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Elliot Ziwira At the Bookstore
Memory Chirere (MC) is one of the finest Zimbabwean writers who have mastered the short story in both English and Shona traditions. Here At The Bookstore’s pen Elliot Ziwira (EZ) chats with the renowned writer, poet and academic about his poetry, short stories and religion, on the sidelines of the Third Edition of Harare International Literature Festival (Litfest Harare) in the Harare Gardens. Read on!

EZ: (Memory) Chirere how could you write a useless book (“Bhuku Risina Basa”) and expect us to read it?

MC: The story here is that for the first time I have realised that most books are titled in relation to content, but I decided that I had to write a book, whose title was informed by the circumstances surrounding it.

EZ: Circumstances?

MC: It’s a useless book to me as the writer because it’s a book that came about accidentally. These were poems that I wrote in between projects, in between writing other books; in between studies and so on. Poems that I wrote at funerals, weddings, in parks, herding cattle in the vales, for the past 20 years.

EZ: And you were just taking it like something not that important?

MC: I have that habit of opening a novel and write something on the sleeve and keep it; but then it became such a load at home, at my workplace and all other places.

EZ: All these useless issues?

MC: All these junky poems, and I wanted to discard them, but before then I showed them to Ignatius Mabasa and he said, no you don’t need to throw this away; why don’t you rework some of them and elevate them from the private sphere to the public sphere. Originally these poems were personal; written for myself, so that’s how we came up with these poems.

EZ: But does the writer write for himself?

MC: Yes, the writer has moments when he writes for himself, for instance, when he is sauntering in the park and he comes across a girl, who is sitting by herself under a tree, crying, yet in the same park all other girls are in the company of their boyfriends. Now, as the writer tires himself with his newspaper, he will end up writing a short poem to thrill himself. There are moments when the writer writes for himself. Pieces that are written without the intention of publication. You just feel like writing and leave it at that.

EZ: Would this inspire the writer in any way?

MC: It’s a way of talking to oneself.

EZ: In search of the inner man?

MC: Finding the inner man! Sometimes you do it as an experiment and practice for the other bigger issues that you might be writing elsewhere. Like some of the other short stories that I wrote might have started just like ordinary prosaic poems. If you read “Pamuviri paShamiso”, I was writing a story in which I was asking myself whether or not it is possible for a man and a woman to have an ordinary friendship. Sometimes personal poems are the first stage or plan of the story, but when you go back to it, you will realise that it can stand on its own as a poem.

You might be listening to a powerful lecture about people deciding to write their own histories. This is when you end up writing a short poem like the one that I was reading, that I should write my name if I am to read about it. You can turn somebody’s lecture into a short poem as a way of training yourself to listen. You want to keep on listening to what he or she might be saying, but while he or she is speaking you are using some of the words being used to come up with a poem. Later on looking back at it you would realise that the poem will be intact,

EZ: But do these poems follow a particular trend of writing or it is just coincidental? Would you really say I am following a trend with a clear vision as what happens in musical genres?

MC: I don’t have a particular trend, but all I know is that whenever I am writing Shona poems I try to write a new kind of poem that strives to relate to life issues without using contrived language, like the use of idioms, proverbs and the like. I use the simplest of words in the hope that if one reads for the first time, then the second time, he would say, this looks simple but there appears to be something else; something hidden.

EZ: Do you really think those poems in “Bhuku Risina Basa” are simple?

MC: They are simple, like ‘Mashoko ekutanga’ or ‘Dai kukaramba kuine mvura, dai kukaramba kuine zuva’.

EZ: When I read them for the first time it dawned on me that the seemingly useless poems were indeed serious and thought provoking.

MC: Maybe you are the one who is too serious.

EZ: Just like what you have alluded, the issues that have a bearing on our lives do not appear to be serious if we look at it from the surface. The way you use conversational words provokes deeper and serious thinking.

MC: You know what my in-law, we are coming from a tradition inspired by people like Gibson Mandishona, Mordekai A. Hamutyinei, W.B Chivaura and Paul Chidyausiku. Such powerful poems with rhyme, rhythm, idioms and proverbs that you really need to be a wise old owl for you to understand them. So I am getting outside that as am saying let me do the same thing using simple words, yet relating the same story. It is my belief that this niche does not have many advocates in Shona poetry.

I don’t want to use many lines because I have realised that many poems written by the poets that I have mentioned go up to 15 stanzas or beyond. I usually use one packed short stanza. I have been reading poetry by poets like Langston Hughes, I really like what they achieve with very few lines. If you read Charles Mungoshi’s poetry in English, you will realise that he does the same.

