happening in this narrative at
this point is crucial in order to comprehend the message the narrative
constructs in terms of the AIDS discourse as well as AIDS education in
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Uganda. According to Baganda culture, Aunt Naka, as the paternal sister,

would be responsible for Nanfuka’s education as well as for her well-b
eing; most certainly she would be a person Nanfuka could trust in and
confide in—i n some cases even more so than her mother. On this concept
in Baganda culture, Marie Kruger explains in her analysis of Ugandan and
Kenyan AIDS narratives in Women’s Literature from Uganda and Kenya:
The Trouble with Modernity (2011) in much greater detail that the ssenga
[the paternal aunt] “among the Baganda of Central Uganda, . . . has
traditionally been responsible for instructing young girls in acceptable
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female behaviour.”86 This concept of the ssenga as a cultural institution for

AIDS discourse and education, as Kruger points out, is, for instance,
elaborated in Hope Keshubi’s novel To a Young Woman. This novel
“privileges early educational intervention to protect vulnerable adolescents
from a deadly disease,”87 with the suggestion to “mediate AIDS education
primarily through the cultural institution of the s(s)enga or paternal aunt.”88
Examining Keshubi’s narrative, Kruger therefore concludes about AIDS
discourse and education in Uganda that “where parents, school and nation
fail, the Senga cautiously advances to break the consensual silence on
social taboos and protect the country’s most vulnerable (and most
productive) citizens.”89 When reading Voice of a Dream through Kruger’s
lens, however, it becomes obvious that the advancing of cultural
institutions like the ssenga is completely turned around in Namukasa’s
bildungsroman. In fact, Kruger’s observation from Keshubi’s novel would
have to be reformulated in regard to Voice of a Dream as follows: where
parents, the Ssenga, and nation fail, it is formal (school) education that
protects young girls like Nanfuka. Very selfish, materialistic, and almost
coldhearted, Aunt Nakaa is anything but interested in protecting Nanfuka
and thus in perhaps fulfilling her role assigned to her by cultural scripts of
Baganda community. The only interest Aunt Naka pursues is to her own
advantage. In a way, she does follow her task as a ssenga, since she wants
to see Nanfuka married off. Her interest here, however, contradicts the
moral code she is obliged to as a ssenga in that she would only want to see
Nanfuka married so she can take the land, even if this would mean that
Nanfuka’s siblings ultimately end as orphans. It is only through Nurse Kina
that Nanfuka learns to cope with the situation, how to behave toward men,
and how to deal with AIDS in her everyday life. Nurse Kina steps in as a
motherly friend, in a way taking over the role of the ssenga.90 Nurse Kina
warns Nanfuka of AIDS and of relying on boys: “‘I hope you will have
nothing to do with Sendi . . . God save that boy. He seems unaware that
AIDS keeps knocking on each door. I know you are well aware of that,
Nanfuka . . . Look, I am not saying that Sendi’s HIV positive. It’s . . . not
good to start sleeping around.’”91 Having heard that Nanfuka and her
schoolmate, Sendi, have been going out, Nurse Kina does not shy away
from reminding Nanfuka of what she thinks would be appropriate female
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and healthy behavior. She appeals to Nanfuka’s emancipatory potential,

suggesting—i n opposition to the social scripts of patriarchal society— that
Nanfuka has neither to define herself through patriarchal structures nor to
rely on patriarchal structures in order to master this complicated family
situation and to eventually reach her dream of becoming a nurse.
With the narrative unfolding, Nanfuka’s dream of her professional
career as a nurse becomes the leitmotif of the novella, suggesting that any
hardship of life can be overcome if you set yourself a goal and hold on
strongly, firmly believing that you will reach it one day. At the beginning
of the novella, Nanfuka
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Rewriting African Identity, Self, and Place 175

is completely overwhelmed by the care for her father dying of AIDS and
the parental burden she has to bear. To her, “this is a nightmare, one she’s
never thought she would experience.”92 Later in the novel, however, we see
Nanfuka maturing as she comes to accept her situation. When she takes her
woven mats to the market, Nanfuka abandons “all skimpy, schoolgirl
outfits,”93 and instead “changes into her blue dress. It’s the only suitable
clothing now, in her life as a parent.” 94 Not only does her maturity become
visible in her outward appearance; Nanfuka realizes that no longer is she “a
student, . . . and not a girl. She is a woman, a parent and a vendor.” 95 The
process of maturity into adulthood takes place inside and is also reflected
in Nanfuka’s outward appearance as she is coming to terms with her
current life circumstances and is identifying with her responsibilities for
her siblings. Being a surrogate mother for her siblings and “home parent,” 96
Nanfuka makes an agreement with herself according to which she can bear
to be part of “the gossip charts in Kitala . . . as long as Nurse Kina supports
them [Nanfuka and her siblings], and as long as Nanfuka herself is ready to
rise above any obstacles fate has placed in her way.” 97 Nurse Kina
functions as a surrogate mother to Nanfuka.
Being a sister, friend, and idol, Nurse Kina also serves as the role
model: she is the emancipated, healthy woman successful in her
professional life, serving as the role model, the adult persona Nanfuka
dreams of being one day. The message of the novella at this point is
threefold: not only is it imperative to protect your health in order to reach
and live your dreams; you also need role models you can trust and live up
to, who in turn are supportive of the younger generation in terms of health
matters and who are responsible in regard to their health.
If the fictional community of Kitala in Voice of a Dream is taken as a
metaphor for the larger group of communities in Uganda, the social
critique and the third message of the narrative would be that Ugandan
communities are lacking role models who dare to contribute to AIDS
education within their family and immediate community. Indirectly it is
hence implied that a healthy lifestyle and sexual education can primarily be
done through formal education institutions in order to take
countermeasures against AIDS infections.
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In the novella, Nanfuka has decided that to stay healthy and independent
are imperative to her in order to reach her ultimate dream of becoming a
nurse. This self- commitment to Nanfuka can be read like celibacy to
herself, especially when she tells Nurse Kina that “marriage is out.”
Nanfuka finds it ridiculous and embarrassing that Aunt Naka’s men, “aged
fifty years plus,”98 would “stoop . . . so low as to think that . . . [they] could
marry a girl fit to be . . . [their] oldest grandchild or youngest daughter.” 99
Nanfuka thereby refuses to be treated as a sexual object and to give in to
this patriarchal behavior, thus perhaps even refusing to be infected by
AIDS from an obviously polygamous partner. With regard to the Ugandan
AIDS discourse, Nanfuka’s self- commitment
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needs to be read as a sign of self-a ppreciation and an appeal to self-c

onfidence, signaling her inner strength and emancipatory will to make her
own way in a highly patriarchal world and against the obstacles put in her
way by supporters of this phallocentricity such as Aunt Naka.
With her rejection of this kind of patriarchal codex, Nanfuka joins Nurse
Kina’s feminist perspective. Displaying a will for emancipation and
independence, Nanfuka is invited to share Nurse Kina’s ten rules of life for
an independent woman. When Nanfuka herself declares that “marriage is
out,” Nurse Kina gives Nanfuka ten principles for a life toward Nanfuka’s
dream: “‘I have ten principles to give you. One, wipe away the tears. Two,
accept the situation. Three, work hard. Four, don’t give up hope . . .
Five, . . . am I overloading you?’ ‘No!’ ‘Five, take heart. Six . . . shun boys.
Men. Your dream has priority. Seven, believe you can make it. Eight, keep
on racing, never get tired. Nine, keep in touch. Ten . . .’ ‘I am listening.
Ten . . .’ Nanfuka places her empty glass on the table. ‘Before I give you
number ten, I want to assure you that you’ll become a nurse. Marriage is
out.’ Nanfuka smiles. ‘Ten, be slow to anger.’”100 Implied in this guide to
life is that Nurse Kina, the role model for Nanfuka, may have also reached
her dream by following a similar codex. In the novella, Nurse Kina appears
to be unmarried. Part of the AIDS discourse thus repeated and highlighted
is the message that— in these times of AIDS— a woman, in order to be
fully emancipated and to lead a healthy life, is almost best advised to stay
away from male relationships and best even from marriage where she
would have to fulfill sexual needs while trying to remain infection free.
Nurse Kina on her part has decided that her solution toward permanent
emancipation and self- determination is to rely on her profession and to
devote herself to God. Nanfuka respects Nurse Kina because Nurse Kina,
in Nanfuka’s eyes, “is remarkable” and “has always been right because she
believes in the Bible, and she says the Bible never goes wrong.” 101 To
Nanfuka herself, however, the Bible still is “the master bore of all books
ever written.”102 Although the Bible does not appeal to her, Nanfuka is
ready to accept the ten principles recommended to her by Nurse Kina. With
Kina’s strong commitment to the Bible in mind, a parallel between the
biblical Ten Commandments and Kina’s rules cannot be denied. In fact, it
could be argued that Kina’s rules for Nanfuka read like the feminist Ten
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Commandments. Indirectly, therefore, the Christian script impacts Nanfuka

whereas the cultural script fails through the failure of the ssenga, the lack
of support by the community, and the absence of Nanfuka’s parents.
Instead, Nurse Kina appears not only as Nanfuka’s “sister, friend, and a
mentor”103 but also as her spiritual mentor. The novella promotes
Christianity and belief in God over the cultural script. It constructs the idea
that instead of family and community, educational as well as medical
institutions provide reliable partners in terms of AIDS education. This is
once more highlighted in
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Rewriting African Identity, Self, and Place 177

the novella when toward the end, Nurse Kina suggests that The AIDS
Support Organisation (TASO) is an organization where Anna, the one-
year- old baby sister, as well as Nanfuka’s mother, who at the end of the
novella has returned home, can find help.
Voice of a Dream gives emphasis to the public role that AIDS education
should be given in Ugandan society: when you study hard and are
disciplined in sexual matters, you stay healthy, reach your goals, and will
be able to reach a sustainable life! The dream can be pursued if you never
give up and live responsibly. In a way, this message of the narrative seems
to be reinforced by the back cover of the novel, where one finds a picture
of Nanfuka in the upper left hand corner juxtaposed with a photo of the
author Glaydah Namukasa in her uniform as a midwife/nurse. Through the
book design, the choice of genre, and narrative, Namukasa’s Voice of a
Dream makes a contribution toward African AIDS discourse and AIDS
education, primarily designed for juvenile readers. By promoting the
novella at its Reading Tents, FEMRITE contributes to local AIDS
discourse from a LINGO’s platform.
“Obituary Man”
The short story “Obituary Man,” published in Kwani? 04, offers a male
perspective and clearly is less didactic. Here, the idea of the victimizer and
victimized is reversed, thereby also overturning the established conventions
of the AIDS- related gender debate in the region as, for instance,
previously prevailing in Kenyan and Ugandan novels of the 1990s as well
as recent FEMRITE publications. By giving voice to the man as a victim,
an insight rarely verbalized in African fiction, the story once again
exemplifies how Kwani Trust— by the choice of its publications—w orks
against the literary mainstream, illuminating individual spaces otherwise
perhaps remaining blind spots in the public discourse.
Set in Nairobi, the short story centers on Wacha Dev, a 26- year- old
Kenyan Indian, as he is struggling to come to terms with the diagnosis of
HIV/AIDS. Wacha Dev works at the Kenya Gazette. There, he is
responsible for the editing and design of the obituaries, which is why he
refers to himself as “the obituary man.” 104 A self- taught layouter, Wacha
Dev is quite respected at work for being “so adept on computer
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graphics,”105 though at the same time he is being discriminated against by

as “Mu Hindi”106 because of his Kenyan Indian background. In his boss,
Mr. Simiyu, Wacha Dev sees “the kind of man he’d have liked for a
father,”107 but this would not lead Wacha Dev to give away any details
about his private life. Dev is an introverted person, who finds “it easier to
type and design than to deal with customers” 108 and who prefers to keep to
himself.
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With the story unfolding, it is exactly Dev’s reticence as well as the

public discourse around AIDS at the same time that turn into a personal
problem for him, culminating in a significant level of distress and despair
at the end. The problem surfaces for the first time when one evening Dev
finds

a three- line notice [in the edited obituaries] that he hadn’t

put there:
Tomorrow at seven, I will appear
At the Nairobi National Museum
to have some part of me cut off.109

Talking to a messenger at work and his boss on that same evening, Dev
finds out that this note is not a fake, but in fact related to a true story: an
amputee has come to Nairobi. He has already travelled all over Africa
cutting off parts of his body in major African cities and preserving them in
jars that he would later put for display on television or at the spot of his
next cutting. His cuttings gain the attention of the public for two reasons:
no one knows why he cuts of pieces of his body. People find this idea quite
“crazy”110 yet are drawn to the places where the next cutting occurs perhaps
because they are eager to see if it is indeed happening, as well as to
possibly get an explanation as to why someone would cut his body
publicly. Second, no one has ever really seen the amputee and thus it can
only be speculated what kind of person would mutilate him- or herself.
Likewise, Dev is irritated, disgusted, but at the same time also fascinated
by the amputee.
In his mind, however, the thoughts about the amputee link up with his
personal situation in an almost self- destructing manner from the first
moment Dev sees the note:
For a hot moment, he even wondered if he’d written it[, the note,] himself.
He copied out the three lines on a yellow post-i t slip, stuck it onto the back
of his hand, and studied the wording for a while before . . . [shaking] his
AZT tablets onto the notice. Pink. Brown. White. He’d been taking them for
four months . . . Wacha Dev stuck the post- it slip on the wall- to- wall
mirror in the bathroom and attempted to look through the words. Without
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knowing why, they frightened him, as though it was him facing an

amputation; as if the announcement was about his own dying. He broke into
a sweat. His fingers shook . . . He splashed his face until the panic subsided
and then used a wad of toilet paper to dry himself . . . Specks of tissue caught
on his stubble but the mirror verified he still had all his bits.111

Dev can barely cope with his positive diagnosis of AIDS. He is scared of
what to expect in the future and of how his body and mind will change.
The panic and
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Rewriting African Identity, Self, and Place 179

paranoia suggest that he is suffering from adjustment disorder that indeed

surfaces throughout the story. Already four months since the diagnosis, he
begins to watch out for signs of decay and starts to distrust himself. On the
outside, he still “looked as he always had— average height, slim, curly
hair, and long- lashed eyes . . . ,”112 but on the inside his psyche is clearly
shocked. He hasn’t “slept properly since the diagnosis”; 113 Dev is afraid of
the moment he might lose control over his behavior or his looks so that
those around him will start to notice. After all AIDS is a taboo topic. It
does not get mentioned in obituaries. Those, as a female customer once
notes, “only spell out the truth when it’s cancer and other respectable
diseases that filthy husbands don’t give their wives.”114
In the case of Dev, however, the situation is the completely different. It
was his girlfriend, Tichi, who infected Dev, changing his life forever.
Unlike the prevailing public opinion, Dev therefore certainly is not a
“filthy husband” but a young man in love, who was cheated by his
girlfriend, Tichi, whom “he’d once leaned towards proposing marriage
to . . . before he’d listened to her cry as she confessed to a fling.” 115 In the
short story, the public opinion about the male- female victimization
syndrome prevalent in the Kenyan AIDS discourse is deconstructed.
The fact that he was infected by his girlfriend makes it more
complicated for Dev to go public about his positive status. Aware of the
public discourse on AIDS, Dev seems to instinctively know that people
would hardly believe him, even more so since at least at work he has been
known for his “point- five looks and clever ways [that] disturbed the girls
and confused customers.”116 Being a male, Dev’s public perception as an
AIDS-i nfected person probably would be immediately tinged with
prejudices and assumptions about his private life. Ironically enough, his
girlfriend eventually might be seen as the victim, though she actually is the
culprit. Dev’s life is shattered and the pressure he feels inside clearly has
mounted up since he learned about the diagnosis four months ago.
As the story unfolds, the amputee becomes a metaphor for Dev’s self, in
fact a kind of materialization of his inner self. The more Dev delves into
almost hazardously circular thoughts about why someone would cut off
parts of his body, the more he comes to identify himself with the amputee.
His thoughts about the amputee translate into a self-r eflexive analysis
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about what it would be like to be able to simply cut off parts of oneself and
one’s life:
He wondered if the me (in some part of me) intended to represent more than
the physical self, and if so, where me began and ended. Of course, the part of
himself that Wacha Dev most wanted to cut off coursed his whole body,
invisible and indivisible. But he also wanted to cut off Tichi, and her bloody
“life is not meant to be fair” approach to this business of living with the
dying . . . So who or what
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did he look like, Wacha Dev wondered about himself. Did he appear to others
like a man intending to be cut or a man already cut.117

