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Dike Okoro in
conversation with Novelist,
Benjamin Kwakye
Women who suffer injustice seem to take a central role in
your novels. Do you deliberately work on this aspect of your
work, or do you let the stories lead your creation of these
characters?
I do
not deliberately work on this aspect of my work. I think,
however, that given the issues that I have been writing
about, this is inevitable. For example, I think it will be
dubious to explore polygamy without providing the female
voice with ample space.
Most creative writers I know delve into teaching at some
point in their career. Have you considered the temptation to
teach creative writing? Why or why not?
I
admire teachers of creative writing, but my legal work
already takes enormous amounts of my time. It will be
challenging to find the time.
You
seem to be the only Ghanaian novelist currently producing
and winning major awards in the continent and in the
commonwealth. In fact, you’ve won two Commonwealth Prize for
Fiction for the Africa Region awards. Are you inspired and
motivated by your accomplishment?
I
think I am blessed, but there are other Ghanaian authors
producing very good work. I believe a Ghanaian, Mamle Kabu,
was recently shortlisted for the Caine Prize. I think it’s
only a matter of time. And let’s not forget that Manu
Herbstein, who has won the Commonwealth Writers Prize,
currently holds Ghanaian citizenship. I have said elsewhere
that I enjoy the creative process, and finishing a novel is
sufficient reward for me. But, certainly, the recognition
is gratifying and encouraging.
Who
are some of your favorite writers? Why?
That’s
a tall order because there are so many I admire. Allow me
to limit the list to living novelists. My tastes are
eclectic in that I like writers with varying styles,
sometimes very different from my style of writing. I have
admired work by writers with impressive imaginations, spare
language that still manages to tell poignant tales,
brilliant use of language, keen insights into human nature,
and lyricism. Some of the living novelists with one or
more of such approaches include Chinua Achebe, Ben Okri, Ayi
Kwei Armah, Nuruddin Farah, Toni Morrison, Arundhati Roy, J.
M. Coetzee, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and Philip Roth. As you
can see, some of these writers have very different styles.
Nor is the list exhaustive by any means. To paraphrase a US
Supreme Court Justice, it is hard to define what I like, but
I know it when I read it.
Most African writers writing actively today are living
abroad or overseas. Do you struggle to produce a tale set in
Africa as a result of your living abroad? What is the secret
behind your ability to show originality of voice and
authenticity in your narratives that cover the landscape of
Accra and other towns in Ghana?
I had
not visited Ghana in a long time at the time when I wrote my
first two novels, but I didn’t struggle. I finished my
secondary education and did a year’s national service in
Ghana before moving to the US. By then I think that my mind
had indelibly soaked the sights, sounds, flora and fauna of
Ghana in a way that makes it easy to recollect. Of
course, this may vary for different writers. It is even
easier now as I visit Ghana often these days.
In
your novels you seem to have a special way of presenting
man’s inhumanity against man. This seems to be a major theme
in The Clothes of Nakedness. Can you shed some light
on this aspect of your writing? Also, how did come with the
character Mystic Mysterious? Is there a play on metaphor
here?
In
fact, I think most people who care to look are easily aware
of the injustices we mete out to one another. This is a
global phenomenon that is perhaps exacerbated by local
conditions in certain areas of the world. And, as I said
elsewhere, I have lived through some of these experiences.
I think it would be hard for me to ignore. It had to be
told. To borrow an expression, I had to get it out of my
system. As far as Mystique Mysterious goes, he is loosely
based on an imaginary trickster, Mr. Mysterious, that we
used to joke about in secondary school. It was said that he
came around campus selling examination questions ahead of
time. Since this was illegal, he would take on different
guises in order to elude capture. Sometimes, so it was
told, he was tall, other times, he was short; sometimes he
was bushy haired, other times, he was bald, and so on. I
thought that character fit very well with the chameleonic
coloration of the Mystique Mysterious in The Clothes of
Nakedness. Yes, he is a metaphor, although I don’t
think it’s within my place to explain the metaphor. The
question I hope readers ask is who and/or what is Mystique
Mysterious.
Much like Ben Okri and Chris Abani, you seem to localize
your novels. For instance, you use Accra as the center of
the world, a world where truth and its adversaries clash to
define meaning and the many dimensions of the human
character/struggle. Is this a driving technique meant to
enhance your style and plotline?
For my
first two novels, I agree with you. I think that when
subsequent novels are published, you may change this
assessment. I think it’s coincidental that Accra, where I
grew up, serves as the focal point of those two novels. I’m
not so sure that it was designed to enhance the style and
plot, although I can see how it can be viewed that way. I
think, though, that it’s more a by-product of the thematic
reach of the novel than anything else. In other words,
Accra, more than any other Ghanaian city I know, offers a
rich location for the exploration of the novels’ themes.
How
much of your experience as a writer is dependent on the
struggles of the post colonial world?
I’m
not sure this is conscious but as I was born in the
postcolonial era, I think I am more comfortable with its
struggles. But who can tell what I’ll be writing about
three years from today? I could be writing, for example,
about the resistance of the Asante kingdom to British
encroachment. I think that is as fascinating a subject
matter as any.
In
The Sun by Night we are introduced to Manu, the death
of an Accra prostitute, marriage and love, class
exploitation, court cases and a host of other issues. How
were you able to weave these themes together to produce such
a profound narrative? How much of your experience as a
lawyer comes out in your stories?
Thanks
for the compliment. I think that these are not as disparate
as we may think. These are issues that are intertwined in
their impact, whether direct or indirect, on the lives of
many people in the setting of the novel. When you look at
it in that context, it’s not difficult to see how these can
be woven together without surrendering depth. My legal work
veers towards the transactional and regulatory compliance
type, so I don’t get to experience these issues in my
daytime job. What subject matters I explore in my novels
are harvested from my day to day experiences and
observations outside of my work as a lawyer. But that is
not to say that my legal work has no impact. It does. For
example, I drew on that for some of the lengthy trial scenes
in The Sun by Night.
Do
you see yourself as a writer living in exile?
No. I
visit Ghana often, usually once every year; and I am in
constant touch with friends and family there. Come to think
of it, with modern technology, it has become so easy to stay
connected that I wonder if these days even those writers who
feel physically exiled feel so emotionally.
If
you could say something to anyone who reads your work, what
would it be?
I
strongly encourage my readers to read between the lines.
There is often more than meets the eye.
What are you writing now?
I am
working on a number of titles, some of which continue to
explore the issues confronting many modern African nations
and one of which covers the African immigrant’s experience.
With respect to the immigrant experience, it may take more
than one novel to capture its scope.
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