Chenjerai Hove also does the same, but Chenjerai has not done the same in Shona. As for Mungoshi’s poems one does not need to have a dictionary handy; and nobody is doing the same in Shona poetry, yet if you look at Chenjerai Hove, Musaemura Zimunya and Charles Mungoshi, you will realise that they have been doing it for many years in English but none of them does it in Shona. Have you noticed that?

EZ: Yes, I have! Many people think that a poem has to be long, flowery and all that.

MC: They think that a poem must be adorned with idioms, proverbs, rhyme schemes and big Shona words which are no longer used.

EZ: Even in English, which is the reason why many people, if given a choice do not want to read poetry because of the use of contrived language. It somehow overloads the reader, especially a lay one. Is this what you are shifting from?

MC: To me whatever the ordinary reader comes up with after reading has to be so, if critics come up with something deeper so be it.

EZ: You are right there because we all have different stories and different experiences, which shape our understanding or interpretation of books.

MC: If you look at Ignatius Mabasa’s introduction to the book, you will realise that he was able to write that kind of introduction, which was informed by our lengthy discussions. Few people refer to that introduction by Ignatius Mabasa which comes out of dialoguing.

EZ: Now coming to the poem “Mufundisi weKuChurch Kwedu”, what really inspires it? Do you go to church, or should I say are you a Christian?

MC: No am not a Christian, I do not go to church, but at one point in my life I attended church services. So what is immediate to people is the issue of their pastor(s). I often hear people saying, ‘Our pastor was saying that, at our church they say that. . .’, so I realised that it was common ground.

EZ: So what are people saying about their church(es)?

MC: They are saying, ‘Aah our pastor bought another new car, the money we are giving him must be more than enough. Did you see the suit his wife was wearing? Even us degreed ones are not yet at the level of wearing such fashionable suits. Is he not dipping his fingers in the church coffers? Looks like he is squandering our tithes.’

EZ: So are they saying tithing is wrong?

MC: They are reading into the irony of it all. The irony of their relationship with the pastor, their pastor. The pastor is beginning to go beyond their expectations, even though he is still their pastor and they are the one contributing through tithing. Nevertheless, they keep on saying, ‘Mufundisi wekuChurch kwedu anoshamisa’, because to them he seems to be heading in the wrong direction.

EZ: But is he departing from the doctrine of the church?

MC: No, he is not departing from the doctrine, but he is up to novelty; he is doing new things that we least expected. We might be jealousy even.

EZ: His life has become rosier than ours?

MC: He now has more authority than us.

EZ: Who gave him that authority? Are we not the ones who give him that authority?

MC: We give him, but he somehow finds a gap to run away from where we might have left him.

EZ: He surpasses us? So what are we saying in relation to today’s church?

MC: Today’s church! I do not really know what people would be saying or what they mean, but I often hear them talking about their experiences at their respective churches.

EZ: You said at some point you went to church, where you forced to go?

MC: No, I was never forced. I enjoyed it. I usually went to church for the music, particularly.

EZ: You loved the drum?

MC: Yes, the drum. This is what I still miss about church, the music.

EZ: So if you look at the church then, and compare it with today’s church, do you see any differences?

MC: Today’s church has become faster, materialistic and has assumed an internationalist outlook. It has now become imbued with fashion and this and that. It has now become faster and penetrative in a universal kind of way. It has become powerful and intrudes so much into mainstream society through language, thoughts, idioms and all that. Even if you listen to the music by the youths today you will realise that influence of the church is clear. There is so much reference to church activities, have noticed it? Words like ‘Kuchurch vanondibatirana’ ‘pfugama unamate ndiro bhiza ramambo’. Even artistes like Winky D refer to our prophets, have you noticed that? Lyrics like ‘Izvi zvave kuda vaMagaya’. This therefore, means the church is extremely influential.

EZ: So if Memory Chirere goes to church today, is he going there as a writer or a congregant? At the end of the day does he come out as Chirere or a congregant?

MC: He enters and comes out as both a writer and a congregant. One can follow the church and still remains himself. You can go to church as a footballer and remain a footballer.

EZ: So the writer can remain himself?

MC: Yes, he can.

EZ: But can pick other issues there?

MC: Yes, he can. He picks the language used, and find other perspectives through listening to the sermons. I do not go to church but I enjoy listening to my favourite preacher on TV, the one from Nigeria, Matthew Ashimolowo. He really touches me. He gets into the gist of the people’s travails. Through his preaching he gets into the community, as clearly as I see it, even though I am not a pastor. He looks at the disparities, decisions and thoughts that affect us as a community. He has what to me appears to be Pan-Africanism. Some of his sermons are powerful. I especially enjoy those sermons of his which do not have anything to do with making people turn to the gospel, but issues to do with prosperity, or the way people might use their talents, or the way they might change their lives. I find them very useful.

