Professor Miti wore that very same, very shy smile the first time I saw him holding The Prodigal Husband in his hands, but the suit and tie was gone.
Lazarus has reason to smile. So far the critics have been very positive of his novel. “At last!” one reviewer exclaimed. “Someone who can write about Africa without the inevitable politics!”
Foolish me to think he is so young. The lines on his face are there to be counted. His degrees too. He holds a B.A. from the University of Zambia, a Masters Degree from the University of York, and a Ph.D. from the University of London. His teaching career started in 1973 at a secondary school in Zambia. Thereafter he taught teachers in the Copper Belt. In 1979 he joined the University of Zambia, taught at the University of Swaziland from 1990 to 1996, and now heads the department of linguistics at the University of Venda.
There was a little hesitation when I fired the first questions, but it did not last long...
- Izak de Vries: You are one of a growing number of African writers who are concerned with the modernisation of tribal beliefs. Issues such as the need for a proper education and the inevitable rebellion against the patriarch abound in your work. The fact that the text dares to question polygamy is another example?
Lazarus Miti: Certainly.
IDV: This is not your first novel?
LM: No. My first novel, The Father, was published in 1989 by the Kenneth Kaunda Foundation, Lusaka.
IDV: Both The Prodigal Husband and The Father feature a young man who desperately wants to go to school, but has to do battle with tribal beliefs. In The Prodigal Husband we see Isaki making a clean break with the father figure. He rises to the top. In both texts the women understand the desires and dreams of their children much better than the men do.
LM: Yes indeed.
IDV: I have read The Father, but do give us a brief insight into the book, please. The majority of South Africans will have no way of obtaining a copy.
LM: I always find it hard to give a synopsis of my novels in a few hundred words. However, for the benefit of your readers, let me attempt to summarise the story.
According to his tradition, the father in The Father believes that children are an investment. Thus, they are sent to school mainly in order that they may look after their parents and siblings when they have 'completed' school and are in employment.
When a child leaves school to seek employment, it is not his decision, but that of his/her father (not both parents). It is for that reason that the father in this story tells his son to stop school after junior secondary (Standard 8) whether he likes it or not. When he does leave school and finds a job, the child discovers that he cannot support his parents on his income. In other words, it dawns on him that he should not have left school in the first place.
The other problem is that his father wants him to marry a girl from a family he (the father) approves, whereas the child wants to marry a girl of his choice (one of the criteria being level of education). In short, there is a clash between tradition represented by the father, and modernity as portrayed by the son.
IDV: The Prodigal Husband is doing very well since it was published. Are you happy with the reception?
LM: Izak, I am very pleased with the way this novel has been received. There have been positive reviews in a number of newspapers and magazines so far. I have also been interviewed on two radio programmes.
IDV: This is the first time you are publishing with a major South African company. You seem to be rather happy with their service.
LM: I am very happy with my publishers. Firstly, they published the novel within 11 months from the time I submitted the manuscript. I know of publishers who take three years to tell you whether they want to publish the work or not. And if they decide to publish it, they keep you waiting for three or more years after signing the publishing agreement. Besides following a strict and timeous publication schedule, Kwela Books have shown me that they take the marketing of their books seriously.
IDV: Already there is another manuscript on its way to the publishers. Do you want to say anything about it? (I think it is your best work so far...I can't wait to see it published!)
LM: I assume you are referring to the manuscript I have titled His Excellency the Cheat! This is a political novel set in an imaginary African country. After gaining independence from Great Britain, the ruling party, through His Excellency, promises to end all forms of discrimination.
His Excellency emphasises in his inaugural speech that independence means the end of racism when he says: “There shall be no more whites, no more blacks, and no more coloureds, but only Kamonians.” But as we read through the story, we find that racism disappears by default as the majority of whites simply emigrate due to unacceptable governance.
In place of racism, however, a new form of discrimination emerges in which one clan - the clan to which His Excellency belongs - is treated as though it is socially and politically superior to all the other clans in the country.
IDV: My first question contained the term “African writer ”on purpose. You live in Africa and you write about Africa?
LM: Yes. I consider myself as an African writer in both senses.
IDV: Do you compare yourself to the Achebes and the Ngugis of Africa? Other people certainly do?
LM: Frankly and honestly, I don't compare myself to the Achebes and the Ngugis, but I aspire to reach their level one of these days. I believe that if I continue writing - and I intend to - the critiques and criticisms I receive will help me become a better writer.
IDV: Post-colonialism is a very powerful theme flowing from your PC, but you are no praise-singer to the new governments replacing colonial rule. Your work certainly highlights their achievements, but there is a lot of criticism to be found against tinpot-regimes at local and national level. Everything I have read from you has the same kind of biting sarcasm that Ngugi gives us in Petals of blood.
LM: As an African who has lived in Africa all my life, I appreciate all this talk about liberation, freedom, independence etc., but I am concerned about what has happened after that 'freedom' all over Africa. In some African countries, 30 years after independence, people who were not yet born at the time of independence wonder how bad life was like if it was worse than what they are experiencing in the independent state. They ask themselves if fighting for that kind of 'freedom' was worth the trouble.
IDV: Like so many African writers, white and black, you are no longer writing in the country of your birth. You already hold a Ph.D. from the University of London. Where do you see yourself in 10 years' time? Lecturing in the States?
