Bold, witty and audacious: Where others stumble, Kenyan women write freely
The question of gender and literature remains a sticking point in literary circles, even if subtly. In West Africa, women in some Francophone countries such as Cameroon face numerous hurdles in the publishing industry. While gender is not solely about women, the inequities that have arisen from gender dynamics in literature disproportionately affect women and continue to shape who writes, who gets published, and which stories are deemed worthy.
Two questions arise. First, why women in countries like Kenya have the liberty to write and publish on “controversial” issues while those across the continent face resistance. Second, whether gender should determine who gets to write and have their story published.
There seems to be a renaissance sweeping across post-independent Africa. With it, many writers are raising their voices and using their art to join the table of those who will preserve the stories of modern-day Africa. The female voice is rising, and more women are standing to be counted through creative writing. Women are reclaiming the roles they played in pre-independent Africa, which have since been obscured in historical archives that largely document a highly patriarchal European male perspective.
Religious traditions have historically been interpreted as contributing to the genesis of women's suppression. Inequities in the literary sphere are conspicuously portrayed in popular religious books, where predominantly male prophets feature. The argument, a generalised fallacy, was that many women were illiterate and that resulted in having not a single book or text written by women. Be that as it may, the same discrimination against women was perpetuated in African societies of old. Later, feminist movements arose that advocated equality of opportunities; the emergence of contemporary feminist ideologies has led to a reinterpretation of the role of women in society and advocacy for the social and intellectual empowerment of women.
Kenya’s liberal literary culture
Although gender shouldn't affect who writes, the reality is that it continues to shape who gets published and what themes are considered acceptable for women to explore. Women in countries like Kenya have made inroads into contentious matters, but this freedom isn’t universal across Africa. When a literary enthusiast posed a question on why women in Kenya enjoyed the liberties of writing on issues like sexuality, child and domestic abuse or harmful cultural practices at the Macondo Literary Festival, one was left pondering on what the interests of some of the publishers were in the African literary scene.
The 2010 constitution, under Article 27(3) and (4), guarantees freedom from discrimination on various grounds, including gender. This creates a legal framework that allows men, women and children to assert their rights, including the right to free speech and creative expression. Women feel empowered to write, speak, and publish on topics that may seem “un-African” or taboo despite the presence of patriarchal residues in Kenyan society. The constitution, together with the contributions of the late p[resident Mwai Kibaki, have been fronted as key enablers of the freedom of the press that brought an end to over 20 years of media repression. In contrast, the francophone legacy in Cameroon, combined with patriarchal norms under an authoritarian leadership, has contributed to women’s continued struggle to claim authorship in the literary world. The idea that women should not engage in public intellectual life is still prevalent, particularly when it comes to themes like sexuality or gender-based violence.
Additionally, Cameroon has historically lagged behind Kenya in terms of education for girls, evidenced by activism for equal opportunities for both men and women. A 2018 World Bank report on education in Africa shows that 66 per cent of girls in Kenya complete secondary education, compared to only 52 per cent in Cameroon. This gap not only limits the pipeline of future female writers in Cameroon, but also reinforces societal perceptions that women’s intellectual contributions are secondary to those of men.
Meanwhile, as Kenyan women continue to champion their legal protections, educational opportunities, and cultural shifts that have opened up space for women’s voices, their Cameroonian counterparts still navigate a more restrictive landscape shaped by patriarchal norms and political censorship. In Kenya, events like the Kwani? Literary Festival and Macondo have served as platforms for amplifying women's voices, fostering an environment where moot topics are explored without fear of reprisal.
Yet, despite the restrictive environment in Cameroon, women like Angèle Kingué, author of Echoes of My Childhood, and Calixthe Beyala, author of Le Petit Prince de Belleville, have found ways to assert their voices on the international stage, proving that these structures are not impenetrable.
Pre-colonial female voices
In the world of publishing, scholarly articles notably mention Heinemann’s African Writers Series, which after a decade of existence since its establishment in 1962 had only published two women. These were Nigeria’s Flora Nwapa, author of Efuru (1966) and South Africa’s Bessie Head, author of Tales of Tenderness and Power. Anna Adima, who holds a doctorate in East African history, said Kenyan authors like Rebeka Njau and Asenath Odaga faced prejudice in post-independent Kenya, contending against the false belief that their husbands wrote their books. The prevailing notion, then, was that women weren’t capable of publishing literature with intellectual rigour. She indicated that while East Africa wasn’t lacking in burgeoning women writers, they did not get as much recognition for their contributions in the literary space as their male post-independence counterparts like Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o or Okot p’Bitek, both of whom have amassed much acclaim locally and internationally.
