Kenya based writer Karest Lewela talks to Karen Martin about redefining what is African by listening to the past and mapping out the future.

"I hope to inspire a reflection on how we ended up 'here', and whether being here is the right place to be if we are to achieve our best potential ... "

Karest Lewela. Photograph by David Kibe. 

Karen Martin: What do you mean by "African Renaissance"? What will be recovered from the past, and how will it respond to and shape the future? How does your work as a poet and storyteller contribute to the renaissance you imagine?

Karest Lewela: African Renaissance is a conscious movement and thereby a lifestyle that seeks a realistic yet idealistic rebirth of Africa. This journey necessitates the review of creative new knowledge: to clarify the grey areas, to redress the errors, to understand our heritage and the events that put us where we are. It is an active attempt to define who we are and influence our future, and eventually to map out the way forward. All this is a bid to redefine ourselves as Africans, an enabler for the achievement of our best potential.

The past offers a holistic plane that shudders with an echo, whose greatest benefit to the movement is the clear definition of African identity. I believe that as Africans we are characterised by a paradox that denies us a definition of ourselves, denies us self-knowledge. Some clarity lies in the past, in understanding our interactions, some of which were ideologically brutal, such as the European Disruption, slavery and colonisation, all the way to nationalism and neo-colonialism.

African Renaissance is thus a rebirth of a clear identity. This in turn is rooted in a self-aware culture born out of an integrated approach to scholarship. At Maktaba Afrika, we have developed a conceptual approach to studying Africa, which we call African Renascent Integrationism (ARI). ARI seeks to reaffirm African cultural worth today by identifying the presence of cultural aspects that exist in both 'purist' and renascent Africa. It links today's African urban culture to purist Africa, establishing the three primary integrated aspects of literature, music and philosophy as one, unified, basic discipline that permeates every aspect of African culture.

My work as a poet and storyteller seeks to explore this integration of literature, music and philosophy. Some of the recurrent themes in my writing include: self-identity, challenging economic models, questioning the validity of African History as depicted by the Other voice, social justice, and re-thinking religion and globalisation in contemporary society. I hope to inspire a reflection on how we ended up 'here', and whether being here is the right place to be if we are to achieve our best potential away from the great calamities of poverty, ignorance and disease.

I am full of faith that through my work I can contribute to and on behalf of Africa as a point of reference to global thought.

KM: What do an open mic session in Nairobi and publishing on the internet do differently for you as an artist with an agenda? How might these two streams of sharing your work contribute differently to an African Renaissance?

KL: The open mic sessions give me a platform to express my thoughts to a field of potentially like-minded individuals and groups. They also provide an opportunity to begin conversations on common issues and to make a linkage for a viral dissemination of African Renascent Integrationism. Outside formal institutions such as schools, we have a challenge with our reading culture in general, so performance poetry bridges that gap.

The artist's life is overall a very lonely one, and rich in heightened sensitivities to the injustices that plague our very existence as a people. I find the open mic sessions a great platform for solace and reassurance (that there are many soldiers in this battle for the best of our potential), and a great source of inspiration listening to different voices.

Publishing on the internet increases the scope of the audience, as opposed to print. Accessibility to the world opens avenues to discuss common issues, hear alternative voices (challenges) to my belief systems, and refine myself as an individual and as a writer. The internet gives great room for almost instant feedback, which may not be so forthcoming with print media.

KM: Who do you want to speak to with your work, and why? Do you see yourself as having a range of audiences? Who are they? Where are they?

KL: I speak to those individuals who feel an itch to redefine themselves, and are therefore constantly barraged by questions of self-identity and nagged by their conscience to make a contribution to humanisation. I also speak to individuals who, due to economic pressure, are typecast into roles that deny them the voice and courage to be themselves and thereby their best selves.

KM: Where do you come from and how did you end up where you are? Has your life path been predictable or has it taken some unexpected turns? Where would you like to find yourself in ten years' time?

KL: I come from Africa, and currently Kenya is the vessel that houses my person. I became an African before I became Kenyan, thanks to a stint of study in South Africa. I was born and raised in California (in Nairobi), a vibrant and socially charged environment, characterised by an almost violent struggle for economic emancipation, and made livable by great determination, proud and youthful independence, and an ebullient sense of humour. I owe the room to chase my potential to my mum, who single-handedly instilled a sense of diligence and discovery in me, providing the first socially deconstructed environment that enabled me to strive to excel.

