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Editor's Blog
Writing and Publishing Memoirs
Writing and Publishing Memoirs
We have published two out of three parts of a short memoir from Frank Baker about his time as a motorcycle-despatch rider based in Kilwa, German East Africa during World War I. The final instalment is scheduled to appear in the February-March 2009 issue of Old Africa magazine.
For many people, taking the time to write down personal memories of their earlier life and compiling them into a memoir is a great way to make sense of the past. It helps to see where we’ve come from and the events that have shaped our lives. And it is a great gift to pass on to our children and grandchildren so they can understand what life was like in a previous era. Anthony Farnsworth did this when he wrote his book called Colonial Boy.
Here is a short excerpt remembering the family’s move to Dar-es-salaam in the 1948: “We were now settling down to a routine in the house. The camp seemed a long time ago now, although none of us would ever forget it. My mother had given all the grocery shops a good looking over before deciding to shop at one called ‘Economic Stores.’ You were served at a counter, of course, but the staff were polite and helpful and it was very well stocked…A lot of people had accounts with shops and paid one bill at the end of the month, but my mother decided to pay as she went. We were now into August and the weather was much cooler than when we arrived in February, probably the hottest month of the year…” We will run the rest of this excerpt in our February-March 2009 magazine. But for those who want to read the rest of the book, Colonial Boy is available online from lulu.com Cost is US$16.40 for a paperback book or $10.26 to download a copy to your computer.
The technology for publishing Colonial Boy is called Print on Demand or P.O.D. Certain publishing companies will take your story and lay it out electronically and prepare it for publication. They charge the writer a fee for this service. But then they will print the book as people order it. Print on demand. It’s a decent way to get your story published in a nice format. If it doesn’t sell many copies, at least you have not wasted a lot of money and killed a lot of trees and ended up with a room piled high with unsold (and unread) books. I used the P.O.D. format to publish my recent novel, Dust of Africa, about a boy who grows up in Africa, loves rugby and seeks to find his place in the world. In less than six months it has sold over 200 copies. That’s not very many, but I’ve earned back my investment and many of those who have read it are getting in touch and telling me how Dust of Africa has affected them and evoked powerful memories of their own years in Africa. Dust of Africa is not in bookshops. It’s only available online from dealers like amazon.com (See advert at the bottom of this page if you’d like to order a copy).
As you enjoy reading other people’s memoirs, consider taking the time to record your own memories. Write them down and gather your old photos. Everyone’s story deserves to be heard – and read. If it doesn’t make it into the pages of Old Africa magazine, maybe you can have it published using print on demand technology.
Sweet Potatoes for Thanksgiving in Tanganyika Territory
Sweet Potatoes for Thanksgiving in Tanganyika Territory
Tomorrow is American Thanksgiving, a holiday to remember all the good things God has given to us, and normally celebrated with family around a table groaning under a turkey dinner with all the trimmings. I’m in the USA this year and I’ve bought the turkey and my wife is working a day ahead to make the meal special. I’ve spent more Thanksgivings in Africa than in America. And my dad always told the story of the Thanksgiving in the 1950s in Tanganyika when they only had sweet potatoes. But let him tell the story. I found this manuscript recently in a box of Dad’s letters and papers, which had been in storage.
Told by Ed Arensen
As Americans in Africa, we still celebrated Thanksgiving on the last Thursday of November. We lived at Kahunda, a mission station on the shores of Lake Victoria south of Mwanza. A government boat usually stopped at our tiny dock once a week, but it had failed to arrive this week and we were out of food.
The day before we had cleaned out our larder except for a bag of sweet potatoes given to us by an African friend. We had three meals before us and we would have sweet potatoes for breakfast, sweet potatoes for lunch and sweet potatoes for supper. We had three hungry boys and faced a rather barren Thanksgiving Day. We knew we wouldn’t starve. Sweet potatoes aren’t all that bad. In fact, my wife knew several ways to prepare sweet potatoes. But the kids really didn’t like sweet potatoes and we remembered Thanksgiving in America with a turkey and a variety of dishes – including sweet potatoes. But who’d ever heard of only sweet potatoes for Thanksgiving?
We went to bed on Thanksgiving eve wondering how our family would be thankful for sweet potatoes.
The next morning I woke up early and went outside. A young boy came down the trail. “Wangaluka Baba – uli mhola?” he greeted me in Kisukuma. “The night has turned my father. Are you at peace?”
Then he told me he’d had just seen a flock of guinea fowl on the edge of the forest. I hurried back into the house for my shotgun. The long grass in the area made it difficult to see and shoot guinea fowl. But as I arrived, a large bird hopped up on a stump. I fired and the bird dropped dead. I picked it up and marched back to the house rejoicing.
As I stepped outside another boy near the lake asked if I wanted to buy fish. He had just seen a fishing boat glide up on the sandy beach. I gave him some shillings and half an hour later he returned with a nice string of lake fish. Things were looking up for our Thanksgiving feast.
Fishermen in their dugout canoe on Lake Victoria. Photo by E.H. Arensen
Shortly after the fishermen paddled away in their canoe I heard a bushbuck barking near the lake. I grabbed my .22 rifle and went down to the bushes by the lakeside. When the bushbuck barked again, I spotted him and killed it with one shot. Our gardener heard the shot and ran to help me drag the buck into the backyard. We skinned it and divided the meat with our African neighbours. We had a kerosene refrigerator, so we stretched the meat for several weeks.
While I had been stalking the bushbuck, a man had stopped by our house and asked what he could do with a bag of white wheat flour. His friend had gotten it from an Arab-shopkeeper by mistake and he didn’t know how to use it. My wife, Esther, bought the flour from him. Before she had finished the transaction, someone else came to the door to sell tomatoes.
Thanksgiving had arrived on time! We only had sweet potatoes to begin with. Now we had fish from the lake, guinea fowl from the forest, white flour from an Arab shopkeeper who had made a mistake, a hefty bushbuck to keep us in meat for several days and a basket of tomatoes
Truly it was a Thanksgiving to be thankful for.
Have a great Thanksgiving.
Shel Arensen, Editor
Telephones and blogs
Telephones and blogs
I grew up in Kenya in a house without a telephone. It was a big day when KP&T brought phone lines to the Kijabe mission. The phone at my parents' Kesho offices was 12Y7. To make a call required whirling a handle and shouting for the operator in Naivasha. Often the lines were down and no one answered resulting in louder shouting. Phone service remained erratic until cell phones arrived. Now rural areas are filled with people texting on phones. So, though we are Old Africa, we are trying to keep up with the times, which now includes journaling on the internet - something called weblogging or "blogging." I'll be making regular updates commenting on issues relating to Old Africa and our shared history. So keep up to date with us on our new Old Africa blog.
Shel Arensen, Editor
