While the stories shortlisted on the Caine Prize capers idiosyncratically on life in a general sense, it seems to me that they are most compelling in their particular depictions of how Africans live today…
By Chimezie Chika
What emotions do we feel when we read a good story? If it is a singular emotion, and we can put a sure-handed finger on it, what could it be? Or, to stretch the rhetoric further, what makes a good story? And while we are at it, what also makes a story better than another?
And let no one tell me that a story can’t be better than another (this is what some overly sensitive individuals on social media attacked me for in the past when I unequivocally stated that a certain Nigerian novel was the best ever written by a Nigerian woman in the 20th century).
Despite the inherent biases of subjectivity and sentiment (which we all possess to some degree), literature does not operate on a horizontal plane of equality; not all literary works are created equal. This is why, within an epoch, some works achieve immortality while others fade with the passing years, or resurface later, as the case may be.
While the factors determining a work’s longevity can sometimes be obscure, a reasonably informed reader should be able to recognise when a literary work has failed to meet its own inherent expectations. These questions, I believe, serve as a compass for determining the direction of the 2024 Caine Prize shortlist.
The five stories—“The Dishwashing Women” by Tryphena Yeboah, “Bridling” by Nadia Davids, “Adjustment of Status” by Samuel Kolawole, “Animals” by Uche Okonkwo, and “Breastmilk” by Pemi Aguda—in this year’s shortlist were selected by a panel of judges chaired by the Nigerian novelist, Chika Unigwe, who has stated that that these five stories pose “the fundamental question that all great art asks: How do we do life?”
While the stories capers idiosyncratically on life in a general sense, it seems to me that they are most compelling in their particular depictions of how Africans live today, from the lowly maids in a diplomat’s mansion to family dramas, and a man’s unfortunate stint as an undocumented immigrant in America.
Apart from the lone South African (Nadia Davids), the shortlist is demographically dominated by West Africans (three Nigerians and one Ghanaian, Yeboah)—a continued testament to Nigeria’s dominance of African literature.
Yeboah’s “The Dishwashing Women” tells the story of three women—Esiha, Nkwa-daa, and Adoma—living and working in the kitchen of an American diplomat’s house in Ghana. The narrative is rich with the intrigues of kitchen politics: the conflicts that arise between maids and cooks, and the extenuating circumstances that fuel these tensions, sometimes escalating to life-threatening levels.
Esiha, the oldest and the leader of the maids, secured the job through her daughter’s scholarship to an American university, having been assisted by the diplomat. Nkwa-daa works there to support her longtime friend Esiha, while Adoma, the youngest, aspires to follow in the footsteps of Esiha’s daughter, hoping to secure her own passage to America through the diplomat’s covert sexual favours.
Apart from Adoma, the other women seem to lack any ambition and appear to be content as addendums in a wealthy man’s household. But this is not the truth, as we learn later when the story’s central conflict kicks in. These bear pain and grudges against the type of people they work for; they are acutely aware of how they are degraded by their fellow human beings.
Esiha, in particular, aims to subject the diplomat to the same pain she has experienced when she discovered how her daughter was able to get the scholarship. However, the series of events that follow reveal that the emotional connection between two women of different economic statuses often outweighs the desire for revenge. While the writing in this story is not particularly spellbinding, Yeboah does invest substantial prose in exposition.
The prolixity of the prose drags until nearly the middle, when the story’s central action finally begins. While some stories may thrive without overt tensions—often buoyed by virtuosic language—Yeboah’s narrative does not. Overall, Yeboah’s story is decent, with a compelling ending; it could have been more impactful if it were shorter and incorporated a more fluid use of flashbacks.
Nadia Davids’ “Bridling” is the most complex of all the stories on the shortlist. Davids’ extensive career as a playwright is evident in this enigmatic story, from the subject, to the setting, and nearly everything else.
As a matter of course, the story is about the making of an experimental play titled “Now is the Time: Women in Works of Art Through the Ages”, which involves the live reenactment of famous (and not-so-famous) paintings of women. The actors are tasked with replicating the exact poses of the figures in the paintings within stage settings that mirror the artworks’ settings. Essentially, this is theatre as live art.
The central figure of the story is, in many respects, not the actress who narrates it. Instead, the figure that dominates the narrative is the idiosyncratic director, who seems to be a synthesis of 20th-century modernist dramatists. He embodies all the attributes associated with their quest for the reinvention of theatre.
“Bridling” is driven by a splendid idea, and the writing effectively supports this concept. Beneath its surface of literal theatricality, the story is rich with themes such as feminism, the complex interplay of race and politics, and the intricate nature of art and acting. These themes are not merely incidental but are clearly intended by Davids. At one point, the director, who is wrapped up in grandiose ideas about art, describes the forthcoming performance as “intersectional”.
This statement feels as though the author is reaching through a meta-fictive lens to speak directly to the reader. Such epigrammatic declarations about the play, uttered by the director, appear throughout the narrative (e.g., “Let’s retrieve, disrupt, and explore”).
