Summer!

Approaching the half-mile of the summer holidays, I thought it worthwhile to ruminate on my travels thus far.

So here we go!

My first port of call exiting Abu Dhabi was Kerala. A flake of coastal state amidst India’s deep south, Kerala is defined by its diverse landscape; 600km of glorious coastline overlooking the Arabian Sea, languid networks of glistening backwater, and spice and tea-covered slopes as far as the eye can see.

Now in keeping with the typecast image of any moody adolescent, for the longest time I have had no patience for nature, or frankly anything past the 13-inch display of my MacBook. However, time and the diploma program has no doubt softened me, and I now gladly embrace the patch of palm-shaded green I call home, and it’s ability to loosen one’s sub-continental stride, into nothing more than a blissful amble.

Moving on from the sunny sweeps of India, an hour’s flight found me in the island paradise that is Sri-Lanka.  

Oodles of elephants, cheap prices, rolling surf and some of the friendliest people you will ever meet; that is what Sri-Lanka is to me.

Now, these few words by no means do justice to Sri-Lanka’s true depth and magnitude, rather they represent my own relationship with the Island-nation.

For you see, Sri-Lanka was a place of many firsts for me, it was on it’s shores that I went on my first mission trip, played my first concert, surfed my first wave, rode my first elephant, and traveled away from home without the comfort of my parents.

In all my travels to Sri-Lanka what has struck me the most about the nation, is the kindness and determination of its people.

Despite the myriad of challenges they have faced over recent years; civil war and natural disaster, Sri-Lankans remain some of the most charming people on the planet, resolute in their endeavor to better and rebuild their nation.  

Heading into the holidays a number of individuals had warned me that it wouldn’t be much of a break at all. Though this has been true to some extent, given all the work I’ve received, I’ve found that if you one strike a balance between work and play they can reap the best of both worlds.

In the immoral words of Wiz Khalifa you’ve just got to “Work hard, play hard.”

Gaudium

Inspired by the works of Tolkien, and the Babylonian epic, Gilgamesh I thought I would try my hand at poetry, over the summer. My fruit, is evident below:

Gaudium*

The defensives were readied

The battlements primed

All along the wall, soldiers scurried

Holding tight to whatever weapon lay by their side

In the distance, an ever-growing tide of light

A glowing ember amidst the dark shadows of the night

Now was not the time for cowardice

Now was not the time for fear

Lighting streaked across the sky

Thunder, boomed from on high

The enemy was here

No longer a distant tide, but a sea of spears

The last of the prayers were spoken

The women and children hidden away

The archers were now at the ready

The warriors, swords now drawn

The sun had set, the moon had rose

Now was when boys became men

And men; immortals

A lone arrow whistled cross the ether

Down below a body fell

And like hell all chaos broke loose

The stillness of night, shattered by the sound of swords and spears

Screams and cries rang high

Javelins raced through, like comets in the sky

The siege towers had reached the walls.

The sky was now red and it were as if the heavens were on fire

Nevertheless, the defenders held strong

Their enemies fell away like chaff from their mighty walls

But then the ground shook and the earth cried out

Stone and rock scattered through the air

The enemies now poured in

A never-ending stream

A torrent of death

The defenders now outmatched

Their forces greatly outnumbered

Sounded the retreat

The end was now here

All hope seemed lost

Then a horn sounded in the distance

Reinforcements had arrived

And new hope was sparked with the dawning of the suns light

The men fought with new resolve

And soon the day was won

For though sorrow may last through the night

Joy comes in the morning

*The latin word for joy, and a really cool-sounding word 

How to write about India…

When writing about the Indian sub continent, an author must keep in mind the preconceived notions, their reader’s most typically ascribe to the region. Too most, Indian literary is no much than a cast of literature, encapsulating the wonder and mystery of the East. As such they’re in no mood for tales of advancement and modern infrastructure; they can look out of the window for that. No, they yearn for the ‘authentic’ Indian experience, that ‘temple of doom’ styled thriller, or ‘slum dog’ success story, and as an author you aim to please on that very front…

A story is only as intriguing as it’s character line-up, and in a population of over 1 billion you are certainly spoilt for choice. Your protagonist may fit between one of four categories; the brazen hunter in pursuit of a fearsome beast, the intrepid traveler in search of life’s meaning, the impoverished beggar rising though the dregs of society and the determined activist wrapped in loin cloth resolute in their quest for equality and equal rights. As one might suspect their entourage might include the sweetheart, the possessive in-laws, the wearisome confidant and those more time-honored narratives, the maniacal witch doctor and spoilt maharaja.

The cast now set, the stage lies before us. India is a land as ancient as time itself, and therefore are character should by no means find themselves in bustling metropolises or industrial town, rather the winding streets of a bazar or the spectacular grounds of a lake palace should serve as your ideal backdrop. For those more culture- bound readers one might even opt for the timeworn temples set against the banks of the river Ganges.

The consolations must dominate the skies above, elephants and all manner of beast the land below. Every small detail must build towards the Indian ethos, comprised of mystique, ancient custom and Sanskrit. Like a bowl of spice, the it must culminate in a visceral encounter, engaging all the reader’s senses as they dwell deeper into the plot and world, galvanized by your approach.

