Nathaniel Bivan

I hated reading Devil’s Pawn, and you probably would if you were male. I mean, the male genital was mentioned, probably a hundred times and I kept shivering at the prospect of yet another victim of Simon, the genital hunter, cutting off another. But, you see, Simon’s hunt doesn’t begin without reason. This reason was a bloody crime that made me cringe and almost scream, yes! That the culprits deserve it. But before you wonder what I am rambling about, let me give you some background to this crime thriller that made me think of Agatha Christie and James Hadley Chase, all at once.

When the Black Cats, a university cult group, headed by Emeka decided to punish Ese for refusing the latter’s advances, they never envisioned the bloodier outcome. Yes, they gang-raped her before they murdered her (well, technically, Simon was forced to do it). But little did they know that this wild move would mark them all for hell, one by one, in the most shocking manner.

Now, for me, this is what made me fall in love with the novel – the twist. From a should-have-been cult story to a ‘Hammer House of Horror’ episode where all those involved in Ese’s death are marked for death. Obviously, the author, Kukogho Iruesiri Samson, who won the 2018 Dusty Manuscript Prize for this work is a writer who pays attention to detail. This is evident all through. Published in 2020, I would have normally read this book in the same year, but doing it now, in a way, makes the suspense even more worthwhile. And I am glad I finally did.

Again, twists in plots have always been my thing because I’m not too fond of this ability to know what would come next in the best of stories. So, when I fail to spot the direction, it’s always a joy for me. If I am to venture into the author’s mind a little, I am almost certain the advocation for the castration of rapists at a time in Nigeria inspired this twist. I mean, what better way to illustrate déjà vu than to have one of the culprits be the dead victim’s cutting tool?

I have heard some writers like Toni Kan say in a panel discussion (this was at the Kaduna Book and Arts Festival some years back) that he doesn’t write to pass across a message. But just like I see the scary warning given to rapists in ‘Devil’s Pawn’, I see different messages in practically every work of fiction. For me, the message, whether consciously thought out or not, is what drives the writer, and maybe even the narrative.

Let me give an example: If we are to go out and be all moral about this, even a story that’s characterized as erotica has a purpose. And if the aim is to appeal to readers who appreciate graphic sex, then yes, that’s the message. Every character has a purpose in a work of art, and with this purpose rises a message, whether clear or not, whether a turn-off to some or a joy to others. Samson’s debut novel has the capacity to scare the devil out of any rapist, particularly in this part of Africa where superstitious beliefs are upheld by some.

One thing, though that ‘Devil’s Pawn’ lacks, is excellent proofreading. The editing is excellent, but an equally excellent proofreader would have cleared numerous typos. But still, who says a good book is that which is rid of typos? The best, for me, are those stories that have staying power, driven by suspense and empathy. And this brilliant novel has both.

Starting with a small handful of sci-fi and fantasy short stories and novellas, Nnedi Okorafor’s legend and bibliography have grown. With many successful books, the Nigerian-American writer’s work continues to attract readers to Africanfuturism, a fast-growing subgenre. And with a well-received foray into comic books for Marvel, DC, Dark Horse, and even IDW, she has cemented her place in the collective hearts of geekdom.

Spaceships, terrorist aliens, water spirits, soldiers, Boko Haram, and wet piles of meat. These aren’t part of a kind of dark poetry but are mainstays of some of Okorafor’s best work. Her work in Africanfuturism (one word, no space), speculative fiction, and fantasy work are among the most striking today.

Africanfuturism, which Okorafor coined, is an exciting subgenre that welds science fiction and technology to African mythologies, weaving black people —or blackness, really— into fertile worlds rife with story possibilities.

For past achievements and a stellar presence on bookshelves this year, Okorafor is GeekAfrique’s Writer of the Year.

In January 2022, Okorafor’s ‘Akata Woman’, the third novel in the Nsibidi Scripts Series was released and swiftly debuted on The New York Times Best Seller list. This installment continues a story that subverts tropes in a deep and thoughtful way while being fun and accessible. There’s a good number of her books out now, including the heartfelt YA ‘Ikenga’, the striking Africanfuturist ‘Remote Control’, the absolutely brilliant ‘Noor’, and a new hardcover collection of her Hugo and Eisner-winning LaGuardia graphic novel (Dark Horse) with constant collaborator Tana Ford. For past achievements and a stellar presence on bookshelves this year, Okorafor is GeekAfrique’s Writer of the Year.

