Alvin Kathembe is a writer from Nairobi, Kenya. His poetry has been featured in Dust Poetry Magazine, IceFloe Press, Poetry Potion, and elsewhere. His short stories have been published in Jalada, Omenana, Brittlepaper and Equipoise, available on Kindle. Find him on Twitter @SofaPhilosopher.

Precious Okpechi: Hello Alvin, it’s lovely to have you as our featured poet for the month of April. You write both poetry and prose; how do you decide what medium to use in conveying your story?

Alvin Kathembe: Thank you, it’s a great privilege to have my work spotlighted this month!

For me, it’s not really a conscious decision: right from its inception, the story will present itself immediately either as a poem or as prose. The poems usually start from one line that turns itself over and over in my head, until I sit down and gather the rest of the poem around it. The seed of a story could be a scene, a character, or even just a sentence – but I will recognise it right away as a prose narrative. 

In my prose, the focus is on the plot, the characters, and the language – in that order – to bring about the aggregate effect of the story. With poetry, the emphasis is on the language: its clarity, its beauty, and its economy.

I’ve always thought that prose is the best vehicle for communicating a narrative or an idea. Poetry, at its best, evokes an emotion. 

Precious: In approaching a poem, how do you marry experience with language, imagery, and metaphor?

Alvin: I try to write as clearly and as honestly as possible: there’s always the temptation to obfuscate the work in abstractions. However, some of my poetry is me trying to describe thoughts and feelings which I don’t understand, and for which I have no names. And when you don’t have a name for something, sometimes the best you can do is liken it to something else which everybody knows and can identify with. Also, I love to read work that juxtaposes ideas that don’t usually go together and connects them in new and striking ways. It’s something I try to do in my own writing. 

Precious: You are editing Down River Road’s current issue alongside Anointing Obuh; tell me, how does the experience as an editor shape your view of African poetry?

Alvin: It’s been a wonderful experience. There are so many talented writers on this continent whose work we should be reading and studying. People talk about the future being bright for African literature, but I say there’s a very high level of work being produced today. We hope to showcase some of this talent in the upcoming issue. I’ve learned so much working alongside Anointing and the rest of the DRR editorial team; I can’t wait for people to see what we’ve put together. 

Precious: In your poem, “Day Zero,” you reimagine an apocalypse. What strikes me most is how you leaned on everyday interactions with the environment: 

restrict yourself to two minutes, stop start showers.
… 
all the lawns are blondes.
all the cars in cape town are dirty.

What informs the theme of this poem?

Alvin: In late 2017, Cape Town was running out of water. There had been a drought in the Western Cape for a couple of years before, and the dams were at historically low levels. As a result, the city imposed a series of measures to try mitigate this: the first stanza is actually quoted from a flier issued by the authorities. The city was counting down to a “Day Zero” when the dam levels would dip below a critical threshold, and municipal water would be cut off: people would have to queue for a daily ration of water. The rest of the poem imagines what that would be like. 

Thankfully, the rains came and the dams filled back to acceptable levels, and everything went back to normal. Disaster averted!

Fun fact: I was actually at the show at the GrandWest Arena, and the underwater escape really was put off.

Precious: The nostalgia evoked by your story, “The Game,” in Omenana, is strong – I am immediately reminded of my childhood. I’d like to hear more of your view on the toxic masculinity we were exposed to as children, as portrayed in the story?

Alvin: The story is an allegory of Kenya’s political history leading up to the 2007 post-election violence, told within the context of a group of little boys playing a game of football in their estate. We see how tribalism, aggression and a winner-takes-all mentality is ingrained and encouraged in the youth – especially boys – by society. These lessons begin at home, at the breasts and feet of our parents; then are carried onto the playground as we interact with our peers; then we grow up into adults and so our society is what it is today. 

The story hopes to challenge us to ask ourselves some questions: as our children grow up, on what references do they base their values, and their identities? On what references do we base ours? 

New

I know how you are.
You love to be thrilled,
to be excited.
You love novelty.

You know how I am:
I hate tedium, I hate routine.
I hate to feel like I’m obliged.
I run away from difficult things.

…and this thing of ours
is thrilling, isn’t it?
It’s exciting, and easy –
it’s the most exciting thing in the world! –
it’s new.
And we love it, you and I, we love it so.
We love the beginnings of things.

…but the novelty will wear off soon
and we will have to choose.
Choose between tedium, routine, familiarity
and starting over, all over again
(aren’t you tired?).
I hope, when the time comes,
that you will choose me.
I hope I will choose you.

…and you will grow oh so bored
when you find I’m just a guy.
And when the going gets tough, when it’s time to work
I will want to run away.

Promise me you will try –
I promise you –
let’s promise each other to try, every day
to make it feel
new.

In Bloom

In my mind, you are this
withered, wilting, broken thing –
dog-eared, benighted by pests 
and pestilence;
barely hanging on,
soon destined, surely, for oblivion.
You have a hundred troubles –
of the mind, of the heart, of the body –
and mine is the shoulder on which you lean.
Your head is heavy,
but the shoulder is just about strong enough 
to prop you up:
you, whom I love.

Imagine my surprise
when I heard someone else describe you:
your radiance,
your magnetism,
your success,
your strength.
I listened, in some surprise,
and wondered if that was the same person I knew.

Then I realized 
that with me, you only share
the woes, the travails, the hardships of your life –
never the wins.
I’m the one you call 
to hunker down with you in the trenches
as the battle rages about:
you have never invited me
to a victory parade.

No wonder I think of you as I do –
you only seek me out in the winters of your life.
I have never seen you in bloom.