Unless one is a true literary enthusiast, you won’t get to interact with authors such as Charity Waciuma, Muthoni Likimani, and Grace Ogot on mainstream media. Remarkably, digital platforms have today allowed women writers to bypass traditional gatekeepers in publishing. Platforms like Amazon’s self-publishing service and social media platforms are giving women the chance to tell their stories directly to readers. Deborah Tendo Auko is one of the many women in Kenya scaling the heights of self-publishing after launching her book, Rough Silk, on Facebook.
Let books be books
During an interview at the Nairobi International Book Fair, the author of Cocktails of the Savannah, Empress Ciku Kimani-Mwaniki, contended against the genderization of books. “Books have no gender. I believe that anyone can interact with my books and it should not be because I am a woman but because my content is good,” she said. This issue of literary merit vis-a-vis gender identity is an important public and social discourse that needs to continue in the African literary landscape. Literary merit at its core explores the impact a book has on readers and the literary world in terms of execution and exploration of themes.
Books like Jeferson Tenorio’s The Dark Side of Skin challenged the systemic racism of Afro-Brazilians and stirred up so much social discourse that it got censored from schools and libraries; Chimamanda’s Half of a Yellow Sun documented the effects of ethnic cleansing in Nigeria; and Joan Thatiah’s Confessions of Nairobi Men delicately narrated stories of abuse, molestation and loneliness some men in Nairobi go through. All these are examples of books that make the reader travel in time with the characters in these stories. The impact, reverberating in present-day societies, inspires empathy in the reader’s lives regardless of gender.
Ideally, literary merit should be distinguished from gender identity. However, gender brings an important aspect of context to the themes, viewpoints and experiences of authors. For example, writing about war by a woman would not be the same as by a man. Talking about family from a man’s point of view will inspire a different set of emotions, those of softness and tenderness, as compared to women—who have dominated this genre. Otherwise, it would just be another woman’s fiction book, which raises the question of why certain themes—such as family life or domestic concerns— are regarded as "female" and therefore less serious, while male authors writing about these same topics are seen as exploring universal human experiences.
Terms like chic lit for books and chic flick for movies, reinforce gender stereotypes and diminish the perceived value of certain genres, regardless of their content or quality. Even though books shouldn’t be genderised, gender indeed affects the reception of the books because women explore certain themes that were mostly told from the male perspective and vice versa. For example, Sinners by Sarah Haluwa, a book that is popular with Nairobi women, explores themes of sexuality from a woman’s perspective and despite its original plan to act as a “manual for men”, it attracted many women who found its content relatable and accurate. Captive, an anthology of African stories written by 11 authors, featured the stories of Salma Yusuf, who creatively dispels the misconception that all Muslim women acquiesce to polygamy just because religion dictates so, giving many women a choice and voice they thought they never had.
Ultimately, while gender identity shapes the perspectives and experiences an author brings to their work, literary merit should be judged by the work itself—its thematic depth, emotional resonance, and artistic execution—rather than by the gender of its creator. In the words of Empress Kimani-Mwaniki, “Let books be books!”
Shifting dynamics
In my conversations with authors and editors, as a journalist covering the Kenyan and African literary scene, I have seen how gender dynamics are shifting in the kinds of books a reader or publisher is interested in. It is not so much about gender anymore, but perspective. Most of the Kenyan authors I have interviewed confirmed that the narrative has shifted; publishers don’t use gender as a pendulum to measure creativity. At the Macondo festival in September, both men and women convened to listen to authors giving talks about their literary works. It is important to note that the women were more than the men, but that was a non-issue. The admirable thing was that there wasn’t overt discrimination against female or male authors, everyone there was simply a writer and a serious one at that whether they wrote fiction or non-fiction. Everyone took and guarded their creativity with a possessiveness that was commendable.
Stories worth telling should not be defined by the gender of the writer, but by the depth and impact of the narrative itself. The ability of women in Kenya to publish controversial topics is promising, and provides an idea of the work that needs to be done in other African countries and the diaspora. By continuing to promote diverse voices, regardless of gender, we enrich the literary world, broaden our understanding of the human experience, and help dismantle the structures that have long dictated who gets to write, who gets published, and which narratives are heard.