The thoughts about the amputee definitely help Dev to enter into a dialogue
with himself in order to better evaluate his feelings and the situation he
finds himself in. The identification with the amputee results in a kind of
outlet for Dev to release psychological pressure and held- back anger.
This overdue anger surfaces against Tichi on the same evening Dev
finds the announcement by the amputee. Finally, Dev is able to release his
frustration: “‘Malaya’ [‘Prostitute’], he said, under his breath, his head
throbbing. The Slut . . . ‘Look at you,’ he sneered. ‘Who would know,
baby, who would know those great big eyes are nothing but a window to a
virus factory?’ Wacha Dev raised his fits, brought them down on the coffee
table. The glass on top of the wooden frame broke . . . . . . ‘Go,’ he said.
‘Get out.’ His swollen hands throbbed from multiple mini- cuts and
abrasions.”118
Yet Dev’s anger against Tichi in the end proves useless. Like the virus,
Tichi clings to him. “‘Wacha, it’s not going to work. I’m not going
anywhere,’”119 she exclaimed earlier on and seems to live up to that
threatening promise since even after their fight Tichi is still there “curled
up on the sofa.”120 With her childishness and her not taking the disease
seriously, or even seriously saying sorry for having infected Dev, Tichi
weakens and erodes him inwardly. He wants her to leave, but obviously
similarly to the virus, Dev cannot get rid of her. In Tichi’s eyes, they are
now bound forever— until death shall them part.
The story concludes with Dev meeting the amputee and connecting with
him in public. Curious after all and with his circular thoughts still in mind,
Dev cannot resist turning up at the National Museum on the next day where
the amputee is supposed to appear. Against his expectations, however, the
attending of the event turns out different for Dev.
To ease the tension, Wacha Dev edged his way around the fringes. That is
when he noticed the jars displayed on a ledge running along the walls of the
hall. Above each jar, a card written in red italic described the item, and the
capital city in which it had been cut off—K igali, Harare, Lagos, Cairo,
Darfur, Freetown, Kinshasa. Nairobi was blank . . . Eyes and cameras
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swivelled in Wacha Dev’s direction. Puzzled looks dwelt on his . . .

bandaged hands, and darted over the content of the jars immediately behind
him before lingering again on his . . . hands. The wall of bodies silently
parted open to admit him. Wacha Dev stepped forward, flashlights dazzling
him as he searched for the amputee . . . Wacha Dev caught sight of the
amputee—a man, or rather, a mutilated body of a man with a short, striped
kikoi wrapped around his waist . . . He pointed a stump of a finger at
Wacha Dev. His eyes burned. Wacha Dev spoke: “I’m the obituary man.”121
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Unwillingly, the onlooker, Dev, becomes the focal point of public

attention, and moreover, Dev as a rather private person eventually becomes
a public person. What seems accidental at first because the media and the
crowd mistake Wacha for the amputee, becomes, however, significant the
moment the amputee points with his finger at Dev, thereby once again
diverting the public attention from himself toward Dev. The moment the
amputee and Dev make eye-c ontact with the public attention circulating
between them, the amputee becomes a surrogate Dev, reflecting Dev’s
inner self to the public. Perhaps, Dev indeed either feels mutilated inside
after all he has gone through in his childhood and now with the diagnosis
of AIDS in his adult life is going to feel like this in the future, with AIDS
increasingly cutting him off from his own self and his environment. The
amputee’s pointing at Dev hence suggests that in fact it is not the amputee
but Dev the people should look at.
Read carefully, the seemingly unconnected pieces of the story
eventually fall together in this very last paragraph: it is a fact that AIDS
eats up the whole body of the infected. Interestingly enough, all that is left
off the amputee at his appearance at the National Museum is his torso “bar
the missing bits.”122 Could it not be that perhaps the amputee cuts off
exactly those parts of his body that either have a significant meaning or
cause a significant level of pain for other people, who, like Dev, would not
dare to mutilate themselves? In fact, Dev speculates about that when asking
himself, “Was it enough that one or two people, like Wacha Dev, might
wonder why? Unless, that is, the amputee intended his message for a
particular person.”123 If so, the amputee could be read not only as a kind of
surrogate Dev but in fact rather as a kind of martyr speaking on behalf of
the voiceless in society to maybe raise the public’s attention to people
infected with AIDS.
In Dev’s case, however, the public fails to understand. Though the
connection between the two, Dev and the amputee, is somehow recognized,
people soon get impatient and again occupied by their own issues of the
day:
 O

‘Is he going to cut or not? I’ve got to get to work.’

‘Me, I never even have time to read the Gazette in
the morning . . .’
‘Don’t call me sister. My mother doesn’t know you.’
‘Si you push even you . . .’124

Indirectly, the public here could be seen as being criticized for going to see
and to wonder about people like the amputee publicly hurting themselves
— thus suggesting that something is wrong with him or that maybe he is
ill, which leads him to do the public cutting— but for being oblivious and
ignorant toward invisible AIDS victims suffering in their midst. The short
story clearly succeeds
 O y NGOs

182 African Literar

in disrupting uncomfortable silences of the public AIDS discourse by

recreating the inner pain, hopelessness, and despair that AIDS- infected
people like Wacha Dev feel in a society where AIDS poses a threat to the
population yet remains a taboo subject after all.

Conclusion
Through a close reading of selected publications, Chapter 7 has
demonstrated the ways in which contemporary Kenyan and Ugandan
fiction is preoccupied with a rewriting of contemporary African identity,
self, and place. In particular, the works thus far published and/or promoted
by FEMRITE and Kwani Trust in terms of genre and characters are
reflective of the sociocultural as well as sociopolitical ongoing of their
immediate environments of operation. Works promoted by these LINGOs
disrupt uncomfortable silences and to a certain extent highlight taboo
subjects of their civil societies. At the same time, this, however, does not
necessarily mean that African LINGOs always serve as fora where political
narratives are published and promoted. It is precisely this ambivalent role
of the LINGO, for example, highlighted in the context of AIDS narratives,
that displays the difference between LINGOs and the more development-
driven/policy- driven NGOs from the sector of theater of development.
 CHAPTER 8

Conclusions and Future Scenarios of

the African LINGO in the Twenty-
First Century

A
s presented in this book, the conclusions about the power, political
involvement, and public participation of African literary NGOs
(LIN-
GOs) and their associated writers allow for a better understanding
of the LINGOs’ operation in their immediate environments. By outlining a
theoretical framework for the African LINGO, it was moreover shown that
LINGOs such as FEMRITE and Kwani Trust are not so much recent
revolutionary phenomena in their countries but indeed have been
noteworthy elements of the sociopolitical and literary scenes of Kenya and
Uganda since independence.
Although this book has focused little on evaluating the literature
produced by these LINGOs, the question remains about the literary quality
of their productions. What counts as literature and what does not, in the
African context, has been debated for decades and, as was discussed in this
book, LINGO-p roduced texts by FEMRITE and Kwani Trust have fuelled
this debate at present.1 In 1963, Mbari was among the first to publish works
by Wole Soyinka— The Swamp-D wellers: The Trials of Brother Jero, The
Trials of Brother Jero, The Strong Breed 2— a writer who is, of course,
nowadays considered part of the African literary canon. Thus a provocative
question is raised: who in the twenty- first century has the authority to say
that, for example, Susan Kiguli’s and Toni Mochama’s poems, and even
Sheng poetry; Glaydah Namukasa’s novel Voice of a Dream or Goretti
Kyomuhendo’s novel Secrets No More; Muthoni Garland’s short story
“The Obituary Man” or Binyavanga Wainaina’s short story “Fw..Fw” in
email format; or FEMRITE’s and Kwani Trust’s life-w riting collections
are not worthy of literary study? 3 African LINGOs, I believe, are not only
sites for political and sociocultural intervention but breeding grounds for
literary creativity and upcoming writers. To echo Brydon’s question,
“What does it mean
 O y NGOs

184 African Literar

to explicitly think about the roles of citizens and institutions within the
context of literary study?”4 Maybe questions this book has therefore raised
include the issue of the extent to which the acknowledgement of African
literature still depends on traditional institutional thinking and why African
LINGOs—i n light of a growing NGO sector and a diversifying publishing
industry in the twenty- first century— often are regarded as controversial
rather than as publishing sites producing quality literature? Detailed
answers to these questions are beyond the scope of this introductory book
to the model of African LINGOs but could be provided in critical studies
yet to come.
In its beginning, this book also suggested that in the future, as the NGO
sector continues to thrive, African LINGOs will either disappear or spring
up in even greater numbers. Future scenarios of the African LINGO in the
twenty- first century could be

1. LINGOs working across countries and continents as in trans- African

LINGOs,
2. LINGOs publishing and promoting largely in indigenous languages,
3. LINGOs focusing primarily on specific literary genres such as poetry,
and/or
4. LINGOs employing electronic media to a much greater extent than print
media.

Indeed, over the course of writing this book, further LINGOs have
emerged. In 2008, the Beverley Nambozo Poetry Award (a.k.a. BN Poetry
Award) emerged “with the aim of promoting poetry for the development
amongst women”5 in Uganda. The BN Poetry Award is a biannual award
given for poetry that has never been published before. Nominees and
publications are announced online at http:// www .bnpoetryaward .blogspot
.com. Apart from Beverley Nambozo, judges include Hilda Twongyeirwe,
the coordinator of FEMRITE. In its fourth year now, the award has
established itself as a small- scale literary organization. It is registered with
the local government as a nonprofit foundation.
Also in 2007, No Boundaries Limited leapt onto the Nairobian literary
scene with its two imprints Storymoja for adult books and Storyhippo for
 O y NGOs

children’s books. It was established by Muthoni Garland, one of the

Kwani? initiators. As a for- profit business with nonprofit aspects, No
Boundaries Ltd., a company with limited liability, with the Storymoja
imprints aims to accelerate development in the country by nurturing a
reading culture. It considers itself a venture committed to publishing
contemporary East African writing, identifying good local writers, helping
them edit their submissions to exacting standards, and developing eye-
catching book covers for entertainment literature rather than textbook
literature.6 This LINGO has moved in the direction of
 Conclusions and Future Scenarios of the African LINGO O 185

electronic publishing from its very inception. More so than Kwani Trust,
Storymoja has used its website, SMS communication, and social media
such as Facebook, Twitter, and blogging for promotion and publishing. In
2011, Storymoja encouraged Kenyans online to take part in a reading event
across the country. The outcome of the event was also reported online:
“The Kenyan Reading
Revolution! We did it! 84,300 Kenyans set the national record! On the 16th
June 2011, courtesy of Storymoja Publishers and the British Council,
approximately 84,300 Kenyans set the national record for ‘Most Kenyans
reading out loud from the same text in different locations on the same day.’
Children from schools across the country gathered together at their
respective parade grounds to read the story ‘Lydia’s gift.’” 7 Storymoja
cooperates with Kwani Trust at literary festivals and local bookfairs. Apart
from Muthoni Garland, as a founding member of Kwani Trust, Storymoja
is supported by Doreen Baingana, a FEMRITE member.
Finally, established in 2009, the African Writers Trust (AWT) emerged
as a pan-( East) African LINGO. According to its website, the AWT “seeks
to coordinate and bring together African writers in the Diaspora and writers
on the continent to promote sharing of skills, writing and other resources,
and to foster knowledge and learning between the two groups.” 8
Achievements of its objectives are documented on its website. 9 The AWT
operates in both London and Kampala, “where it is registered as a company
limited by guarantee.”10 It is directed by Goretti Kyomuhendo, formerly the
coordinator at FEMRITE and now based in London.
Apart from giving evidence of new features and forms of African
LINGOs in the twenty- first century, these three recent ventures also
display the ways in which not only the LINGOs but also their associated
writers active at FEMRITE and Kwani Trust interact with each other or
move on to new projects. African LINGOs of the present— just like earlier
LINGOs in the 1960s— clearly are intermediary organizations as well as
spin- offs and generators of new literary ventures as their members leave
the literary social network of one LINGO to possibly move on by realizing
their individual ideas in yet another new LINGO. Their forms, funding
structures, impact, and publications should be subject to future studies.
Likewise the fulfillment of objectives as promised and documented on
websites and in strategic plans as well as the dependency on donors by
these African LINGOs require critical investigation beyond the scope of
this book.
This book has given an in- depth insight into FEMRITE and Kwani
Trust and has thereby provided the first systematic analysis of these two
African LINGOs in comparison to earlier African LINGOs. In doing so,
the study has coined the term literary NGO (LINGO) and provided a model
that might productively be used to examine other LINGOs in Africa and
beyond.

Appendix

List of Interviews Quoted

Name Country/ Literary NGO Date of Interview Place of

Citizenship Interview
Baingana, Doreen Kenya/Ugandan FEMRITE/Kwani June 28, 2008 Kampala,
Trust/Storymoja Uganda
Elam, Nick England/British ——— January 6, 2010 phone interview
Irele, Abiola United States/ ——— April 23, 2009 Cambridge, MA
Nigerian
Kaiza, David Kenya/Ugandan Kwani Trust August 5, 2008 Nairobi, Kenya
Kamencu, Kenya/Kenyan Kwani Trust April 4, 2010 online interview
Kingwa
Kantai, Parselelo Kenya/Kenyan Kwani Trust August 6, 2008 Nairobi, Kenya
Kibinge, Judy Kenya/Kenyan Kwani Trust August 5, 2008 Nairobi, Kenya
Kiyimba, Abasi Uganda/Ugandan ——— June 25, 2008 Kampala,
Uganda
Kyomuhendo, England/Ugandan FEMRITE February 19, Frankfurt am
Goretti 2009 Main, Germany
Lamwaka, Uganda/Ugandan FEMRITE July 16, 2008 Kampala,
Beatrice Uganda
Maddo Kenya/Kenyan Maddo’s office October 14, 2006 Nairobi, Kenya
Mangeni, Patrick Uganda/Ugandan Member of July 17, 2008 Kampala,
the Readers/ Uganda
Writers Club at
FEMRITE
Mazrui, Ali United States/ ——— April 21, 2009 Binghamton, NY
Kenyan
Ntakamalize, Uganda/Ugandan FEMRITE July 13, 2008 Kampala,
Margaret Uganda
Nyairo, Joyce Kenyan/Kenya ——— August 11, 2008 Nairobi, Kenya
(continued)
188 O African Literary NGOs
List of Interviews Quoted (continued)

Name Country/ Literary NGO Date of Interview Place of

Citizenship Interview
Ocwinyo, Julius Uganda/Ugandan ——— June 14, 2008 Kampala, Uganda
Okurut Karooro, Uganda/Ugandan FEMRITE Mary July 27, 2008 Kampala, Uganda

Tindyebwa, Lilian Uganda/Ugandan FEMRITE June 28, 2008 Kampala, Uganda

Twongyeirwe, Uganda/Ugandan FEMRITE June 29, 2008 Kampala, Uganda
Hilda
Wainaina, Kenya/Kenyan Kwani Trust October 17, 2006 Nairobi, Kenya
Binyavanga
Wanjala, Chris Kenya/Kenyan ——— August 10, 2008 Nairobi, Kenya
 Notes

Acknowledgments
1. My research on Kwani Trust started during my undergraduate studies in 2003
when the organization was only emerging. I contacted FEMRITE in 2007. The
idea of this comparative PhD project was born in 2008.
2. This quote is adapted from the original text in French: “Le seul véritable
voyage,le seul bain de Jouvence, ce ne serait pas d’aller vers de nouveaux
paysages, mais d’avoir d’autres yeux, de voir l’univers avec les yeux d’un
autre” (Marcel Proust, À la recherche du temps perdu: La prisionnière, ed.
Jean Milly [Paris, France: Flammarion, 1984 (1923)]).

