Edinburgh Research Explorer Angola, a nation in pieces in José Eduardo Agualusa’s Estação das chuvas Citation for published version: Ribeiro, R 2016, 'Angola, a nation in pieces in José Eduardo Agualusa’s Estação das chuvas', Journal of Lusophone Studies, vol. 1, no. 1, pp. 57-72. https://doi.org/10.21471/jls.v1i1.43 Digital Object Identifier (DOI): 10.21471/jls.v1i1.43 Link: Link to publication record in Edinburgh Research Explorer Document Version: Publisher's PDF, also known as Version of record Published In: Journal of Lusophone Studies General rights Copyright for the publications made accessible via the Edinburgh Research Explorer is retained by the author(s) and / or other copyright owners and it is a condition of accessing these publications that users recognise and abide by the legal requirements associated with these rights. Take down policy The University of Edinburgh has made every reasonable effort to ensure that Edinburgh Research Explorer content complies with UK legislation. If you believe that the public display of this file breaches copyright please contact [email protected] providing details, and we will remove access to the work immediately and investigate your claim. Download date: 02. Oct. 2021 Angola, a Nation in Pieces in José Eduardo Agualusa’s Estação das chuvas RAQUEL RIBEIRO University of Edinburgh Abstract: In this article, I examine José Eduardo Agualusa’s Estação das chuvas (1996), as a novel that lays bare the contradictions of the MPLA’s revolutionary process after Angola’s independence. I begin with a discussion of the proximity between trauma and (the impossibility) of fiction. I then consider the challenges Angolan writers face in presenting an alternative discourse to the “one-party, one-people, one-nation” narrative propagated by the MPLA). Finally, I discuss how Estação das chuvas, which complicates both truth/verisimilitud and history/fiction, presents an alternative vision of Angola’s national narrative. Keywords: Angolan literature; MPLA; UNITA; Truth and fiction; Nation The Angolan civil war broke out in 1975 and lasted 27 years. Yet there are still very few literary accounts of the conflict by Angolan writers. Novels about the civil war have been scarce, and there are few first person or testimonial records by those who participated directly in the conflict, as victims or perpetrators. The war was an enduring presence in Angolan literature in the 1980s, 1990s, and 2000s, but always as something distant. Generally, books do not explicitly evoke the conflict, international military interventions (South African, Soviet, Cuban), its conscripts, prisoners, and atrocities perpetrated by both the MPLA and UNITA. Texts that dealt with it at the time left its contradictions and ideological complexities aside, focusing instead on how it forced millions to migrate to 57 Ribeiro Luanda, its consequences for families, and the hardships of daily life for certain classes of Angolans. There are, however, some exceptions: José Eduardo Agualusa’s Estação das chuvas (1996) is one of them, published after the 1992 elections that brought the civil war to a temporary halt. 1 UNITA did not accept the MPLA’s electoral victory and the war resumed for another ten years. In this article, I will examine Estação das chuvas as a civil war novel that lays bare the contradictions of the MPLA’s revolutionary process after Angola’s independence. I start with a discussion of the proximity between trauma and (the impossibility) of fiction. I then consider the challenges Angolan writers face in presenting an alternative discourse to the “one-party, one-people, one-nation” narrative propagated by the MPLA, making Angola a notable example of what Achille Mbembe terms a “postcolonial potentate” (42). Finally, I discuss how Estação das chuvas, which complicates truth and verisimilitude, and history and fiction, presents an alternative vision of Angola’s national narrative. Wounds, trauma and Angolan literature In 1996, at the height of the second phase of the civil war, Patrick Chabal pointed out in his seminal book on the postcolonial literatures of Lusophone Africa that Angolans (and Mozambicans, too) still lacked the necessary distance to be able to write about their own civil wars (24). During the 1980s, Angolan writers and intellectuals seemed concerned about re-writing the colonial period from a post- and anti-colonial perspective. The “empire” was finally “writing back” to its colonizer. The 1970s and 1980s were also the decades in which many works written under colonialism, and not previously published, came to light. They focused on the liberation war rather than on the fratricidal war that followed. Agualusa has long written about memory, trauma and forgetting in Angolan society. In a personal testimony given at a colloquium in 2012, he talks about his experience of growing up in Angola as a witness of conflict: “Eu cresci com a guerra como um pano de fundo…. As minhas memórias de infância são sempre 1 Sousa Jamba’s Patriots (1990) is the other exception, the only Angolan novel that presents the “other side” of the war and addresses the legitimacy of UNITA’s fight in the south of the country. 