I was there when he came here two or three years ago, at the City Sports Centre.

EZ: So he touches your soul?

MC: Not at the level of being born again as they say, but the level he bisects society like an artiste.

EZ: So if he really touches you as you say, what then is wrong with being born again?

MC: I dislike the phrase born again, because it supposes that there are some things that I have to turn my back to, so I ask myself why I should turn my back to my cultural mores and values. I believe in cultural rites like mabira and so forth, now the problem I have with Christianity is that it prescribes that I should leave behind such norms. Now if I turn my back to that who will appease my ancestors? I feel very guilty about being born again.

EZ: Do you think there should be religious interface?

MC: I do not think it’s necessary. I think what’s basic about Christianity is the acceptance that Jesus Christ died for us, for our sins. One day I sat down and tried to think of it, to consider that Jesus died for me and I couldn’t fathom it.

EZ: So he did not die for you and your sins?

MC: I asked myself why would he die for me? Who am I to him? Why would Jesus die for me, does he know me? Am I related to him in any way? I failed to come to terms with the fact that Jesus can be said to have died for me.

EZ: But Mbuya Nehanda died for us?

MC: Mbuya Nehanda died for us, because some of my great grandfathers were her aides during the First Chimurenga.

EZ: So it is easier to accept that she died for you?

MC: Yes it is a tradition that my ancestors, my parents lived and followed. I can readily accept that she died for me, because she died alongside my forefathers, fighting in a war that I know of.

EZ: Well this thorny issue will not end as I see it. I guess I should leave it at that.

MC: I do not have any problems with Christians as long as they let me be. I am not a Christian but I am not against them. I just let them do what they want as long as they do the same. But I admit that their sermons and music evokes lots of soul searching. Do you know of any Catholic songs?

EZ: Yes, I do. I grew up in the Catholic Church.

MC: I love Catholic songs so much, especially the song “Hadzipere Ndangariro”, which I was talking to Professor Kizito Muchemwa about. He is a Catholic. It is such a powerful song, yet it does not mention God or Jesus Christ, just memories and deep soul searching. I went to a Catholic school, and that drum and some of the songs really touched my soul. Even today their music carry me away. They have this song where the lead female vocalist goes for about half a minute before the congregation joins in. It is such a powerful song that meanders around the villages. I love that song. Kangoma kacho kanonditora moyo.

EZ: I have a collection of Catholic songs, I will share with you.

MC: Ooh there are some songs that I particularly love, which remind me of verses that are so poetic.

EZ: Now let us look at your short story collection “Tudikidiki”, what are these titbits?

MC: These are very short stories. If flash fiction or the short, short story. The title refers to the style that I am using, because I have realised that there was no flash fiction in Shona Literature. Shona Literature do not have many short stories. There could be only two or three individual Shona short story collections. It really worries me. There is “Tudikidiki”, there is one by Chiwome, “Maoko Mavi” then another one by a journalist. The others are group anthologies and they are also very few as compared to novels and poetry. The short story in Shona is underdeveloped and it might die before it is born.

EZ: What is your idea of the ideal short story in Shona?

MC: It must be brief prose narrative based on a moment in the life of a character. To me that’s what a short story should be about. It must be based on the moment. Like, for instance, I usually want to write a story about a girl when she receives a letter from a boy for the first time, just that.

EZ: Not what happens afterwards?

MC: No, because for me a short story should be a brief prose narrative based on a moment in the life of a character. That is my definition of the short story.

EZ: Not telling the reader what happened after they fall in love and all that romantic stuff?

MC: It becomes a novel, and not a short story.

EZ: So the idea is to capture the brief moment?

MC: Exactly! You get it?

EZ: How does today’s reader relate to the short, short story?

MC: It is convenient to him or her because it is not time consuming. What our people lack is time but they enjoy reading. That is why they prefer magazines. That is why the short story has been modelled along the magazine. It is something you read waiting for the water you want to use in making tea boil. You can read the other story in between chores once done with the first one.

EZ: So we cannot say people are not reading? People want to read but they do not have time?

MC: Yes, people no longer have time to read the novel. But then there are people who still argue that the novel has always been an elitist form. Even where it came from, it was meant for a few, that is why at the centre of each novel there is an individual against society. Hence, the novel has always been followed by a few, even today it remains elitist.

EZ: I agree with you for people who could read were regarded highly in society because they were few.

MC: Indeed they were few and they are still few. It is not true that people are no longer reading because reading has always been a preserve of a few. Reading is never meant for hordes of people that is how I see it. The short story, therefore, may help in making reading a preoccupation for many, because of its enticement and time consciousness. Life is challenging so people are becoming busier by the day. It is enticing in terms of length, breath and all, that one does not feel that he or she has lost time for hustling.

