Literature of Africa

African literature reflects the diverse cultures, languages, histories, and experiences of the continent. It
often addresses themes such as identity, colonialism, post-colonialism, independence, social issues, and
cultural heritage. Traditional African literature was primarily oral, passed down through generations via
storytelling, songs, proverbs, and folklore. These oral traditions are still influential in contemporary
African literature.

Prominent African writers have gained international recognition for their contributions to literature,
shedding light on the richness and complexity of African cultures and societies. African literature
continues to evolve and thrive, showcasing the creativity and talent of African writers on the global stage.

The Story of the Dress that Sang

A West African Tale

The Krachi relates how Anansi and the Chameleon used to live in the same town. Anansi was a rich man
and had plenty of children to help him with his farming, but the Chameleon was only a poor man and
alone had to till his farm. Now it chanced that one year the rain fell only on the Chameleon’s farm, and on
Anansi’s there was a complete drought. Thus, the spider’s farm did not come up at all and the
Chameleon’s was already well up and a good harvest was promised.

This annoyed Anansi and one day he called on the Chameleon and asked him if he would sell him his
farm, but the Chameleon said he would not, as, if he did, he would not be able to get any food during the
dry season. Then, Anansi was even angrier than before and swore he would have a revenge on the
Chameleon.

Now it happens that chameleons do not make any roads as others do. They like to walk over the grass and
bushes. Thus, there was no path leading from the Chameleon’s house to his farm. So that night, Anansi
called all his children together and told them to clean and make a good path from his compound to the
Chameleon’s farm. At first, they begged their father not to do this, but as he insisted they obeyed him in
the morning there was finished a clean road and a well – used one leading from Anansi’s house to the
farm.

Anansi at once went to the farm and began to pull up some cassava. Presently the Chameleon came along
and saw Anansi taking his cassava and called out: ―Hi! Anansi, what are you doing in my farm?‖ Anansi
at once replied: ―Go away and do not vex me. Can you not see that I am busy working in my farm?‖

―Your farm,‖ cried the Chameleon; ―why, it is my farm, and everyone knows that.‖ ―Do not be silly; go
away,‖ answered the Spider, ―or I shall get angry and kill you.‖

So the Chameleon went away and laid a complaint before the chief. Anansi was sent for, and when both
had told him how the far was theirs, the chief asked the proofs. Then Anansi said: ―That is easy. I have a
path from my house straight to the farm, which the Chameleon is falsely claiming. He has no path.‖

The chief saw that if Anansi was speaking true then verify the farm must be his. So he sent his messenger
to see and the man came back and said that it was so. Then the Chameleon was asked what he had to say,
and he said that he did not know anything about the path, that he always used to go there over the bushes
and grass. This made the chief laugh, and he at once gave the farm to Anansi, who took all his children
with him and gathered the crops.

The Chameleon did not know what to do. He was very poor and had but little food left to keep him alive.
So he went to his house and shut the door and refused to see anyone. For many days he remained thus,
thinking over his wrongs and wondering how to get revenge. Then he began to dig a hole. He dug and
dug and dug and made an immense well. It went far down. No man had ever seen such a well. When the
Chameleon thought he had made it large enough, he made some mud and began to roof the well so that
soon only a very small hole was left.

Then the Chameleon went out to see Anansi. He came to the latter’s house and greeted him: ―Master, I
am only a poor man. May I go to your farm and glean what you have left there?‖ And Anansi was pleased
at the Chameleon’s humility and told him he could. But there was little in the thinking that he was
properly humbled, again sat alone in his house. This time he amused himself in catching hundreds and
hundreds of that great fly which makes so big a bussing noise. These he tied to some dried yam vines
which he had brought back from his farm.

One day, the chief sent messengers to all the land to call his people together, and from every place people
came into the town. Then the Chameleon arose and covered himself with the dried yam vines and walked
slowly like a proud and rich man to the chief’s compound, and as he went he kept swinging his strange
costume and the flies being shaken buzzed more and more, everyone admired it and the chief himself
asked to buy it. But the Chameleon refused and went home. Now Anansi was late for the meeting, and
when he did arrive everyone was talking about this wonderful costume. The chief told Anansi that the
Chameleon had refused to sell it, and Anansi said that that was nothing, and that he would buy it and
would bring it to the chief.