I understood early that education would be my only key to independence and I have been fortunate to study at some of the greatest institutions: Starehe Boys Centre, St. Stithians College and Kenyatta University. Through this journey in education, I have met people who moved me from my comfort zone into chasing individual breakthroughs, who have made me realise that serenity doesn't exist in isolation, and who act as my pillars of reinforcement in the values and ethics that define me as a person today.

Life hasn't been predictable, and I don't think it will be in the coming future. For instance, I never thought I would end up working in the oil industry! In ten years time, I pray that I will be out of corporate life (where I have been the last six years) and back in development work, especially education. I hope that by then I will be an authoritative voice in the elements of culture: literature, music and philosophy. I would like to do an in-residence writing program (perhaps an MA / MFA in Creative Writing) and target to complete a novel whilst at it. I am working to one day publish an anthology that combines my short stories and poems.

KM: You say you are no stranger to controversy. What kind of controversy? Can you tell us a story about one such controversy you have been in?

KL: My writing seeks to upset the status quo. I read a lot, and I must admit that I am almost instinctively attracted to titles that refuse to agree with conventional wisdom. Some of my favourite texts include: Paulo Freire's Pedagogy of the Oppressed, Charles Marlowe's Dr Faustus, Frantz Fanon's The Wretched of the Earth, Mohsin Hamid's The Reluctant Fundamentalist, and Herman Hesse's Siddharta. If you look at my first story to be published by ITCH, Yohanna's Factory, you will find a criticism of capitalism, for instance:

"I love capitalism; one can easily sell folly to any ignoramus for a profit. The way the system is designed is very much like a wager. Business deals allow us to accept our uncivilised (sic) selves as the starving people who would rather trip on each other and be called greedy than share out the little that is available..."

KM: ITCH describes itself as "South African rooted and internationally relevant". What does this mean to you in the context of the internet and other globalising forces? How do you see South Africa in relation to the rest of Africa?

KL: Being internet based, ITCH is able to reach more widely than South Africa for both its audience and its contributors. Divergent voices, in both the writing and the feedback given by readers, ensure that the voice that ITCH represents can easily be a global voice. For me this is exciting, because relevant messages should not be limited to a particular class of people (and I use the word class in the most generic interpretation), but should reach all humanity.

The world has a soft spot for South Africa, partly because of the atrocities that came with apartheid and partly because apartheid brought together forces of humanity across the globe, and in the end, humanity triumphed. There's lot on good governance that Africa can borrow from South Africa, and the self-pride of its people needs to shine and infect the rest of Africa. South Africa mirrors the development challenge faced by most countries, where socio-economic development worsens the rift between the rich and the poor, a situation that is unhealthy for any nation. Africa must begin to think of itself as one people, and South Africa is in a pivotal position to champion such unification attempts.

KM: How do you like the current issue of ITCH? Do you find resonances with the other artists and their work? Is there anything in particular you would like to see in future issues?

KL: I love ITCH as a platform for my work, because the themes are artistically provocative without serving the function of a straitjacket. The quality of contributions in this issue is stellar (though I must admit this is not limited to this issue) and there is so much to learn from other writers.

The theme for the current issue reflects on identity, something that occupies a huge part of my Self (and perhaps any other living human being). I love the different takes that different writers have on the same, and these voices could easily spur a new story. How about that for symbiosis?

In future issues, it would be great to find more voices from across Africa.

Here are links to some of my other poems and narratives:

Familiarity in ITCH e.06; 1926 Miles of Training, Drop and Trusting Foolishly in Pambazuka News; Strained Choices at Storymoja.

Heidi Sincuba talks to Karen Martin about seeing herself and being seen, and how rage fired a wide-eyed Zulu girl in the Netherlands to re-appropriate the African in her work.

"As ridiculous as it is to be represented as anonymous and half-naked somewhere in Africa, that has still seeped into the way "Africans" perceive themselves."

Heidi Sincuba Karen Martin: You've moved around all your life. Why? Where have you been? And where are you going?

Heidi Sincuba: I was born in a Christian mission where everything was sober, stable and "logical". We learned about the Bible and the consequences of not believing it, and were educated at the mission's private school, at which topics like reproduction were eliminated from the curriculum. But my mother hauled me and my two brothers out of there when things got sour due to politics and other mission related issues.

