Talks given by Niki Daly

The following talks cover a six year period, starting with ‘Out of my Skin’, presented in Copenhagen and Cambridge in 2004. At that time, I thought it right that, as a white South African writer and illustrator who had grown up during the apartheid years, to question and attempt to explain how a white ‘child of apartheid’ became a writer of multicultural books (and is often mistaken for a black South African female)

I tried to be honest in what I thought about and wrote – and it wasn’t easy, facing the shame shared by many white South Africans of my generation.

Since then, I have given more talks about my work, and as my growing up years are inextricably connected to the work I do, I never stray far from the main topic. However, as there is a ‘a time to kill and time to heal’, I prefer to let go of the past – I have dealt with that in my talks, and one cannot carry on raking over one’s sins in public without it becoming cheap.

However, while academics remain interested in my background as it relates to my work, I have left the talks as they were originally presented – inserting thumbnails as substitutes for the slides that were shown in PowerPoint presentations.

You will, I hope, see a progression from ‘Out of my Skin’ to ‘From Songololo to Jamela’ which, for me, shows that, besides adding to the body of my work over the years between, I have also healed.

Out of my Skin

A talk dedicated to Miriam Hintsa and Miriam Makhalima

23/01/10 14:59

I wish to thank the organizers of the Images of the World and my publisher and friend Vagn Plenge for inviting me to this wonderful event. Your generosity towards my country, South Africa, and your interest in a culture so different from the your own, makes it an honour for me to be here.

However, I cannot forget what I have left behind. Life for many children in South Africa is tough. Many are physically and sexually abused, an increasing number are losing parents to aids. ‘Aids orphans’, as young as 12 years, are parenting their younger brothers and sisters.

There are those who are homeless and hungry, those who are illiterate, and too many who have never held a book, let alone owned one. Compared to such lives, I am more than blessed by mine that allows me to use my talent and be rewarded for doing so. One of those rewards is being here with you. Out of respect for those less fortunate, I think it only fair that you balance all I have to say against the plight of these children. That way, we keep things in proportion.

Only the well fed can say, “Children need books”. But if books contain love, hope and joy (food for the soul I’ve heard suggested) then, yes, all children need books.

Our Minister of Education, Kader Asmal, has embraced this sentiment by making 2001 South Africa’s “Year of the Book”. So, it seems an opportune time for South Africans committed to literacy and children’s literature to look at what has been and what is yet to come. Especially, those South African writers and illustrators and publishers who wish to avoid the racist pitfalls of the past, and give themselves the opportunity to create children’s books as ‘gifts of love’ to all children. “A gift of love” is not a flowery offering. It requires writers and illustrators to offer the very best of themselves - beliefs that do not damage, sentiments that do not hurt, messages that do not discourage and emotions that connect us as humans. These fine qualities directly oppose those of fear, ignorance and hate on which Apartheid fed.

Why then did most White South Africans support Apartheid?

I remember seeing a German movie called “Fear Eats the Soul” - the title stuck with me because I always thought that this is what happened to most white South Africans during Apartheid - or long before.

Sir Laurens van der Post in an interview once suggested that, during the process of colonizing, surviving and becoming masters in Africa, our forefathers, particularly our Afrikaans forefathers who trekked into the unknown interior, experienced an awful trauma. He hinted at it being spiritual in nature and having a brutalizing effect on mind and soul. I think it was fear. My Ouma and Oupa, my maternal grandparents, still linked their Afrikaner identity to Voortrekker mythology. ‘Die Swart Gevaar’, the ‘black threat’, was a recurring theme at home. During my growing up years, I constantly felt that there was some shapeless, menacing black threat that hung over my family. Apartheid, which tapped into their psyche, was a finely tuned political system for my family and millions like them. Although, my grandfather always complained that South Africa should have done what they did in America – practice apartheid, but keep if out of the law books. I am a child of Apartheid. I grew up at a time when every aspect of life, including children’s books, carried the footprint of institutionalized racism. How awful to be so naturally qualified to talk about racism in children’s books. But I learnt at an early age’ to distinguish the difference between ‘them’ and ‘us. From talk around the kitchen table, in the classroom and on the streets, I developed a morbid interest in race. Indeed, we Capetonians prided ourselves for our ability to root out black blood. Some looked for a darkening behind the ears, others for a tinge of blue around the lips, or hair that was more than curly.

