Kenya’s ‘famed’ literary barrenness was a product of Moi era repression

I have no doubt in my mind that if the organisers of the Storymoja Hay Festival that took place in Nairobi last weekend had attempted to put up such an event during the Moi era, they would have been banned, locked up and perhaps even tortured.

Here was a festival whose highlights included conversations with the award-winning Nigerian author Ben Okri, discussions on the rights of gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender Kenyans, and even an R-rated storytelling session that promised to “make Africans blush purple”.

As I sat there listening to Okri talk about his craft and about the creative process that often compels him to mull over a sentence by “taking it for a walk”, it dawned on me that the literary barrenness that Kenyans have been accused of fostering is very much a product of our politics.

At a session where I was discussing my new book, Red Soil and Roasted Maize, literary critic G. Oluoch-Olunya explained to the audience how former President Moi’s fear of “creating another Ngugi” in our midst led to the overhauling of the education system, which became de-ideologised and where rote learning replaced creative thinking.

The 8-4-4 system that Moi installed created a society that developed a dislike for books and for literature in general.

Those of you who are old enough will remember that under Moi, many books were banned, and with the departure of Ngugi wa Thiong’o in the early 1980s, the University of Nairobi’s literature and other departments became “Moi-ised”. Literary barrenness soon followed.

But here we are in 2011, not even a decade since the Kanu government left office, and Kenya’s literary community is thriving.

Interestingly, it was just about a decade ago (how time flies!) that a bunch of writers, led by Binyavanga Wainaina, held the first of series of informal meetings to discuss Kenya’s literary revival.

Those meetings, of which I was a part, were occurring precisely at the time when Moi’s government was exiting, and when a new government led by President Kibaki promised to bring about more openness in society.

It was a heady and optimistic time. Subsequent years led to an array of literary activities, including the establishment of Kwani?, a literary magazine founded by Wainaina, open-mike and slam poetry sessions at various bars and restaurants across the city of Nairobi, and events such as the Storymoja Hay Festival, which has been taking place every year for the last three years.

Meanwhile, closet writers have been coming out of the woodwork to showcase their work in books, magazines and at public readings.

Kenya is on the brink of a literary renaissance. However, my fear is that the upcoming writers, products of the 8-4-4 system, may be too “de-ideologised” to write the kind of literature that changes the world or the way people think.

I could be wrong (I hope I am), but it seems to me that if Kenya is to rise to literary heights, it must necessarily overhaul a system that has stifled creativity and discouraged critical thinking.

The good news is that in a globalising, connected world, it has become much easier for Kenyan writers to access diverse audiences and literary communities across the globe.

This has resulted in a wider exchange of ideas and opinions, and given Kenyan writers new forums in which to express themselves. Events such as the Storymoja Hay Festival have also helped to put Kenya on the global literary map. And for this, we should be grateful to its organisers.

We have come a long way since the Moi days. But we must protect what we have gained in terms of literary freedom with all our might.

We may take it for granted now, but we must also remember that there are many writers who paid a heavy price for this freedom. Some were detained, others tortured. Many went into exile.

There are still many countries in the world where writers are denied the freedom to write what they want. Kenya is not among them – any more. This fact must will probably be acknowledged and recognised by literary historians.