VOLUME FIVE NUMBER THREE

1s ad April 1966

46/THE NEW AFRICAN/APRIL 1966

VOLUME FIVE NUMBER THREE

47 THE TRiPLE CHALLENGE: R. H. Green

49 LESOTHO DILEMMA: Ian Ha-mnett

DAKAR FESTIVALSUPPLEMENT51 NIGHT OF FREEDOM: Cyprian Ekwensi

54 A FEW NIGHTS AND DAYS: Mbella SonneDipoko

57 DOCUMENT AND IMAGINATION: O. R. Dathorne

60 FROM RENIN TO ZULULAND

62 NEGRITUDE - THE THIRD PHASE: WillfriedFeuser

69 LOOKING FOR A RAIN GOD: Bessie Head

73 THE CASE OF THE TWINS - 3.: S. E. K.Mqhayi

46 Leader; 53 Poems by C. J. Driver and PerseusAdams; 64 Poem by Khadambi Asalache; 68 To theEditor; 70 Inside South Africa 1 by Victor Kwena;71 Words Words Words; 71 Reviews by MartinLegassick and David Thompson.

EDITOR: Randolph Vigne

EDITORIAL DIRECTOR: N eville Rubin

LITERARY EDITOR: Lewis Nkosi

DESIGNER: James Currey

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The Dakar FestivalTHE EDITOR AND STAFF send warmest greetings to the participants in the FirstInternational Festival of Negro Art, to be held at Dakar, Senegal, during thismonth of April, 1966. They offer the special Dakar Festival Supplement,contained in this issue, as a contribution to the Festival. A story from Nigeriaby Cyprian Ekwensi counterpoises the opening chapter of a brilliant first novelby the Camerounian writer Mbella Sonne Dipoko, offered here ahead of pub­lication in July. The novel in Africa and French African poetry are discussedby O. R. Dathorne and Willfried Feuser, both of Ibadan. Masterpieces ofsculpture and carving to be displayed at the Festival are illustrated and des­cribed. There are poems by C. J. Driver and Perseus Adams of South Africa,and by Khadambi Asalache of Kenya. Finally, there is a story from Bechuana­land by Bessie Head.

We hope that the rest of the issue will commend itself - ReginaldHerbold Green's analysis of Ghana's problems, with a post-coup preface;lan Hamnett on the background of Lesotho's independence of Britain, whichadvances a further step this month; the conclusion to Collingwood August'Stranslation of S. E. K. Mqhayi's Xhosa classic, The Case of the Twins;together with book reviews and letters.

Finally, we hope that the coupon on page 55, for the sending of the newpublication Frontier to readers in South Africa, or elsewhere, will be filled inand returned by all who read the magazine in freedom.

FrontierGRANSIGHT HOLDINGS LTD'J publishers of The New AfricanJ announce thepublication of a new monthly magazine, FrontierJ specially edited and producedfor South African readership. InkululekoJ which commenced publication inJune 1965, on the banl)iijg. of The New African in South Africa, ceases publi­cation this month, having been declared" indecent, objectionable or obscene"by the South African Government in February 1966.

The financial burdens carried by Inkululeko were referred to on this pagein our March issue, and an appeal was made for help, through donations or bymeans of a similar coupon to that on page 55 of this issue. This appeal isurgently repeated for all who would like to see the message of the life and artof the new Africa cross South Africa's frontier to all who await it there.

South African Unity MovesTHE INTERNATIONAL BULLETIN of the South African Coloured People's Con­gress, in its final issue, dated March 1966, announces the dissolution of theC.P.C. and states that its members have accepted a "comradely invitation tojoin the Pan-Africanist Congress (South Africa) as Africans and equals." Onbehalf of the C.P.C., the President and Chairman, Messrs. Barney Desai andCardiff Marney, "call on South African Coloureds and Indians, numberingtwo-and-a-half million enslaved people to follow our example by becomingmembers of the dynamic Pan-Africanist Congress and for all time bury theirracial tags " .

Any move that brings together the divided upholders of freedom for SouthAfrica, provided such a move is based on principle and not mere expediency,is to be welcomed. The International Bulletin of the C.P.C. argues the casefor its action, and it is to be hoped that it is on the basis of these arguments.that the action will be examined by all who recognise the importance of this:4:step towards unity and· non-racialism in the South African struggle.

The TripleChallengebefore Ghana

Part 1

AUSTERITY,PARTICIPATIONAND DIALOGUE

These are the vitalneeds that Ghana'sleaders mustsatisfy now

THE NEW AFRICAN IAPRIL 1966/47

REGINALDHERBOLDGREEN

The main body of this article was written before the February 23­24 military-police coup. However, it remains relevant in two senses.First the patterns of unsolfJed challenges and forces outlined are notunconnected with the fall of Dr. Nkrumah's government. Second,tht basic problems of aus,terity, participation, and dialogue are noless critical for the National Liberation Council regime.

IT IS CONVENIENT TO THINK that the fall of a government indicatesits total ineptness and lack of achievement on the one hand and onthe other that its successor starts free from the basic problemswhich beset the fallen regime. Neither is generally valid, certainlyneither applies to Ghana. Indeed there is reason to believe the trioof challenges posed will be harder for the new regime to solvelacking, as it does, any positive mass base. It is almost certainlyboth false and misleading to either the causation of the coup or theprec.eeding discontent of many low-income Ghanaians. Equality ofsacrifice, an end to nepotism, broader participation in government,a clearer and more coherent presentation of state policy combinedwith a more cogent case for it - these have been the broaddemands of the past three years. They conflict sharply with theup~e~-midd~e-class demand for lesser sacrifices for themselves (aposItion typIcal of many army and police officers complaints since1962), the business motivation of much of the United Oppositionwhether old .l..!P or cashiered CPP, and the desire of a significantnumber of CIvIl servants and other public officials to mix public jobsecurity and private enterprise.

The coup itself was a surprise. This was not because there wasno evidence of dissatisfaction or because army-police loyalty wasassured. As in most successful military coups, there was little reasonto ~uspeet an organised group of officers capable of taking effectiveaet1~n had been formed. Equally, with the exceptions of Togo andposs~bly the Cent~al African. Republic, African army coups hadprevIously been directed agaInst governments which had lost thecapacity to operate civil authority in much or all of the country(D~homey, Upper Volta, Nigeria, Sudan) or against attempts towhittle down the army's political influence (Algeria, Congo-L). TheGha.na ~?del of .a coup against a government clearly able to carryout Its CivIl funetlons and not faced by mass demonstrations must beextremel~ disquieting to mos! ;\frican states. In virtually all thea:my-police are capable of seIZIng power while the degree of pas­Sionate devotion needed for unarmed citizens to block or reversesuch action is rare anywhere in the world. It probably exists in

DR. G R E EN, a frequent contributor to The New African waswith the University of Ghana for three years during the period1960-july 1965..

Tanzania, Tunisia, Mali, possibly Guinea and Zambia but whereelse in Africa?

It is by no means self-evident that either the United Opposition- whose previous abortive coup attempts were marked by almostunbelievable ineptness in contrast to the smoothne~s of the February23-24 venture - or foreign states were integrally involved in thecoup despite the UP's claims on both counts. The Ghana militaryestablishment was quite capable of planning and executing thetakeover on its own. However, as President Julius Nyerere hasunderlined, reactions of joy were most marked among governmentsand groups hardly to be numbered among the friends of indepen­dent Africa. Among African states and individuals genuinely com­mitted to national development and Pan-African cooperation therewas grief. The latter is at least partly because the aims, aspirations,and strategies of the Ghanaian government were far more widelyknown abroad than its increasing deviations from its own standardsin practice. Ghana as an external symbol has been perceived byboth friends and enemies alike in terms rather different from reality.

Unless the new government rapidly makes clear that broadeningof opportunity, lessening of inequality, rapid economic development,and the pu~uit of an independent foreign policy and of greaterAfrican co-operation are its major aims and that it is seriously com­mitted to pursuing them in practice the inevitable results will begrave suspicion in many African quarters (including some quitecritical of the Nkrnmah government) and rapidly rising-discontentat home. The CPP government did not fall because of massdisagreement with its basic aims. Board discontent at the way inwhich they were pursued exists and may provide a potential basefor support of the new regime. But it is by no means clear that itwill demonstrate greater efficiency, intelligence, and honesty inimplementation nor that it can provide at least a modicum of relieffrom 1965 levels of austerity. There is a danger of the new govern­ment crystallising into a military elitist regime like the Abboudgovernment in the Sudan or turning into an elitist political establish­ment (based on the exiles) similar to that of the fallen Nigerianregime.

The analysis which follows was written before the coup in Ghana.It 'Will be concluded in the May issue.IT IS EXTREMELY DIFFICULT to write intelligibly - let aloneintelligently - about a state so vitriolically (and often unfairly)criticised and so uncritically (and often erroneously) praised asGhana. One tends either to avoid any criticism in rebutting biasedor inane attacks or to gloss over achievements in irritation atvainglorious, Panglossian rhetoric. .

Ghana's record from 1952 through 1965 is an impressive one.National product (in real terms) has risen steadily. - despite drasticfalls in export prices - while the base for a diversified moderneconomy with a strong industrial sector has been laid. Investmenthas been kept high - even at the expense of sacrifices in currentprivate and public consumption. Overall, it has been largelyrational if not always correlated closely enough to immediate needsor the appropriateness of less than the highest, most expensive

4e/THE NEW AFRICAN/APRIL 1966

rtandards. Foreign exchange stringency is the result of pushingahead with a sound - if probably overambitious - developmentstrategy not, as in Nigeria, from frittering away time and resourceswhile failing to implement plan projects.

Education has been expanded massively. Universal primaryeducation is virtually achieved in perhaps two-thirds of Ghana anda realistic 1970 goal elsewhere, over 1,000,000 students (nearly one­sixth of the population) are enrolled. Health services have beenmassively expanded and a national insurance and retirementscheme based on an actuarially plausible contribution system, hasbeen inaugurated.

The civil service is possibly the most efficient, able, and honestouside the two dozen high income industrialised economies. Itsweaknesses stem from overly rapid expansion of duties. To date,however, this stretching of staff has led to expanding capabilitiesrather than a breakdown of services.

Inequality of incomes - while still appallingly high by NorthAtlantic or Eastern European standards - has been reduced and isamong the lowest albeit not the lowest, in Africa. The tax systemhas been radically revised to render it progressive rather thanregressive as it was at least until 1961 and possibly until 1963.

Ghana's foreign policy, whatever its polemic excesses, has beenone of those demonstrating that a small, economically and militarilyweak state can pursue an independent, self-chosen, set of positionsand has played a major role in drawing attention to African needsand aspirations. In Africa her dedicated, if too often rigid or heavy­handed, advocacy of Pan-Africanism has contributed substantially tocreating a climate of opinion in whic~ at least substantial technicaland economic functional co-operation is a live possibility. However,leadership in this field has now passed to other states includingTanzania, Tunisia and possibly Mali and the Cameroun Republic.

Even the vehemence and volume of criticism of Ghana bearevidence to the fact that she has achieved the status of being takenseriously - even if not at her own evaluation. This is an achieve­ment that the majority of African (or for that matter world) statescannot claim.

The past record, however, should not be allowed to obscure aseries of basic and increasingly serious challenges which confrontGhana today_ That of economic strategy for development to whichGhana has evolved a basically sound strategy, if not consistentlyeffective policy combinations, will be treated in a separate article.The most pressing trio are Austerity or seen equality of sacrifice,Participation or effective involvement of the population in thepolitical-governmental process, and Dialogue or the attainment ofan intelligent, broadly based discussion, formulation, and dis­semination of truly national goals, policies, and socio-poIiticaloutlook. or ideology. None is being adequately faced, much lessmet, today and on improvement in these respects is dependent thecontinuation of an effective national (not simply economic) develop­ment effort and therefore of Ghana's past record of achievementand conceivably the continued viability of the present government.

The failure to meet these three challenges effectively does notrepresent a weakness in government-Party goals so much as incon­sistency in fonnulating them in terms of operational policy and evenmore in ensuring their consistent and impartial implementation.The most cogent case against the present leadership of Ghana isnot that of its enemies but of those who agree with its principles

and aims, at least in the main, but challenge the growing deviationsfrom them which have occurred in practice.

Except for the very lucky country, the political economy ofdevelopment has always been and still remains one of austerity, atleast for the vast majority of the population. Ghana is no exception- only the brief 1950-4 cocoa boom and the spending based onreserves accumulated then created the illusion that it was. However,with per capita national product of over £90, wage employmentrising at least as rapidly as the population, and urban unemploy­ment about 10% of the potential labour force (cf. 25% in theCameroun and 40% in Nigeria, Senegal, and Leopoldville) Ghanais absolutely far better off than any other independent Africanstate - with the possible exception of the Ivory Coast - and thanmost of the Tiers Monde. /

However, the political viability of austerity is not really based onabsolutes but on actual versus expected improvements nor is it enoughto look at aggregates without examining the distribution of gainsand sacrifices. From 1955 through 1960 real incomes of all majorgroups rose rapidly (3.5%-plus yearly overall). Since 1960 anyincrease in average real consumption per capita has been preventedby stagnant export earnings (despite a 50% volume increase), con­tinued expansion of public services (education and health facilitiesmore than doubled), and maintenance of massive investment aimedat changing the structure of production but involving 2.5 to 8 yearpayoff lags. (The buildup of investment not yet fully productive toperhaps £400 million or 20% of total capital stock has beenespecially critical in this regard.)

The problem is rendered more acute because some groups are seento be gaining at the expense of others, in a situation of rising prices,import control reductions in the range of goods available and afreeze in the wage-salary structure. Furthermore faulty controlmanagement has created periodic shortages of imported consumernecessities.

The main losers have been the upper middle class - the civilservice, intellectual, army and police officer elite - whose average,salary increments (about 5%) have not kept pace with the cost ofliving and who have, necessarily, been hardest hit by the reduction-in non-essential consumer imports and the creation of a progressivetax structure. From 1963 to 1966 their effective per capita aftertax purchasing power probably fell by 20-25%. The dangers interms of civil service and teacher morale and army-police loyaltyare as clear as is the difficulty of satisfying the demands of thisrelatively well-off elite except at the expense of the poor or offuture growth. The income range of this elite is £1,000-3,000,compared with £235 average for semi-skilled workers.

The cocoa farmers saw a steady erosion of their real incomesfrom 1960 through mid-1964. The 1964-5 40% increase in outputsent their incomes back to record levels. It also broke the worldmarket and touched off wild price inflation by placing an ad­ditional £20 million in the hands of a moderately well off group(the bulk of the cocoa is produced by farmers with cash incomes inthe £400-600 range). The autumn 1965 cocoa price cut (on jointCocoa Board, civil service, IMF advice) combined with a lowercrop will lead to a 40% fall in cocoa-farmer cash incomes, adraconic slash. The probable rural reactions to this draconic slashto which do not appear to have received adequate consideration.

The ,vage labour force has expanded steadily since 1960 (by nomeans true of all African states) and new entrants to it are clearlybetter off than they were previously. Workers employed throughoutprobably had increases in cash earnings parallel to cost of livinguntil the early 1965 inflationary spiral. Drought caused crop failuresin 1963 and 1964. There was a false cocoa "boom ", and theinept handling of import licensing led to spring 1965 rationing ofkey consumer goods and the breakdown of previously moderatelyeffective price controls. All these factors have cut their real incomesin recent months. Indeed, until hasty imports of su;gar, tea, coffee,corned beef, sardines, rice and condensed milk alleviated the acute1965 shortages, the urban labour force was on the verge of massprotest riots. The shortage of consumer imports, as far as thisgroup is concerned, is not one of absolutely reduced Quantities. Themain problems are rapidly rising monetary demand, erratic controls,and favouritism-cum-profiteering in distribution. e

[To be concluded

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THE DIFFERENCE IN STARTING-POINTS that distinguish the partiesare reflected in their internal policies too. Each party must look tofairly determinate and reliable groups for support; the NationalParty depends upon three main sources, all of them intransigentlyconservative: the minor chieftainship, the Roman Catholic Church,and a large section of the traditional peasantry. The lesser chiefshave clearly all to lose and nothing to gain from the urgentlyneeded reforms in land tenure and administration that the originalconstitutional documents proposed but which have now beenwhittled down or delayed. The Roman Catholic Church, whichin Basutoland has never felt the wind of change blowing fromRome, prefers a safe tribalism to the doubts and changes thatradical reforms would entail. It played perhaps the crucial rolein securing the National Party's marginal victory last year. Manyof the traditional peasantry (more especially the women) wereeasily moulded by these two forces, which form, after all, theprincipal influences in their lives.

With this kind of backing, the BNP is inevitably and inescapablyinvolved not only in conservative policies at home, but also ­even against its will - in reactionary policies abroad. Like itsallies and clients, it can thrive only in a localised, traditionalsociety,. and the price of securing this parish-pump paradise is anembarrassing meekness in the face of South African arrogance;it must be meek, since it could only muster effective resistance tothe Republic by mobilising precisely those forces that wouldthreaten the internal support on which the party relies.

In the circumstances, it is encouraging that the Congress shouldhave come so near success as it did. Inevitably it has had aharder fight. Most Basuto are, understandably enough, moreconcerned about their own and their families' [velihood thanthey are aware of the emergence of the new Africa in the north.The BCP have accordingly been obliged to base their appeal almostwholly on domestic reform rather than upon wider aspects ofcontinental policy that could hardly be expected to appeal to themass of the people, and which might well have positively alarmedmany of them. It is revealing that in practice the BCP have beeneven more articulately hostile to British colonialism than to SouthAfrica itself. No doubt this was principally because it was Britainand not South Africa that ruled the country, was directlyresponsible for it, and stood directly in the way of independence;but it was also because attacks on South Africa would havealarmed the people more than attacks on Britain did, since theRepublic means bread and butter and there is at least a riverbetween it and Basutoland, whereas Britain meant magistrates andtax-collectors and it was there. It is both the virtue and the weak­ness of Congress that perhaps it \vas not local enough. Theirwell-planned electoral excursions into the villages were oftenregarded by the local population as invasions by strangers andtown-dwellers who could make fine speeches happily enough, butafterwards were free to depart and did not have to live underthe local chief.

