Author of ‘(Purse) Strings Attached’, Paula Akugizibwe, used to resist ambiguity. More recently, however, ‘I’ve grown more comfortable with uncertainty if that’s what is most honest—both in my writing and in my lived experiences—and it’s liberating.’
Our questions are italicized.
What books or kinds of books did you read growing up?
Anything I could get my hands on: reading was the mainstay of my childhood. My mother is a statistician by profession but a phenomenal teacher by nature, and teaching babies to read is one of her superpowers—my older sister tells me that I started reading before I could hold a proper conversation. And as we moved between several different countries, books were one of the few constant presences in my life, a traveling home of sorts.
Fiction was my favorite, and my mother also packed our shelves at home with biographies, encyclopedias, Chicken Soup for the Soul, textbooks, and Christian literature. This was before we had the internet at our fingertips, so books were how we explored the world. As I got older I would read a book from somewhere unfamiliar, for example, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s Cancer Ward which is still one of my favorite books, and it would trigger a curiosity about that place, leading me down a rabbit hole of Russian literature for weeks.
My relationship with books deepened in my teens when I read Tsitsi Dangarembga’s Nervous Conditions. That was my first experience of a contemporary African novel and made literature feel more personal, like something I didn’t just consume but was part of.
What book from your childhood would you pass on to someone younger?
A South African children’s novel that has stayed on my mind since I was eleven—Brahm and the Angel by Marietjie De Jongh. Originally written in Afrikaans in 1995, it was later translated and included in my school’s English syllabus.
Brahm and the Angel is the story of a boy and his guardian angel who are lost in a wilderness, trying to find their way back to life—an allegory about keeping faith alive, triumphing over despair, all that good stuff.
It really stirred my young heart, and I re-read it several times throughout high school when I felt like I needed a dose of hope. It’s long been out of print, but after years of trying I’ve finally tracked down a second-hand copy online (thanks to the reminder from this question) and I hope it’s as magical as I remember.
If you could rewrite a classic book/text, which would it be and why?
The bible was the most prominent book in my childhood. We read a chapter or two daily, going from cover to cover then starting again: even today I can list all sixty-six books and recite some chapters. As a child, I saw it as a religious duty rather than personal reading. But as an adult outside the confines of the church, I became more interested in the bible as not only a religious but also a literary and political text.
Jose Saramago’s The Gospel According to Jesus Christ further shifted how I thought about it. A few years ago, I contributed to an anthology exploring the politics of nudity, for which I recreated two bible scenes in which nudity serves different functions. I didn’t change the storylines: just fleshed out the characters, conflicts, and emotions. It was fascinating to revisit these stories that are so engrained in my memory and reflect on them, for the first time, as a human study rather than a moral exercise.
I’d enjoy doing more of this, especially with the Old Testament which has such sensational stories and subtext around power—I think it could also reveal and reset some subconscious influences that I absorbed in childhood.
What makes a good re-write?
A good re-write, for me, captures the core of the story with greater precision, texture, and depth, while making you see something you hadn’t before.
My relationship with books deepened in my teens when I read Tsitsi Dangarembga’s Nervous Conditions. That was my first experience of a contemporary African novel and made literature feel more personal, like something I didn’t just consume but was part of.
What’s the last book you read that changed your mind about something?
It’s not recent, but Saramago’s Seeing had a profound influence on my understanding of the rituals that are held up as gold standards for democracy. Recently the book has been on my mind following various election crises around the world; his work is heavy with prescience. I wrote about this some years back: ‘The End of Elections’.
And what’s the last book/text you disagreed with?
Nothing that I feel moved to talk about.
What’s your writing process like? Do you edit as you write or write a draft first, then edit?
I always start with structure and flow. Although I write intuitively and might change direction as I go, I keep updating the outline to make sure the story still holds together.
For analytical pieces, I write first then edit. For memoir and fiction, I edit incessantly as I write, since these pieces tend to be centered around interpersonal stories and emotions, which are more challenging to capture in words.