My mother was forever asking me if I had seen my dark friend’s granny.”Yes”, I’d say.”Well, is she coloured?””I don’t know,” I’d say.”Well, what colour are her lips?”And so on.

When taken to extremes, this obsession with skin colour and hair texture provided a sickening farce for race classification. “The Pencil Test” is reportedly a test that was carried out to establish if a person had ‘white’ or ‘non-white’ hair. This involved, pushing a pencil into the hair of a dark applicant, wishing to be reclassified as white. If the pencil remained stuck, chances of being reclassified white diminished. I believe the Nazi’s were more scientific in their methods. Now, when I see the ebony and ivory friendships in the playground and on campus back home, it seems unbelievable that my generation were so blinded and stunted by apartheid.

Maybe, van der Post is right. Maybe, we contracted a form of spiritual sickness from our forefathers. Whatever, shame and guilt is what most whites feel. And there are many ways white South Africans react to what we call ‘white guilt’. We remain defiantly un-repentant; we find ways of rationalising apartheid and our part in it; some flagellate in public, some turn their guilt into debt. Since 1994 most Whites have suffered from amnesia. These days, there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell to find a white English speaking South African who supported apartheid. So far, too few have said they are sorry. I am saddened by our shameful history. And I am deeply sorry for being part of it.

But there’s something else I feel. And I first felt it while standing in one of those very long queues during our 1994 democratic elections. Perhaps, you remember seeing those queues on your television screens? Well, they were long queues because they were free elections and EVERYONE was allowed to vote. And standing there, what I felt was a strange mixture of sadness and joy - sadness for the past and joy for the future. Is there a word for such a feeling… redemption, maybe?

This is my baggage and it needs to be unpacked and inspected if I am to be truthful about who I am and about my work and the context in which they come together.

I must add, however, that as I become undeniably middle-aged, I realize that South Africans of my generation - black and white – are like dinosaurs, trying to ignore an evolutionary process taking place right under our noses. While we are bickering, while we are scoring political points and dodging one another’s racial slurs, while we thrash about with our scaly baggage - our children are starting to play together. Our lovely - free - children of New South Africa. Here are some examples:

During the last World Rugby Cup that was held in South Africa, a child of a black academic was hooting for the mainly white Springbok team. After the first hour the irritated mother, a victim of apartheid, finally snapped, “Why are you supporting the Springboks, they are white.““Yes, mummy,” answered the child, “But they are OUR whites.”

Here’s another post apartheid conversation:

White parent asking about her child’s friend: “Is Alice black?”

Child: “No mummy, Alice is brown with little bits of pink.”

No baggage!

In contrast, just before leaving South Africa a few days ago, I heard this sad confession on a chat radio station. They were discussing racism. A 46-year-old coloured man called in to say that he was a racist. ”I hate the Blacks and I hate the Whites,” he said. Then he explained that he always felt that black people were inferior to him and white people superior. “I wish I didn’t feel this way, but there’s nothing I can do about it.” He said, ending his call.

At the end of the program there was a general feeling that most South Africans around the age of 35 and up are damaged people. Do we all need to die before the air can be cleared? I hope not.

While writing this paper, I came across these lines in a poem by one of your poets -Benny Anderson:

”As a Dane one should sometimes tear one’s feet off the ground

and take to the mountains,

train in vision and vertigo.

Typical for mountains are peaks

but also the steep slopes

which makes it possible to reach them.”

That line - “train in vision and vertigo” - strikes a chord in me. It suggests a cure, I think. It advises that in order to gain a vantage point in life, one has to ascend to a higher place – a mountain, if you will, to see what lies behind and beyond. Maybe from the summit we might even catch a glimpse of something just beyond the horizon. But in order to reach these heights one has to overcome the fear of falling and failing.

Considering our high hopes for a new South Africa and our accompanying fears, South Africans might ‘take to the mountains’, and “train in vision and vertigo”. White South Africans, in particular, have a marvelous opportunity to become more tolerant, caring, sharing and free of fear - in other words, to redeem ourselves.

