I want to immortalize women in my book

Perhaps I should start by asking you about your background as a mother, a banker and a writer? Thank you, Abubakar. I am a mother of three: two girls and a boy. I grew up in Kano State, where I spent my first 19 years, attended the Federal College of Education, Kano where I briefly […]

Perhaps I should start by asking you about your background as a mother, a banker and a writer?

Thank you, Abubakar. I am a mother of three: two girls and a boy. I grew up in Kano State, where I spent my first 19 years, attended the Federal College of Education, Kano where I briefly studied English/Geography. I got married in 2001, relocated to Eastern Nigeria, and later went on to study Computer Science. Today, I work as a customer service officer at a bank, and it is an enjoyable one.

How did you fall in love with writing, what drove you to this lonely and demanding craft?

Writing didn’t come to me early as it did to most. As a child, I wasn’t one of those kids – the early readers, those that read for fun. I read because school demanded it and it stopped there. And writing, too, I wasn’t the ‘writerly’ type, just as my daughter is doing now, though I enjoyed listening to stories. I wasn’t particularly interested in the craft, though I wasn’t aversed to it either. I was more concerned with geography, with landscape and pictures and the atlas. Dad had, and I believe he still has, the picture books of maps with those beautiful landscapes and countries and their names. I measured, with my fingers, how so simple it was to cross from Africa to Asia and then Europe, and how it seemed as if the South American continent was torn away from the belly of West Africa, and was then pushed away by the vast Atlantic Ocean, which could, of course, be covered with my fingers. It was one of the reasons I loved geography as a secondary school student.

My quest to write began after some life changing experiences while growing up in Kano State. We lived in the Sabon Gari area of the state, and sometime in October, 1991, we experienced one of the bloodiest riots in Kano. I was nine and the images and horrors stayed with me.  The memory of that riot shaped the grown Ukamaka, who later became a writer.

Writing brought a kind of freedom. I was encouraged by my friend Idris Saliu – I won’t stop thanking him – to write after he read my scribbles. With writing you could recreate lives, shape lives, record phenomenal moments in our time, and of course, you have the power to make, to break, to become. And this profession helped heal me. Writing, for me, was the way I could express my mind.

How long did it take you to write Eyes of a Goddess?

I began writing Eyes of a Goddess back in June 2010. I made my first drafts which took me about three months to complete.  It was just the typical ramblings of a budding writer, riddled with mistakes and a whole lot of shoddy details and twisted narratives of one who had never had any formal or informal training on creative writing. I submitted it to a publishing house, but was not immediately rejected until after about two to three months. It was gruelling, because the publisher who had shown interest, after such a long time, wrote to me that he was sorry they couldn’t publish me, and that he wished me well. I was thoroughly shaken, because it wasn’t what I expected; if they had wanted to reject it, they should have done so and not let me pass through such an emotional torture of being in limbo. It is funny now; I’m happy I laugh about it. The pain of rejection hurt for some days. I didn’t tell my husband about it initially; he is so supportive and protective of my works. He is my greatest fan. I think the pain lasted a week longer, and when finally I told him, he said things I won’t forget easily; he restored my faith in myself and encouraged me to continue writing. I left that manuscript and delved completely into short story writing.

I was introduced to the world of Nigerian Writers by my friend Felix Abrahams Obi. He encouraged me to meet friends online, on Facebook, and I was in awe of the people I met and became friends with, sterling people like Okey Ndibe, Olu Oguibe, Nnorom Azuonye, Ikhide R. Ikheloa, Adunni Abimbola, Ayodele Olofintuade, Teresa Oyibo Ameh, Richard Ali, Mazi Chiagozie Nwonwu, and a lot of those who truly affected me in many positive ways. I must say, Felix truly helped me. He bought me books by Lola Shoneyin, Adaobi Tracia Nwaubani, Toni Kan, Sade Adeniran, The Caine Prize 2010 anthology. About ten books in all. I read these new voices and was amazed, and what thrilled me was that they were just like me. They opened my eyes; introduced me to this strange new world of writing that was quite different. And later, my short story, Girl to Woman, was published by Sentinel Nigeria. This story brought the attention I never expected.

Later, after I felt it was time to go back to the manuscript, I read it all over again and winced and squirmed: it was unpublishable. Richard Ali was very instrumental and dedicated to reading and editing it. He suggested that I rewrite it, and this took me another three months. He edited most parts of it, and while struggling to conclude the second part of the book – the book is divided in two parts – I met my publisher.

