A Letter from Asaba is History and Politics student Claudia Efemini’s debut novel. We spoke with Claudia about publishing, the history behind the story, and the importance of learning about colonialism and its ongoing effects.
When did you first learn about the Asaba massacre, and what were your main motivations to write a novel about it? What wider themes does it represent in history?
I first read a book by two American scholars, The Asaba Massacre: Trauma, Memory and the Nigerian Civil War while I was doing IB. Immediately, I was stunned by the massacre, so I wrote a paper about it.
I began the book as I realised how neglected it was within history, many of my friends and family did not know about the massacre. My parents who grew up in Nigeria did not learn about the massacre in school. I wanted people to know about it and felt the best way for people to learn was through historical fiction. Reading Half a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Adichie introduced me to the Nigerian civil war and got me researching about it, which shows the power of historical fiction.
Though I am enjoying my degree at Edinburgh, I did notice the eurocentrism in my course. I was feeling unsatisfied with the choices and I was frustrated that I would have to wait for honours to explore African history. I started writing it alongside my degree and many people ask how I managed this, but it did not feel like a chore, more of an escape. I wanted to do something already in my first year instead of waiting until later in my academic career.
You mention in the foreword that you received a book deal from an independent publisher but instead decided to self-publish. Could you tell us more about this decision? How was the process from writing to the final product?
When I finished my first draft and started editing it, I sent it to an independent publisher in London. I had to wait a few months to see if they wanted to publish it. They were the longest months of my life; I was waiting for that validation. They loved the manuscript and wanted to publish it. It was an exciting time for me – I got the book contract quickly but didn’t have time to get a literary agent. I was excited, but as I don’t have publishing experience, it took time to go through the contract. There were a few clauses I wasn’t comfortable signing, and with the absence of a literary agent, I had to do the negotiations myself. As a student with no experience, I tried to do my best, but negotiations did not go well, so it didn’t happen. It was a hard time, but I would rather wait until the contract was fair.
I’m glad I sent it in and got the book deal because I got a sense of validation. I worked with the editor I got in that book deal, and we worked together as a freelance service – from then on I decided to self-publish. I had to get over the stigma of self-publishing. As it is very accessible, there are self-published books that are either poorly edited or amazing. I had to get over that stigma and realise that if people like it, they will enjoy it regardless.
I am glad I got over that and went for it because one of my friends, Quinthia, designed the cover. Self-publishing gives more creative autonomy, so if I were to publish traditionally, I would relinquish lots of power.
The process of writing was good. I got lots of my friends involved who wanted to help. Being in a university space gives access to inform a lot more people and broadens the reach. Being in an academic space means I can get advice and knowledge from people. If I waited until after graduation, I wouldn’t have that community of people who are passionate about history, and decolonising the curriculum, so though it was scary I am glad I did it.
The book is narrated by two young Nigerian women, one of whom is now a student in London, the other still living in Nigeria in the wake of the massacre. What did you hope to achieve in presenting two such different perspectives and the effect this has on the women’s relationship? Do you feel there are parts of your own experience reflected in the characters? (Being at university, in the diaspora, being Nigerian in the UK)
Definitely- this is such a good question that I didn’t think about until you asked. I do think my own life experiences have shaped the characterisations in the novel. Initially, I wanted to write it only set in Nigeria, but I realised it was harder as someone who did not grow up there. I’ve been on holiday once and I do have family there, but I was raised in the UK. As I was describing the setting, I wanted it to be represented rightly and I did not feel equipped to do so. So having both the UK and Nigeria feature eased the writing process.
Letters were always going to be a huge part of the book, especially since I wanted to bring light to the censorship in Britain. Having someone in the UK and Asaba emphasised the contradiction in the two different stories which was key to their relationship. Seeing the real story versus what is depicted in the press was the angle I wanted to explore.
In the book you explore the idea of being ‘changed’ by being in the West, where did you pull that from?
