Tanzanian researcher and author of ‘The Political Dilemmas of Tanzania’s Music Artists’, Karen Chalamilla, believes we have a duty to name acts of violence when we witness them: ‘Recently, I have become hypervigilant of the way we pacify atrocities with inaccurate language. The most common—and unfortunately relevant—examples being the use of “conflict” in place of “genocide”, “ethnic cleansing”, “pillaging”, or “murder”.’
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 almost exclusively read fiction growing up. I am an only child so I would convince my parents to let me spend after-school hours at the school library instead of at home alone. I read whatever the library had. I read a lot of Enid Blyton, Ann Martin’s The Baby-Sitters Club series, R. L. Stine’s Goosebumps series (although I was not and still am not a big fan of horror) and lots of Roald Dahl. When my grandad visited, he would bring me Kiswahili books and I remember being obsessed with a picture book series that followed a character named Bulicheka on his adventures.
What’s the last thing you read and disagreed with?
Recently, I have become hypervigilant of the way we pacify atrocities with inaccurate language. The most common—and unfortunately relevant—examples being the use of ‘conflict’ in place of ‘genocide’, ‘ethnic cleansing’, ‘pillaging’, ‘murder’ or terms that do not falsely imply equal footing. There is not a day that goes by that I do not come across a story on state-sanctioned violence or patriarchal violence being described as literally anything but ‘violence’. So, not a specific text, but I disagree with the culture of watering down brutality to the point of desensitization. We owe it to each other to name acts of violence when we witness them.
What’s the last thing you read that changed your mind about something?
I will mention two things. The first is a conversation between Patricia McFadden and T. D. Harper-Shipman on post-nationalism and feminism in Africa, which challenged me to re-think my perspectives on the relationship between the two. It was a really good primer on critiquing nationalism from a feminist lens and made me eager to read more about those themes.
The second is an essay by a Kenyan writer and scholar, Mumbi Kanyogo, titled ‘Without Strategy, Solidarity is an Illusion’. It encouraged me to critically consider how power dynamics play out in resistance efforts. In the essay, Kanyogo points out how it is often the most vulnerable in our communities who are (literally) at the forefront of protests, and how we would do well to consider how we can democratize our solidarity. She uses the recent #RejectFinanceBill2024 protests as a sort of case study for her probing, but I think her words apply to resistance efforts globally.
There is not a day that goes by that I do not come across a story on state-sanctioned violence or patriarchal violence being described as literally anything but ‘violence’.
What is your writing process: edit as you write or draft first, then edit?
I edit as I write, and then I edit once more when I am done with a draft. I am pretty sure it slows me down, but I find it most clarifying to edit the last sentence or paragraph before I move on to the next one.
What was your process for writing your essay ‘Filming the Prolonged Pain of Colonial Violence’?
I focused on two things. The first was writing an introduction that would contextualize the interview (and the topic) to people both familiar and unfamiliar with the ongoing conversation around restitution between Tanzania and Germany. The second was crafting an interview that would give the audience further insight into the making of the film, The Empty Grave. I was lucky to attend a screening of the film and a Q&A session that happened after, and I wanted to simulate the latter to readers who might not have access to the filmmakers, Cece Mlay and Agnes Lisa Wegner.
And what inspired you to write about this story?
When I attended the screening, I was struck by how compelling the film was in its illustration of this painful ordeal that Tanzanian families are going through. It was the first time that I had witnessed a piece of media situating the families and their grief at the centre of this conversation, which made me curious to hear from the filmmakers and learn more about the process of making this happen. Also, during the Q&A, it became increasingly obvious how many Tanzanians were not even aware of this enduring piece of colonial history, and those who were aware of it had a lot of complicated feelings. It felt important to document the moment as captured by the film, screening and surrounding conversation. A few months later, it is safe to say that the film has played a role in mainstreaming the conversation around restitution, and in re-naming the ordeal as a national grief, which makes me even more glad that I got to interview Mlay.
How did your approach change in writing your second essay, ‘The Political Dilemmas of Tanzania’s Music Artists’?