LM: Izak, this is my major problem. Moving from one country to another has made it difficult for me to make any personal progress. I left Zambia for Swaziland in 1990, and Swaziland for South Africa in 1997. I wish I knew where next. The ideal situation would be to stay in South Africa till I retire, or go back to the University of Zambia before I reach retiring age.
IDV: Significantly, The Father has been dedicated to your wife, Annie Muluka, “for her willingness to suffer with me”. Do you want to elucidate?
LM: I completed writing The Father a few months after Annie and I married in March 1974. My view of life at that time was that it was full of problems. Thus, I wanted to marry a girl who would be willing to 'suffer with me'. Now, 25 years later, I feel that that dedication was an understatement. Gladly, Annie and I are still wife and husband.
IDV: Is there any correlation between Isaki, the boy who challenged his prodigal father, and yourself? Isaki became a medical doctor. You grew up to become a Doctor in Letters?
LM: I think there is correlation between Isaki in The Prodigal Husband and many other African boys/girls. As for any correlation with me in particular, yes. I was the fifth child of nine children. Of the nine, only one of my two elder brothers and I went to University. And only I got a Ph.D. I think I compare myself not to Isaki but to his younger brother, Yosefe, who was to become a lawyer.
IDV: Did you ever want to become a medical doctor?
LM: Yes, sometime during my school days, I considered becoming a medical doctor or a priest. Neither worked out.
IDV: The Prodigal Husband questions many of the tribal customs, but I have enjoyed the way in which you sketch both sides of the story. One cannot help but feel sorry for Musa (the husband of the title) at times. He is so certain of himself, yet his certainty depends on a system that is under threat...
LM: I meant to portray Musa in such a way that the reader must not apportion blame to him alone as an individual, but to the society in which he was brought up.
IDV: I have now had the opportunity to read three of your novels (one in manuscript form). You enjoy using innocent, bright-eyed narrators. Is it a method that helps you, the author, not to side with one character against another?
LM: Yes. Before I start writing a story, I know on whose side I am, but when I get down to writing, I do my best not to 'tell' the reader where I stand as a person. I believe in giving every character a fair hearing as much as I can. By so doing, I feel I am giving the reader the freedom to make up his/her own mind to choose which side they are on.
IDV: The Prodigal Husband is full of people misreading the Bible for their own gains. Some verses are repeated so often, they become mantras unto which the quoters cling in times of need, but like metaphors they begin to lose their original, context-based meanings. Am I right?
LM: You are right. Both Musa and Tisa are Christians. Each of them believes they may convince the other by making reference to the Bible. Tisa could very well have said polygamy is 'uncouth' but wouldn't she offend even her own father that way?
IDV: This misrepresentation of the Bible for personal gain then becomes a metaphor for the way people misrepresent the other important issues in their lives as well. The malowalo - a price the traditional man pays for his wife and her children, is one example? (We know it as lobola here in South Africa.)
LM: Yes.
IDV: Tell us more about the original meaning of the price a man has to pay for his wife. Many Westerners would not understand the social, once again context-based, meaning of such an act.
LM: Even in Northern and Southern Rhodesia where the story is set, not all societies understand 'malobolo' (lobola). In the Ngoni tradition to which Musa subscribes, malobolo is paid by a man to the parents of the bride to show that he takes marriage seriously. It is not viewed as a way of 'buying' a wife. Musa and other men of today deliberately, or out of ignorance, interpret it to mean that they can do anything they like with the wife because they have paid for her. Traditionally, that is unacceptable.
IDV: I foresee many people prescribing The Prodigal Husband as a core text in feminist literary criticism exactly because it challenges the “ownership” men have over their wives and children. Would you agree with that?
LM: I agree completely. If I were teaching literature, I would want to use such a text on account of its gender aspects.
IDV: Many of your characters are still trapped by their traditional fears. Some believe lightning will come down and kill them if they step over a specific line. They all fear witches. Do you think all the talks of an African Renaissance will help our people?
LM: I must admit that I still have to read about African Renaissance. If African Renaissance means reviving only what is good from our past and discarding what is unacceptable in the modern world, yes, it will help our people. By the way, I have used the phrase 'our people' only because you have used it in your question. I don't normally use it. I associate it with senior African politicians.
IDV: Fair enough! You have decided to write in English, not your mother tongue?
LM: Yes. I don't write in my mother tongue because it is not one of the officially recognised languages of Zambia. It is not, and has never been, taught at any level of the school curriculum. Consequently, I never studied the language. To the best of my knowledge, the only grammar of the language is one that I have written recently and is yet to be published. I have already approached some publishers in Zambia who have refused to consider it because they fear it won't sell because the language is not taught in schools. Ironically, one publisher in the United States (of America, not of Africa) has expressed interest in the manuscript.
IDV: Finally: You are a linguist. What is the future of African languages?
LM: I pity African languages and their users. African governments preach that it is important for Africans to study their languages. But in practice, they do not support them. Incidentally, in South Africa, although African languages do not receive the respect and treatment they deserve, the situation is better than in other African countries. In the former Portuguese colonies in particular, African languages have not been taken seriously. I believe we must study African languages seriously. This will be made possible partly by Africans writing in African languages and being published. As I say, I have written a grammar of an African language for which it has been difficult to find a publisher.
IDV: Lazarus, thank you very much.
LM: Thank you, Izak, for your interest in my writing.