He went and called on the Chameleon. ―Friend,‖ he said, ―I hear you have a most wonderful cloak, which
wherever you walk sings to you. Is this so?‖ The Chameleon answered that it was so, and then Anansi
asked him if he would sell it.

The Chameleon at first refused, but after a time, did agree to sell it if Anansi would give him some food.
Anansi asked how much food he would want, and the Chameleon said that he did not require a great deal,
merely enough to fill the hole which Anansi himself could see. Then, Anansi laughed and said that he
would willingly do that and to show that he bore him no grudge, he would give him twice as much.

Then Anansi went to his own house and called his children and told them to come with him and each to
carry a little food. They went to the Chameleon’s house and began to fill the hole with the food they had
brought. But that hole could not be filled. All the family of Anansi worked and for many days they carried
the corn and other food to fill the hole and always the Chameleon reminded Anansi that he had promised
twice the amount.

Anansi did not know what to do. He had finished all the food that had been stored in his own bins and
granaries and he had sent out in all directions to buy food. But still the hole was not filled. He sold his
sheep and his cows and everything that he had, for he knew that when he did get the cloak the chief would
repay him. But he could not fill the hole.

Then when the Chameleon saw that Anansi was no longer a rich man and that he had no food left for
himself he called him and said: "Friend, you have not paid me the agreed-on price. But I am not a hard
man and will now forgive you the rest of the debt. Here is the cloak." Saying this he took out the cloak
from its box and put it over the shoulders of Anansi. But the cloak had been a long time in the box and the
strings which held the flies were all rotted. This Anansi did not know, and when he went outside and
began to swing the robe the flies all buzzed, but suddenly there came a strong blast of wind and shook the
cloak too much. All the flies were released and flew away and left Anansi dressed only in the dried vine
stalks of the yams.
 Half A Day, A short story by Naguib Mahfouz

I proceeded alongside my father, clutching his right hand, running to keep up with the long strides he was
taking. All my clothes were new: the black shoes, the green school uniform, and the red tarboosh. My
delight in my new clothes, however, was not altogether unmarred, for this was no feast day but the day on
which I was to be cast into school for the first time.

My mother stood at the window watching our progress, and I would turn toward her from time to time, as
though appealing for help. We walked along a street lined with gardens; on both sides were extensive
fields planted with crops, prickly pears, henna trees, and a few date palms.

―Why school?‖ I challenged my father openly. ―I shall never do anything to annoy you.‖

―I’m not punishing you,‖ he said, laughing. ―School’s not a punishment. It’s the factory that makes useful
men out of boys. Don’t you want to be like your father and brothers?‖

I was not convinced. I did not believe there was really any good to be had in tearing me away from the
intimacy of my home and throwing me into this building that stood at the end of the road like some huge,
high-walled fortress, exceedingly stern and grim.

When we arrived at the gate we could see the courtyard, vast and crammed full of boys and girls. ―Go in
by yourself,‖ said my father, ―and join them. Put a smile on your face and be a good example to others.‖ I
hesitated and clung to his hand, but he gently pushed me from him. ―Be a man,‖ he said. ―Today you truly
begin life. You will find me waiting for you when it’s time to leave.‖

I took a few steps, then stopped and looked but saw nothing. Then the faces of boys and girls came into
view. I did not know a single one of them, and none of them knew me. I felt I was a stranger who had lost
his way. But glances of curiosity were directed toward me, and one boy approached and asked, ―Who
brought you?‖

―My father,‖ I whispered. ―My father’s dead,‖ he said quite simply. I did not know what to say. The gate
was closed, letting out a pitiable screech.

Some of the children burst into tears. The bell rang. A lady came along, followed by a group of men.
The men began sorting us into ranks. We were formed into an intricate pattern in the great courtyard
surrounded on three sides by high buildings of several floors; from each floor we were overlooked by a
long balcony roofed in wood.

