THOSE WHO WING IT: Beyond the KABAFEST Camps.

The question, if anything, should be: what new perspective will this structure bring to our literature? 

 

Courtesy: Panel discussion at KABAFEST.

As it stands, there are two camps of Nigerian writers now: the pro-KABAFEST camp; and the anti-KABAFEST, placard-carrying camp. The latter is almost a complete list of uninvited guests, sadly, raving at how wrong it all is: writers must boycott KABAFEST altogether because Mallam Nasir El-Rufai is an evil man, and has his stash in it; writers must be good; writers must be activists; writers must eschew this treachery, and not go wine and dine over the graves of murdered Shiites; literary festivals are for hungry writers looking for free meals.

Let's at least begin with the truth: Literary Festivals, Cultural Exchange Programs, and anything of that ilk, are events where writers and scholars should be made comfortable: lush meals, fine wine, expensive hotels. It’s so everywhere in the world. I don't know of any programs where guests are expected to sit in cages and play hunger artist, like the character in Kafka’s short story. And writers should react if any programs fall short.

Here's a reaction from 2013 by Emmanuel Iduma, published on Saraba Magazine. In it, he recounted what he considered 'sufferhead'  at the inaugural Bayelsa Book and Craft Fair (BBCF), at which he was guest:

"we were treated to a large empty hall (named after  a dictator!), ghost panels, no-breakfasts, on-your-own trips to the venue and airport".

The now defunct BBCF was an initiative of Africa Film Academy, directed by Onyeka Nwelue with sponsorship from Bayelsa Tourism Bureau and Century Energy Services Limited.  It might also be important to point out the fact that on the list of confirmed speakers for the event, amongst writers and scholars,  was Mallam Nasir El-Rufai.

It's sad the criticisms by the anti-KABAFEST do-gooders has elicited nothing but blatant denial from the other camp: we are not going there for the wine, or the food, or luxury. We are going there to save the book. We are going there to promote literature, and maybe inspire one little boy somewhere in the creeks to begin to read books, and write books. And even really funny kinds of response on Facebook. Like: hey, look here, I am having a lush meal now.  I am rich, and cannot be going to KABAFEST for anything I cannot afford myself. And: hey, look here, this is an invitation from the US Government asking me to come and have lush meals, dine, wine, fart and enjoy myself abroad, in exchange for my writing and speeches. But, no. I am here; because I love my country; because the book is more important than everything else.

I don't know how many of these writers could stand one night in a cheap guesthouse, lying on a bug-infested mattress for the book. So why make it all sound like you're choosing a funeral over a ball? And that, if this hadn't been for saving the book and that little boy in the creeks, the attendance won't have been necessary.

Responses like these come from a place of guilt and self-defense, using an overdone narrative as harpoon to ward off the sharks. Not only does it make Literary festivals  out to be  some fair for rich 'literature Jesuses' camping themselves for days to talk and eat food they do not even need, it also undermines the efforts of organisers like Lola Shoneyin and the benevolence of sponsors. The first thing every organiser has to bother with is fund to make sure everything is possible; and nothing could be possible without good sponsorship.

Literary festivals are not held because books and children in creeks are endangered species. Otherwise, what will flying Leila Aboulela down from Sudan  for a few days really change? What will an indoor intellectual tussle amongst rotund richmen change in the life of that barely literate boy, if he will actually be in the creeks all through the sessions? Maybe a more effective program would have used the fund money to pull these kids out of the creeks, equip schools in the state with good libraries, provide school uniforms and even make sure  that these kids have food. Yes, food; because these kids would sooner pick  up guns than  books if they  have no food to eat.

Literary programs are structures. They may take on various causes: improve reading culture by providing books; constructively address the lapses in government. But a Literary Festival is no charity program. It's not a campaign strategy. It's not a tribunal, where corrupt persons are arraigned. It's not a conclave of cardinals at the holy business of electing a new pope. There are no restrictions as to who can sponsor or who can attend.
The question, if anything, should be: what new perspective will this structure bring to our literature? And this is the one question that has eluded the anti-KABAFEST cavillers. Instead, they have reduced  a structure to just a single person; they have nailed literature  on  the cross of politics. For them, no efforts by Zacchaeus, the corrupt tax-collector, could have brought salvation to Jericho.