All the same, that the BCP should have come as close to success

I A N H A M NET T is on· the staff of the Centre for AfricanStudies in the University of Edinburgh.

THE NEW AFRICAN/APRIL 1966/49

as it did is not only a tribute to its industry and dedication butalso an index of the growth of a modern political consciousness iaa country that it often unthinkingly dismissed as a backwater ofsubsistence tribalism. The voting figures suggest the thought thatthe traditional institutions are not after all as static or as resistant tochange as they are frequently assumed to be. (It is also, of COUI'3e,

true .that if the BNP could exploit the people's dependence OB

South Africa for work and imported goods - the Congress, againstthis, could exploit their experience of South African racialism.)

WHAT I AM TRYING TO DO in this analysis is to explode the notio.that political action is only to be understood in terms of personali­ties, conspiracies and particular goals - the idea that people forseeand intend all the consequences of their original choice. Of COime,

some events can be explained in this way, but not usually themost important ones. I believe that the current political tivalrieain Basutoland will only be distorted if discussed in terms oftreachery, collaborationism, communist plots, and so forth. Justas the BCP are not political lunatics who propose to found aRed state in Basutoland and launch it suicidally at the Republic,so the BNP are not venal self-seekers who are engaged in. adeliberate underhand deal with Verwoerd. Accusations like this,though polemically very satisfying, tell us less than nothing aboutthe real determinants of political action and provide hopelesslymisleading guidance for the future.

The BNP pursue collaborative policies abroad and reactionaryones at home, not so much because these are the policies theywould ideally choose to pursue, but because no other policies wereopen to them once they had decided to make a serious electoralbid for power. This decision entailed the selection of a specificpolitical programme and the mobilisation of an effective bodyof support - each of these two requirements, of course, havingimplications for the other. But neither of these steps was takenin an open field, since the Congress was there already, with aknown policy and an extensive organisation. Any rival was thusforced to choose between (1) outbidding the Congress on its ownterms - offering more radical policies at home and a morebelligerent one abroad; and (2) proposing policies exactly oppositeto those of the Congress - conservative at home and accommodat­ing abroad.

I t is, of course, no accident that the BNP chose the second path,and this for several reasons. First, the BNP was led by men whowere not likely, either by inclination or interest, to choose policiesmore radical than those of the Congress. From the beginning, itssupport lay among the lesser chieftainship and the Roman CatholicChurch. Secondly, the necessity of mobilising support ruled outany attempt at challenging the Congress on its own ground.Radicalism was a race that only the Congress could win. Thirdly,the widest alternative field left free lay not to the left of theCongress but to its right. The eclipse of the formerly powerfulMarematlou-Freedom Party after the killings, at Rothe left apolitical vacuum on the right that no sensible rival to Congresscould ignore.

The BNP was therefore committed, by the very structure ofthe political field before it, to determine its policy in constant

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SO/THE NEW AFRICAN/APRIL 1966relation to, and reaction against, the BCP. Since, however, theCongress was not, in fact, stupidly or imprudently bellicose towardsthe Republic, the National Party was led step by step Ca) torepresent the Congress as a communist-inspired threat to Basu'to­land's economic survival and Cb) to claim for itself the title of abulwark against communism and the only party that South Africawould trust. In domestic affairs, it was similarly obliged to relyincreasingly on the most conservative interests, since the moreradical were defined as its opponents: hence the ever greater roleof the chieftainship and the Catholic Church; hence the opensatisfaction of the trading and commercial interests when theelection results were known.

SINCE THEN, THE NATIONAL PARTY has been obliged to followthrough the logic of its initial choice to conclusions that must berepugnant to many of its supporters. The recent threatenedproscriptions against political refugees are only the latest step ina consistent movement towards a political accommodation withSouth Africa. Domestically, it would be naive to expect thateven the present emasculated reforms in land administration ,villbe effectively implemented by spokesmen of the very class thatstands to lose most by their application. The National Party is infact the prisoner of its own self-committal to policies that com­mand no vested support outside the world of the Bantustans. Ithas circumscribed its own freedom of action to a point whereit can only become ever more reactionary in act, though it cancling to the trappings of power and harbour the illusion ofchoice.

I repeat: the emergent consequences of its decision were notintended by the deciders. The BNP are not willing cowards orcollaborators, though their acts may be acts of cowardly collabora­tion. Nor did they altogether choose reaction: reaction huntedthem down. Any party that limited its horizon to Africa south ofthe Zambesi was bound to submit to the same necessities.

The Congress lost the battle, but they, or people like them,will win the war. Unlike the BNP, they have not been forcedto adapt their strategy - though of course they will modifytheir tactics - to fit their opponents' line of battle. The Congresswere there first; moreover, they will be there last, since time is ontheir side. Basutoland is part of Africa, and its inheritors will bethe men who have seen this simple truth and acted on it.

ONE YEAR AGO THIS MONTH, Basutoland achieved self-government;simultaneously, its people directly elected, by universal adultsuffrage, the lower house of Parliament. If both houses now askfor independence, as they are expected to do, Britain has bounditself to give effect to this request " as soon as possible," prov:idedthat conditions in Basutoland are "such as to enable power to betransferred in peace and order." In order to preserve continuity ofgovernment, it was deliberately decided that no new elections shouldbe required before transfer. If, therefore, "peace and good order "be required before transfer. If, there, "peac and good order"persist, Basutoland - or Lesotho as it is to be called - may be'expected to gain independence within a few months, and power tobe transferred to Chief Leabua Jonathan, the Prime Minister, andhis government. What is the political condition of Lesotho at thiscritical time?

THE MOST OBVIOUS FACT about Basutoland is that it is part ofSouth Africa. That it is therefore also part of Africa is equallyobvious but more often forgotten. These two different perspectivesdefine the current political dichotomy of the country. It is morethan usually apt to speak of a dichotomy, since in the 1965 self­government elections the electorate was almost equally dividedbetween the National Partv (BNP), which received 108,000 votes,and the Congress Party (BCP), with 103,000. This close finishwas fairly neatly matched in the figures for the National Assembly,wh~re the government have 31 seats to the opposition's 25.

The geographical isolation of Basutoland'l and its almost totaleconomic dependence on South Africa, mark the limits of BNPthinking. Recent food shortages (due partly to misfortunes of

climate) have reinforced this localisation of attention, but quiteapart from this the fact that nearly half the adult male populationis at anyone time working in the Republic means that everyBasuto family and household is aware of this dependence. Soudi'African hostility could mean acute deprivation: South Africa~

goodwill means relative comfort. So the argument runs, and asfar as it goes no one with a full belly and a good home has aright to sneer at it. But these obvious truths do not mark thestarting-point of BNP thinking: they mark its limits. -

The Congress looks to wider African horizons. Its perspec#veis pan-African in more than the narrow sense. It looks forwardin the end to a Lesotho which will form part of a liberatedcontinent, and its political presuppositions are based on the assump­tion that this is the real goal of all African nationalist activity.

IT WOULD BE EASY BUT FALSE to deduce from these broadgeneralisations that the National Party are shameless collabot-.ators with the Republic, or that the Congress are callous ideologuesreckless of the people's suffering, though these accusations are.commonly made both in Basutoland and outside it. Neitherthe BNP as a body, nor the great majority of its members, arepro-South-African by intention or in ideology. Racism as a wholeand white supremacy in particular are as abhorrent to them asto any other African. Naturally, the collaborators and the "sell-=.outs·" prefer the BNP to the Congress, since such people atebound to choose the tactically appropriate ally, but only a fool­will judge a whole movement by its least principled and mostopportunist supporters.Similarly, the Congress are as sane as the next man, and have,neither stated nor implied that they would place Basutoland inthe absurd position of attempting, at this point of time, actively tQ,confront or defy its giant neighbour. Politics here as elsewhereare more complex than the strident tones of electoral vituperationsuggest. One element in this is the practical question of how longthe present kind of regime in South Africa will last. The Congress,with a whole continent in mind, can see that its days are numbered;the BNP act on the assumption that South Africa will last in­definitely. But this very assumption only helps to prolong theregime, and moreover gives the National Party a direct politicalinterest in the regime's survival.

IN THIS AS IN other ways, attitudes and intentions fail to yieldan adequate account of political action, and objective analysi.s I

reveals an unhappier picture of BNP policies than a simplerecapitulation of their avowed aims and goals might suggest.One reason for this is that once the essential preconditions arelgranted, Verwoerd is neither so fastidious nor so hard to please:.that he will quarrel over trifles. If Basutoland cracks down oprefugees and "subversive" activities, and barters its claim toa place in free Africa in return for improved trading facilitiesand some tons of mealies, Verwoerd will be perfectly happy toallow its leaders to make patriotic or even multiracial speeches;to "deplore" supremacist policies, and to thump rostrums atthe United Nations and elsewhere. It is the realities of power,~

not impotent attitudinising, that .matter to South Africa, as the­Transkei experience shows.

Yet if, as I seem to imply, the Congress could do littlemore than the present government to challenge the South Africanogre, what serious difference would it make if they were inpower? I think quite a lot. If the BNP boast of a more realistic~assessment of Basutoland's place in South Africa, the Congresscan claim a more realistic assessment of South Africa's place inthe world. They would be ready to push their patriotism andnationalism further because, with their wider perspectives, theyare more aware of the limitations as well as the scope of SouthAfrica's present power. In sober reality, the National Partv fearthe RepubliC'S bark more than the Congress fear its bite. Whilethe Congress are ready to go as far as prudence permits, thegovernment will go not a step further than caution dares. This maylook like a merely relative difference of emphasis, but in factit is an index of much wider divergences.

