Water Birds on the Lakeshore

A review of the 'Water Birds on the Lakeshore', an African Young Adult Short Story Collection, edited by Zukiswa Wanner

Photo by Mquzama

“During maman’s funeral, I hear those talks again and again. Mourning these days is but a formality. People come and find lovers, fight old wars, find a husband, play the fool, do business. The bereaved family must console itself.”

- Merdi Mukole, Black Cornea, White Iris

Water Birds on the Lakeshore is an eclectic collection of short stories of the young adult fiction genre, penned by authors from across the African continent. It spans a variety of themes with particular focus on the tensions within and across families—the frail loyalties that hold this together and the distances that emerge from this instability, even for people in the closest of proximities. Whether it is father-mother, parent-child, sibling-sibling, the anthology presents the different realities that encompass family life, piecing together a fuller image of what an African family is.

Additionally, the collection also features an expansive range of narration styles, ensuring there is, at the very least, something for everybody. Furthermore, one of the things that stood out about the stories was the inclusion of magical realism — a genre I often never associated with African literature. And I do not mean Nollywood-esque juju from an evil mother-in-law, I mean alternative histories, clandestine worlds, and societies embedded in magic and related constructs. In this sense, it is an important contribution to the African literary scene and opens up much-needed space for more experimental and hybrid genres.

But what did I think of it? Well, like almost every short-story collection I have read before this, it was a mixed bag. At this point, I have come to terms with the fact that I might never get to read a five-star anthology. Fingers crossed: I get proved wrong soon! I will, also as usual, discuss a few of the stories that stood out to me. I start with the ones I particularly enjoyed — A Change in Sleeping Arrangements, Oubliette, A Year of Failure, and the ones I found rather underwhelming — Naka, The Lama Warrior, and the titular story, Water Birds On The Lakeshore.

A Change In Sleeping Arrangements

Narrated by Life (yes, that is the character’s name), whose parents’ marriage is on the ropes — changing who stays where, who says what, and who sleeps where. The main flashpoint is the moment Life’s father, Vitumbiko, after a series of heated arguments with his wife, leaves the house and shows no signs of returning. The change in the sleeping arrangements — by Vitumbiko not occupying his matrimonial bed — is mirrored by a similar change in the mundane customs that typify a family — the ‘how was school today’ conversations, the hushed back-and-forth between parents, or the blend of annoyance and care that comes with and from your parents’ never-ending disciplinary incursions.

“If emotions had a smell, she would reek of despair, She lets out a shaky breath. I wonder if she is disappointed that I am not the person she left the door open for. Regardless, she shifts so that we are closer. I leave in the morning, ten minutes before her alarm wakes her, so that I can get ready for school.”

- pg. 31

As the story progresses, you witness the capitulation of the parents’ love for each other, as experienced by the most indelible expression of it — their children, Life, and her brother, Mbachi. It eloquently straddles drama and mystery — why did their father leave? Will he come back? These questions latch onto the reader from the story’s beginning to its final pages. This void—this father and husband-shaped hole in their lives— is gradually filled by questions that are rarely asked. Questions that are cloaked by the veneer of maturity and the seeming impeccable judgment that separates parents from their children.

“They refill their glasses. They never ask me how I am doing. I wonder if they are as afraid of my answer as I am of their question.”

- pg. 32

For the reader, something else lingers — the question of whether one can truly outgrow all those uncomfortable conversations our families have swept under the carpet, for the performance of a happy family. Whether they eventually disintegrate? Or they just bid their time instead, waiting for the most opportune moment to accentuate the difference between what we hope our family is, and the ugliness of what it truly is.

Oubliette

While I liked Kanjaye's story, the (extremely prestigious!) award for my favourite piece in the collection goes to Oubliette. On the face of it, especially in the beginning, there is nothing spectacular about the story. It is just a simple rich kid-poor kid friendship that transcended and cut across class boundaries. And then it flips! Brooding in the backdrop of this typical high-school best buddies story — with pubescent desires, hilarious pranks, and a brotherhood that trumps all of this, is the shadow of civil unrest. The unravelling of a conflict so severe that it subsumes the common ground between the rich and the poor, swallows any remnants of the adolescence that brought them together, because war, war makes men out of mere children.

Photo by Clement Efe on Unsplash

What this story does extremely well is show how porous the boundaries between young and mature are — between young adult fiction and whatever the opposite of this genre is. Howard Maximus does this delicately, slowly pulling you out of the boyish excitement to the tragic realities of life, as embodied by his characters, and what they witness. He shows it is not only time that distances the young and the old, the friends from high school, the fondness of youth, and the grim reality of adulthood, but also unbridled strife, in its bloodiest form. And the pressures that disproportionately entangle the poor — the mired burden of responsibility, and the new life that the negotiation of this entails.

