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Reminiscences: Interview with
Aminatta Forna
By Uche Peter Umez
Award-winning
writer, Aminatta Forna has been described in various terms,
luminous and sweeping; even
Vanity Fair
named her as one of Africa's most promising new
writers in 2007. Yet what I find most striking about her is
not just her massive, critically-acclaimed talent as a
writer, but the charm of her smile that radiates from deep
within her soul. It is gracious, heartfelt, the smile. I
imagine it lighting up my own face. I’m enthralled a moment,
before I nudge myself to focus on what I came to do.
We sit on
raffia-made chairs in her balcony, a table between us. The
sound of metal grating against rock threatens to disrupt our
conversation. Aminatta stands up, a bit irritated by the
din. She looks over the balcony. The sound is coming from
the other side of the wall. A sorry-looking building – in
dire need of paint and polish – juts above our barbed-wire
topped wall.
Some frizzy darkish
brown curls flip over her eyes as Aminatta shakes her head.
She tucks them behind her ears with her fingers and says,
‘It’s been like that since I checked in.’
I too have noticed
that sound; the sound of renovation. Someone seems to have
decided to be more enterprising, make good use of the land
next to the hotel we are lodged in. I’ve also noticed that
lots of hotels on this beachside vicinity have begun a
refurbishing spree – probably anticipating a surge of
tourists and vacationers.
"We
should find somewhere else?" I ask, propping myself up a
little, my palms flat against the chair’s arms. From up the
balcony my eyes sweep over the shimmering pool, the quiet
thatch sheds overlooking the frothy beach.
"Naw."
Aminatta sits back.
Easing back fully
into my chair, I notice she’s slipped her book onto the
table. Fat, exquisite, a book described as ‘impossible to
forget, or to confuse with any other memoir of tyrannical
times....’ by The Financial Times; a memoir regarded
as evocative of Isabelle Allende's House of the Spirits,
and what Jason Cowley called
an ‘impressive contribution to the literature of
post-colonial Africa.’
Aminatta Forna was
barely 10 when her father — a doctor and popular former
cabinet minister — was visited by the state secret police.
They’d come to arrest him. His position against dictatorship
was uncompromising; an unflagging democrat. A year later
Mohammed Forna was executed for treason by a government
decidedly bent on quashing every opposition and overturning
democracy. The award-winning book,
The Devil that Danced on the Water , is Aminatta's
gripping account of childhood, the stormy days of
post-colonial statehood, the events that presaged the
11-year civil war in Sierra Leone
, and the acceptance of her father’s murder. The memoir was
runner-up for Britain's
most prestigious non-fiction award,
the Samuel Johnson
Prize
in 2003 and serialised both for
BBC Radio and
in The Sunday Times
newspaper.
I reach for the
book, then thumb a few pages. The only word I can say is,
hmm. When I asked Aminatta what motivated her to embark on
writing about her father’s fate, why she related her
experiences through memoir and not fiction, say, a novel,
her gaze wanders briefly from my face, takes on a
retrospective shade, and then she fixes her brown eyes on
me, and replies that she specifically went back to
Sierra Leone (she currently
resides in UK) to discover the truth about her father, how
he was murdered; the complicity and people involved.
Therefore, the only form the narrative could take was a
memoir.
"Memoir
can combine various forms, including history and narrative
journalism," she says. "It’s creative non-fiction, and I was
particularly careful about getting my facts right. I spent
10 years at the
BBC
so getting my facts as accurately as possible was something
I was already trained to do. I was able to connect the
events of the 1960s to 1970s and the war which was just then
taking place; a political meltdown which would eventually
lead to war."
It’s very arduous
finishing a short story, and who knows how long a memoir
might take to complete, considering it is mostly
non-fiction, fact and history, without the coloration of
subjectivity. Aminatta says it took her two and half years
to finish her breathtaking memoir. "It was broken slightly
because of the war during which I couldn’t go back to Sierra
Leone . One year for the writing and the other one and half
years to gather and crosscheck all the information," she
reflects, shutting her eyes a moment. "I flew all over the
world to do the research. I tracked people in
Germany , US, UK
and Sierra Leone
, etc. Thankfully enough, lots of the facts and the
political situation that was unfolding were detailed and
documented by the British High Commission in Sierra Leone
and held in the British government archives. I also got
valuable material from the US State Department."
What was the
challenge like? And how much objectivity is required in
writing a memoir of such
magnitude? Aminatta lifts her leg and places it on the edge
of her chair, appearing easy in her U-neck beige blouse and
flowing pants. "Hmm," she says, as though I’ve asked her a
question that quite unsettles her. "Hmm. The challenge was
life-changing. I went to
Sierra
Leone towards the end of the war and was raking up a
lot of past and memories people didn’t want to expose. You
have to accept that what you discover may differ from what
you believed. You have to split yourself in halves. And you
have to write straight from the heart. A memoir is the
author’s story, you aren’t writing a textbook. You’ve to
trust your heart and you have to be more honest than
objective. It’s an honest business. The reader has to trust
you."
I remember a recent
meeting with Amanze Austin Akpuda, a poet,
literary critic
and scholar at Abia State University . He mentioned that
every detail or milestone of one’s life should be
documented, just in case one wished to write a memoir. I ask
Aminatta for advice on
writing a memoir; she says, "First, you must have a
story. Memoir is not an autobiography which is about
well-known people, and their entire story from birth to the
present day. Memoir is a story told from life. I’m the
narrator in my memoir, but the story was about my father’s
life. I’ll like to see a lot of people, African writers,
attempt memoir. It’s a growing form, and we are in danger of
allowing other people to tell our stories. We should be
telling those stories."