"'HE NEW AFRICAN/APRIL 1966/DAKAR FESTIVAL SUPPLEMENT/51

~~~~~

~®~~~W~~

~M~~~®mm®ITU~.Pages51-70

CHINI WAS AMONG THEM, the millions andmillions who roamed the streets of a score ofcities throughout the Federation that night­the night of freedom.

In this the capital city, all the streets werepacked and milling with men, women, children;restless, floating, chattering, glum and silent,expectant, confused, drifting, banding togetherunder the lights in awe of the unknownmysteries of Independence. Some were stran­gers who come from far corners where Africameant Darkness and now they clustered in solidgroups at the Square over which the fireworksshot upwards and exploded in spectacularcascades. Freedom was here.

Krr ... a ... ka ... toa! ... Krraakkatooaa!Chini drew nearer Fran~ois and his protective

arm tightened round her."It is romantic, man amour? Too romantic,

yes?""Oh, I want to die," Chini whispered. "I

want to die--in your arms. I want to die for theNew Nigeria!"

(( Ma cherie, it would be good to die, and endit all. It would be good to die, now."

She turned sharply and faced him. " Youmean that?"

He smiled. "Why not? This is the climax,the end of Imperialism, the beginning of free­dom for Nigeria!" He pointed at the fireworks.Chini could recognise the quickly forming image.The glow resolved itself into the coronet ofQueen Elizabeth the Second. "I supposeImperialism has played its part," Fran~ois

sighed. "A hundred years!"Chini looked away, but the Queen's image

still burned in her eyes. She was a igerianbeauty, slim and bronzed, with a statuesquefirmness of curve that always made the French­man marvel. Often she had accused Fran~ois

of being in love with her body, but he alwayssaid he could never bring himself to ignore itspresence. Chini was breathing with a loveripeness in her eyes. She was elegant, un-self­conscious, wearing English clothes with sophis­tication, and Nigerian costume with charm. Herevery movement stimulated a flow of poetryfrom Fran~ois and an ebb of embarrassmentfrom her. She called him "My mad Frenchlover."

Suddenly she reached out and held him." Kill me, oh, kill me!" She was sobbing. Froma million voices came the roar of the NigerianNational Anthem.

The roar echoed and reverberated over theentire field and vapourised skywards into thestars and misty tropical night.

"I would have been so happy now, but whydid I meet you? I would have been free! Nowmy country is free, but I ... I am in chains."

She felt his strong arms round her shoulderand she clung tightly to him. His face, bristly,grated against her tender skin.

" Chini, you are mine, oui?'" Yours, Francois, yours," " You will come to

Paris with me if- "His grip was hurting her. He was pressing

his lips on hers there in the Square with themad crowds drifting about them.

"Oh, Francois, we're in public!""You don't mean that! No, you don't!"His kisses smothered her sighs.As the Dauphine sped towards Victoria Beach

neither of them spoke. Chini looked straightahead of her, her mind in a tunnoil. Indepen­dence. Fran~ois. Love. Marriage. Independence.

C Y P R I A N E K WEN S I, author of JaguaNana, and other nOfJels, plays and stories, isDirector of Information in the NigerianFederal Ministry of Information.

Independence. Freedom! . .. Trees floated past.She sensed that other cars with lovers in themwere flashing impatient lights behind them andpassing by.

Fran~is drove past familiar places now glow­ing with an unfamiliar radiance. The FederalPalace Hotel loomed in stately grandeur. Evenas late as midnight swarms of peOple stillfloated past the pavilions of the Nigeria exhibi­tion.

She remembered one afternoon when she hadcome near the site to meet Francois at work,putting up his own stand; and there werecrowds as thick as the hairs on Fran~ois' arm.That afternoon having fought through thecrowds she found him in the basement of thestand. There he was, down aong the workerswho were cuttin~ a steel bar with an arc lamp.The dazzling lights etched out his strikinglyhandsome face. He was dressed in a white shirtand white shorts, and on his face was an intenseand shiny look of tiredness.

He turned just as she was about to stealaway. "Hey, Chini!" She almost jumped.Fran~is wiped his hands on the back of hisshorts and spoke quickly to the two white menstanding opposite. They looked like Americansin their narrow drip-dry pantaloons and softcotton caps. One of them was chewing gum.

Fran~ois came up to her in an easy swingingmanner, just as the wind billowed out her skirtand she reached out a hand to keep it in place,holding on to her straw hat with the otherhand.

" You look a picture, Chini," he said. Hetook her hands and kissed them. Standing be­side her he looked down at the stand and said:"How do you like it?" His arm swept a widearc, but Chini was looking into his eyes, instead.He returned her look and said, "Chic, eh?"

" The stand or me?"He laughed. "You, of course! Where shall

we go, coffee?"The way he talked she could not understand

and it burned deep scars of pain in her heart.He would be going away in fourteen days, ex­pelled from the country, so the rumour had said.Already it had leaked out among those whoknow that the Governor-General thought itwould be "conducive to the public good" forhim to leave the country. Yet he had told hernothing. But did he really wish to marry her?Had she given up everything for nothing?

The coffee stand was built in the Espressotradition. She could imagine this same standcrowded not by Teddy Boys or Beatniks butby the tough city slickers of Lagos, once knownas the Boma Boys, but now very much morerefined with stream-styled cars to help them... drifters, waiting to pick up a beating-upcommission from some irate politician, only tochange their loyalty when the victim increasedtheir fee. She remembered how it had been inChelsea on the cold nights, trying to read forthe exam. Now she had achieved her ambition:she had become a Secretary-Typist, one of the

best. Into her ears went the most secret dicta­tions. And she had now fallen in love with thisFrenchman who must leave the country.

" Well, and how's Independence, Chini?""Independence is fine, for those who are

free! "He did not say anything. He was smiling and

she went on: "Unity and Faith, and all that!""I love Nigeria. You Nigerians are the

most moderate of all Africans.""All Africans are one, Fran~ois, when it

comes to that. When it comes to facing allwhite men."

"You mean, I'm an outsider?"She crossed her legs. A gleam of desire

lighted up in Francois' eyes. Chini had the

52/THE NEW AFRICAN/APRIL 1966/DAKAR FESTIVAL SUPPLEMENTmost marvellous legs. This afternoon's skirtwas split and the splits were held together bydecorative buttons five inches apart from waistto hem.

U You're in one of your moods, Chini."She stirred her coffee, but when she raised it

to her lips it spilled on her dress. Fran~is

sprang forward, handkerchief in hand Hedabbed the coffee pool on her skirt and on herbreast, lingering on the splotch above the leftbreast.

For Chini the afternoon was ruined. She rose.He took her hand.

" I'm sorry, Chini."" It's my fault. I feel like crying.'~

She walked. Head held high, ~he walked,flicking her heels and wiggling her hips withbitter malice. The car owners hooted and wavedher to come into their cars but she wanted noneof them because she had her own car. Fran~ois

had his own car and she wanted none of thembecause they did not understand what it waslike to be facing an impossible love affair; to befacing the condemnation of your own people,especially when you are in a position of confi­dence which you have fought so very hard toattain.

" I don't love this man ... I love him Buthe is a Frenchman ... It doesn't matter Itdoes ... Before Independence, it did not matter.But now , we're different. I must remain in myown country and work and build."

Chini walked. There were two million peoplein Lagos, all milling about the bridge, but therewere none as far as she was concerned, becauseshe did not know anything about them.

She remembered now that her mother was tohave come down for the celebrations but hadso far not sent word. She might still come.Could it be that something had happened?

I t would be best to tell her personally. Onething was certain. Nigeria Independent, wasnot Nigeria colonial. Women today, were in adifferent position. Black and white, yellow andred, when love whispered, it was the same re­sponse. But why fall in love with a Frenchman?

Only that afternoon she and Francois hadbeen arguing. ..

"Nigerian girls do not know the meaning oflove."

"What is the meaning, Franc;ois? I -want toknow."

" It is not easy to explain."He was looking at the sea. She was looking

at the sea too, but the \\ater she saw was thereright in her eyes.

" It is not easy to explain." He was smoking."You see, love is all consuming, a personalaffair between two people."

"That's in Europe. In Africa, it is a publicaffair. Everyone is concerned. My mother isconcerned, so are my mother's people. Myfather is dead, but my uncle and his familymust know. I did not drop from the sky, youknow. Try and understand. You think I amweak."

"Nigeria whispers," he said, and tried tosmile.

It was his way of teasing her, whenever shelost her temper. Nigeria whispers. It was hisnev.r phrase since Independence. "You Niger­ians will now know the difference between beingprotected, and being on your own. You willalways-in your public life and in your privatehave one choice to make: Self or Nigeria. Butalways, Chini, Nigeria will always whisper.Nigeria is in you. Go on! If you listen to your­self you will do one thing. It will not alwaysbe the same if you listen to Nigeria."

U Have you finished teasing me?""Yes, my Beauty Queen." He kissed her."You are very bitter, Fran<;ois."

U Wouldn't you be? If you had to leave acountry you love and the girl you love cannotmake up her mind."

U But Francois I love you.""Will you come with me then?"" It is not easy," Chini said. U I love Nigeria

mote. Fran~ois, everyone is coming back hometo Nigeria at this time--But all I know is thatI love you and that our fates are inexplicablybound up together."

"What shall we do?" His voice was faint.She saw his face now ferocious. He turned

and pulled her close to him. Chini shut hereyes and felt his lips on her, hungry for her.

" Woman of bronze, woman with the hotanimal blood. In my nostnls is the smell ofyou, in my blood is the fire of you. Withoutyou, my soul dies."

Before such adoration Chini had no answer.

LAGOS WAS GAY and sweet. The buses rolledon along the roads, and the nurses at theGeneral Hospital stood at the stops at theMarina, waiting before the gleaming white StateHouse. The ferry shrieked and laboured home­wards to Apapa, carrying the men to theIndustrial Estates.

From the window of her office, Chini lookedout and saw the Dauphine flash past. It wasFran<;ois.

The booming voice of her boss brought herattention back to the dictation. Her shorthandpen raced over the surface of the pad. In thewood panelled room, it was so silent that Godseemed to be present.

"That will be all," said her boss.Chini rose. She gathered her things together

but as she made for the door a piece of paperdropped and she bent down to pick it.

" Chini," said her boss." Sir."" Don't go for a moment."She saw the deep frown on his face. He was

scanning the files before him. When he worked,he possessed the fantastic ability of completeconcentration. She had often seen him like that,when, with a litle black Bible in his hands hemigrated-so to speak-into another world,away from the Press, the Radio, and the Critics,away from the physical boundaries.

Through her mind raced troubling questions.Did he know about Francois? He must know.\Vas he going to talk to her about it? No? Yes?Immediately she was on the defensive.

Without looking up he said, " I shall be goingon tour soon. And I want a good Secretary­Typist to come with me. You know that MissWells has not been feeling well lately. Of theeighteen Secretaries there's none that has apleasanter manner than you. In any case, youhave never come with me on tour ... "

She saw the face of Fran<;ois now, smilingNigeria W hispe1·s. And she heard her bosstalking. But what was he saying? Where wasshe standing? Why was he talking? Did he notknow that Fran<;ois would deride her?

And then she realised that he had stopped.He \vas waiting for a reply. She was keepinghim waiting.

"Will you come?"" Sir?"" Will you come?"" I - I think so, Sir!"

SHE BRUSHED ASIDE the Hibiscus Bush. Denseand overhanging it reached out hands of des­truction, ruffling her hair. In the windows thebright lights told her that Fran~ois had not yetgone to bed. It was a hot evening and all day

long she had searched in vain for him.Jideh, his boy, met her on the steps.H Master no well," he said.Her heart leapt. She pushed him aside and

ran into the room.Fran~ois was lying on the bed, his face against

the wall. She sat beside him, and took his hand.H I love you, Fran~is."

cc Chini!"How was she going to break the news to him?She looked round the room and found that he

had already started packing." Get me something to drink, darling."She knew why he said that. He always a~

mired the way she walked. When she walked tothe fridge, she took her time and wiggled. Shewas dressed in "native" and in the colours he:liked. Blue.

She brought the drink on a tray and set idown and suddenly she felt his hot hand onher cheek.

His eyes were yellow with fire. She took ofthis hand quietly. "You're il1."

" You are my illness. I want to die inNigeria, I want to die - with your love. Chiniyou have made up your mind?"

"To go to France with you?""Yes. You will come?"" Fran~is, you know I want to come, but-»" Nigeria whispers, I know!"She could not stand the sneer. "Don't be

cruel, Fran~ois. Nigeria whispers, yes but yourvoice is above a whisper. And I hear andlisten. Because you talk love."

Oh God, she thought, how did I become somad about this man? With all the young »zenwho asked to marry 'ine, how did I become so",ad?

She saw the young men now. In her firstyear at the University, Abiade fawned on herwith all the devotion of a dog. She was flattered.It was her first year, and her last. She had beenunable to continue her education. She wantedquicker results, more glamour. She went toEngland to study at Pitrnans, and althoughAbiade wrote love to her, she learnt that hesustained himself with the flesh of the girls whodrifted round Oke-Ado in Ibadan and theMarina in Lagos. They were legion.

She returned from England on a bright after­noon. Lagos lay somewhat in a haze of siesta.As Chini saw the towers of the Power Houseand the old familiar landmarks, she was filledwith a choking nostalgia. Abiade. Only lastnight she had been reading his letter ... Therehe was, waiting patiently and waving. He hadcome to see her.

She embraced him, but his face was a mask.Later on she was to know why. Meantime shekept his letters tied together with string and nowshe wondered what to do with them ... Postthem to him at his home address so that thepretty girl would be embarrassed, so that shemight know that the happiness she found was atthe expense of another's unhappiness. Shecarried the letters to the office, but could notnow get herself to reread them. One eveningshe walked along the Marina.

Looking at the lights in the harbour, the shipsfrom all parts of the world, she thought of h~r

love affair. Then on an impulse, she droppedthe letters into the lagoon.

In her first job, a young Doctor always calledto take her back to her lodgings. She had notgot the little Fiat then, and she lived at theYWCA Hostel. It was a great thing to have aman call to see her. The girls always lookedout of the window and told her that Long Pipewas here, because this doctor was always chewinga pipe.

The pieces of the broken heart seemed to bemending. The feeling of elatedness, the lightness

[F)@@mm ~~@1~ITll~lt

~~@ W~~ITll

THE NEW AFRICAN/APRIL 1966/DAKAR FESTIVAL SUPPLEMENT/53

All day I have been walking. My viewOf the small part of England that's mineHas been rained away. There's nothingT hat belongs to me in this rotting place,

No house, no memory - even my bodyIs losing its battle with lust, stumblesIn the slack fat and the hard breathingFor the comfort of love. It is raining

Only the slow collapse of the hillsAnd no thunder in the sky or the clay.And my head is falling too slowly downFor my curses to break this coward,

My body, sntall feeble brother fiesh,Of his clinging to the closed sky's hand.The rain marches before. I have lostAll day my private war VJith the rain.

C. J. D R I V ER

What tzvill death be like? Will it followAs simply as night follows day?Will it be hollow as the box that housesThat rigid echo of me? Will it be soft as

sleep?Will it cut as deep as first love's betrayal?Will it give me the purity I seek but never

findFor longer than a summer rain's dismissal?Will it-eould it cover my sins at omission?

Whether death be brief 01~ simple, long orfinal,

I shall never know: But its shado'lv followsme

Steering me, a dark goad when my light isZ01D

And a cool reminder, a balancing poleWhen I become too proud. If the substance

follows the' shadOf1JI shall be glad to continue my tight-rope

act.PERSEUS ADAMS

of step, all began to return. One evening shewas looking out of the YWCA window, when agirl shouted: "Chini, quick! Come and seeLong Pipe."

The car had parked at the petrol station oppo­site. She could see that Long Pipe had tried topark it so that he would not easily be seen fromthe window. Chini saw him seated at the wheeland beside him a woman. In the rear seat werethree children: two boys in striped singlets, anda pretty little girl with two red ribbons in herhair.

In the office she could not work. Promptlyat ten minutes to two, she left and caught abus. She would not let herself be caught at theoffice and she would not see him at home. Butone evening he surprised her.

She met him in the sitting room. "You didnot tell me you were already married," shesaid.

He had no explanation. "You are my girl­friend," was all he said. And she could readthe implication: that it was nothing unusual.

"Do I strike you as the girl-friend of amarried man?"

" I meant no harm, Chini."She burst into tears. "YOll were deceiving

me!"1-'hey had told her jokingly-the knowledge­

able ones-that in Nigeria a girl had one of twochoices. They told her that if she did not finda man before the end of her training in Britain,\vhen she returned to Nigeria, she would meetmen who were already settled, but who wouldwant to take advantage of her desire to getmarried. She had laughed when they said this.

She looked down now at the warm hand onher lap. She studied the intent eyes of Fran~ois.

Her meeting with him had been sOlnething stiffand odd. Of all places, they had met at aninternational seminar on African Culture.

FRANCOIS FOUND IT \VAS SOOTHING, healingalmost, to sit in the air-conditioned room wherebooks, paintings and sculpture by Africans weredisplayed.

Chini with two ear-phones smartly clipped toher ears, sat at the horseshoe-shaped table whilethe men talked. The interpreters talked at asomewhat slower pace, translating freely.Fran~ois was speaking with so much animationthat at one point, the translator seemed to hangin midair. She pressed her fingers together soas to split out the precise shade of meaning, butFran~ois rattled onwards without a break spout­ing out the words with real enthusiasm.

" ... That is why one must be led to theconclusion that the Imperialist powers haveleft us with a doubtful legacy. The lace-doyleypetit-bourgeois atmosphere of the educated classin Africa and other once dependent territories,is a sad commentary on the Imperialist's belief

that African Culture, or indeed, any otherculture, can look after itself.

" ... The time has come now, when ... "During the tea break, the delegates split into

a handful of animated groups. They talked ofthe paper Fran~ois had just read. They fingeredthe books and art works on display. Chini wentover with them to see the books. She picked upa copy of The Palm Wine Drinkard and readthe first few line: I was a Palm Wine Drinkardsince I was a boy of ten years of age. I hadno other work more to drink palmwine in mylife. In those days we did not kncnv othermoney, except Cowries, so that everything wasvery cheap, and my father was the richest manin our town.

She was fascinated. She felt an elation, asudden inclination to sing and shout about herdiscovery.

"Now, that is real African writing," saidthe man towering above her. "The author ofthat-he had sensitiveness. He alone amongthem somehow managed to fall through thebottom of the educational sieve before all theoriginal genius was shaken out of him ..."

He spoke a strange F rench-English, a musicallanguage rendered all the more channing by hisdelicacy of feeling. She was to associate thisparticular brand of English with Fran~ois. Halfwhat he said she did not understand but itcoincided with her present yeamings. At thesame time, it would not be good manners notto understand what was being discussed at aconference ot which she had been sent as averbatim reporter.

They talked about Nigerian writers. Shefound that he knew them all and their works.He spoke of Things Fall Apart as though heand Chinua Achebe had lived together as col­leagues while he was writing it. He picked up7agua Nana and told her he liked CyprianEkwensi's sense of scene but hated his sophisti­cation. He was enthusiastic about the poetry ofGabriel Okara. But most of all he was ratherdisappointed with the slowness of Ghana. Somegreat work would, he felt, come out of Ghana,but it had been a long time coming. No othernation in West Africa he said, was so consciousof literature, music and art as Ghana. Thenewspapers never seemed to mention this, whichwas a pity. They were more interested in shout­ing aloud Ghana's interpretation of democracy.

They drifted from books ·to coffee and fromcoffee to themselves. Fran~ois must be aboutsix feet in height. At this conference he, worea red shirt rolled up to the elbows, displaying afine down of brown hairs on his forearms. Aperpetual -smile curled the corners of his mouth,as though he knew what they knew about theprofessors, critics, anthropologists and observerswho were gathered to talk about "AfricanCulture ".

