After being delighted with 'The footprints
of the outsider', a masterpiece of the Ugandan Julius Ocwinyo, I felt I had to
go to his homeland and probably the real character of the book, the Ugandan
version of the Macondo/Aracataca of Gabriel García Márquez.
When I arrived at the only big road of
Teboke with my backpack and his book in my hand, I was quickly surrounded by
tens of surprised villagers. Not one of them had read the book (sic), but they
were all amazed to see the photograph of their old friend on it, with a muzungu coming just to see their village and
even more surprisingly: a map inside the book showing their village!
Immediately someone took a bicycle and
rushed out to look for Julius' cousin, Joseph, a teacher in another village. We
walked by some of the soil pathways and he showed me the family house, the
women and children of his family cooking and playing on the ground, and the
bamboo tree that appeared in one of his books. As we walked he confirmed to me
that stories of violence due to political reasons had been common in the area:
with Obote, with Amin, with Obote again... by soldiers, by rebels...
Julius was not in the country, but he
kindly answered my questions by email. I was particularly interested in the
magic, let's say it in the academic way, the 'magic realism' in his book. Was
he inspired by Gabo?
'As I was writing the novel -he answered me- I came across Ben Okri's 'Famished Road' and realised that there were points of
intersection between my approach and his. Ben Okri is a Nigerian-Briton who's
very adept at using magic realism and the impression I got from reading his
'Famished Road' was that the approach was not something he adopted from
outside his ethnic community but something inherent in the storytelling tradition
of his own people and that derives, in turn, from their traditional belief
system, their world view. Much of the same goes for me. Even though we don't
have a term for it, magic realism is an integral part of our lore, a prop not
just for story-telling but also for our beliefs. In Lango (my people's)
traditions, the world of the living and that of the dead, who live
alongside other - non-human - creatures are intertwined. The lived
realities of the not-yet-dead, as opposed to the living-dead, are impacted by
the moods and activities of the latter. That is why, in traditional Lango
society, it was mandatory to drop a morsel of food or pour a libation of
drink on the ground before one started eating or drinking. What was
thus dropped or poured was intended to be consumed by the living-dead to keep
them in a happy mood so that they did not harm the living. So, you can see that
the boundary between the world of the living and the netherworld (the abode of
the living-dead was - and still is by some people - believed to
be literally underground) was rather tenuous. Of course when I eventually read
García Márquez (in translation) I was delighted to discover that I was in very
good company!
So it
seems that some african writers have arrived to similar literary works as the
Latin-American colleagues from their own traditions. I told him that I also like the way
TIME is treated in the novel, going back and forward and mixing the story of
the character Abudu with the history of the village; with all its summaries and
repetitions contributing to the feeling of circular time, repeted cycle,
specially with the continuous change of political power from one person to
another but always with the peasants suffering the same attacks and poverty. He
enlightened these aspects with his comments:
'The notion of time as a linear phenomenon
came with western education. Before that, time was related to the seasons and
human activity. It was conceived of in terms of periods for grass-burning,
clearing the land, planting, weeding, harvesting, hunting, fishing and so on.
Also certain events were important markers of time, such as a bumper harvest
(prosperity) or the outbreak of a disease (calamity). And as life was
communitarian, everybody within a particular community was affected by this ebb and flow of time. Each
individual was simply an element within the greater scheme of community life
that was determined by the seasons, which varied little. On the political
level, there has, since we attained independence, been a widespread feeling that
we've got a raw deal from our political leaders, most of whom are simply
self-seeking crooks.'
And when I insisted in the use of rhythm
and repetition also forcing the language he concluded
'Lango - my mother tongue - is tonal and
has an in-built rhythm as a result. Also, most of the words are short, hence
the strong cadence. As for repetition, it is a technique that
is considered very important in story-telling since it allows not
just the salient points but also the moral of a story to
sink in properly.'
Julius was happy to hear the greetings
from everybody in the village, specially his cousin who remembered how he
helped him and others to success in their studies. So I also say goodbye from
the beautiful huts of Teboke, with their best hopes for the future. How can it
be otherwise in a place where is so difficult to distinguish between the
reality that we can see and the magic floating over the land and the swamps
where, as I pass by with a motorbike, some people and maybe some hippos -that
can cut a man in two pieces- are happily swimming together...
