Why creativity is becoming a luxury for Africa's young talent

One of the best works about the travails of a struggling writer is Keep the Aspidistra Flying, published by Victor Gollancz Ltd in 1936. The novel by George Orwell, whose real name was Eric Arthur Blair, tells the story of Gordon Comstock, a 29-year-old writer who quits his copywriter’s job at a prestigious advertising firm and takes up a nearly voluntary job at a small bookshop.

Comstock expects a poetry book he has just published, titled Mice, to be a runaway success. And he wants to be there at the bookshop to witness history being made, with copies of Mice flying off the shelves. But woe unto Comstock. People come into the store, buy books on raising dogs or gardening, pay, walk out and mingle with the madding crowds yonder without as much as a second look at Mice.

So he continues living in a dimly lit lodging house, where he has to survive on cold beef and black coffee, always dodging the owner over rent arrears. Sometimes he gets invited to literary events where he could meet serious editors who can hook him up with a side gig, but the mail often arrives long after the deadline. Or when the invitation comes early, there is another letter, which arrives late, announcing that the event has been postponed.

So Gordon Comstock shows up at the venue, only to find that there is no one there, and he has to trudge back to his miserable life in utterly insalubrious conditions. That is the fate of Gordon Comstock, author of Mice, 29 years old and already “moth-eaten”.

And every time I think about the art of writing and publishing good fiction, my mind wanders to the fictional character called Gordon Comstock. For the last two decades,

I have been talking to award-winning writers and talented people, some of whom have written only one or two works of art. Every time you ask why they have never quite launched into a full-time writing career, the answer jolts you back into reality. Back to terra firma.

We like to imagine writers inhabiting a romantic, idealised world. In reality, many, especially those from modest backgrounds, are consumed by worries about food, rent and other basic needs, leaving little room for writing. They may know that a novella or short story could open new opportunities and income streams, but finding the time and mental space to write is often difficult. Theirs is the life of Gordon Comstock on a much larger scale.

Loss of purpose

That is why I salute efforts to create room for writers to hone their skills, create new books, get feedback from critics and publishers’ literary advisers and eventually get published.

One of the best examples of efforts to empower writers is the African Writers Trust, an organisation based in Kampala, Uganda, which identifies talent and organises workshops where writers from Africa and the African diaspora meet their peers, refine their work and receive feedback from professionals in the publishing world. AWT and its founder and executive director, Goretti Kyomuhendo, are doing something that we should all emulate.

In much of Africa, millions of graduates pour into the streets every year looking for largely non-existent jobs. Among these multitudes of youth are talented writers who may have discovered their gifts in their early teens.

Unfortunately, they are thrust too early into the rat race of looking for the next meal and never get a safe space to let their creativity flow. And you will agree with me that few tensions can rival those of creativity straining for expression.

Many retreat into themselves. Some experience frustration, loss of purpose and social isolation. Psychologists have long observed that when people are unable to express important aspects of their identity or realise their potential, they may become vulnerable to anxiety, depression, substance abuse and other maladaptive coping mechanisms. The loss is not merely personal. Society also loses the benefits of their creativity.

So, while much is said in policy forums about the creative economy, the need to create a pathway for writers to hone their talents remains largely ignored. True, legacy publishers often retreat with writers for workshops, sometimes in Limuru or the scenic environs of Kisaju.

However, most workshops today focus on textbook development. Occasionally, a few creative writers are included, but usually to produce curriculum-aligned readers under deadlines that constrain rather than nurture creativity.

So how can this be cured, lest we appear to be whining without offering solutions?

First, we must separate talent identification from publishing. Publishers discover talent only when promising manuscripts reach them. Yet writing often requires time and stability, meaning those with fewer daily struggles are more likely to complete a manuscript. As a result, creativity risks becoming an elitist pursuit in East Africa, as it has in many other sectors.

The idea is for foundations, literary agencies, corporates through corporate social responsibility initiatives, universities and other stakeholders to develop a strategy for tapping creativity among the youth.

This would not only earn these youths recognition; it would also create jobs and wealth through royalties. A bit of training for such winners would easily link them with literary markets. Once they learn how to pitch and align their writing with the requirements of publishers and journals, they would not need to walk around with brown envelopes and dusty shoes looking for nine-to-five jobs.

Instead, they would inspire others and serve as guest speakers at forums recruiting the next cohort of talent. These strategies, coupled with fully sponsored residencies, awards and literary prizes for older writers, would go a long way towards easing the challenge of unemployment.

This would be good for the economy and, psychologically, far more fulfilling for budding writers than shipping them off to break their backs in Gulf countries doing jobs for which they were never suited in the first place.