The adventures of writer Nnedi Okorafor and her daughter Anyaugo Okorafor. Companion to the nnedi.com website.
Friday, June 25, 2010
The Witch Strikes Back
I'm going to nip this in the bud right now.
Let me preface by saying that most Africans have been very supportive of my work. Even one of my favorite authors, the legendary Ngugi wa Thiong’o, has been cheering for me from that lofty pedestal reserved for Great African writers. All this support is priceless to me. I send love right back to you all.
Nonetheless, since winning the Wole Soyinka Prize for my first novel, Zahrah the Windseeker, I continue to receive chastising emails from Africans (in this case, my definition of “African” is: African folk who currently live on or have recently immigrated from the African continent) who have a problem with what I write, the juju I play with within my stories (most of which is based on some real stuff), the cultures I mix, and the traditions I often address.
This year, I’ve been called a witch (amusu!), a heathen, some Ghanaian guy said that he was sure I was possessed by something evil and ungodly. One Nigerian guy (whom I think was a priest or something) said something like, “Where is your husband? I need to speak to him immediately! Or have you eaten him? Witch!” Can you imagine?!
Of late, the focus has been on the fact that I addressed female circusison in Who Fears Death. It started at my first book signing in Michigan (which I blogged about earlier this month), but it's continued with angry emails from others who hear about the book.
Since the anniversary of Michael Jackson’s death is on my mind right now, a scene from Thriller comes to mind. Remember the part where he’s changed into a werewolf and dramatically cries, “GO AWAY!!! ARGH!!!!” I can relate.
If you don't recall, here's the video. The moment I speak of is at 2:25 minutes.
Who Fears Death is a story about a woman who has to fight to be what she is. There is a herd comprised of camels, hawks, antelopes and wild dogs. There’s a great masquerade with a sick sense of humor and its raffia is laden with dangerous needles. There is a trickster house. There's a love story. And there are dragons...sort of. Who Fears Death looks reality right in the face but it’s not some simpleminded diatribe against female circumcision and African cultures as a whole. THAT would be boring.
Before I continue, let me stop calling it “female circumcision”. This word implies that it is the equivalent of male circumcision. It is certainly is not. The equivalent for men/boys would be cutting off the entire penis but saving a sperm sample for the sake of procreation. And along with the man not fully enjoying sex, have him experience pain during sex, too. Yeah, that’s about the right. “Female genital mutilation” works as a better phrase but some feel this is a biased way of referring to it. So let’s go with “female genital cutting”. For those unclear on the practice, see here. It is practiced in many parts of Africa and the Middle East. It’s also performed in the West.
In my novel, Who Fears Death, there is a scene where some girls are…cut. In this future world, the mythos behind the practice has been forgotten but a girl is still expected to have the cliterectomy done. If it is not done, then the girl is not considered marriageable. Still, no girl is forced. It is her choice to have it done. ;-). Clean medical tools are used and the girls receive proper medical care afterwards. In other words, in this African future, girls do not die from this practice as they do today. The scene strips the practice down to exactly what it is.
Back in the early stages of this novel, I workshopped this scene in my novel writing class during my PhD program. My class was all white, from what I recall. After reading it, two women became particularly upset with me. During the critque, I sat there quiet as they accused me of defending female genital cutting. I guess they wanted me to demonize the culture and shout “Barbaric! Barbaric people! Look at what they are doing to their girls and women!” Over the years, the circumcision scene in Who Fears Death has not changed much. So now here I am being accused of the opposite, publically disrespecting traditional African culture.
Some points:
1. In many cultures of the world, women damage themselves in order to appeal to men (which translates to “finding a mate”). And parents damage their girls to make them marriageable. In American society, much of this “mutilation” is psychological (though plenty is physical) but no less painful or harmful. However, plenty of people are writing about all this. I don’t feel enough are writing about female genital cutting.
2. I am Igbo. And though I’ve been lucky to have no family members scarred by the practice (as far as I know, at least), female genital cutting is traditionally practiced amongst the Igbos, though it is on its way out (See more on that here). In this way, the issue is rather close to me.
3. I am a very proud of my Igbo-ness. However, culture is alive and it is fluid. It is not made of stone nor is it absolute. Some traditions/practices will be discarded and some will be added, but the culture still remains what it is. It is like a shape-shifting octopus that can lose a tentacle but still remain a shape-shifting octopus (yes, that image is meant to be complicated). Just because I believe that aspects of my culture are problematic does not mean I am “betraying” my people by pointing out those problems.
Twice now, I’ve been asked (once at my book signing and once in a rather angry email) if I’d ever been to a circumcision ceremony in the Middle East or Africa. At the book signing it was implied, in the email it was flat out declared, that if I had not been present at one of these ceremonies, then I had no right to speak on the issue.
First of all, I speak about what I choose to speak about. Let’s see you try to stop me. Secondly, if writers only wrote about what they’d experienced, then few people would write about wizards and unicorns. Thirdly, let’s be honest here, you can lace the practice of female genital cutting with whatever elaborate stories, myths and traditions you want. What it all boils down to (and I believe the creators of this practice KNEW this even a thousand years ago) is the removal of a woman’s ability to properly enjoy the act of sex. Again, this is about the control and suppression of women. And I do NOT have to be right there between a little helpless girl’s legs to know this to be true.
I understand why one would be defensive about the way African cultures and practices are portrayed. One need only look at the media and the way Africa is presented within it. One need only take a glance at the point of view of world history. But don’t hate the messenger, hate the message. I’ve got Africa’s back. Always. First and foremost. So please, with all due respect, back off. And again I say, read the book. It’s a great story, if I do say so myself.
I leave you all with some words from another of my idols, Nobel Laureate Wole Soyinka. This isn’t directly on the topic but it’s thought provoking:
