Author of The World Was In Our Hands: Voices from the Boko Haram Conflict, Chitra Nagarajan, decided to write a book on the conflict to shift narratives that tended to focus on particular stories—such as the abduction of the Chibok girls: ‘I set out to write a non-fiction book about the Boko Haram conflict but decided put together this collection of narratives instead. I felt these stories would reveal the truth of what is happening in a different (perhaps more compelling!) way.’
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?
When I was a child, my two key sources of stories were local libraries and the people around me. I received special permission to borrow adult books after I had made my way through the library’s children’s section, and I read anything around me—adventure stories, Amar Chitra Katha comics, children’s horror, non-fiction and authors I was most definitely too young to read! Yet, some of the best stories of my childhood had nothing to do with the written word. They were told by my parents, aunties, uncles, grandparents and cousins. In the evenings, when power was out, we would gather and take turns to tell stories—local legends of ghosts and other supernatural beings, folk myths, family and ancestral tales, religious sagas and even stories that were invented on the spot as the storyteller was going along. And, of course, there was no better way to get us kids into bed than to tell us a story—or three—as we fell asleep.
If your life so far was a series of texts, which text (fiction or non-fiction) represents you at this moment?
How to Do Nothing: Resisting the Attention Economy by Jenny Odell. Since the pandemic, I have been trying to undo how the productivity ethos has been ingrained within me, divest myself from busyness culture and embrace the wisdom that a happier, more meaningful and creative life comes from generating space and time.
What’s the last thing you read that changed your mind about something?
The Good Ancestor: How to Think Long-Term in a Short-Term World by Roman Krznaric. It didn’t necessarily change my mind, but it did help me reflect and clarify my thoughts around inter-generational justice, what we owe future generations and how to shift what we do as a result.
Some of the best stories of my childhood had nothing to do with the written word. They were told by my parents, aunties, uncles, grandparents and cousins.
What is your writing process: edit as you write or draft first, then edit?
I tend to have a kernel of an idea first, which I then spend a while thinking through—both actively and passively, letting my subconscious keep it on simmer in some corner of my mind—before drafting a very detailed outline. As a result, by the time I start writing, I can type pretty much the whole way through before then coming back and editing.
What was your process for working on your new book, The World Was in Our Hands?
The process flowed from the work I was doing—from the knowledge, networks and trust that I had built up during the years. In some cases, I interviewed people as part of a separate research study but, feeling their story needed to be documented, told them about the book, asking them if they wanted their narrative to become part of it. In other cases, friends and colleagues recommended people they knew. I spent up to five hours with each person, sometimes over multiple occasions, as they told me the stories of their lives. Then, I put together some text based on my notes and transcripts of the audio recordings. Afterwards, where possible, I went back to the narrators so they could either read the text or have it read to them in their language and make additions and corrections.
The World Was in Our Hands is a ‘collection of firsthand accounts of people living through the Boko Haram conflict.’ When did this book start for you?
It started in the years I spent conducting research, interacting with security agents and government officials, and supporting communities to protect themselves and their human rights. This work meant hours talking with people and hearing their stories. What I heard (and experienced myself) was so different from the public, political and media narratives out there, which tended to focus on particular stories (such as the abduction of the Chibok girls) or attacks and counterattacks. I set out to write a non-fiction book about the Boko Haram conflict but decided to change tracks and put together this collection of narratives instead. I felt these stories would reveal the truth of what is happening in a different (perhaps more compelling!) way.
What sources or cultural influences helped develop this book?
My colleagues and friends in Maiduguri, with whom I spent hours talking about the conflict and sharing experiences (both ours and those of the people in the communities where we were working). Practices of telling and writing oral histories. Books by and conversations with historians and scholars from the region, especially those from Borno State, such as Hamsatu Allamin, Hassana Waziri Ibrahim, Professor Kyari Mohammed and Professor Garba Ibrahim. The analysis of feminist thinkers—particularly their insights around the people, stories and perspectives that make it into the historical archive (mostly powerful men and a few women from dominant classes, ethnicity and religions—and how they conduct ethical and feminist research.
Were there any particular stories or individuals whose experiences deeply impacted you during the research or writing process?
There were many that impacted me in different ways. The young people who joined armed groups searching for purpose, economic opportunities and a way to change society for the better before the promises they were made unravelled. The men who shared stories that highlighted their vulnerability and the risks they faced. The women who put their lives at risk to save others—whether it was by going to farm and collecting firewood in dangerous areas so they could feed their families, hiding men so they would not be killed, or conducting rescues of those in danger. Often, we think of women as victims and men as perpetrators or defenders, but the realities of people’s lives do not fit these gendered binaries.
The Boko Haram conflict is still ongoing! … The attention may have moved on, but the conflict continues, with people continuing to face attacks, unable to go to their homes and struggling to survive.
And what’s one thing readers should be aware of when reading about the Boko Haram conflict?