This pre-publicationextract from animportant Camerounianfirst novel sets a scenewhich reverses the rolesof the French and Africanlovers in Cyprian Ekwensi'sstory (p 51)

H Sur? JJ

"Umm."a Sur, sur? JJ

" Yes."Her feelings for me were a mixture of love

and gratefulness; mine were tinged with a pro­found sense of responsibility. I was the firstman to touch her and talk to her of desire.When I had said she was pretty she said I waslying. If she were pretty why didn't the boystalk to her? I told her that there was no hurryin those things. She replied that some girls gotmarried at fifteen. Many girls began going outwith boys at sixteen, even earlier. But she hadbeen alone. Alone. She hadn't even girl friends.until nine months ago when her mother took onBibi, a Swedish girl who did house-keeping forthem in exchange for board and lodging and afew francs.

Therese liked Bibi very much. It was througbBibi that I met Therese. I had gone to a danceand had asked a girl to dance with me. As wedanced she said her name was Bibi; and I told.her my name. I had then dropped a hint to theeffect that I wanted to become acquainted. Butshe said she had a French boy friend so shecouldn't be more than ordinary friends withme. I said that was all right with me.

Then one day I saw her on the Boulevard.Saint Michel with another girl - Therese. I'talked to Bibi and she introduced Therese tome. We went into a cafe and talked and jokedand laughed. Bibi went to the telephone box.That was when I told Therese that she shouldn'tbe surprised; but I thought I liked her. I meantit. I would love to see her, alone, I said, some­time. How about her meeting me in that samecafe the following day? At three in the after­noon?

She said she didn't know whether or not shewould be able to make it.

Bibi returned from the telephone box.I told her that I thought her friend was

charming. I really meant it.Bibi put her hand maternally on Therese's

shoulder, and tilted her head sideways to lookinto Therese's face.

Therese was shy.The next day she turned up for the date in

that same cafe. That was how it began.Now it wasn't only meeting Therese. I had

to meet her parents as well, at least her mother,as she herself had just said.

I knew' what that meant. I wasn't reallyagainst it; but I didn't want to be rushed intoanything, or rather rushed into it, since I knewwhat meeting her parents would mean; what itcould lead to. I liked Therese very much andher profound sense of solitude made me feelvery much attached to her. I thought she hadeven more need for me than she seemed torealize. I had taught her to hope, taught her to

MBELLASONNEDIPOKO

A few nightsand days- Chapter one

MBE L L A SON N E DIP 0 K 0, author ofthis first novel, A Few Nights and Days, tobe published by Longrnans in 1uly 1966, isa Ca1'nerounian writer and poet now living inParis who has the distinction of writing inboth French and English. His poems havebeen published in The New African, Transi­tion, and Montparnasse Review. A FewNights and Days is the story of an Africanstudent in Paris whose casual affair with aFrench girl leads him into deeper emotionalinvolvement with her which is blocked onlyby her father. Failure to get parental approv­al leads to tragedy when the girl finallycommits suicide. I ronically the Africanstudent gets off the hook that way.

"DOUMBE, why don't you want to meet myparents? " Therese asked. We were in bed.

She was nineteen. She liked to carry her hairlong over her shoulders and back. She was ageography student. She was slender, but broad­hipped. She didn't like her hips. She wouldhave liked them to be narrow; and she was bigat her backside-heavy there really; and thattoo she didn't like at all. From the start I wasvery fond of her. She had such an attractiveface; simple eyes and rounded lips.

" Your parents?" I asked." Yes. Why don't you want to meet them? "Her father had a finn in Africa, in the Ivory

Coast." One of these days."" But when?' ""I don't know ... 'Give me a bit ..H Non! " she protested.H Allons! ""When will you meet them? At least my

mother? "" I've told you, one of these days.""But when? "" I'll tell you after ... "" You always say that."" Yes.""Yes what? "I breathed deeply - in, then out." Listen ... "" Why are you in such a hurry? It won't run

away.""You too are in a hurry. Your parents

won't run av/ay.""But Doumbe, I can't understand you."" Come on. You'll understand me after."" Yes! I'm no longer naive.""But Therese! "" When will you meet 1naman? "I didn't reply. After a minute or two of

silence, I sighed:" Umm.""Umm what?" she asked. "You won't

reply? .," Next week, all right? "

CHINI S TILL WORKS in Lagos. They will tellyou about her-those who know, and sigh andshake their heads. You do not need to look tooclosely to see why she was the flash-point ofthat international controversy. But she is verycool now, very calm, very collected. She is soefficient that sometimes her boss calls her to hisinner office and says, "Look, Chi ... you areworking too hard. Take some rest."

And she smiles, that mysterious smile of hersand says: "Am I? ... I like to work hard formy country. "

When she talks in this manner her bosshastily stubs his cigarette and frowns in silence.I t seems she has touched something very deep.

" May I go now?"A slow smile grows on her employer's face

and he talks without paying any attention toher.

"We have all had misfortunes, you know.You must not live with your own all your life.Francois is dead, through no fault of yours.It's true you loved him... But that wasunfortunatee "

Already she is crying. She is unable to standup any more and she looks round and slumpsinto a seat. Her employer is talking to her nowas a friend; as a man who knows her worthand realises that her efficiency is bound up withher personal happiness.

"Can't you find some other young man?Look, Chi. You do not go out nearly enough.You-oh, what's the use?"

He was exasperated. This man who couldsway multitudes with his soft persuasive voicewas exasperated before her, before Chi-his owntypist.

When he had talked and talked she knew thathe was talking from the other side of the wall.Her feminine stubborness was standing betweenher and him and she could not see him-or evenh~rh~. •

54/THE NEW AFRICAN/APRIL 1966/DAKAR FESTIVAL SUPPLEMENTMost of the people who came to the confer-

ence were oddly dressed. Chini had taken thetrouble to be superbly groomed. Her hair was~athered in a little pig-tail at the back and shefloated the extra yards of delicate print over herarm. For some reason her scrupulousness seemedto bea burden now. She felt out of place untilglancing across the table she caught sight of adazzling young woman who also appeared to betaking notes. She wore a pale blue transparentnylon material, lighter than the wind and thriceas clinging. Her face was made up in a mannerMax Factor would have approved, even for anAfrican woman. Chini learnt later that thiswoman was a reporter from Radio Nigeria.

"I am a Secretary-Typist", Chini said,answering Fran~ois's question. She smiled."One of eighteen Secretaries."

"You have always spoken English?"" Yes.""You write?""No. But I read what they write. I was

sent here to report. No I don't write. I read:mainly love stories."

His face flushed. She felt she had saidsomething out of place, and tried to rectify it."The first love story I ever really enjoyedwas When Love Whispers."

"I see! ... I've never heard of it.""A long time ago. I was in the convent

then." She remembered the story clearly, andpromptly began to tell him about it. But some­where in the middle she realised that the toneof this conference was set too high for glib talk,and she kept quiet so suddenly that an emptinessdescended on them in the large hall, thougheveryone seemed to be babbling away.

At this point the bell rang and they resumedtheir seats.

THE NEW AFRICAN/APRIL 1966/DAKAR FESTIVAL SUPPLEMENT/55

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sisted. So I told her. I said her advice hadcome too late. Alors la! It was total panic. Herface red, she asked me if by that I meant youhad known me. I said it was done."

" What did she say? "" She wept."" You shouldn't have told her.""But she wanted to know. I wasn't going to

go into the details. It was she who asked forthem."

" And she said she wanted to see me? ""Not immediately. She went to her room to

weep. Luckily papa wasn't at home. When shelater left her room she came and knocked onthe door of mine. I let her in determined to tellher off should it be necessary. She sat on mybed. Then she asked me if I was expecting achild. I couldn't help laughing. I don't knowwhy. She wanted to know why I was laughing,if by that too I meant her anxiety had come abit late. I said no. I wasn't laughing becauseof that. But was I pregnant? I said no. Shethanked ,God . . . It's after all normal, all that,I understand her, but I have my life. It's mine,my life. I think she has understood that now."

"So it wasn't she who asked you to intro­duce me? "

"No. It's me. Does it really bother you verymuch? I thought it would be nice for you tomeet them."

" Does your father know? "" My father! "" Yes.""But no! "I climbed down from the bed and went into

the bathroom, splashed some water on me,wiped myself with a towel and returned to theroom in a dressing gown.

It was a large room. A double bed. A tableat which I worked and a chair. One largeleather chair. A sideboard. A bookshelf and anenormous wardrobe with a misty mirror fitted

M .

Frontier

But later when we were once more calm andreasonable I tried to withdraw the promise Ihad made only a few minutes ago.

"Therese," I said, "don't you think thisquest10n of meeting your mother is rather deli­cate? "

"Ca y est! n she said. " You have begunstalling. How is it delicate? "

"Well-"" You're not going to tell me you're afraid."" Shut up. Me? Afraid? What of? ""Alors, why don't you want to meet her?

You said a while ago that you'd meet her nextweek. Now you want to change."

"Does she know about us? "" Yes.""Yes? "" Y·es. I had to tell her.""You didn't have to.""Well I have done so. She knows."" I thought you said she was very Catholic? "" Yes and so? "In the past she wouldn't have been so snappy."I was wondering how someone as Catholic

as you say t:he is would take the news. Did youtell her that we do this?" I pointed at herthighs ... " She knows? "

" Of course! ""That is something. How did you begin? I

wouldn't know how to talk about it to mymother if I were a girl. Come on, tell me. Howdid you present it? "

"I told her I knew a boy. She wanted toknow if he was nice."

" But I am nice, my dear! "" It's not true, wicked you."" Is that what you told her? "" No. I said the boy was nice. Then she said

I should be careful. She said I shouldn't go toyour place. I laughed. You can't imagine howit made me laugh. She wanted to know why Iwas laughing. But I wouldn't tell her. She in-

esteem herself a little more and she didn~t hidethe fact that she was grateful to me for It.

I had also taught her to dance and now shesimply adored it. I also talked to her of myancestors, the little I knew about them~ andTherese listened. She was very broad-mInded,Therese very broad-minded indeed. I talked toher of' the Africa of my childhood and shesimply liked it. I told her the story of Mbokeand Ewudu. She loved it; she said it was likea novel. She liked to hear me talk of Africa.

We also talked about Greece and Rome. Butwe weren't history students, so we only talkedabout generalities. I had a critical attitude.Sometimes I would taunt her about the mili­tarism of Sparta; would talk about the endlesswars which were fought in the European past,wars which were the ancestors of the morerecent wars of our time. But not once did shehit back and say African tribes also fought eachother, that Africans fought wars against eachother.

I don't know why she wasn't critical ofAfrica. Perhaps she had come to see Mrica assomething virginal, something perfect and shedidn't want to tamper with that image. Or per­haps she didn't want to offend me. She wasvery polite with me.

I talked to her about African art and weread quite a bit on it. She even began to sayperhaps she should have done ethnography orethnology instead of geography. She said shewould have loved to study a region of Africa.I once mentioned it to an African friend ofmine, a science student. He was a funny chap.He said of course; didn't I know? Love wasthe best of ambassadors. I was really puttingAfrica across. I didn't like that very much be­cause it seemed to me he said it with a touchof irony, and I am rather sensitive.

Therese would have told me many things; Iwould have learnt a lot from her if only shehad a little more self-confidence. And when thatself-confidence began to come, we were so in­volved with each other that the world didn'tjust seem interesting enough to talk about. Wediscussed ourselves, our problems. But while theold relationship las~ed I talked to her of Africaand she listened with much interest. Being ageography student she would have talked to meabout the regions of Europe; about the rivers,for example. But I didn't even encourage her.I didn't care for any river but the Mungo River,in Cameroon, and about that I talked. Theseasons - the dry season and the rainy season.The canoe-men and their women. My child­hood by that river. River of desire. River oflove - songs sung by the canoe-men and theirwomen. Welcoming river.

But nineteen years was rather too young. Iwas twenty-three, hard in my own way, some­times reckless and often I thought of life as atough adventure which called for as little senti­mentality as possible. I didn't subscribe to ordin..ary morals and I didn't care. I Jived. I hadcrossed oceans and deserts, burst through hori­zons. And all that needed audacity. Life wasn'ta simple thing, nor was love: complicationsalways developed. But to Therese life was hope,a refuge.

Now I was looking into her eyes and shegazed at my excitement, at first smiling, thenwith something like a helpless sadness. I sawlove in her eyes with all the old fears and de­mands of reassurance. But her face showed thefamiliar willingness, the aroused desire and Ilowered my face to hers, forgetting all that lifeheld of distances, conscious only of nearness,warmth, desire. Her body seemed to weaken;then it became taut, throbbing with the forceof hel receptive tenderness. Nearness warmthand desire with no thoughts of distan~e.!

56/THE NEW AFRICAN/APRIL 1966/DAKAR FESTIVAL SUPPLEMENTagainst its door. can turn only to things like horoscopes for

The dressing gown I was wearing was slightly amusement!over-size. It was a birthday present from When I talked to Therese about the twoTherese. I hadn't a dressing gown and she said women, she said she wouldn't want to live toI had to have one. Her father had dressing that age. Forty would be enough for her, shegowns. A man must always have a dressing said. Co" Grand maximum." That was the waygown, she said. I told her that I wasn't her she put it. That was over a month ago. I knewfather, that in Africa people used loincloths. She she hadn't changed her mind. It was strangesaid it didn't m·atter. So when my birthday came, how morose she could be and then how elatedin February, she bought the dressing gown for she could suddenly become the following day.me. I kissed her, sincerely, twice, on the cheek Theresel I knew love was a burden to her.even .though kissing wasn't a habit of mine. I But it was an agreeable burden. She was verytold her it wasn't done back home. She said delicate. Sometimes I wondered whether shethat was curious. She ,,'as happy that I liked realised to what extent love was an adventure.the present. A good girl with a good heart, that To her it seemed to be a refuge against theTherese. She wasn't mean, and I liked it that bitterness of the world; to me it wasn't a desti­she wasn't. nation but a stop exposed to winds, to thunders,

Personally, I spent money without thinking a stop exposed to storms, a stop among otherof the next day. I expected others to be like stops between the first day and the last day inme. Someone once said it was because there the life of every man and woman. I wishedwas something of an artist in me. Another per- Therese could realize that we were only friends.son said it was because I was born in February, " Are you getting up or not? " I asked.towards the end. I don't know much about She passed her fingers through her hair andhoroscopes. But people said it was fun. pouted.

One night, at the drug store in The Champs "I am tired," she said, as if moaning. "I'llElysees I saw two women looking through a stay fOT a while."bundle of pamphlets on the sub;eet. They She drew the bed-clothes to her chest andlaughed, reading through the pamphlets. They tucked their edges under her armpits. Herweren't middle-aged women. They were older hands weren't under the bed-clothes; so, withthan that; those high society women who wanted one of them, she tapped the edge of the bed,to remain young forever because of the next meaning I should sit down, there!fashion shows. They were lightly perfumed and "Come and sit down, here, here," she said,their faces were carefully made-up. The effect now only caressing the edge of the bed with herwasn't bad at all. Perhaps they had spent up to fingers, tapping away, lightly, with one finger,forty· years learning how to put their faces in then with another.order. They held their heads together, reading "I'm coming," I said and went to the win-one of the books which purported to talk about dow.the present and the future in prophetic terms. I drew the curtains apart.I was looking through the paperbacks which Daylight rushed into the room with thelined the shelves, mostly novels. I liked to freshness of mid-May. The sun was on the walltouch books. As I raised my head and looked of the building opposite my window ... No.in the direction of the women, they laughed and The sun was only on the upper storey of thenudged each other. One of them selected a building. To my right, where a little streetsecond horoscope pamphlet, since they already cut at right angles with the street under myhad one which made them laugh. It was in the window, the red-brick wall of a tall building washands of the taller woman. fully sun-lit.

It Ca nous amusera/' the other woman Behind the building the sky was a blotchylaughed, and winked at her friend ... But life blue. The sky leaned over Paris. Looking at it,is a tragic thing. To attain the age when one I felt alone, profoundly alone. I turned round

and went and sat down on the edge of the bed.Therese took my hand :in hers. Then she heldmy fingers to her lips and bit them, lightly

It didn't hurt at all. It tickled, and it wasfaintly pleasurable. Her teeth were on my fin..gers, or rather on my finger-nails, but I fe!the effect right down in me, a tickling whicliwas rough enough to make me laugh but whichalso had a vague intensity that went deeperthan the depth of laughter.

Then I felt the sad - no, the melancholyfeeling of love. That was why I was feelinialone. But it was only a mood. If I had waited,it would have passed as it was bound to pass,and I wouldn't have committed myself as I nowdid.

Therese suddenly let go my fingers. Shtucked the bedclothes farther under her armpitSas if in preparation to go to sleep. She hadbelieved, profoundly, she had convinced herselfof the oneness of the world.

"I'll meet your mother next week," I said."Wednesday? Will that suit you? "

"I think so," she said and took my hand inhers and pulled me to her. My feeling ofloneliness :increased. I bent over her. She pulled'me closer and raising her lips from the pillo~

she kissed me on the lips, quickly, then her head­fell back on the pillow.

We went into the details. The time; five inthe afternoon. The place: a cafe in an area inwhich I had once lived before moving into mypresent room.

Before Therese left my place that afternoonshe reminded me that Laurent, Bibi's boy friend;and I, had promised to take them to a dancethat evening. It was a Wednesday.

I said I had forgotten. She said I forgoteverything. I laughed, having recovered from myY1feeling of loneliness. She smiled. Then she re-'minded me - or thought she was reminding me­- that the rendezvous was at Laurent's place~at nine that evening. She and Bibi would joinus there. h

I hadn't forgotten. Only I liked to pull herleg. Therese was nineteen and very nice. SHehad a pretty face, but her broad hips and largebuttocks embarrassed her. They made her miser-able. • '

(

No Easy TaskAUBREY KACHINGWE

18s UK price

The ConcubineELECHI AMADI

21s UK price

EfuruFLORA NWAPA

21s UK price

The first novel by a Malawian writer. It is a story of the politicalstruggles of a British colony, with a white settler minority, movingtowards Independence and the political and emotional awakening of ayoung journalist whose pastor-father emerges as his country's leader.

A new novel of considerable impact by a new Nigerian writer. Set inEastern Nigeria, it is a classic story, beautifully told, of a good woman,loved by all and sought by the most ambitious young men, whonevertheless brings suffering and death to all who court her.

Flora Nwapa, in her first novel, plants her story firmly in the world ofthe women in Nigeria, where Efuru, beautiful and respected, distinguishedbeyond other women, except for her formidable aunt, Ajanupu, is lovedand deserted by the two ordinary undistinguished men she marries.

HEINEMANN EDUCATIONAL BOOKS 48 CHARLES STREET, LONDON Wl

Documentandimagination

THE NEW AFRICAN/APRIL 1966/DAKAR FESTIVAL SUPPLEMENT/57

O. R. DATHORN E~

the novel, Africa's onlytotally imported literaryform, has moved from flat,bald statement toimaginative experiment

THE NOVEL IS THE ONLY literary art-formthat has been totally imported in Africaand imposed over and above developmentfrom an indigenous pattern. Drama andpoetry there were, always oral and some­times functional, pIaying their part onceremonial and festival occasions. In pre­literate Africa no such function existedfor the novel - there was no need for itto perform. It is not surprising, therefore,that with the advent of literacy, it is thenovel which has most interested the newwriters.