I understand your publishers discovered you on the internet. How exactly did this happen?

I was on Facebook I think around June 2011 when I got this message in my box from a Paul Nnodim. I can’t remember if I added him or if he did- I haven’t asked yet, but the content of the message made me dance and scream and cry at the same time. The memory of my reaction is all hazy now – my heart was beating so fast. You know, I was like this child begging for life and suddenly, out of nowhere, help came. I didn’t ask for it, I didn’t even think that such could happen – I was just a lady trying to prove herself, to act tough and strong in the world of professionals – I had zero idea of how to get that manuscript published. In fact I didn’t think that I would get such a message.

His message, I paraphrase, said that he discovered that we have a lot of friends in common and that he had just read my short story – Girl to Woman – on Sentinel Nigeria and that he would be glad if I permit him to publish it on paperback. Okay. I think I did a lot of screaming than crying – I can’t remember. I only remember that I hastily typed, “I have an unpublished novel! I have an unpublished novel”. Imagine that! Silly me. And he replied that I should send the first three chapters to him, which I did almost immediately. No, I think it was the next day because, apart from my mobile phone, I had no internet access on my laptop to enable me attach the document and send to him.

And that was how my journey began. Most times I felt I was in a dream and that I would wake up one day. This thing – luck, it happens to other people, not to Ukamaka. Ukamaka always works for everything. I believe in working for something; in being strong in tough times. But now I believe in miracles, and this experience is worth it.

Your lead character, Njideka brings to mind Chimamanda Adichie’s Kambili in Purple Hibiscus, in the sense that they are both fifteen and reserved. How much of an influence has Adichie had on your writing?

Abubakar, you do not determine influence just because two totally different characters are reserved. It rings beautiful to the ear when writers reel out their influences, like when Maya Angelou says she was influenced by James Baldwin, Charles Dickens, but then you find that they all write very differently. I do not yet understand what this new influence recent writers talk about. Some say it is a thing every writer should embrace: To walk in the footsteps of another and have their revered footprints stamped permanently, on the pages of their books. Last time I checked the dictionary, that word seemed contrived; it isn’t as it used to be – like older writers described it, it isn’t same as the power that others have in affecting our thinking and actions and the way we see. It is now, apparently, quite different today, and I fear that we might end up replicating the works of others and hide under the roof called “Influence”. There is a thin line between influence and outright copy and paste.

And on Njideka being reserved – though not as noticeably as Kambili, I think it came partly from me. As a teenager, I was very reserved. I also think during my teenage years, girls were either reserved or brazen. It is typical and is something every other woman would relate to. And Chimamanda is a great, beautiful story teller. It will be a pity if another writer wants to become like her, because there can only be one Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. Others will forever remain wannabes; second-rate. I found it interesting that Njideka has all these powers to save her people and yet can’t help herself from the abuses meted on her. Was there a specific reason you set her up that way?

Oh dear! It sounds so sweet the way you said it: Set up. Yes, we always set up our characters: Those who have been all good, we set stumbling blocks at unexpected points in their way to test their strength and faith; those who’ve been bad, we set them up with love, all just to prove how the human mind can be stretched, how we can adapt to or repel the natural and artificial forces that tend to make us or break us. Inasmuch as we created these people – they are no longer characters because they come alive in the pages, like you were dreaming and you are just watching them live their lives, and you only get to change a course in their lives – we don’t always know how they finally turn out, and most times, we are shocked because we have this destination, this perfect ending, and suddenly, something happens and we are thrown off balance.

Well, Njideka was to be a messiah who would save her people. You know, like the biblical Jesus. But she can’t save herself. This is because she was doubtful of who she really is, never really believed all her visions. She suffers a lot, yes, but finally comes  to in full knowledge of her power and strength. It is understandable, this fragile process, until that perfect time when her perseverance was stretched incredibly taut, until she broke!

Your book is significant in the sense that it talks about sensitive issues like corruption, poverty, and perhaps most importantly, sexual abuse of minors by their parents or guardians. How endemic a problem do you think this issue is?

