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Such issues of place and displacement are frequentlycentralto postcolonial writing.And I use the term "postcolonial" in
the way defined by Slemon and Tiffin,as "writing that is grounded in the cultural realities of those societies whose
subjectivityhas been constitutedat least in part by the subordinatingpower of European colonialism" (ix).
Somali society is essentially homogenous, and in contrastto the vast majorityof independent Africanstates Somalis are
essentially a one nationalitystate. The particulartragedy is that of its estimated population of 6 million,only 3.5 million
lived in the Somali Republic; the restwere dispersed in Djibouti, Kenya and Ethiopi-a situationwhich is now magnified
by the mass dispersal of refugeesin the currentclan wars. Yet all Somalis "speak the same language, respond to the same
poetry,derive theirwisdom (and their experience) fromthe camel economy, and worship the same God" (David Laitin
and Said Samatar, xvi). Also, see I.M. Lewis.
A good deal has been writtenof late about the concept of the nation. See Homi K.Bhabha's Nation and Narration fora
collection on this subject. Rhonda Cobham also connects the boundaries of nation and self, but her emphasis is on the
destabilization of gender in the text which, she argues, challenges us to "resist the reflexiveurge to pin down a single
version of the African reality as 'true'" as well as uncriticallyaccept the notion of "essence that underlies much of the
discourse around nationalism and sexualities in modern Africanfiction"(96).
or,theOtherThirdWorld
I. MappingtheMother/Land,
Of course, the whole question of this "outsiderness" and borders is exactly what is being addressed when established
American criticaljournals put togetherissues on Africanliterature,as ModernFictionStudiesdid recently,or when PMLA
calls forarticles on "Colonialism and the Postcolonial Condition." There is currentlya recognitionthat what happens at
the borders and margins is that which is potentially most interesting.Some of those "outside" are thereforeinvited
"inside" the academy. Farah's is an interestingcase: he is not a prominent"Third World cosmopolitan celebrity"(to use
Brennan's somewhat unfortunatephrase that jars, I think,in an otherwise fine essay); his readership is larger in Europe,
and it would be productive to identifythe criteriathat allow one "third world" writer greater "access" over another.
Ahmad points out that the useful inquiry would be to see "how the principle of selective incorporationworks in relation
to texts produced outside the metropolitancountries." (17)
the shadow she cast" and as "the space surroundingthe geographyof her
body."He is incorporated intoher,whilehe simultaneously surroundsher.Her
body defines the border where he begins, while he is simplyspace. But the
"extendedself"formedby his shadow also extendsherboundaries,enlarges
her,as it were.And space, in theabstract,is boundlessand knowsno limits.
This is a systemof complete,yetparadoxical,reciprocity, a systemthatcannot
be fixed.
Askar'sdescription of his relationto Misrais paradigmatic in Maps because
it suggeststhequestionthatpreoccupiesthenarrator throughout his narrative:
wheredoes theselfbegin,theother end? Farah'sinitialanswerforAskarseems
tolie inblurring bothgenderedand corporealboundaries;thesedistinctions blur
notjustinandrogynous not in
empathy, just pull a towards a system of nurturance
whichdependson psychicmerger(thoughitis boththesethings), butalso in an
intellectualstrivingto answer the question that resonates more generally
throughout thetext:whatthen,is theother?"UncleHilaal helpedyou homein
on theother,"Askar reflectsto himself(149). (This phrase is always empha-
sized in Maps.) For postcolonialwriters,engagedin re-negotiating theirown
subjectpositions, theseare keyquestions.
The firstthingto note is thatin Maps theotheris not the racial Otherwe
have come to recognizein our recentreadingsof texts.At least,not a racial
Otherin thesense thatblackand whiteare inevitablyotherto each. Thereare
no whitesin thistextualworld,and whileWesternintellectualthoughtdoes
influencesome characters(in particular, Askar'suncle and aunt) "whiteness"
and "blackness"are notgivenplay in theactualnarrative, whichis set firmly
in theHornof Africa.So in a generalizedsense theotheris whattheselfis not,
and here quite specificallyit is femaleto Askar'smale. But we are immedi-
atelydivertedfromsucha conclusionbecause timeand timeagain Askarem-
pathizeswith,is totallyabsorbedby,is initiatedinto,theworldof women.He
is finelyattunedto Misra'smenstrualcycle;it is somethinghe enviesher(98),
and one morningthereis evenbloodon hisgroin.Misratellshimwithcomplete
seriousness,"You've begunto menstruate.... The questionis: willyou have the
monthly curseas we womendo or willyoursbe as rareas themalefowl'segg?"