The novel, by its nature, establishes aterrain of private communication and re­sponse, and it does this partly by a visualprocess.- In Africa it completed the artisticview of the world, and in a larger and moreimportant sense it would seem to have incor­porated into this view the aesthetic of anoral tradition to which it never truly be­longed. A European conception, articulatedby an indigenous African exposition, isresultiny in the product which is todayregarded as the African novel - it is aprocess from flat, bald statement to elabo­ate experiment.

FREQUENTLY THE STATEMENT is of a purelysocio-anthropological nature. This meansthat not only is character and environmentinhibited, but the whole conception andexecution of language is severely restrictedthe energy of the narrative flow restrained.WOLE SOYINKA pointed this out as the im­portant difference between CAMARA LAYE'SL'Enfant Noir and his later Le Regard duRoi. But although Camara Laye's first book,if a novel, inhabits a limbo between therealism of biography and the ultra-realismof creative fiction, there are moments whenit fulfils itself and can stand up to aestheticapprllisal. For instance, the description ofthe meeting with Konden Diara evokes notonly the vivid picture of a frightening or­deal, but creates with subtle strokes a worldof childish fantasy where a confrontationwith fear looms large. The meeting andlove of Marie is different from the infertile,heavy monotony of a great deal of the

O. R. D A T H 0 R NE, Guyana-bornnOvelist, lectures in English at theUniversity of Ibadan and is remews­editor of Black Orph~us.

book. Even in translation the poetry comesover:

Whenever I think about our friendship, andI often think about it, dream about it - I amalways dreaming about it - it seems to methat there was nothing, in all those years, tosurpass it; nothing in all those years of exile,that meant more to me. And it was not becauseI was lacking in affection; my aunts, and myuncles too, gave me all their affection; but Iwas at the age when the heart cannot restuntil it has found some object to cherish, whenit can brook no shackles but its own, morepowerful and demanding than any others. Butare we not always at this age, are we notalways consumed by longing? Is our heart everat rest?

One might feel impatient with the cloy­ing sentimentality of some of what is said,but the overall tone, the introspective con­cern, enables some parts of the book to riseabove the pedestrian limitations of mereautobiographical documentary.

There is of course no experiment here,though there is relief: the element in thisbook which separates fact from fiction. A.less successful expression of childhoodmemories can be found in WILLIAMCONTON'S The African, in PRINCEMODUPE'S I was a Savage, in COLE'SKossoh Town Boy, in EZEKIEL MPHA­HLELE'S Down Second Avenue, to nameonly a few books which use a reflective flash­back to bring the reader imaginativelynearer to themes. Of these only The Africancan be truly regarded as a novel. One canagree with Davidson NicoI that the des­cription of childhood memories constitutesa " significant area of African writing" buthaving said this, one ought to add thatfew writers have attempted to make itcontribute to the general technique and totaleffect of the novel. MPHAHLELE's approachin his autobiography is a slick snap-shottreatment that might have done well in anovel:

Looking back to those first thirteen yearsof my life - as much of it as I can remember- I cannot help thinking that it was timewasted. I had nobody to shape them into adefinite pattern. Searching through the confusedthreads of that pattern a few things keep im­posing themselves on my whole judgment. Mygrandmother; the mountain; the tropical dark­ness which glow-worms seemed to try in vainto scatter; long black tropical snakes; the brutalLeshoana river carrying on its broad back trees,cattle, boulders; world of torrential rains; the

solid shimmering heat beating down on yearnin~

earth; the romantic picture of a woman with achild on her back and an earthen pot on herhead, silhouetted against the mirage.In CONTON'S novel it takes on a patrioticfalsetto. When the hero sets out for Englandhe is given a large uncut diamond by hisfather as a keepsake.He states:

Now, as I write, part of that same stone,still uncut and undistinguished in appearanceis before me, the material possession I holddear. In it I see hidden the glorious flameof Africa's spirit, the richness of her wealth,and the sharp edge of her energy. It hasbecome for me the penetrating star of Africanfreedom, a light by which to rouse a sleepinggiant.The failure is the writer's inability tostrike a sincere pose; the attitudinisingspoils the poignancy of the memory andits relevance for the reader.

IN THE NOVEL FORM the reference tochildhood is best handled when juxta­posed with some contrasting elementfrom later life. "I remember," "Thatwas when," "Years before" are all wordswhich conjure up a world of associations.The writer is therefore obliged to usewhat follows sparingly; his recollectionsought not to sprawl - he must be selec­tive. He can reffect on what he is say­ing, but should never preach from thelofty detachment of the present. Whatis mystical cannot be rationalised, andMONGO BETI for instance in Mission T er­minee recalls with just that proper meas­ure of withdrawal and awe:

Another time, I was on holiday at mymaternal uncle's, and had gone rambling inthe forest with some other boys, when weheard a very queer bird-call, repeated againand again. I knew that bird; it was the onewe call the Ghost's Daughter, or some suchname, and it wasn't the first time I had runinto it. I ts call came from a thicket quiteclose to us: it began very suddenly, a deathlysad noise; dripping with nostalgia, just at if ithad been laid on specially for us - as if itwas somehow connected with us.

It was a smooth, unwavering melody, ratherlike a river in its reaches below a weir: everynote was low-pitched, with a calm implacablefatalism in its timbre that penetrated to myinmost soul (rather like the soap enemas Iwas given in my sickly childhood), and long­drawn-out emphasis on the final note of eachphrase. It sounded as though this bird knew

eS/THE NEW AFRICAN/APRIL 1966/DAKAR FESTIVAL SUPPLEMENTvery well that its song symbolised some per­son's destiny; and also so detached was thetone, so emotionally indifferent that the know­ledge left it totally unmoved. It was simply ananonymous messenger.This is nostalgia translated into literaryterms, evocative flashes of meaning, a sym­pathetic response to the pathos of situation.

IN GENERAL THE AFRICAN novel shows fewexamples of this kind of economic artistry.One is tempted to feel that perhaps a reasonwhy the African novel has parted companywith mainstreams writing in Europe is thatthe parent tradition in Africa - oral ex­pression - was the pooling of the com­munal imagination in a vast emotionalreservoir. The artist in traditional Africahas always been anonymous and the Africannovelist who attempts to describe his child­hood is attempting two things - he iswriting in a new form and he is expressingit in p new idiom.

THE OLD versus new school which expressesthis dilemma in art has become almost akind of caricature of itself. It began per­haps as a bastard off-shoot of negritude anddeveloped an indigenous form and growth.Like all moulds it has little room for inven­tiveness; it inhibits the individuality of theauthor and provides him with a ready­made plot, wooden characters and a stage­set environment. There is nothing thatredeems the heavy monotony of CHINUAACHEBE'S Things Fall Apart)· with NoLonger at Ease there is at least some at­tempt at humour. This too is the reason forthe failure in both of NZEKUWU's novels.In his first, Wand of Noble Wood, thefamiliar story of the divided man - inthis case Pete Obiesie - one finds, forinstance, an overlong description of theformal payment by the hero's family ofthe bride-price, the wand is described atgreat length and even the ceremonial im­portance of the kola-nut comes in for de­tailed treatment. A reviewer described thebook as "almost a manual of popular an­thropology." This is of course what makesit fail. But are we perhaps asking too muchof writers who seem tribally contained?Perhaps it is inevitable that an off-shootof the African novel should reach this stageof wooden exposition.

In an earlier novel, Chaka, translatedfrom Southern Sotho, THOMAS MOFOLO wasto explore the similar predicament of man;but in this novel the hero's plight is moreuniversalised.. He is divided within him­self on the value of ideals:

But he was still only a man, he was notquarrelsome, and did not know what it was tobe the aggressor. But after seeing his ownfather's sons trying to kill him without a causeand his father himself taking their part, he hadfled away, and when he was in the desert hisinner nature died, and this was the spirit withwhich he now returned: "I will kill withouta cause him whom I wish to kill, be he guiltyor be the innocent, for this is the law uponearth. I will hearken to the entreaties of none."His personal tragedy is therefore separatedfrom any sociological associations and this

gives significance to the predicament.Mofolo's novel is "anthropological" in amuch wider sense of the term; he uses hishistorical backcloth as the merest of outlinesand fills it in with a rich texture of devel­oped characters. The "anthropological"novel can concern itself with the individualin society or the individual within history;in either case the treatment must be person­alised.

In JAMES NGUGI'S first novel, there isever-documented presentation of Kenyaduring the emergency and the effect it hason a family. In his second novel, The RiverBetween, he is concerned with individuals'conflict. It is a way of moving closer touniversality and truth, away from'the exter­nals of society. In this second novel, itshero, Waiyaki, reflects upon his aspirationsand his limitations:

\Vaiyaki knew that he did not want to bethat messiah. But now he wanted an opportunityto shout what was beginning to oppress hismind. He would tell the people - "Unite."That would be early next year. For a momenthe dreamt the dream. It was a momentary visionthat flashed across his mind and seemed tolight the dark corners of his soul. It was thevision of a people who could trust one another,who would sit side by side, singing the songof love which harmonized with music fromthe birds, and all their hearts would beat tothe rhythm of the throbbing river. The childrenwould play there, jumping from rock on torock, splashing the water which reached fathersand mothers sitting in the shade around, talking,watching. Birds sang as they hovered from treeto tree, 'while farther out in the forest beastsof the land circled all around.He dreams of a return to the language ofmyth and the deeds of legend, when menand gods shared the world and there wasa correspondence between human and ani­mal activity.

N egritude, THE DIVIDED-l\tiAN THEME, theemergency in Kenya, black and white rela­tionship in South Africa are all concernedwith the same thing - the expression ofthis newness. But none can simply be docu­mented in the novels - they have to beexpressed through recognisable characterisa­tion and credible incident; it is necessary, inother words, to be concerned with the realand to express it imaginatively. And realismis its own yardstick - the expression ofreality in literature; it cannot be reality.For real experience there can be no substi­tute since it is what we live through; realismconvinces us that what we are living throughin an art-form is real within the limitationsof that art-form. From this viewpoint AMOSTUTUOLA is a realist; this has never beensufficiently emphasised. His characters donot assert nightmarish attitudes - they aremost completely themselves within a fusionof ancient legend and modern news-report.In their progress from bush to townTutuola's characters vacillate between theterrors of a supernatural they fear and thesurprises of an urban confusion which theycannot understand. They do not have thestudied intentionality of Achebe, but adichotomy between a peculiar vision and

shattered sometimes fragmentary values.For instance, as the hero and wife carryalong their wonder-child in The Palm WineDrinkard, Tutuola writes:

As we were travelling about in the bushon that night, my wife was feeling overloadingof this baby and if we put him on a scale bythat time, he would weigh at least 28 lb.The wonder-baby, the bush at night, thescale, twenty-eight pounds, are the predica­ment. It is stated so simply that it mightalmost escape one. There is no attempt toexternalise it; it is just there. That is whyTutuola has been misunderstood by bothEuropean and Nigerian readers: Tutuola~

better than any other writer in English­speaking Africa, has described the tensionsof his society, its conflicts, its loyalties, theinner demands of a superstition that peoplecherish and the ex ternal demands of amaterialism to which they must conform.

THESE TENSIONS CAN BE satirically drama­tised; for instance in OYONO's Une Vie deBoy, young Houndi had only become a con­vert as a child because the missionariesshared out candy. Sunday services werevery popular because the priest pronouncedAfrican words so badly that they took onan obscene meaning. There is also frequentridicule against missionaries in all of BETI'Sbooks, even in his early one, Ville Cruelle,the ensuing conversation takes place in abar. Someone asks Banda:

" Tell us frankly, you wanted to be a priest?You really wanted to? You were willing togive up women, God's finest gift?" "Shut up,you" someone yelled. "Where did you getthat one from about priests giving up women?That's .a laugh."But Une Vie de Boy attempts a largercanvass than the mere satirising of Chris~tianity. Toundi's veneration of the whiteman and his ways and the gradual way inwhich he is stripped of this illusion, repre­sents the freeing of the black mind fromthe psychology of colonialism. It is on termsof equality that Kalisia mixes with whites,and ~hen the cook tells the young stewardabout it, it is a kind of emancipation forhim:

" The whites are wild about her backside ...Kalisia who had had her fill of whites, livedfor a long time with a Negro from the coast,you know, those who have a salty skin. Thenshe lived with other whites, with other blacks,and with still others who were neither quiteblack nor white."The treatment of colour in lightheartedmanner reduces it to the level of absurdity,a thorough disenchantment with the valuesof colonialism.

WHEN BLACK SOUTH AFRICANS began to bepublished abroad, they took advantage ofthis to write more freely. An early novelof PETER ABRAHAMS, Mine Boy, describesthe country/town bewildertpent of Xuma.But the town is not seen as conferring anyspecial benefit on him or on the black man.It is a retrogressive step for "the citymakes you strange to your people," asLeah warns him on arrival. But althoughAbrahams is describing the hard life of the

mines and the living conditions, he is nodocumentarian. Someone writing at the turnof the century about conditions in the SouthAfrican mines said this:

The housing accommodation consists, for themost part, of compounds. These are usuallybarracks built in a hollow square, with meansof egress facing the inside of the square, exceptfor the main gateway. When in the compoundsthe "boys" are practically under confinement,while undesirable visitors are usually kept out.At any rate there is control over their goingsand comings.This is the kind of prose which seems laterto have crept into the African novel - theflat, informed account. Abrahams who isa true novelist, handling the same subjeet­matter brings short sentences, associativewords, select descriptive flashes and reflec­tion in his description of another part ofJohannesburg:

Malay Camp. A row of streets crossing an­other row of streets. Mostly narrow streets.Mostly dirty streets. Mostly dark streets. Arow of houses crossing another row of houses.And so it went on. Streets crossing streets.Houses crossing houses.

Leaning dark houses that hid life and deathand love and hate and would not show anythingto the passing stranger. Puddles of dirty muddywater on the sandy pavements. Little childrenplaying in these puddles. Groups of men gam­bling on street corners. Groups of childrenwalking down the streets carefully studying thegutters and vying with each other to pounceupon dirty edibles, and fighting each other forthem. Prostitutes on street corners and pimpscalling after them.

And from somewhere, the low monotonouswail of a broken-down piano thumping out anunchanging rhythm, and the sound of thuddingfeet dancing to it. Shouts and screams andcurses. Fighting and thieving and lying.

But above it all, the real Malay Camp. Thewarmth in the air even on a cold night. Thewarmth of living bodies; of living, breathing,moving people. A warmth that was richer thanthe air and the earth and the sun. Richer thanall things. The warmth of life, throbbing. Ofhearts pounding. Of silence and of sound. Ofmovement and of lack of movement. A warm,thick, dark blanket of life. That was MalayCamp. Something nameless and living. A streamof dark life.There is of course an enormous differencebetween the two. Whereas Peter Abrahamsis creating, the first writer is merely re­porting - illustrative of the difference be­tween imaginative experiment and baredocument in the Aftican novel. e

William Fagg of the Department ofEthnography in the British Museum,London has selected these and othe.rpieces of sculpture for exhibitionduring the First Festival of the NegroArts at Dakar. With one exceptionthey come from the British Museumand are reproduced with thepermission of the Trustees.

1A Benin bronze aquamanile madein the form of a ram. Water waspoured from it in the ritual ablu­tions of the Oba before ceremonies.It is probably seventeenth century.

2The bowman of j,ebba. One of thefour biggest bronzes ever foundin Africa; its full height is aboutthree feet. It is said to have beenbrought to Jebba from ldah furtherdown the Niger. It is sixteenthcentu ry or eV.en earlier.

3This sixteenth century Beninbronze of a man with Maltese typeof c'ross presents a mystery. Thereare traditions that people fromthe North brought this kind ofcross, in which case its origincould be M.editerranean; on theother hand this is a basic shapeand need not necessarily have anyother connection. The brokenhammer in the left hand is thesmith's hammer of Ogon, the godof war.

4This wooden figure of an ancestralmoth.er spirit suckling an infantcomes from the Afo tribe ofcentral Nigeria. It is probably latenineteenth century. [Hornimancollection]

ON FRONT COVEROver one thousand bronze plaques are known.They were nailed to the four sides of woodenpillars which supported the Oba's palace atBenin. When found they had been stacked awayin piles since the original building had beentaken or fallen down. These three figures arechiefs of the Benin court.

5This stylised figure is of unusual quality forsculpture from the Zulus of South Africa.It is probably late nineteenth century.

6This wooden h,ead-rest from the Shankadisub-tribe of the Baluba of the Eastern Congo­Leopoldville. Head-rests of this kind were usedto prevent damage, while sleeping, to theelaborate coiffur,es such as those shown in thesefigures. This is supposed to be about 1900 indate.

7Benin bronze horseman, which is probablyeighteenth century, was a visiting emissaryfrom one of the Em irs of Northern Nigeria.It was collected on the 1897 Benin expedition.

a fresh look at Negritude­its French romantic roots,its limits, the FrenchAfrican poets, fromSenghor the sage to UTarn'Si beyond its confines

THE NEW AFRICAN/APRIL 1966/DAKAR FESTIVAL SUPPLEMENT/53of literary manifestoes." (Wake). After all,its most coherent interpretation to date hasbeen given by Sartre. For Sartre, Negritudepoetry was "the only great revolutionarypoetry" of his day. It was an expressionof racisme antiraciste, a revitalisation ofSurrealism and, to give Freud his fulldue, the "unity of phallic erection andvegetal growth." It was the poetry of anew chosen people, the selective principlebeing Suffering.

LECTURING ON EARLY EUROPEAN Romantic­ism at the University of Montpellier a fewyears ago, Rene Etiemble made a disclosureat the end of his course. He had taken allthe quorations illustrating the genesis ofthis movement from Chinese poetry writtenbefore and after the beginning of our era!Without pushing the comparison too far,one could attempt the same experiment bysubstituting modern African verse in Frenchfor some of the 19th-century FrenchRomantics. Clive Wake in his introductionto a recent anthology has explored theaffinities between SenghorjBirago Diop andVictor Hugo. Other critics, and not themeanest an10ng them Senghor himself, pointout the uniqueness of the African's experi­ence and of its poetic expression, whichare only facets of " Negritude." Nobody canavoid a discussion of this concept, or move­ment, when dealing with French Africanpoetry.

Negritude is a concept of romantic race­consciousness of the Negro, but it was notborn in Africa. It was essentially a " racial,"political, and cultural awakening of theAfrican in exile, and the feeling at the rootof its literature is prefigured in the 137thpsalm:

By the rivers of Babylon,There we sat down, yea, we wept,When we remembered Zion ...Negritude can be divided into three main

phases, partly overlapping, \vith changes ofname entailed by its moving from onelinguistic medium to another. It is not sur­prising that the racial awakening of thefirst phase should have taken place amongthe largest single group of exiled Africans,the Negroes of the United States, where,after a period of acauiescence, DuBois as-

d " J.serte, The problem of the twentieth cen-tury is the problem of the colour-line."DuBois's equalitarian belief in a co-exist­ence of the races, which evolved into Pan­Africanism, was challenged by MarcusGarvey, whose cry" Back to Africa" rocked0e American-Negro masses of the 'Twen­tIes. Garvey's Philosophy and Opinions

W I I. L F R lED FEU S E R lectures tnmodern languages in the University oflbadan.

influenced Kwame Nkrumah, for example,more strongly than did Hegel, Marx, andEngels.*