“As you spoke, you felt his eyes on you. They carried something they had never carried for you before: disdain. You felt there were things he wanted to say. You could hear them from his eyes, calling you a privileged brat who could afford to book the next flight as soon as there was a problem. Where had you been for two years? What did you know about anything? Wasn't everyone in your family safe? Including the chef? You wanted him to say these things so you could apologise.”

- pg. 121

A Year of Failure

Have you ever read a story and it just felt … comfortable? Hear me out here, a story that doesn’t have too much noise in the plot, a story that is, for lack of a better word, easy on the brain. You don’t have to keep circling back to earlier scenes or pondering what a sentence may be trying to convey, because the story is simply that, the story. This would be my not-so-elaborate description of what it felt like reading A Year of Failure, by Shammin Chiba.

Narrated by Mishay, the story is the narrator's recollection of 1998 — a year discoloured by his misfortunes. Be it academically — he flanked his class, or career-wise — he failed to make it in professional football. The main failure that he dwells on, however, is not any of this; rather, it is how his romantic life took an unexpected blow from Shanaaz. It takes the traditional friends, to crush, to (possible) lovers trope of most romantic YA, even having the hallmark cool versus socially awkward kids, and the ceremonial buff and athletic guy, with zero personality, that the crush ends up dating.

“She was at the top of the popularity stakes: she was a hockey regular, loved by her friends, and dating the cool guy. Who was I to her? The fool trying to topple all of her hard work, that's who.”

- pg. 151

There is not much I can say about this, honestly. Of course, it does tangentially talk about race relations, stereotypes, and dysfunctional families, given its basis in post-apartheid South Africa, but I would be lying if I said these are what made me like this story. I just felt nice reading this.

Apart from these three, I also want to acknowledge the fascinating plot of The Burden by Haku Jackson, which was based on a magical realist reinterpretation of stillbirth. This was arguably my favourite out of the latter short stories (the last five of them), which had a whiff of fantasy or magical realism.

Naka, the Lama Warrior

Before I give my thoughts on this, I will play it safe and reiterate that I am an extremely picky reader, especially when it comes to short stories; my reviews of Manchester Happened and This Hostel Life are living testaments of this!

If I had to describe Naka, the Lama Warrior, succinctly, I would say it is a (heavily) Mulan-coded story of a determined aspiring warrior, Naka, who, against gender and tribal customs, wants to be a warrior like her grandfather. As she tries to figure out how to join the all-male army of her village, in her usual forest runs, she stumbles on a stranded prince, whom she saves using her family’s talisman as guidance. The rest of the story follows on from the unusual request that she asks of the king, who asks her what she wants as a recognition for her role in saving the prince’s life.

I found this story somewhat underwritten — if this is even a word. I thought there was a lot that was collapsed at the expense of the social-outcast-meets-prince-and-saves-the-kingdom template. There was little said of her relationship with the prince beyond the forest encounter, or even a discussion of why the prince was in the forest, or why the talisman drew her to him. The action plot lines, the ones describing the fighting in wars, would have also used some flesh to them. There is a chance, of course, that some details fell through the cracks during the translation and editing processes.

Water Birds on The Lakeshore

Apart from this, I also had high hopes for the story the collection is named after — Water Birds On the Lakeshore. Narrated by Tosin, this is a retelling of the colonial conquest, where, through magic, the natives won, and are now tasked with protecting their interests and land from both internal and external enemies. Central to this story is the disappearance of Kemba. Tosin, who was Kemba’s (boy)friend, has to figure out what happened. Where is Kemba? And why does she keep seeing her everywhere? Is she hallucinating? Or is this a message that he needs to decode?

While this time, the combative scenes that were a significant proportion of the book were more engrossing, with more depth, I found it rather difficult to follow the rest of the story. I was not exactly sure of how this magic operated, or how the institution, called the Council of Natives (and its politics), fit into the whole story. It felt like there were a couple of holes in the plot that were skipped in the narration, particularly the ‘natural sand’ bit, and where exactly the previous colonial powers stood in the contemporary social or economic arrangements of the country. Maybe, for me, this would have been best consumed as a lengthier piece, with a more appropriate buildup to the key plot points.

Conclusion

Overall, Water Birds on the Lakeshore is an interesting compilation of the diverse stories of Africa — told from varying angles, sub-genres, and thematic foci. While I have reservations over some of the stories, the book is a much-needed foray into a literary terrain that has often been under-published.