(105).9
So forAskar,theotheris notsimplyfemaleto his male,because thefeminine
and masculineco-exist:"I have a strangefeelingthatthereis another in me,one
olderthanI-a woman.I have theconsciousfeelingofbeingspokenthrough, if
you know what I mean. I feelas ifI have allowed a woman older than I to live
insideofme,and I speaknotmywords,myideas,buthers.Andduringthetime
I'm spokenthrough, as itwere,I am she-not I" (151).Theother, then,seemsnot
to be opposed to theselfhere,butresideswithinas thecomplementary gender,
notdependingon binaryopposition.Itis nota stableentity, buta morecomplex
In addition to menstruating,Askar witnesses and describes in graphic detail an abortion.Hilarie Kelly misses the point,I
think,when she sees what she calls Askar's "fixationon menstruation"as an example of how Farah "fetishizeswomen....
Menstruation is a metaphor of destructivefemininity,frustratedwomanhood, and Misra's warped, sacrificialdevotion to
Askar rather than to a husband or child of her own" (31). Derek Wright, however, argues that in creating such an
emphasis on the corporeal "Farah has writtenthe firstAfricannovel of the body" ("Somali Powerscapes,"33).
Ashcroft, Griffithsand Tiffin write that "imperial expansion has had a radically destabilizing effect on its own
preoccupations and power. In pushing the colonial world to the marginsof experience the 'centre' pushed consciousness
beyond the point at which monocentrismin all spheres of thoughtcould be accepted without question. In otherwords the
alienating process which initiallyserved to relegatethe post-colonialworld to the 'margin' turned upon itselfand acted to
push that world througha kind of mental barrierinto a position fromwhich all experience could be viewed as uncentred,
pluralistic,and multifarious.Marginalitythus became an unprecedentedsource of creative energy" (12).
12 This is not a literal intention,but one that Askar explains elsewhere: "only in [her] death could she and I be related,only
then would I somehow feel as though we were a mother and her son. And then, and only then, would I find myself,
alone and existingand real-yes, an individual with needs of his own-no longer an extensionof a maternalhand whose
touch quietened the childish cry in one" (37). And while Askar's statementis more premonitionthan threat,there is a
constantslippage between the real and unreal in Maps, what Derek Wrightcalls a "deliberatelypuzzling indeterminacy...
as regardswhere metaphorends and literalrealitystarts"("Zero Zones," 28).
World" and which enables Askar to be at home both in the body of the
m/other, and in thebodyofpolitics.16
So why,we mayask, is thism/other(actually,bothm/others)so violently
eradicated?Misrais firsthospitalizedfora mastectomy, thereshe is abducted
and her heartis literallytornfromher body, when she is washed ashore;
Askar's unnamedbirthmotherdisappearsafterhis birth,indeed,practically
at hisbirthbecausein Askar'spreternatural memoryhe tellshimself, "you were
an adult ... you believedyou werepresentat yourbirth"(13)-in a symbolic
sensehe delivershimself, and in a magicalwayis fullyselfconsciousfromthen
on. The questioningof this violenteradicationcannotbe simplyanswered.
Certainly it would be triteto implythematernalpresencemustbe destroyedin
orderforthe boy to achieve an independence.The pointis, Askardoes not
achieve an independence-thetextrevolvesroundhis entangledrelationto
Misra.Relatingeventsdoes notnecessarilyresultin a catharsis.Clearlythere
is a violenceat workin thetext,but one thatgoes well beyondOedipal con-
flicts,and involves,amongotherthings,a violencedirectedat theself.'7
And among these otherthingsis the "violence" thatinvolves language.
Askarmustleave the"thirdworld"of thenurturing bodyin orderto enterthe
larger"thirdworld"of politics,theworldof social reality.Initiationintothis
world involves the acquisitionof the Word,and even more importantly in
Muslimculture,initiation intothelanguageof Allahentailsa separationfrom
the worldof women.The highlyreflective narratorof Maps, just priorto his
graphically describedcircumcision, muses,"TheWord,I said to myself, was not
a womb"(86). So one mustleave nurturein orderto enterlanguage.Askarpro-
vides a rationalewhenhe remindshimself,"Misrabelongedto my 'non-liter-
ate' past-by whichI mean thatshe belongedto a past in whichI spoke,but
did not writeor read, in Somali" (164).18
To enterliteracyis a proclamation
of a new kindof power,one thatdiffers
fromtheimmensepowerof theoral tradition to whichhe belongs,and Askar,
whose name means "bearerof arms," has no doubt of the power of writing:"...