Tracy Ochieng is a staff writer with Books in Africa. Email: tracy.ochieng@ekitabu.com
Bold, witty and audacious: Where others stumble, Kenyan women write freely
The question of gender and literature remains a sticking point in literary circles, even if subtly. In West Africa, women in some Francophone countries such as Cameroon face numerous hurdles in the publishing industry. While gender is not solely about women, the inequities that have arisen from gender dynamics in literature disproportionately affect women and continue to shape who writes, who gets published, and which stories are deemed worthy.
Two questions arise. First, why women in countries like Kenya have the liberty to write and publish on “controversial” issues while those across the continent face resistance. Second, whether gender should determine who gets to write and have their story published.
There seems to be a renaissance sweeping across post-independent Africa. With it, many writers are raising their voices and using their art to join the table of those who will preserve the stories of modern-day Africa. The female voice is rising, and more women are standing to be counted through creative writing. Women are reclaiming the roles they played in pre-independent Africa, which have since been obscured in historical archives that largely document a highly patriarchal European male perspective.
Religious traditions have historically been interpreted as contributing to the genesis of women's suppression. Inequities in the literary sphere are conspicuously portrayed in popular religious books, where predominantly male prophets feature. The argument, a generalised fallacy, was that many women were illiterate and that resulted in having not a single book or text written by women. Be that as it may, the same discrimination against women was perpetuated in African societies of old. Later, feminist movements arose that advocated equality of opportunities; the emergence of contemporary feminist ideologies has led to a reinterpretation of the role of women in society and advocacy for the social and intellectual empowerment of women.
Kenya’s liberal literary culture
Although gender shouldn't affect who writes, the reality is that it continues to shape who gets published and what themes are considered acceptable for women to explore. Women in countries like Kenya have made inroads into contentious matters, but this freedom isn’t universal across Africa. When a literary enthusiast posed a question on why women in Kenya enjoyed the liberties of writing on issues like sexuality, child and domestic abuse or harmful cultural practices at the Macondo Literary Festival, one was left pondering on what the interests of some of the publishers were in the African literary scene.
The 2010 constitution, under Article 27(3) and (4), guarantees freedom from discrimination on various grounds, including gender. This creates a legal framework that allows men, women and children to assert their rights, including the right to free speech and creative expression. Women feel empowered to write, speak, and publish on topics that may seem “un-African” or taboo despite the presence of patriarchal residues in Kenyan society. The constitution, together with the contributions of the late p[resident Mwai Kibaki, have been fronted as key enablers of the freedom of the press that brought an end to over 20 years of media repression. In contrast, the francophone legacy in Cameroon, combined with patriarchal norms under an authoritarian leadership, has contributed to women’s continued struggle to claim authorship in the literary world. The idea that women should not engage in public intellectual life is still prevalent, particularly when it comes to themes like sexuality or gender-based violence.
Additionally, Cameroon has historically lagged behind Kenya in terms of education for girls, evidenced by activism for equal opportunities for both men and women. A 2018 World Bank report on education in Africa shows that 66 per cent of girls in Kenya complete secondary education, compared to only 52 per cent in Cameroon. This gap not only limits the pipeline of future female writers in Cameroon, but also reinforces societal perceptions that women’s intellectual contributions are secondary to those of men.
Meanwhile, as Kenyan women continue to champion their legal protections, educational opportunities, and cultural shifts that have opened up space for women’s voices, their Cameroonian counterparts still navigate a more restrictive landscape shaped by patriarchal norms and political censorship. In Kenya, events like the Kwani? Literary Festival and Macondo have served as platforms for amplifying women's voices, fostering an environment where moot topics are explored without fear of reprisal.
Yet, despite the restrictive environment in Cameroon, women like Angèle Kingué, author of Echoes of My Childhood, and Calixthe Beyala, author of Le Petit Prince de Belleville, have found ways to assert their voices on the international stage, proving that these structures are not impenetrable.
Pre-colonial female voices
In the world of publishing, scholarly articles notably mention Heinemann’s African Writers Series, which after a decade of existence since its establishment in 1962 had only published two women. These were Nigeria’s Flora Nwapa, author of Efuru (1966) and South Africa’s Bessie Head, author of Tales of Tenderness and Power. Anna Adima, who holds a doctorate in East African history, said Kenyan authors like Rebeka Njau and Asenath Odaga faced prejudice in post-independent Kenya, contending against the false belief that their husbands wrote their books. The prevailing notion, then, was that women weren’t capable of publishing literature with intellectual rigour. She indicated that while East Africa wasn’t lacking in burgeoning women writers, they did not get as much recognition for their contributions in the literary space as their male post-independence counterparts like Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o or Okot p’Bitek, both of whom have amassed much acclaim locally and internationally.