When I was a child I came into contact with two warm, caring black women. I learnt to respect, admire and love them. This experience, I believe removed two of the cornerstones of racism for me – fear and hate. I now see that their presence in my life has influenced my thinking and my work. So I dedicate this talk to Miriam Hintsa and Miriam Makhalima

The year following my father’s return from World War Two, I was born in Cape Town, South Africa on 13 June 1946. Two years later, the nationalist party won the 1948 elections in South Africa and started refining the racist practices of British colonialism into the notorious political system that became known as Apartheid.

My earliest memories of black people are connected to the threats of my grandmother who told me that, if I were naughty, a big black man would put me into a big black bag and carry me away to Gugulethu – a big, black township.

Later, I learnt to hold my breath while passing groups of black men, for fear of catching ‘their germs’. The smell of laborer’s sweat, as they returned home from a hard day’s work only reinforced my ideas that black people were dirty, inferior, and to be feared. Of course, the laborers were poor, and poor people with no cleaning facilities, or much clothing, often smell of sweat when they return from a hard day’s work. But I did not know that. I thought that it was a dirty black smell - an African smell.

When I was ten, my mother went out to work and something important happened - we got the first of our African maids. First there was Miriam Hintsa. From Miriam Hintsa, I leant that Xhosa people had a rich history, a marvelous clicking language, mesmerizing songs, and wonderful stories. Above all, I discovered a dignity in Miriam Hinsta that I could not find in my own family. Yet, she was reduced to being our servant.

When Miriam Hinsta left, the beautiful Miriam Makhalima replaced her. And from Miriam Makhalima I learnt to dance the pata-pata over the shiny floors she polished for my mother

Listening to the stories of one black woman, and dancing with another made it nonsensical for me to fear people because they were black, so I stopped. In fact, it seemed to me, at that young age that black and white people are more alike than they are different. Of course that’s an obvious realization to those who have grown up in non-racist societies. But, for me, it was an important realization. This belief inoculated me against much of the racism that I came into contact with. And during those years of grand apartheid, white South African children absorbed racism on every level. We heard white adults speaking disrespectfully to black people. We saw policeman hurl black men and woman into the back of police vans like garbage bags. White privilege was seized on pavements, as black people stepped aside for us. “Whites Only” signs were part of our urban landscape – as normal to us as streetlights.

But as I grew older I started to question. “Why was there a special cup and saucer for Miriam?” “Why was she not allowed to live in Cape Town with her husband?” “Why were angry black men and woman marching to parliament?”

An uncle from the Transvaal said to me,”Niki, you must not be so concerned with ‘kaffirs’. They are not like you and me. It says so in the bible.” He was referring to the “Curse of Ham” in the Old Testament, which formed a belief of many Afrikaners that God meant blacks to be inferior and servile.

‘The Blacks, after all, belong to a lower race which cannot be put on an equal footing with Whites, whether in family, or in politics, or in the church’ Dr P.S. J. de Klerk 1923

Tragically, years later in Natal, his son, my cousin Dave gunned down a group of black people in an AWB revenge attack. He is currently serving a life sentence in South Africa.

Miriam Hintsa is no longer alive, but I can still see her face in the faces of the black woman I draw. Miriam Makhalima is very much alive and I see her from time to time. Recently, I visited her at her home in Gugulethu where she introduced me to a group of men drinking beer in the shebeen next door. They all laughed at something she said. “I told them that you are alright, because you are my white son,” she explained to me. I then understood why the men had laughed. Given our history, it’s rather ironic for a child of apartheid to become a son of a black woman.

My story is not unusual. There are many unlikely relationships between people of different color, cultures and political divides in South Africa. Every friendship, every acknowledgment, every smile between black and white is a victory over apartheid. It was not supposed to happen this way.

In the nineties, as the apartheid system started to crumble, many of us believed that those were the days of “miracles and wonders” that Paul Simon was singing about. It was a miracle. Instead of a bloodbath we had free and fair elections. It certainly is wonderful to have a democratically elected government and a constitution that enshrines some of the world’s most progressive human rights. It is a remarkable, collective achievement.