everyletterbecamea sword-by pronouncing it,I sharpenedit;by drawingit,I
gave it a lifeof itsown; all I had to do was to say 'Cut' and it would cuttheen-
emy's head" The
(168).19 text spans theeighteenor so yearsof his life'sexpe-
16 Fernandez Retamar,in his essay "Caliban Revisited," is also concerned about this term: "If there is one thingthat troubles
me now about the term "Third World," it is the degradation that it perhaps involuntarilypresupposes. There is just one
world in which the oppressors and the oppressed struggle,one world in which, rathersooner than later,the oppressed
will be victorious." (55)
17 Kelly sees Farah's portrayal of Misra as disappointing, because his ambiguous treatment "implies that women's
victimization is inevitable, and that women may even bring this on themselves by their own inherent'flaws'" (31); she
suggests it is a "classic case of unresolved Oedipal conflict,[where] the boy child wants to separate himself from the
mother,but he cannot accept her separation fromhim" and where eventually he "compromises the female 'in' him ... for
male privilege and emotional remoteness,just as he compromises the warrior in him forthe safetyof abstractionsand an
academic life" (31-33).
18 It is clear enough, I think,that a Lacanian reading of Maps could prove fruitful.Along with the issues of self and other,
there are several critical referencesto mirrorsand mirroring,and Askar's acquisition of the Word initiateshim into the
"symbolic order"-after his circumcision.One could also speculate ifAskar emerges fromthe "mirrorstage."
19 And in factthis connectionof the power of language to that of the sword is more than metaphoric,because it was actually
enacted in Somalia's quite recenthistory.Poetry's forceis so formidablethat it enabled one of the nation's most acclaimed
warriors,Sayyid Mahammad 'Abdille Hasan (known to his enemies as the Mad Mullah), to use it for political purposes
and effectivelydefy the Ethiopian, Italian and British"infidels" in the holy war he led against them between 1900-1920.
See Samatar (1982) fora fineanalysis of the power of the Sayyid's poetryand oratoryin political resistancein Somalia. He
writes that his power was such that he "was thought to 'inflictwounds' on his enemies, and indeed those who were
attackedby his literarybarbs oftenresponded as iftheyhad received physicalwounds." (1)
20 It is the story of a man with seven daughters who desperately wants a son; when the eighth daughter is born he
announces the birthof a son and raises the child as male.
21 African writers have long criticized Western readers for their tendency to universalize, to ascribe their own values to
other cultures. Perhaps the real problematicissue, then, lies with the criticalenterpriseitself,with the (Western?) critics'
disinclinationto accept ambiguous characterswho disappoint them, ideologically speaking. The argumentthat the double
death of the m/othersis unwarrantedcarries with it the implicationthatAfricanwritersshould assume the unreasonable
burden of creatingcharacterswho are without contradictionin order to serve a specific political agenda, one that fulfills
"firstworld" criticalexpections of what mightbe considered ideologically "acceptable." Bishop provides a useful broad
overview (1947-1966)of the early criticalreceptionto Africanliterature.
I am indebted
heretoPeterM.Sacks'studyon theEnglishelegy.
In fact Somali respect for memoryand oration is so strongthat the pastoralist ridicules the urbanized fordependence on
writing. Said Samatar cites a traditionalstorytelleron the subject: "When such people are called upon to give a public
speech, they resortto their writtensymbols. Withoutthese they can hardly open theirmouths. To registerour contempt
forsuch a person, we say: 'He who looks at a paper neverbecomes a memorizer'" (33).
24 Misra is just one representativeof the dead in this text,and while she is clearly the most significantto Askar, there are
many "unburied corpses" (122) whose stories remain untold. Misra's invocation throughMaps simply suggests Farah's
larger agenda of giving Somalis a voice and a homeland, a place where the living (and the dead) can be heard. It also,
importantly,demonstratesthat the novel, while not Somalia's traditionalnor privileged literaryform,performsthe act of
memorizing so crucial to that culture.
of his thoughts" (203). The power of this statementlies, I think,in its evoca-
tion of the sweetness of the enterprise,an enterprisewhich culminates in what
we can thinkof as a poetics of loss, but which may answer the question, "Do the
dead dream?" The answer is yes: theydream to be spoken for.
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