Introduction
1. Elissa Schapell and Rob Spillman, “The Continental Shelf,” Vanity Fair, July
2007, 118– 97.
2. Here I agree with Kruger, Women’s Literature in Kenya and Uganda, 1.
3. I understand the concept of “civil society” as follows: “We must remember
that civil society—like the state and political society—is a theoretical concept
rather than an empirical one. It cannot be directly observed. Instead, it is a
synthetic conceptual construct that encompasses the wide variety of forms of
popular collective action that occur in the public realm” (Bratton, “Civil
Society and Political Transitions in Africa,” 57).
4. Brydon, “Metamorphoses of a Discipline: Rethinking Canadian Literature
within Institutional Contexts,” 1– 6.
5. This phrase is adapted from Brydon, “Metamorphoses,” 3.
6. Peter Benson, Black Orpheus, Transition, and Modern Cultural Awakening
Africa (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1986).
7. Ligaga, “Kwani? Exploring New Literary Spaces in Kenya,”46– 52.
8. Musila, “The Redykyulass Generation ’S’ Intellectual Interventions in
KenyanPublic Life,” 280.
9. Ibid., 281.
10. Ibid.
11. Ibid.
12. Spencer, “Heirs of Tradition or Veiled Anxieties? Romance, Sex, and
Marriage in Contemporary Ugandan Women’s Short Stories,” 91.
 Notes

190 O

13. Odhiambo, “Kwani? and the Imaginations around Re- Invention of Art and
Culture in Kenya,” 35.

Chapter 1
1. Dinesen, Out of Africa, 4.
2. Baingana, interview.
3. Elspeth Huxley (1907– 97) was partly raised in Kenya but left for an
agriculture degree at Reading University and later Cornell University. She
returned to Kenya later on.
4. Wanjala, “Popular Culture in East African Literature,” 206.
5. Ibid.
6. Rotich, “The Affordability of School Textbooks in Kenya: Consumer
Experiences in the Transformation to a Liberalizing Economy,” 175.
7. Asein, “Okot p’Bitek, Literature, and the Cultural Revolution in East Africa,”
7.
8. The University of East Africa at that time consisted of three institutions:
Nairobi, Daressalaam, and Kampala.
9. Kamencu, “Literary Gangsters? Kwani, Radical Poetics and the 2007 Kenyan
Post-election Crisis,” 24.
10. Macpherson, “Makerere: The Place of the Early Sunrise,” 23.
11. Macpherson 24– 25.
12. Ibid.
13. Imbuga, “East African Literature in the 1980s,” 121.
14. Breitinger, “Introduction,” 11.
15. Having entered Makerere University in 1959, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, for instance,
had one of his first creative works, “The Fig Tree,” published in Penpoint in
1960 before further publications followed in Kenya Weekly News and
Transition (Sicherman, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o: The Making of a Rebel; A Source
Book in Kenyan Literature and Resistance, Documentary Research in African
Literatures, 5).
16. Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, “Tribute to David Cook,” 1.
17. Bukenya, “Introduction to Ugandan Literature,” xvi.
18. Ibid., xvii.
19. Breitinger 11.
20. Ibid. 21. Ibid.
22. Ibid.
23. Ibid., 12.
 Notes

24. Bukenya xviii.

25. Bukenya xviii–x ix.
26. Sicherman 7.
27. Ibid., 9.
28. Kamencu 24.
29. Sicherman 8.
30. Ibid.
31. Kamencu 24.
 Notes O

191

32. For more information, please see Apollo Obonyo Amoko, Postcolonialism in
the Wake of the Nairobi Revolution: Ng ũgĩ wa Thiong’o and the Idea of
African Literature (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010).
33. Ogola, “Stirring the Whispers: Fictionalizing the Popular in the Kenyan
Newspaper,” 40.
34. “In 1971, the University of Nairobi hosted a major event, the Festival of East
African Writing, which unlike the Makerere conference of a decade earlier,
was predominantly regional rather than continentwide” (Kurtz, Urban
Obsession, Urban Fears, 35).
35. Wanjala 261.
36. Ibid., 218.
37. Knight, “Kenya,” 902.
38. Ibid., 910.
39. Wanjala 218.
40. Chris Wanjala, The Season of Harvest (Nairobi: Kenya Literature Bureau,
1978), 135.
41. In this regard, it is interesting to highlight that, in contrast to Mangua’s
novels, none of Ngũgĩ’s books had sold equally highly until 1971. About six
years after Mangua, copies of Ngũgĩ’s novel Petals of Blood (1977), the last
novel to be first written in English, in Kenya sold about six thousand to eight
thousand copies in total (Chileshe 1980: 136). Yet following Petals of Blood,
Ngũgĩ’s first novel in Gĩkũyũ, Caitaani Mutharaba- ini (Devil on the Cross),
which Heinemann brought out in April 1980, sold the total number of five
thousand copies from its first printing within a month (Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o,
“On Writing in Gĩkũyũ,” 153).
42. Kurtz 33.
43. Currey, Africa Writes Back: The African Writers Series and the Launch of
African Literature, 87– 110.
44. Kamencu 25.
45. A decline of the publishing industry due to economic reasons was
characteristic for not only East Africa: “By the 1980s publishing in Africa
was largely in crisis due to a number of economic trends. In Nigeria, for
example, in 1981– 1982 the lucrative ‘oil bubble burst’ as a ‘world- wide glut
in oil production caused prices to fall’ (Mountain 956); the nation also
experienced changes in 1986 in its ‘foreign exchange market [as] an element
in an overall structural adjustment program imposed by the International
Monetary Fund’ (Zell 369). This led to the devaluation of Nigerian currency,
and an inability to pay debts to international publishers” (Stec, “Publishing
and Canonicity: The Case of Heinemann’s ‘African Series,’” 142– 43).
 Notes O

46. Following the trend of Comb Books were a number of British publishing
housesand their subsidiaries, which started to increasingly publish people
outside the university framework. In this publishing scene, Wanjala notes,
“were . . . [imprints like] Spear Books, Afroromance, Crime Series,
Pacesetters, and the Drum Beat series” (Wanjala 218).
47. Knight 910.
48. Chakava, Books and Reading in Kenya, 8.
49. Knight 910.
50. Sicherman 11.
 Notes

192 O

51. The Kamĩrĩĩthũ Theater Project was also an attempt “of the radical
transformation of the East African Theatre apparatus” (Nicholas Brown,
“Revolution and Recidivism: The Problem of Kenyan History in the Plays of
Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o,” Research in African Literatures 30, no. 4 [1999]: 56–7
3), which in the 1970s was still under British management.
52. Gugler, “How Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o Shifted from Class Analysis to a Neo-
Colonialist Perspective,” 333.
53. Kamencu 25.
54. On December 12, 1978, “Moi declare[d] Jamhuri Day amnesty, freeing Ngũgĩ
and twenty- five other political prisoners and promising to use detention ‘only
as a last resort’” (Sicherman 91).
55. Kamencu 25.
56. Sicherman 92.
57. In the early 1980s, it was the December Twelve Movement with the
publications Cheche Kenya and Pambana that carried on the tradition of
resistance against the oppressive political regime and of underground press
(Durrani, “The Other Kenya: Underground and Alternative Literature,” 81).
58. On February 10, 1985, the police broke up a student prayer meeting at the
University of Nairobi. According to government reports 1 student was killed
while 65 were injured (Sicherman 94).
59. Kamencu 26.
60. Ibid. 61. Ibid.
62. Wanyande, “Mass Media- State Relations in Post- Colonial Kenya,” 56.
63. Breitinger emphasizes that in Kampala, “political harrassment destroyed . . .
[an]important activity in cultural development: documentation. Robert
Serumaga deliberately avoided scripting or video-r ecording his plays to evade
the wrath of the powerful. And many others followed his example, partly for
tactical reasons, partly for sheer want of material. Thus, the years of turmoil
also resulted in a tremendous loss of knowledge about Ugandan culture due to
the lack of proper documentation. Playscripts were lost or destroyed, the script
documentation with the National Theatre is less than satisfactory for those
years (1970–1 985), photographs of production were not systematically
collected, tapes of recordings with Radio Uganda were wiped due to lack of
blank tapes” (Breitinger, 13).
64. Mavia, “Shifting Visions: Of English Language Usage in Kenya,” 124.
65. Born in Uganda in 1963, Isegawa worked as a history teacher until 1990 before
leaving for the Netherlands. He published his first novel, The Abyssinian
Chronicles, in 2000.
 Notes

66. Mavia 125.

67. Ogola, “The Idiom of Age in a Popular Kenyan Newspaper Serial,” 569– 89.
68. Ibid., 573.

Chapter 2
1. Frantz, Nichtregierungsorganisationen (NGOs), 18.
2. Anheier, Nonprofit Organizations: Theory, Management Policy, 4.
 Notes O

193

3. Ibid.
4. Frantz 30.
5. Kinzey, Using Public Relations Strategies to Promote Your Nonprofit
Organization, 1.
6. Hopkins, Nonprofit Law for Religious Organizations: Essential Questions and
Answers, 3.
7. Ibid. 8. Ibid.
9. Ibid.
10. Ibid.
11. Frantz 22.
12. Anheier and Nuno Themudo, “Organisational Forms of Global Civil Society:
Implications of Going Global,” 194.
13. Michael 3.
14. Ibid.
15. Frantz 23.
16. Ibid., 31.
17. Cohen, The Resilience of the State: Democracy and the Challenge of
Globalization, 30.
18. Stillman, Global Standard NGOs: Essential Elements of Good Practice, 13–
14.
19. United States International Grant Making, “Country Information: Kenya.” 20.
United States International Grant Making, “Country Information: Uganda.”
21. Stillman 14.
22. Paul Bater, Frits Willem Hondius, and Penina Kessler Lieber (eds.), The Tax
Treatment of NGOs: Legal, Ethical and Fiscal Frameworks for Promoting
NGOs (The Hague, the Netherlands: Kluwer Law Transnational, 2004), xii.
23. Stillman 14.
24. Frantz 23.
25. Ibid., 49.
26. “In international diplomacy the term ‘NGO’ covers all types of private
organizations except criminals, guerrillas and individual companies.
Commercial interests in organized lobby groups and trade unions are also
NGOs” (Willets, “Representation of Private Organizations in the Global
Diplomacy of Economic PolicyMaking,” 38).
27. Michael 3.
28. This definition is adapted from Michael 3 and Frantz 50.
29. This definition is adapted from Frantz 50.
30. The term write-tank was coined during my time in Frankfurt. It designates the
fact that a LINGO comprises a body of people providing ideas and critical
 Notes O

views on specific social, political, or cultural situations and most importantly

on literary material and literary innovations primarily through creative
writing.
31. Kent and Lancour, “Producing Reading Materials in Uganda,” 301.
32. Anheier 4.
33. AWG. “About Us.” AWG: The Peak Body Representing Australian
Performance Writers. Accessed January 30, 2013. http://www .awg .com .au/
index .php?.
34. WGC. “About WGC.” Writers Guild of Canada. Accessed January 30, 2013.
http://www .writersguildofcanada .com.
 O Notes

194

35. WGGB. “About Us.” Writers Guild of Great Britain. Accessed January 30,
2013.
www .writersguild .org .uk/ about - us.
36. Ibid.
37. Michael 20.
38. Makau Mutua (ed.), Human Rights NGOs in East Africa: Political and
Normative Tensions (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009), 5.
39. The idea of Kwani Trust being a social network was also acknowledged by
Kingwa Kamencu in her article “Rebels with a Cause,” which appeared in The
Kenyan Standard in July 2009 (Kamencu, “Rebels with a Cause,” 72).
40. Wassermann, Social Network Analysis, Methods and Applications, 9.
41. Schäfer, Personal Networks on Social Network Sites (SNS), 14.
42. Castells, “Informationalism, Networks, and the Network Society: A
TheoreticalBlueprint,” 3– 4.
43. Ibid. 44. Ibid.
45. Wassermann 9.
46. Frantz 17.
47. Digby, Global Challenges, 250.
48. BWAZ.
49. CPB.
50. Ibid.
51. BWAZ.
52. Mbaasem literally translates to English as “women’s affairs” or “women’s
words.” 53. Mbaasem Foundation. “About Mbaasem.” Mbaasem Foundation.
Accessed January 30, 2013. http://www .mbaasem .net/ about.
54. HIVOS Foundation, “Zimbabwe Women Writers,” HIVOS People Unlimited,
Accessed May 2, 2013, www .hivos .nl/ dut/ community/ partner/ 10000953.
55. Ibid.
56. Kruger, Women’s Literature in Kenya and Uganda: The Trouble with
Modernity, 1.
57. Publications by FEMRITE and Kwani Trust have an ISB number.
58. Twongyeirwe, “The Beginning of a Dream,” 1.
59. Okurut, interview.
60. Twongyeirwe, “The Beginning,” 1.
61. Ibid.
62. Ibid.
63. Ibid., 2– 3.
64. Ibid., 2.
65. Ibid. 66. Ibid.
 O Notes

67. Ibid. 68.

Ibid.
69. Ibid.
70. FEMRITE was publicly launched on May 3, 1996, at the National Theatre in a
workshop on the theme “Women and the Word: Empowerment through the
Quill,” with Professor Kathleen Kendall, a writer and professional editor from
South Africa facilitating. A few months later FEMRITE moved out of the
National
 Notes O 195

Theatre and soon after settled down in its offices on Kiira Road in
Kamwokya, Kampala. Its offices have been there since 1997.
71. Wainaina, “Editorial,” Kwani? 01, 6.
72. Ibid.
73. Ibid. 74. Ibid. 75. Ibid.
76. Elam, interview.
77. Wainaina, One Day I Will Write about This Place: A Memoir, 189.
78. Kwani Trust, “Kwani?: Our History.”
79. “FEMRITE Strategic Plan 2007– 2011 (For Internal Use Only)”, 1.
80. Okurut and Barungi, A Woman’s Voice, i.
81. Ibid.
82. FEMRITE Strategic Plan, 1– 2.
83. Ibid.
84. This information was gathered through personal conversations during
fieldwork in 2008.
85. From 2003 to 2009, Tom Maliti, a journalist with the Associated Press in
Nairobi, acted as chair to the board, which included Njeri Karago, a film
producer; Malla Mumo, a banker; Njeir Karago, chairperson of the Kenya
Film and Television Professionals Association; Ann McCreath, a fashion
designer; and Muthoni Wanyeki, Executive Director of FEMNET. They have
not been actively involved with the activities and the writing at Kwani Trust.
86. Angela Wachuka, email to author, September 2009.
87. Angela Wachuka, email to author, February 2013.
88. Anheier 4.