See, Abubakar, we’ve all experienced one type of pain or the other. We’ve heard stories, sad stories; of girls being raped and abused. At about seventeen, I once watched Newsline and there was this story of a father who molested his daughters – a girl of three and the other at about a year old, and their mother only discovered while on a trip to London. She noticed from the blood staining the daughter’s diaper and when she asked the child, the child said her ‘daddy’ did that. It was horrible! The woman confessed on TV, telling of her own abuses from same man who wasn’t brought to book. She said he was a ‘big man’. My mother couldn’t stop crying.  I felt this anger to reach across the TV, pull out the woman from the screen and beat the hell out of her for not doing the first thing I thought I would ordinarily have done as a mother: to shoot the man to blazes and own up to it. I’ve heard of step-fathers who raped their daughters, of men who got little girls pregnant and deny it. One particular story still haunt me till death – I don’t know if you remember it, it was also on  Newsline then – it was about a  little girl of ten or eleven impregnated by this man of over forty. She was so slight and thin with this bloated stomach like she had kwashiorkor, while the man was so older and bigger, like he could squash her. I kept wondering how that girl had felt  – I keep convincing myself that she was raped. How else could such a man have his way with such a baby? Back at secondary school, JSS 3 to be precise, there was this quiet girl – extremely quiet girl – who once blurted that she would never ever have anything to do with a man in her life. Then she withdrew. She left school when she wasn’t doing well in school, and now, to think of it, I just wish I can recognise her again, to know her and hug her.

It was on the premise of all these stories, that my story came. But it is sad that these are sometime sensational in the news; people talk about them and moan, and later it is all forgotten, as if the victims finally disappeared and the world returned to be a better place once again, only for balance to be disrupted by occasional hiccups. Whatever happened to telling their stories, these ‘broken’ ones? How do we help? I think it’s time we all began to listen to these muffled voices, to retell their ordeals and maybe they would be born again. That’s what Eyes of a Goddess tries to do; to tell about these goddesses and to recreate their lives and give them a meaning to living.

Eye of a Goddess draws a lot on Igbo traditions and the myth of reincarnation. Is there anything like the myth of Isele in Igbo traditions?

My late paternal grandmother, Mama Nnukwu, was also called Isele. I wanted to immortalise her, and what better way than to do so in my book? She was a strong woman who single-handedly raised her children after her husband died. She waited until I was married before she passed on. I will always remember her kindness and strength. I see her in my father; in his kind but strong ways. I see her around us, in our resilience and zeal in life. Next is my maternal grandmother who passed on last year, I secretly called her Omalicha. She was so fair and so beautiful, yet so strong. Her husband also died when her children were still little and she was left to raise her six girls and only son. And finally is my mother, Nkiruka Okoye, my superwoman. I don’t know what else to call her; she is so tall, beautifully built– an Agbala Nwanyi.  She is everything I want to ever be, I wouldn’t wish for another mother. She married early and stubbornly joined dear Dad to work and fend for us. And when the storms of life rocked our home, their combined efforts saved us from sliding into severe poverty.

I felt a need to extol women in my book, yes. I have known them to be strong, to remain standing no matter how many times the rug that is life is pulled from under their feet. They remain standing. So, I proudly must state here, that these women influenced me. I have every bit of them in me.

And yes, I truly believe in reincarnation. I am Igbo before I became a Christian. I believe in that we come again. The Igbo call it ‘ino-uwa’, to come again.

What was the biggest challenge you had to face writing this book?

The biggest challenge was in trying to combine home, work and writing. I must say, it is very challenging. At a point I was so zapped I just started crying. I deprived my children of the much needed attention. I did a lot of thinking, a lot of research; in fact, my family suffered my absence – yes I was there with them, but I wasn’t really there. I had to present the perfect front at work, and then I come home to resume writing. I had to meet up with my publisher’s demand. I didn’t have adequate sleep; they were rather fitful, because I woke up most times those nights to type till day break. I grew so thin that my supervisor had to ask if I was sick. It was tortuous, like a difficult labour, but satisfying only when I was done. I marvelled at what I accomplished – I couldn’t believe it. And I grew fatter again, thank God.

And what lesson have you learnt as a first time writer while writing this book? Is there anything you wish you had done differently?

I learned, first, to always chant my mantra ‘I believe in me, I believe in me’, even when I didn’t. It helped, still helps. Someone said that the worst threat to creativity is self doubt, and this is so true. Teach yourself to believe in you first, to love you first, and then you will successfully open that door that leads to the next level. I learned to pay attention to details and then, this is important: Get a third eye to read your work. I’ve heard a renowned writer say she doesn’t need to have a third eye read her work. Well, maybe there goes the cliché, ‘different strokes for different folks’. But I encourage younger writers to always let a third eye read their work.