But what has this to do with children’s books?

Well, we still have to achieve a non-racial, non-sexist, multi-cultural society - and children’s books are powerful tools for encouraging children to fulfill their human potential. Fly, Eagle, Fly! inspires to do just that – why be a chicken when you are an eagle? Why peck for grubs in the dust when you can fly higher than high? But as no one book can mean everything to everyone, we need a lots and lots of books - a family of books!

Some of the books I do are called ‘multi cultural books’. I’m not sure what this means. But when I work on those kinds of books I am reminded of dancing the pata-pata with Miriam - sharing a heart beat with someone who is more like me than they are different. And that’s a ‘multi’ exciting feeling! These kinds of books are my personal victory over Apartheid. Remember, Apartheid means ‘to keep apart’.

So, I am saddened when it is suggested that white people ought not to do books that feature black people. It suggests that Apartheid wants to have the last word. It suggests that I ought to stay in my skin.

Archbishop Desmond Tutu coined the phrase “to jump out of your skin’. He used it to describe the amazing ability some Afrikaners have to leap out of their culture and beliefs into another paradigm. There are some remarkable examples of this, such as Willem Verwoerd, the grandson of apartheid’s grand architect, Hendrik Verwoerd. Isn’t it extraordinary that the grandson of Hendrik Verwoerd is now an ANC Member of Parliament? Antjie Krog, the poet and writer of The Country of my Skull also appears to have made the incredible leap outside Afrikanerdom. I know of many others. So it would seem that Afrikaners are leading the way.

‘Jumping out of your skin’ is also a beautiful metaphor for the creative act of writing. Don’t writers jump out of their skin and leap straight into the skin and shoes of their characters? That’s their talent. I call it magic. Of course, there are those who believe that writers ought to stay firmly in their own skin and culture in order to write ‘authentically’.

Marc Aronson, editor at Henry Holt, writing in the March /April 1993 Horn Book asks, “What defines “authenticity”, genes or experience?” He goes on to question some of the components of experience:”Is culture defined more by race than class? More by class than gender? More by gender than region? More by region than faith?”

When applied to writers, the questions raised by Aronson, starts to loosen the grip of ethnicity on writing. It also invites questions about talent and imagination. Do our backgrounds and ethnicity determine talent and imagination?

When I started to write and illustrate “Not so Fast Songololo”, my first South African book in which black people appeared – I had not heard of the term “multi-cultural’ books”. Then, like now, the idea came from something I saw and felt. One day, I saw a large Grandmother and her small grandson in a crowded street. They caught my eye because she looked like a large ship being directed through a sea of people by her small grandson. In broken tackies (sneakers), he moved through the crowd with the determination of a little tugboat. I was struck by the reversal of roles – seeing the small grandchild looking after his old Gogo. I was also reminded of going with my grandmother to a shoe shop when my school shoes got so old that the soles flapped. I remembered being very happy with my new shoes, but not being able to part with the old ones – so I kept them under my pillow.

When I completed the book, I dedicated it to Miriam Makhalima because I had drawn on her warmth to create Gogo – the granny in the book. When the book was published, it was acclaimed ‘a milestone book in South African Children’s Literature’ by the white library establishment. However, many black librarians and teachers did not share this opinion. One black teacher said, “Niki’s book is very nice but if it were done by one of our own people we would be able to say to our children “Look, So and So from our community wrote this book. See, you have a role model – now you, too, can become a children’s book writer.” I understood what she meant.

But twenty years have passed and still there are too few black children’s writers and illustrators to mention. Sadly, there are libraries without books. And surprisingly, the notion of colour-coded role models seems less of an issue these days as urbanized, skateboarding, hip-hopping children of New South Africa look to American culture for their role models. Such is the change since 1984 when Andree-Jeanne Tötemeyer referred to Not So Fast Songololo as: “The first significant children’s book embracing official acceptance of the black man as a permanent city dweller.”

Toby Mutloatse of Skotaville Publishers was a little more reserved, “It is a brave attempt at creating a book which is relevant,” he commented.

Outside South Africa, a starred review from the American Horn Book Journal appeared: "The beautiful, gentle book about ordinary occurrences of daily life has an extraordinary effect.”