Unless one is a true literary enthusiast, you won’t get to interact with authors such as Charity Waciuma, Muthoni Likimani, and Grace Ogot on mainstream media. Remarkably, digital platforms have today allowed women writers to bypass traditional gatekeepers in publishing. Platforms like Amazon’s self-publishing service and social media platforms are giving women the chance to tell their stories directly to readers. Deborah Tendo Auko is one of the many women in Kenya scaling the heights of self-publishing after launching her book, Rough Silk, on Facebook.
Let books be books
During an interview at the Nairobi International Book Fair, the author of Cocktails of the Savannah, Empress Ciku Kimani-Mwaniki, contended against the genderization of books. “Books have no gender. I believe that anyone can interact with my books and it should not be because I am a woman but because my content is good,” she said. This issue of literary merit vis-a-vis gender identity is an important public and social discourse that needs to continue in the African literary landscape. Literary merit at its core explores the impact a book has on readers and the literary world in terms of execution and exploration of themes.
Books like Jeferson Tenorio’s The Dark Side of Skin challenged the systemic racism of Afro-Brazilians and stirred up so much social discourse that it got censored from schools and libraries; Chimamanda’s Half of a Yellow Sun documented the effects of ethnic cleansing in Nigeria; and Joan Thatiah’s Confessions of Nairobi Men delicately narrated stories of abuse, molestation and loneliness some men in Nairobi go through. All these are examples of books that make the reader travel in time with the characters in these stories. The impact, reverberating in present-day societies, inspires empathy in the reader’s lives regardless of gender.
Ideally, literary merit should be distinguished from gender identity. However, gender brings an important aspect of context to the themes, viewpoints and experiences of authors. For example, writing about war by a woman would not be the same as by a man. Talking about family from a man’s point of view will inspire a different set of emotions, those of softness and tenderness, as compared to women—who have dominated this genre. Otherwise, it would just be another woman’s fiction book, which raises the question of why certain themes—such as family life or domestic concerns— are regarded as "female" and therefore less serious, while male authors writing about these same topics are seen as exploring universal human experiences.
Terms like chic lit for books and chic flick for movies, reinforce gender stereotypes and diminish the perceived value of certain genres, regardless of their content or quality. Even though books shouldn’t be genderised, gender indeed affects the reception of the books because women explore certain themes that were mostly told from the male perspective and vice versa. For example, Sinners by Sarah Haluwa, a book that is popular with Nairobi women, explores themes of sexuality from a woman’s perspective and despite its original plan to act as a “manual for men”, it attracted many women who found its content relatable and accurate. Captive, an anthology of African stories written by 11 authors, featured the stories of Salma Yusuf, who creatively dispels the misconception that all Muslim women acquiesce to polygamy just because religion dictates so, giving many women a choice and voice they thought they never had.
Ultimately, while gender identity shapes the perspectives and experiences an author brings to their work, literary merit should be judged by the work itself—its thematic depth, emotional resonance, and artistic execution—rather than by the gender of its creator. In the words of Empress Kimani-Mwaniki, “Let books be books!”
Shifting dynamics
In my conversations with authors and editors, as a journalist covering the Kenyan and African literary scene, I have seen how gender dynamics are shifting in the kinds of books a reader or publisher is interested in. It is not so much about gender anymore, but perspective. Most of the Kenyan authors I have interviewed confirmed that the narrative has shifted; publishers don’t use gender as a pendulum to measure creativity. At the Macondo festival in September, both men and women convened to listen to authors giving talks about their literary works. It is important to note that the women were more than the men, but that was a non-issue. The admirable thing was that there wasn’t overt discrimination against female or male authors, everyone there was simply a writer and a serious one at that whether they wrote fiction or non-fiction. Everyone took and guarded their creativity with a possessiveness that was commendable.
Stories worth telling should not be defined by the gender of the writer, but by the depth and impact of the narrative itself. The ability of women in Kenya to publish controversial topics is promising, and provides an idea of the work that needs to be done in other African countries and the diaspora. By continuing to promote diverse voices, regardless of gender, we enrich the literary world, broaden our understanding of the human experience, and help dismantle the structures that have long dictated who gets to write, who gets published, and which narratives are heard.
Tracy Ochieng is a staff writer with Books in Africa. Email: tracy.ochieng@ekitabu.com
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