Yejide Kilanko

 

Home is Not a Place 

(Scholar-Poet, Amatoritsero Ede, in conversation with Yejide Kilanko, Novelist and Short story writer) 

Amatoritsero Ede: We have been meaning to have this conversation for a long while now. I think this is as good a time to do so given the increasing resonance of writing by Nigerian immigrant Canadian fiction writers, of which you are a kind of pioneer.  To begin, what has your experience of the Canadian literary establishment been so far – as an immigrant writer. What challenges did you face and how did you overcome them?

Yejide Kilanko: Yes, we have. But here we are, and I’m glad we got to do this. My experience so far has been positive. In terms of challenges, I can’t speak to a particular incident. What helps is that I work hard to manage my expectations around things out of my control. Would it be great if my work got more exposure? Of course. Do we need to amplify more immigrant voices on the Canadian fiction scene? Yes. What is within my control is writing the best stories possible and showing up with authenticity. It is amplifying diverse voices like mine when and where I can. Those are the things that keep my attention. 

A.E.: How does your immigrant experience feed your creativity?

Y.K.: In the earlier part of our family’s journey, we moved around quite a bit. It meant we had to re-establish homes and build connections in new communities. Writers create in the middle of living, and life as an immigrant has given me the many experiences I mine. It has also blessed me with the tenacity and perseverance needed to keep moving forward with my work. I don’t wait for my contrarian muse. I show up, and it comes along for the ride when it finally acknowledges that I am serious.

A.E.: You are a social worker by day and a writer by night; or is it the other way around? I mean, what comes first?

Y.K.: I have been writing since the age of 12, so that identity precedes my social work practice. I wrote my first novel, Daughters Who Walk This Path, due to dealing with vicarious trauma. And my work, which I love, continues to inform my writing. I would say both vocations occupy their unique positions.

A.E.: How does your clinical training inform your characterisation or the stories you decide to tell?

Y.K.: I have always been fascinated with what motivates human behaviour, and this certainly informs my characterization. Once we understand a character’s goals and motivations, their actions, whether we approve of them or not, make sense. Writing has always been how I process my world, so I find myself drawn to tell stories with characters dealing with various traumas. With my children’s fiction, it was a deliberate choice to write about mental health issues. In Nigerian culture, across many Black communities, these topics are often shrouded in secrecy. We need to draw back that veil.

A.E.: You moved from Nigeria to the USA and to Canada. Did the muse push in the direction of Canada? Did you find Canada an atmosphere more conducive to your writing?

Y.K.: Our move to Canada was solely motivated by the need to establish permanent roots. Canada has been good to us. My journey to becoming a published author started in the rural community of Chatham-Kent, where we still live. Our town offers me the quiet and stability to create. I’m living proof that you don’t have to live in a big city to thrive or achieve your dreams.

A.E.: Nigerian writing, migrant and otherwise, has left a strong imprint on World literature. But usually that writing is housed in the UK or USA and still new in Canada. Do you think it has a potential to make an equally strong or a stronger statement here too?

Y.K.: I think Nigerian writing is on its way to making an equally strong statement in Canada. For example, Cheluchi Onyemelukwe–Onuobia’s fabulous debut novel The Son of the House was shortlisted for the 2021 Scotiabank Giller Prize. Other beautiful books such as Uchechukwu Peter Umezurike’s new short story collection, Double Wahala, Double Trouble, are coming. With the right supports and collaboration, a stronger statement is achievable. 

A.E.: In how far do concerns for women and girls play a role in your decision to write?

Y.K.: I have been a girl, and I am now a woman. I think it is a good thing to be on my side. While the concerns for women and girls did not play a role in my decision to write, they influence the kind of stories I want to tell.

A.E.: And how does Nigeria feature in your writing – as pain or pleasure?

Y.K.: It’s both. All the stories I tell, no matter the setting, have at least one Nigerian character. It is pain because of my currently unrealized hopes and dreams. It is also pleasure because of the nostalgia we carry for the people and places we first loved. When I inhabit the Nigeria of my stories, I can be in that space without explaining my existence. The familiar people there get my humour, understand the struggles. There is freedom in that.

A.E.: What advice would you give new immigrant writers trying to establish a writing career?

Y.K.: As you find your footing in your new homes, be open to different experiences, they would expand your ways of seeing. Keep honing your craft. Find a writing community where you can grow with people who can cheer you on. Writing careers, like Rome, are not built in a day, so practice a lot of self-compassion. In the midst of it all, please live life and have fun. Celebrate your small wins. Don’t delay your happiness for a publishing deal. Those happen on their schedule.

A.E.: What is writing in the age of Covid like?

Y.K.: Writing in the age of Covid has been challenging. In March 2020, when the lockdown happened, I was grieving the recent loss of my parents. Over the past twenty months, I have had a chance to establish who and what matters most, to face who I am as life yanked away the things and activities used as respectability or avoidance crutches. It became clear that safety is an illusion when one is fighting an unseen enemy. I say all this because writing has become paradoxical in the sense that a part of me feels the urgency to tell the stories while I still can, while another part says to me, woman, why bother? In the end, none of these matters. Still, I write. 

A.E.: Your debut work, which was is Daughters who Walk This Path, was a Canadian fiction bestseller in 2012. You have since followed with the novella, two children’s books and the most recently, the novel, A Good Name (Guernica, 2021). You have been busy. How do you time-manage the writing life? 

Y.K.: When all this began, I used to say I could do all I did because I didn’t sleep. But that took a toll on my health. Now, I write in chunks of time. I also give myself word counts. They have been as low as a hundred words which work for my flash fiction. I don’t force myself to write every day, and when the particular piece of writing begins to impact my mental health, I take a break from it. That is one of the beauties of writing across genres and working on several projects simultaneously. If a short story isn’t working, I work on a poem or a novel manuscript. These days, I find that I more productive when my mind is at rest. So, I cultivate inner peace.

A.E.: Please tell our readers about your forthcoming work, “In Our Own Ways.” When will it be out, who is the publisher?, and so on.

Y.K.: I just finished major edits, so it’s an evolving project. I don’t have a publication date, but Narrative Landscape Press owns West African rights. Set entirely in Nigeria, it is the story of a couple, Senami, a master of self-reinvention, and Fadaka, daughter of the wealthy Silva family. At the centre of it all is a long-prayed-for child. It’s about how we make meaning of life and fight for justice in our own ways.

A.E.: Finally, MTLS will like to thank you for taking time off your busy schedule to have this conversation.

Y.K.: Thanks for the opportunity. It was a pleasure.