I had tried to write this essay many times, but it was only when Tanzanian music artist Harmonize dropped his album, Muziki Wa Samia, that it started to come together. I found the high number of music artists in support of the government odd, especially against the backdrop of an increasingly litigious art’s council and the country’s socio-economic state. In this essay, I argue that Tanzanian music artists today can effectively only take up one political position: they can only be pro-government. The album became a perfect starting point not only because it gave me a focused narrative built by an artist themself, but also because it let me interpolate the past in the present. The history of politics and music, particularly Bongo Flava, in Tanzania runs deep, so, the album’s contemporaneity served as an ‘effect’ that I could hold up against all the historical ‘causes’ that I found during my research. I am grateful that the editor I worked with encouraged me to make the essay a long-form piece so I could include a lot of the research I came across.
I used both contemporary pop-cultural archives, as well as academic texts as sources and I shifted between reporter, historian and op-ed writer to come up with a coherent and compelling argument. I did away with any worry of sticking to a specific writing genre and instead focused on maintaining a strong voice without being prescriptive. Towards the end especially, I was very strict with myself not to make space for moral condemnation of any artist and instead focus on clearly articulating the argument.
Who are the Tanzanian musicians you are most excited about today and why?
Honestly, I am currently most excited about the DJs in the country. I think they are in a unique position to push the boundaries of how we consume music. In Dar es Salaam, club culture has gotten increasingly democratized, which makes for a diverse audience that in turn lends itself to a wider range of music that can be played. And of course, radio culture remains one of the most accessible forms of media to date. I see DJs slowly tapping into this widened audience. Also, they have the opportunity to be even more inventive in incorporating all the music coming from in and out of the country. I am looking forward to hearing more quality sets from our DJs.
In this essay, I argue that Tanzanian music artists today can effectively only take up one political position: they can only be pro-government.
What’s the most interesting reaction/feedback you’ve had about your writing?
I love when I share my work with people and they return with a follow up question or a point of further discussion. It makes me feel like my work has inspired thought.
What is the most meaningful piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
Ironically it is to write first and edit later. I think the advice comes from the understanding that starting is often the hardest part for many writers, including myself. Self-criticism and whatever ideal I have decided I am never going to reach can be difficult to work through, but the only solution is really to just write whatever and then worry about refinement after there’s something on the page.
Do you enjoy rereading books? If so, which book have you reread the most, and why?
I have reread a few books but none as many times as The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison. I mean, what has not been said about Morrison? She is a literary force, an absolute genius. The Bluest Eye is such a powerful illustration of intense desire and rejection of self and by community. The things that Morrison can do with a sentence are just incredible.
What’s your literary pet peeve?
I don’t think I have any. I have so much time and grace for African authors trying all sorts of things in their writing. Even if it is not for me, I don’t think it has ever annoyed me enough to become a pet peeve. Maybe punctuation errors? Those aren’t fun to see.
What’s the best book you’ve read about mother-daughter relationships?
I am awful at picking ‘bests’ of anything, but I have a soft spot for mother figures who may not be biological mothers yet step up to parent anyway. I am thinking of Abi Daré’s characters, Iya and Tia, from And So I Roar. Tia’s care and devotion saved Adunni and absolutely changed the trajectory of her life and Iya’s care work was incredibly important for Adunni’s mother and the community at large. Many Africans have—or at least know—an ‘Aunty So-and-So’ or a ‘Bibi So-and-So’ who may not have birthed children of their own but is undoubtedly a mother to someone. I am very fond of this dynamic in literature.
Who is your favourite fictional woman character, and why?
Again, I am not sure I can pick a favourite so, I’ll say two things. Firstly, a few weeks ago I saw a fake poster of a Netflix adaptation of Lola Shoneyin’s tragic but hilarious book, The Secret Lives of Baba Segi’s Wives and I haven’t stopped thinking about Bolanle and her co-wives ever since. Shoneyin, among many other things, pushes us to consider the potential for silence to be a source of power for women living in limiting conditions. This idea also comes up in the way Abdulrazak Gurnah depicts Zanzibari women in By the Sea. They too rely on silence and the relationships they have forged with each other (as well as the public assumption that these relationships are trivial and harmless) to protect themselves and their legacies. I think it can be tempting to only see these women as victims of their circumstances because of the violences and cruelty they endure, but I have a great respect for women characters who invoke a quiet and almost stealthy strength to survive.
