Illuminating Libraries

My latest radio play ‘The Lamp’ goes out on BBC Radio Four on 14th December, and has special status as ‘Play Of The Week’ which means that it will also be available as a podcast from Friday 16th for seven days.

It was recorded on location at Perthshire’s charming Library of Innerpeffray at the beginning of November, and I’m only now shuffling the paperwork around, deciding what to keep, what to discard, where to file it. But it’s interesting to look over the lengthy process of proposal and development in the scraps of paper, the notebooks, the handwritten and successive typed manuscripts, with Director Eilidh McCreadie’s helpful notes, which finally led to the official script sent out to all involved by the BBC.

I’ve been enchanted with Innerpeffray for a long time, Scotland’s first public lending library set on a bend of the river Earn. Founded in 1680, it epitomises Scotland’s Enlightenment, and a belief in the power of books to civilise and democratise, to illuminate the spirit, after a period of terrible violence. It proved ‘the urge for education amongst the lowliest of country folk’ and is more recently a magnet for literary tourists rather than a lending library. I’d wanted to write something set there for a long time, though I hadn’t thought of it being a radio play.

It chimed though, with a visit to Kenya in early 2009. I’d been intending to go the previous year but was prevented by the post-election violence which ravaged the country, leaving over 1,000 dead and thousands displaced. I was going there to visit friend and PEN colleague Philo Ikonya, who had stood in that election. Several things became apparent as I visited various towns and villages with her and talked to people. They included a burning desire for peace, political freedom, and tolerance; and a hunger for books and reading which by and large remained un-met. We visited Kisumu, in the west of Kenya, and ‘Obama’s’ nearby village Kogelo, at the time of his inauguration. We had hoped to sell the book which Philo had written for children about Obama’s Kenyan origins. We spent the inauguration day surrounded by children, and often adults, devouring the pages of the book. But in truth it was unthinkable for any of these ‘country folk’ to buy a copy, or even get access to one to borrow, a situation reflected all over sub-Saharan Africa where books are so precious they might be wrapped in plastic and kept on a shelf rather than read.

And so, the parallels began to form in my mind. Along with them came the character of a young enthusiastic Kenyan librarian from the Kisumu area, who is exploring British libraries on a study visit with Book Aid International, and becomes enchanted himself by Innerpeffray. This enchantment, coupled with his fear of the forthcoming election in 2012 at home, fuel a reluctance to leave. When he sees a woman – Elspeth, a widow from a nearby farm – crossing the river to the library at a ford used by the library’s past borrowers, he is reminded of journeys on foot at home, and begins to entice her into books herself. But he is dealing with an antiquarian book collection kept largely behind glass, and so hangs the story…

It was a great joy and privilege to record on location – hearing the gasp from the actors as they walked into the high-ceilinged room lined with leather bound books that I had tried to conjure with words. And as ever, it’s a fantastic learning experience as a writer to hear how the actors interpret your words – the nuance provided by a question mark; the trip-up of unnatural speech; the finding of humour or pathos where you had not seen it yourself.

The play has happened to coincide with a time of great concern for access to libraries here, and so another contemporary chime was set up. Meanwhile in Kenya, efforts are being made to broaden access to books through the mobile libraries (including bicycle and camel-driven) of the Kenya National Libraries Service. Especially in the conflict-ridden Rift Valley, some libraries are being cultivated as places which can provide a civilised and tolerant meeting place for people on opposing sides in the 2008 troubles.

Three wonderful books in their turn helped me with this project – Arthur Herman’s ‘The Scottish Enlightenment’; ‘First Light’, a gorgeous limited edition history of Innerpeffray by George Chamier; and Alberto Manguel’s ‘The Library of Night’. I’ll leave the last word with him:

‘As repositories of history or sources for the future, as guides or manuals for difficult times, as symbols of authority past and present, the books in a library stand for more than their collective contents…’

Being naked: New literary journal

An essay of mine about walking barefoot through a Kenyan village with activist and writer, Philo Ikonya is featured in Algebra, Tramway’s exciting new digital literary journal. Walked in 2009 as part of my walking and writing project, I'm thrilled to see the piece appear here for the first time.

