Tanzania: Mkuki Bgoya – ‘Swahili Writers Should Be Mandatory Reading in Tanzania, but There’s a Deep Trauma Around Books’

Abdulrazak Gurnah, the Zanzibari-born 2021 Nobel Literature laureate’s grand homecoming was punctuated by the translation of his masterpiece, Paradise, into Kiswahili. His publisher, Mkuki Bgoya, speaks about its significance in the Swahili canon.

Before Abdulrazak Gurnah won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2021, Swahili lecturer and translator Dr Ida Hadjivayanis was already working on a Kiswahili translation of his novel, Paradise. A year after the award was announced, the translated text, Peponi, was published by Mkuki na Nyota.

Founded by pioneering Tanzanian publisher, Walter Bgoya in 1991, Mkuki na Nyota was a fitting choice not only because of its pivotal role in documenting Tanzanian, Southern African and, indeed, pan-African literary, political and intellectual history, but also because it has dedicated itself to carving out space for literary texts at a time when most publishers are pursuing the lucre of the school textbook market.

Zanzibar-born Gurnah’s oeuvre centres the histories of coastal people of Tanzania and East Africa, a population whose primary language is Kiswahili. Dr. Ida’s translation of Peponi, the first of Gurnah’s books made available in Kiswahili – or any African language for that matter – repositions Gurnah as an important contemporary voice in the Swahili canon.

Peponi is a coming-of-age story told through the eyes of a teenage boy, Yusuf. Through the boy’s experiences, a story situated at the twilight of pre-colonial East Africa, unfolds.

Peponi enters a relatively quiet literary landscape. The dawn of the new millennium had witnessed an explosion of the experimental writing of Said Ahmed Mohamed, the adventurous prose of Ben Mtobwa and the critical style of Zainab Burhani. Decades later, however, the vivacity of that era has not birthed a richer Swahili writing scene.

Publishing houses like Mkuki na Nyota, and platforms like the Safal-Cornell Kiswahili Prize for African Literature, and the Mwalimu Nyerere National Creative Writing Award are certainly doing their part to keep Swahili writing traditions alive. But as the English language (particularly in educational institutions) has flourished with no mitigation by way of a concerted effort to embrace Swahili literature, our creative writing and reading culture has continued to shrink.

Perhaps this is why Abdulrazak Gurnah’s Nobel win, and the subsequent publishing of this translated text, has been a catalyst for conversation. Questions around Tanzanian and Swahili literature as a source of learning, reading pleasure as well as cultural identity came up repeatedly during the book tour.

In this interview, Mkuki na Nyota’s managing director, Mkuki Bgoya considers these questions and offers insights into why Tanzania’s literary landscape still feels bare.

AFRICAN ARGUMENTS: What has the reception for Peponi been?

MKUKI BGOYA: The reception has been very good. There’s been a lot of excitement about how beautiful the book looks, which is great because we were very intentional about the cover. But also, I think the fact that this is [Gurnah’s] first work in Kiswahili and in any African language has been exciting. It has drawn conversations about African literature in African languages and the importance of translation. And of course, questions about why he’s not as well known here in Tanzania as he should be, and the significance of this work towards introducing Gurnah to a whole new audience, particularly his own people. These conversations have helped the book tour stay in people’s minds.

AA: Tell us a little about the translation process from the editorial side?

MB: From the editorial point of view, it was my father, Walter Bgoya, that worked with Ida. A lot of the input is on certain words or concepts that are a little odd or even problematic when translated. Kiswahili can be a little specific, especially when translating verbatim so it was just about looking out not to commit cultural mishaps. And pushing typical publishing and aesthetic conversations, you know? But Gurnah was not really involved in the translation at all, he gave Ida and us complete freedom and trust to bring that work to life.

AA: Why do you think that Abdulrazak Gurnah is not as well known as he should be here in Tanzania?

MB: Well, I should say that he is a critically acclaimed author whose work is well received in literary circles and among book nerds, so to speak. But he isn’t a pop sort of author, like, say, Chimamanda [Ngozi Adichie], who you can’t miss. He was never that even in the Anglophone literary world. So, it wasn’t unique to Tanzania necessarily that he was not known. But of course, him being from here, from Zanzibar, there’s clearly an elephant in the room. Because you would have thought that he would be a household name regardless of there not being any Kiswahili translations. One of the reasons is because in the last, maybe, 30 years, our readership has dropped significantly across the board. Partly because our schools aren’t really taking literature seriously. We are still reading the Ngugis, the Achebes, and Soyinkas. And, of course these are geniuses, but we need to include more voices, including contemporary writers. Particularly contemporary writers who are from here because their writing is likely to be influenced by our realities and we should be reading that. And I mean, Gurnah has been writing for 50 years, but the point is we need to expand our canon. Truthfully, the culture of reading here is still poor and that contributes to us not knowing these authors.

AA: What deliberate efforts could be made to change that?

MB: I think for people like Gurnah who have roots here, there needs to be a deliberate effort to expose them. These are people who should be essential reading simply because they come from here, and their writing is inspired by our realities. Shafi Adam Shafi, Shabaan Robert, these Tanzanian or Swahili writers should be mandatory reading for pretty much every Tanzanian kid or any kid who goes to school here. They should be core parts of what you call your cultural identity. I think one of the problems is we don’t look at literature as important to forming a cultural identity. Not like music perhaps, where certain genres have been associated with Utanzania. Our education system does not expose students to literature as a thing that nurtures your soul. It’s just this thing you use to pass exams. If students were forced to listen to Diamond Platnumz, and then get an exam on him, and if you failed you would be shamed or canned, students would likely hate Diamond too. We don’t introduce literature for pleasure. Not at school or at home. It fosters a deep trauma attached to books.

