Call and response by Gothataone Moeng (Onebook Publishers, October 2023)
Mphuthumi Ntabeni writes a regular book column for LitNet. Read his most recent entry below.
Author: Gothataone Moeng
Publisher: Oneworld Publications (October 2023)
ISBN: 9780861547104
I am rubbish at reading short story collections because I always look for connecting threads, as if it is necessary that they should be there, else I lose concentration. I am also often disappointed by their open-ended manner of closing. I don’t particularly understand why modern short story writers feel it necessary that the ending must be vague and open. It must be the influence of the Hollywood drama age, which thinks a story is intelligent only when it leaves the viewer guessing. Often, with the short story form, you can feel it was abandoned rather than being left as a cliffhanger.
I am glad to report that in Call and response by Botswana-born Gothataone Moeng I found several connecting threads in the stories, which is probably what kept me absorbed in the book. The stories are mostly about the pull of modernity on rural-born women, the consequences of their forced internal migration to the cites, and the humdrum of being young and trying to find their way in the world as they reassert themselves out of rural poverty and lack of opportunities. It is sometimes painful to watch them beat their wings against the restraints of their respective lives, only to end up victims of predatory men in Gaborone, Francistown or Johannesburg, where they search for material wealth that can change their fortunes. Very few of them make it out of the cage or even live to tell their stories; those who do are exhausted, with broken wings and sometimes at the mouth of the grave.
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Most of these stories are set in Botswana, which in itself is refreshing since there has been a scarcity of stories in that setting since the death of Bessie Head.
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Most of these stories are set in Botswana, which in itself is refreshing since there has been a scarcity of stories in that setting since the death of Bessie Head. Were I placed against the wall to name my favourite story, I would choose When Mrs Kennekae dreamt of snakes. This choice actually breaks the mould of the collection, and my fondness of it probably has something to do with my age. I love the quiet wisdom of Mrs Kennekae, who, though frustrated by the status quo of her home and marriage situation, navigates it with the equanimity of traditional skill that is typical of most rural African women. Her husband is at the age where he feels he needs to build wealth for their progeny. In rural Botswana, this means growing a kraal from the cattle he has inherited. Moeng’s handling of the challenges facing rural women here is extremely mature; you don’t feel the forced literary cleverness you find in her other stories sometimes. Also, the narrative flow of the story is authentic, without a rush to answer big issue questions like those around the oppressive nature of the traditional African patriarchal system. How she introduces even this topic is so subtle you almost miss it, because it comes through showing, not telling about, her frustrations, for instance, when she is unable to join her husband at his cattle post. In the end, she accepts it because it also means a few weeks of living for herself as she pleases, without the constant need to take care of her husband. She can throw her shoes, doek and shawl off and watch as many TV soaps as she wishes. She does not have to clean the house if she doesn’t feel like it, or cook a meal when she’s not in the mood.
I loved Bodies also. It is an intimate look at how young African women learn to grow into their own skins. Homing probably qualifies as the mother seed of the story title. It is where the theme is trashed in pleasing, effortless, narrative economy. Early life and education qualifies as a novella and is the story I most felt was an abandoned novel. Where you see the vast possibilities of Moeng as a writer is in A good girl. This is a story of a young girl moving into the thrums of the big city of Gaborone. Moeng’s writing skill soars here:
My roommates and I, we ran out of food and out of money to buy more. We watched pirated movies on our laptops: love stories and romantic comedies. We wanted heartbreaks, but only enough that our hearts required no worse cure than laughing in bed with a tub of ice cream. Some of the men we knew told us, Ke go rata lorato la o ka swa nka go ja, and we were afraid that they would love us to our deaths and that, even in our deaths, they would consume us. Some of the men we knew declared their love to us in English, the language of deception, a second skin they donned and shed as they wished. We fell in love with these guys, swept up in the slipperiness of their words, their declarations. We were in love. We thought we were in love. We felt sure it was love, this time. We made love after making them wait for months. We had sex with one, two, three guys in a year, parcelling pussy to convince them we were marriageable. We abstained from sex for six months at a time, for twice that [sometimes], convinced that it made us better, virtuous women. We fucked three, five, seven guys in one month, our bodies rapacious and unashamed. We fucked them on the same alcohol-fueled [sic], laughter-drenched nights we had met them at a bar. We abstained, fearing disease. We wanted love, oh we wanted love, but we knew, we had been warned, that for girls like us, love was dangerous, a bright-burning flame, it would lick us alive. (39-40)
This is a scintillating piece of writing on par at every level with great writers everywhere. But, in reading the book, you sometimes can feel the writer battling between the prevalence of style and substance. Style often wins over substance, because the content remains slightly similar throughout the stories. The consolation is that the style is wonderfully experimental, even where some stories are not fully formed and are postulated in literary dress-up to make them appear more than a superficial thought or idea. As I said, they’re mostly all about the inner turmoil of living behind the uncertainties of city life. About the fortunes and misfortunes of surviving it all, and the bad luck of contracting fatal diseases. Or the collapse of psychological strength into substance abuse, sometimes used for being slay queens fading in a dark corner of poverty, like in Dark matter.
There are hits and misses in the stories, but fortunately there are more hits than misses. And the literary voice is clunky at times, but where it grips it is accomplished and velvety smooth. The major criticism I have of the collection is that the voice seems monotonous and lacking in the nuances of intonation and such literary tricks that help direct the reader’s imagination into the inner world of different characters. But if you want to soak yourself in the atmosphere and mindset of the lives of young maidens, in particular, navigating their often difficult lives in southern Africa, here is a fresh voice to guide you through it.
Also read:
Moederland: Nine daughters of South Africa by Cato Pedder: a book review