Developed in partnership with Storm ID, Algebra is edited by writer Beatrice Colin, and the first issue includes fiction, poetry, memoir, photography and visual art from a range of contributors. Take a look here!

'The theme, borrowed from Keith Farquhar’s recent exhibition More Nudes in Colour, Glasgow, is nude or nudity, and the range of pieces include a story inspired by the Art Deco painter Tamara de Lempick, as well as a set of poems that focus on the body. Elsewhere, writers go on barefoot walks or present a personal history of tattoos, stand naked in their kitchens or examine the spaces, both emotional and physical, that are usually hidden from view.'

Kenya's Son

The village of Kogelo in western Kenya would now like to update the name of its secondary school to take account of recent world events. From the bus travelling west out of Nairobi into the streets of steamy Kisumu on Lake Victoria, we heard, along with the distinctive 'tuk tuk' of the Paiggio auto rickshaws, the streets drumming with the words 'Obama' and 'Kogelo'. My friend Philo, probably because she was with me, was hailed as 'Michelle' in the streets, taken for a black American. In Jomo Kenyatta park, huge banners and monstrous screens were erected, and a line of people directed the hose of the fire engine to damp down the loose red earth in preparation for crowds whilst children leaped in and out of the spray.

'Kogelo?' asked a matatu minibus driver, leaning from his window, hand cupped upwards in the usual gesture of query for business. 'Yes we can'. Kogelo was the place to be on 20th January, and we crossed the equator to get there. For a moment it seemed that the world's attention turned onto this tiny place on a high red dust plain between boulder strewn hills and the Lake.

The party brimmed with pride and happiness. 'You're welcome,' said elderly women and men holding leather-skinned hands out to me. 'Congratulations,' I replied. They stood near the staged seating, hats and dresses of dignitaries brought to the Kenya Tourist Board stand from where a programme of speeches and performances could be watched. A flour company gave away free calendars to an ever-lengthening queue as if it was flour itself that was being given - the much-disputed maize. A company from nearby Kericho trialled iced tea.

A camel with knobbly knees was regularly brought crumpling to the ground and re-erected to be led through the crowd with stiff faced children lurching on its back, to the screams of the parting crowd and children pursuing it on the ground. A few traders from Nairobi had brought Obama khangas, hats, T-shirts. Phone companies flashed brightly coloured logos and shirts. Village women sat quietly on the ground selling their usual piles of peanuts for a few shillings. Amongst this and the local football match, amidst the atmosphere of a village fete, an ABC reporter spent the afternoon standing on the bonnet of a land cruiser with a camera trained on him, a producer scurrying at ground level with phones and instructions. Music throbbed from local radio PA systems, and some boys swayed from the branches of the highest tree to get an overview.

We were there to sell and promote Philo Ikonya's book for young readers 'How a Kenyan boy became American President'. We spread them on the bonnet of our taxi. I played the hawker and circulated the party encouraging people to take a look. Children crowded in, devouring the words from the page with shy hunger, but 200 shillings (a little under £2) was too much for most to be spending on a book. One boy was wheeling his siblings around on a bicycle. In Form 7 of the local school, he showed persistent interest in the book and was able to answer all Philo's questions about Nelson Mandela. She presented him with a signed copy as a tribute to his brightness and for the message the book should hold for him about fulfilling one's promise however humble one's beginnings. He clutched the book with pride and said, 'It is not easy to find someone who gives you something for free.'A group of young men called me over, wanting to speak of the new President. 'We expect him to help us a lot. Because he was here with us. Her knows the situation. The life is too rough. We don't have food. We don't have water. We don't have enough fee for the education.' I nod and agree, sympathise, and ask, 'Are you expecting a lot from yourselves as well?' to which spokesman, Bernard replied, 'Correct', but went on to reiterate what they expect from the President, the son of this village. 'Congratulations,' I said to them. 'Welcome, welcome,' they said. 'Feel at home. Feel at home. And even, if you think so, we can even marry you.' After which came hand slaps and shrieks of laughter. I mingled back into the crowd, moving between the pools of music that beat and pushed against each other, moved feet and hips, and fluttered against the tree-hung banners of a smiling black man's face under which were the words 'Congratulations Our Son'.