58 Journal of Lusophone Studies 1.1 (Spring 2016) também memórias de guerra, de violências” (“A literatura” 101). He acknowledges that Angola’s long wars are still “dentro das pessoas,” and goes on to say that, despite their end, “ainda há fragmentos dessa guerra visíveis; [m]ais do que tudo, são as pessoas que não percebem que tem essa destruição dentro de si” (“A literatura” 102). In what could be seen as a response to Patrick Chabal, Agualusa explained that Angola and Mozambique dealt with the wounds of their civil wars in different ways. The Mozambican writer, Mia Couto, for instance, “tem defendido o esquecimento. Inclusive, faz isso nos livros dele. Essencialmente, o que ele diz é que o trauma é tão pesado, tão profundo que a estratégia das pessoas é esquecer” (“A literatura” 103). Agualusa, in contrast, does not believe in the virtues of forgetting, and he argues strongly for literature’s role in helping people to come to terms with the past. The writer’s role is, for Agualusa, fundamental in a country where “a esmagadora maioria das pessoas não tem a possibilidade de fazer ouvir a sua voz” (“A literatura” 103). Literature functions as “um lugar, um espaço, um território de debate, um território de pensamento, um território de ideias” (“A literatura” 103). Agualusa laments the lack of Angolan writers prepared to discuss the war and its consequences, something he seeks to address in his own work. He is one of the exceptions, proving the rule that, in Angola, the writer as a dynamic force providing the possibility of confrontation and reconciliation with the past is still a dormant figure. Concomitantly, Angolan society is yet to come to terms with painful issues of collective memory inscribed as cultural knowledge. As Erll and Rigney posit, “by imaginatively representing acts of recollection, literature makes remembrance observable. As such it not only helps produce collective memory … but also cultural knowledge about how memory works for individuals and groups. Seen in this light, literature might be called a ‘mimesis’ of memory” (113). When a wound is not addressed, it cannot heal and its associated trauma persists. As Cathy Caruth argues, trauma is “always the story of a wound that cries out, that addresses us in an attempt to tell us of a reality or truth that is not otherwise available. This truth, in its delayed appearance and its belated address, cannot be linked only to what is known, but also to what remains unknown in our very actions and our language” (4, my emphasis). Trauma in Angola is an open wound that prevents mourning as a collective catharsis. For Agualusa, there is an 59 Ribeiro obligation to work through memories collectively so that “as pessoas se juntem, e recordem, e chorem juntas, e façam juntas o seu luto” (“A literature” 102). Estação das chuvas deals explicitly with the open wounds of the civil war. By addressing the colonial struggle, the genesis of the MPLA and the subsequent betrayal of the movement’s ideological principles, the novel attempts to reveal a truth somehow unknown (because hidden) about Angola’s nation-building process. Angolan literature has dealt with the civil war before but in a series of texts ideologically committed to the MPLA’s socialist and revolutionary project. The most obvious example is the series of poems Poemas em Novembro, published by Manuel Rui every year after the independence in 1975 until 1984. During this period, there was a clear coincidence between testimony, literature and revolutionary fervor. Angolan writers were writing history through literature and did not shy away from stating it and naming their enemies. In an interview reflecting on those years, Rui admitted that he wrote “pamphlets” and that his target was “the masses.” His justification was that “o nosso grande MPLA” gave him his “pátria” (Laban 722) and that MPLA soldiers “defendem este meu direito mínimo de ter papel e esferográfica para escrever” (Laban 722). As a consequence, they deserved his loyalty and his propaganda skills. Rui helps us to understand why many writers committed their production to the service of the MPLA’s ideological project. According to Rui, writers needed to fuse a testimonial tone and revolutionary enthusiasm as a “duty” to the new socialist state. But he goes further in exposing how Angolan post-independence literature had, in fact, sought to legitimize the MPLA’s nation-building project: “Que foi escrito para agradar a vencedores e desagradar a vencidos é verdade” (Laban 726). Texts were imbued with the writers’ ideological positions and therefore should be carefully read in that context. Read decades later, these texts are associated with the Angolan Revolution and therefore limited by their circumstances.