In the cultural sphere the writings of LeoFrobenius had by that time caught up withthe current of political thought and withthe musical revolution of jazz and wentinto the making of that great cultural move­ment, the Negro Renaissance, epitomisedin Alain Locke's anthology, The NewNegro (1925). Langston Hughes, whomLocke called "the most racial of the NewNegro poets," proclaimed: "We youngerNegro artists who create now intend toexpress our individual dark-skinned selveswithout fear or shame." The racial contentof New Negro poetry is further illustratedby the titles of Countee Cullen's volumesfrom Colour (1925) to The Black Christ(1929). The end of the 'Twenties saw therise of Negrismo in Cuba and of a similarmovement heralded bv Price-Mars inHaiti. W

But the second phase of the movementwas truly inaugurated by the young FrenchCaribbean rebels, twice exiled in Paris,starting with Etienne Lero's shortlivedjournal, Legitime Defense (1932). Leroacknowledged his group's debt of gratimdeto the "New Negroes," - C'LangstonHughes and Claude MacKay (sic), the tworevolutionary poets, have brought us, soakedin red alcohol, the African love of life, theAfrican joy of love, and the African dreamof death."**

Negritude emerged from the obscurity ofstudent magazines into the light of AimeCesaire's Cahier d'un retour au pays natal(1939 and 1947). By that time "Negri­tude" covered a variety of frequently con­flicting tendencies: racial self-discovery,surrealist self-expression, Marxist revolu­tionary hope, and Afro-Christian human­ism. Its underlying unity consisted in theeternally romantic return to the sources,Senghor's retour aux sources de la N egri­tude, but its codified creed is best under­stood in terms of the French cultural tradi­tion cc with its intellectualisation and its love

*The Autobiography of Kwame Nkrumah(Edinburgh 1957)

**Quoted by Leon Damas, Poetes d'expressionfranfaise, Paris 1947, p.14/15. This passageseems to be the source of Damas's motif ofman coeur marine dans l'alcool, in Black­Label, 1956.

LEAVING ASIDE THE CARmBEAN phase ofNegritude - with Cesaire's achievement inthe Cahier overshooting the limits of anydefinition and Damas's resounding racismending in an emotional cul-de-sac - weare here mainly concerned with Senghor'scontribution and with what I should liketo call the third phase, that of Negrirude-in­Africa. Senghor's creative phase largelycoincides with the period of his closecollaboration with the Caribbean poets;the same is true of Birago Diop. DavidDiop, who spoke a genuine poetic idiomall his own, was an exile too; he could notfulfil his promise because he died tooyoung. Jacques Rabemananjara of Madagas­car is a Negritude poet by adoption. Thisleaves us with Bernard Dadie of the IvoryCoast, \vho can claim some genuine African­born Negritude verse as his own though inhis litany-like style he lacks Senghor'spower over the word; with the softly -prob­ing accent of Somalia's William Syad,whose French verse is weaker than hisEnglish with its strong Arabic component;Joseph Bognini, who shows great promise;Lamine Diakhate of Senegal with an un­imaginative harping on the theme of es­cape and the myth of blood, an echo ofSenghor's call to international brotherhood,and a tin-drum finale of crude political pro­paganda; Antoine-Roger Bolamba's Chantdu soir is quite charming, but it is tooevident that he is still serving his appren­ticeship, as his imagery lacks the powerand density of his fellow-Congolese from theBrazzaville side of the river, Felix GerardTchicaya U Tam'si.

U Tam'si could be called a surrealistor a symbolist, but in the first place he isvery intensely U Tam'si. He is concernedwith death and blood, but blood not inthe sense of "noble black blood." He isobsessed with the question of the originof the collective self, the race, symbolisedby the tree: mais d'ou me vient cette folietellement arborescente? ... " Or is it some­times "the tree of grace" and sometimes"the tree of race," to use the language ofCharles Peguy (La double Racination)?For the debate between body and soul isgoing on relentlessly in his monologuising.It brings him into violent conflict withGod. " Toi qui m'as fait si triste." It leads1:0 his mock-identification with Christ,

" Come unto me ..." If you have only a bodyyou are mortaltear yourself away from your fleshI can betray you." (Epitome')

,~

"\

K HAD A M B J A SAL A C H.E

Can't 1 walk, go aloneas a train along my own ~kand watch trees go bymO'De 'With a relief from these shadowsthat groan silence in my stepsrepeating my name at every cornera collar on my neck:why me?They are as silent as an idol, theystand untaken by surroundings,watch with unconcerned indifference,and put on a blind frontagainst my staresand then, cOmJerted into dreamers,standing high, seeming modestto poise their unprotected presenceagainst Kingdoms of fmstration, their grief

facesrejoicing in dark silence.They wait, patientin midday hours; and come to lifebringers of helpfrom empty cornersto (lfJ)ake a storm-laden momentmake the air assume its pretentious smilefor looking at its pet dog, 1 -

c, Khadambi " in a dog collar!

These shadowsmove behind meto show my charted path.rll one day walk alone, out

from moodsfrom dreamsfrom shado'los

and go on, go on faraway from these visions scattered like le(lf}esand be a faithfulno reflections.f:1f~

THIS EMOTIONAL INVOLVEMENT of the" cultural Mulatto" in the French language,his love-hate relationship with France, ac­counts for a great deal of the indifferenceNegritude meets with in English-speakingMrica. There are, of course, other reasonsas well. When writing poetry about Africa,Senghor always sits on the carved ebonystool of the sage. From his African heritagehe takes the wisdom and leaves the wit,he takes the romanticism and leaves therealism. That is why even African novelistswriting in French, and in the realist tradi­tion - Mongo Beti, Ferdinand Oyono,and Sembene Ousmane - keep aloof fromhis movement.

The mystique of Negritude in its lastmetamorphosis is also lost on most Ameri­can Negro writers, significantly enough evenone of their foremost critics, Saunders Red­ding, who wrote To Make a Poet Black(19319) and coined the term " negroness " inhis book On Being Negro in America(1951).

This shows that like any other move­ment, Negritude is subjected to the condi­tions of time, space, and culture. ButLeopold Sedar Senghor has become awidely acclaimed master of the languagehe assimilated, though his poetic imagina­tion seems to have died down with thefertile friction of exile after his country'sattainment of independence. Even when thefiery chariot of Negritude grinds to a finalhalt, his poetry will be remembered~ Andthe African poets of the future may yetsee in him their Hugo or Hesiod. e

" I said to youmy raceremembersthe taste of bronze drunk hot."

"je 'Vends ma negritudecent sous le quatrain."

*Leopold Sedar Senghor, cc African-NegroAesthetics," translated by E. P. Halperin,Diotm~$ No. 16, 1956, p.2S.

64/THE NEW AFRICAN/APRIL 1966/DAKAR FESTIVAL SUPPLEMENTHe hates Christ for associating himself with deeper than that undergone by other Africanthe bourgeois, and he hates the Christians writers, none of whom could escape theand merchants like his brother in Anti- giant of the time-honoured school syllabus.Christ, Arthur Rimbaud. Like him, he calls In Ake Loba's novel Kokoumbo the hero'sthe leaders of a society he condemns faux father thinks Hugo "probably the greatestnegres - fake Negroes. He himself is a patriarch France has ever had." Senghortrue Negro, in Rimbaud's words, Je suis de himself exclaims, Ecoutez le grand Hugo.la race qui chantait dans le supplice. (Une The" emotive attitude towards theSaison en enfer, " Mauvais Sang," which be- world" which Senghor defines as the basiscame the title of U Tam'si first collection of Negritude is not in the last resort directedof poems). Rimbaud wanted to leave civili- towards the French language, la langue dessation behind and drink in distant lands dieux (Ethiopiques, epilogue). To thedes liqueurs fortes comme du metal bouil- French African poet, French is not merelylant. In the title poem of Brush Fire the language of the coloniser, but also the(English translation by Sangodare Akanji, language of the French Revolution andIbadan 1964) we read, therefore intrinsically of his own finalliber­

ation. Senghor's international brotherhoodof the 20th century sings "la Marseillaisede Valmy," and elsewhere he says, "TheFrench language has become the corner­stone of the Civilisation of the Universal.As such it is humanism."

The same "emotive attitude" is evi­denced towards France itself. In his prayerof the Senegalese Riflemen," Private SecondClass Senghor, two months before hiscapture by the German army, felt that heand his comrades were fighting for a" Confederate France." Temporarily atleast, his Negritude took on strong assimi­lationist overtones reminiscent of the pro­tagonist's attitude in the first French Negri­tude novel, Ousmane Soce's Mirages deParis (1937). And in his "Prayer forPeace" he invokes God to place France" atthe right of the father."

ACCORDING TO SENGHOR, African literatureis functional and collective and thereforea literature of commitment. This wouldseem to be a 'true assessment of traditionalliterature but does not quite do justice tothe new literature. We may wonder whethera radical "return to the sources " can everbe successful in a rapidly changing societywith its new paterns of class formation,urbanisation, and the resultant self-relianceof the individual person, especially the in­tellectual.

But Senghor is more concerned with themetaphysical problem of man's position inthe cosmos where "a vital power similarto his own animates every object endowedwith sensitive characteristics, from God toa grain of sand."* This sounds again re­markably close to the Romantic's view ofthe divine order, to be more precise, toVictor Rugo's cosmological system, hislistening to "the soul of things." Theplace of honour held by the ancestors inthe African. hierarchy of being is not quiteparalleled by the European Romantics, butVictor Hugo had his own private cult. Inhis cc armchair of the ancestors" werecarved the names of the Hugos of old, andthe deeply significant words, ABSENTESADSUNT - "The absent ones are withus."

Hugo's influence on Senghor, the one­time French teacher and author of a studyon "Victor Hugo's Youth," is probably

Far from being the "sordid physical rela­tionship with a certain arthur" to whichhe confesses in his poem "The Slave,"Tchicaya U Tam'si's love for Rimbaud'spoetry has helped him to heighten, overand above his search for the origins ofthe collective self, his awareness of theindividual self, his coeur and conscienceimberbe. And this takes time beyond theconfines of official Negritude poetry,

THE NEW AFRICAN/APRIL 1966/DAKAR FESTIVAL SUPPLEMENT/65

They did not know that the women wereonly seeking release. Women see thousandsof years ahead and the women of thefamily were haunted by the starvation andsuffering of the coming year.

Finally, one of the very, very old menof the family was stirred by a faint memory.And slowly, because of the wailing of thewomen at night, this memory became astrong conviction. He called all the men ofthe family together and consulted with themand because his memory had become astrong conviction he spoke to them withunshakeable authority. There was, he said,a certain rain-god who accepted sacrifice ofthe bodies of children. There were twolittle girls in the family, pretty and inno­cent and very shy. They could run like thewind and fetch water from the well. Butthe men were beyond caring and agreedwith the old man that the two little girlsshould be sacrificed to this terrible rain­god. Then the crops would grow. The oldman said the crops would grow and therain would fall. Since the women were halfdemented by this time and the intenseheat was even destroying the wild devil­thorn on which the goats grazed, they tooagreed to the sacrifice of the children.

Looking fora rain-godBESSIE HEAD

a story of Botswana

LAST YEAR THERE WAS an awful tragedy atone of these lonely places in the bush.Two children were killed and two menwere hanged this year for the death of thechildren. The people at this place had onlybeen looking for a rain-god but now twochildren, little girls, and two men are dead.

IT IS LONELY AT THE LANDS where the They were a big family and with thepeople go to plough and sow crops. These relatives and old people they totalledlands are vast clearings in the wild bush fourteen. They left early in November forand the wild bush is lonely too. All these the lands, to plough. There was a promiseseven years gone by only a teaspoonful of of good rain and the men and \\"omenrain has fallen. People live off crops but cleared the land of thorn bush and thenfor two years now they have all returned hedged the vast area with this same thornfrom the lands just with 'their rolled-up bush to protect the future crop from theskin blankets and cooking utensils. goats. The earth was soft with the good

Oh, this is exquisite, beautiful country. rain of November and there was a richIn some parts the underground water is growth of devil-thorn on which the goatsvery near the surface: there you find grazed. There was milk too from the goatsparallel strips lush tangled trees and delicate to eat with the porridge. They had a wellpale-gold and purple wild flowers. There dug too and hedged about with thorn bushis moss under the stones and wild fig- so that the children and goats should nottrees. The leaves of the Mopani are like fall inside and be drowned. The well is AFTER IT WAS ALL OVER and the bodies ofbutterfly wings, split down the centre and just a hole in the earth and the water is the two little girls had been spread acrossjoined at the base to a short stem. But always muddy b'-lt at the lands that is the land, the rain did not fall. Instead,even here, by mid-summer, the leaves curl the only kind of water you can get and there was a deathly silence at night andup and wither, the moss is dry and hard you have to drink it. the devouring heat of the sun by day. Aand under the tangled shade of the trees terror, extreme and deep overwhelmed thethe ground is black and white because there whole family. They packed, rolling up theiris no rain. THERE HAD BEEN SO MUCH HOPE that the skin blankets and pots and fled back to

There are many gods of this earth and rain would fall. The land was ready and the village. But the deaths of the two littlethere should be a raingod somewhere too. ploughed, waiting for the crops. A~ night girls had made them outcasts. People in theOnly people have forgotten how to evoke the earth was alive with insect noises. Then village noted their ashen, terror-strickena response from the gods. Their memory suddenly the rain fled away, the rain- faces and a murmur arose. Where were theis always with us deep and hidden. In clouds fled away and left the sky bare. children? What had happened to the child­times of great stress we think of them The sun danced dizzily in the sky with ren? Soon the police came round. Theand call to them with a blind despairing a strange' cruelty. Each day the land was family tried to confuse the police inventingwail. That is why charlatans and incanters covered in a haze of mist as the sun sucked conflicting stories to protect each other.and witch-doctors make a pile of money up the last drop of moisture out of the But the mother of the children eventuallyin years of drought. They are always giving earth. The family sat down in despair broke down and told everything. Two men,people little talismans and herbs to rub on waiting and waiting. It was impossible to the father of the little girls and the brotherthe plough for the crops to grow. But some- plant the corn-seeds, the maize, the pump- who had cut up the bodies of the childrenhow the incanters haven't the right memory kin, the water-melon in the dry earth. They were arrested and hanged this year.to evoke the sympathy of the rain-god. And sat and even stopped thinking, for rain Who is the rain-god? People are lookingthe god of Christianity is uninterested in had fled away. for a rain-god. Every man and woman inmaking rain. So many prayers have been It was the women of the family who Africa is a farmer because people have livedmade to him already. finally broke down under the strain of off crops for as long as they can remember.

waiting for the rain. It was really the But life has always been a desolation ofwomen of 'the family who were responsible suffering and deprivation and sorrow.for the death of the children. Each night People have always gone to the lands tothey started a weird, high-pitched wailing plough but they are minute specks in thesong, calling to the rain-god. A strange vastness of the land. They have no tools, nosong that began on a low mournful note knowledge, only a depth of courage thatand whipped up to a frenzy. They would makes them leave each year for the terrorstamp their feet and shout as though they and loneliness of the wild, unconqueredhad lost their heads. The men couldn't bush. In years of long drought, even thisstand it. Men are just reasonable creatures courage fails them and they have nothing.and try to maintain their self-control at all Is the new rain-god knowledge, progress

B E S S lE H E A D, South African journ- times. The wailing of the women and their and machines, and if so, how and when isalist and teacher, is living in exile at terrible, weird song became a torture to this to be communicated to people who haveRadisele, Bechuanaland. the men, became an unbearable torture. courage but little education? e

66/THE NEW AFRICAN/APRIL 1966/DAKAR FESTIVAL SUPPLEMENT

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6S/THE NEW AFRICAN/APRIL "1968

Mr Nkoana on Racialism;

SIR,-In his article "Southern Africa - thebig question mark for the OAU" (The NewAfdcan, October 1965), Mr. Matthew Nkoanaof the Pan Africanist Congress (South Africa)quotes a great deal from the 1949 Declarationof the African National Congress Youth League.These are youthful effusions, full of mysticalconcepts, laden with insularity and blatant racial­ism. Let us take a typical example. U Africannationalisnl is a dynarnic force, because it is nota foreign importation. It has its roots deep downin the heart of every African. It is an Ullsupp'res­sible urge towards self-realisation, self-determina­tion, independence, freedom". If we were toclose our eyes for a moment and substituteAfrikaner for African we would hear the voiceof Verwoerd speaking here. There is one differ­ence here of course, that while there is morejustification on the part of Mr. Nkoana forfeeling as he does, the sentiments are practicallyhte same. It would have been better if Mr.Nkoana had dismissed these as boyish effusionsand we would have appreciated his feelings. Butno! he proudly states: U This was to beC0111epart of the main platform of those who brokeaway f1'0111 the ANC in 1958 ".

Mr. Nkoana then proceeds: (( For lu'o decadesespecially (1940-1960) the issues in South Africa

have been blurred and our thinking befuddledby extreme obsession with what 1nay be calledanti-racialism ". Mr. Nkoana seems extremelysore about the fact that his African nationalismwas called the inverse of Verwoerdism andseverely condemned and rejected 2S racialismby the population as a whole. In a land \vhere,despite the fact that racialism is fostered andnourished, entrenched in every law of the land,which penneates every aspect of life andpoisons the very air one breathes in, the peoplereject it and moreover spurn it. W"hy does thisundoubted advancement in political enlighten­ment not earn the praise of Mr. Nkoana? \Vhydoes this attack on racialism earn his condem­nation? He should know that a rejection ofracialism means a rejection of tribalism andleads to nationhood. He should know that themain obstacle facing the liberated countries inAfrica is that tribalism still flourishes and isthe means employed by the neo-colonialists toentrench their exploitation ...

!vir. Nkoana is at pains to defend racialism(p. 186) but contradicts himself when he statesthat H racialis1n is not the real problenz in SouthAfrica" and whips it as a (( terrible 1nentaldisease ". Here Mr. Nkoana rides two horsesat the same time. For instance, on the samepage, he quotes from Sobukwe's speech ..."Out contention is that the Africans aTe the

only people who, because of their rnaterial posi­tion can be interested in the 1naterial O'verhaulof the present structure of society ... " Heregards this as the Cl very genesis of Socialistanalysis and cannot be substituted by meretalk of ( class struggle '." Here again are thoseInystical concepts deep in the heart only of theAfrican.

In an excess of enthusiasm Mr. Nkoana leapsfrom the cradle of African Nationalism rightinto the lap of socialism. He rightly eschews"African Socialism" which is a contradictionin terms. Yet he does not attempt the onlysocialism there is, namely the scientific socialismof Marx and Engels. He spurns the division ofSouth African society into classes. He rejectsthe term peasantry to define those living on theland, he discards the term working-class asapplied to those who work in industry. He re­jects the existence of classes, (though of coursehe does refer to them as such). He would haveus believe that there are only masses in theabstract, dangling in mid-air sustained only bythe spiritual umbilical cord of his brand ofAfrican Nationalism. Where does he stand?Does he secretly believe in "African Social­ism"? Why is Sobukwe's statement according tohim the (( very genesis of Socialist analysis"?

Mr. Nkoana is riding two horses at the sametime but alas! to the observer he remains sta-

The following books published by Longmans have been entered for the Literature Competition in the forthcomingDakar A,·ts F estrval.In the Essay Section:

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AFRICA: A SUBJECTIVE VIEW, Davidson NicolA series of essays on topics relevant throughout contemporary Africa in the fields of Art, Politics, Education andthe Social Services. " ... one of the wisest and most illuminating books about Africa I have read" - GeorgeThomson in New Society. 65.In the Plays Section:

THE DILEMMA OF A GHOST, Christina Aidool\ thought-provoking play which tells of the problems arising from the marriage of an Afro-American girl to theeldest son of a Ghanaian family. 55.In the Novels Section:

THE WOODEN GONG, N. AkpanThis novel presents a fascinating and accurate account of life in 'an Ibibo village some forty years ago. 45. 6d.

