Palapala Magazine

Palapala Magazine #9: For Haiti

(Poetry) JKS Makokha: Tributes

HAITI: 1.2010

"Preamble":

humanity tense
send condolences as
tears in words console Haiti

Part I:

burp! BURRP!
EarthquUUUAKE!
cosmic constipation!

(Commentary) Writing Back: John Buchan and William Boyd

By Rosemary E. Ekosso

“The question is whether a novel which celebrates this dehumanization, which depersonalizes a portion of the human race, can be called a great work of art. My answer is: No, it cannot.”
Chinua Achebe in An Image of Africa: Racism in Conrad's Heart of Darkness

When I was trembling on the cusp of adolescence, one of my sisters procured a dog-eared copy of John Buchan’s Prester John. I loved the entire adventure and quite naturally wanted the protagonist, David Crawfurd to beat the black preacher, Laputa. But we were more interested in the funny bits we could find in the book. For several weeks, to our father’s bemusement, we went around quoting Crawfurd pretending to be drunk.

“Awfly shorry, old man, but I've f'nish'd th' whisky. The bo-o-ottle shempty”.

Recently, I read the book again and I was surprised at the earnestness with which I wished Crawfurd had failed.

(Commentary) English on a Polyglotic Wall: On Being an Anglophone Cameroonian Writer

Wirndzerem G. Barfee

To understand the mosaic complex that forms the Cameroon writer’s identity in general, one must first decrypt an essence of his/her historical and cultural canvas. Cameroon is one of those African countries that have the uniqueness of historically (colonial history of course) having undergone, inclusively, the hegemony of three 'colonizing powers'.

First, it was the German, until the end of WW1; then the French and English, concomitantly, under protectorate and mandate configurations, until the wave of African independences in the 1960s.

This uniqueness is also compounded by the intriguing curiosity of having had the English part of Cameroon as a quasi-autonomous region of Nigeria before later rejoining French Cameroons after the 1961 UN sponsored plebiscite. The contemporary cultural threads baste more sophisticated tapestries with a competing ethnographic map that locates about 250 indigenous linguistic groups, two official languages (French and English) and a dynamic lingua franca, Pidgin, which is developing vibrant variants conditioned by hybridities, age group factors, urbanization and education. This latter fact is evidenced by the popularity of “Camfranglais” (the mixture of native French and English languages) among the youths, especially in urban areas and informal student milieus.

(Commentary) Becoming a Cameroonian Writer

Patrice Nganang (Translated from French by Emmanuel Ndeh Avwontom)

This is the age when the seeds of Cameroonian literature are being sown. Question: are we conscious of the fact? If we are to listen to the most virulent of our literary critics, Cameroonian literature is currently wallowing in the middle of nowhere. Thus, it is pointless to attempt naming regularly published Cameroonian writers since 1990 (be it in Cameroon or overseas), the likes of Anne Cillon Perri, or Nyamnjoh, Ebodé, Bonono, d’Almeida, Effa, Miano, just to name a few; listing publications; or mentioning awards here and there, or even the tons of literary criticism ranging from doctoral theses through reviews to loose leafs such as Njanke’s Bookinons which are piling up; or places such as Poet J-C Awono’s Francis Bebey Cultural Centre that are springing up in the city. This is all pointless, because our critics are adamant.

(Fiction) The Fireside Kitchen

Akenji Ndumu

There she stood, a guardian at those gates of blackened plank, the creaking doorway into her fireside kitchen. The scowl on her face multiplied her wrinkles two-fold, curved them into and against each other like ravines born of renegade magma re-arranging the face of the earth. As earth was aged, so was she, all except her youthful eyes that shone florescent against the night-coal of her skin. She, seemingly cemented in front of those four walls, eyed the man in front of her, from his yellow construction cap to his dirty orange-overalls to his robotic determination to collapse her kitchen. He said I don’t make the rules ma’am.

(Fiction) The Late Chief M

JKS Makokha

Let us call him Mr Matchstick. Or Chief Matchstick for that was his official title. Or simply Chief M.

I remember him very well although it has been 11 years since we last worked together. I had been commissioned by the government of a republic somewhere in Africa as an Enumerator in the National Housing and Population Census process. The census has been conducted in this republic every 10 years since 1949. The British colonial government, faced by the imminent war of independence by the natives, had thought it wise to find out actually how many heads and huts were there in the colony. This statistical strategy could come in handy in case the restless natives made good their threat and rose in rebellion against the Crown. Of course they did but the British eventually won the long and dirty war in 1958. In spite of the resounding victory for the new Queen, the colony was lost in the winter of '63. The rest is history. The census endures. The recent one was conducted last year. The nation awaits the results. Some say they are still being (prepared) cooked or in local palaver: "The results are still in the kitchen".

(Fiction) Lacuna

Valery Visas

The smile of day met him sitting on his bed, staring at the pictures on his wall, listening to the chirps of birds by his window, seeming to decipher the words of their lovely song…

But, lost in deep thought… drowned by pictures of abstractions…of men marrying… of lovers
kissing… of parents nursing their kids… of a man living in affluence…

His movie thoughts are halted with a sudden thud at his door “come in! No wait, wait! I’m naked!” he cries out, but too late. His maid was already in.

“I’m sorry… Mr. Thogane…I didn’t mean…I just wanted to call you down for breakfast.” “That’s o.k.… I’m used to it!”

(Music) Showboy

"Showboy" of the Seun Kuti's Egypt 80 - State of Music and Musicianship in Africa.

 

The Poetry of Wirndzerem G. Barfee

Heart-snatcher
(Or She Used to Be One I knew)

You burgled my chest
And stole my heart. Then left my rest.

It happened like a cyclone, fast and loud,
As you kicked up the dust-cloud
And left me blind
Without my mind.

You had possessed me only that long,
Then the saturnalian season stormed along
With its own rage and dream-chasers;
You jumped on the train for free,
Taking my stolen heart along with you
 And leaving me behind with an empty rib-cage.

The Poetry of Belinda Otas

A Despondent Soul

In the pit of despair
Death calls out to my soul
Dark like midnight
Lonely and icy
My soul is cold
Fear has never been so chilly
My spirit is frozen in motion as death whispers
‘What if you ended it right here and now?

(Poetry) Ah go write wetin ah want

Kangsen Feka Wakai

Boom! Bap!
Boom! Boom! Bap!
Boom! Bap!
Boom! Boom! Bap!

Cacophonous rhythms from thumping chests
Elicit unwanted migraines
So I bite a slice from Biko's bean pie
And fart like my neighbor's cat,Trouble,
who spends mornings on the heels of head-nodding lizards.

Announcement: Festschrift for Professor Kashim Ibrahim Tala

THEME:  HISTORY, MEMORY, IDENTITY AND CREATIVE IMAGINATION IN LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE

  Venue: University of Yaounde I
  Date: 3 - 4 June 2010

Organized by the Department of African Literature and Civilizations, the University of Yaounde I,  in collaboration with the Department of English of the University of Yaounde 1 and the Department of English of the University of Buea 

Under the distinguished patronage of the Minister of Higher Education of Cameroon