―This is your new home,‖ said the woman. ―Here too there are mothers and fathers. Here there is
everything that is enjoyable and beneficial to knowledge and religion. Dry your tears and face life
joyfully.‖

We submitted to the facts, and this submission brought a sort of contentment. Living beings were drawn
to other living beings, and from the first moments my heart made friends with such boys as were to be my
friends and fell in love with such girls as I was to be in love with, so that it seemed my misgivings had
had no basis. I had never imagined school would have this rich variety. We played all sorts of different
games: swings, the vaulting horse, ball games. In the music room we chanted our first songs. We also had
our first introduction to language. We saw a globe of the Earth, which revolved and showed the various
continents and countries. We started learning the numbers. The story of the Creator of the universe was
read to us, we were told of His present world and of His Hereafter, and we heard examples of what He
said. We ate delicious food, took a little nap, and woke up to go on with friendship and love, play and
learning.

As our path revealed itself to us, however, we did not find it as totally sweet and unclouded as we had
presumed. Dust-laden winds and unexpected accidents came about suddenly, so we had to be watchful, at
the ready, and very patient. It was not all a matter of playing and fooling around. Rivalries could bring
about pain and hatred or give rise to fighting. And while the lady would sometimes smile, she would
often scowl and scold. Even more frequently she would resort to physical punishment.

In addition, the time for changing one’s mind was over and gone and there was no question of ever
returning to the paradise of home. Nothing lay ahead of us but exertion, struggle, and perseverance. Those
who were able took advantage of the opportunities for success and happiness that presented themselves
amid the worries.

The bell rang announcing the passing of the day and the end of work. The throngs of children rushed
toward the gate, which was opened again. I bade farewell to friends and sweethearts and passed through
the gate. I peered around but found no trace of my father, who had promised to be there. I stepped aside to
wait. When I had waited for a long time without avail, I decided to return home on my own. After I had
taken a few steps, a middle-aged man passed by, and I realized at once that I knew him. He came toward
me, smiling, and shook me by the hand, saying, ―It’s a long time since we last met—how are you?‖

With a nod of my head, I agreed with him and in turn asked, ―And you, how are you?‖

―As you can see, not all that good, the Almighty be praised!‖ Again he shook me by the hand and went
off. I proceeded a few steps, then came to a startled halt. Good Lord! Where was the street lined with
gardens? Where had it disappeared to? When did all these vehicles invade it? And when did all these
hordes of humanity come to rest upon its surface? How did these hills of refuse come to cover its sides?
And where were the fields that bordered it? High buildings had taken over, the street surged with
children, and disturbing noises shook the air. At various points stood conjurers showing off their tricks
and making snakes appear from baskets. Then there was a band announcing the opening of a circus, with
clowns and weight lifters walking in front. A line of trucks carrying central security troops crawled
majestically by. The siren of a fire engine shrieked, and it was not clear how the vehicle would cleave its
way to reach the blazing fire. A battle raged between a taxi driver and his passenger, while the
passenger’s wife called out for help and no one answered. Good God! I was in a daze. My head spun. I
almost went crazy. How could all this have happened in half a day, between early morning and sunset? I
would find the answer at home with my father. But where was my home? I could see only tall buildings
and hordes of people. I hastened on to the crossroads between the gardens and Abu Khoda. I had to cross
Abu Khoda to reach my house, but the stream of cars would not let up. The fire engine’s siren was
shrieking at full pitch as it moved at a snail’s pace, and I said to myself, ―Let the fire take its pleasure in
what it consumes.‖ Extremely irritated, I wondered when I would be able to cross. I stood there a long
time, until the young lad employed at the ironing shop on the corner came up to me. He stretched out his
arm and said gallantly, ―Grandpa, let me take you across.‖

From The Time and the Place and Other Stories by Naguib Mahfouz. Reprinted by permission of The
American University of Cairo Press.
 My Country for Mandela by Zindziswa Mandela

I stand by the gate

School’s Out
Smoke fills the location
Tears come into my eyes

I wipe them away

I walk into the kitchen
To see my mother’s
Black hard-working hands
A forceful smile from
A tired face

We sit and have supper

I pick up a picture of
My father and look
My mother turns away
Tries to hide

My father left my mother

In his arms
He is roughly separated from her

The van pulls away

Mother watches
Bravely enough.
I as a child do
Not understand
My heart aches
How I long to see my father

At least to hold his hand

And comfort him
Or at least tell him
He’ll be back someday.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tc_VL3awV-k

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe

Bones, A play by Sadru Kassam