A Living Literary Legend
Jan 19, 2003
I WOULD like to talk to Ama,†he asks the organiser of the workshop taking place at our National Theatre’s Green Room.
By Ayeta Wangusa
I WOULD like to talk to Ama,†he asks the organiser of the workshop taking place at our National Theatre’s Green Room. “Who are you and no, you cannot see her because as you can see, she is busy...†came the reply of the agitated organiser, irritated by his confidence and cryptic dialogue. He suddenly withdraws into an apology for what has been interpreted as a rude interjection, and for his sudden humility, he is allowed to step up and say hello to Ama, who is wearing head-gear. The year is 2000.
I’m curious about this man who seems to know Ghanaian Ama Ata Aidoo, from years past, and when she stretches her hand out to say hello, her sparkling slit-eyes light up with recognition.
“Is this John, John Ruganda?†He nods his head, almost secretly, as if to say, “don’t say it too loudly.†But I have read Ama’s lips, and I have watched the up-and-down movement of his head. I nudge the workshop organiser, who is seated next to me at break-time, but her mind is on the participants of the workshop. “Gwe, That’s John Ruganda!â€
Her eyes become round circles and she exclaims. “No, you cannot be serious!†She is cupping her mouth, remembering her earlier fracas with the intruder. It is my turn to move my head up-and-down as I stifle a giggle.
I watch her make her move and she walks up to the front to make an introduction of herself. They forget their earlier mêlée and they hug! What happened to the old adage, ‘first impressions are lasting impressions!’ I’m not surprised, for she is a writer.
I step up after her and stretch out my hand. Am EXCITED, but I do not hug him. I was raised not to go about hugging strangers. But is he really a stranger? I have met him through Wamala in The Burdens, through Nankya in The Floods!
We cajole him to attend our workshop. He declines and promises he will meet us at the Writers Night, come Saturday, when we have let our hair down.
We wait. But on Saturday he doesn’t show up. It is dark. There is a bonfire around which we have gathered to read our poetry, but we do not see his figure hovering about through the light of the dancing flames.
By Monday I have forgotten what he looks like, but still hope he will show up. I am dying to tell him that I enjoyed reading The Burdens more than I did The Floods. Perhaps it is because I read The Burdens when I had not yet introduced my lips to the brown bottles, and I would wonder what my Literature teacher meant when he described the character of Wamala in three instances as: “Wamala drunk, Wamala ‘drunk’ and Wamala sober.â€
With The Floods I was a little older, more aware about my femininity, so I wondered how Nankya’s mum could have kept her pregnancy after being raped by countless soldiers.
Because of The Floods, I have still resisted boat riding. This calls to mind those words: “The Call of the beckon, no one can resist it.â€
So I decided to find him, through the letters page of The New Vision and he got back to me, via my cellphone, while I attended an editorial meeting at FEMRITE. “Hallo,†— I’m never formal on my phone, because I guess whoever has called knows me. (Well not all. The woman who missed a digit when calling her hubby must have been riled when she heard my voice. “Who is that? What are doing with my husband’s phone?†She was almost crying before she hung up)! Well, Ruganda was cryptic on the other end of the line, and I was a second short of becoming rude. Then he disclosed his identity and I blushed, and we started chatting. He was no longer in the country and was now back home.
The University of the North, South Africa is where he is now based. I was exhilarated after I hung up and stopped the meeting to announce my historic call. I cannot say Ruganda is my favourite writer. I guess my enchantment grew from the fact that he was the only living Ugandan writer I had read in school from that generation (apart from you know who — TW!)
As I was soon to discover, being cryptic was part and parcel of Ruganda. The next time he called, he was in Uganda! He had not responded to my mail, but he was in Uganda. And we were to meet for a drink. He would later call to cancel the date, because the sky was grey, and he was in no mood to go out. A writer’s mood indeed!
We eventually met, at Mama Mia, my favourite restaurant, two years after our first meeting, and to make sure I didn’t walk to the wrong table, I was looking for a man, my father’s age, tallish, with be-spectacled eyes.
Me and my companion, the workshop organiser (the one who hugged him the first time we met), made him out. We sat near Ruganda who clutched his orange-juice glass as the evening grew old, talking about things that mattered to only writers e.g. the 1960s’ African Writers’ Conference, at Makerere University, which drew literary giants like Chinua Achebe and Ngugi wa Thiongo. It is at that meeting that Christopher Okigbo declared East Africa a literary desert, whereupon the word was picked up by Taban lo Liyong’s mouth and later spit out, the curse henceforth being attributed to him.
