Always use the word ‘Africa’ or ‘Darkness’ or ‘Safari’ in your title.
Subtitles may include the words‘Zanzibar’, ‘Masai’, ‘Zulu’, ‘Zambezi’, ‘Congo’, ‘Nile’, ‘Big’, ‘Sky’, ‘Shadow’, ‘Drum’, ‘Sun’ or ‘Bygone’. Also useful are words such as ‘Guerrillas’, ‘Timeless’, ‘Primordial’ and ‘Tribal’. Note that ‘People’ means Africans who are not black, while ‘The People’ means black Africans.
Never have a picture of a well-adjusted African on the cover of your
book, or in it, unless that African has won the Nobel Prize. An AK-47,
prominent ribs, naked breasts: use these. If you must include an African, make
sure you get one in Masai or Zulu or Dogon dress.
In your text, treat Africa as if it were one country. It is hot and
dusty with rolling grasslands and huge herds of animals and tall, thin people
who are starving. Or it is hot and steamy with very short people who eat
primates. Don’t get bogged down with precise descriptions. Africa is big:
fifty-four countries, 900 million people who are too busy starving and dying
and warring and emigrating to read your book. The continent is full of deserts,
jungles, highlands, savannahs and many other things, but your reader doesn’t
care about all that, so keep your descriptions romantic and evocative and
unparticular.
Make sure you show how Africans have music and rhythm deep in their
souls, and eat things no other humans eat. Do not mention rice and beef and
wheat; monkey-brain is an African's cuisine of choice, along with goat, snake,
worms and grubs and all manner of game meat. Make sure you show that you are
able to eat such food without flinching, and describe how you learn to enjoy it—because
you care.
Taboo subjects: ordinary domestic scenes, love between Africans
(unless a death is involved), references to African writers or intellectuals,
mention of school-going children who are not suffering from yaws or Ebola fever
or female genital mutilation.
Throughout the book, adopt a sotto voice, in conspiracy with
the reader, and a sad I-expected-so-much tone. Establish early on that
your liberalism is impeccable, and mention near the beginning how much you love
Africa, how you fell in love with the place and can’t live without her. Africa
is the only continent you can love—take advantage of this. If you are a man,
thrust yourself into her warm virgin forests. If you are a woman, treat Africa
as a man who wears a bush jacket and disappears off into the sunset. Africa is
to be pitied, worshipped or dominated. Whichever angle you take, be sure to
leave the strong impression that without your intervention and your important
book, Africa is doomed.
Your African characters may include naked warriors, loyal servants,
diviners and seers, ancient wise men living in hermitic splendour. Or corrupt
politicians, inept polygamous travel-guides, and prostitutes you have slept
with. The Loyal Servant always behaves like a seven-year-old and needs a firm
hand; he is scared of snakes, good with children, and always involving you in
his complex domestic dramas. The Ancient Wise Man always comes from a noble
tribe (not the money-grubbing tribes like the Gikuyu, the Igbo or the Shona).
He has rheumy eyes and is close to the Earth. The Modern African is a fat man
who steals and works in the visa office, refusing to give work permits to
qualified Westerners who really care about Africa. He is an enemy of
development, always using his government job to make it difficult for pragmatic
and good-hearted expats to set up NGOs or Legal Conservation Areas. Or he is an
Oxford-educated intellectual turned serial-killing politician in a Savile Row
suit. He is a cannibal who likes Cristal champagne, and his mother is a rich
witch-doctor who really runs the country.
Among your characters you must always include The Starving African,
who wanders the refugee camp nearly naked, and waits for the benevolence of the
West. Her children have flies on their eyelids and pot bellies, and her breasts
are flat and empty. She must look utterly helpless. She can have no past, no
history; such diversions ruin the dramatic moment. Moans are good. She must
never say anything about herself in the dialogue except to speak of her
(unspeakable) suffering. Also be sure to include a warm and motherly woman who
has a rolling laugh and who is concerned for your well-being. Just call her
Mama. Her children are all delinquent. These characters should buzz around your
main hero, making him look good. Your hero can teach them, bathe them, feed
them; he carries lots of babies and has seen Death. Your hero is you (if
reportage), or a beautiful, tragic international celebrity/aristocrat who now
cares for animals (if fiction).
Bad Western characters may include children of Tory cabinet ministers,
Afrikaners, employees of the World Bank. When talking about exploitation by
foreigners mention the Chinese and Indian traders. Blame the West for Africa's
situation. But do not be too specific.
Broad brushstrokes throughout are good. Avoid having the African
characters laugh, or struggle to educate their kids, or just make do in mundane
circumstances. Have them illuminate something about Europe or America in
Africa. African characters should be colourful, exotic, larger than life—but
empty inside, with no dialogue, no conflicts or resolutions in their stories,
no depth or quirks to confuse the cause.
Describe, in detail, naked breasts (young, old, conservative, recently
raped, big, small) or mutilated genitals, or enhanced genitals. Or any kind of
genitals. And dead bodies. Or, better, naked dead bodies. And especially
rotting naked dead bodies. Remember, any work you submit in which people look
filthy and miserable will be referred to as the ‘real Africa’, and you want
that on your dust jacket. Do not feel queasy about this: you are trying to help
them to get aid from the West. The biggest taboo in writing about Africa is to
describe or show dead or suffering white people.
Animals, on the other hand, must be treated as well rounded, complex
characters. They speak (or grunt while tossing their manes proudly) and have
names, ambitions and desires. They also have family values: see how lions
teach their children? Elephants are caring, and are good feminists or
dignified patriarchs. So are gorillas. Never, ever say anything negative about
an elephant or a gorilla. Elephants may attack people’s property, destroy their
crops, and even kill them. Always take the side of the elephant. Big cats have
public-school accents. Hyenas are fair game and have vaguely Middle Eastern
accents. Any short Africans who live in the jungle or desert may be portrayed
with good humour (unless they are in conflict with an elephant or chimpanzee or
gorilla, in which case they are pure evil).
After celebrity activists and aid workers, conservationists are Africa’s
most important people. Do not offend them. You need them to invite you to their
30,000-acre game ranch or ‘conservation area’, and this is the only way you
will get to interview the celebrity activist. Often a book cover with a heroic-looking
conservationist on it works magic for sales. Anybody white, tanned and wearing
khaki who once had a pet antelope or a farm is a conservationist, one who is
preserving Africa’s rich heritage. When interviewing him or her, do not ask how
much funding they have; do not ask how much money they make off their game.
Never ask how much they pay their employees.
Readers will be put off if you don’t mention the light in Africa. And
sunsets, the African sunset is a must. It is always big and red. There is always
a big sky. Wide empty spaces and game are critical—Africa is the Land of Wide
Empty Spaces. When writing about the plight of flora and fauna, make sure you
mention that Africa is overpopulated. When your main character is in a desert
or jungle living with indigenous peoples (anybody short) it is okay to mention
that Africa has been severely depopulated by Aids and War (use caps).
You’ll also need a nightclub called Tropicana, where mercenaries, evil
nouveau riche Africans and prostitutes and guerrillas and expats hang out.
Always end your book with Nelson Mandela saying something about
rainbows or renaissances. Because you care. ■
By Binyavanga Wainaina
Source: Granta
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