A specific character I think is written incredibly is Pilate from Morrison’s Song of Solomon. She is born without a navel, symbolizing a lack of an initial connection, so to speak. Living on the fringes of society with her daughter and granddaughter, she is cast out. She practices the occult and loves fearlessly and freely. Pilate is both the vessel that holds her lineage’s past, as well as a compass of sorts for her present family on their journey towards finding themselves. She is both selfless and absolutely liberated, a clear suggestion from Morrison that generosity does not have to come at the expense of personal freedom. Pilate’s only regret as she dies is that she could not have loved more people. Born without a navel—and thus without an initial connection—her sole earthly ambition is to truly and wholly connect with as many people as possible. Morrison projects much onto this fictional elder, yet we are not required to suspend our belief for any of it because Pilate was something ‘…God never made.’ As such, we are not required to measure her actions against human standards. The choices Morrison makes with her are fascinating; she is, I think, a remarkable feat of characterization.
What book do you feel has not yet received the attention it deserves?
I often feel like books by East African authors do not receive enough attention. But I also think the call is coming from inside the house. I think we need to build a culture of seeking out more books from Tanzania and East Africa. I had an insightful conversation about our reading culture with Tanzanian publisher Mkuki Bgoya of Mkuki na Nyota shortly after Gurnah won his Nobel prize.
I have so much time and grace for African authors trying all sorts of things in their writing.
Which three books from/on Tanzania should everyone be reading at this moment?
Instead of recommending anything I have previously read, I am going to include a list of books from/on Tanzanian that are on my 2025 reading list so we can read them together. The first is an English translation of Euphrase Kezilahabi’s Rosa Mistika (1971) by Jay Boss Rubin which is scheduled for publication in June 2025. The second is In the Name of the President by Erick Kabendera. Another is The Heart is a Bastard (Moyo ni Mwanaharamu), a short story collection edited by Zukiswa Wanner in English and Eliash Mutani in Kiswahili. It features four Tanzanian writers: Noella Moshi, Nyasili Atetwe, Ruth Nyadzua Mwangome and Fatma Shafii. I’m also keen to read Gurnah’s Theft.
And what’s one thing readers should be aware of when reading about Tanzania?
Read with an open mind, as you would with books from other countries.
What is your favourite topic to write or read about these days?
My favourite topic to read about these days is feminism in Africa. I am currently reading Can Feminism Be African? by Minna Salami. I have also been reading a lot of Patricia McFadden’s works. I am enjoying slowly working through her essay titled ‘Contemporarity and The Possibilities of Building Alternative Societies’.
I do not have a favourite topic to write about. I really live by the bell hooks quote: ‘No Black woman writer in this culture can write “too much” …no woman has ever written enough.’ I have about a million interests. Whatever I am working on at the time is my favourite topic to write about.
And what topic do you wish more authors were writing about these days?
Feminism in Africa. In particular, I would love to read more political or cultural critique from Tanzanian and African women through a feminist lens. I wish more Tanzanian writers were thinking and writing about the world through a feminist praxis right now.
I wish more Tanzanian writers were thinking and writing about the world through a feminist praxis.
What are you currently working on?
A bunch of things, but I am very excited about the planning work I have been doing for a collection of essays.
Question from Olusegun Tosin Kalejaye: What is success to you in your career?
The material goals change with every milestone I cross. More consistently though, I think being able to pause and look around and still feel like I am doing the work makes me feel successful. Not feeling like I have let anything distract me from my writing practice, being able to stay curious about the world, reading consistently, seeking out other writers and artists and forming connections. Also, staying connected to and critical of my surroundings so that my writing is relevant and interesting, you know? I hope that my work furthers conversation and contributes to the larger project of freedom. When I can maintain that state of mind, I feel pretty successful.
Bonus: Please suggest a question for a future author’s First Draft
What do you find most rewarding about being a writer?
Who should we interview next?
Naila Aroni⎈
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