Book Launch: The Funeral Did Not End

The Book: The Funeral Did Not End,  

The collection presents twenty punchy stories, adroitly written by a tempered writer who has successfully merged his penchant for social commentary with his capacity for observing that same society with a keen eye and a mind that understands perfectly well, how to negotiate the threshold where the profound meets the mundane.

Review

 "Amazing! Brilliant! The claim that the short story is an underdeveloped genre in Africa has finally been laid to rest by Sylva Nze Ifedigbo in this scintillating debut. Ifedigbo is the undisputable master of his landscape and his characters. This is art tout court." - Pius Adesanmi, winner of the Penguin Prize for African Writing

The Writer: Nze Sylva Ifedigbo

Trained as a Veterinary Doctor at University of Nigeria Nsukka, Sylva Nze Ifedigbo who now works in Corporate Communication, is an award winning fiction writer and essayist, he has written widely on Nigerian Socio-political issues both online and in the print media, with Next Newspaper and Daily Times having carried his by-line regularly. His novella- Whispering Aloud was published in 2008 by Spectrum Books Ibadan.

The Launch

The Funeral Did Not End, his second published book which has been long anticipated, is published by DADA books and is being presented to the public on Saturday the 15th of September from 5pm-7pm at the Kongi's Harvest Gallery, Freedom Park, Hospital Road, Lagos Island.

There will also be a presentation of Takada! the digital book application by Wayne & Malcolm. The Funeral Did Not End will be available as digital downloads at www.takada.com.ng from the 15th of September.

RSVP the event. For more information,  email: books@dadaenterprises.net

Iread

Hope the week has started well for everyone. We thought to share some links of interesting articles that we stumbled upon. Have a great week!

 A review of Malcolm X: A Life of Reinvention  by Manning Marable 

Mr. Marable argues that Malcolm X was a gifted performer, adept at presenting himself to black audiences “as the embodiment of the two central figures of African-American folk culture, simultaneously the hustler/trickster and the preacher/minister.” He also suggests that Malcolm exaggerated his criminal youth in his “Autobiography” to create “an allegory documenting the destructive consequences of racism within the U.S. criminal justice and penal system,” and to underscore the transformative power that the Nation of Islam brought to his own life while in prison.

"Miss Lora" by Junot Diaz in the New Yorker

Of course you knew her; she lived in the building behind, taught over at Sayreville H.S. But it was only in the past months that she’d snapped into focus. There were a lot of these middle-aged single types in the neighborhood, shipwrecked by every kind of catastrophe, but she was one of the few who didn’t have children, who lived alone, who was still kinda young. Something must have happened, your mother speculated. In her mind, a woman with no child could be explained only by vast untrammelled calamity

Belinda Otas Interviews Angelique Kidjo

My father used to say because you are a singer doesn’t mean you don’t have a brain and can’t discuss everything that comes your way. Read, be curious and ask questions. If I don’t have the answers, I will go and get the answers for you. But you cannot be an artist and not be able to talk about your art or other people’s art and culture. That’s not going to happen under my roof. Everything I accomplished today started in my childhood.

Nze Sylva's short story "Dodan Barracks" on Nigerianstalk Lit Mag 

That night it rained. The thunder claps were quite loud and the lightening splashed across the room, making it feel like it was day time. I was sitting in front of the television, fighting off fear from the lightening as I watched the match between Italy and Argentina when suddenly I began to hear sporadic gun fire. Gun fire was normal on the barrack but this was an usual hour for it and it was so loud and continued for a while. Mother immediately woke up like someone who had just had a nightmare and resumed mumbling prayers on the rosary, saying “Jesus” loudly each time the guns boomed. I thought perhaps it was some kind of foreign aggression as the Head of State had made many enemies especially among the world powers and I imagined that they had attacked us. I was very worried about Father being out there.

How Fortune Smiled on Fortunatus by Samuel Kolawole 

Fortunatus Osifo-Whiskey was seized by the police while playing checkers, and clamped into detention with no money in his pocket.  He was hooked by the hem of his trousers and whisked away so fast he wasn’t allowed to put on the pair of flip-flops he had slipped off before the game started. For him, removing his slippers, made of strips of an abandoned Michelin tire, had a way of making his blood warm to the game. It gave him a sense of seriousness and determination.

Fortunatus played draughts all day. He played draughts every day. People placed bets on him. Champions from other districts came to challenge him. As a matter of fact that was the only thing he succeeded at. But then he had tried his hands on so many things to make something good for himself.  He cherished deceptive hopes. He nursed lofty dreams and newfangled ideas. Sometimes he would take long walks, thinking deep, born aloft by wild fantasies. He would make plans of grandiose proportions that never materialized. Fortunatus could never bring himself to follow anything through. His hypertensive father had long left him to his own devises and his mother was not alive to bewail his situation.