Building of this notion make sure to elude to the nations many cultural and societal nuances, be it the colorful festival of Holi, animal sacrifices to the god Khali, the more unusual and farfetched, the better. A land of extremes; excess and of extreme poverty all these polarities and more must be recognized if a true sense of the culture and society is to be provided.

India is a land pulsating with a spectacular mix of people, tradition and landscapes. As a writer it is your responsibility to take the reader on a journey through this mind-stirring country that would create an experience that would blaze their memory long after they’ve left its shores. Snake charmers, curries and call centers; that is what the better half of the world know of India, and as such serve as the fundamental blocks if you hope to offer the ‘authentic’ Indian experience.

How does Things Fall Apart conform to, or deviate from, the conventions of a particular genre, and for what purpose?

Dawning the stamp of realist fiction, author Chinua Achebe’s narrative, ‘Things Falls Apart’ serves as a thought-provoking commentary on the life and customs of the Ibo people. In an effort to more accurately depict his society, Achebe both abides and deviates from a number of aspects of his chosen genre. This is most apparent in the message of his novel; it’s many cultural ties and the progression of its narrative. In doing so Achebe actively engages his audience and depicts the world of his people, in a authentic and tangible light, all the while maintaining his personal flair and insights on the matter.

            Realist fiction, correlates with the working and dynamic of the real world. As such the plot of ‘Things Fall Apart,’ coupled with Achebe’s incentive in writing it, serve as the narrative’s most obvious adherence to the conventions of Realist Fiction. Determined in his effort to correct the tainted notions that had been cast upon his society, Achebe presents his people, the Ibo in an authentic light; true to whom they were. In light of all the Ibo have undergone and their far than flattering representation at the hands of Western authors, one might have suspect Achebe of purposefully casting his people in an impartial and bias light. Nonetheless the author stays true to himself and his audience, maintaining his integrity by commenting on both strengths and flaws in society. An example of his impartiality would be his mention, of wife beating and fellowship, contrasting factors that both played a prominent role in the shaping the Ibo community. In not favoring a particular sentiment, Achebe succeeds in providing his reader with an accurate and veracious outlook on the Ibo and it is this multi-faceted view that strengthens the novel’s plausibility of life, endowing it with its sense of authenticity.

Achebe further adds to this sense of realism by incorporating a number of practices unique to the Igbo people, the most notable being his inclusion of their oral tradition.  Amongst the Ibo, the act of tête-à-tête was well regarded, and for that reason, proverbs, folklore, mythology and oration make up a sizeable portion of the novel’s mythos. This in turn ties into the notion of Mimesis, a defining characteristic of Realist Fiction, as Achebe’s inclusion of these practices in his novel, represents and imitates the real world.

Popular perception of realist fiction had long entailed the author to follow a linear structure in the progression of their account. However Achebe fails to adhere to this convention instead opting for a framework that more closely reflects the style of speaking used by the Igbo, skirting round a subject before pouncing on the very heart of it. This is evident in the passing of the novel’s three sections. In the first, Achebe adopts a circulatory narrative, retracing Okonkwo’s roots and his relationship with his father. As such this structure does also serve a practical role, in providing the reader with some background and pretense regarding Okonkwo’s ambtions. The latter half of the novel, is far more structure and time oriented, possibly reflecting the structural change brought upon by the arrival of European colonizers, whose way of life is far more time centric. Regardless in adopting this structure, Achebe celebrates the discourse of his people, furthering the novel’s authenticity and veracity in relation to its subject material.

By abiding and deviating from a number of aspects of his novel’s chosen genre, Realist Fiction, Achebe succeeds in depicting his society in its most true form. This is not only made clear in the subject matter of the novel, but also it’s countless ties-ins with the oral traditions of the Ibo and the progression of its narrative. In doing so Achebe is able to actively engage his audience and depict the world of his people, in an authentic and tangible light, providing a thought-provoking commentary on the life and customs of the Ibo people.

           

Why things fell apart...

Our way of life was not undone by the sword, the gods or by any means of violent force. Rather our downfall was at the hands of our very own people, the people of Umofia who in their haste to embrace a foreign power, tore apart the fragile fabric that held our society intact, shattering the delicate harmony that had once existed among our people.

I was a great man among my people, and from the days of my youth set my heart to seek and search out by wisdom the purpose and meaning behind the practices and ways of my people; why we did what we did, whom we served and what we hoped to gain. As such I hold to the belief that it was we valued most, the hopes and fears we held dear, that led to our demise.

This notion should by now means serve as an abstraction for we the Igbo are an open-book people, easily understood and interpreted. We are also a stubborn and persistent people, many a time resistant to change. The white man on the other hand is a far different story.

When the white man first came to our village with his language and religion, he was seemingly innocent. Wooing the hearts of all he planted the seeds from which to secure a long lasting hold over the young and the naïve, till all in Umofia was under his spell. Those opposed to his will he singled out and ostracized, using our fellow brother to carry out his will, those grey Kotmas. In turn we turned on ourselves, we lost hold over what we held most dear, the unity and fellowship between kinsmen. As the old proverbs go it is the slow knife, the knife that takes its time, the knife that slips quietly between the bones that is the knife that cuts the deepest. And this is why it all fell apart, for dulled into a state of compliance and false security over time we forsook our fundamental concepts and laws: unity and single-mindedness, and divided…we fell.