Chapter 3
1. Kaiza, interview.
2. Mangeni, interview.
3. Schapell and Spillman 118.
4. Kwani Trust, Kwani? Litfest Program, 1.
5. FEMRITE, “FEMRITE Spreads the Reading and Writing Gospel in Uganda.”
6. Firsthand information for the purpose of this chapter was also gained in
personal conversations with Abiola Irele and Ali Mazrui. Where
acknowledged, their insights inform the historical analysis. Any conclusions
made are my own, unless acknowledged otherwise. Any faulty conclusions
must not be related to Irele or Mazrui.
7. Dingome, “Mbari,”680.
8. Ulli Beier (July 30, 1922– April 4, 2011) arrived in Nigeria in 1950.
 Notes O 196

9. Born as Ezekiel Mphahlele, he changed his name to Es’kia Mphahlele in

1977. He was a South African university lecturer who had come to teach
English Literature and Language at Ibadan in 1957.
196 O Notes

10. Toyin Adepoju, “Mbari Club,” in Encyclopedia of the African Diaspora:

Origins, Experiences, and Culture, ed. Carole Boyce Davies (Santa Barbara,
CA: ABC- CLIO Inc., 2008), 665.
11. James Eze, “What Chinua Achebe Told Me about the Biafran War: Ulli
Beier.”
12. “By extension, Mbari means any act of creation in which the light of the gods
isreflected in the work of man” (Ulansky, “Mbari— The Missing Link,” 247).
13. Dingome, 682.
14. Ibid.
15. Ibid., 685.
16. Ibid.
17. Ulansky 247.
18. Adepoju 665.
19. Dingome 686.
20. Breitinger 12.
21. Currey 3.
22. Adepoju 665.
23. Samuel Omo Asein points out that “at the time of the Conference of African
held in Kampala, Uganda, in 1962, very few East African writers qualified to
participate; and of the three or so writers who attended the conference none
had made any significant mark at all” (Asein 7).
24. Mphahlele notes on Chemchemi, “This has come into our midst as a sister to
the three Mbari writers’ and artists’ clubs in Nigeria; it will be inspired by the
same aims, although the methods of achieving them will obviously be guided
by local national conditions” (Mphahlele 115).
25. About the purpose of Chemchemi, Elizabeth Knight states, “Sponsored by
theCongress for Cultural Freedom, this was intended as an East African
equivalent of the Nigerian Mbari clubs and aimed at introducing the creative
arts to a wider popular audience than Makerere College could hope to reach”
(Knight 888– 89).
26. Mphahlele 116– 17.
27. Ibid., 115.
28. Ibid.
29. Dingome 685.
30. Liyong 5.
31. “FEMRITE Strategic Plan 2007– 2011 (For Internal Use Only),” 3.
32. Ibid.
33. Kwani Trust, A Report on Strategic Planning for Kwani Trust, 10.
197 O Notes

34. Billy Kahora notes, “Most of our writers, 60 percent to 70 percent, are from
Kenya and East Africa, but we also have contributors from Senegal, Nigeria,
Zimbabwe, South Africa and the diaspora, especially in the later editions.
With every new journal, we include more contributions from different
countries on the continent” (Kristin Palitza, “Kenya: Words that Reshape a
Country’s Identity; an Interview with Billy Kahora”).
35. Kwani Trust, “‘The Africa I Live In’: Short Story Call.”
36. Original spelling.
37. Sunday Salon, “About,” Accessed January 30, 2013, http://
www .sundaysalon .com/about.
 Notes O 197

38. Ibid.
39. Jackie Lebo’s Running, published in the Kwanini Series of Kwani Trust, was
available for sale at the Boston marathon in April 2011.
40. Kamencu 32.
41. Mphahlele, “Cultural Activity in Africa,” 2.
42. Ulansky 247.
43. Kiguli, “FEMRITE and the Woman Writer’s Position in Uganda: Personal
Reflections,” 175.
44. The group was composed of Yaba Badoe from Ghana; Betty Bakashima
fromRwanda; Olivia Jembere from Zimbabwe; Colleen Higgs from South
Africa; Mastidia Mbeo from Tanzania; Kingwa Kamencu from Kenya;
Yemodish Bekele from Ethiopia; and Margaret Ntakalimaze, Alal Brenda,
Connie Obonyo, Winnie Munyarugerero, and Philo Naweru from Uganda.
The week was facilitated by Helen Moffet from South Africa.
45. FEMRITE, “Regional Residence Report.”
46. Ibid.
47. FEMRITE, “FEMRITE Workshops.”
48. Kyomuhendo, “To Be an African Woman Writer: Joys and Challenges,” 191.
49. Ibid.
50. Ibid., 192.
51. At the 2008, Kwani? Literary Festival (Litfest) to listen to a three-h our
debate organized by Generation Kenya, where “visionaries and innovators”
were promised to speak out on Revisioning Kenya, cost 3,900 Ksh. The
evening event of Revisioning Kenya with “Authors in Conversation,” such as
Ishameal, Kalundi Serumaga, Doreen Baingana, and Aminatta Forna, was
1,900 Ksh. Each day of participation in the five- day writing training
workshops (Starting to Write, Non-F iction, Fiction) at the Litfest was also
1,900 Ksh, or slightly cheaper at 4,500 Ksh in total. If you wanted to discuss
your manuscript with one of the established Kwani Trust writers or Kwani
writer friends, you had to pay 10,000 Ksh for one hour. On the other hand
university debates held at Nairobi University with well-k nown writers and
critics were for free, and reading nights at bookstores were only between 100
and 300 Ksh (Kwani Trust, Kwani? Litfest Program).
52. “We have a membership fee and a subscription fee which is the same across
the board— both for associate and full members because it’s a small fee. At
first associate and full [that is, general] members used to pay different rates.
But since 2006 we revised the rates and so we all pay the same. When you are
entering membership fee is 70,000 Ush. Then the annual subscription fee is
20,000 Ush and it’s across the board. Then also to get people’s commitment,
we emphasize that when you are a full member you should be able to attend
all meetings. When [as a general member] you miss three general meetings
 Notes O 198

concurrently, according to the constitution you should give a sound

explanation as to maybe you were away, or you were sick—s ome big
challenge because of which you couldn’t come. So there is also that
condition” (Twongyeirwe, interview).
53. Nkosi, “The Perils of Criticism: Black Writers, White Readers,” 68– 69.
54. Mphahlele, “Cultural Activity,” 4.
55. Wainaina, interview.
198 O Notes

56. Twongyeirwe, interview.

57. Ibid.
58. Mphahlele, “Cultural Activity,” 4.
59. Mphahlele, “Chemchemi,” 116– 17.
60. This statement was placed on the old Kwani? web page under “About Us” in
2003.
61. Kwani Trust, “Kwani Trust: Info.”
62. Kwani? web page under “About Us” in 2003.
63. A detailed discussion of this work can be found in Kamencu.
64. Kwani Trust, “‘The Africa I Live In.’”
65. Ibid.
66. FEMRITE, “FEMRITE Spreads the Reading and Writing Gospel.”
67. Twongyeirwe, interview.
68. Wole Soyinka and Es’kia Mphahlele stepped into the editorship to support
Beier when Jahn left after the sixth issue of Black Orpheus (Lindfors, “Black
Orpheus,”670).
69. The idea emerged after Beier attended the First World Congress of Black
Writers and Artists organized by Présence Africaine in September 1956. The
journal was in turn influenced by the idea of this French journal, Présence
Africaine (Ibid., 669).
70. Dingome, 684.
71. Abiola, interview.
72. FEMRITE, FEMRITE Celebrates Ten Years of the Pen: 1996– 2006, 12.
73. Ibid.
74. Ibid.
75. Ibid., 15.
76. Ibid., 5.
77. Ibid.
78. Ibid.
79. “Kenya: Words That Reshape a Country’s Identity.”
80. Ogola, “Stirring the Whispers,” 46.
81. Ibid.
82. Sicherman 9.
83. Durrani 81.
84. The December Twelve Movement was a social resistance movement. Its
name was later changed to “Mwakenya,” “a Kiswahili acronym for
Muungano wa Wazalendo wa Kuikomboa Kenya (Union of Patriots for the
Liberation of Kenya)” (Durrani 81).
85. Ibid.
199 O Notes

86. In this chapter, I will only look at the earlier version of Transition that existed
in Uganda and Nigeria between 1961 and 1976. The periodical was revived in
1991 at the W. E. B. du Bois Institute of Harvard University, now rather being
an Afro- American magazine. The present period therefore is neglected in the
historicized reading against Kwani? in this chapter.
87. 1938— 95.
88. Akin Adesokan, “Retelling a Forgettable Tale: Black Orpheus and Transition
— Revisited,” African Quarterly on the Arts 1, no. 3 (1996), 50.
89. Ibid.
 Notes O 199

90. Benson 103.

91. Adesokan 50.
92. Ibid.
93. Stephanie Jones, “Rahat Neogy’s Transition 1961–1 973,” Moving Worlds 4,
no. 2 (2004): 116.
94. Ibid.
95. Irele, interview.
96. Ibid. 97. Ibid.
98. Adesokan 50.
99. Valerie Hulmes helped publish the first issue of Transition.
100. Jones 116.
101. Benson 123.
102. Adesokan 54.
103. Ibid.
104. Benson 306.
105. Ibid.
106. Vazquez, “An African Dilemma,” 9.
107. Ligaga 46.
108. Ibid.
109. Samuel, Kahiga, “Joe.”
110. Ogola, “Stirring the Whispers,” 47.
111. Ibid., 47– 48.
112. Ibid., 48.
113. Ibid.
114. Ibid.
115. Ibid., 49.
116. Ibid. 117. Ibid.
118. Wainaina (ed.), “About Transition,” Kwani 01 (Nairobi, Kenya: Kwani Trust,
2003), 47.
119. Wainaina, ed., Kwani? 03, 191, 217, 249, 255, 257.
120. Achille Mbeme, “African Contemporary Art: Negotiating the Terms of
Recognition.”
121. For more information on the CCF, please see Hilton Kramer’s “What Was the
Congress for Cultural Freedom?” The New Criterion 8 (1990), 7: “Rajat
Neogy on the CIA,” Transition 32 (1967): 45– 46; and “Mphahlele on CIA,”
Transition, 7/3 (Dec.– Jan. 1967– 68): 5.
122. Benson 35.
123. Ibid., 36.
124. Knight 887.
125. Adesokan 55.
126. Vazquez 14.
 Notes O 1100

127. Kwani Trust, A Report on Strategic Planning for Kwani Trust, 12.
128. Ford Foundation, “Grants Database,” FordFoundation, Accessed January 14,
2013, http://www .fordfoundation .org/ grants/ search.
200 Notes

129. “Ford Foundation’s Longstanding Commitment Improves Lives in Eastern

Africa.” 130. FEMRITE, FEMRITE Strategic Plan 2007– 2011.
131. Twongyeirwe, interview.
132. For a study on the mutual dependency between African NGOs and non-
African donors please see The Aid Chain: Coercion and Commitment in
Development NGOs (2007) by Tina Wallace, Lisa Bornstein, and Jennifer
Chapman.
133. Adesokan 54.
134. Ibid.
135. Twongyeirwe, interview.
136. Wainaina, One Day I Will Write about This Place, 188– 91.
137. See http:// www .kwani .org/ faqs/ kwani .htm; http:// www .femriteug .org/ ?
view =9;http://www .farafinatrust .org/ partners/ ; and http://
www .mbaasem .net/ partners.
138. Lindfors 509.
139. Knight 684. 140. Ibid., 683.
141. With the exception of Grace Ogot and Margaret Oghude Macgoye in the
1960s and 1970s, the relatively low visibility and activity of Kenyan women
writers up to the 1990s in Kenya coincided with a low visibility of women in
business and politics. “Prior to the early 1990s,” Marie Kruger points out in
Fictions of Identity and Authority in Postcolonial Kenyan Women’s
Literature, “women’s limited access to the resources necessary for political
participation, a political reality not only patriarchal but hostile to critical
opposition, and the circulation of gender- role stereotypes that deemed
women incapable of assuming and exercising public positions of power . . .
However, gender activism increased drastically after . . . [the revision] of the
Kenyan Constitution in 1992, which ushered in a new era of multiparty
politics” (Kruger, “Fictions of Identity and Authority in Postcolonial Kenyan
Women’s Literature,” 74).
142. Kiguli, “FEMRITE and the Woman Writer’s Position,” 245.
143. Kyomuhendo, “To Be an African Woman Writer,” 191. 144. Nkosi 69.
145. Kiguli 247.
146. Eamon Kircher- Allen, “Kenya’s Rising Culture Hub.”
147. Mike Mburu, email to the author, November 23, 2009.
148. Alexandra Polier, “What’s Up Kenya?,” Foreign Policy, August 8, 2006.
149. Gregory, The Rise and Fall of Philanthropy in Africa: The Asian
Contribution, 185.
150. Ikoja- Odongo, Publishing in Uganda, 42. 151. Njogu, “Introduction,” 3.
201 Notes

Chapter 4
1. Tina Wallace, “The Role of Non- Governmental Organisations in African
Devel-opment: Critical Issues in Renewing Development,” in Renewing
Development in Sub-S aharan Africa: Policy, Performance and Prospects, ed.
Ian Livingstone and Deryke Belshaw (London: Routledge, 2002), 232.
2. Michael 18.
 Notes O

201

3. In this study, therefore, power is understood as an ability, while influence is

seen as an indicator of NGO power.
4. Michael 18.
5. Ibid.
6. Ibid.
7. Nyang’oro, “Civil Society, Democratization, and State Building in Kenya and
Tan-zania,” 183.
8. Ibid. 9. Ibid.
10. Nyanchoga, “Civil Society,” 105.
11. The Constitution of Kenya, Amendment Act Number 7 of 1982, had
introduced Section 2(a), transforming the country into a de jure one- party
state.
12. Maddo, interview.
13. Wainaina, “Editorial” (2003), 6.
14. Ibid.
15. Ocwinyo, interview.
16. Tabaire, “The Press and Political Repression in Uganda: Back to the
Future?,”193– 211.
17. BTI, “Uganda Country Report.”
18. Tripp points out that “seeing the women’s endorsement as critical to the
regime’s success, the NRM encouraged them to form clubs at the LC1level
[ Local Council at Village] and supported their leadership at all levels of the
LC system, reserving one seat for a women’s secretary at all council levels”
(Tripp, Women & Politics in Uganda, 69). Kenya did not have a Ministry of
Women until 2003, whereas Uganda has had a strong representation of
women in both the political and academic leadership since the late 1980s.
19. Tripp 26.
20. Ibid., 77– 78.
21. Mangeni, interview.
22. Kantai, interview.
23. It is not within the scope of this book, outlining the theoretical model of
theLINGO for the first time, to also evaluate the role of literary prizes in
detail. In this respect, remarkable research has been done by James F. English
(2008) and Sarah Brouillette (2007).
24. Wainaina, Some Day I Will Write about This Place, 188– 89.
25. Michael 23.
26. Ibid.
27. Ibid., 11– 12.
28. Ibid.
 Notes O

29.Ibid., 20.
30.Adesokan 55.
31.Ibid.
32.Jones 128.
33.Dingome, 687.
34.For more information on the CCF, please, see Hilton Kramer’s “What Was
the
Congress for Cultural Freedom?,” The New Criterion 8 (1990): 7; “Rajat Neogy
 O Notes

202

on the CIA,” Transition 32 (1967): 45– 46; and “Mphahlele on CIA,”

Transition 7, no. 3 (Dec.— Jan. 1967– 68): 5.
35. Adesokan 55.
36. Jones 128.
37. Ibid., 122.
38. Adesokan 55.
39. Mazrui, interview.
40. Ibid.
41. Adesokan 55.
42. Dominic Head, “Transition,” Cambridge Guide to English Literature.
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 1123.
43. Membership fees at FEMRITE have changed as follows: 277 USD (2008), 486
USD (2010), 418 USD (2011), 370 USD (2012) (Twongyeirwe, email to the
author on February 11, 2013).
44. Book sales at FEMRITE range from 6,913 USD (2004) to 2,871 USD (2006,
2011) and 5,543 USD (2012) (Twongyeirwe, email to the author on February
11, 2013).
45. “Our Partners and Supporters.” As of 2012, the total number of grants
accountedup to 54,579 USD.
46. Mutua 69.
47. For information on the issue of donors and the sustainability of African NGOs
also see Mutua 46.
48. For a critical study on African NGOs, please see Mutua 2009.
49. Kamencu, “Ikonya.”
50. Kamencu, “Ikonya: The Day After.”
51. The region of Northern Uganda has seen civil unrest since the late 1980s.
52. BTI, “Uganda Country Report” (2012).
53. Ibid.
54. Kwani Trust, “Statement on the Unlawful Arrest, Detention and Trial of
Ugandan Writer Kalundi Serumaga.”
55. Museveni introduced free primary education to Uganda.
56. “Up to now, there is no Ugandan woman on the examinable lists of secondary
schools . . . Uganda’s current examinable syllabus for O&A Level includes the
following Ugandans:, Timothy Wangusa, Austin Bukenya, John Ruganda,
Julius Ocwinyo and Okot p’Bitek. A miniature achievement for the Uganda
Women Writers Association however is, that among the two women listed on
the nonexaminable texts, is Regina Amollo with her book A Season of Mirth
(1999), which is a FEMRITE publication. The other Author is Connie
Hab’lyemye” (Twongyeirwe, “The Importance of Being Heard,”14– 15).
 O Notes