We moved from relative to relative around KwaZulu-Natal, and sometimes stayed with my mom's employers when she worked as a domestic worker. My mother wanted to make a better life for us, so we got to move around to whichever place offered a better job. She worked in downtown Durban and then in Umgeni for a few years. During this time we were schooled in various Indian schools, from Stanger to Overport. My last few years of high school were spent at a Chinese school near Alexandra when my mom got a job in education and training in Joburg. And then we moved back to Durban when she started her own skills development company. I moved to Cape Town as soon as I could to study fine art. And here I am in Holland, still instinctively going wherever opportunity turns up.

KM: ITCH describes itself as "South African rooted and internationally relevant". What does this mean to you in the context of the internet and other globalising forces? Where are you rooted? And where are you relevant?

HS: Growing up in South Africa, I got used to being called a coconut: black on the outside, white on the inside. I was a decent kid, but according to my peers I wasn't black enough. And when I was with white friends, I was the token black girl. Here in Holland, the complexities are more elaborate. It's a strange place for an African to be, like limbo. I'm a foreigner, an "outsider" and just "not from here". This is how I am described, and this is how I work.

I am rooted in South Africa, because that's where my family is and that is the world that (for now) makes the most sense to me. But I can't predict where I'll be relevant. Everywhere I meet people like myself I'm delighted, because there's an irrational instinct that makes you believe you understand someone because they're from where you're from. "Dark people" as we're called in Holland - not from Ivory Coast or Ghana or Ethiopia or South Africa, but from "Africa". Somewhere down there. I've met so many different people eager to share how things are back home, but finding that their version of home doesn't fit the context. At this point, I'm just trying to make myself relevant, even where I'm not.

KM: The focus of your work is on the female subject and how it is represented and seen in different communities, and this is what your graduate exhibition at ArtEZ Institute of the Arts explores. Representing the other is often problematised when white artists represent black subjects, or middle class artists represent poor subjects, and so on: when the power relations have the artist in the more powerful position. As a black woman artist, are you able to approach the black female subject differently? How do you feel, as a black woman, about representations of black women subjects, both now and in the past, both in the arts and in the popular media? How do you see future representations of black women contesting and capitulating to over-determining ways of seeing and being seen?

HS: Being a black woman myself, I use the singular sentiments to compare myself with how I might be seen or represented. There have been many representations of the black female body, and only recently have there been representations of the black female body by black females. Previously, the represented black woman was a muted object of fascination, like a science project or a new toy. The image of the black woman had been appropriated, as it acquired (sometimes pornographic) implications in the Western context. So there isn't a lot to work with other than the problems between the black female subject and, say, the Western male viewer. But it's only fitting that all sorts of perspectives should inform new ways of seeing this subject, regardless of the secondary questions that may arise.

As a black female artist there is a very thin line between representing one's self and representing one's blackness. Perhaps that line is just an illusion - there are inter-cultural conflicts at play. As ridiculous as it is to be represented as anonymous and half-naked somewhere in Africa, that has still seeped in (like most things do) to the way "Africans" perceive themselves. Pop icons like Beyoncé and the Jacksons fuel the discussions about what it is to be black and whether that "black" concept will ever thrive commercially. Suddenly, we are not working towards challenging the Western viewer, but we must investigate black inferiority and other self-fulfilling prophecies. Colonialism, religion, cultural identity, migration, commercialism, sexuality: these issues influence each other and create new issues in the process. Nowadays one can't escape the topic if one is black, or even living among or around black communities. The way I see it, if the otherness is there and can be made into work - why not?

KM: You are also interested in the deconstruction of canons in the art world and popular culture. What do you think of Martin Gantman's work in the latest issue of ITCH, Odalisque Suite?

HS: Martin Gantman's Odalesque Suite is the kind of work I recognise as contemporary art: the artist takes something familiar or common and remixes it to revise or criticise our perception. That is the artist's task when relating to their environment. What would be an objectified female nude is transfigured with an iconic male face to become a suspicious, chauvinistic quip of an image. Odalesque Suite is witty and well considered.

There are a few similarities in our chosen subject matter, and we each interrogate canons based on our respective identities and subsequent points of view.

KM: Your work explores the dynamics between different communities. In the stories you have published in ITCH, Trust Me... There's No Other Way and Three Criminals, you explore the dynamics between some white and black communities in South Africa. You also explore the dynamics between men and women. Would you say that men and women might be considered to be different communities? Have you explored the dynamics between communities other than those in South Africa?