The concept of the fictional play within the story—and indeed, it is safe to say that the play and the story are intertwined—appears to be inspired by the temperament of works like Pirandello’s Six Characters in Search of an Author.
However, rather than using dialogic theatre, the story employs prose to present a broader view of modern theatre: its hypocrisies, ambiguities, and its claimed quest for relevance. It dramatises the ironic pretensions that underpin the concept of importance in intellectual circles.
There is much to unpack in “Bridling” that a brief review can scarcely capture. However, one notable aspect is that its intellectual demands may pose a challenge during the final judging. Not since Namwali Serpell’s “The Sack” have we seen a story of this nature on a Caine Prize shortlist. Despite this, “Bridling” stands a strong chance of winning due to its distinctive blend of the female experience in art and the irrational demands placed on the feminine body.
The obvious heft we find in “Bridling” does not invalidate the beauty of simplicity, as the Nigerian stories in the shortlist demonstrates. While these stories are simple, they evince far more subtlety and nuance in their writing. Though each writer has their particular strengths, these stories find convergence in the centrality of family. These families have different experiences, concerns and conflicts. Each of these conflicts are distinctly connected to children and women (as most of the stories in the Shortlist are) as well as the presence of money or its lack thereof.
Samuel Kolawole’s “Adjustment of Status” takes the centrality of the Nigerian condition as its subject. The plot is a familiar one: a young man decides that he is not doing well in Nigeria and leaves his steady job to go overseas on tourist visa, where he had to live anonymously for two years as an undocumented immigrant before being deported.
Kolawole’s ordinary prose is propelled by a proleptic plot that fills in the gaps in the narrative; his wry humour tempers the bleakness that dominates the story. Folahan’s story is that of the ordinary Nigerian seeking a better life for him and his family. Sometimes decisions such as his are failed by its rashness, other times failure is simply of the larger condition of exile, in which the unideal circumstances makes the notion of success remote.
Ultimately, “Adjustment of Status” is a poignant tale about the sacrifices a man makes for his family, even when he fails in that pursuit.
“Animals” by Uche Okonkwo features a straightforward plot—so simple, in fact, that it could have veered into triviality if handled by a lesser talent. However, Okonkwo has a remarkable ability to extract nuance from the everyday, a quality that only the finest writers possess. While the story centres on a single animal, its title underscores a deeper connection to the biological reality of human existence: the recognition that we are all animals, mere pawns in the hands of higher predators.
On the surface, the story revolves around the mechanics of killing a chicken, opening in a fittingly comic manner as Nedu, the youngest child in the family, drags everyone outside to christen the chicken his mother bought for slaughter. However, beneath this lighthearted premise lies a deeper exploration of the power structures that dominate human relationships.
Yet, I have a minor problem with this rather excellent story. I mean, excellent by every iota of literary judgement except for the small matter of the chicken and who should kill it. It seems to me that there is no greater ludicrousness than to have a family of adults who not only seem to be afraid of a chicken but also do not know how to slaughter it.
Is there a family like this in Nigeria, even among the wealthy? I suppose there is, but it is no less ridiculous. Other than this, Okonkwo has written a story that imbues quiet humour and humanity in ordinary existence, such accomplishment such as we have often seen in the stores of Munro and Mansfield.
In simple terms, Pemi Aguda’s “Breastmilk,” as its lactational title suggests, centres on a nursing mother, Aduke. More specifically, it addresses her inability to produce milk in the immediate aftermath of giving birth. This temporary maternal dryness serves as a conduit through which we begin to see the schisms that both separate and bind Aduke to her husband on one hand and to her mother on the other.
The feminist theme in the story is overt and its treatment of the ennui that attends childbirth and its aftermath is masterful. Aduke conflicted feelings about her husband’s past infidelity and her own ambiguities about forgiveness and female agency in the family setting dominate much of the prose. Aguda’s accessible talents are already gaining accolades presently. If she adds Caine to that list, it should not be surprising.
In the last couple of years, I have been able to accurately predict the eventual winner of the Caine Prize. However, this year’s shortlist—much stronger than last year’s—leaves me in a state of indecision. In their evocation of family life and women’s experiences in contemporary Africa, these stories speak with varying degrees of eloquence about the state and condition of our times. I cannot pinpoint one story that stands out as the likely winner. Ultimately, it will depend on how the judges respond to the questions I posed at the beginning of this review. If that rhetoric holds any weight, I don’t believe Yeboah’s story is in contention.
Note: This review was written before the announcement of the Caine Prize Winner on 17th September. Nadia Davids won the 2024 Caine Prize with her story, “Bridling”.
Chimezie Chika’s short stories and essays have appeared in or forthcoming from, amongst other places, The Republic, The Shallow Tales Review, Terrain.org, Iskanchi Mag, Isele Magazine, Lolwe, Fahmidan Journal, Efiko Magazine, Dappled Things, and Afrocritik. He is the fiction editor of Ngiga Review. His interests range from culture, history, to art, literature, and the environment. You can find him on Twitter @chimeziechika1.