What was your process for writing ‘(Purse) Strings Attached’?
I usually have the same process for research-based pieces: a brief outline, then I search online for relevant sources, go through them to extract the information that I want to reference, and paste all those extracts into one document. This is usually when I do any interviews, too. I then revise the outline, rearrange the extracts under the relevant sections, and finally begin writing.
It’s not the most straightforward approach, but it gets my thoughts into rhythm. This particular piece was a bit different: I had to update it a few times between draft and publication as the subject matter was evolving rapidly, requiring me to remix some of these steps.
Saramago’s Seeing had a profound influence on my understanding of the rituals that are held up as gold standards for democracy.
What’s more important to you: the story or how you write it?
I don’t see how they can be separated. Each process will produce its unique story, so my ‘how’ is shaped by what I want to say and why, and in some cases, to whom.
What’s most important to me is to honour my purpose in telling that story, and to ground that purpose in truth.
What’s the most meaningful piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
Stories don’t always need clear-cut endings, because life doesn’t always work that way.
Yewande Omotoso told me that, and it’s not in line with conventional advice on how to write a good story, but it made a lot of sense to me. As our creative tendencies often reveal deeper things about us, this advice also got me reflecting on my tendency to resist ambiguity in life in general, sometimes at the cost of being true to my emotional journey.
Over the past few years, I’ve grown more comfortable with uncertainty if that’s what is most honest—both in my writing, and in my lived experiences—and it’s liberating.
Have you found writing to be a skill (something we learn) or a talent (something innate)?
Just like with any other art or sport, some people may have an easier way with words than others, but I believe that anyone who loves reading can be a great writer, given some self-awareness, good editing, and lots of practice.
Stories don’t always need clear-cut endings, because life doesn’t always work that way.
Who is an author you wish you had discovered earlier?
Octavia Butler. I first read Parable of the Sower ten years ago, but I wish I had read it ten years before that, because it was essential political education.
What is your favourite topic to write or read about these days?
Science fiction feels fitting for these times. I’ve just started re-reading the Remembrance of Earth’s Past trilogy by Cixin Liu. I’m in awe of his portrayal of how seemingly isolated, intimate experiences can shape the course of history.
It’s so subtle, because he creates all these layers of mind-bending plotlines around science, geopolitics, and space wars to present what Jiayang Fan described in the New Yorker as a ‘systems-level view of societies’— but at the core of the story are deeply personal questions about how we relate to each other and to the unknown, and the devastating impact of unhealed trauma.
I think it’s really important, and educational, to personalize history and politics in this way. Another current favorite is Reddit’s AITA community, for research purposes. And poetry, always, for the spirit.
What can we expect you to write about next?
This year I’ll be publishing some writing that I’ve been sitting with for years—it’s my most personal work to date so I’m a bit nervous but also looking forward to letting it go.
I believe that anyone who loves reading can be a great writer, given some self-awareness, good editing and lots of practice.
Question from OluTimehin Adegbeye: What is a book that you believe needs to be written in this cultural moment?
First of all, I’d love a book by Timehin: I admire her ability to express challenging ideas—as well as joy and freedom—with such nuance, clarity and wit.
I’ve also been thinking a lot lately about an essay I read several years ago by Keguro Macharia on the need to expand our political imaginations in order to mobilize around freedom and love: ‘New languages untethered to the state can help us imagine how we want to live with each other.’
I’d love to see this brought to life in a novel, not as an exercise in magical thinking, but a real grappling with concrete ways in which the widespread practice of love and freedom and kindness can gradually unseat systemic violence.
PS: I read Timehin’s First Draft after submitting my initial responses to these questions, and in it, she speaks about the need to go deeper into ‘love as a framework for liberation’—another reason we need a book from her in this cultural moment…since she asked…
Bonus: Please suggest a question for a future author’s First Draft.
What book made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t before?⎈
We want to hear what you think about this interview. Submit a letter to the editors by writing to editors@republic.com.ng.
