Of my lust for books and the love for my students who publish them

Tuesday, December 10, was a momentous day for me. To begin with, it was my mother’s birthday. Born in 1922, Maria Salome Nankya Kyolaba would have been 97 this year, but she called it a day in 2000. Still, I remember her birthday as if it were yesterday. She was, she said, the first child in her lineage to get a birth certificate, having been born at Mengo Hospital, where our beloved literary icon, Grace Ogot, trained as a medic.

FELLOW ADDICTS

But there, I cannot say more than two words without mentioning writers and books. Anyway, can a carnivore roar twice without growling for flesh? Books have been my diet as far back as I can remember, and no matter how voraciously and greedily I devour them, my desire for them remains insatiable. You can call it “lust,” an uncontrollable passion.

Just as those who hunger and hanker after moving from place to place are victims of wanderlust, I suffer from book lust. You could also call it “book-mania,” an obsessive preoccupation with the printed and bound text.

I have ended up not only dreaming of owning all the books, bookshops and libraries in the world, but also literally making books my career and my life. Indeed, there are no dividing lines between my reading, writing, talking and teaching of and about books in my life.

If I had all the riches and luxuries that this world can offer, apart from books, I would not have any time for them. My addiction would leave little room for them, as it indeed does in the lives of other fellow addicts in writing, performance and the other arts. This, indeed, maybe one reason why our types are notoriously poor socialisers or lovers.

STRONG LINK

I once wrote that the personal lives of artistes, including writers and actors, are notorious all over the world for their chaotic turbulence. Many memorable pieces of writing and other works of art are cobbled out of the sorrows and failed relationships of their authors (the “I met a thief” syndrome). But I am digressing. I set out to tell you of my experiences of 10th December 2019. The two that I will mention specifically, one gloriously joyful and the other poignantly sorrowful, relate directly to my book shenanigans. What struck me about both was not only that they were the work of my former students but also that they reveal a strong link between academics and publishing. To begin with the joyful event, I was a guest at the Spotlight Publishers scintillating 10th anniversary celebrations at the Sarit Centre. Starting off as a small independent book producing enterprise publishing mainly revision books for the Kenyan school market, Spotlight has grown into a major player in the region, diversifying into such lines as producing course books for Uganda and Rwanda, and publishing creative works by East African literary giants like Ken Walibora and Said Ahmed Mohamed. Indeed, the launch of Mohamed’s latest novel, Wenye Meno (those with teeth), was part of the celebrations on Tuesday.

MAIN PLAYERS

I, too, was there as one of their authors, since they published my story, Nguva wa Msambweni (mermaid of Msambweni), and my Ugandan Kiswahili course, Kurunzi ya Kiswahili, with the help of my friends Wallah bin Wallah, Joseph Mwamburi and Henry Indindi. I believe the availability of such books in Uganda has played a major role in introducing the teaching of Kiswahili into the country.

More satisfying for me was the personal recognition I received from Mr Simon Sossion, the founder of Spotlight, as one of his teachers at Kenyatta University. Mr Sossion humorously told the audience that I taught him one useful thing. “A long sentence is like a rope with which you are likely to hang yourself.” That is what I taught him! I still believe it, even when I am not strictly practising it.

Then I realised, even as I looked around at the glittering array of “who’s who” in the publishing world, that I had taught a startlingly large number of the main players in the industry, both past and present. I know very little about the trade, although I once had to teach a course on uhaririri na uchapishaji (editing and publishing) to some education students.

MOURN PROPERLY

But considering that, apart from Mr Sossion, such eminent professionals as Muli Musyoki, Peter Kimani Nyoro, Florence Waeni, Leteipa ole Sunkuli, among a host of others, remember our KU interactions hints at something basic that we shared and contributed to their going into publishing. I venture to suggest that this was our fanatical love of books.

On a sad note, December 10 this year was also the third anniversary of the passing on of Solomon Kakai Karani, also a former student of mine, who was one of the most brilliant performers in publishing throughout his career.

An incisive scholar, researcher, editor and writer, Karani blazed his meteoric rise through such institutions as the Jomo Kenyatta Foundation and Longman Publishers to the founding of his own publishing house, Book Mark Africa, to which he introduced me, on what was to be our last encounter at the Nairobi Book Fair in 2015.

I did not get to mourn Karani properly on his demise in 2016, because I was most probably down myself with a life-threatening condition.

LABOUR OF LOVE

But I was deeply moved and grateful to discover that Karani’s dearest partner, Mwalimu Agatha Karani, ably and strongly took up the reins of Book Mark Africa, which recently gave us Masinde Kusimba’s biography of Francis Imbuga, The Cherished Footprints. I am sure that with our love of Karani and our love of the book, Book Mark, too, will soon be celebrating a significant anniversary, under Agatha Karani.

So, we say shime (keep it up), our sister! It is not only a labour of love. It is also kazi ya ari (a must-accomplish job), for you and for all of us who love books, and loved Karani Kakai.

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