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the black man's and the white man's socialvalues are irreconcilable in varying degrees.These paradoxes, with which Africa teems,will for a long time to come constitute richliterary material for the African artist. Facilerejection and facile acceptance cannot stand'ironic contemplation'.

By the "larger irony" here I mean, as willbe clear to anyone who has read my books, themeeting point between rejection and acceptance.

By saying that hereditary chieftaincy is athing of the past, I am anticipating that it willprogressively become irrelevant: if in Verwoerd'stime, how much more so in an independentSouth Africa! EZEKIEL MPHAHLELE

"Although Dr. Jordan, who is a lecturer inMrican studies at the University of CapeTown [now professor of southern Bantulanguages at the Unive1'sity of Wisconsin,Madison, Wis.-E.M.], is a sophisticate, hewas obviously telling a story that could onlytake place against a rural setting. And ashereditary chieftaincy is now a thing of thepast, and the Government has for the lasthalf-century been appointing chiefs who willobey it, in the place of rebels, such a conflictis fast becoming irrelevant except as a symbolof the larger irony in black-white relations."

tionary for basically he has not moved one whitfrom his basic standpoint, lllamely African nat­ionalism, read racialism.

The four principles which he advances ashis blueprint for the future development ofSouthern Africa should be taken as a separatedocument on its own, for it bears no relationat all to his basic standpoint. One wonderswhich horse he is riding there. NONESIAll African Convention andUnity Movement ofSouth Africa, p.a. Box M.24,Accra

Jordan and Achebe

SIR,-Just in case Mr. Collingwood August hasnot read The African Image (p. 203), may Iquote the passage to which Mrs. Anne Tibblerefe:s in her book, African/English Literature(revIewed by Mr. August, The New African,December 1965). This will place the relevantquote, for which Mr. August takes me to task,

in context.I don't kno\v what Mrs. Tibble's apparent

regard of me as an authority on African litera­ture has to do ,vith the validity or otherwise ofwhat I say about A. C. Jordan's book. Or doeshe imply that Mrs. Tibble is trusting an un­reliable person? Anyhow, just in case Mr.August thought I had any pretensions myselfto being an authority will he feel happy if Isaid there are many chairs in that row of theeminent that are empty? I am not there at all,and he can easily occupy the South Africandivision.

" In a sense, Jordan's and Achebe's stories aretwo sides of the same theme. Achebe showsthe conflict from the tribal side, and Jordanfrom the Christian side. In another sense,The Wrath of the Ancestors (IngqumboYe1ninyana) is a development of Things FallA part. In the former, the new values arerepresented by the 'Westernised' African,while in Achebe's book, the new values arerepresented by the 'Westerner'. But inneither is there a question of an irreconcilableclash. In certain areas of protest, Christianityis accepted and racial oppression only isattacked by the blacks; in other areas, becausethe 'white man's creed has sunk to the level ofwhat E. M. Forster calls 'talkative Christ­ianity " and is being used to justify injustice,it is being challenged. In other cases again, p.a. Box 7993, Nairobi •

70/THE NEW AFRICAN/APRIL 1966/DAKAR FESTIVAL SUPPLEMENT

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I. The Neo-Ieaders Johannesburg, March 1966THE NEW AFRICAN/APRIL 1966/71

THE TALL and portly African businessman with sleepy eyes anda cunning face, pulled his shining, black car to the side of theroad where I stood talking to a friend, ~lso a busin~ssman. !lewore a black-striped, open-necked, red shIrt, and a bIg, smokIngcigar hung stiffly from his thick-lipped mouth. He had no hat onhis oblong head and his greying hair was clean, stunted butcurled into several tiny knots with small criss-crossed furrowsbetween them.

Looking furtively this way and that as if scared of something,he called out to my friend to join him in his car. And he did notobject though he looked uneasy, when I joined them.

"& you know," he grated haltingly, "I am the president ofthe Mrican Foundation of South Africa. We need members. Ithought you may want to join as this is an organisation forresponsible people like you."

Mr. Ephraim Tshabalala is given to talking dangerously big, of

course. He has claimed to be South Africa's African millionaire.And last December he petitioned the United Nations through amemorandum "not to interfere in South Africa's domestic affairs

I as doing so' was detrimental to a peaceful and harmonious racialevolution. We reject, as a misrepresentation and a fallacy, theconcept propagated within the United Nations, of a White minorityand a Black majority in South Africa, with the former's superiorityand the latter's inferiority and the suppression being perpetuatedunder the present policy of separate development. We deeply andsincerely believe that the time has come for the Unitd Nationsto proclaim a moratorium on its senseless and dangerous inter­ference in the South African situation on premises which are whollyinconsistent with the facts and dangerously detrimental to the realinterests of the Mrican people of South Africa," he told theUnited Nations.

In other words he and the two other Africans - Messrs PeterM~khene and B. Mahlase - who signed the memorandum werebnefly saying to the outside world: Africans in South Africa arecontent with being denied basic human rights to life; that denialof political rights, restricted African movement, job reservation,the l80-day law, "Bantu Education," etc. are all fine. So theworld must keep clear.

CLAIMING IN THE MEMORANDUM to UN 90,000 rn,embers for hisnewly-formed, white-sponsored Foundation (the Rand Mines inJohannesburg donated £100 to the organisation), he deliberately,but knowing it completely false, acted under the pretext that 'itwas the voice of the African people. And as I listened to himon the roadside, I could not help remembering the fact that hewas, as we sat there, still anxiously awaiting approval from theGove~ment for the building of a £90,000 cinema in the AfricantOwnShIPS of Johannesburg. A typical businessman under the cir­cumstances, I felt; the kind of man with the blind, ruthless courageand heartlessness of a witchdoctor who kills his child, with the

equally blind hope that he shall forever gain magic power by whichhe would be able to make unlimited financial profits.

With calm assurance Mr. Tshabalala shifted in his seat as myfriend snapped: "Responsible or not, I would like to know howcome' you people are allowed to function when all African organi­sations which represented the will of the people have been out­lawed. And please do tell us why you don't call a general meetingat least here in the south western townships of Johannesburg totest whether or not the masses are behind your organisation."

FROM THE DISCUSSIONS in the car, it became abundantly clearthat the apartheid organisation had no members other than its12 founding fathers; that the founding fathers themselves wereshady businessmen and tribal chiefs, men who have been persuadedor rather forced to see godliness in separate development, andthat they were scared of the people.

Now, to understand this let's-help-the-baas attitude you needtake a closer look into the functional aspect of western civilisationas practised by white South Africa. The country has longabandoned the Christian credo: "Do unto others what you wouldhave them do unto you " which I strongly believe is the corruption,no matter how unintentional, of the more powerful and realisticJewish maxim: "Do not do unto others what you don't wantothers do unto you." It is out of the rejection of this Christi~n

principle that white people here generally have chosen apartheIdin their relationship with Africans and refuse to see the commonhuman element in the African.

Having decided first that the ~frican was sub-hl!man, aninferior being, they have for centurIes gone out of theIr way todeny him the necessary things of life so that they can proveand justify their self-deceit. And those people who through theyears stood up boldly trying to bring sanity into the ugly system,have today had their backs broken because they were allegedlyirresponsible, rabble-rousing agitators who were detrimental toct a peaceful and harmonious racial evolution."

AND IN WIPING legitimate leaders of the African people off thesurface of the earth, white South Africa has been and is promotingAfrican leaders of their choice, people who have been turnedinto strange men, wanting in moral value and conscience, by thesystem itself - again to prove their point, no matter how fraudu­lent the process, that apartheid is not ot;ly unique and ~ecessary

as a political ideol~gy for ~outh AfrIca. but also. enJoys. thebacking of "responsIble" AfrIcans. ResponSIble, that IS, by VIrtueof the fact that to them truth and reality have no meaning.

These are the Tshabalalas, the white man's echo, and I daresaynow that the world is likely to hear more and more of theirsweet music in the months and years to come while from withinthe grinding, soul-breaking wheels of apartheid continue merci­lessly. e

72/THE NEW AFRICAN/APRIL 1966,,

U SOME PEOPLE fear that a one-party statewill come about here," said an economicsminister in an African state recently. "Toprevent this they said they would vote forthe other party.... To those people I wishto say that my party does not need an op­position to tell it what its duties and respon­sibilities are. Even if it should happen thatmy party wins all the seats in Parliament itwill not be less sensible of its responsibilitiesthan now." In this case the State concernedcannot be said to be threatening the end ofthe Westminster system - they have neverhad it anyway as they deny the vote to four­fifths of the citizens, and only grant it on aracial basis: membership of the minister'sown" ethnic group ". Dr. Diederich's wordsare quoted in a South African news item inthe Port Elizabeth Evening Post, 19February 1966.

eIT SEEMS to have attracted no more atten­tion than some other press items gathered byJOHN BOURNE in Johannesburg. On 8February, the Rand Daily Mail reporteda Government reply in parliament to theeffect that of some £5 million of Govern­ment printing contracts in the Transvaalfrom 1963 to 1965, nearly 90% had beenawarded to companies headed by the PrimeMinister, Dr. H. F. Verwoerd. The samemonth most local newspapers quoted Dr.Verwoerd's bland announcement that thegreat Orange River Scheme scandal hadbeen investigated - by a police officerwhose name he refused to supply. There hadbeen accusations that certain very profitablecontracts had been gained by firms whoseexperience and ability were doubtful butwhose close contacts in Government quarterswere not. Dr. Verwoerd simply stated thatany apparent irregularities were dIe to " nor­mal errors and miscalculations ".

eJOHN BOURNE calls these disclosures" the tipof the iceberg". "What may lie underneathis suggested by those bright glimpses of thereal South Africa which we get when theJohannesburg Sunday Times manages to layits hands on and publish some of the secretdocuments of the exclusively Afrikanersociety, the Broederbond," he writes. This8,OOO-strong secret society, runs SouthAfrica, in ways this feature will quote nextmooth. e

Books&theArts

After the coupMartin Legassick

African Tightrope: my two years as Nkrumah'sChief of Staff by Major-General H. T.Alexander, C.B., C.B.E., D.S.O. (Pall Mall,London)

THE COUP in 'Ghana has not altered my impres­sions of Alexander's superficial, patronising andstereotyped book: it changes only the perspec­tive from which the book should be viewed.Thus I shall not deal with the only compensatingfeature in the book, the central third dealingwith the Ghanaian forces in the Congo. Thissection may well come to be useful (thoughbiased in favour of the West), primary docu­mentation and provides an account, for example,of the expulsion of Ghanaian ambassador Wel­beck from the Congo which is highly entertain­ing. Alexander's views on United Natjonspeace-keeping operations are also worth reading.

But all this does not make up for the appall­ing list of absurd or meaningless stereotypesthat permeate the book: "Life to the Africanis of much less value than to the European,"" the vast majority of black Africans are naturalgentlemen", "many of the whites living inAfrica today are better 'Africans' than theblack Africans", "the average Ghanaian is apeace-loving person who abhors violence andloves pomp". Perhaps these are just typical'and relatively harmless expatriate views. But­especially when they are compounded withAlexander's military mentality - they go farto answer the crux question posed by Alexander,"whether it is possible under present circum­stances for a senior expatriate to hold a highpost in a newly independent country in Africawithout finding himself in an impossible posi­tion" (p. 104).

Alexander tells us that just before hisGhanaian service he took a course at the Im­perial Defence College, designed to "broaden"the outlook "from the purely military field tothat of world problems". One wonders if thatis where he learnt that all persons trained inRussia come back as "good little communists"(p. 107); or if it is here that he was told totrain the Ghanaian army as "anti-Russian"(p. 107). And when Alexander implicitly attacksthe freedom of the press (p. 122) and concludesby telling us that the Cold War is "as intenseas it has ever been" (p. 128) we are entitled tobe worried. Nor can we feel more comfortablewith his repeated statements of contempt for

the "masses" who are uneducated and misled- this sort of elitism does not match well withAfrican populism.

ALEXANDER'S ASSESSMENT of Nkrumah isshrewd - his difficulty in saying no to anyone,his natural gregariousness, his shortage of goodadvisers, his freedom from colour prejudice. Infact one might go farther than Alexander andsay that it w'as not Nkrumah's ruthlessness norhis single-minded ambition that led to the coup- it was rather his equivocation and his lackof ruthlessness, his inability in the last resortto tie a consistent set of goals closely enough tothe political realities of Ghana, to combine hisskill as ideologist with his skill as politician.His non-violent "revolutionary reformism"spoke too loud and made too many mistakes.Socialists of whatever kind should not be happyat the downfall of Nkrumah (and the vulgarcrowing of the Western press is disgraceful):one can only hope that his failures in attemptinga new road to socialism can be blamed on badadvice and his refusal to accept unpalatablegood advice, and that it does not mean thatthe only way to socialism in the Third Worldis the hard, autarchic, masochistic way ofChina.

I had hoped that Alexander might say some­thing useful about the Ghanaian military. Hedoes not. I cannot agree with his (traditionallyBritish) thesis that in Africa the army shouldbe " kept out 'of politics " - by which he meansthe tradition of impartial civil service. In fact,paradoxically, it seems that the African armiesnow least likely to attempt to seize po\ver arethose that are in politics, or at least politicised.This has been true in Guinea since 1958, andin the reorganised Tanzanian 'army since 1964:the military are encouraged to identify them­selves with party and with state. The Ghanaianintervention could in fact be blamed on theisolation of the army - it was a profession'alforce, and, like the civil service and the judiciary,the most "Westernised" in Africa at the timeof independence. All these three institutions'acted as counterweights to Nkrumah's plans ina greater degree than in other African states.

THIS IS NOT TO SAY that the seizure of power'by the Ghanaian military was unjustified. Itwas tragic, but probably unavoidable, that itshould happen. 'Ghana had sufficient resourcesto be able to "m'ake haste more slowly" withprogress towards socialism. The CPP failed tomake it do so. This could not be said for thenon-viable states, starved even of aid by theFrench, where other coups have occurred recent­ly - the ultimate blame there, as in Nigeria,lies with the corrupt, self-seeking indigenous'managers of neo-colonialist economies. Onecan be sorry for Nkrumah but not for them.And one can hope that, now the military havebrought the politics of independent Africa intoa new era, the genuinely progressive states andparties will see the need for closer contactamong themselves and more coordinated action.

Pan-Africanism, as Nkrumah maintained, andfanciful as it may seem, is still the most hopefulanswer for the stable and socialist cevelopmentof independent Africa and for the liberation ofsouthern Africa. As yet the ideal has found onlyinadequate expression in concrete realitie~.

Alexander, of course, does not even entertainthis as a possibility - which is just another ofthe reasons why he became redundant and wa.dismissed from his Ghanaian post. •

BabblingAboutDavid Thornpson

The Concubine by Elechi Amadi (Heinemann21s)

No Easy Task by Aubrey Kachingwe (Heine-mann 18s).

Kalasanda by Barbara Kimenye (O.V.P. 5s 6d)The Hot Sun of Africa by Alan Caillou (W. H.

Alien 21s)

SOMETIMES ONE WONDERS whether publishersread their products. Whoever \\-'rote the blurbfor The Concubine has certainly attributed tothe novel a more coherent sense of tragic mys­ticism than it manages to discover for itself untilthe second-last chapter. But perhaps read onlythe last two chapters.

"Why is it," asks the blurb, "that Ihuoma,good, respected, of great beauty and dignity,brings suffering and death to all her lovers?Is she really the incarnation of the favouritewife of the Sea-God, who jealously destroysher suitors? What other explanation is there?"Ab, yes. There's no reason, I suppose, whyany novel shouldn't resort to the same kindof poetic bizarreness that fascinated us inTutuola - capitalise on that vivid sense ofmyth and the supernatural that almost all of usapprove of in literature, even if we don't sharethe belief in it. But the bizarre has to remainbizarre - it can't live when it's been dragged,as the blurb tries to drag it, into this newand vitiated climate of banal reasonableness.And unfortunately the blurb merely reflectsmuch of the owlishness of the novel itself.

Both the blurb-writer and Elchei Amadi arefussily anxious, in any case, to have it bothways. On the one hand The Concubine offersan evocation of Igbo life whose interest is to bepartly in its strangeness to the reader (nothingis left to make its own impression; every varia­tion on a cultural norm is busily pointed outand explained, as by a garrulous anthropologist);and, at the same time, that evocation is to beassimilated into the tradition of Europeannaturalistic fiction - it's a human story, theblurb insists. But on the other hand it makesthe predictably pious comparison with " classicaltragedy" - this is a story about a world where~e .gods still rule and negate human purpose,~t ~mts, and it would remind one of Oedipus,If It dared. As it is, the comparison is stillsufficiently incongruous.. For one thing, classical tragedy wasn't writtenm .a flatly realistic mode: for another, it wasWrItten in an idiom quite other than ElechiAdami's slack, energyless prose, that threatensto reduce everything to the same level of trite­ness. Every situation, however dramatic, labours

under the wei~ht of the vapidity that's attributedto it. When the witch-doctor attends Ihuoma'sfirst husband in his illness, for example -

"He removed his amulet but then changedhis mind and replaced it over the doorway.

Too many evil spirits about.,' he announced.'That is very kind of you,' Ihuoma said."

Even the supernatural expires in the stalenessof this air.

Perhaps if Elechi Adami were ever to ffiJectreal vitality into his narrative style, he mightbecome a rather fine writer. There is a certainfeelin~ for the interaction of human beings onone another in this novel - a dramatising ofpersonal relationships of the kind necessary forany novelist, and which here singularly cancelsout the difference between African and Euro­pean environments. The crux of the book isthe relationship between Ihuoma and Ekwueme.Ekwueme is in love with the young widow,but as he has been engaged since childhoodto a girl in a neighbouring village, there is nopossibility of his marrying Ihuoma. He makesan attempt to settle down with Ahurole, butthe marriage is a failure - she is too spoiledand immature; he is too indifferent and im­patient with her perverse temper. That situationcollapses when Ahurole gives Ekwueme a lovepotion that makes him at first ill, then mentallyderanged: appalled at what she has done, sheruns away to her parents, automatically dissolv­ing the marriage. Ekwueme is restored to healthby the love of Ihuoma, and there is now nothingto stop the preparations for their wedding.Before these are completed, Ekwueme meetsa violent and ironically futile death.

There is almost nothing here that couldn'tadapt itself into the terms of almost any culture.In particular, the account of how the estrange­ment of Ekwueme and Ahurole comes about isone of the least African themes in the book,and one of the most interesting. It's in this kindof thing that the novel comes closest to success.When Mr. Amadi realises it, perhaps he willdo more to exploit that advantage that wouldbe a godsend to most European writers - thatis, the intimate knowledge of a community inwhich each individual is regulated by a moraland social norm with clearcut imperatives forbehaviour - an environment full of the ob­stacles that arise when individual impulse comesinto conflict with the conventional pattern. It'sthe dramatising of those obstacles in terms andtechnical success of the good novel.

THE (~TASK" OF AUBREY KACHINGWE'S NOVEL isthe effort of a group of African patriots towin independence for their country and buildin into a state. What opportunities there arein that the~e! What possibilities of rivalries onhuman and national levels it might develop!Not only does Aubrey Kachingwe miss themall, he seems never to have been aware thatthey exist. The merest perfunctory gesture ismade at the exposition of political themes or,indeed, at the necessity of providing a storyor any notion of living characters. It wouldbe difficult to convey adequately a sense of thestupefying dullness of this book, its laboriousfailure to convey any feeling about anything ittries to say, the pedestrian banality of its at­tempts to be seen to be discussing ideas. Mostof it is made up of a dreary compulsion todescribe in full every exit and entrance, recordevery triviality of stage-action - " I went to ourclassroom-like office and took my notebookand pencil. I went out and it started raining."