EZ: Is it not challenging to write flash fiction?

MC: It is quite challenging. But I find Wonder Guchu’s “Sketches of High Density Life” (2005) interesting. He is one chap who has mastered the technique of the short story. Charles Mungoshi’s “Coming of the Dry Season” (1972) is another masterpiece. I agree with you that it is not easy to write short, short stories. It was a bit of a challenge to come up with the stories in “Tudikidiki”, although it appears to be simple. Even Stanley Nyamufukudza’s “Settlers” in “Aftermaths” is a good piece. Have you read it yet? That story almost got me insane, and I wrote a whole passage to describe it. Stanley Nyamufukudza is alone in the sense that his writing can be equated to painting, but his language is so simple that you don’t even need a dictionary.

EZ: But I find Stanley Nyamufukudza rather sceptical; am afraid that’s how I see him.

MC: No, he is not sceptical. His characters are not sceptical, but if you look closely at them you will realise that they see beyond their condition. They refuse to go along with the crowd; they help you to self-introspect and look at your relationships with others.

EZ: Do the characters solve problems that seem to weigh down on humanity?

MC: No, they do not come to solve any problems; they come to train you to grow into the habit of looking at life and issues sometimes on your own.

EZ: And find your own solutions?

MC: Yes, to give yourself a chance of listening to the drum within and outside the crowd, so that you get a different perspective. Some of us always want to dance with the crowd.

EZ: As Charles Mungoshi advocates in “Waiting for the Rain” (1975), one should learn to dance to one’s own drum!

MC: You should learn to step out of the crowd and this is what Stanley Nyamufukudza encourages.

EZ: I find the “Non-Believer’s Journey”, “If God was a Woman”, and stories in “Aftermaths” really thought provoking, notwithstanding the heightened hopelessness in the works.

MC: In “If God was a Woman”, he employs the technique of the South African short story, especially in the title story. It gives you the impression of South Africa, yet remaining a short story, which I also admire in Nyamufukudza’s writing.

EZ: So this tradition is not prominent in the Shona short story?

MC: That is true, although it is strange because the folkloric tradition is prominent in Shona, but sadly there is no short story tradition. I still haven’t found the answer to that.

EZ: Coming back to the issue of language, as you have pointed out in relation to Nyamukudza’s works, which is also notable in “Tudikidiki” and “Bhuku Risina Basa Nekuti Rakanyorwa Masikati”, what really should be the purpose of language? Does language remain static because I remember that when we were in high school there were some words which were not acceptable as Shona, but the same words are allowed now? The conversational language that you use, carries me away I must say!

MC: You are right, words like ticha, bonzo were not considered standard Shona. But in my books I use them. The Shona language has actually become richer, but teachers still believe that making language sophisticated enriches it. Even English borrows from Spanish, French, Italian and Germany, and the reverse is always true.

EZ: Why is it sometimes a writer takes 20 years or more to publish?

MC: It is because of the short story sequence, short story cycle, or poetry cycle. Say I have been writing in the past 10 years, the stories or poems within that period will be related. That will be the rate that I will be writing, which determines publication. The writer will be in a particular mode, whereby he or she will be stewing the work until such a time that he or she believes that he is ready to publish.

EZ: But some things will be changing as you go along, even your mindset about certain issues may change within that period you might be writing; how would you factor that in?

MC: The sequence can always be changed, depending on what new issues come up, so that it becomes a work of art coming from experiences of a certain period.

EZ: I have realised that something that may start as a vision into the future could actually come to fruition before one considers publication. In such instances how do you link it up sequentially?

MC: You sit down and decide how to link it up. Look at Charles Mungoshi’s “Coming of the Dry Season” (1972), “Shadows on the Wall” may not have been the first story to be written, but he could have considered it as the first one by virtue of it having the youngest protagonist. It may also be possible that “The Accident” was the first to be written, but because the boy in “Shadows on the Wall” could also be read as the unfortunate young man in the city who is run over by a car, so naturally the story has to be the last. The same boy can alternately be the protagonist in “The Crow”, and Julius in “The Hero”. Mungoshi could have realised that he was unconsciously following a sequence of events way into the book. He possibly could have discarded some stories outdone by time. That is why it is called a short story sequence.

EZ: What is your take on the emerging writers who publish a book or two within a month?

MC: Some can do it commendably, especially those who publish at least after a month. But those who write 20 or so poems within a night really beat me, particularly these younger writers. Reading one poem is reading all of them, because there is no sequence; there is no growth.

EZ: So to such a writer life is reduced to a single issue, in a single poem which is split into several poems?

MC: Yes, it’s just a single poem that is why such poetry is weak.

EZ: Indeed times, they are changing! Thank you so much for your time Memory Chirere.

MC: You are welcome!