He tried in vain to pass his school certificate exams and so could not proceed to any higher institution. Whenever he failed he blamed the educational system.

“They messed up my grades those bastards! They destroy our education and then send their kids to expensive schools abroad” he would say to his friends who also idled about. 

Read more short stories on the Short Story Africa Day website

Jonathan Duncan's review of Wainaina's One Day I Will Write about this Place

Writing on depression in Africa is a rarity. Here, Wainaina’s book seems singular. While at a South African university studying commerce, Wainaina’s equilibrium alters dramatically. His unevenness sees his tight rope walker plunge, as he “moves out of the campus dorms and into a one-room outhouse [falling] away from everything and everybody”. Within this room he barely leaves, the scope of the writer-camera adjusts to macro. The scenes thickly stick to objects surrounding him, bound in vignettes

Sylva Nze Ifedigbo on A Heart to Mend

Nigerians and indeed Africans are not known for romance writing. The reason can be attributed to the sense of morality (real or apparent) that relegates issues surrounding romance to the secrecy of bedrooms thus treating sex as a topic discussed only in hushed tones like some sacred ritual. We generally carry on like we don’t do sex yet we have HIV, or we don’t fall in love yet we have marriages.

Myne Whitman’s book, A Heart to Mend, makes a bold statement to the contrary. It shows that we do not only fall in love nor marry for love, love also conquers situations that could have ordinarily been a bit difficult to shoulder alone. A Heart to Mend comes as a fresh breath of air. It chronicles the journey of Gladys Eborah, a young female  graduate from Enugu, South Eastern Nigeria to the commercial city of Lagos first to find a job and - in the process- love and ultimately marriage. Typical romance style, this journey is not rosy, but filled with so much turbulence which raises the suspense giving the reader a deeper satisfaction for the also typical ‘happy-ever-after’ ending.

Gladys doesn’t share the spotlight alone however. Employing a double barreled lead character description approach, the author also brings the reader into Edward Bestman's life, young unmarried head of a business empire. Edward and Gladys meet in the very first chapter of the book but it takes longer for Edward to overcome his mistrust for people and profess his love…one which he felt since very first day.

For Nigerian readers, there is plenty to like in the book.  It is rich with very familiar words, places and things which they can easily relate with. We have for example the popular Peace Mass Transit which many Enugu residents know. We have Zennon oil, Terra Kulture, Tuface, Sound Sultan, Securities and Exchange Commission, etc. The language is simple but the description languid in some instances. It goes on and on sluggishly, seemingly not in a hurry to get to a climax.

For people who find it difficult to read books without conversations, A Heart to Mend presents itself as a good New Year gift but then some of the conversation are drab. A novice in the complex workings of the Stock Exchange might find this book a handy guide as the author engages the reader with concepts only those well schooled in that field would understand. I admire however how Whitman introduces these concepts in conversations which help the reader appreciate what is said rather than foisting it down the readers in some kind of tutorial format.

The absurdities and sharp practices that exist in Nigerian business climes are well captured. Mr. Odutose has developed a dubious way of helping companies get richer. He is persistent in selling his idea even when Edward is adamant. Odutose finally finds a listening ear in Chief Okrika who ironically sets out to use the idea against Edward Bestman. It is uplifting to note however that Edward Bestman's persistent refusal to buy into Odutose’s plan shows there are still credible Nigerian businessmen and women--a badly needed reminder these times Nigeria seems popular globally for only the wrong reasons.

There are a couple of downs for the book. The reasons why Aunt Isioma abandoned her relatives for so long a time does not sound convincing, neither did the author do very well in explaining why Chief Okrika and wife should show up suddenly after so many years and begin to witch-hunt Edward Bestman.  Gladys' initial reactions to Aunt Isioma which were intended to portray her existing annoyance for Aunt Isioma’s unexplained wrong treatment of her relatives seemed quite childish. But then, this is fiction and I guess the author has the right to the soul of her story.

Nigerian readers can now satisfy their yearning for well written, homegrown romance stories while the foreign readers can treat themselves to a different kind of romance--one made in the highly boisterous commercial Lagos. A Heart to Mend is the author's first offering, an impressive one which shows that the author should be watched for even richer outings.

Sylva Nze Ifedigbo an award winning writer lives in Abuja, Nigeria. Read his short story on StoryTime.

Visit Myne Whitman's blog here. Get copies of the book here and here.