Parables and Metaphors: The Sounds of Africa in a Universal Age

Parables and metaphors dominate the narrative in African Roar, a recently released collection of short stories edited by Emmanuel Sigauke and Ivor W. Hartmann. Marketed as representing a cross section of contemporary African authors, this slim volume makes a big sound and is worth reading for the quality of its voice and tambor, for the depth of its rhythm and texture.

Because of the generally light nature of parables, one could be forgiven for thinking that this anthology would make for fun summer reading under the beach umbrella. It's not and it won't. Rather, African Roar deals with complex issues such as domestic abuse, romantic fidelity and friendship treachery, the hopelessness of chronic unemployment, political corruption and personal rage. It's a weighty collection handling some of the most compelling problems in the world today, and it does so with depth, integrity and richness.

Take for example Masimba Musodza's "Yesterday's Dog" which presents Stanley, a middle aged man who was a victim of torture at the hands of Rhodesian Security Forces many years ago as a college student. When the story opens, Stanley holds the reader's sympathy for having endured being "hauled [like] a rabbit out of a cage by its ears" and who "howl[s] like a wild animal with its paw in a trap" when the military police brutally arrest him in front of his family based on false charges. During his time in custody Stanley is beaten, waterboarded, and electricuted.  Interspered with the detailed descriptions of torture Musodza offers several references to animals such as baboons and chained dogs. The metaphor is apt and prompts the reader to reflect on the nature of humanity. Who is the animal when one human is torturing another? The victim who is called a dog, or the one who beats the victim like a dog?

Like all good parables, the reader learns something as the story progresses. In this case, the reader's identification with Stanley as a hero and survivor wanes. This shift in sympathy comes about when Stanley's vocation -- "the place where he worked" -- is revealed. In short, Stanley becomes that which he survived. "He was that old man now," a torturer who was "commending himself to the mercy of those who were his victims." The victim goes on to be a victimizer, and thus by perpetuating the pain and dehumanization of others he becomes "yesterday's dog."

Because of African Roar's title and the forwarding remarks about how this collection is written primarily by writers of the African Diaspora, one could also be forgiven for thinking this is a book only about African issues. It's not and it isn't. Rather, African Roar confronts and challenges the reader from every continent. One important way in which this is achieved is through narrative voice and perspective. A good example can be found in "Big Pieces, Little Pieces" by Novuyo Rosa Tshuma. In this instance, the narrator's use of "you" oddly personalizes the pain, thereby making the reader become the storyteller in such a way that the sick in the belly feeling, the ache in the soul expression of a mother's death can't be separated from the words on the page. The reader is the read. Are "you" feeling this because "you shut your eyes tight and drag the snot back up your nose . . . because it's all your fault" that Mama is dead? Or because Tshuma the author so handily builds a convincing character full of guilt and childlike responsibility. Once "you" recover from the weight of the drama, the poignancy of the personalized voice and the loss of childhood innocence, the universal consequences of domestic violence is felt. Is wife battering just an African experience? Of course not! Men batter women around the world, on every continent. It's an underrated bane of female existence. And it is certainly not "just" an African issue.  Perhaps it's just that what happens in Africa is a parable for what happens to all of humanity.

Finally, lest one think that all of the stories in African Roar are grim reminders of human frailty, there is the comedic "Quarterback & Co." by Chuma Nwokolo, Jr to lighten our spirits. In a satire of corporate culture, Nwokolo has produced a remarkable piece of African style magical realism.  Without giving too much away, it can be safely shared that one of the main characters is a pot smoking mosquito named Quarterback who saves a diasporic efficiency analysis manager working in the U.K. from sleep deprivation. But only for a time. And to hear the ending of the story, get a copy of African Roar and listen for yourself.