The 27th Time of the writer festival took place from 14-21 March 2024. Image: https://tow.ukzn.ac.za/
It felt as though we were back in the middle of the Covid lockdown and I was bringing the world into my kitchen. Here I was, in my ancient apron which I’d bought at the Louvre Museum shop two decades before, sipping a well-deserved glass of lovely local red and cooking a Norwegian lamb and cabbage stew for dinner while listening to one of the first online sessions of the 27th Time of the Writer.
This is what the lockdowns around the world did to us: They separated us physically, but brought us strangely closer in cyberspace and in our minds as they forced us to connect in ways previously unimagined.
The festival, taking place live in Durban, and online (Facebook and YouTube) around the country and beyond between 14 and 21 March, is one of the oldest and most respected local literary gatherings, but I have never had the opportunity to attend in person before. The recently added online component of the Time of the Writer made a different kind of participation possible, for which I was grateful … and yet, as during the lockdown, or perhaps even more acutely so now, I felt that I was somehow missing out.
Durban brings back memories. The first time I became aware of Time of the Writer was in 2005 when my late husband, author André Brink, was invited to speak at the festival. We were not married yet, but very much in love, and André returned home not only with wonderful stories about the city, but with a beautiful pale blue kurta he’s bought for me at a local market. I still wear it, although, after many washes, it is now closer to white than pale blue.
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[Lockdowns] separated us physically, but brought us strangely closer in cyberspace and in our minds as they forced us to connect in ways previously unimagined.
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I visited Durban for the first time with André later that year when he was launching Praying mantis and celebrating his 70th birthday. We did not know what the future held for us at the time, but a decade of togetherness followed. I returned to Durban exactly ten years later, a few months after André’s death, to honour him and Euzhan Palcy as her ground-breaking film based on André’s A dry white season was finally premiering in South Africa, 26 years after it was first released worldwide in 1989 and immediately banned, like the novel, in the country. A quarter of a century later, Euzhan and I were guests of the Durban International Film Festival. A dry white season was screened on Mandela Day, and I wept, sitting in the audience next to Thoko Ntshinga and Janet Suzman, and I wept again later on stage when we spoke about this incredible experience. I could not reconcile the fact that André was not with us to witness the celebration.
During that stay I also had the enormous pleasure of meeting Mathabo Kunene, widow of the great Zulu poet Mazisi Kunene, and of visiting the Mazisi Kunene Museum. His works were originally written in Zulu before they were translated into English and other languages, and seeing the manuscripts and artefacts with my own eyes was a moving experience. Going through the literary archival material in my own home recently, I found a beautiful letter Mazisi wrote to André, telling him, “You deserve the blessings of the gods.” They both did, and do. The legacies they left behind are our blessings.
The last time I visited Durban was in 2017 for the city’s second Book and Art Fair, ARTiCULATE Africa. I remember being on a turbulent flight with Mohale Mashigo – we were rerouted to OR Tambo because due to the extreme weather conditions we could not initially land at King Shaka. When we finally arrived in Durban, a few days of stimulating literary exchanges followed at the fair, celebrating books and authors from around the world. It was the first time I met Winnie M Li, Lindiwe Hani, Sifiso Mzobe and Christopher Merrill outside of their books.
Every time I think of Durban, all these memories come flooding back. And they were all present when I started listening to the offerings of the online programme of this year’s Time of the Writer, run by the University of KwaZulu-Natal’s Centre for Creative Arts. The recordings of these sessions continue being available on their YouTube channel. These videos form a different kind of archive that allows us to engage with authors, academics and contemporary thinkers who explore our past and present in ways that have become possible only in the last few decades.
I loved listening to “Harmony in legacy” with Sam Mathe and Nokuthula Mazibuko Msimang. Their discussion was dedicated to paying tribute to the incredible pathbreaker Dolly Rathebe who led a “large life” and was “at the forefront of the fabulous decade”. Msimang’s research into her life, though, also revealed her in her everyday, away from the spotlight, as a mother and grandmother.
While my Norwegian stew was bubbling away in my everyday, I listened to “Echoes of humanity: tales of struggle, resilience, and transformation” with Zaheera Jina Asvat and Costa Ayiotis. The fascinating conversation was moderated by the wonderful Karabo Kgoleng. I loved reading Asvat’s short story collection Tears of the weaver, and speaking to the author about it at last year’s Kingsmead Book Fair, but was unfamiliar with Ayiotis’s writing. Listening to them, I knew that I had to catch up with some reading – and cooking – as soon as possible.