57. Ikoja- Odongo 7.

58. Ibid.
59. Ocwinyo, interview.
60. Ikoja- Odongo 8.
61. Ibid.
62. Makotsi, Publishing and Book Trade in Kenya, 151– 63.
 Notes O

203

63. In the late 1990s, Ruth Makotsi pointed out that the majority of Kenyans were
not being served due to a mismanagement of public library services, a lack of
governmental funds for development and purchase of books, and a lack of
reading centers throughout the country that would also blend well with the
countryside, rather than the usual intimidating buildings, which impede rather
than enhance library use (Makotsi 151– 63). At present, this situation seems
hardly to have improved.
64. BTI, “Kenya Country Report.”
65. Ibid.
66. Reuters, “Is Anyone Reading in Kenya?”
67. Ocwinyo, interview.
68. BTI, “Uganda Country Report.”
69. BTI, “Kenya Country Report.” 70. Reuters, “Is Anyone Reading in Kenya?”
71. Ikoja- Odongo, 43.
72. Wainaina, “Editor’s Rant,”415.
73. Ibid., 416.
74. Ikoja- Odongo, 44.
75. By 1967, the conflict between Beier and his Nigerian colleagues Soyinka and
Clark “had reached such extremes of bitterness that the latter requested that
Beier should submit an account of the Mbari funds, which he had been
managing since July 1961: the case was actually taken to the Ibadan High
Court” (Dingome, 687).
76. Ezenwa, Chinua Achebe: A Biography, 134.
77. When the war ended, T. O. Oriwariye, a medical practitioner with a passion
for art, and Aig Higbo, a poet and at that time the managing director of the
Ibadan branch of Heinemann Educational Publishers, tried to revive the
LINGO. Although some activity was maintained until 1975, the original
thrive and individuals of Mbari had disappeared (Dingome, 687–88).
78. Twongyeirwe, interview.
79. Ibid.
80. Ibid. 81. Ibid.
82. Ibid.
83. Looking back, Kyomuhendo remembers the circumstances that led to the
NGO’s first life- writing publication, Tears of Hope: “I’m the one who
initiated the idea in 2002, and not the donors. I just approached the Austrian
Embassy because I already knew that they were supporting legal aid clinics,
to give free legal advice to women who cannot afford to pay for lawyers. I
just figured that if women were brave enough to try and seek legal redress
 Notes O

against their abusers, then they would be brave enough to tell their stories. It
worked, and as you know, we published them” (Kyomuhendo, interview).
84. Twongyeirwe, interview.
85. Ibid.
86. Information gained through personal interviews with staff members in 2008.
87. Kwani Trust, A Report on Strategic Planning, 2.
88. Ibid.
89. Ibid., 12.
 O Notes

204

90. Kahora, “An Apprenticeship beyond the Writer,” 9.

91. Originally an idea of Shalini Gidoomal, the CKW was set to meet after the
church was burnt in Eldoret (personal conversation with Shalini Gidoomal in
July, 2008).

Chapter 5
1. Kantai, “Tongues on Fire— The Sheng Generation,” 193.
2. Owuor, email to the author on February 24, 2013.
3. Allen 6– 8.
4. Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, Homecoming, 6.
5. Ibid.
6. This subchapter will look at the positions by Chinua Achebe, Wole
Soyinka,Okot p’Bitek, and Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o for three reasons: (1) These
writers have played a decisive role for the development of African literatures
in English, and, (2) as shown in Chapter 4, they have also influenced the East
African Anglophone writing tradition as well as earlier African LINGOs.
Finally, (3) with their works and opinions these writers have gained national
as well as transnational attention. Considering the scope of this study, the
discussion of the viewpoints on the early Anglophone African writer is
therefore limited to these four writers.
7. Achebe, “The Novelist as a Teacher,” 103.
8. Ibid., 105.
9. Wilkinson, “Interview with Chinua Achebe,” 141.
10. Soyinka, “The Writer in A Modern African State,” 356.
11. Ibid.
12. Pambazuka, “Set the Truth Free: Soyinka the Activist.” 13. Jeyifo, Wole
Soyinka: Politics, Poetics, and Postcolonialism, 6– 10. 14. Pambazuka, “Set
the Truth Free: Soyinka the Activist.”
15. P’Bitek, “Artist, the Ruler,” 38– 41.
16. Ibid., 39.
17. To p’Bitek the term artist served as an umbrella term for any creative person of
society, such as writers, storytellers, sculptors, musicians, playwrights, or
painters (ibid., vi).
18. Ibid., 39.
19. Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, Writers in Politics, xii.
20. Ibid.
 O Notes

21. Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, Barrel of a Pen: Resistance to Repression in Neo-C

olonial Kenya, 68.
22. Ibid., 69.
23. Ibid.
24. Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, “Literature and Society: The Politics of the Canon,” in
Critical Perspectives on Ngũgĩ, ed. G. D. Killam (Washington, DC: Three
Continents Press,1984), 37.
25. Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, Writers in Politics, 24.
26. Ibid.
27. Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, Decolonising the Mind: The Politics of Language in
African Literature, 15.
 Notes O

205

28. Firoze Manji then was the editor in chief at Pambazuka News.
29. This message is represented here in its original form. It was forwarded to me
by a contact person who would like to remain anonymous.
30. Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, “Protect Your Families: Vote for an MP with Integrity.”
31. Maillu, Maillu: Behind the Presidential Motorcade.
32. Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, Barrel of a Pen, 69.
33. Ibid.
34. Neogy (1961) as quoted in Adesokan 49.
35. Lamwaka, interview.
36. Ibid. 37. Ibid. 38. Ibid.
39. Ibid.
40. Ibid. 41.
Ibid.
42. Ibid.
43. Baingana, interview.
44. Ibid. 45. Ibid. 46. Ibid.
47. Ibid.
48. Strauhs, “‘Guys, We Are Really Not Like This’: Jackee Budesta Batanda in
Conver-sation,” 69–74.
49. Ibid. 50. Ibid. 51. Ibid. 52. Ibid.
53. Ibid.
54. Strauhs, “‘You Don’t Have to Be a Dead, Old English Man to Be a Writer’:
Monica Arac de Nyeko in Conversation with Doreen Strauhs,” 151– 57.
55. Ibid. 56. Ibid. 57. Ibid. 58. Ibid. 59. Ibid. 60. Ibid. 61. Ibid. 62. Ibid. 63.
Ibid. 64. Ibid. 65. Ibid. 66. Ibid. 67. Ibid.
68. Ibid.
69. This writer wants to remain anonymous.
70. Ibid.
211 O Notes

71. Kiguli, “FEMRITE and the Woman Writer’s Position: Personal Reflections,”
173– 74.
72. Tindyebwa, interview.
73. Ntakamalize, interview.
74. This writer wants to remain anonymous.
75. Okurut, interview.
76. Ibid.
77. Wainaina, interview.
78. Ibid.
79. “Visiting Writer Wainaina Winning Worldwide Accolades.”
80. Wainaina, email to the author on February 25, 2013.
81. Kantai, interview.
82. Kantai, “Tongues on Fire,” 204.
83. Kibinge, interview.
84. Kamencu, interview.
85. Ibid. 86. Ibid. 87. Ibid.
88. Ibid.
89. This phrase is adapted from a comment made by Raja Rao in the foreword to
hisnovel Kanthapura (1938).
90. Conversation with Kaviti at Frankfurt University in February 2011.
91. Ibid.
92. Strauhs, “Goretti Kyomuhendo: English Has Become Part and Parcel of My
Life,” 287.
93. Ibid. 94. Ibid.
95. Kamencu, interview.
96. Kantai, “Tongues on Fire,” 193– 94.
97. Ibid., 204; emphasis in original.
98. FEMRITE, FEMRITE Celebrates Ten Years of the Pen: 1996–2 006
(Kampala, Uganda: FEMRITE Publishing Limited, 2006).

Chapter 6
1. Kristin Palitza, “Kenya: Words That Reshape a Country’s Identity; an
Interview with Billy Kahora.”
2. In Democratization: Theory and Experience, Laurence Whitehead points out,
“Democratization is best understood as a complex, long-t erm, dynamic and
open- end process . . . consisting of progress towards a more rule- based, more
consensual and more participatory type of politics” (Whitehead,
Democratization: Theory and Experience, 27). In adapting Whitehead,
democratization in this book is understood as the long-term, dynamic, and
212 O Notes

open-end process toward greater participation and variety in the literary

world.
3. Bourdieu, “The Intellectual Field: A World Apart,” 143.
4. Ibid., 145.
 Notes O

207

5. Ibid., “Field of Power, Literary Field and Habitus,” 162.

6. Ibid., The Field of Cultural Production, 37.
7. Ibid., 37– 38.
8. Ibid., “The Field of Power,” 162.
9. John, “Editor’s Introduction: Pierre Bourdieu on Art, Literature and Culture,”
6.
10. Ibid., 7.
11. Bourdieu, The Logic of Practice, 53.
12. John 5.
13. Ibid., 6– 7.
14. Bourdieu, “The Forms of Capital.”
15. Ibid.16. Ibid.
17. Ibid.
18. Ibid.
19. The idea of literary capital has also already been used by others. Thus Stephen
Parker and Matthew Philpotts acknowledge in their approach to Bourdieu’s
literary field, “For writers, literary capital becomes the vital currency, defined
and dispensed according to principles internal to the literary field itself . . . At
the same time, this capital may exist in material and embodied forms” (Parker
and Philpotts, Sinn and Form: The Anatomy of the Literary Journal, 5).
20. Kwani Trust, “A Report on Strategic Planning.”
21. Njogu 4.
22. Mwenda wa Micheni, “Kwani? Flouts Writing Rules.”
23. Ibid. 24. Ibid. 25. Ibid. 26. Ibid. 27. Ibid.
28. Ibid.
29. Wainaina, “Editorial,” Kwani 03, 11.
30. Njogu 4.
31. Ibid.
32. Mbũgua wa Mũngai, “Kaa Masaa, Grapple with Spiders,” 26.
33. Johnstone, “The Smasher,” 96.
34. Patel, “Seeing Ourselves in the Mirror.”35. Mbũgua wa Mũngai 25–26.
36. Mbũgua wa Mũngai and Samper, “No Mercy, No Remorse,” 51– 81.
37. Pambazuka, “South Africa: Lines of Attitude— Crossing Continents with
Street Art.”
38. Mbũgua wa Mũngai 26.
39. Ibid., 49. 40. Ibid., 29.
41. For an interpretation of Johnstone’s poem see also Ligaga 51.
42. Johnstone 101.
 Notes O

43. Ibid., 99.

215 Notes

44. For a critical discussion of the role of matatu slogans in Kenyan popular
culture, also see Nyairo, “Reading the Referents”: (Inter)Textuality in
Contemporary Kenyan Music.
45. Ligaga 51.
46. Kalamashaka translates to “We’ve endured troubles.”
47. The title loosely translates to “Chocolates, Sms’s, Promiscuity(?) and
Competition.”
48. Ukoo Flani Mau Mau is a collective of about 24 hip- hop musicians from the
lower-c lass urban estates of Nairobi and Mombasa. Ukoo Flani Mau Mau
translates to “a certain clan of Mau Mau.”
49. “That’s the news!” (Mahugu, “Captured,” 246– 63).
50. The Sheng word kura has different meanings. Depending on the context, it
can translate to “destiny, fate, chance.” The poem can be found in Kwani?
05 Part One (Kamanda, “Zana Za Vita Nashika,” 266– 67).
51. Ibid., 268– 69.
52. Kitu Sewer, “Die Nasty,” 363.
53. Ibid., 364.
54. For help with the translation I would like to thank John G. Njue from Iowa
University. The phrase translates to “Instead of a regular aerial (TV), put out
a sufuria (pot which can be used to make local satellite dishes to catch some
television waves in many parts of Kenya/or which is just simply a pot used
for cooking), so that I can give you food for your brain/so that I can teach
you.”
55. This phrase translates to: “Kwani? makes it all new;” or “Kwani? makes it
right! / It cleans completely.”
56. Kantai 193.
57. Ligaga 49.
58. Mphahlele, “Chemchemi,” 116.
59. Ibid.
60. Githiora, “Sheng: Peer Language, Swahili Dialect or Emerging Creole?”160.
61. Ibid., 159.
62. Ibid., 160.
63. Ibid.
64. Ibid.
65. Ogechi, “Trilingual Codeswitching in Kenya: Evidence from Ekegusii,
Kiswahili, English and Sheng,” 3.
66. Kaviti, “Rejoinder to Alina Rinkanya’s Article: Sheng Literature in Kenya:
A Revival,” 3.
216 Notes

67. Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths, and Helen Tiffin, Post- Colonial Studies:
The Key Concepts (London, UK: Routledge, 2002 [1998]), 137.
68. Ibid.
69. Wainaina, “Kalamashaka,” 58.
70. Ngĩgĩ, “Ukombozi Wa Ki Akilia Part 1,” 168.
71. The translation was provided by David Paul Mavia.
72. Mathare is a hospital for the mentally challenged. Mathare is also a cluster of
slumsin Nairobi.
73. Binyavanga Wainaina (ed.), “Sheng’speare,” in Kwani? 03 (Nairobi: Kwani
Trust, 2005), 167.
 Notes O

209

74. Njue, email to the author, April 4, 2010.

75. Kwani? 05.1.
76. Kwani? 05.2.
77. Kantai 204.
78. Ibid.
79. Wainaina, interview.
80. Kwani Trust has also been offering courses on blogging for creative writing,
such asat the Literature Festival in 2008.
81. Ligaga 47.
82. Engsh is also an age-m arked urban dialect of Kenyan Kiswahili, existing
apart from Sheng. From a linguistic point of view, it is not a version of Sheng,
although it also is a youth language. It thrives among the urban youth and
adolescents of the wealthier areas of Nairobi and therefore functions as a
social marker of higher socioeconomic status. Unlike Sheng, Engsh contains
Kiswahili elements but largely follows the English grammar and borrows
mostly from Gĩkũyũ, Dholuo, Luluhya, and Kikamba.
83. Wainaina and Garland, “Fw..Fw,” 103.
84. Ligaga 47; emphasis in the original.
85. Ibid., 48.
86. Wainaina and Garland, 105.
87. Kaviti 7.
88. Ibid.
89. Ligaga 48.
90. Ibid.
91. Ibid., 49.
92. Njogu 4.
93. Mochama, What if I Am a Literary Gangsta?, 2.
94. Bourdieu, The Field of Cultural Production, 163– 64.
95. Kwani Trust, “About Us” (2006).
96. Partington, “Talented Young Kenyan Writers— A Welcome Relief.”
97. Ligaga 47.
98. Njogu 4.
99. Ocwinyo, interview.
100. Kaiza, interview.
101. Ibid.
102. Okurut, The Official Wife, 39.
103. Ibid. 104. Ibid. 105. Ibid. 106. Ibid.
107. Ibid. 108.
Ibid.
 Notes O

109. Ibid., 40.

110. Kyomuhendo, Secrets No More, 17– 18.
1 11. See also Kiyimba, “Male Identity and Female Space in the Fiction of
Ugandan Women Writers.”
219 Notes

112. Kiguli, “I Am Tired of Talking in Metaphors.”

113. Kiguli, “FEMRITE and the Woman Writer’s Position,” 173.
114. My emphasis.
115. Tamale, “Eroticism, Sensuality and ‘Women’s Secrets’ among the Baganda:
A Crit-ical Analysis,” 9.
116. Kyomuhendo, Secrets No More, 152.
117. Kiguli, “FEMRITE and the Woman Writer’s Position,” 183.
118. Ibid., 180; my emphasis.
119. Kaiza, “Women Writers Rule.”
120. Bourdieu, “The Intellectual Field,” 145.
121. Milakovich and Gordon, Public Administration in America, 195.
122. Ibid.
123. Kalondo, “Editorial,” x.
124. The interviewee prefers to be anonymous.
125. The interviewee prefers to be anonymous.
126. The interviewee prefers to be anonymous.
127. Kwani Trust, A Report on Strategic Planning.
1 28. For further information, please compare the editorials of the Kwani? issues
and the notes about the editorial teams to see that the names appearing most
often in the publications of magazine are also those thanked most often for
their support of the magazine and the trust. Also see Odhiambo 35–36.
129. Wanjala as quoted in Reuters, “Is Anyone Reading in Kenya?”
130. Wanjala, email to the author on February 10, 2013.
131. Wanjala, interview.
132. Nyairo, interview.
133. Ibid.
134. Kiyimba, interview.
135. Strauhs, “‘Guys, We Are Really Not Like This,’” 69– 74.
136. De Nyeko, “Jambula Tree,” 164.
137. Ibid., 165.
138. Ibid., 169– 70.
139. Ibid., 171. 140. Ibid.
141. Ibid., 165.
142. Ibid., 174.
143. Ibid., 164.
144. Ibid.
145. Ibid., 164– 66. 146. Ibid., 165.
147. Ibid., 165– 66.
148. Ibid., 176.
220 Notes

149. Ibid.
150. Ibid.
151. Ibid., 177.
152. Ibid. 153. Ibid.
 Notes O

211

154. In Kenya like in Uganda, homosexuality is punishable according to Act 162

to 165 of Kenya’s penal code.
155. Patel, email to the author, October 20, 2009.
156. BBC, “Uganda to Pass Anti- Gay Law as ‘Christmas Gift,’” News Africa,
Accessed May 3, 2013, http:// www .bbc .co .uk/ news/ world - africa -
20318436.
157. Twongyeirwe, interview.

