The initial impetus for this article comes from a quote by science fiction writer Ursula K. Le Guin. While I am not a sci-fi aficionado, one quotation from her has always remained with me. It is the following;

“If a book told you something when you were fifteen, it will tell you it again when you’re fifty, though you may understand it so differently that it seems you’re reading a whole new book.”

That quote came back to me, as I was contemplating the relevance (if any) of Joseph Conrad’s now classic novella Heart of Darkness, first published in serial form in 1899. A deeply pessimistic look at the activities and impact of colonial rule in sub-Saharan Africa, Conrad’s novella has been adapted numerous times, mostly famously into the relocated and phantasmagoric 1979 Hollywood movie Apocalypse Now.

The darkness that Conrad relates refers to the jungles, the irretrievably primitive and ‘savage’ black Africans, and the hopelessly quixotic project by some imperial powers to ‘uplift’ the indigenous peoples they have conquered. Conrad does make some mild references to the injustice of imperialism – his novella is located in the Congo, a former Belgian colony. However, when it came to his adopted nation’s practice of imperialism – Britain – Conrad was noticeably silent.

I first encountered this novella in my teenage years, and yes, it spoke to me. However, I always felt a certain unease regarding its portrayal of Africans. Now, in my fifties, I think I am better able to articulate what exactly is objectionable in his book. Conrad, no doubt reflecting the thinking of his times, cannot see Africa as anything other than backwards, culturally regressive and ‘savage’. I would like to venture an alternative perspective.

The darkness is not in the hearts and minds of sub-Saharan Africans; it is not in their skin colour, nor in the dense jungles that you may find in equatorial Africa. The darkness is the looming shadow of the imperialist project itself, and how colonialism drives its subject peoples mad. While the protagonist of the novella, Kurtz, is insane living deep in the jungle, it is not the weather, or the ecology that has produced his condition.

Conrad, working in British shipping, was able to view the practices of English colonial expansion at first hand. Grappling with the horrendous consequences of such violent conquest would have taken considerable foresight and courage. However, Conrad was also bound by the limitations of his time. His outlook narrow, he could do nothing else except wring his hands at the ‘madness’ of it all. One cannot help agree with Chinua Achebe’s assessment that for Conrad, Africa was all the antithesis of civilised Europe, a repository of bestiality and primitivism.

A modern day equivalent of Conrad would be the Trinidadian-born British Indian novelist V S Naipaul (1932 – 2018). Winning the Nobel prize for literature in 2001, his book A Bend in the River is considered a modern classic. Published in 1979, his book is highly reminiscent of Heart of Darkness, in that the African characters are all primitive, subject to superstitious beliefs, irrevocably backward and prisoners of their inherent savagery. Trekking into the ‘dark heart’ of Africa results in internal turmoil, corruption and psychological descent.

Why reread this novel now – why not just ignore it? Because like it or not, Conrad’s views on African ‘darkness’ inform our wider perspective of sub-Saharan Africa as untamed, savage and unchangingly primitive. What is an alternative?

This month marks the 60th anniversary of Kenya’s independence. No, it is not the Congo, but it is part of sub-Saharan Africa. A nation colonised by Britain, the Kenyans – mainly the Kikuyu people – fought a stubborn war of independence in the 1950s. The British colonial authorities responded to the uprising with mass violence, setting up concentration camps, rounding up entire populations, torturing suspected militants (castration was a favourite technique employed by British soldiers) – anticipating the ‘strategic hamlets’ tactic used the US in Vietnam.

The Kikuyu fighters, portrayed as backward, vicious sadistic psychopaths, did kill white settlers – 32 in total. Hardly the conduct of a nation of violent savages. The King’s African Rifles, a British military unit deployed to fight against the Mau Mau uprising, was composed of Africans loyal to the English. One notable officer from this unit, who would go on to become a household name – was Idi Amin. The latter became a demonised monster after he turned against his former paymasters.

Kenya today has a growing economy, a nascent fintech silicon savanna, an airport, busy streets, green energy, and hosts safaris for rich tourists. That is all well and good, and Kenyans have a great deal to be proud of. However, let’s not lose sight of one incontrovertible fact – the Kenyan government is a loyal proxy of Western imperialism. Aligning its foreign policy goals with that of the US and Britain, Kenyan troops have served as proxies for colonial wars and interests in Africa.

Intervening in neighbouring African nations under the dubious pretext of ‘humanitarian intervention’, the government of President William Ruto has become the embodiment of everything the Mau Mau fought against. Joining the United States, Nairobi has offered its support for the state of Israel, encouraging the genocidal violence waged by the latter against the Palestinians in Gaza.

Every classic novel and work of art is inevitably a product of its time and circumstances. Conrad’s books are no exception. However the purpose of a novelist is not simply to recycle the prevailing attitudes of the time, but to expose the hypocrisies on which they are based. How about we incorporate the works of African writers when exploring the cultural practices of sub-Saharan Africa? It is not such an outlandish or difficult request to fulfil.