Djaïli Amadou Amal: Les Impatientes (2017 (in Cameroon)); repr. (in France) 2020

It's worth quoting the back page of this very powerful book – the first of this Cameroon author's to be published in France – and this is my translation of that page:

'Three women, three stories, three linked fates. This polyphonic novel traces the fate of the young Ramla, torn from her loved one to be married to Safira's husband, while Hindou, her sister, is forced to marry her cousin. Patience! That is the main piece of advice given to women by them by those around them, as it's unthinkable to go against the word of Allah. As the Peul proverb has it: 'At the end of patience is heaven.' But heaven can become a hell. How will these three women manage to free themselves?

'Forced marriage, marital rape, consensus and polygamy: this novel by Djaïli Amadou Amal breaks taboos by denouncing the female condition in the Sahel and gives us a staggering novel on the universal issue of the violence perpetrated on women.'

Munyal is a key word in the novel, which is based on Amal's experiences, and the word means 'patience', but as it's patience founded on violent coercion, suffering and mindless duty to the husband god, the title Les Impatientes takes on a whole other meaning to 'The Impatient women': disobedience, revolt, in fact rebellion.

Ramla comes from a large family, her father's four wives having given him thirty children. But she has always been different, viewed by her mother almost as a being from another planet: unlike the women around her, she was interested in study, wanted to have a profession, but was told to return to the 'real life', meaning lifelong subservience to men. She wants to marry Amidou, studying to be an engineer, she wanting to be a pharmacist, but... Hyatou, her uncle and the richest of the family, decrees that his biggest partner, Alhadji Issa, wants to marry her: Ramla isn't just her father's daughter, but a daughter of the extended family. Amidou is sent away and Ramla feels dead inside. She is forced, at the age of 17, to marry a man of 50, who has a co-wife, Safira, aged 35. 'How will these three women manage to free themselves?'. As regards Ramla, we don't know yet.

Formally, Les Impatientes resembles Mairie DNiaye's Trois Femmes Puissantes, and to some extent thematically too. Hindou is Ramla's sister, and they are both married on the same day. Hindou envies Ramla marrying the rich Alhadji Issa because she has to marry her cousin Moubarak, the son of her father's brother, an unemployable wastrel, an alcoholic, a chaser of women and a drug taker. Moubarak is also a violent rapist husband, but then he can almost escape with impunity for beating his impatient (meaning his disobedient) wife. Tacitly, the whole insane extended family (even the local doctor) has to agree that the male is always right. Until, that is, Moubarek is almost ready to kill Hindou for her 'impatience', in fact almost kills her, in spite of her futile attempts to escape the inescapable. 'How will these three women manage to free themselves?'. In Hindou's case, it seems to be via madness.

The third section of Les Impatientes comes from the words of Safira, for twenty years the only wife of Alhadji Issa, but now to be his co-wife as her husband has decided to marry a younger model: Ramla. Like many other co-wives in this devastating novel of familial insanity, Safira is jealous of the new intruder, jealous of her youth, of the fact that Ramla will make her a second-class wife, even though she in theory is to some extent in control of Raml baecause she knows the ropes and is (again to some extent) in charge. Insanity begets insanity and Safira's wholly understandable jealousy triumphs in the form of stealing a large amount of money from her husband (partly to pay for the 'skills' of witch doctors) getting people to falsely claim Ramla's adultery, etc. Alhadji discovers the theft which hardly makes a dent in his wealth, but he rashly repudiates both of his wives, and then relents. Safira learns that Ramla had no interest in him anyway, and Ramla is not long, on her (forced) return to Alhadji, to walk out on him with her computer on which she has been having contact with her brother, the friend of her (unrequited) lover Amidou. 'How will these three women manage to free themselves?'. In Safira's case, freedom is a long way away, as her husband is preparing for another wife. But as for Ramla, her forced marriage is now annulled, so she is truly free.

This novel made it to the Goncourt final in 2020 but is very highly unlikely to achieve final success: Hervé Le Tellier's L'Anomalie is the probable winner, although when the announcement will be is at the moment anyone's guess. Covid-19 rules, OK?

Ferdinand Oyono: Une vie de boy (1956)

Une vie de boy (1956) by Ferdinand Oyono (1929–2010) is the first part of a trilogy (also including Le Vieux Nègre et la médaille (1956) and Chemin d'Europe (1960), the only three novels that Oyono ever wrote, all a time leading up to the independence of Cameroon (Republic of Cameroon).

This novel toggles between the two aspects of Cameroon, the soon-to-be 'free' country and the colony at the time. Toundi is a representation of the split between the two countries, and the novel is very much his notes on what happens. He has a violent father he flees from, and from then is 'adopted' by Father Gilbert, who names him Joseph and teaches him the French language.

On the death of Father Gilbert Joseph becomes the 'boy' (servant) of a white colonial 'master', whose wife is (as is the norm) unfaithful to her husband and Toundi has to act as go-between. Until, that is, he is accused of a crime of which he is innocent, and, well... I can understand why Oyono is an important Cameroon writer.

Mongo Beti: Trop de soleil tue l'amour (1999)

Alexandre Biyidi Awala (1932–2001) – who wrote as Mongo Beti – was a prominent French African writer. He came from Cameroon and Trop de soleil tue l'amour (lit. 'Too Much Sun Kills Love') is evidently set in a country strongly resembling Cameroon in the 1990s.

Zamakwé (usually called Zam) is a journalist living with his girlfriend Elizabeth (usually called Bébète) in an oppressive, corrupt, violent country under dictatorial rule masquerading as democracy, and which is seen by its opponents as undergoing neo-colonial influence from France. Here, absurdity is the norm and Kafka's shadow looms large.

The language is very slangy, often insulting, and the action is fast. Throughout, references are made to the cinema and this seems to be a strong influence – is Beti some kind of precursor to Tanguy Viel? At the beginning, Zam is deeply upset because his CD jazz collection – which he sees as a personal history – has been stolen*. But that is just the beginning: soon afterwards a dead body is discovered at his home, and then an apartment they retreat to is bombed. On moving again, Zam fears that the new property is bugged. When Zam's boss tries to argue with the police that Zam needs protection, he's just told that what Zam has experienced is normal.

There is no investigation into the dead body at Zam's because the police aren't allowed to carry out investigations because investigations might lead to incriminating a member of the government. So when Bébète disappears, the police are of course not interested and Zam (even though he has called her a prostitute) is heartbroken.

Georges represents the exploitative French element, and when this short fat man is seen together with the tall thin police agent Norbert the reader is encouraged to think of the cinema again and imagine a black and white Laurel and Hardy: even in a regime of torture, political corruption and repression, of paranoia and killing, there is something to laugh at – maybe that makes things more chilling.

But there is really nothing funny about Georges, who has a sweet tooth for young girls. He has previously had a child by Bébète, but his sexual dalliances are increased when he is invited to stay at the luxurious home of Ebénezer, the very symbol of the corrupt regime. Here, Ebenezer encourages Georges to indulge his paedophilic instincts, and his thirteen-year-old niece joins Georges in bed each night.

Clearly, Trop de soleil tue l'amour is a very angry book. Mongo Beti intended to write a trilogy, and there is indeed a second volume: Branle-bas en noir et blanc (2000), but unfortunately he died before finishing the third book.

*Is jazz used here as a representation, or a symbol, of the black condition?