Chapter 7
1. Mwangi, Africa Writes Back to Self x– xi.
2. Twongyeirwe, interview.
3. Ibid. 4. Ibid.
5. Ibid.
6. “True Life Story,” FEMRITE: Uganda Women Writers’ Association, Accessed
January 30, 2013, http:// www .FEMRITEug .org/ ?view =5&type =True.
7. Ovonji-O dida, “Foreword,” in Tears of Hope (Kampala, Uganda: FEMRITE
Publications Limited, 2003), 1.
8. Wapakhabulo, “Foreword,” 1.
9. Dipio, “Forward,” v.
10. Ibid.
11. The survivor narratives at FEMRITE and Kwani Trust represent a form of
testimonial life writing. In my understanding of the survivor narrative in this
study, I follow Sidonie Smith and Julia Watson. The term survivor narrative,
they note,
“designates narratives by survivors of traumatic, abusive or genocidal
experience” (Watson and Smith, Reading Autobiography: A Guide for
Interpreting Life Narratives, 205). As such, survivor narratives are also
testimonials. In my understanding of the testimonial, I follow Paul Allatson
who notes that the “testimonial genre is a broad categorization that may
include, draw upon, or overlap with the concerns and conventions of many
other genres, from the memoir and autobiography, to confession, oral history,
and the nonfiction or ‘factual’ novel” (Allatson, Key Terms in Latino/a
Cultural and Literary Studies, 226).
12. Twongyeirwe, Today You Will Understand, 22.
13. Ibid.
14. Ndagijimana, “Frieda’s World,”44.
15. Dipio v.
 Notes O

16. Strauhs, “‘Guys, We Are Really Not Like This’: Jackee Budesta Batanda in
Conversation,” 69–74.
17. Michael A.König, Tom Lutalo, Fen Zhao, Fred Nalugoda, Fred Wabwire
Mangen, Noah Kiwanuka, Jennifer Wagman, David Serwadda, Maria Wawer
and Ron Gray. “Domestic Violence in Rural Uganda: Evidence from a
Community-B ased Study,” Bulletin of the World Health Organization 81
(2003): 53–60.
18. Ndagijimana, 25.
19. Ibid., 33.
20. Ibid.
21. Ibid., 38.
223 Notes

22. Ibid., 44.

23. Frieda built a house with the money she had made through the sale of
vegetables.
Her husband did not know about it.
24. Ibid., 47– 48.
25. Ibid., 45. 26. Ibid., 50.
27. Ibid.
28. Des Pres, The Survivor— Anatomy of Life in Death Camps, 32.
29. Kopecky, “Some for the Record,” 48.
30. Obwogi, “Kisii,” 280.
31. Munene, “Mathare,” 54– 55.
32. Mahugu, “Dandora,” 246.
33. Muraya, “Nakuru,” 61.
34. Kopecky, “Rift Valley,” 36.
35. Ibid.
36. Ibid., 39.
37. Ibid.
38. Ibid., 49.
39. Munene 55.
40. Formerly active as a politician of the Kenyan African National Union
(KANU), Stephen Musyoka Kalonzo served as minister of foreign affairs
between 1993 and 1998. In the wake of the election in 2002, Kalonzo
changed parties and became a member of the ODM. From 2007 to 2013, he
was vice president to Kibaki.
41. The strongest political opponent to Kibaki in 2007, Raila Odinga served as
prime minister of Kenya after the 2007 election.
42. Kopecky, “Rift Valley,” 49.
43. Were, “Kakamega,” 274.
44. McCrummen, “In Kenya, Ethnic Distrust Is as Deep as the Machete Scars.”
45. Ibid.
46. Kopecky, “Rift Valley,” 46.
47. Ibid., 49.
48. Obwogi 277.
49. Muraya 63.
50. Mahugu, “Dandora,” 242.
51. Omondi 238.
52. Ibid.
53. In the following, these texts are quoted as they appear in Kwani? 05 in terms
of style and language.
224 Notes

54. Billy Kahora, “Spreading the Word,” Kwani? 05.1 (2008): 294.
55. Ibid., 295. 56. Ibid., 293.
57. Ibid., 300.
58. For an overview of opinions on Mũngĩkĩ, see, for instance, Murunga, Kenya:
The Struggle for Democracy, 74– 76.
59. Kahora, “Spreading the Word,” 298.
60. Ibid., 299.
 Notes O

213

61. Kyomuhendo, interview.

62. Downing, As They See It: The Development of the African Aids Discourse, vii.
63. Ibid.
64. Ibid., viii.
65. Ibid. 66. Ibid.
67. Kruger, Women’s Literature, 150.
68. Kalipeni et al., HIV and AIDS in Africa: Beyond Epidemiology, 59.
69. Saskia Faulk and Jean- Claude Usunier, AIDS and Business (New York:
Routledge, 2009), 78.
70. For a discussion of these novels see Marie Kruger, Women’s Literature.
71. A discussion of HIV/AIDS in Okurut’s novel can be found in Kruger,
Women’s Literature, 83– 100.
72. Downing, vii.
73. Namukasa, Voice of a Dream, 13.
74. Ibid.
75. Ibid., 5.
76. Ibid. 77. Ibid.
78. Ibid.
79. Ibid., 7.
80. Ibid., 29.
81. Ibid., 9.
82. Ibid., 56.
83. Ibid. 84. Ibid.
85. Ibid., 11.
86. Kruger, Women’s Literature, 179.
87. Ibid.88. Ibid.
89. Ibid., 191.
90. This is the case, although Nurse Kina does not want to see Nanfuka married.
91. Namukasa 30–3 1.
92. Ibid., 7.
93. Ibid., 56.
94. Ibid.
95. Ibid., 57.
96. Ibid., 56.
97. Ibid.
98. Ibid., 63.
99. Ibid.
100.Ibid., 32. 101. Ibid., 30.
102. Ibid.
 Notes O

103. Ibid.
104. Garland, “The Obituary Man,” 162.
227 Notes

105. Ibid., 152.

106. Ibid. 107. Ibid.
108. Ibid.
109. Ibid., 151.
110. Ibid., 153. 111. Ibid., 148. 112. Ibid.
113. Ibid., 149.
114. Ibid., 153.
115. Ibid., 149. 116. Ibid., 152.
117. Ibid., 152– 53.
118. Ibid., 159.
119. Ibid., 149.
120. Ibid., 159.
121. Ibid., 162. 122. Ibid.
123. Ibid., 161.
124. Ibid., 162.

Chapter 8
1. Partington, “War on Kwani? Marks the Death of Literary Engagement and
Rise of Spite,” (2013).
2. Open Library,“Mbari Publications,” Accessed May 2, 2013, http://
www .openlibrary .org/ search?author_key =OL67096A&publisher
_facet=Mbari+Publications.
3. Strauhs, “Anglophone East African (Women’s) Writing since 2000: FEMRITE
and Kwani Trust,” 95– 122.
4. Brydon 1– 6.
5. Nambozo,“Beverley Nambozo Poetry Award,” The Exodus of Whatever,
Accessed May 2, 2013, www .theexodusofwhatever .blogspot .com.
6. Baingana, interview.
7. Storymoja, “The June 16 Read Aloud Campaign,” The Kenyan Reading
Revolution, Accessed June 30, 2011, www .networkedblogs .com/ jMqtj.
8. Goretti Kyomuhendo, “Purpose, Vision, Mission and Objectives.”
9. AWT, “AWT at Three.”
10. Kyomuhendo, “Purpose, Vision, Mission and Objectives.
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271 O Index

Bourdieu, Pierre
FEMRITE, texts produced by, 9
Batanda, Jackee Budesta, 147– 48 “The Forms of Capital,” 110– 11
Commonwealth Short Story literary field, theory of, 109– 10
Competition, 1 literary framework and, 109– 11
FEMRITE and, 2 model of African LINGO, 4
Macmillan Writers Prize, 74 The Rules of Art: Genesis and
politics and, 97–98 Structure of the Literary Field,
“Remember Atita,” 1 109– 10
Tears of Hope, contribution to, 157 sites of struggle, LINGO as, 142
bearing witness, 155–67 society, conception of, 109– 10
Beier, Ulli conflict with colleagues, Breitinger, Eckard, 14, 192n63
203n75 literary revolution and, 43, “Brief History of Genocide, A”
47, 49– 52, (Mamdani), 58
60, 66 Brydon, Diana, 183– 84
Benson, Peter “Metamorphoses of a Discipline:
Transition, Black Orpheus and Rethinking Canadian Literature
Modern within Institutional Contexts,” 3
Cultural Awakening in Africa, 4 Budding Writers’ Association of
Beverley Nambozo Poetry Award, 184 Zimbabwe (BWAZ), 31
Beyond the Dance, 87, 157 Bukenya, Austin, 13, 134, 202n56
Beyond the Vote: Maps and Journeys, Busara, 54
51 Business- Oriented NGOs (BONGOs),
Biafra, 86 23
Bitek, Juliane Okot, 147 “Butterfly Dream” (Lamwaka), 2
Black Orpheus, The BWAZ. See Budding Writers’
Afrophone languages, Association of Zimbabwe
121 founder of, 55 (BWAZ)
funding, 64 Mbari Clubs
and, 48, 52 Cactus (bar), 127
style of, 57– 60 Caine Prize for African Writing, 74–
blogging 75,
Kwani Trust, 6, 111, 129, 143– 44, 145
152, 165, 209n81 Baingana, Doreen, 1, 75
movement, generally, 126– 27, Kantai, Parselelo, 1
129 publisher, 184– 85 Lamwaka, Beatrice, 2
transnational connections, 47 Nyeko, Monica Arac de, 2, 74– 75,
BONGOs. See Business- Oriented 147, 151
NGOs Owuor, Yvonne, 1, 36
(BONGOs) Wainaina, Binyavanga, 1, 36– 37,
Book First, 85 72,
272 O Index

75– 76
Canadian literature “Metamorphoses of
a Discipline: Rethinking Canadian
Literature within Institutional
Contexts”
(Brydon), 3 capital, 110–
11 “Captured” (Mahugu), 120
case studies (FEMRITE and
Kwani Trust), 32– 33
Castells, Manuel
“Informationalism, Networks, and
the
Network Society: A Theoretical
Blueprint,” 30
CBP. See Children’s Book Project
(CBP)
Cheche Kenya, 54, 192n57
Chemchemi Creative
Center Chemchemi
News, 52 crisis
management, 88
 Index O 231

described, 42 early days, 42–44 Conference of African Writers at

as enduring phenomenon, 69–70 Makerere, 43, 196n23
funding, 60 institutional goals, Confessions of an AIDS Victim
45–46 journals, 53–54 languages (Adalla),
of publications, 121 local 168
publishing industry and, 64 local Congress for Cultural Freedom (CCF),
universities and, 50 purpose of, 60, 77
196n25 sociopolitical Conrad, Joseph
intervention and, 51 Heart of Darkness, 12 Cook,
sociopolitical situation and, 71 David, 13 crisis management, 88–90
talent, professionalizing, 48–49 Crisp, R. J., 58 critic, ridiculing, 131
transnational connections, 47 Crossing Border Program of the
Chemchemi News, 52 British Council, 74
Chibita, Monica, 34 Cross Roads: The Last Plague
Chiengo, Shem, 163 (Mwangi),
Children’s Book Project (CBP), 31 168
Chimurenga, 57, 59 cultural capital, 111
Chira (Macgoye), 168
Christian Science Monitor, The, Daily Nation, The, 19
66 CIA, 77 civil society “Dance with Me” (Batanda), 147
concept, 189n3 civil war, “Dangerous Minds,” 117– 19
survivor narratives, 156 December Twelve Movement, 54,
CKW. See Concerned Kenyan 192n57, 198n84
Writers Democratic Front for Peoples’
(CKW) Liberation
Clark, John Pepper, 43, 77 climate, (DFPF), 93
national outreach limitations Democratization: Theory and
and, 85 Experience
Club Soundd, 46 (Whitehead), 206n3 development
Coca-Cola, 62 of African LINGOs, 70– 76
“Cock Thief, The” (Kantai), 145 sociocultural situation, 74–76
Comb Books Ltd., 15–16, 65, 108, sociopolitical situation, 71–74
191n46 Devil on the Cross (Ngũgĩ wa
“Common Man,” 117–19 Thiong’o), 17, 191n41
Commonwealth Broadcasting Short DFPF. See Democratic Front for
Story Competition, 1, 147 Peoples’ Liberation (DFPF) Dhana, 54
“Comrade Lemma and the Black “Die Nasty” (Sewer), 120
Jerusalem Boy Band” (Kantai), Dingome, Jeanne, 64
1 Dipio, Dominic, 156, 157
Concerned Kenyan Writers (CKW), “Discovering Home” (Wainaina), 1,
89– 90, 101
 Index O 232

112 distribution partners, national

outreach limitations and, 85
diversity, 31, 33– 37
“Domestic Violence in Rural
Uganda:
Evidence from a Community-
Based
Study”
Tears of Hope, contribution to, 158–
59
Downing, Raymond,
167– 68 Drum, 54, 58,
59 durable habitus, 110
 O Index

