Those Diaspora Nigerian Writers! And other stories?

Once in 2014, during a writing course in London, I wrote about a Yoruba character, a young girl struggling with the anxiety of what university might be because she had failed JAMB exams three times. To my mind, any one who had ever experienced the anxiety of closing one chapter and beginning another one would understand the specific scene I had written.  A well-meaning professor giving me editorial feedback, suggested I make her a Boko Haram school kidnap survivor and the first person in her lineage to go to university. This way, the anxiety she was feeling about university in a new city would be more evident and potent in the scene. Granted, the only news coming out of Nigeria at the time was the horrific kidnap of the Chibok Girls. I understood that the professor was giving me feedback based on what he thought he knew about Nigeria. But I pushed back and explained that this scenario could not be, as the terrorist group were a menace in the North of Nigeria and not in the South. My character couldn’t also be the first in her lineage to go to university if she belonged to a middle-class family growing up in a university town like Ibadan. The professor shrugged off my pushback as the high-grade stubbornness of those cocky writers who won some ridiculous prize from an obscure journal in America and wouldn’t stop leading with that.  

The social media banter you may have come across about being able to spot a diaspora Nigerian writer from a mile away by the crookedness of their writing style and romanticizing of the most mundane things is not new at all. Previously, it happened in small pockets –  within a small sect of academia, or in hallowed creative writing workshops. 

From writers who refer to the Lagos heat as a “sweltering summer”, to calling moi moi a “steamed black-eyed pea pudding”, I have read my fair share of this bizarre styling of nuances peculiar to Nigeria.

In the era when all that most Nigerians depended on for creative writing were books written by complete foreigners through their prejudged and narrow lenses, the focus of our grief was largely different, and so it was very easy to excuse poorly written examples from Nigerians because, well, there were not many enough in the market. 

As a new generation of readers come to the appreciation of many more Nigerian writers flooding the literary space, this pushing and prodding or “backlash” as internet users are choosing to call it should be expected, and the continued sustenance of such conversations for expanded thought is very, very necessary. 

I always say, what good luck this generation of Nigerian readers have, to be able to access Nigerian writers in the exponential numbers that we currently can. If you decided today to read only a Nigerian writer for every week of the year, you would not be lacking in talent, creativity or fantastic storytelling, both from writers inside the country or in the diaspora. This is a fact. One we have arrived at as a country by sheer grit and tenacity.

There are two sets of Nigerian diaspora writers. Those who were never raised in the country and so rely heavily on “research.” We can discuss this set and the laziness of their research or complete lack of it at another time. 

Then, there are the diaspora writers who grew up in Nigeria and so have some context and understand cultural nuance. They return home however to see that while things are familiar, everything has changed. And so they romanticize what once was.

When many Nigerian writers, especially fiction writers find themselves abroad, perhaps after a studying stint, it is usually the first time they can use the word writer to describe themselves. Newspaper columnists and nonfiction writers arrive at this milestone quicker. The world is more accepting of “serious” writers. But for many fiction writers, this new city they have suddenly found themselves in America or somewhere in Europe is the first place that has taken that talent seriously enough for them to believe it. 

It is the place that first paid them to write and put their work out for the world to see. An online magazine, an academic journal, or a city quarterly review. A miserly sum perhaps, this pay, but payment still. Payment gives a small boost to this talent that is so often disregarded, a validation. Payment waters the seed that eventually blooms into a full story, a manuscript, a novel that goes on to be published and if you are lucky, it takes you on a multi-city tour. Publishing, all of the high jumps it takes to get there is no small feat. 

A Nigerian writer, or any African writer for that matter, arriving at the precipice of publishing, especially with one of the big names in my opinion, is a critical part of this conversation that we are not yet having. The aim of any publisher truly is sales. Of course there is the almost convincing chit chat about publishing to tell stories, to champion underrepresented writers, to showcase exceptional talent and all of that. While all of these may be true, I put it to you that no stories will be told by a publishing house if sales are not in some way guaranteed. No matter how beautiful a story is, this is a reality we must all accept. 

And this in my observation, is where things start to fall apart.

After the incredibly hard work of writing, is the hurdle of finding an agent. An agent must first believe in your work, that it is sellable, before finding you a publisher. When they do, your publisher will ensure that it is palatable for their readers. If you manage to scale this, it is where editorial feedback comes in.

When you find yourself finally in this room, where your hard work is combed through with a fine-tooth comb, I want Nigerian writers to remember that they are the custodians of our culture and our stories. The burden of telling Nigerian stories now happens to rest on you. Is it fair for that burden to be solely yours? I have no right answer to that, but the burden became yours the moment you decided to tell your people’s story. So you must fight to tell it properly. From one writer to another, I know what it has taken to finally arrive in these rooms. I understand the reluctance to push back now that you have finally made it in, and what this opportunity for your talent to be shared with the world means. The fight will require strong advocacy, standing in the gap for others, if need be. Your fight is not only consequential for your credibility, but it matters greatly for the versions of truths about Nigerian stories that make it to a global audience. The work needs to be done.

Writing is not a very profitable venture for the writer. Writing in Nigeria, even less so. Clearly, passion fuels the work for most Nigerian writers, whether home or abroad. And so, Nigerian readers, I implore a little more grace as our writers navigate global reach. A little more embrace of local publishers who get our stories too. Yes, we may currently have to deal with headache-inducing fonts and binding that falls apart before you are done reading the book, but growth is never linear. It happens by getting it wrong and then right, by overcoming obstacles and challenges. What’s that quote that goes something like what you allow will continue? Evidently, Nigerian readers have no intention of letting outrageous sentences about Nigerian idiosyncrasies continue, so yes please, keep trolling us in those social media threads.