We talked about the death of Literature during the dark days of Idi Amin and how 1986 was a turning point for the wordsmiths in Uganda. We then focussed on the new voices that had emerged through the platform of FEMRITE.
“We feel like orphans,†the workshop organiser said. “We need you people, the first generation of writers to inspire us. That’s why we hold an annual week of activities each year, to revitalise the spirit of writing in Uganda.â€
When the evening came to an end, we knew we had tickled his consciousness and we knew he would come back one day. And here he is. This year, John Ruganda is the guest of honour to FEMRITE’s week of literary activities. He was born and raised in Fort Portal in 1942. He studied at St. Leo’s College, Fort Portal and Ntare School before joining Makerere University in 1964. He graduated with a BA (Hons) specialising in English in 1967. He holds an MA and a Ph.D from the University of New Bruneswick, Canada.
Ruganda is an internationally acclaimed playwright, director, actor and poet who has significantly contributed to the development of theatre in East Africa. His latest publication is Igereka and Other Narratives, a unique rendition of a short story, combining the classical and traditional way of telling a story, where he fuses drama, poetry and prose.
Ruganda was closely associated with the Makerere Travelling Theatre and was founder member of The Makonde Group, University of Nairobi, Free Travelling Theatre, and the Nairobi University Players.
He was appointed Senior Fellow of Creative Writing at Makerere University in 1973 and later that year joined The University of Nairobi till 1982. He moved on to the University of New Brunswick, Canada, where he was involved in drama and research.
Currently, he is dramatist-in-residence at the University of the North, South Africa.
Ruganda is also in charge of the writers workshop committee at the same university.
Ruganda will preside over a creative writing workshop which will be facilitated by Ugandan writers for selected budding writers from various secondary schools, from January 22-28. The workshop is sponsored by the American Center.
Ruganda will also read from his works at Writers Night at the National Theatre Big Hut on January 25 and also hold a public debate.
During the week, Femrite will launch a book entitled Tears of Hope: Stories of Courage by Ugandan Rural Women and crown the week with a fundraising dinner for its activities on January 31. Ends
I WOULD like to talk to Ama,†he asks the organiser of the workshop taking place at our National Theatre’s Green Room. “Who are you and no, you cannot see her because as you can see, she is busy...†came the reply of the agitated organiser, irritated by his confidence and cryptic dialogue. He suddenly withdraws into an apology for what has been interpreted as a rude interjection, and for his sudden humility, he is allowed to step up and say hello to Ama, who is wearing head-gear. The year is 2000.
I’m curious about this man who seems to know Ghanaian Ama Ata Aidoo, from years past, and when she stretches her hand out to say hello, her sparkling slit-eyes light up with recognition.
“Is this John, John Ruganda?†He nods his head, almost secretly, as if to say, “don’t say it too loudly.†But I have read Ama’s lips, and I have watched the up-and-down movement of his head. I nudge the workshop organiser, who is seated next to me at break-time, but her mind is on the participants of the workshop. “Gwe, That’s John Ruganda!â€
Her eyes become round circles and she exclaims. “No, you cannot be serious!†She is cupping her mouth, remembering her earlier fracas with the intruder. It is my turn to move my head up-and-down as I stifle a giggle.
I watch her make her move and she walks up to the front to make an introduction of herself. They forget their earlier mêlée and they hug! What happened to the old adage, ‘first impressions are lasting impressions!’ I’m not surprised, for she is a writer.
I step up after her and stretch out my hand. Am EXCITED, but I do not hug him. I was raised not to go about hugging strangers. But is he really a stranger? I have met him through Wamala in The Burdens, through Nankya in The Floods!
We cajole him to attend our workshop. He declines and promises he will meet us at the Writers Night, come Saturday, when we have let our hair down.
We wait. But on Saturday he doesn’t show up. It is dark. There is a bonfire around which we have gathered to read our poetry, but we do not see his figure hovering about through the light of the dancing flames.
