| African Literature Chinua Achebe Ngũgĩ Wa Thiong'o African Culture The historic 1962 conference at Makerere University in Kampala, Uganda brought together scholars and writers from various parts of the continent to discuss the state of African literature: who should write it, what it should depict, and – of central importance in the debate – how it should be communicated. This gathering would be the first of many, the initial ripple in what would soon become a tidal wave of opinions and opposing philosophies on the matter of defining the communicative and cultural works of an entire continent. The task presented was problematic: the nature of definition itself builds parameters around the entity being defined, establishing limitations and associations that are transferred to (and perhaps convoluted by) subsequent generations. Though many voices joined the discussion at Makerere and countless others have chimed in since, Chinua Achebe and Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o remain at the forefront of this longstanding, ever-relevant debate. Parts of their arguments find common ground and, though Ngũgĩ is widely considered the more radical of the two, both writers are concerned with individual, cultural and national responsibility and, ultimately, the preservation of African ideals among sustained multilingual diversity. Throughout his 1975 collection of essays, Morning Yet on Creation Day, and particularly in "The African Writer and the English Language," Achebe holds issue with the final verdict at Makerere: that African literature is "creative writing in which an African setting is authentically handled or to which experiences originating in Africa are integral" (75). Achebe, himself a Nigerian, argues that "you cannot cram African literature into a small, neat definition. I do not see African literature as one unit but as a group of associated units – in fact the sum total of all the national and ethnic literatures of Africa." He goes on to distinguish national and ethnic literatures as two separate but equally important aspects of African literature today. National literature, he explains, is written in national language and has a potential audience throughout this territory. Ethnic literature, on the other hand, is only available to one specific ethnic group within the nation. Achebe recognizes the significance of the latter in the essay's conclusion on page 83, saying, "I hope…that there will always be men…who will choose to write in their native tongue and insure that our ethnic literature will flourish side by side with the national ones." It is immediately clear, however, that Achebe himself does not number among these men, instead choosing to use the English language as a means of communicating the African experience. "For me," Achebe says, "there is no choice." Achebe is quick to admit to the downfalls of African literature written in national languages, calling English "the world language which history has shoved down our throats" (79). In this respect, his points are reminiscent of Ngũgĩ's philosophy, primarily in that it is difficult if not impossible to avoid feelings of guilt and betrayal when promoting the language of one's oppressors. Achebe also notes the difficulty of writing in a secondary language and the tedium of having to translate ideas and phrasing from one's native tongue to a more accessible national language. Ultimately, for Achebe, the benefits of writing in English outweigh potential consequences. The most obvious benefit is the increased audience African writers can reach when employing a national language. With this come more opportunities to inform audiences while also preserving personal and ethnic histories and customs. A writer's word is only as great as its impact, and impact is directly linked to outreach and accessibility. For example, the average English-speaking American is unlikely to learn an ethnic language from a country thousands of miles away just so he or she can read a book from that country. Writers cannot rely on readers worldwide to cater to one country's causes. If the writer's objective is to garner awareness and readership on a large scale, it is his or her responsibility to make the story accessible to the masses. The world is growing evermore cluttered with information; getting attention is a matter of competition. Storytellers must continue to push through the clutter, using any means possible to be heard. Achebe also mentions the power that comes with molding one language to fit the stories of another. He says, "It is true that the vast majority of people are happier with their first language than with any other. But then the majority of people are not writers" (79). It is common workshop practice for writers to experiment with a variety of media and techniques to gain a greater understanding of their theme, style and messaging; perhaps writing in a new language could present similarly positive obstacles that force writers to discover new ways to share their stories. Achebe does not dismiss African languages as inferior means of storytelling, but simply resigns to "the reality of present-day Africa" that nations created by the British continue to hold English as a national language (76). This is not to say, he insists, "that the peoples comprising these nations were invented by the British" (77). Quite the contrary, in fact, as now many African writers like Achebe are reinventing the language of their oppressors to tell their own stories and retell their collective histories. "Let us give the devil his due," Achebe remarks, examining both sides of the post-colonial condition. "There are areas of Africa where colonialism divided [groups]…But on the whole it did bring together many peoples…And it gave them a language with which to talk to one another…The only reason why we can even talk about African unity is that when we get together we can have a manageable number of languages to talk in" (77). But Achebe warns African writers against trying to learn to use English like a native speaker, calling it "neither necessary nor desirable" (82). Instead, the African writer ought to "aim at fashioning out an English which is at once universal and able to carry his peculiar experience." Achebe does this through the character deeply ingrained within his novel's narrations, injecting the language with a style particular to his Nigerian roots. From his earlier works (Things Fall Apart in 1958, Arrow of God in 1964) to his more recent Anthills of the Savanna and Hopes and Impediments (both 1988), Achebe uses proverbs, brilliant imagery and other elements of style to his advantage. He credits Olaudah Equiano (also known as Gustavus Vasso), Obi Wali, and Amos Tutola (The Feather Woman of the Jungle) with successfully addressing universal truths through particular foreign experiences told in national languages. |
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