An ordinary story about a child going shopping with his granny can have an extraordinary effect because as Kira Lynn, an editor at Kane Miller Books explains: “The best children's books show our differences and our similarities - they open worlds, and open minds.” I’d like to add that ‘they touch hearts’.

But at the time, my book did not touch the hearts of angry activists. They criticized me for failing to explain the unjust system in which a black child can only gaze into a toyshop window, while his grandmother counts every penny to buy him a pair of new shoes.

The size of 'Gogo’, as grandmothers are called in South Africa, also raised objections. She was considered to be a stereotype by some and therefore insulting to blacks. Again, I understood these criticisms. However, the thought of turning a children’s book into a political lesson was completely foreign to me. And the accusations of creating a stereotype confused me. After all, I had modelled Gogo on someone I had seen. Did this mean that there was a stereotype walking the streets? Or was had some deeply rooted racism in me overridden my better judgement?

In an article (Towards Interracial understanding through South African Children’s and Youth Literature 1988) Andree-Jeanne Tötemeyer of Windhoek University has this to say about black stereotypes: “It is time to eradicate this stereotype and not perpetuate it. Illustration is never a reflection of reality per se, but what an illustrator chooses to reflect. There is always a subjective element attached to both literary and graphic portrayals, so why choose to portray characters in such a way that it may hurt feelings?”

Towards Understanding- Maskew Miller Cape Town 1998.

Andree-Jeanne’s sensitive advice echoes much that has been written about black stereotypes. However, if we are not to hurt people’s feelings with our illustrations, who do we include and exclude in our books? Would a black family featuring a mama and papa resembling Diana Ross and Michael Jackson - please, or hurt someone’s feelings? Or are they stereotypes in their own right? Goodness! It’s complicated. Perhaps that’s why white writers and illustrators are better advised not to get involved in multicultural books – we don’t know all the codes. Does anyone? And should humans be reduced to a series of codes?

Around that time, Gcina Mhlophe described white people writing about blacks as ‘excavating black lives as a resource’ - a valid point. After all, black people regarded books about ‘white middle class children’ as “irrelevant”.

From the mid eighties onwards, as political power shifted, publishers kept an ear to the ground and an eye on possible market changes. I’m not suggesting that S African publishers are all opportunists without morals. But like all businesses they hedge their bets. So they encouraged white writers to write books ‘with black readers in mind’. This incentive resulted in a number of books that were set in black township areas, featuring the community and culture.

The following themes are deemed popular among books aimed at encouraging black readership. Soccer – a favoured sport among black youth; Music; Family relationships; education and especially stories about library education; Fathers, as returning migrant workers offer an emotional core to many stories; Self sufficiency and resourcefulness of communities; creative play, featuring the favourite pastime among boys – the building of wire cars. Generally, books about girls are set closer to home – perhaps, reflecting current fears for the safety of young girls in a country where child-rape is a fearful reality.

On a positive note there seems to be no end to wonderful stories inspired by the people and varied cultures in South Africa. However, I did introduce my list of themes as those that are “deemed’ popular. The reason for this is that, the vast majority books about blacks experiences are written and illustrated by white South Africans. And while this remains so, the voices of black S African writers and the art of black S African artists will not be seen in children’s books; a great pity. As they say in Africa: “A single bracelet does not jingle”.

During the 1980’s ‘the token black child’ made an appearance as an equal to a white counterpart in local books. However, I have not come across any books from this period with ‘mixed race/opposite sex’ combinations. Might this suggest that, while we were ready to play with ‘them’, we were not yet ready to marry ‘them’? Or am I being mischievous?

In the euphoria following Nelson Mandela’s release in 1992, publishers opened their books to the children of the ‘rainbow nation’ (which is how Archbishop Desmond Tutu described the new South Africa.) Even so, there was something artificial and forced about many of these books. Like the television commercials of the time, the combination of blacks and whites in unrecognisable settings did not ring true. Rather, they suggested a potential for someday realising a multi-racial South Africa. Happily, that potential is now starting to become a reality.

But when Not So Fast Songololo was first published, Apartheid was still intact. To appreciate its impact we need to look at the kinds of books that existed before.