In the past, Okorafor’s ‘Binti’ has won both the 2016 Nebula Award, and 2016 Hugo Award for Best Novella, while ‘Who Fears Death’, which won the 2011 World Fantasy Award for Best Novel, is being turned into a highly-anticipated HBO series, adapted by ‘Game Of Thrones’ writer George R.R Martin. She has a breath-taking oeuvre of work and is making a transition to TV pretty well, with several projects being developed at the same time.

A long, hard look at a novel quickly gaining a reputation for being a modern African classic.

By Akumbu Uche

I tend to approach books numbering over 300 pages with caution but after seeing ‘Kintu’ (2017, Transit Books) the debut novel from Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi’s debut novel lauded by critics and admirers, with some like Aaron Bady, who writes the introduction to this edition, even calling it the Great Ugandan Novel, I decided to push my trepidation aside and crack it open.

‘Kintu’ (pronounced Chintu) begins with the exploits of Kintu Kidda, an 18th century Ganda statesman, but quickly evolves into the story or stories of several of his descendants in 2004 as they grapple with a curse that has haunted their family for generations. 

Reading this novel, one can’t help but compare it to ‘Things Fall Apart,’ Chinua Achebe’s celebrated classic. The relationship between Kintu and his adopted son, Kalema almost duplicates the ill-fated bond between Okonkwo and Ikemefuna. Even the way the book traces Kintu’s lineage mirrors how Achebe moved on from Okonkwo to his grandson, Obi Okonkwo in the sequel, ‘No Longer at Ease.’

But Achebe’s influence is only one of many. Paying close attention, echoes of Elechi Amadi’s ‘The Concubine’ and Ben Okri’s ‘The Famished Road’ cannot be missed. Makumbi, a professor of English and Creative Writing, has studied a lot of early postcolonial Nigerian literature and it shows. But it could be said as well that she is drinking from the same river as these literary icons, after all there are so many cultural similarities between Nigeria and Uganda, and just about any other African country.

A life-long fan of trivia, I couldn’t help taking notes on the Ganda beliefs regarding twins (a shared fascination with Nigerians). There are special titles for parents of twins and children are often renamed after the birth of their younger twin siblings. Identical twin sisters once had to marry the same man and people with hunchbacks were believed to have eaten their twin in the womb. Very interesting. I usually try to avoid reading African novels like anthropological texts but given how much socio-cultural and historical information about us is either yet undocumented, or inaccessibly locked up in Western archives, such resistance is futile.

Reading how cumbersome Kintu finds being married to multiple wives and his frustration at attempting to fulfil his conjugal obligations to each, students of gender performance will find plenty to mull over. The world Kintu Kidda inhabits may be masculinist, but Makumbi is all too aware how men themselves are very often victimized by patriarchy. As she writes,

[Kintu] knew the snare of being a man. Society heaped such expectations on manhood that in a bid to live up to them some men snapped.

All the themes covered in this novel eventually lead to spirituality and its importance to human existence. If you don’t believe in the metaphysical, you will find your assumptions challenged after reading this novel. In the otherworldly realm Makumbi provides glimpses of, there is little room for agnosticism as one character, reluctant to embrace their spiritual calling, finds out a little too late.

From her treatment of the subject, one can deduce that Makumbi holds indigenous African religions in high regard and is tolerant of the more positive contributions Christianity and Islam have made to society – she herself is an alumna of the Islamic University in Uganda, and one of her characters praises her alma mater. Nevertheless, she casts a critical eye on a certain kind of hardline religious fervour, as illustrated by Kanani and his wife, Faisi, (Ganda appropriations of Canaan and Faith) who are members of the Awakened, a Christian sect assured that theirs is the only sanctioned path to Heaven, who among other oddities, evangelise by making up false, horrendous stories about sins they claim to have committed before their salvation yet Makumbi’s pen is never cruel to her characters. Where other writers might caricature, she rounds them and however baffling we may find this zealous couple, we come to empathise with their struggles.

The winner of the 2014 Commonwealth Short Story Prize, Makumbi’s dexterity with the short narrative form ensures that even the most minor of the multiple characters in this novel are nuanced and true to life.

The section involving Kintu Kidda is the strongest and I found myself wishing she had stayed with his storyline longer. One wonders what might have been had this novel been about him only. A different book for sure, but stronger or weaker for it? I can only hope that Makumbi returns her imagination to the 18th century or even earlier; I salivate at the thought of other fabulous tales she might unearth from that era but before then, I am going to reread this masterpiece of a novel, all 446 pages of it.

Akumbu Uche is a Nigerian writer whose work has appeared in Bella Naija, Brittle Paper, Engaging Borders Africa, Nowhere Magazine, and Open Letters Review. She lives in Owerri.