232 political commitment, 86–88

publishing distribution network,
EALB. See East African Literature external limitations on, 82–86
Bureau sociocultural situation, 74–76
(EALB) sociopolitical situation, 71–74
EAPH. See East African Publishing English language, politics and, 102– 5
House (EAPH) ENGOs. See Environmental NGOs
East Africa Journal, The, 48 (ENGOs)
East African Anglophone writing Engsh, 209n83
(1940s– 1990s), 11–19 Environmental NGOs (ENGOs), 23
British initiative, 12 East equal treatment, demand for, 141– 42
African Literature Bureau, 12 Erapu, Laban, 13
Kenyan publishing industry (1970s), Exploring Mobile Technology for
15– 16 Social
Makerere campus, 12– 15 Development in New Delhi, 61
Nairobi University, 13– 15
writers, 16–18 Fairfield Foundation, 60– 63
East African Literature Bureau Farafina magazine, 32
(EALB), 12, 13, 16 Farafina Trust, 32
East African Publishing House Farming Ashes (Dipio), 156, 157
(EAPH), 13, 16 Faust, Johann, 30
East African Standard, The, 19, 113, Feminist Press, 2
129 FEMRITE
East African University, 13 Elam, African literary revolution and. See
Nick, 36– 37 electronic publishing, literary revolution
67–68, 126– 29 email, literary case study, 32– 33 crisis
framework and, 126–29 embodied management, 88–89
state, 110–11 emergency, state of in definition, 38
Kenya, 79–80 emotional
subordination of women, 141
enduring phenomenon, African
LINGOs as, 69– 90
crisis management, 88–90
development of African LINGOs,
70– 76 free speech,
suppression of, 79– 82 influence
and sustainability of African
LINGOs, factors limiting, 76–
90 non- African funding, negative
implications of, 77– 79
 O Index

early years, 1–2 as enduring

phenomenon, 69–90 English
language, politics and, 102– 5
feminist critique, 5 free speech
suppression and, 81 funding, 59–64
future scenarios, 183–85
historicized reading of, 8 HIV/AIDS
in fiction, 169–70 institutional
contests, 3 institutional goals, 44–46
interviews, 7 journals, 52–59 as
lasting phenomenon, 8 launching of,
194– 95n70 life writing, 155–56
literary frameworks, 108– 9, 134–
42.
See also literary frameworks,
FEMRITE
local publishing industry, 64– 68
non- African funding, negative
implications of, 78
overview, 21
politics and, 91–106
power struggles, 134– 42. See also
literary frameworks, FEMRITE
publications by, examination of, 9
public role of, 8, 91– 92
 Index O 235

publishing distribution network, future of African literary NGOs, 9

external limitations on, 82–86 “Fw..Fw” (Wainaina and Garland), 6,
Resource Center, 45 sociocultural 128– 29, 164, 183
situation, 74–76 sociopolitical
situation, 71–74 survivor narratives, Garland, Muthoni
155– 56, 157– 61, “Fw..Fw,” 6, 128– 29, 164, 183
165– 66 talent, Kwani Trust and, 185
professionalizing, 48–49 texts No Boundaries Limited,
produced by, nature of, 9 establishment of, 184
transnational connections, “The Obituary Man,” 170– 71, 177–
strengthening, 46–48 83 Ghana, Mbaasem, 31– 32
websites, 6 Ghana Association of Writers, 29
“FEMRITE and the Woman Writer’s Gĩkũyũ, 127, 163
Position in Uganda: Personal Githerio, 121
Reflections” (Kiguli), 66, 99 Global Standard NGOs: The Essential
FEMRITE Publications Limited, 38 Elements of Good Practice
FEMRITE Strategic Plan 2007– 2011, (Stillman),
38 23– 24
Fictions of Identity and Authority in “Going Home” (Bitek), 147
Postcolonial Kenyan Women’s GONGOs. See Government- Operated
Literature (Kruger), 200n141 NGOs (GONGOs)
“Fig Tree, The” (Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o), Government- Operated NGOs
190n15 (GONGOs), 23, 25
Ford Foundation, 36– 38, 60, 62, 64, 78 G- Wijii, 120
“Forms of Capital, The” (Bourdieu),
110– 11 Forna, Aminatta, “Habari Ndiyo Hiyo!” (Mahugu),
197n51 for-profit status of 120 habitus, 110–11 Hamilton
LINGOs, 27– 28 Fountain House, 46
Publishers, Inc., 72, 84 free Heart of Darkness (Conrad), 12
speech, 131– 33 Heinemann African Writers’ Series, 43
suppression of, 79– 82 “Heirs of Tradition or Veiled
Free Traveling Theater. See Makerere Anxieties? Romance, Sex, and
Free Traveling Theater Marriage in
“Frieda’s World” Contemporary Ugandan Women’s
Tears of Hope, contribution to, 158– Short Stories” (Spencer), 5
60 Hirst, Terry, 58
Fulani, Jambazi, 120 HIV/AIDS, 167–82
funding facts and fiction, 168–69
literary revolution and, 59– 64 FEMRITE, 169–70
non- African funding, negative
implications of, 77– 79
 Index O 236

prevention, 26
publications, 169–71
specific titles, 171–82
survivor narratives, 156
homosexuals
Anti-Homosexuality Bill, Uganda,
151 Horn, The, 43, 54, 56
“How to Write about Africa”
(Wainaina),
32– 33, 145
Humes, Valerie, 56
Huxley, Elspeth, 12

“I Am Tired of Talking in Metaphors”

(Kiguli), 137–41
Ibadan University, 108
English Department, 43
234 O Index

I Dare to Say, 156, 168, 171 Kahora, Billy, 37, 143, 146, 196n34
identity, African. See African Kaiza, David, 41, 134, 142
identity Igiza Productions, 71 Kalamashaka (band), 120, 123
Ikoja- Odongo, Robert, 67, 83 Kalimugogo, Godfrey, 13
Ikonya, Philo, 80 Kalondo, Ebba, 144
income, national outreach limitations, Kalonzo, Stephen Musyoka, 212n40
84– 85 Kama, 120
Independence, The (UK), 111 Kamencu, Kingwa, 80, 102
“Informationalism, Networks, and the “Literary Gangsters? Kwani,
Network Society: A Theoretical Radical Poetics and the 2007
Blueprint” (Castells), 30 Kenyan
INGOs. See Internationally Oriented Postelection Crisis,” 15
NGOs (INGOs) Kamĩrĩĩthũ Theater Project, 17, 192n51
“Innocent Blood,” 118 Kantai, Parselelo, 75
institutional contexts, 3–4 Caine Prize for African Writing, 1
institutional goals, African “The Cock Thief,” 145
literary revolution, 44– 46 “Comrade Lemma and the Black
institutionalized state, 110 Jerusalem Boy Band,”
intermediary organizations, LINGOs 1 experience of, 146 Kwani
as, 25– 26 Trust and, 2 perspectives of, 5
“Internally Misplaced” (Mwangi), 145 politics and, 101–2 on Sheng
Internationally Oriented NGOs texts, 126 Karago, Njeir,
(INGOs), 23 195n85
International Monetary Fund, 191n45 Kaviti, Lillian, 122–23, 127
Internet, literary framework and, 108, Kendall, Kathleen, 194– 95n70
126– 29 interviews quoted, list Kenya. See also Kenya and Uganda
of, 187– 88 Invisible Weevil, The emergency, state of, 79– 80
(Okurut), 168–69 survivor narratives, 161– 67
Irele, Abiola, 55, 195n6 writers, 16–18
Isegawa, Moses, 18 Kenya and Uganda, 1– 9
competing works, 4– 5 free
Jahn, Jahnheinz, 52 speech, suppression of, 79– 82
“Jambula Tree” (Nyeko), 2, 33, 148– institutional contexts, 3–4
52 interviews, 7 publications, 6
Joe, 54, 58, 59 research material on, 6– 7
Johnstone, Ralph, 113 strategic plans, 6
“The Smasher,” 6, 112, 114– 19 websites, 6
Jones, Stephanie, 55– 56 Kenya Communication Act of 1998,
“Junior Mafia,” 118 79
Kenya Communications (Amendment)
Kabaji, Egara, 129–30, 133 Bill, 79
235 O Index

Kenya Communications Bill 2008, 80

Kenya Communications commission,
80
“Kenya I Know, The” 51, 121
“Kenya I Live In, The” 51, 121
“Kenya I Want, The” 51
Kenyan Kiswahili dialect, 121
Kenyan Nation Media Group, 111
Kenyan publishing industry (1970s),
15– 16
“Kenyan Reading Revolution, The”
185
“Kenya’s Rising Culture Hub,” 66
 Index O 235

Kenyatta, Jomo, 17, 29 167

Kenyatta University, 54, 71– 72, 129 Kwani? 06, 52
Keshubi, Hope, 168 Kwani? 07, 52
Kiarie, John, 71– 72 “Kwani? Exploring New Literary
Kiarie, Kairo, 37 Spaces in Kenya” (Ligaga), 57,
Kibaki regime, 29, 79, 94 127
Kibinge, Judy, 37, 102, 144 Kwani? Litfest, 41, 46, 51, 197n51
Kiboza (TV show), 81 Kwanini (journal), 32
Kiguli, Susan, 51, 66, 99, 134, 183 Kwanini series, 65
“I Am Tired of Talking in Metaphors,” Kwani Trust, 1
137– 41 African literary revolution and. See
Kimenye, Barbara, 14, 65 literary revolution
Kioko, Stephen, 161–62 Africa-wide Short Story Call Out,
Kiyimba, Abasi, 148, 151 45– 46 case study, 32– 33
Knight, Elizabeth, 196n25 crisis management, 88–89 early
König, Michael, 158–59 years, 2 as enduring phenomenon,
Kopecky, Arno, 46, 161, 167 69–90 English language, politics
Kruger, Marie, 5 and, 102– 5 free speech suppression
Fictions of Identity and Authority in and, 79– 82 funding, 59–64 future
Postcolonial Kenyan Women’s scenarios, 183–85 HIV/AIDS in
Literature, 200n141 fiction, 170–71 institutional
Women’s Literature in Kenya and contests, 3 institutional goals, 45–
Uganda: The Trouble with 46 journals, 53–54 Kwani
Modernity, 32, 168 magazine, 5 as lasting
Kauli Raia-Tunakaata, 54 phenomenon, 8 life writing, 161–67
literary frameworks, 108– 9, 111–
“Kura” (G- Wijii), 120
33.
Kurtz, Roger, 5, 16
See also literary frameworks,
Kwani?, 5, 36– 37
Kwani Trust literary
funding, 61 Poetry
Open Mic, 46 vs. revolution and, 50– 51 local
Transition, 54– 59 publishing industry, 64– 68
Kwani? 01, 72, 114, 127, 131 non- African funding, negative
implications of, 78
Kwani? 02, 131, 144
overview, 21 politics and, 91–106
Kwani? 03, 59, 120, 128, 131–33
power struggles, 111– 33. See also
Kwani? 04, 120, 126, 128, 129, 170,
literary frameworks, Kwani Trust
177
publications by, examination of, 9
Kwani? 05 politics
publishing distribution network,
and, 101 Sheng
external limitations on, 82–86
texts, 120, 124
registration of, 38 as social
struggle and, 145
network, 194n39 sociocultural
survivor narratives, 156, 161, 163–64,
 Index O 236

situation, 74–76 survivor

narratives, 161– 67 talent,
professionalizing, 48–49
transnational connections,
strengthening, 46–48
Kyomuhendo, Goretti
English language and, 103
FEMRITE and, 2
236 O Index

Kyomuhendo, Goretti (continued) as intermediary organizations, 25–

HIV/AIDS in fiction, 169 26 interviews, 7 as literary
“Making Heard the Untold Stories institutions, 25
of Marginalized Women,” 87 local publishing industry, 27, 64–
National Theatre and, 34 Secrets No 68 nature of, 91– 92 nonprofit
More, 134– 37, 141– 42, 183 status, 27–28 organizational forms,
survivor narratives and, 166 22–23 overview, 7– 8, 21– 40
Tears of Hope and, 203n83 periodicals, 52–59 politics, African
“To Be an African Woman Writer: writers and, 91–106 as public
The Joys and Challenges,” 48– 49, body, 96– 102 public space, 29–30
65 Waiting, 1– 2, 33 women’s as sites of struggle, 142–52 as
rights, generally, 138, 141 social networks, 30– 31, 194n39
sustainability of African LINGOs,
Ladipo, Duro, 43 factors limiting, 76–90
Lamwaka, Beatrice, 96, 147–48 theater for development versus,
“Butterfly Dream,” 2 26 transnational dimension of,
Caine Prize for African Writing, 2 26 twenty- first century, 31– 37
Lavington Green, 46 websites, 6 writer’s guilds
“Life and Times of Richard Onyango, versus, 28– 29
The” (Onyango), 145 literacy, national outreach limitations,
life writing, 155–82 84 literary capital, 111 literary field,
bearing witness, 155–67 Bourdieu’s theory of,
survivor narratives, 155– 67 109– 10 literary
Ligaga, Dina, 4–5, 57– 58, 126– 27, frameworks, 107– 53
130– 31 authority, 109– 11
Lindfors, Bernth, 64 FEMRITE, 108–9, 134– 42. See also
LINGOs (African literary NGOs) literary frameworks, FEMRITE
administrative structure, 24 Kwani Trust, 108– 9, 111– 33. See
African literary revolution. See also literary frameworks, Kwani
literary revolution Trust
case studies (FEMRITE and Kwani sites of struggle, LINGO as, 142–52
Trust), 32– 33 definition of, literary frameworks, FEMRITE, 134–42
22– 31 development of, 70– 76 equal treatment, demand for, 141–
diversity, 31, 33– 37 as enduring 42 struggle, sites of, 147– 52 taboo
phenomenon. See enduring breakers, 142 women’s rights and,
phenomenon, African 137– 41
LINGOs as literary frameworks, Kwani Trust, 111–
for-profit status, 27– 28 funding, 24 33
future scenarios, 183–85 influence critic, ridiculing, 131 email
of African LINGOs, factors and, 126–29 free speech,
limiting, 76–90 131– 33 imbalance, 144–45
Internet and, 126– 29
237 O Index

matatuisms, 114–19 rule

breaking, 129– 31 Sheng
texts, 120– 26 struggle, sites
of, 143– 47 Vain Jang’o
letter, 126– 29, 164
“literary gangsters,” 15, 129, 131
 Index O 237

“Literary Gangsters? Kwani, Radical Sunrise,” 13

Poetics and the 2007 Kenyan “Maddo,” Paul Kelemba, 71
Postelection Crisis” (Kamencu), Mahugu, Mwas, 120
15 literary institutions, LINGOs as, Maillu, David
25 literary NGO, use of term, 2 book series, 65, 67 Comb
literary revolution, 41– 68 Books Ltd., 108 politics and,
academic network, outside, 49–51 95 publishing industry and, 15,
agendas, 44 ambitions, common, 16
42–52 Anglophone LINGO, Majana, Annette, 37
prominence of, Makerere
42– 44 beginnings of, Africa-wide conference, 46
42– 44 Chemchemi Creative Conference of African Writers at
Center. See Makerere, 43
Chemchemi Creative Center Makerere Free Traveling Theater, 13,
electronic publishing and, 67–68 14 “Makerere: The Place of the Early
funding, 59–64 institutional goals, Sunrise” (Macpherson), 13
44–46 local publishing industry, Makerere University, 12– 15
impact of LINGOs, 64– 68 Mbari Department of Information Science,
Club. See Mbari Clubs objectives, 67
common, 42–52 periodicals, 52–59. English Department, 12– 13, 33–
See also periodicals sociopolitical 35
intervention and, 51– 52 talent, “Making Heard the Untold Stories
professionalizing, 48–49 transnational of Marginalized Women”
connections, strengthening, 46–48 (Kyomuhendo), 87
Liyong, Taban Lo, 14– 15, 17– 18, Makotsi, Ruth, 203n63
108 local publishing industry,
Maliti, Tom, 195n85
LINGOs and,
Mamdani, Mahmood, 58
27, 64– 68 electronic
Mangeni, Patrick, 41, 47, 74– 76
publishing, 67–68 small
Mangua, Charles local publishing
scale trendsetting, 64–67
industry and, 67 Son of Woman,
Lord’s Resistance Army,
16
157 Lumumba, Yusuf,
A Tail in the Mouth, 16
162– 63 Luo community,
Mashifta (band), 120, 123
127
Matathia, Charles, 146
matatuisms, 114–19
Macgoye, Marjorie Oludhe, 168
anadiplosis, 116
“Machoco, maSMS, Hanyaring na
“Common Man,” 117–19
Kompe,” 120
“Dangerous Minds,” 117– 19
Macmillan Writers Prize Africa, 74
“Innocent Blood,” 118
Namukasa, Glaydah, 1
“Junior Mafia,” 118
Macpherson, Margaret
“Mighty Undertaker,” 118
“Makerere: The Place of the Early
 Index O 238

“Nasty Boys,” 118

“Never Quit,” 116
“No Doubt,” 116– 17
“No Pain No Gain,” 116
“Shit Happens,” 119
“Undertaker Senior,” 118
Matigari (Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o), 18
Matrix, The (film), 133
Mazrui, Ali, 77
Mbaasem, 31–32
238 O Index

