I met this young writer at the International Writers Seminar in Accra earlier this month as part of the anniversary of the Pan African Writers Association (PAWA).
I have decided to publish her account of how she became a writer for three reasons:
First, the effect an educational system has on one's developmental processes.
Second, the influence of parents not in making career choices but in motivating one on his/her chosen path.
And third, to draw the attention of especially the self inspired youth that much can be achieved.
Included in this account (which is part of her presentation at the seminar) are excerpts from her novel titled Hamattan Rain. It is however not part of this publication.
Saeed0208121764raafani@gmail.com28/11/2008
........................ UNEDITEDAyesha Harruna Attah
PAWA Paper:
Harmattan Rain: Becoming a writer with a cultural vision
Good afternoon, distinguished guests, General-Secretary of PAWA, fellow writers, ladies and gentlemen. I’d like to thank PAWA House for giving me this opportunity to address you. Today, I am going to share an introspective paper of how I became a writer and how I learned that to matter as a writer, I had to possess a cultural vision.
When I was young, artists, filmmakers, writers and other “creative” people were always in and out of our doors, my own parents being journalists. They came in all forms: the quiet, introspective type… The chain-smoking artist… The garrulous all-knowing types wanting to change the world for the better – or worse! Almost always poor and tortured.
Yes, my parents too!
My reaction to all this “artistic expression” was to flee. To run away as far as possible from any artistic activity. All these people seemed too intense for my liking. The first time, therefore, I had to make an adult choice in my life, I said I wanted to become a doctor. Never mind that the thought of cutting through the flesh of another person was not my idea of a career choice either. Never mind that film, art or a well-written book inspired me to want to do the same or even better.
At age seventeen, after gaining admission into Mount Holyoke College, in Massachusetts in the United States, I continued on the scientific path I was convinced was mine. I decided to major in biochemistry, which would lead me to medicine. And there was another reason I was considering a medical career: my mother. I felt it a duty on my part to help discover the cause, and possibly find a cure for the ailment she has been struck down with this past decade and half.
The turning point in my story came when I decided to try taking a journalism class to meet the English requirement in my studies. That’s when I realized I’d been suppressing a part of me for years. The part that liked to string words together to paint a picture. The part that loved characters – fictional and real. And yes, the part that was tortured too. I wrote the story of one of my colleagues who built dollhouses to pay her way through college. In the process of talking to and writing about her, it hit home. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life in a lab or in a hospital – the smell of which I didn’t like, to begin with!—when I could be meeting people and writing wonderful stories.
Five or six years later, I find myself in the process of getting my first book published and funnily, one of my themes is children running away from their parents but eventually finding themselves in the same shoes.
After graduating from Mount Holyoke College, I gained admission into the Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism, where each day, I asked myself if I’d made the right choice switching from a field that was surer and more financially stable into journalism. All the same, I persevered, enjoying each story I wrote and each personality I met.
I also met with the approval of my parents who said, “Ayesha, follow your instincts, develop your talent.”
I moved back to Ghana from the United States in 2007, hoping to put all I’d learned in biochemistry and journalism to good use.
There is truly a tide in the affairs of men (and of course women) when taken at the right time, which can lead to many things. Hardly had I unfinished unpacking than the Per Sesh Writer’s Workshop fell into my hands, my second week back home. It was a nine-month writing fellowship in Popenguine, Senegal, funded by TrustAfrica and the Ford Foundation, in which young writers would receive instruction in drafting and writing a novel. My parents were encouraging, and although I was reluctant, I began another journey.
Writing Demystified
I arrived in Senegal on an October night, full of insecurities and convinced that I’d fail. I was about to spend the next nine months with three other young writers, writing a novel, which had been a dream I’d conveniently suppressed over the years. I met Ayi Kwei Armah, the program’s coordinator, and the author of several books, who was waiting for me at the airport gate, topped with his trademark white hair. I was extremely intimidated by him—this writer whose work had had the effect I talked about earlier—it had totally inspired me. I wanted to write with the same kind of authority and detail. Over the next months, he became a father, mentor, adviser, and totally demystified what the writing process was.
One of the first things he said was that anyone can be a writer. I didn’t believe him. Why then wasn’t the world filled with writers? What about writing talent? Surely, one had to be talented? Of course, tinged with my disbelief was the certainty that I wasn’t cut out to be a writer.
We met three times a week and started by breaking down the role writers had played in history—the Ancient Egyptian scribes, scripture writers down through the ages etc. The writer was the bridge between the intellectual and the quotidian. The writer had to straddle both worlds. I was even more convinced that the writer had to be someone special.
The answer to my concerns came in the form of a plan. Like the architect plans his buildings, he said, so must the novelist. The minimum needed to plan the novel was an idea for its beginning and the end. The rest of planning involved filling in the blanks. We broke down the novel into its component parts: plot, narrative, characters, dialogue, description, themes, images, diction and transitions and mapped out these details for each anticipated chapter. With a completed plan, we had no reason to procrastinate, and each day, we would pick a section, draft it and flesh it out into a full chapter. With a plan, anybody could even write our novels for us! There it was: my answer! It was clear that with a story to tell, good planning, and of course, the words to tell the story, half the work was done.
Developing a cultural vision
The hard part came halfway through the program. Yes, anyone could write, but to matter as a writer, you had to have a worldview – a point of view. As an African writer this was even more important, after years of being told we didn’t have a history or our own culture. To create something new, Ayi Kwei Armah said, it was important we go back to our African writings to see what was done in the past. For him, going back meant going as far back as Ancient Egypt. From these ancient sources, the African writer will be equipped with unlimited fodder for characters, themes and images.
One hot afternoon, we sat outside our atelier, facing the Atlantic Ocean. Ayi Kwei Armah repeated Albert Einstein’s words, “Genius is community.” Those words stuck with me and are now my mantra as I continue on this path of writer that I am decidedly going to walk on. Every so often, though, a person comes along to remind me that I could be making so much more money as a doctor. My response is at least, I’m happy.
I am proud to be part of a generation that has started stretching its hand to take the baton from the African masters who have run so fast, come so far and done so well in holding up Africa to Africans and the world. I pray we can have their resolve, tenacity, patience, sincerity, honesty, stamina and staying power.