AA: This trauma seems most notable in the neglect of fiction, because when Tanzanians do read, they prefer non-fiction. Can you speak to that a little?

MB: Yes, generally speaking, Tanzanians approach books as a sort of utility as opposed to [works to be read] for pleasure. I’ve just been promoted, let me get a book on how to manage people. I need to know how to invest my money, so let me get a book. I’ve just had a breakup, let me get a book to figure out how to deal with these feelings. So even if it’s poetry about heartbreak, unless it’s presented as a tonic of some kind, most wouldn’t buy it. That’s also why we are very much into biographies.

AA: Which is such a departure from Swahili literature’s roots in poetry.

MB: There used to be the epic poems that went on for 3000 words and told a story. You could argue that those were our novels. Our Western understanding of a novel as a long form, 60- to 80,000-word projects is relatively new. Technically, Swahili literature doesn’t really have to conform to that. I think there’s obviously a larger conversation here about our relationship with our colonial past; that for things to be valued, they have to be attached to this colonial framework. Why are we only celebrating Gurnah now that he’s won a Nobel, for instance? I think all of us can play a part in interrogating these contradictions. For us, a novel can be what they call a novella. As long as the audience is happy, why should we be preoccupied with a Western definition? We sure as hell won’t be able to win any international awards with those, though [laughs].

AA: Are there other examples of that shift from Swahili ways of creating literature to adapting Western ones? I’m interested in what other ways this colonial framework is affecting our storytelling.

MB: Children’s books are another example. Our children’s books have traditionally had long text because they were modelled after Swahili oral storytelling, which is different from Western children’s books that are usually maybe two sentences a page. We’ve noticed at the publishing house that most Tanzanians prefer those over books with longer text for children now. They have now become the standard, which to me is a clear example of this framework at play.

AA: The translation of Paradise to Peponi feels like a homecoming because of the book’s content and its accessibility to Swahili speakers. But I’m curious about the reverse. As translations of Swahili books become common, how do you think that will impact Swahili literature?

MB: Tanzania is a uniquely Swahili country. And that’s a big blessing because Kiswahili is a humongous language and culture – it’s a great thing to call ours. I think it’s akin to American culture, and how valuable it is for them to wield as a diplomatic instrument or cultural soft power. It’s the same for Kiswahili. We translate the Swahili books so we can contribute to world literature. We believe we have something to give the world. But it’s important for me to say that we’re not driven by that. This is not a strategy that we’re trying to employ. I definitely think we need to import more literature too so more Tanzanians who are Swahili speakers can read, I don’t know, Tolstoy for instance. It’s good to have that option.

AA: What about its impact domestically? Do you think translations of these classics, and I guess their success, might affect readership and writing in Swahili?

MB: I subscribe to the position that we should all read Swahili books. It should be common practice in the country. And I also wish more writers who submitted just wrote in Swahili. We get a lot of people writing terribly in English instead of the language they’re comfortable with, thinking it will increase their chances of getting published.

AA: Or increase their chances of reaching more readers.

MB: Look, our readership has dropped, sure, but we certainly still have readers. There’s a lot of self-published pulp fiction that does really well. Stuff on urban detectives, witchcraft, sex, romance. You see a lot of people reading these texts when you walk around in the streets, so you certainly don’t have to write in English to be published or to reach audiences.

AA: How free do you think writers are to explore topics other than the pulp fiction stories you just mentioned? Might it be an issue of freedoms in the country and writers being worried about reception?

MB: I will say this: we have had conversations about the Tanzanian audience but often, it’s not really the topic. Sometimes it’s a question of whether the material is publishable. For instance, is it potentially libellous? In that case, we’ll have a conversation to see how we would navigate it. What is the writer claiming? Can we back these claims? And if we can back these claims, will it potentially jeopardise the book? Or even the publishing house completely? How can we publish this book and have it say what it needs to say without being banned? Very rarely does that happen though. I don’t know if Tanzanians self-censor or we understand our society so we have just got very good at saying things. Like there are certain words in Peponi that we could not translate directly because they would be far too vulgar for a Swahili audience, especially if we intend for the book to make it into schools one day.

AA: But isn’t figuring out a way around saying the thing also a form of self-censorship that could be indicative of the state of our larger freedoms?

MB: Interestingly there may be more potential for freedom in books than any other art form. We may wonder why. Because of our poor reading culture, one may not need to worry that their book will cause a revolution [laughs]. But also, our society is okay with a lot if it doesn’t ruffle feathers. It’s kind of how Tanzanians will say no without saying no. We are a very avoidant nation. And I think in many ways the government is a reflection of this larger culture of avoidance. Yes, we see the ways that the government is clamping down on people but if they can do that in the least confrontational way, they often choose that option. So, I think it starts with the writers themselves trying to avoid confrontation, then they go to publishers who are likely also trying to avoid the confrontation and it cascades that way.

AA: How do publishing houses support writers to probe a little more?

MB: By questioning. Questioning the intent, questioning delivery. Trying to see if they themselves are stifling their own voices, you know? As soon as we know what we’re trying to achieve with this work, or what the work is trying to achieve for itself, we do all we can not to get in the way of that. And sometimes that may include a few changes, or big rewrites.

Karen Chalamilla is a gender and media researcher, and culture writer with a keen interest in the relationship between gender, art, and media.She has worked as a freelance writer and researcher for outlets such as The Floor Mag, AMAKA Studio, Gal-dem, Tangaza and The Citizen newspaper. And also, for civil society organisations such as The Africa Philanthropy Network as a project manager and most recently, a gender and media researcher.

Source: allafrica.com

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