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This year’s theme for Time of the Writer was “Reflections, resonance and revival”. Watching the diverse panels online strangely focused my attention on these concepts in ways that maybe an in-person attendance wouldn’t have.
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This year’s theme for Time of the Writer was “Reflections, resonance and revival”. Watching the diverse panels online strangely focused my attention on these concepts in ways that maybe an in-person attendance wouldn’t have. Intrigued, I asked two friends who were in Durban for the festival to share their impressions with me.
Joanne Hichens immediately mentioned the “mugginess” of Durban that I could remember but had no way of feeling while watching YouTube in my kitchen. I did not miss it during our early autumn, but would have longed for it during our freezing winter.
“I was in awe of the talent in the panels, the writers, poets, thinker, the moderators, the ideas flowing, the authenticity of it all,” Joanne said after her return to Cape Town. “For me the most moving part was not about the writers – although the quality of thought and discussion was riveting, breath-taking even; it was about the interns who had come together to put on this production, to make it run smoothly. The energy and passion that was poured into making this week a success was palpable and took a great deal of work and commitment from everyone who played a role. This shows the commitment of younger people to writing and to the free flow of ideas.” Joanne explained that she was sorry to have felt “jaded” when it came to trying to promote books people would care about, but this festival “reignited my spirit,” she said, continuing with passion: “Another incredible aspect of the festival is that some writers do outreach in various communities. I worked with around sixty learners, from grade 5 to matric, on one morning, and was blown away by the eagerness to write and the willingness to share the writing, by reading aloud, during the course of the morning. I was anxious about it, nervous. How would I pull it off? I hadn’t done this sort of teaching for thirty years … but the kids were so receptive that it was easy.” She worried about the language barrier, though, knowing that she didn’t reach every child. “But in general, it was a tremendous experience and I probably learned more than they did. I also met Veli Luthuli, who shared her story written in the session, of reaching 100 years old and looking back on life.”
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Joy Watson: “The most powerful offering of the festival is that it is a space for thinking about our current socio-economic context. It is a conduit for the arts to mould and shape how we think about the issues that we are grappling with as a society.”
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Joy Watson also thoroughly enjoyed the festival, and emphasised in her comments how “huge” Time of the Writer is in what it sets out to do, namely “to create a platform to celebrate and talk about South African books for more than a week. It accomplishes this with a small team of dedicated people who work hard to ensure that every last detail of the festival is well planned and executed. The most powerful offering of the festival is that it is a space for thinking about our current socio-economic context. It is a conduit for the arts to mould and shape how we think about the issues that we are grappling with as a society.” Together with Ogochukwu Nzewi, Joy recently edited Striving for social equity, a collection of personal essays about experiences of inequity, pain and ongoing oppression from writers who would not ordinarily get published, many of them young people.
Joy’s comments made me think of the session that took us back to the roots of publishing, “Exploring publishing realities: a literary journey”. Moderated by Qhali, it featured industry experts such as Sihawukele Ngubane, Elizabeth le Roux and Tommaso Milani who explored the tricky but exuberant space of South African publishing and its most challenging aspects: publishing in all official languages, navigating the digital transformation and the Copyright Amendment Bill. It was heartening to hear Sihawukele speak of Anfasa’s recently launching 22 books representing all official languages, including Nama. And Tommaso discussing journal publishing and its opportunities. But what I enjoyed the most was Elizabeth’s description of self-published authors as “micro-publishers” who fulfil all the roles of more traditional publishers in one in order to be successful.
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We are gradually finding ways. But for now, asking the right questions and engaging with like-minded others is an incredibly important start.
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After the festival, Joanne – who is an independent publisher herself – also felt that “we need to step away from traditional models of publishing and distributing and explore the new.” It is clear to her that work in languages other than English is a must. Along with many others she is asking herself: “How do we do more of this?”
We are gradually finding ways. But for now, asking the right questions and engaging with like-minded others is an incredibly important start. I felt enriched by the conversations I listened to on YouTube. The in-person festival was “energetic, and infused with passion”, in Joanne’s words. “How does one infuse more readers with this passion? How does one get more of an audience to attend live events?” she asked. I am not sure, but I know for myself that I am ready to make more muggy memories and would love to travel to Durban next year to experience the 28th Time of the Writer and the real flavours and tastes of KwaZulu-Natal during the festival, not the Norwegian lamb and cabbage stew in my kitchen.
Also read:
Time of the Writer festival 2023: Born-frees curate a festival of critical reflection and optimism
Feminism is: South Africans speak their truth, edited by Jen Thorpe: a book review