HS: Most of the dynamics between men and women are brought about by the fact that they are in the same community. They belong together, but they will never be the same. It's brutal but it's beautiful, and that is what we stereotypically base our art on, our prose and our music. The attraction between men and women is unquestionably fundamental. This is the elliptic origin underlying most of my work.

Perhaps the relative repulsion between different cultural communities is where the plot thickens. I started focusing on this when I moved to the Netherlands. A wide-eyed Zulu girl bent on joining in the investigation of sexuality in art and media, I was quickly told (not in these exact words) to be more "African". This is when I became enraged and more than eager to start representing the "African" in my work - re-appropriated. My work now has morphed into something that will probably morph into something else, but it is driven by my surroundings and my perceptions, regardless of where I am.

KM: What is it about Joyce Carol Oates that has influenced you? How does she continue to nurture you? Which other writers have influenced you and how?

HS: Joyce Carol Oates delves into human vulnerability, especially with the female subject, and her violent stories are critical and poetic simultaneously. She writes the way I imagine I'll write if I ever become an exceptional writer.

Even though I'm no longer a child, I remain captivated by Robert Swindells. I had to read his book at school. Abomination is like a favourite song to which one knows all the lyrics. Absolute perfection. I'm also wild about old school writers. I've never gotten over DH Lawrence, Ernest Hemingway and John Milton, and I read Jane Austen when I'm feeling positively girly. Something about that proper English makes you want to see if you can ever get the hang of it.

Nadine Gordimer, Zakes Mda and JM Coetzee are the writers that make me proud to come from a country with such a history of writing. Coetzee especially, whose words are like layers of human filth, presents the world and its people in a delightfully obscure way. You don't know if he detests humanity or if he feels utterly sorry for us all.

KM: On your blog you say you don't want to expect too much from having an art degree, but are rather relying on loving what you do and wanting to perfect it to take you where you want to go. What are you going to do next? What would you really, really like to be doing next?

HS: Right now I'm stalking art galleries and publishers, trying to get them to give me a platform to show my work. I'd like to be involved in a few exhibitions, a residency, and at some point I'd like to focus on writing. I have my studio, thank goodness, so I'm going to keep making the work and present it where I can.

Eventually, I would like the financial freedom that allows me to write and paint all the time. I don't know how you go about securing that. I don't want an extra job like I have now, for stability, the rent - the responsibility ... I hate it. I wanna write a screenplay, a book, make some images, and a record. I always have this harrowing feeling that time is running out. Maybe it would be a good idea to settle down and become a functional human being, but I don't have the time!

KM: What do you like about ITCH? Why do you choose to publish in ITCH?

HS: I stumbled upon ITCH through Art South Africa and instantly appreciated it. Its value is clearly that it's where creativity can find a platform. As a South African living abroad, reading and watching contemporary items from home was pivotal. ITCH is the kind of publication at which culture actually happens, while others are chasing events and phenomena to which they will never be related. The most authentic way to be relevant is to use the context as content. ITCH has the capacity to merge different sources of creativity regardless of their origin, without losing its own fundamental identity.

Los Angeles based artist Martin Gantman talks to Karen Martin about directing his gaze both inward and outward to understand who he is in the globalising world.

"I find that I must always remember to explore my biases when I approach a project and to allow them to evolve as the project does."

Martin Gantman Karen Martin: You made the Odalisque Suite between 1994 and 1997. What made you choose to publish it in ITCH in 2010? How does it speak to the theme "i"?

Martin Gantman: It is interesting how certain issues re-circulate. These particular issues, I and self, were addressed quite feverishly in the seventies and eighties, but were left without a particularly cogent understanding about how to approach them. The questions Who am I? and What am I? are always with us. It is just a matter of if and when we want to address them.

Sexuality and sensuality are particularly important in this regard. What is a man or woman? How does one act as either of those? Or is it somewhere in between or something entirely different? The answers to these questions shape how we expect ourselves to act in the real world.

KM: On your website, you describe in detail how the Odalisque Suite evolved for you, and in particular how it prompted you to examine your own relationship to sex and sexual imagery. Can you describe how this engagement did (or didn't?) disrupt the flaming heterosexual you have been described as?

MG: I live in the city of West Hollywood, California, USA. My wife, Abbe Land, is a politician. West Hollywood has a large gay population and we have many friends and acquaintances who are gay or lesbian. At a benefit dinner in the city of Santa Monica, where Abbe was going to address the audience, many of whom I had known when I had lived there, a well-known lesbian state legislator introduced Abbe as follows: "And speaking of flaming heterosexuals ... ".