That just came to my head when writing it. I have many international friends in Edinburgh from the continent and we have different views about contemporary politics in Africa. As much as I want to decolonise the curriculum, I realise that when I talk about issues in Nigeria, I am looking at it from a western lens which I want to detach from.
In a recent conversation with my friend from Zimbabwe, which has a similar voting process to Nigeria, I was shocked at how normalised this was. She was telling me about how the average Nigerian concern is not politics, and to be politically engaged is for the privileged in a way; some people just need to put food on the table. As much as I was angry about the recent election outcome I reflected from that perspective. The book does reflect the diaspora experience, wanting to be engaged in issues in your home country but the fact that being raised in London or Europe more generally, the way you are wired to think is very different to being raised in your home country.
Though the book’s focus is historical, does it reflect themes in Nigerian politics today, specifically with the recent elections in February?
It is very good timing because a lot of people are now engaged in contemporary Nigerian politics and the effects of colonialism. When Nigeria gained independence, three main parties were created based on tribal lines, and people voted tribally. The younger generation is more politically engaged, which is why there was such an uproar with the election. If you look at the Nigerian family structure today, a lot of the youth are the driving force in demanding accountability, whereas the older generation has lost that a little, which is reflected in the book itself, with the parents of Chioma.
The way the political system is formed, and the lack of judicial oversight and accountability, are very relevant. The Asaba massacre is a topic that is still very touchy, and the government still has not formally recognised it as a massacre. Some radicals claim it was a justified killing. The unity of Nigeria is the cause of many civil issues to this day, more specifically in the Asaba Massacre and the alienation of Igbo people. Another is the role of the army and Nigerian government in perpetuating and ignoring violence. This is still an issue seen in the Lekki shooting in 2020 where the government denied protestors were at the Lekki toll gate.
How do you think fiction can be a powerful tool in educating people on the realities of colonialism and its consequences? What do you hope for other students to take from the book and the history it helps to uncover?
I am so glad you asked this question. I don’t think academic texts appeal to everyone as not everyone is interested in history in that sense. Novels bring a lot of communities together who love reading, a lot of people are willing to read historical fiction and so it reaches more people. It introduces you to the topic and hopefully influences people to do deeper research. Historical fiction diversifies the audience and introduces aspects of history that are often neglected. I am currently reading We Are All Birds of Uganda by Hafsa Zayyan, which is about people of Asian descent who moved to Uganda, and I’m learning a lot about the culture at the time. Though it is fiction, there’s a lot of truth embedded in it, and I can learn a lot.
How do you think the university history curriculum can become decolonised? For history in particular it can feel like non-European histories are just added on for the end – what can be changed?
I think there’s a staffing issue. There’s only so much you can decolonise if you don’t have people that specialise in certain areas. There are scholars out there, but you don’t see them at our university, or really the UK in general. America seems to have a lot more diversity in what they offer. Also reading lists; I am taking a course about contemporary Africa, and we had a reading list where every author was a white man. I think diverse reading lists are so important because not only does it enrich your knowledge, but it also introduces you to so many different perspectives.
Also important is knowing that all kinds of history are history. Often, Black history is seen as a subdivision within history, but all history should be valued the same way. For Africa, the Edinburgh courses are very continental. That’s a good start, but we need to go deeper than that because Africa is such a diverse continent, even just Nigeria in general, and I don’t think that is reflected in the courses. Studying the whole continent in a few weeks is very broad.
Do you think it can change?
I think it can. I think people who look like me need to be sat at the table when discussing these issues, which is why I mentioned staffing, as that determines what’s available to students. More people need to be involved in the process of decolonising. I hope this book contributes to the movement and that the people who read it look into history. Even though historical fiction isn’t scholarly, it is a way for people to engage with historical discourse on a more relaxed level.
A Letter Away from Asaba is available to buy on Amazon.
Image courtesy of Claudia Efemini