Mbari Clubs The Black Orpheus, What if I Am a Literary Gangsta?,

48, 52 collapse of, 86 crisis 131 model of African LINGO, 4
management, 88 described, 42 Moi, Daniel arap, 17– 18, 29, 71– 72,
early days, 42–44 as enduring 80
phenomenon, 69–70 funding, Monday Readers’ and Writers’ Club, 47
60 institutional goals, 44–46 Mong’are, Walter, 71– 72
journals, 54, 56 languages of Monitor, The, 72, 81
publications, 121 local Mother Hen nickname, 35
publishing industry and, 64 “Moto” (song), 120
local universities and, 50 Mphahlele, Es’kia, 43–44, 49– 51, 58,
Mbari Committee, 43 60,
Mbari-Enugu Club of Eastern Nigeria, 77, 196n24
43 Mumo, Malla, 195n85
Mbari-Mbayo Club of Oshogbo, Muneni, Irene, 162
43 as nonprofit organization, 43 Murugi, Mercy, 162
sociopolitical situation and, 71 Museveni, Yoweri, 18, 73, 82
talent, professionalizing, 48–49 Musila, Grace, 5
transnational connections, 47 Mutahi, Wahome
writers involved in, 108 outspoken nature of, 18– 19
Mbari-Enugu Club of Eastern Nigeria, Sheng texts and, 122
43 sociopolitical situation and, 71–
Mbari-Mbayo Club of Oshogbo, 43 72
Mbowa, Rose, 13– 14, 134 “Whispers,” 19, 108, 115
Mbũgua wa Mũngai, 115 Mutua, Makau, 29, 78
Mburu, Mike, 37, 66, 85 Mwananchi, Bunge la, 80
McKah. See Ngigi, Samuel Kang’ethe Mwangaza, 54
Men Only, 54 Mwangi, Evan, 155
Mensah, Enoch Yaw, 171 Mwangi, Meja, 168
“Metamorphoses of a Discipline: Mwangi, Wambui, 51, 145
Rethinking Canadian Literature within Mysterious Killer, The (Situma), 168
Institutional Contexts”
(Brydon), 3 Nagenda, John, 55
Metro Bookstores, 84 Nairobi, free speech suppression, 80
Miami Herald, 111 Nairobi Bookfair, 66
Michael, Sarah, 69– 70, 90 “Nairobi Reloaded” (Fulani), 120
“Mighty Undertaker,” 118 Nairobi University, 5, 13– 15, 50
Mochama, Tony background of, 146 Department of Literature, emergence
East African Standard, 129 poetry of, 17
of, 183 “The Poetry Police,” 6, Nexus, 48, 53
131– 33 sites of struggle and, 144 Nambozo, Beverley, 184
Namukasa, Glaydah, 147
239 O Index

FEMRITE and, 2
Macmillan Writers Prize Africa, 1,
74
Voice of a Dream, 1, 169, 171–77,
183 narrative, generally, 107 “Nasty
Boys,” 118 national outreach
limitations
infrastructure, 85
language, 84
 Index O 239

National Resistance Movement (NRM), Management, Policy (Anheier),

72 22 nonprofit status of LINGOs, 27–
National Theatre, 34– 35 28
Nazareth, Peter, 13 “No Pain No Gain,” 116
Nderitu, Moses Nginya, 162 “Notes from a Dangerous Man’s
“Ndoto, Ni Ukweli Zeuja Kweli” Diary,”
(G- Wijii), 120 55– 56
Neogy, Rajat funding and, 60– “Novelist as a Teacher, The”
63 Kwani? vs. Transition, (Achebe), 92 Noveno, Nina, 46
55– 57 non- African NRM. See National Resistance
funding, negative Movement (NRM)
implications of, 77– 78 Ntakamalize, Margaret, 99– 100
“Never Quit,” 116 Ntiru, Richard, 13
New Era: The Magazine That Portrays Nyairo, Joyce, 148
Our Identity and Dignity, 52– 53 Nyang’oro, Julius, 71
New Reader’s Guide, The, 16 Nyeko, Monica Arac de
New Vision, The, 72 Caine Prize for African Writing,
New York Times, 57 2,
Nexus, 48, 53 74– 75, 151
Ngaahika Ndeenda (Ngũgĩ wa FEMRITE and, 2, 98–99
Thiong’o), “Jambula Tree,” 2, 33, 148– 52
17 “Strange Fruits,” 147
Ngigi, Samuel Kang’ethe, 6, 124–25 “Nyof Nyof” (Fulani), 120
NGO, use of term, 193n26
NGO LINGO, use of term, 2 “Obituary Man, The” (Garland),
Ngũgĩ, James. See wa Thiong’o, Ngũgĩ 170–
Ng’weno, Hillary, 58 71, 177– 83 objectified state,
Nigeria 110 objectives, literary revolution,
Abuja Literary Society, 31 42– 52
Farafina Trust, 32 Obote, Milton, 14, 18, 77
Mbari Clubs. See Mbari Clubs Ochiengo, Vincent, 164
Njogu, Kimani, 68, 113–14 Ocwinyo, Julius, 84
Njoroge, Jesse, 162 Odhiambo, Tom, 5
Njue, John G., 125, 208n55 Odinga, Raila, 79
Njuguna, Tony, 71– 72 Odipo, Jacob, 80
Nkosi, Lewis, 66 Official Wife, The (Okurut), 134–37,
No Boundaries Limited, 184– 141– 42
85 “No Doubt,” 116– 17 non- Oghude, Margaret, 200n141
African funding, negative Ogola, George, 15, 54, 58
implications of, 77– 79 Ogot, Grace, 200n141
Non- Profit Organizations: Theory, Ogude, James, 5
 Index O 240

Okigbo, Christopher, 43, 56

Okurut, Mary Karooro diversity
and, 33–35 funding and, 62
The Invisible Weevil, 168– 69
Mbari Club and, 51 The Official
Wife, 134– 37, 141– 42 politics and,
100 sociopolitical situation and, 73
women’s rights, generally, 138, 141
Omara, Tom, 13 One
Movement System, 73
Onyango, Richard, 145
Onyeama, Dillibe, 59
Opanda, Lin’Gabo Samson, 163– 64
240 Index

O
131– 33 politics, African
writers and, 91–106
Orange Democratic Movement (ODM), English language, 102– 5 1960s
161– 62, 212n40 and 1970s, 92–95 public body,
Oriwariye, T. O., 203n77 LINGO as, 96–102 Potash. See
Owuor, Yvonne, 145 on African Matathia, Charles power struggles
writers, 91 Caine Prize for African Kwani Trust, 111– 42. See also
Writing, 1, 36 literary frameworks,
Kwani Trust and, 2 FEMRITE; literary
“Weight of Whispers,” 1 frameworks, Kwani Trust
Owuor-Anyumba, Henry, 15 PRONACO. See Pro- National
Conference Organizations
Pambana, The Struggle, 17 Parker, (PRONACO)
Stephen, 207n20 participation, 49, Pro- National Conference
61, 71, 73, 197n51, 200n141 Organizations
Partington, Steve, 130– 31, 144 (PRONACO), 93
Patel, Shailja, 114 public body, LINGO as, 96–102
Paulissen, Vivian, 59– 60 public space, LINGOs (African
P’Bitek, Okot, 13–15 literary
“Artist, the Ruler,” 93 NGOs), 29– 30 publishing
contributions of, 204n5 distribution network, external
Song of Lawino, 14 limitations on, 82–86
Transition and, 108 climate, 85 distribution
PEN Kenya, 29, 80 partners, 85 income, 84–85
Penpoint, 13, 54 infrastructure, 85 language,
PEN Uganda, 29 84 literacy, 84 safety, 85
periodicals, 52–59. See also specific transnational networks, 85–
periodical 86
plurality, 52– 54 publishing industry
purpose of, 52– 54 decline in, 191n45 local. See
Petals of Blood (Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o), local publishing industry,
17, LINGOs and
191n41 Pumpkin Seeds and Other Gifts, 48
Phiks, 115
Philpotts, Matthew, 207n20 Quasi- Autonomous NGOs
Poe, Edgar Allan, 112 (QUANGOs), 23
Poems from East Africa (Rubadiri), 13
Radio Uganda, 192n63
Poetry Call Out, 51
“Redykyulass Generation’s Intellectual
Poetry Open Mic (Kwani?), 46
Interventions in Kenyan Public
“Poetry Police, The” (Mochama), 6,
Life,
241 Index

The” (Musila), 5
Redykyulass Group, 72, 95
“Remember Atita” (Batanda), 1
Richards, Charles Granston
East African Literature Bureau and,
12
“Role of Non- Governmental
Organizations in African
Development: Critical Issues,
The”
(Wallace), 69
Rubadiri
Poems from East Africa, 13
Ruganda, John, 13, 202n56
 O

rule breaking, literary frameworks, sociopolitical intervention, literature as

129– 31 tool for, 51– 52
Rules of Art: Genesis and Structure of sociopolitical situation, 71–74 free
the speech, suppression of, 79– 82
Literary Field, The (Bourdieu), Song of Lawino (p’Bitek), 14
109– 10 Son of Woman (Mangua), 16
Soyinka, Wole, 43
safety, national outreach limitations, 85 contributions of, 204n5
Schappell, Elizabeth, 1, 41 funding and, 77–78
Screen Writers Guild of Nigeria, 29 Index 241
Season of Harvest, The (Wanjala),
191n40 Mbari Clubs and, 50–51, 108
Secrets No More (Kyomuhendo), 134– politics and, 92–93, 95 The
37, 141– 42, 183 Swamp-Dwellers: The Trials of
“Seeing Ourselves in the Mirror” Bother Jero, 183
(Patel), “The Writer in a Modern African
114 State,” 92
Seruma, Eneriko, 13, 197n51 Spencer, Lynda Gichanda
Serumaga, Kalundi, 81– 82 “Heirs of Tradition or Veiled
Serumaga, Robert, 13, 81– 82 Anxieties? Romance, Sex, and
Sewer, Kitu, 120 Marriage in Contemporary
Sex Is a Nigger’s Game (Onyeama), 59 Ugandan Women’s Short
Shakespeare English, 125 Stories,” 5
“Sheng Generation,” 121 Spillman, Rob, 1, 41
Sheng texts, 120– 26, 183 “Statement on the Unlawful Arrest,
socioeconomics and, 122 Detention and Trial of Ugandan
“Shit Happens,” 119 Writer Kalundi Serumaga,” 81
Sibley, John, 13 Stillman, Grant B.
Sicherman, Carol, 17 Global Standard NGOs: The
Simatei, Tirop, 5 Essential
Situma, Joseph, 168 Elements of Good Practice, 23– 24
“Smasher, The” (Johnstone), 6, 112, Storymoja (publisher), 184– 85
114– 19 “Strange Fruits” (Nyeko), 147
SMS flyer, 164– 65 SMS Stratford, R. J., 58
technology, 126, 128– 20 Sunday Salon, 46
social networks, LINGOs as, 30– 31, Sunday Standard Literary Forum, The,
194n39 113 survivor narratives, 155– 67
sociocultural situation, 74–76 FEMRITE, 157–61, 165– 66
socioeconomic conditions, Sheng texts HIV/AIDS in fiction, 167–82
and, 122 Kwani Trust, 161– 67
Swahili, 121
 O

Swamp- Dwellers: The Trials of Bother

Jero, The (Soyinka), 183

taboo breakers, 142 Tail in the

Mouth, A (Mangua), 16 talent,
professionalizing, 48–49
Tamale, Sylvia, 141
TANGOs. See Technical Assistance
NGOs (TANGOs)
Tanzania
Children’s Book Project (CBP), 31
Tears of Hope, 156– 60, 203n83
Technical Assistance NGOs
(TANGOs), 23 theater for development
versus LINGOs, 26
Theroux, Paul, 57, 77
Things Fall Apart (Achebe), 12
Thompson, John, 60– 61
244

O Index Uganda Airlines, 62

Uganda Women Writers’ Association,
Tindyebwa, Lilian, 99 To a 202n56
Young Woman (Keshubi), 168 Uganda Writers Association, 29
“To Be an African Woman “Ukombozi Wa Ki Akili Part 1”
Writer: The Joys and (McKah), 6, 124
Challenges” Ukoo Flani Mau Mau (band), 120, 123–
(Kyomuhendo), 48– 49, 65 24
Today You Will Understand, 157, 161– Ulansky, Gene, 43
64 “Undertaker Senior,” 118
Transition crisis management, 88 Underwriting Development: The
described, 42, 54 as enduring Absence of
phenomenon, 69–70 funding, Power among Local NGOs, 29
60–62 Kwani? vs., 54– 59 local Upande Mwingine, 54
publishing industry and, 67
non- African funding, negative Vain Jang’o letter, 126– 29, 164
implications of, 77– 78 various independent fields, 109
sociopolitical situation and, 71 Voice of a Dream (Namukasa), 1,
writers involved in, 108 169,
Transition, Black Orpheus and Modern 171– 77, 183
Cultural Awakening in Africa
(Benson), 4 Wachuka, Angela, 38– 39
Transition 2, 55 Wainaina, Binyavanga
Transition 3, 55 Caine Prize for African Writing,
Transnational networks, 85– award to, 1, 36–37, 72, 75– 76
86 trendsetting, 64– 67 Tripp, contributions of, generally,
Ali M., 72 113 “Discovering Home,” 1,
Tropical Fish: Stories Out of Entebbe 112 funding and, 63
(Baingana), 1, 33, 169 “Fw..Fw,” 6, 128–29, 164,
True Love, 54 183
Trust Viva, 54 “How to Write about Africa,” 32–
Tutuola, Amos, 42– 43 33,
Twaweza Communications, 25 145
Twongyeirwe, Hilda, 34, 50, 52, 62– on the Internet, 126–27
64, journalism experience, 146
66, 184 journals, 57
Kwani Trust and, 2, 35– 37, 50–
Uganda. See also Kenya and Uganda 51 as “literary gangster,” 129
Anti- Homosexuality Bill, 151 local publishing industry and, 66
survivor narratives, 156, 157– 61, perspectives of, 5 politics and,
165– 66 100–101 Sheng texts and, 124
245

sister of, 46 sites of struggle and,

143, 144 sociopolitical situation
and, 72 Young Global Leader
Prize, 101
Waiting (Kyomuhendo), 1– 2, 33
Wallace, Tina, 69
Wamae, Joan, 84 Wambui, Kezia, 162
wa Micheni, Mwenda, 111–13, 129–
30 Wangusa, Timothy, 13, 202n56
Wanjala, Chris, 15, 16, 146, 191n40
Wanjiru, June, 46
Washington Post, The, 111,
163 Wassermann, Stanley, 31
wa Thiong’o, Ngũgĩ
arrest of, 17– 18
contributions of, 204n5
Devil on the Cross, 17
 O

early creative writing, 13–15 “Zana Za Vita Nashika” (Kama), 120

“The Fig Tree,” 190n15 free Zimbabwe
speech suppression and, 80 Budding Writers’ Association of
Matigari, 18 Zimbabwe (BWAZ), 31
Mbari Clubs and, 43 Zimbabwe Women Writers (ZWW), 26,
Ngaahika Ndeenda, 17 47, 83
periodicals, 55 Petals of Zimbabwe Writers Union, 29
Blood, 17, 191n41 Zirimu, Elvania, 13
politics and, 92–95 ZWW. See Zimbabwe Women Writers
Transition and, 108 “Watu (ZWW)
People’s Dilemma” (Sewer), 120 wa
Wamwere, Koigi, 17 W. E. B. du
Bois Institute of Harvard
University, 198n86
websites, 6
“Weight of Whispers” (Owuor), 1, 145
What if I Am a Literary Gangsta?
(Mochama), 131
“Whispers” (Mutahi), 19, 108, 115
Whitehead, Laurence, 206n3 Women’s
Literature in Kenya and Uganda:
The Trouble with Modernity
(Kruger), 5, 32, 168 women’s
rights, literary frameworks, 137– 41
Index 243

Woodson, Dorothy, 58
Wordwrite, 53
World Bank Statistics, 86
World Economic Forum, 101
“Writer in a Modern African State,
The”
(Soyinka), 92
Writers Association of Kenya, 29
Writers’ Dawn (Uganda television), 47
Writers’ Guild of South Africa, 29
writer’s guilds versus LINGOs, 28– 29
Writers’ Residence, 47– 48

Young Global Leader Prize, 101