I suspect that my move into West Hollywood in 1993 may have prompted my look into the issues of sexuality and gender, but all I remember is that I decided, in 1994, that I wanted to do an odalisque project. Approaching art work the way that I do, by trying to understand the issues that lie beneath the obvious, my first thought was to explore the question: Why are male artists so enticed by the female body? This may seem to be perfectly naive, but the answers feed into all of our male/male and male/female relationship issues. That would be how the Odalisque Suite process affected me personally - finding my own way into how I act without the label of "male" being a determining factor.

KM: Is this a characteristic of your practice in general: that you use your artist's gaze as a telescope into your own psyche? How has this played out in the work you have done subsequent to the Odalisque Suite? Or if not, why not?

MG: Early on that point of view was more influential. And, even now, it is inherent in my work even though my last couple of projects, one about media and social response (Atmospheric Resources Tracking Incorporated) and the other about globalisation (Empire), were taken on at least partly as an effort to redirect that "gaze" outward. I find that I must always remember to explore my biases when I approach a project and to allow them to evolve as the project does. For example, in Empire I knew that I carried political and anti-business ideas at the inception. As the project proceeded I had to constantly go inside in order to determine whether I was interpreting data and events evenly. When that thought occurs to me as I work, it is generally a productive caution that I am acting automatically and that I have to go back in and sort things out.

One of the parts that came out of The Tracking Project is what I call the Tracking Statement. It became a kind of manifesto for how I try to approach art and life.

KM: Tell us some more about Empire, which you also published in ITCH. What was the frame? And the process? How does it link with your previous work? Do you know what your next project will be?

MG: I have always had an interest in issues around political boundaries and have wanted to think of myself as a global person. Boundaries have always seemed artificial and limiting. In Empire I wanted to understand the forces that manifest the expansion of some powers and the retraction of others. I also wanted to get a clearer sense of how this process was affecting real people and situations around the world - in other words, what is really happening as differentiated from what the media and political and financial centres are putting out. I began with the idea of Davos as the capital of a global economic empire. That is where many of the highest profile business people and politicians meet once a year. It conveyed a beautifully visual idea about a conglomerate of these entities working together to encapsulate the output of, as Mehita says, 6.6 billion people. Truth is, things are not that concentric - there are diverse views about the benefits and liabilities of globalisation from all walks of life.

The other issue that I am perversely enjoying in Empire is that of documentary as art: How does one relay basic data and information in what would still be considered an "artistic" way? I say perverse because that is how difficult the challenge seems. I would like art to convey an attitude that is larger and/or different from its parts.

Empire has become a fairly complex project, and though I have toyed with another project (about the perception of color) Empire is heading toward its fourth year, is in its third phase, and I see little way out.

KM: ITCH describes itself as "South African rooted and internationally relevant". What does this mean to you in the context of the internet and other globalising forces? Do you have a particular relationship with or interest in South Africa?

MG: I have no direct relationship with South Africa except for the one I have had with ITCH. But given the information I have connected with through my recent work in Empire (and before that See You When We Get Home) and of course current events, I find it to be a particularly intriguing country not only in relation to its history, but also with respect to other countries in Africa. I have always been interested in the choices that societies who have broken a stranglehold of oppression make, how they navigate and create a future. In many countries it seems that the society returns to oppression in one form or another. South Africa seems to be still working it through - and that is very interesting.

It is especially important that a publication such as ITCH emanates from South Africa. One of the most significant issues that I have noted from my Empire work is the difference between the northern and southern global hemispheres. To have a publication come out of this area that discusses issues of universal import and has international participation gives much needed visibility to the African continent.

I am very pleased that ITCH has found my work interesting enough to publish, and from a part of the world where I have little historical connection. It is of course a result of the globalising influence that we are (all) able to speak to each other from our different historical constructs. That to me is one of the beneficial parts of globalisation. As it would appear that international travel ironically is becoming more difficult due to economic and "protective" measures, the use of the internet by venues such ITCH to interrelate, especially coming out of a non-northern center, becomes even more valuable.

Amsterdam based writer Richard de Nooy talks to Karen Martin about moving between identities

"The broader relevance of my work lies in using South Africa as a metaphor for exploring the complexities and contradictions of a changing world."

