What Happens in Kampala, Uganda
I'm not supposed to write this letter, because I’m suffering from exhaustion. Leaving my city to attend a festival in Kampala was very alluring. I would work remote, get some reading done, do some personal work, and start a few sentences (including a travel essay).
I try to plan myself so that I’m productive and can achieve all my tasks. It doesn’t always work and I end up taking on more work than I can handle or simply just having too much to do. On this note, it seems only reasonable for me to not write this letter. Tobi advised me not to write to you (now you know who your enemy is and I have evidence.)
However, it’s impossible for me (and it’s only now I realise) to go one Thursday, without writing to you.
Keeping it short:
Uganda is cold, too cold. Not unsurprisingly, but the pseudo tourist in me didn't pack a sweater. Tobi’s jean jacket suffices now and then, but I also didn’t pack jeans; all my dresses are knee-length - the curse of fashion. Let’s just say I’m the one doing myself. I was here last year, and wrote about it for the catapult. Read it and share, I want to check something. When Bassey Ikpi read this essay, she referred to my work as gorgeous.
Meanwhile,
My conversation with Lesley was a breeze. I was nervous AF. I can admit now that I have a nervous tic: a sudden, repetitive, nonrhythmic motor movement or vocalization involving discrete muscle groups. I’m no psychologist and don’t know if this qualifies as a diagnosis, but it’s been happening a lot more recently. I won’t say where. But this is me being vulnerable. If you have tips on how to conquer nervous tics, please let me know.
Womxn(?) In Conversation
Fifi Oddly wrote an essay in response to Panashe’s Why I’m No Longer Talking to Nigerians About Race. Her response is personal, passionate and political. It highlights the problems of being Nigerian amongst other things. Read it here.
Could African Literature Be Moving Mad?
I seem to be engaging in more conversations about African literature — if the past week and month is anything to go by. Which is not exactly like me, or unlike me. I mostly prefer to be in the background — keeping such intellectual conversations private and doing my mental gymnastics amongst friends. Unfortunately, things like “The problem with the Nigerian literary space is that it lacks genuine criticism that won’t be taken as a personal attack…” take the silence away from my tongue.
The great thing about this statement is that it opened a conversation between me and @ThatPHCBoy where we spoke about how writers are not reading enough.
To answer my question, African literature is not moving mad. It’s me; I just don’t have the time to pay attention to its antics, (and I'm very oblivious.) The intellectual dishonesty is mind-boggling. To quote my dear friend, Tolu Daniel, “A lot of us are frauds.”
This letter was supposed to be about watching your speech when angry, my struggles with religion, etc. For religion, I was going to write about kindness. I was going to ask you about the line between tolerance and proselytizing. Unfortunately, I had to return to the drawing table I’ve never really sat at, or paid attention to — what does my religion say? Thanks and no thanks to Maraji for provoking these thoughts. Are we just hypocrites? Should it be one over the other? Etc.
Fun Facts
Travelling within Africa is tedious
My cover image is evidence that people still think Africa is lions and humans gisting and laughing in the forest
Kampala is lowkey Ibadan or Lagos, if you take out the food
Best believe I took bought some spice. After the withdrawal I faced in 2018 (that led me to eat several plates of peppery ewa agoyin once I landed in Lagos) how can eat I eat their food without spice? And what's with East Africans and no spice, anyway? Me every time I have to eat: (Replace syrup with spice here.)
That said…
I really should be heading to bed. It’s 11:51 in Uganda, and I have a class to prepare for.
Unraveling is such an interesting word. It makes me think of the way a skein of yarn unravels. How have you unraveled this year? I was having a conversation with Tim this evening in a restaurant at the back of the Kampala National Theatre, and it made me realise that the person I am now, isn’t the person I was in 2018. Bants for another day.
(PSA: I might be moving to Mailchimp!) Any errors in this letter is because I'm sleep. Have a good weekend.