by Chris Abani
“Humans, not places, make memories.” – Ama Ata Aidoo
The position of early postcolonial writers was a difficult one, navigating the recuperation of loss, defining the scope of nation and citizenship, and working through these new layers of interaction overlaid on the deeper human interactions. In this light, the quote above by Ama offers a clarity that is striking. If we replace the word memories with history, then we begin to see the ethical interrogation at the heart of Ama’s work—where the human fits in the narrative of history. This is why she remains so compelling in global letters; this insistence on exploring the dignity and inner lives of everyday Africans played against the larger forces of humanness—love, death, loyalty—and set on the edge of politics, global capitalism, and larger forces pushing towards the erasure of said dignity.
This insistence on dignity, for women particularly, but also for men, caught in the complexity of patriarchy and post and neocolonialism, is approached with an intense and often unsentimental and unforgiving yet always compassionate lens. This lack of sentimentality enabled her to produce a lasting, searing, and achingly beautiful oeuvre of books. Her Africans have global imaginations, deep, commonly held human flaws and graces, and a very local and specific sense of self that, by its very complicated specificity, achieves cosmopolitan dimensions.
Ama’s range was impressive—plays, poetry, and prose—and all done to the same level of excellence we might expect from a single genre master. As a person, Ama was as provocative and uncompromising intellectually and politically as she was a writer, and this consistency was something I have admired over the years. The fire of her work was difficult for many readers and critics, but she took it in stride. For her, it seemed, was the cost of her fierce love for her people and for all those who might be considered marginalized. A true feminist, she was a lifelong advocate for women, not only in terms of their daily lives but also via her work. She rendered African women in detail and depth and the full range of their majesty and contradictions.
In the same way that Baldwin and Morrison grounded their aesthetics and politics in a deep abiding love—love as sentiment, as politics, as the most potent language for transformation, Ama held the same line. She chose a style that was elegant and accessible yet rigorous and enjoyable. Her influence as a human, a woman, and a writer is visible among her peers and in the subsequent generation of writers. Like Anansi, she was the ultimate trickster, teacher, and guide.
She also had a great sense of humor about herself and the work, never taking it more seriously than was necessary. Ama was one of a handful of female writers in her generation in an industry dominated by men. Her contemporaries—Buchi Emecheta, Flora Nwapa, Nadine Gordimer, and Margaret Busby—all had to make space for themselves in this arena. Now that female writers dominate African literature, it can be easy to forget the women who made it possible. Ama joked herself, “They have always told me that I write like a man.” Ifie Amadiume and Tess Onwueme drew power from her, as did my generation, with Adichie perhaps the most visible.
Her impact on the imagination of not just writers and readers but on the very culture itself is undeniable. Thanks to her work, her interviews, and other interventions in the world, she still resonates with us, but still, we will miss her. Ama iya, great mother, brilliant writer, defier of norms and expectations, roles, original. We will remain in the awe of what you made, Giri ‘mpete.
The Program of African Studies has named a research fellowship after Ama Ata Aidoo.
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Chris Abani is the director of the Program of African Studies and Board of Trustees Professor of English, Northwestern University