Richard de Nooy - photograph by Martin Broekhuis 

Karen Martin: ITCH describes itself as "South African rooted and internationally relevant". What does this mean to you in the context of the internet and other globalising forces? Where are you rooted? And where are you relevant?

Richard de Nooy: Although I have lived in Amsterdam for almost 25 years, I will always remain firmly attached to South Africa. I recently described the nature of this bond in a poem called Frayed Sutures, which begins as follows: "I have sliced and chewed but I cannot detach // Myself from the cord that binds // Me to our ruptured womb // The bleeding placenta // That fed us all."

When I first arrived in Holland in 1986, I was ashamed of my South African roots and focused mainly on assuming a Dutch identity, working hard to eradicate my English accent, so that I was not constantly faced with questions about my past. But since the country's liberation, I have developed a growing sense of pride in South Africa's achievements, its ability to change. And since the publication of my first novel in 2007, I have gradually been drawn back into the fold, connecting with South African authors and readers. The latter process would have been well nigh impossible without the internet, which offers me a platform for interaction, primarily via BookSA and GoodReads, and more recently via Facebook. My growing "relevance" in South Africa subsequently gave rise to attention in the Netherlands and, to a lesser extent, the United States.

I now believe the broader relevance of my work lies in using South Africa almost as a metaphor for exploring the complexities and contradictions of a changing world. In the Netherlands, for instance, people tend to forget that rights and freedoms are not a matter of course, that they must be actively defended and upheld, that people have given their lives and suffered immense hardship to achieve this freedom. The internet helps remind people that this process of liberation is still underway on many continents.

KM: Why did you choose to publish in ITCH? Would you like to be published in the journals you wrote pre-emptive rejection letters to?

RdN: I would like my work to be as broadly read as possible. Yes, I would like to be published in those journals, but only because I know they would lend further relevance to what I write. They offer authors a stamp of approval, a passepartout to a literary elite. The main drawback is that they offer little access to the broader world, because they have a rather select readership. ITCH is a selective but open platform that offers a similar stamp of approval, but gives unrestricted access to readers worldwide. This coincides more closely with my own ambitions. If truth be told, I can't be bothered to meet the submission requirements of those journals and I am too impatient to await their response. Perhaps someday they will decide to approach me. Hence the pre-emptive letters of rejection.

KM: How do you like the current issue of ITCH? Do you find resonances with the other artists and their work?

RdN: I am impressed by the quality and variety of the contributions, although I must admit I haven't had time to read them all. My resonance with other artists and their work is much like an orchestra in which we each play our own instrument: sometimes the melodies and rhythms converge and work together and sometimes they are dissonant, but ultimately the goal is to make music expressing that which might otherwise lie dormant.

KM: In an interview on Litnet, you say that you used to experience visiting South Africa as coming back to the same room each time, but that now it's more like going through a portal into a new and fascinating world. What is new? What is fascinating? And why has the change happened for you?

RdN: Through my writing, I have had the privilege of meeting many authors from many different backgrounds, who are not only incredibly dedicated to their work, but also actively participate in shaping change, helping others and bringing about improvements through constructive criticism and participation in broader dialogue. I find the latter dimension both fascinating and heart-warming, and I consider it an honour to be counted among their ranks. My first book was the key that opened the door to this world. My own curiosity and desire to engage and explore did the rest.

KM: Do you identify as South African? African? Does your cultural identity shift depending on where you are? Are you African in Amsterdam and Dutch in Johannesburg? Or don't those categories make sense to you? Are they irrelevant in the world you occupy and move around in? What is constant about yourself and what shifts as you move between cultures and continents?

RdN: In my case, the greatest disparity lies in the spoken language. It is almost as if I have two different identities when I speak English and Dutch. When I speak the former (my first language) I feel calm and confident, as if I am in full control of the conversation, as if I have nothing to prove. But when I speak Dutch, I still feel - after almost 25 years - that I am inferior to the locals, as if I am trying too hard to prove something, as if I am incapable of expressing my identity to the full extent. This disparity is less marked when I write, because I am granted the time to seek words that fully express my opinion.

Because I have never considered myself Dutch or South African, I am able to view both of these cultures as an outsider, with a sense of amazement and delight. This more than compensates for the vague sense of longing for a spirit of place that goes with being fully absorbed into one culture or the other. The World Cup really brought this home to me. I've watched all the Dutch team's matches together with a group of neighbours. I support Orange and want them to do well, but unlike my neighbours, I never get dressed up in orange to get the full patriotic experience, and I accept their barbed comments about my black t-shirt and apparent lack of enthusiasm.