While she speaks in
that breezy, indulgent voice of hers, I catch a whiff of
spicy stew emanating from somewhere below the balcony. I
glance down. I sight the white-clad Ghanaian steward setting
down on the table the varied dishes for guests near the
poolside. I can’t make out what the meals are, but I can
picture some beef greased and spiced with peppers, curry,
thyme and Knorr.
"Smells
nice," Aminatta says.
"Yeah."
I nod. There’s a short silence, and then I tell her that
memoir is not a popular genre in
African literature. Everybody is writing novels,
short fiction, and children’s literature. Memoir suffers the
same fate as plays. In Africa , every young writer wants to
write a novel or short story. So what does she think is
responsible for this situation?
"I
think writers in the West have only just started to explore
the possibilities of memoirs. I think it’s simply a matter
of letting writers in Africa know about the possibilities of
this genre. It’s very creative and intellectual; it still
takes all your skills as a writer. Perhaps, even more – to
hold your reader’s attention. You can’t be lazy about it
because it’s true." Aminatta goes on to explain that she
likes memoirs for all the reasons she’s just explained
above. "And novels. All good writing is about revealing more
than is apparent. And I think the novel takes that further
than any other form. I wrote my memoir for my father, my
family, my country and my continent. And these are powerful
motives. The motive for writing a novel is to make people
think in a way they have never thought before."
Aminatta also wrote
Ancestor Stones
– a novel,
Publishers Weekly,
called it a ‘sweeping portrayal of the lives of five Sierra
Leonean women.’ The novel made New York Times
Editor's Choice book, was selected by the Washington
Post as one of the Best Novels of 2006 and one of
The Listener Magazine's Best 10 Books of 2006.
Ancestor Stones narrate the lives of four women: Asana,
Mariama, Hawa and Serah Kholifa married to a wealthy
plantation owner in an Africa country where change is just
beginning to arrive. Asana, lost twin and head-wife's
daughter. Hawa, motherless child and manipulator of her own
misfortune. Mariama, who sees what lies beyond this world.
And Serah, follower of a Western-made dream.
Aminatta hasn’t
decided yet to come up with another memoir, but she has just
finished the manuscript of a second novel and handed it to
her editor before flying to attend the Caine Workshop in
Ghana . The novel (already
on sale) is called,
The Memory of Love
.
It
tells the stories of two love affairs. One takes place
before a war, and the other after the same war. It reveals
how both are interconnected. It’s also about how every
action we take affects the world around us. It is set mostly
in Sierra Leone .
Aminatta has
successfully navigated from non-fiction to fiction, married
her memoirist skills to becoming an accomplished novelist.
Nonetheless, she feels it’s almost impossible to choose what
the most challenging aspect of writing fiction is.
Everything about writing is challenging. "I think it’s the
grind, to sit down and write every day, sometimes for years
until you finish a piece of writing. Lots of people tell me
they have ideas for a novel. Lots of people tell me they
have started a novel. Only a few finish a novel. And I think
the thing is to keep believing and writing."
As one of the
facilitators of the 2009 Caine
Prize for African Writing Workshop, I try to plumb
her experience, what it’s been like. Her eyes shine like
light on glass as she reveals her feelings: "Though it’s
been hard work. What it has revealed to me is that there is
a great deal of talent in
Africa . But I
think it’s evident that what the African writers are missing
is the opportunity to read a great deal. And that has got to
do with the lack of availability of libraries and books and
research facilities. The most commercially successful books
are published in the US and
Britain , and
the young Africa writers don’t get to read them, don’t even
have access to them at all. Notwithstanding, it’s been great
being a part of the group, great reading stories from around
the continent, which we just don’t get to hear in Europe.
Moreover, I think the participants in the workshop have been
supportive of each other. Everybody seems to be engaged in a
common cause."
I have only attended
one workshop, except the virtual ones on-line, which I
didn’t take seriously at any rate. Aminatta thinks workshops
can be very useful for certain writers. "What a writer needs
the most is time and space. And as
Virginia Woolf said, 'a room of one’s own.’ African
writers have the greatest challenge in finding that because
of the economic problems and extended family demands. And I
think being able to gather writers for two weeks and let
them share experiences and aspirations is a valuable thing.
The greatest gift to any writer would be a stipend and a
year off. But in the absence of that, a 2-week workshop is a
pretty good gift."
I feel very honoured
to be mentored by her and Jamal
Mahjoub, though I wish it were a month-long workshop,
so I could learn more about the craft of writing. She offers
me some advice anyway; I swear I’m going to take it very,
very seriously. Aminatta opens her palm and lifts it up, so
it’s at eye-level with my gaze. At first I think she’s about
making some sleight-of-hand flourish, but she ticks off her
fingers one by one, enumerating the advice:
#1 – Believe in your
own voice.
#2 – Believe your
story is worth telling.
#3 – Write every
day.
#4 – Read as much as
you can.
#5 – Keep a small
notebook and write all your thoughts and observations, for
they will surely come useful some day.
#6 -
Lastly, don’t be
afraid. Fear is the biggest inhibitor to writing. Don’t lose
hope.
Then she flashes me
that smile of hers. And inside of me I feel the sun burst as
I slide my camera out of my pocket and look up at her with
an exuberant smile. SLQ
UCHECHUKWU PETER UMEZURIKE has
been published on-line and in print and has participated in
residencies in US, Ghana, India and Switzerland as well as
picked up a couple of awards for his creative writing. He is
currently working on a children's novel, The
Runaway Hero, and an adult fiction.
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