The Boko Haram conflict is still ongoing! There was so much media and political attention on the region around the time of the #BringBackOurGirls campaign just over a decade ago, within Nigeria and across the world. The attention may have moved on, but the conflict continues, with people continuing to face attacks, unable to go to their homes and struggling to survive. The amount of humanitarian aid has fallen and I receive regular messages from people I know in camps for refugees and displaced persons, who talk about how there is no food. Even when people have been able to start rebuilding their lives, economic shocks and extreme weather events (like the flooding that occurred this year) means they are almost back to zero, having to start all over again.
You also co-edited the book, She Called Me Woman, in 2018. What’s the most important contribution an editor makes to a piece?
Building relationships that create comfort, confidence and trust with the people you are interviewing so they feel able to share their experiences on their own terms. There are other aspects too—knowing what questions to ask and when, how you make sense of what you have heard so you can craft it into a narrative—but it starts with the connection between you and the person in front of you.
She Called Me Woman is an ‘intimate collection that brings together 30 unique narratives to paint a vivid portrait of what it means to be a queer Nigerian woman.’ Why should readers read this book today?
We put together She Called Me Woman: Nigeria’s Queer Women Speak as a corrective to both the anti-LGBTQIA virulence and the absence of queer women from the discourse at the time. A lot has changed since it was published in 2018, with a number of books, films and poetry with queer themes out there. Queer Nigerians and their allies have been talking about their lives, speaking out, and campaigning online and offline. It is wonderful to see! Yet, many in the country continue to have little understanding (despite everyone knowing someone who is queer!) and people who are against the human rights of LGBTQIA people continue to mobilize. She Called Me Woman provides a series of snapshots of queer women from across Nigeria that show not only discrimination and violence but also the connection, hope, and joy that is part of queer lives. I look forward to the day it becomes a historical artefact of how life used to be, but until then, we need stories of queer lives to be in our cultural spaces.
What’s a book on your bookshelf that might catch people by surprise?
Probably the number of graphic novels I have. A particular favourite is Wake: The Hidden History of Women-led Slave Revolts by Rebecca Hall and Hugo Martínez. It combines information from Hall’s archival research and what she calls ‘the measured use of historical imagination’ to tell us how women planned and led revolts on ships, on plantations and in cities. It also tells us how they were then erased from history, and how it was important for her to do the work of telling their story.
And what’s a book that brings you joy?
The Patriarchs: How Men Came to Rule by Angela Saini—it discusses a diverse ways communities once lived across the world and how male supremacy was imposed, and continues to be remade and reasserted. It is not the most joyous of topics but knowing how fragile patriarchy is and how differently life was recently, within living memory, should give us all hope that things can change—and soon.
We put together She Called Me Woman: Nigeria’s Queer Women Speak as a corrective to both the anti-LGBTQIA virulence and the absence of queer women from the discourse at the time.
What’s the last great book someone recommended to you?
The Death of Vivek Oji by Akwaeke Emezi. A friend of mine, who told me I had to read it, lent it to me and I raced though it in one afternoon.
What is your favourite topic to write or read about these days?
Earlier this year, I finished a research project looking at relations between security forces and the population in Africa, and I am still doing a lot of reading, thinking and talking about alternative models of individual and community safety and security beyond the police.
And what topic do you wish more authors were writing about these days?
When it comes to non-fiction, I would love to see more writers looking at this current political moment of chaos and uncertainty as an opportunity to shift away from systems that do not serve us towards ones that are better for us, for the planet and for future generations.
For fiction, I want to read many more historical novels and short stories from Africa, Asia and Central and South America, especially ones that de-centre colonialism and show the rich diversity of economic models, non-hierarchical forms of governance and gender relations that existed.
Often, we think of women as victims and men as perpetrators or defenders, but the realities of people’s lives do not fit these gendered binaries.
What are you currently working on?
I have a number of projects in different stages—an idea for a non-fiction book percolating away, waiting for me to turn my attention to it; a novel that I just started drafting; and a children’s book that I’m writing with a friend.
Question from Fatima Bala: In what ways have your personal spiritual experiences influenced the themes and symbolism in your writing?
Thank you for this question, Fatima. My activism, writing and work is informed by understandings around the inter-connectedness of humans, plants, animals and other living and non-living beings. This knowledge means that I need to prioritize relations of care, love and respect; find joy and meaning in this connection and unifying energy; and work for collective and linked liberation. I would not have been able to spend years working in areas affected by violent conflict, with both people who have experienced horrendous violence and those who have perpetrated it, let alone write about it, without these relationships and without regular spiritual practices of dance, meditation, and yoga.
Bonus: Please suggest a question for a future author’s First Draft
What do you think people seven generations on from us will think when they look back at this time and how will they react when they read your writing?
Who do you think we should interview next?
Suraiya Banu, who writes about queer women, matricentricity and the home space in northern Nigeria, building on oral narratives, novels, songs and poetry⎈
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