KM: What was your experience of writing your new novel in Dutch compared to writing the first in English? Did the different languages provide different consciousnesses? Do you occupy a different self in each of those languages? In this regard, what was it like translating your own work in your new novel? Do you prefer one or the other version?

RdN: I received a grant from the Dutch Foundation for Literature to write my second novel in Dutch. This erased some of my doubts as to my proficiency in my second language. I had no trouble writing in Dutch, but whenever I reached the end of a working day and made notes at the end of an unfinished chapter, I would do so in English, as if the language itself wanted to assert its dominance.

I am currently working on the English edition of the novel, which will be more than a mere translation, because I am rewriting all the dialogue and adding whatever new dimensions I discover as I work. In the Dutch edition, I have Afrikaans characters speaking Afrikaans to Dutch characters, which causes all sorts of confusion. And in the English edition, all of the characters speak their own brand of (poor) English, which leads to all sorts of misunderstandings. I'm also writing the English with non-Dutch readers in mind, which means I explain or elaborate on certain circumstances that may be self-evident to Dutch readers. Consequently, I anticipate that the English will serve as the source text if the book is ever translated into any other languages.

Do I occupy a different self when writing in Dutch and English? It is my aim to fully inhabit my characters, regardless of whether I write in Dutch or English. That is my supreme objective - to give my characters their own voices, either in Dutch or English, so that readers may draw their own conclusions about the characters' actions, thoughts and words. I recently wrote: "And so I am the torturer, his wife, his daughter, his dog, their god, the man who washes him for the grave - all and none."

Feminist Press (New York) is seeking submissions for a new anthology, titled Globalized Motherhood: a Short Story Collection, edited by Wendy Chavkin.

The books aims to engage with a world in flux about the most intimate of human connections, a world wide open to a host of possibilities for reconfiguring family and parenthood, and perhaps of liberating women from the constraints of reproductive biology.    The physical, emotional and caring aspects of motherhood are separable in new ways, pushed by demographic shifts, bio-technological innovations and global travel of babies, women, body parts, information, and technologies.  

Contemporary short stories, memoirs, and creative nonfiction that convey the transformation of motherhood in the globalized moment are welcomed. Of particular interest will be work dealing with the inter-relationship of transnational adoption, reproductive "tourism" (transnational travel for treatment, gametes or uteri)  and women's migration to do nanny work, which together comprise the globalization of motherhood. Although the book will be in English, it may be possible to translate some works; and previously published work is welcome.
 
Please submit by 1 October 2010 (or address enquiries) to Wendy Chavkin.

ITCH is delighted to welcome its second e-intern, Karen Martin to the fold, who is taking over from the wonderful Vuyo Seripe, who excelled at networking ITCH with writers and literary collectives across the African continent and diaspora.

Karen Martin is an emerging, recently published writer of short fiction. She is a professional editor and copy editor. She has also initiated and developed several books for Gay and Lesbian Memory in Action, the pioneering South African LGBTI archives. In 2010, she is driving and editing the archives' anthology of new queer African short fiction. She lives in the countryside outside Johannesburg.

She will be contributing her considerable talents to helping to make ITCH a better place for contributors, and to raise our profile among the literary community. For a taste of her writing, read this.

Thank you to the almost 100 writers and artists who submitted work for the next issue of ITCH Online. Submissions closed yesterday, and I am very excited about the quality of work that has come in. Those who sent their work through will hear the result soon, and anxious readers can expect the new issue of ITCH to be available by the end of June.

Late submissions are sometimes considered. Contact me to plead your case.

Kwani Trust invites the submission of short stories of between 3000-8000 words that focus on Africa and the experiences of African people, with a particular focus on Africans born after 1978. The theme of the call out is 'THE AFRICA I LIVE IN'. Published authors will be paid a fee of $100.

If you are interested in participating in this exciting initiative, please send your creative work in to myafrica.kwani@gmail.com for
consideration.The deadline is 30 June 2010.

For  more information, visit Kwani.

The theme for the next i-ssue of ITCH Online has been decided. This time, its all about — i. For more i-information, go here.

Vuyo R. Seripe, an accomplished writer in her own right, has joined ITCH magazine as an intern until the end of May. Vuyo will be working with ITCH for two months, focussing on building and expanding our relationship with writers everywhere, but especially in Africa. To get a feel for Vuyo's work, read this.