By Monday I have forgotten what he looks like, but still hope he will show up. I am dying to tell him that I enjoyed reading The Burdens more than I did The Floods. Perhaps it is because I read The Burdens when I had not yet introduced my lips to the brown bottles, and I would wonder what my Literature teacher meant when he described the character of Wamala in three instances as: “Wamala drunk, Wamala ‘drunk’ and Wamala sober.â€
With The Floods I was a little older, more aware about my femininity, so I wondered how Nankya’s mum could have kept her pregnancy after being raped by countless soldiers.
Because of The Floods, I have still resisted boat riding. This calls to mind those words: “The Call of the beckon, no one can resist it.â€
So I decided to find him, through the letters page of The New Vision and he got back to me, via my cellphone, while I attended an editorial meeting at FEMRITE. “Hallo,†— I’m never formal on my phone, because I guess whoever has called knows me. (Well not all. The woman who missed a digit when calling her hubby must have been riled when she heard my voice. “Who is that? What are doing with my husband’s phone?†She was almost crying before she hung up)! Well, Ruganda was cryptic on the other end of the line, and I was a second short of becoming rude. Then he disclosed his identity and I blushed, and we started chatting. He was no longer in the country and was now back home.
The University of the North, South Africa is where he is now based. I was exhilarated after I hung up and stopped the meeting to announce my historic call. I cannot say Ruganda is my favourite writer. I guess my enchantment grew from the fact that he was the only living Ugandan writer I had read in school from that generation (apart from you know who — TW!)
As I was soon to discover, being cryptic was part and parcel of Ruganda. The next time he called, he was in Uganda! He had not responded to my mail, but he was in Uganda. And we were to meet for a drink. He would later call to cancel the date, because the sky was grey, and he was in no mood to go out. A writer’s mood indeed!
We eventually met, at Mama Mia, my favourite restaurant, two years after our first meeting, and to make sure I didn’t walk to the wrong table, I was looking for a man, my father’s age, tallish, with be-spectacled eyes.
Me and my companion, the workshop organiser (the one who hugged him the first time we met), made him out. We sat near Ruganda who clutched his orange-juice glass as the evening grew old, talking about things that mattered to only writers e.g. the 1960s’ African Writers’ Conference, at Makerere University, which drew literary giants like Chinua Achebe and Ngugi wa Thiongo. It is at that meeting that Christopher Okigbo declared East Africa a literary desert, whereupon the word was picked up by Taban lo Liyong’s mouth and later spit out, the curse henceforth being attributed to him.
We talked about the death of Literature during the dark days of Idi Amin and how 1986 was a turning point for the wordsmiths in Uganda. We then focussed on the new voices that had emerged through the platform of FEMRITE.
“We feel like orphans,†the workshop organiser said. “We need you people, the first generation of writers to inspire us. That’s why we hold an annual week of activities each year, to revitalise the spirit of writing in Uganda.â€
When the evening came to an end, we knew we had tickled his consciousness and we knew he would come back one day. And here he is. This year, John Ruganda is the guest of honour to FEMRITE’s week of literary activities. He was born and raised in Fort Portal in 1942. He studied at St. Leo’s College, Fort Portal and Ntare School before joining Makerere University in 1964. He graduated with a BA (Hons) specialising in English in 1967. He holds an MA and a Ph.D from the University of New Bruneswick, Canada.
Ruganda is an internationally acclaimed playwright, director, actor and poet who has significantly contributed to the development of theatre in East Africa. His latest publication is Igereka and Other Narratives, a unique rendition of a short story, combining the classical and traditional way of telling a story, where he fuses drama, poetry and prose.
Ruganda was closely associated with the Makerere Travelling Theatre and was founder member of The Makonde Group, University of Nairobi, Free Travelling Theatre, and the Nairobi University Players.
He was appointed Senior Fellow of Creative Writing at Makerere University in 1973 and later that year joined The University of Nairobi till 1982. He moved on to the University of New Brunswick, Canada, where he was involved in drama and research.
Currently, he is dramatist-in-residence at the University of the North, South Africa.
Ruganda is also in charge of the writers workshop committee at the same university.
Ruganda will preside over a creative writing workshop which will be facilitated by Ugandan writers for selected budding writers from various secondary schools, from January 22-28. The workshop is sponsored by the American Center.
Ruganda will also read from his works at Writers Night at the National Theatre Big Hut on January 25 and also hold a public debate.
During the week, Femrite will launch a book entitled Tears of Hope: Stories of Courage by Ugandan Rural Women and crown the week with a fundraising dinner for its activities on January 31. Ends