We packed the books up and returned to Kisumu where bookshops and local NGOs took them more readily than the village could. 'You know,' people told us over and over, 'Kenyans don't really read.' It seemed to me that our exercise had shown something quite different. The children leaning over the car bonnet hungrily turning the pages of the book couldn't have been more eager to read. The real difficulty is getting the books to them.

Philo Ikonya released

Philo Ikonya, President of Kenyan PEN, was arrested and beaten by police earlier this week after taking part in a peaceful demonstration outside parliament in Nairobi in protest against hyperinflation and the rising prices of maize flour at a time of impending famine in Kenya.

I have now heard that she has been released, appeared in court yesterday and was released on bail along with the two others arrested with her. She is in hospital and is making a good recovery from the injuries sustained during the police assault.

Her case has apparently received a lot of media attention in Kenya and she is receiving support from Kenyan PEN and local campaigners. She is famous, in words from the Pambazuka social justice network, for she, 'wields her pen with fierce, lyrical intelligence in the global media'. The network of writers which is represented by PEN International will do all they can to offer solidarity, support and practical help so that she can return to strength in her important role and as the inspiring person that she is.

PEN Kenya President arrested

Reports have been reaching me today that friend, writer and PEN colleague, Philo Ikonya, has been arrested outside the Kenyan Parliament during a peaceful protest about the price of maize and the connected corruption scandal. She remains unreleased and without charges. Having just returned from a trip to Kenya in which I spent a great deal of time with Philo, I have witnessed her passion for grassroots change to overcome corruption, an emerging famine, and remaining murmurs of the damaging tribalism which set of post-election violence last year. Her commitment to her country, to freedom of expression and fellow Kenyans is powerful and I know she will always use her great creativity and communication skills to work for justice and empowerment, sometimes, as today, at personal cost. From wearing her protest sackcloth, to talking up a different approach to Valentine's Day, she smiles, talks, inspires others. We're watching you Philo, and sending you strength and the resolution of a rapid release.

Kenya: protest dress

In July 2007, I met Kenyan journalist and activist Philo Ikonya when we were both delegates to the International PEN congress in Dakar, Senegal. I was lucky enough to capture her radiance in dress and physical presence in this photo which was then used in posters for her campaign at the end of 2007 when she stood for parliament to try and bring women into the political life of the country. She says the poster is now, 'still in many homes and in many places fading and torn and weather beaten...'

In the violent aftermath of the election, she has now chosen an apt form of personal protest at the lack of dialogue. As a signal of humility and in mourning for Kenya and its rising toll of dead and displaced, she is wearing a sackcloth.

She says: 'I need to express myself through what I am wearing, and to pass on that message, the sack cloth is very powerful. I shall continue dressing like this and urging other people to dress like this for as long as we do not have peace in Kenya; as long as we do not have justice and reform.' See the full story on the BBC.

Philo is a woman who dares to change the world. As I hear news from Kenya at a great, sad, distance, I'll look for hope in the courage of Philo and women like her who press for transformation through dialogue, and find ways of bringing women's voices into the debate.

And in her own words...

Where are my socks?

My kerchiefs white glare,

You must know where they are,

Where are my socks?

My shoes must shine reflecting the tie pin

My buttons in a row you know,

Are tight enough to keep my beer belly in,

And other things that matter.

You must make sure,

Nothing is out of place.
I sneeze, they stare.

Salute the leader,

Salute the breeder,

And don’t share this power.

Mami, stare at your shoes till Sunday,

When you might wear them if no rain.

Socks, kerchiefs and pins you store,

In your stitches one by one this pain,

From left to right patience under pins,

That make your skirt hold along,

Stitch tight enough to keep soul in.

To keep little flesh tucked in.

You sneeze, they run,

You try to keep intestines tied,

And the blood from dripping down.

Cry for change.

Sing for change.

Lace up a shoe, for change,

Stitch for change,

Pin for change,

Sock for change,

Skirt for change,

Button up, for change,

Tie in change,

Bleed for change!

Before their very eyes.

Salute change and wear it,
Like a hat and in your gait,

This is indeed is power.