Anglo-Nigerian writer and author of Wahala, Nikki May, drew inspiration for her latest novel, This Motherless Land, from Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park: ‘The idea of a young girl being torn from everything familiar and thrust into an alien environment where she must constantly prove herself is genius. So, I stole it. But my book is a reimagining not a retelling.’
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?
I grew up in Lagos in the 1970s, and back then, there were not many bookshops, so I read anything I could get my hands on, often things that weren’t age-appropriate. As a child, I loved Enid Blyton and Hans Christian Andersen, and scared myself with Grimm’s Fairy Tales. I moved on to Agatha Christie in my teens (I revisit her books often; she has taught me a lot about character and plot) and devoured books by Alistair Maclean and James Hardley Chase. I spent my Queens College days reading Mills & Boons (hundreds of them!). My mother did not approve and pushed more literary tomes into my hands. Her favourite book is Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, and she gave me a copy for my sixteenth birthday. I have started it many times but never finished!
If your life so far was a series of texts, which text (fiction or non-fiction) represents you at this moment?
Nike’s iconic slogan: ‘Just Do It’. It is a mantra for action and a symbol of motivation and perseverance. And it is just what I need right now to push me through writing book three. Go on, Nikki—JUST DO IT! Interestingly, I found out recently, by watching Air (the brilliant film about the origin of Air Jordan) that the phrase was inspired by the last words of convicted murderer, Gary Gilmore, who said ‘Let’s do it’ before his execution. Very dark!
What’s the last thing you read that changed your mind about something?
Station Eleven by Emily St John Mandel. It is a dystopian literary masterpiece set in the nightmarish years after the collapse of modern civilization. I read it when I was feeling pretty miserable about humanity. It gave me hope and made me realize that in the end, there will always be enough good people, and that creativity and humanity are worth risking everything for.
I grew up in Lagos in the 1970s, and back then, there were not many bookshops, so I read anything I could get my hands on, often things that weren’t age-appropriate.
What is your writing process: edit as you write or draft first, then edit?
A bit of both. I start with characters and spend ages fleshing them out, making them real in my head. Next, I work on an outline—a sort of road map of what happens when. And then I put pen to paper, or rather, fingers to keyboard, and start my first draft. But my characters have a habit of doing what they want instead of following my instructions, so I end up going three steps forwards and two steps back. My first draft is always a complete mess. I thought it would be different by book three, but unfortunately not. I have to tell myself to work out what the story really is.
What was your process for writing your debut novel, Wahala?
I wrote a first draft really quickly. I was working full-time in advertising back then, but I managed to get it done in six months. I printed it out, read it and realized it was awful. I had created three fully formed characters, but nothing happened—they went to lunch, gossiped and that was it. I put the draft away in a drawer and tried to forget about it. But the characters, Ronke, Simi and Boo, would not let me go. So, six months later, I dug out my draft and picked it apart. I realized what my women needed was wahala—so I gave it to them. It took three more edits before I felt I had something good. I entered it in a few amateur writing competitions and was longlisted for two, shortlisted for one and won another. That gave me the confidence to query agents.
And what inspired this story?
The inspiration for Wahala came from a long and very loud lunch with my Naija girls at a Nigerian restaurant in London. As I boarded the train home, I code switched out of Nigerian me into English me. This made me think about my two cultures, and I started writing. Wahala is imbued with my life experiences. Ronke’s white grandparents who wanted nothing to do with he —well, mine were similar. Simi dropping out of medical school, freaking her parents out—that was me (sorry Dad). Boo’s desperation to fit in, to assimilate—I have been there too.
Wahala is being adapted into a major BBC TV drama. What other book by an African author do you think would make a great film or drama series, and why?
I am so excited about the TV series, it feels surreal that both my books are being adapted for TV. I can’t wait to watch!
I would love to see Oyinkan Braithwaite’s My Sister the Serial Killer on the screen—it would make a perfect limited series. It has been optioned, so maybe this dream will come true. The TV process is so s-l-ow!
How did your approach to writing change while working on your latest novel, This Motherless Land?
Unlike Wahala, I wrote This Motherless Land to a deadline—although I still managed to be six-months late! I would love to say your second book is easier, but I would be lying. In fact, your second book is harder to write: there is the added pressure of expectation. My first draft was still terrible (nothing changes), and it took me three rewrites to wrestle it into something I felt I could share with my editors. I am a notorious over writer—for the 90,000 words that end up in the book, I write about 200,000. No wonder I’m slow!
My first draft is always a complete mess… I have to tell myself to work out what the story really is.
This Motherless Land has been longlisted for the 2025 Nigeria Prize for Literature and described as a ‘sweeping examination of identity, culture, race and love’. Why did you want to tell this story?
