Finally, the
Book Café in Harare has a Book Club. Last night I joined 14 others in a discussion
of Uwem Akpan’s book ‘Say You’re One of Them’.
Well, not
everyone was discussing per se. Our numbers were boosted just a little by the
cancellation of the Women In Media event that was planned for the Book Café main
stage the same evening (a few curious individuals ventured to the back room where
we were tucked away and were warmly invited to join us). They sat quietly
curious as the 6 or 7 people who had read the book discussed it. Others, who
had just come along for the discussion did chip in with questions and
observations and requests to read the book (not available locally as far as I
know). Which is also part of this book club deal. If book club does not make
you curious to read the books discussed, then frankly it hasn’t done its job! And
if you want to read this book, copies will eventually make their way to the
shelves of the Harare City Library where it is hoped the book club discussions might continue (and other events cascade, a reading, theatre, films that expand the issues?). That is half the reason for my attendance.
The other half
is because it is just such a good idea, made a reality through the combined
efforts of Sunanda Ray, Book Café staff Extra-Blessings and Taku as well as Irene
Staunton from Weaver Press.
Zimbabwean
authors Simmer Chinodya and Virginia Phiri were in attendance last night (cool)
and lent the weight of their literary experience to the discussion. Virginia
had in fact read the book when invited by USAID to participate in the oldest continuous book club in America, the Chautauqua
Literary and Scientific Circle (CLSC) and shared
with us that she had found it both a rewarding and a compelling read. Shimmer
took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes vigorously and peered deeply at the book,
eventually taking the copy I had borrowed home on loan to read. I do so hope
they both keep attending.
So what did we
share, this largish, diverse and tentative group?
The five dark
and seemingly hopeless stories, told in a child’s voice each time was almost too
painful to bear for some. Not just an African tale, we agreed, but a universal
one (can the brutality on the street of Nairobi be any less than those on the streets
of Brazil or the disappointment in the heart of the two Ethiopian girls forced
apart by culture be any less so than in the hearts of the London parents whose
son was shot dead by racists). So let not the book be too quickly judged as
portraying Africa as victims when victims today are everywhere. We appreciated
the books honesty in relating the harshest of lived realities that some of
Africa’s inhabitants face. Every story told a tale of coping.
The authors
skill was noted in how beautifully Uwem painted such an ugly picture and how
well a child’s voice this grown, Jesuit priest spoke. In the final short story,
to which the book is titled, he manages to drain Rwanda’s rivers of it’s broken
and bloated bodies and replace this image instead with the voices of those dead.
Never again his stories whisper. Never
again.
Discussions
wound down after some one and a half hours had passed. What book next we asked?
Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Ngozi
Adichie was suggested and
accepted (locally available through Weaver Press). Another Nigerian, she also
tackles the harder aspects of life in Africa through the narrative voice of a
teenage girl, but in this one does the sun shine through? Look out for the notice.
We stood up,
shook hands, introduced ourselves and mingled a little. It was at this point I
discovered what must have been the combined effect of my late entrance,
Sunanda’s quick greeting of ‘Welcome Katrina’
and my association with Harare City Library that had led at least one participant to
confuse my identity.
‘Are you Petina
Gappah?’ Munyaradzi asked after he introduced himself. Interesting.
Today the Harare City Library had its Annual General Meeting. It is held upstairs in an especially grotty corner of the main library along Rotten Row. The room overlooks a now deserted and dingy atrium. The mineral build up on the damp, warped and dripping ceiling could very soon be named 'stalagtites', beneath which worn speckled linoleum tiles fade and tear.
Part of Pippi’s story was read in English,
Shona and Ndebele by three youngsters (very interesting, Pippi imagines her father has become a king of cannibals over in wild Iceland and the Shona translation for cannibal king was 'mambo anodya vana' and in Ndebele??? ...translations can be fun:)
Never mind, the junk filled side room was quickly cleared and once the clutter and dirt were gone it was easier to start removing books that would never ever be read. We made some headway. Broken shelves were removed and space created for new cupboards as well as a reading and story telling corner where a mural will be painted (eventually when we get some paint). We removed three large boxes of damaged books and super-dated encyclopedias (of no interest except perhaps to the most cliched of interior designers) and filled my 'bakkie' with books that maybe would sell at a car boot this coming Saturday 1 December at Gateway High School 9 to 12 noon (so if you want, come buy a few books and donate a few dollars to the Jairos Jiri library project). 
