Love Is Wicked And time even more so.

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I do not think the point of writing is to produce “timeless writing”—stories and poems that are disconnected from and unaffected by time. When working on “Love Is A Washing Line”—an essay reflecting on hard-worn wisdoms from boxing classes and searing marital truths—it was the height of the Covid-19 pandemic. That hazy period was defined by enclosure. Space and freedom of movement were severely restricted and time seemed to ooze viscously from one bored, anxious moment to another. There was nowhere to go and almost nothing to do besides panic, mourn, try to disconnect from the mounting losses and misinformation, and send out greetings and kind regards from the third wave.

At the time of the essay’s writing I was certain about the essay’s founding premise: that there are rules in love; that like a boxing class or sparring session it demands the utmost focus, dedication, commitment, and respect. There are rules of engagement and disengagement, referees to call foul, and judges to score points for each round. I was sure of this in that special way that young writers with energy and time to burn are.

The conclusions of the essay contrasted the animating spirit of “Wicked”, a short story set in Nairobi in which a woman finds herself in a romantic relationship with morally wrenching complications. Written about a year or so earlier, one of the story’s main characters contends that there are no rules in love—no winners or losers, no arbiters of morality, no victory bell, no press tour, no highlights reel. All there is, she says, are those brave enough to pay whatever the price may be for having and holding.

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I remember how enthusiastic I was about “Love” and how certain I was that it would find a publication avenue sooner than other things I was working on. After submitting it for consideration, I was promptly distracted by doing press for the American publication of The Eternal Audience of One and all of the other responsibilities I juggle in the Doek universe—editing the magazine, administrating and organising the awards, planning and hosting the festival, coordinating the publication of the first anthology, and fundraising, and wondering why poets continue to be the reason Gabriel will blow the trumpets sooner rather than later.

“Love” did not find a home. Not for a long while.

In late 2022, The Prairie Schooner, a literary magazine from the University of Nebraska, decided to feature it. When the editors selected it I had forgotten it had still been under consideration in some places. I was delighted that it would be featured in a reputable publication—my friend and mentor Troy Onyango had his short story “Run” previously published in it. I was glad to be following in his footsteps.

A forthcoming publication meant editing. Revisiting “Love” was strange. Time had undoubtedly affected me, my writing and my relationship to it, the themes I wanted to address within my work, and the experiential and conceptual material informing the essay.

What I had produced was not “timeless.”

But it was timely.

There were reverberations of doubts and resonances of truth. And the hesitant visions of tomorrow made some sort of sense. Most importantly, the premises and conclusions were still true. Different time and place, same vibes.

Earlier, in January, I received a most curious message:

Dear Rémy, 

…“Love Is A Washing Line” has been selected for publication in Best American Essays 2024 by Wesley Morris…

I had to read it a couple of times because it was—and still is—unfathomable that this essay that had taken so long to publish was going to receive a home in one of the most notable nonfiction anthologies in the world. Throughout its journey, it had had to contend with better pieces of writing and more contextually relevant texts. I guess it had to find its own place in its own time (again, that word).

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When Only Stars Know The Meaning Of Space was being edited “Wicked” was one the few stories in the manuscript without editorial notes in it. Some minor corrections of language, but little else. Anyone who has been edited knows what the absence of notes in the margin means: “You did well, kiddo.”

Re-reading “Wicked”, though, I could not help thinking about “Love Is A Washing Line” and all of the questions it raised, even as it tried to answer them. In both pieces of writing it is observed that there are complex and seemingly contradictory codes of conduct, honour, and respect. For example, in boxing you cannot hit below the belt but you can try to take someone’s dome off with a left hook. Like, what? And in love you cannot play dirty but there is that famous saying about all being fair…

While the story and the essay differ from each other in form and style the message, strangely enough, remains the same: love is a wicked thing.

And time even more so.


POSTSCRIPT: Nairobi. A city that featured in my childhood; I lived there for a year and a half-ish. My first big city experience, an itch that has never subsided. Give me noise. Give me a traffic jam. Give me diversity. Give me complicated, messy, confusing, comic, tragic, spirited, and beautiful all wrapped up in one city and I will not complain. Keep small towns for someone else. (Really!) The crazy boda-bodas. The evening walks in Nyayo Estate. The choma spots—overrated because Namibian kapana is so much better and I will forever say that with my whole fucking chest!. Madaraka. The hipster cafés with their skinny fonts and thin menus. Jamhuri. Karula and its silence. The way anything—anything—can be repaired if you ask just the right person. “Issy Leigh!”

Maputo is bae, but KaNairo is first love.

Unseen Nairobi in Nairobi, Kenya, 2023. © Rémy Ngamije.

Unseen Nairobi in Nairobi, Kenya, 2023. © Rémy Ngamije.

Nyayo Estate, Nairobi, Kenya, 2023. © Rémy Ngamije.

Kajiado County, Kenya, 2023. © Rémy Ngamije.

 

Jamhuri, Nairobi, Kenya, 2023. © Rémy Ngamije.

Jamhuri, Nairobi, Kenya, 2023. © Rémy Ngamije.

 

Governor’s Pub in Embakasi, Nairobi, Kenya, 2023. © Rémy Ngamije.

CBD, Nairobi, Kenya, 2023. © Rémy Ngamije.

Karula Forest, Nairobi, Kenya, 2023. © Rémy Ngamije.

Madaraka, Nairobi, Kenya, 2023. © Rémy Ngamije.

Eastleigh, Nairobi, Kenya, 2023. © Rémy Ngamije.

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