THE NEW AFRICAN/APRIL 1968/73

The hopeless mediocrity of this kind of thineis further compounded by the author's incompe­tence with the English language. Mr. Kachingweis one of those writers who not only dealsexclusively in cliches, but who manages to get thecliches themselves wrong. For example, U Thereis nothing wrong that I have done aga'instthe law," says one unctuous character. Oranother, giving a warning to a friend: "Cheerio,and don't babble about." Mr. Kachingwe doesan awful lot of babbling about, and ElechiAdami does altogether too much of it too.

BARBARA KIMENYE IN Kalasanda isn't altogetherguiltless of the same stilted abuse of English­she reinforces an uneasy feeling that all of thesewriters might have been better served by writingin their own language and by being then trans­lated into English. Kalasanda loses somethingby being told in the same unexciting monotonethat is the staple of, say, almost anyone's letter­writing. But for all that, this is, of all the fourworks under review, the one that offers mostpleasure and interest in the reading. Curiouslyenough, of the four it is also the one that couldmost easily have been written of almost anyother place. It's a collection of short stories orsketches more or less connected with one an­other by being concerned with one village inBuganda, each story telling of an incident inthe life of one or other of the inhabitants. Intone, feeling and intention, the book is a kind ofAfrican Cranford-the approach and the qualityof the humour are startlingly similar. The com­parison by no means does Mrs. Gaskell an in­justice-Barbara Kimenye has real sensitivityand perceptiveness about people, a real facilityfor creating characters and bringing the readerinto sympathetic association with them. Allthese talents are beautifully deployed, for exam­ple, in probably the best story in the collection-" The Winner ", about a man who wins thefootball pools. (It hadn't occurred to me beforethat someone might run football pool competi­tions in the hinterland of Uganda). If theauthoress has the power to grow-to add to herassets the ability to li~ together people andincidents in a long work with a coherent, urgenttheme-then she could become a very excitingwriter indeed.

Kalasanda takes the small, unimportant detailand makes it vivid. The Hot Sun of Africatakes the violent and portentous incident andgoes on being slightly pedestrian. This is anexample of that kind of fiction that becomesall the more trivial the more it sets out to shock.Mr. Caillou's basic philosophy is apparentlythat democracy is wrong for Africa-mainly onthe grounds that African talents are of anotherkind and serve other purposes. But as thesepurposes are mostly directed towards whatConrad would call "the Horror", and aredescribed in beastly and well-italicised and whatseems to be affectionate detail, his tolerance hasto remain suspect. It isn't that Mr. Caillou isdeliberately aiming at the cheaply sensational,though that is where he arrives. It's rather thathe has almost none of that sympathy and pro­found understanding and sheer articulate talentwhich are the only things that make fictionworth reading. Someday someone with all thesegifts will write the great novel about Africa.But none of these is it. •

7A. ''T''''e NI='W AS::~ICAN'APJ;PIL 1986

The first six chapters of thisXhosa classic, translated byCollingwood August, werepublished in the January andrJlarch 1966 issues. The storyconcludes here.

Twin, son of Cause-to-rejoice, has corne­to the Great Place of the King, Hintsa, tocomplain that his twin brother, T hey-are­ttoo, is usurping his plcue as heir. T hey­are-tfJJO replies, first dismissing the claimand later, when Twin stays silent, volun­teering that they had changed round theirpositions when boys but that this was achildish thing. Twin, asked if this is thebasis of his claim, says it was 1nerely aconfirmation of his seniority at birth.

The midwives who delivered them thenreveal that, though They-are-two was bo'rnfirst, the hand of Twin had appeared fromthe mother the day before, and a finger-tipwas amputated whe1~eby T'Win was recog­nised at birth. The wise and ancient Khulileis sent for from N qabara to gi:ue the courthis view of Tzvin's clain! ...

VII

THE EXPERIENCE OF THE DOYEN

AT THIS STAGE THE COURT directed itself tothe greyhead of Nqabara, Khulile, saying,"So then, son of Majeke, here is theenigma for which we fetched you fromNqabara. You too are now already here,you see, hear, you no longer hear frombeing told by us. This court did not lightlythink of you; and this case is the first ofits kind in this generation: Therefore, vIe

SAM UEL EDW ARD KRUNE 1\'1 QHAY I,great Xhosa poet, historian, translator,biographer and journalist, was born inthe Ciskei, South Africa, in 1875, educa­ted at Centane and Lovedale, became ateacher and public figure in East London,Cape Province, later retiring to the coun­try. He wrote for early Xhosa newspa­pers, Izwi laBantu and Imvo zaba­Ntsundu, published many books and be­came revered among all Xhosa-spe'akingpeople of South Africa as their" poet ofthe nation". He died in 1945. ItyalalamaWele was originally published inXhosa by the LOfJedale Press in 1914.

had no precedent, no ground on which tostand our feet, for a matter becomes amatter by being likened unto another, asyou yourself know. There it is then!"

After this there \vas silence for a moment.Having stood up Khulile did like this:

" Lords, and all you nation!" - as soonas Khulile said so the men hurriedly re­moved the pipes from their mouths, andthere was silence. He proceeded and said,"I do not know the cause that made thecourt think of me. Yes, my father .i\Iajeke,unravelled a knot for this his home in thetime of Phalo, but then things \vere goodbefore the land was vitiated.

"What do I know? Who am I? Thismatter of the boys of my child, Cause-to­Rejoice, I shall not be able to resolvecompletely although I am an elder. Thisthing that is twins is two people born onthe same day. Now in this Xhosa's homethe resolving of these people born on L~e

same sun is by looking to the one whoappeared first.

"That has become a tradition althoughno one ever formalised it; that the one whoappeared first becomes the elder has takenon the appearance of a law. However, hav­ing seen in these two small days in vvhichI still blink my eyeS, this thing is contra­dicted and is effectively contradicted in thecase of certain twins. This kind of people,twins, among humanity, is a kind thatis born percipient at the very birth; itsmind is more acute than that of the restof humanity, as for instance a twin willforetell an event before it has happened;and, indeed the event takes place. So thatfrom this being so of these people therehas been no discussion about them, such asthe one I see today.

U Another characteristic of these peopleis surpassing co-ordination of will, a thing,moreover, that makes it impossible for eventheir father or the law to enter betweenthem. And that in turn has led to a situa­tion where there is no person who caresto enter the matters of twins - for theyare one person.

" You, today have asked me to resolvethe matter of people who are of thisdescription; perhaps you imagine that theelders have a greater knowledge of twinsthan you have. Nkosiyamntu is a twin,a younger twin; but the eldership was re­ceived by him, he received the eldership

in the presence of his elder brother Small­rock, who had traded it for a leg-o'-beef. Theelders who have gone before us judged,that Nkosiyamntu should receive the elder­ship as he had traded for it; and the eldersmade their decision on precedent.

"I submit this word then, my lord,s;and I conclude. The first-born is authorisedto administer the home because he has theexperience of having appeared before thiother children of his home; he knows cer­tain people better than the others, he hasheard grave matters discussed that the otherShave not heard. Where then is the elder­ship of the one twin over the other seeingthey were born on the same day?

"Is it not actions that cause eldership,as for instance any first-born who isolates­himself from his brothers parts with his,'eldership when he becomes a child by hisactions? I leave the matter vaguely likethat then, my lords, so that you may findfor yourselves the thing you are lookingfor." I

Saying this, Khulile sat down. For some'time there was silence until Smalldootstood up to say, "So says, so says, yo~heroes, the greyhead of Nqabara. Let the~not be an awkward silence, let there besome response, let the matter be decidedtoday; many other matters have been suspended because of this case." Ndlombosesaid the only thing the court had beenwanting was a tale; here then is the tale,it is complete. Various other councillors'stood up and asked certain questions from'Khulile, who answered the questions calmlywith the help of Makhunzi, the son of hisyounger brother.

And the senior councillors were then'seen coming together and biting one an:-'other's ears -Bhu-u-u-u. And from theirconclave could be heard intermittently thementioning of cattle that had left goingto where nobody knew, the daughters ofCause-to-rejoice, the amputated finger, thecircumcision spear, the nkwili, certain'actions, and Nkosiyamntu. .J

The rest of the people seemed to bewrangling over the question: "Could itbe today is the day of handing over theeldership to the twin who appeared after­wards?" And the answer would be: "In­deed no! Twinship still occupies its place.This court does not reverse Smalldoor'sdecision."

VIII

THE VERDICT

AT THIS STAGE the court directed someyoung ~en to ~ecall the owners ~f the case,who amved WIthout delay. When they ar­rived they did not sit at the same placesas they had sat before*. ~nd the sun wasgready' piercing 'the earth In the~ adult day.Some men were perspiring profusely, andhad removed their blankets from the shoul­ders. They were all looking down, and therewas none who spoke.

There were also some women here atthe Great Place, they were sitting next tothe kraal of the calves, and they did notraIse their voices in loud speech. T~ere

was no wind, the day was calm and SIlent

The sparrows were sparrowing on theplains,

The crickets were clicking twixt therocks.

On this day then the son of Khawuta,Hintsa stood up, a majestic king, with aclear brow whose receding hair left asharp wido~)s peak. He is a man consider­ably above the common stature, he is hir­sute though not coarsely so, he has a clearvoice when he speaks, but it is not l?ud,it is not soft. He was not a man gIvento much speech, or to trivial conversation:but what a king for respect and deferencefrom his councillors!

He was a dark man, with white teeth,with an eye like lightning, so that one mightexpect the appearance of flames when ~e

was annoyed. He had S'trong arms, beautI­ful legs. They say, those who were ~ith

him, he was a man who on state occaSIonspresided over the people with great dignity;but seeing him at home, you would bepuzzled.

The-e-e-n! That majestic figure stood(still very much a young man at the time)and directed himself to Twin, the Complain­ant, doing like this, "Listen, then, son of<:ause-to-Rejoice. It is now some days thatmy lords here left their homes because ofyou, for you came to ask for help inexamining a complicated affair, which atthe time belonged to your home, but whichaffair ends today belonging to the wholenation. We have been examining this affairfor many days. The affair began withSmalldoor, your headman. Smalldoor saidhis word, which has not been contradictedeven by this court. Yea, though this courthas been to Nqabara even, it has not riddenover the word of SmalIdoor.

" They say then the people of your home,who are this court, 'Proceed and go home,and look after that calf which you had

* it is not the custom to occupy the same placeas before

already been looking after, and keep thatfamily of Cause-to-Rejoice which you hadalready been keeping, and come and reportat your home here anything that you seeis not right'."

Twin stood up praising and went tokiss the foot of the King and when he cameback he squatted on a different spot. Andit was then the King was turning rounpto They-are-two, saying to him, "Youhave heard elder son of Cause":to-Rejoice., ..You have heard the gettings-up and sIttlngs-down of this court because of the two' ofyou'; you have heard the word that yo~r

brother has been made to hold by thIScourt. Go home then, and help your youngerbrother to keep the family of your home,and the property, and everything. Evenat the Great Place here we should see thetwO of you together. You should obey himand listen to his \vords."

When the King had ceased directingthese words, he threw himself down andcovered himself with his kaross of themountain leopard. They-are-Two stood upwith his paternal uncle and they went ..occupy a different spot. '

At one moment Phekesa, one of They­are-Two's paternal uncles appeared to ~e

wanting to know whether today at. Phalo sthe elder twin was being changed Into theyounger. Story answered, "-r:?ere is .nosuch thing that has been done. BecomIngheated Phekesa asked saying, "But then

, .... " S 'd" Yhow have I heard!' tory sal , ouhave heard properly, for the talk is clear."

The complaining party was then seentaking its sticks to go home, and the defend­ing party did so as well.

The women next to the kraal of thecalves were heard, some were persecutingwith their tongues, others were dancin.g withjoy; the men were seen each. takIng tohis riding animal, and he ~ho ~Id not h~ve

a riding animal took to hIS stIck to thInkof going home. The smokers were ~een

setting their pipes alight, some standI!1g,some still squatting, and yet some kneehn.gand lighting their pipe~ from th~se of theIrfriends. And concernIng the Judgement,some were mumbling, finding fault, andseeing many errors. But the majority didnot forget a case that had proceeded withdecorum and justice and that had beenspoken well, in whic~ all aspects .had be.enexamined, and the Judgement gIven WIthgreat skill. ..

In the midst of all that confUSIon DumI-sani, the son of Zolile, the poet of the GreatPlace was heard saying:

" BayinG! BayinG!! Bayina!.!! .Go home ye nations, the case IS finIshedGo home ye peoples, the thing that was

spoken is finished.So says Zanzolo.So says the child of Gcaleka,The small dugs of the old cow,Should they sleep on the way, know ye

it is disaster.So says the bull they exclaim has gored

before it has gored; .What will they ever say the day It gores?

THE NEW AFRICAN/APRIL 1966175

For it will gore with t~at 'of the rhinocerosas I see ~ .

Listen, nations, that we may give you thewealth of the heart,

Listen, nations, ,that we may tell you atale: .

In the days of old, the day appeared themountains,

One person was put to rule other people.And it was said that person was the

person of the blood,I t was said that person was the calf of the

nation,It was said that person should be obeyedby humanity;And he would obey Qamata;From whence would come the laws

and rules,Which if he breaches there would be

calamity,There would be confusion and insan­

ity of peopleThere would be a head-over-heels mad-

ness of the earth.The disgruntled have never died out,The dissatisfied are being born today.They are filling the stomachs, they

arise tall as staves.They cannot help themselves, they are

created into that thing;While we put things right, they try to

help; .Should we hand over to them, the natIon

would all die.Easily I say so, for they too know this:The impetuous have already been Im­

petuousThey said the bull is today at Nqabara.This home of Xhosa I have today given

up'I ha;e given it up for baffling even those

of the manure.What will it be with the immigrants?The son of Phalo has spoken,He has spoken, They-Iook-at-the-eye­

brows-and-say-he-'s-angry,The bull they say has gored before it

has gored.The wound today is small, it is the wound

of Smalldoor.Go home nations the case of the twins is

finished.Go home, the father of Rarabe has at

last answered.Ncincilili !!! "

'::7'Q1THIi NEW AF~ICAN/AP~IL~~tjtj

" IX

EPILOGUE

AS HE WAS SAYING SO, this man of theMpehles, there was silence, for he was nota man whose voice was often heard. Todayhe raised emotions as never before, for thehearts were soft, and the result was as ifwar had been proclaimed. Men wept assoon as he spoke. As he went on thewomen allowed the pots to bum; amongthe men none moved; he who had beensmoking crushed the stem of the pipe;there were some who stood naked, withoutknowing it; there were some who when theytried to wear their blankets pulled themtoo tightly, and were surprised when theblankets came apart at the seams, the panelsflying in all directions.

They said, those who know this man,today he has not done anything, for hesoon stopped; they said had he carried on,people would have been injured on such aday. Indeed, as they said so, people had al­ready injured one another; for this poet isa giant, is tall, is used to the Great Place­he has grown up in it. In the left hand heis carrying two spears, he holds a smallblack staff in the right - he is full ofaction, when he waves his sharps, an on­looker lets go with his stick at the personstanding next to him.

One woman, the wife of Contradict, aZangwa, had been holding a burnt pieceof wood ready to light her pipe, she letgo with it under the bodice of the wife ofEndeavour-ye; on turning round, En­deavour-ye's wife stood with her tooth onher aggressor's cheek. It happened thatamong the men matters were not straight;and the dogs fought and pushed the sonof Ntsema, a Qadi, under the ends of thebranches forming the cattle kraal, and theyhad bitten him severely; on all sides troublehad to be put down.

Phaki, a young Vundle, who not com­pletely sane and who used to be presentat the Great Place and at other places onsocial occasions, took all this confusion asrej oicing. He hurriedly covered himself in

his untanned calfskin and fell head-firstinto the fire. But his calfskin had fallendown to his knees, tying them together andmaking it impossible for him to rise quickly.And that was another matter - getting himout of the fire; and because the fire wasgreat it happened that he would never againbe called by his name and answer; his endcame on the night of that day.

Ndlombose also appeared to be gettingexcited. When the poet mentioned the im­petuous ones, he knew that he meantBhukwana, his younger brother. He washeard asking Bhukwana whether he is listen­ing now that he is becoming a subject ofpoetry and adding, "Do you understandnow that this name of Langeni will beassociated with an event by the wholenation?" However, the councillors spoke toNdlombose and he calmed down.

Nophaka was another lady who was notcomplete in her mind; and also not givenspeech. This lady used to be present atthe Great Place and used to be calledPhaki's wife as a way of teasing her. Andshe greatly loved Phaki, but Phaki himselfused to want to stab people for this, sayingthat he did not want a dumb wife. Thislady, when her partner got injured, cried asone bereaved, and would not be consoled.She blamed the poet saying it was he whohad pushed the child of the people into'the fire. And that became another case!

Mfithi, an old man of the Kwayis, wholived at the Great Place, could no longersee with the eyes, and his ears were sub­stantially blunt, hearing this hullaballoo verydimly, concluded that the world had died,the Place had been sacked by the enemy,and that he himself was about to be burntalive inside his hut. He was seen coming outof the hut as fast as his legs were able tocarry him. He had hardly got anywhere whenhe raised high his hands and his voice andwas heard shouting, " The thorns! Nation ofthe Nation! I, your very dog, am under yourfeet!" His daughter, Boniwe, quickly wentto comfort him and he tottered into thehut again.

I t happened that the boys below theGreat Place were also breaking one another.One urchin, Njeza, says that his father can

also declaim, he usually declaims when hepraises them, his children, at home. Meet­ing said, "You are lying, boy, how doesyour father know how to say?' Njeza wasstill answering, "I am not lying; boy,'when Ndaba was already entering the mat­ter by hitting Njeza with a stick of thmnono tree at the same time saying, " I dnot like this, that is a lying boy." And theother boys took up the matter and dividedup into sides. Soon the sticks were heard onone another below the Great Place. A youngman Gonyela, the son of Nyaba, hurried todestroy this nonsense; but he had forgottenlhe disused grain pits just below the Greatl?1ace. He found himself falling with oneleg into a pit; the boys, when they saw this,said, " Serve you right, that is the work ofthe ancestors! "

However hard he tried to" get up, Gonyelakept on falling to the bottom. At last somepeople came lO help him out and they foundthat he had fractured his leg - on the thigh.He was immediately caried to the home ofGxavu, an expen at setting bones; in a fewdays the young man was healed. In laterdays he was wont to say he wished some­thing could happen to boys. At the sametime he would not leave the poet innocent,saying he does not know what things theseare that always seem to have full stomachswhich make them talk more than is neces­sary; twins also he blamed, saying he didnot know what things these were that wereforever taking one another to the law, sothat finally he got injured like this.

It was always that confusion then, whenthe son of Zolile, Dumisani, spoke. Whenthe poet had finished, he said ncincilili, andwent to sit down. The men then began todisperse to their homes; on the way theywent reviewing this case.

Till the present day in the land of theXhosas, the elder twin is he who appearsfirst; it is an unusual circumstance that canchange this. Yea, however, there are some ­and I do not know what causes them to saythis - who go about saying the judgementsaid that the twin who appears first is theyounger, the elder is the one who appearslast. Those who say so are not saying thetruth. e

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