Since when did we really start boycotting Literary Festivals on account of who had money in them? The annual Garden City Literary Festival (now Portharcourt Book and Arts Festival), for instance, was sponsored by Governor Rotimi Amaechi. The inaugural edition of the festival, which held between September 24 - 27, 2008, had the likes of  Wole Soyinka, Okey Ndibe, Elechi Amadi, and Kofi Awoonor in attendance. How come no one  called for a boycott? Or is Rotimi Amaechi a worthier sponsor? And had there been a boycott, would posterity have forgiven any of us for stopping what led to the AFRICA 39 Anthology? What eventually produced The Sack, Namwali Serpel's short story  that went on to win the Caine Prize in 2015?

Mallam Nasir El-Rufai is not the Kaduna Book and Arts Festival (KABAFEST). And, yes, there may be a lot of arse-licking and obsequiousness around him during the program. But why not, if those who are supposed to engage him have decided to sit at home and shadowbox on social media?

The last few years have seen African scholars and writers call for indigenous structures within African Literature: from Binyavanga to Chimamanda; from Chuma Nwokolo to Kola Tobosun; from Ikhide R. Ikheloa to Pius Adesanmi. African Literature needs structures. Structures strong enough to encourage African writers to write for Africa. And structures are not built on long rants about how those who dare get it wrong all the time. Organisers do not owe it to us to follow strict instruction manuals about whom not to hobnob with; and whose sponsorship not to accept.

I have taken part in  a couple of literary programs, myself: as invited guest, participant and attendee. And I have also tried and failed woefully at organizing one; so I could say I have witnessed firsthand what organisers go through.

                       As Guest.

As one of the 80 invited spoken word poets at the WS80 International Cultural Exchange Program, organised by Open Door Series in 2014, I remember marveling at how much time, effort  and money could have gone into seeing that everything went smoothly.  'Hungry writers' as we were, someone saw to it that we were lodged in Hotels in Kuto, Abeokuta. I remember how Efe Paul Azino, as poetry coordinator, was torn all over: driving down to pick up guest poets, lodging them, arranging for performances.

  With Titilope Sonuga @WS80

                  As Participant.

Same thing at Farafina Trust Creative Writing Workshop (FTCWW), 2014. Sometimes, I would hang around Okey Adichie, the workshop administrator. And you could see the stress all over him. It's easy for participants, who will always get their meals and accommodation, and be chauffeured around, to assume every single thing had been funded. I remember us discussing the selection process at one of the sessions with Dr. Eghosa Imasuen and Chimamanda N. Adichie. I couldn't help being amazed at the fact  that for every one of the twenty five participants who made it into the program  that year, more than ten 'workshoppable' (to coin a phrase) entries were turned down to meet the budget. Although The Nigeria Breweries plc. was doing its best at sponsoring the program, it was evident more sponsorships could have helped increase the number of applicants who made it in each year.  It cuts across; and every organiser could write a whole book on the challenges of getting funding for their projects.

At Farafina CWW Literary Night. 

What if writers  formed camps to ask Richard Ali why the ANA /Yusuf Ali Creative Writing Workshop is dead? An initiative which hosted twenty students drawn from eighteen different tertiary institutions in Nigeria, in 2015; honing new voices like Basit Jamiu, Tochukwu Okafor and Omoya Yinka Simult, slowly holding their own on our literary landscape? What if taking sides was rather about what site to put a new Ebedi Writers Residency  structure to help more African writers find safe spaces to write in? What if the call to unite was done with as much vehemence as this wanton call to divide and boycott? Vehemence to reach  out to organisers like Dike Chukwumerije, whose Made-in-Nigeria crew tours our nation, promoting poetry, often on a  shoestring budget; or Olumide's War of Words that could take off as the African Def Jam, given the right funding; or Efe Paul's Lagos International Poetry Festival (LIPFEST)?

                As Organiser. 

I once privately interviewed Efe Paul Azino about how he manages to keep things going. I had tried for over a year to get funding for a small arts festival at the Federal University of Technology, Owerri (FUTO), and the frustration had begun gnawing away at my sanity.

"Boss, how do you manage to tweak it?" I asked.
His reply: "Tweak it? We don't tweak it, bro; we just  wing it".

This is for those men and women who wing it.




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This article was first published on Olisa.tv, and was written as a reaction to the controversies that trailed the inaugural edition of the Kaduna Book & Arts Festival (KABAFEST), in 2017.
It has been republished here for archival purposes. 
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Prospero O. Anuforo is a writer, blogger and spoken word poet. He also likes hanging out with brainy, beautiful women.