The inspiration came from re-reading Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park. The idea of a young girl being torn from everything familiar and thrust into an alien environment where she must constantly prove herself is genius. So, I stole it. But my book is a reimagining not a retelling. I used Austen’s novel as scaffolding to build a very personal story around. When we meet Funke in 1978, she is living my happy childhood in my house in Lagos, with Billy, my sister’s African grey parrot. She goes to my primary school (Corona School), spends weekends at Tarkwa Bay collecting cuttle fish bones (just like me) and rides her green chopper bicycle around the quiet Lagos University Teaching Hospital campus streets with her little brother, like I did. Funke’s mother, Misses Lissie, is inspired by my mother—an art teacher who was adored by her students. But don’t worry—it is all fiction. My mum is alive and well and we do yoga together every Tuesday. I wanted to write about the irrationality and ridiculousness of prejudice and the unfairness of privilege. I have experienced both—I know what they feel like.
Who was your favourite character to write—or was there one you resonated with the most?
Funke! I loved writing her. It was like a trip down memory lane, back to my very happy childhood and my days in medical school in Lagos. There is so much of my life in Funke’s story.
What’s one thing about readers’ reactions to This Motherless Land that surprised you?
So many people have said my book has made them want to visit Nigeria. That makes me very happy. I wanted This Motherless Land to be a love story to both my homes—Nigeria and England. Neither are perfect but both are wonderful.
And what’s the first book you read that made you think you wanted to be a writer?
Waiting to Exhale by Terry McMillan. I read it as a thirty-something-year-old woman in London, and I felt ‘seen’. It is funny, irreverent and very comforting, a bit like hanging out with your girlfriends. That said, it took me another twenty-five years to get started!
What’s a book on your bookshelf that might catch people by surprise?
The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway. I first read this novella when I was twenty. I had dropped out of medical school and run away to London to escape my father’s disappointment. I felt like a complete failure. I knew nothing about fishing then (I still don’t), but that’s fine because this book about an elderly Cuban fisherman struggling for days and nights for an enormous fish, larger than his boat, is about hope, not fishing. It gave me solace when I needed it most. The writing is amazing—I turn to it whenever I need an injection of optimism.
I wanted to write about the irrationality and ridiculousness of prejudice and the unfairness of privilege. I have experienced both—I know what they feel like.
And what’s a book that brings you joy?
Hibiscus by Lopè Ariyo. It is a beautiful Nigerian cookbook, and I take it off my shelf when I am homesick. Looking at pictures of moin-moin, akara and seafood okra soup never fails to cheer me up!
What’s the last great book someone recommended to you?
The Trees by Percival Everett. I was on a BBC 4 radio show called A Good Read and this was one of the picks, so I had to read it. And I’m so glad I did. I laughed, I cried and I learnt so much. It seems impossible that a book about the lynching of a Black boy—Emmett Till, in Money, Mississippi—can be funny, but I promise you, it is. It is also horrifying. Full of amazing one-liners, this book is a pretty good argument for retributive justice.
Which three books from/on Nigeria should everyone be reading at this moment?
Half A Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche is a timeless story of the mess that humans make. Africa is Not a Country by Dipo Faloyin pushes back against harmful stereotypes; it should be on every school’s curriculum. Nearly All the Men in Lagos Are Mad by Damilare Kuku is funny, acerbic and brilliant. I cannot praise these short stories highly enough.
Who are the Nigerian authors you’re most excited about today (and why?)
Ayọ̀bámi Adébáyọ̀, whose work I love; Eloghosa Osunde is an incredible voice; and Nnedi Okorafor’s Death of the Author is stunning. I need to read her back catalogue.
What is your favourite topic to write or read about these days?
For writing: I turned sixty in April so I am very exercised by ageism. That is what I am writing about. Like my character, Oyinkan, said in This Motherless Land, ‘I am yet to meet a good “ism”.’
For reading: Anything! I am equal opportunities when it comes to reading—I don’t care what genre, what style—as long as it is good.
I am equal opportunities when it comes to reading—I don’t care what genre, what style—as long as it is good.
What are you currently working on?
I am busy working on my third novel. It is the story of three women who work in a London advertising agency—but of course it is about much more than that. I hate talking about my book before it is finished, so you will have to wait till I’ve finished and read it!
Question from Onyi Nwabineli: Which author living or gone would you sit down with, and which of their works would you discuss?
I would love a long dinner with F. Scott Fitzgerald. We’d talk about The Great Gatsby, which is, in my opinion, the perfect novel. So much more than a love story (although it is possibly the greatest love story ever told), it covers meaty themes: class, wealth and race. It is brilliantly paced, funny, sad and haunting. I want to pick his brains, maybe some of his genius will rub off on me.
Bonus: Please suggest a question for a future author’s First Draft
What does literary success look like to you?
Who should we interview next?
Dipo Faloyin⎈
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