Author of ‘Remembering Kampala’, Carey Baraka, says the most common misconception about East African literature is that South Sudanese author and critic, Taban Lo Liyong, called the region a literary desert: ‘It is funny that East African writers continue to write against Lo Liyong, insisting that he is wrong, when what people are fighting doesn’t actually exist.’
First Draft is our interview column, featuring authors and other prominent figures on books, reading, and writing.
Our questions are italicized.
What books or kinds of books did you read growing up?
My mother was a high school teacher, and I spent a lot of time at her school’s library. That it was a high school library meant that I got to read a lot of things above my reading level—essentially the African Writers Series (AWS). I was obsessed with Peter Abrahams. I read and reread Mine Boy so many times, despairing at the fact that Eliza wanted the things of white people even though she loved Xuma. Then there were Chinua Achebe and Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, inevitably, but then also Barbara Kimenye, whose Moses series I devoured. My father subscribed to Readers’ Digest, so I read that, and I liked Harry Potter too, as well as a coterie of white men writers: Robert Ludlum, Jeffery Archer and Dan Brown.
What is your writing process: edit as you write or draft first, then edit?
I draft first, then edit. It is always easier, for me, to edit when I have a whole so that I can see what is missing, what is terribly done, and what needs to change. A lot of my editing involves external editors who need complete drafts, and they do so much work shaping whatever mess I send them into a coherent story.
You wrote ‘The Many Faces of Binyavanga Wainaina’ in 2023. What inspired this story?
Years ago, a friend of mine used to complain about how there were hardly any substantial pieces of literary criticism written about books by Kenyan writers, and I decided that I was going to try and correct that. And obviously it is impossible to review every single book, but I feel a compulsion to do so for the books I think are important.
Years ago, a friend of mine used to complain about how there were hardly any substantial pieces of literary criticism written about books by Kenyan writers, and I decided that I was going to try and correct that.
Your essay, ‘Remembering Kampala’, features in our latest print issue, The Enduring Voice of Wole Soyinka. Why did you decide to write about Kampala and East African literature?
Which African writer hasn’t obsessed about 1960s Kampala at some point? It is a holy circle: Makerere, Ibadan and Nairobi. When I profiled Ngũgĩ for The Guardian, my editor and I had a problem about me being more excited by the Kampala part of Ngũgĩ’s life than by other things. At some point, the Kampala section ran to a few thousand words. And so, rightly for the story I was writing, we had to pull away from that and remove most of it. But then after the story was published, I had all these words that could be a whole other essay. And John Nagenda had died a few months earlier, but almost no one around me knew who he was. Or Peter Nazareth. Or the Zirimus. And because I was sad about that, I decided to do a Kampala essay. To remember Kampala as it had been pre-Amin, pre-Obote.
What’s the most common misconception about East African literature today?
That Taban Lo Liyong ever called East Africa a literary desert. It is interesting how this idea mushroomed. A few years ago, Lo Liyong wrote an article in which he complained about this perception, insisting that the only people who thought he’d said that had never read the Transition essay in question. I certainly thought he’d called East Africa a literary desert and I certainly had never read the essay, so I went into Transition to read it. And he’s right: there’s a lot of contexts removed when people make this accusation of him. And it is funny that East African writers continue to write against Lo Liyong, insisting that he is wrong about it being a literary desert, when what people are fighting doesn’t actually exist.
What’s the most interesting reaction/feedback you’ve had about your writing?
That it is gossipy. This is apparently a flaw. I don’t understand this instinct. I love gossip. I am a natural gossip. I think gossip is at the heart of any good story.
What is the most meaningful piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
That first drafts are often terrible and not worth looking at. It has freed me from a lot of worry.
Which contemporary books do you think will become classics in the future?
Mohamed Mbougar Sarr’s The Most Secret Memory of Men. I don’t understand what Sarr has done here, but the novel has a fire in it that means that we all have to read it as a matter of urgency. Quit your job. Abandon food. Ignore everything. This book can drive its reader to madness. What a phenomenal talent Sarr is.
Which three books from/on Kenya should everyone be reading at this moment?
Things They Lost by Okwiri Oduor is a favourite both for all the music in the book as well as the liminality of the language. Dust by Yvonne Owuor is the great Kenyan novel, and I also really enjoyed Coming to Birth by Marjorie Oludhe Macgoye: it is a novel I have read many times.
It is always easier, for me, to edit when I have a whole so that I can see what is missing, what is terribly done, and what needs to change.
Who are the East African authors you’re most excited about today (and why?)
I really like Parselelo Kantai’s nonfiction. A lot of his work has served as a model for what I try to do with my own nonfiction. I also think Doreen Baingana is a fantastic storyteller, as is Dalle Abraham, then there is Anna Adima who’s writing a book-length investigation of the cultural scene of 1960s Kampala, while Whitney Buluma has published relatively little, but my favourite essay by an East African writer over the past few years is by her.
What is your favourite topic to write or read about these days?
I enjoy reading profiles and oral histories. Which means, invariably, that I love Svetlana Aleixevich’s work, but also shorter stuff like Kọ́lá Túbọ̀sún’s profile of Wọlé Ṣóyínká, Nesrine Malik’s of Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo aka Hemedti, and Otosirieze Obi-Young’s of Teju Cole.
And what topic do you wish more authors were writing about these days?
Literature. Books. Literary culture. I am obsessed with books that veer around literary culture and the process of writing. Very navel-gazy, I know. But I wish more people were writing about these things.
For a writer who has published a lot of essays, I have no interest in writing a full-length book of nonfiction. Instead, I dream of novels.
What are you currently working on?
One is always working on a novel. It is terrible how, for a writer who has published a lot of essays, I have no interest in writing a full-length book of nonfiction. Instead, I dream of novels. It is a curse. At some point you realize you have multiple novel manuscripts in your drive, and what is there to do but try and rewrite them over and over again until you die?
Question from Nadia Davids: If you could choose another art form to create in (other than writing), what would it be and why?
None. I love writing. There is nothing I love more than it.
Who should we interview next?
Michelle Angwenyi. Her prose (and poetry) is exquisite⎈
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