When I returned to South Africa at the beginning of 1980, after being abroad for a number of years, I noticed that black children in picture books were most often portrayed as backward, barefooted rural children, in supportive roles to proactive white playmates - the farmer’s blonde children. At best the illustrations suggest the potential for happy interracial friendships. I believe these were commonplace on farms. At worst, one sees the ingrained racism of the writer and illustrator worming its way into the story and pictures, spoiling it all. Such as:

Black children looking puzzled as alert white children take the lead

Klaas, the farm laborer, looking stupid and servile as he takes instructions from his Baas (master).

More often than not in books dating from pre-Nat South Africa up until the late 1970’s, blacks look ridiculous, unintelligent and uncoordinated

Of course you can find equally nasty examples of this in American and English books of that time. After all, South Africa did not have patent on racism.

More guidelines in identifying racism in pictures come from a workshop in Arnoldshain, West Germany.

Illustrations: Are blacks stereotyped with thick lips, white teeth, infantile, stupid expressions?

Are they denied their own identity by being depicted just like whites with a slight tint of colour?

Do blacks all look alike or are they drawn as individuals? Who gives orders?

Are blacks also drawn in leadership or action roles?

I might add that one has to be careful when looking for racism in illustrations. I suspect that bad drawing rather than bad intention lies behind many of the illustrations that appear unsympathetic towards blacks.

A writer on the other hand has to be very clear about their intentions. In “‘n Hennetjie met Kuikens” written by Alba Bouwer (published by Tafelberg in 1971) Katrine Harries illustrates a sequence in which a Polani, a little black girl, is given a dress that belonged to ‘die wit meisiekindjjie van die wit huis” (the little white girl from white house). Polani smells the dress…it smells like new shoe soles. But before she can wear it, her grandmother gives Polani a good scrubbing. And when she is clean and looking smart in her new dress, Polani’s grandmother says, “Polani, the white child smells different to you. You were washed and she was washed, but you smell different, Polani.”

Alba Bouwer’s lovely writing captures the charm of country folk doing what country folk do, but what on earth can she mean? This piece really troubles me. Perhaps because of the concerns I had about ‘black smells” when I was a child. I suppose there’s nothing wrong with people smelling differently. Except, when it plays into the hands of racist ideology such as that of Dr P.S. J de Klerk: written in 1923 “The Bantu, after all, belong to a lower race, which cannot be put on an equal footing with Whites, whether in family, or in politics or in the Church.”

During the 1980’s along with Not So fast Songololo there were a number of sincere attempts at writing children’s books that were respectful to race and relevant to the changing times. Mike Kantey’s Some of us are Leopards and some of us are Lions is a favourite of mine. I added Fly Eagle Fly (Christopher Gregorowski), Papa Lucky’s Shadow and Charlie’s House ( Reviva Schermbrucker) to my list.

These books were done during some of the most violent times in South Africa’s recent history. Townships burned, an orgy of so-called ‘third force’ violence was unleashed on South Africa’s black population. In fact, most of the horror tales heard at the Truth and Reconciliation Hearings took place during this period.

Around that time, I participated in discussions regarding books that were appropriate to the needs of South African children. Some felt that children needed to have racism, social injustice and violence explained through stories. Others felt that children needed to escape into fantasy books. I thought there might be a middle path and chose to do Reviva Schermbrucker’s Charlie’s House - about a boy’s fantasy house that he builds from mud next to his family’s shack.

“Children of Africa” by Karen Press and illustrated by Shelly Sacks was published by the Vumani Project in 1987. The stories took a range of social injustices that were current affecting children in S Africa, such as forced-removals and white on black exploitation. The black community welcomed this large impressive book with beautifully painted illustrations. A lot of white people were offended by the use of white stereotypes – the exploitative white madam dripping in jewels and the bullying farmer. I must say, I found it curious to see an inversion of black stereotyping.

A more worrying aspect of the book comes from turning the dishonesty of a black girl into a virtue. The writer suggests that it is a good thing for an exploited poor black girl to cheat rich, white lady out of her jewelry. And this may be so. But it also reinforces a stereotype of an untrustworthy black servant girl - the queen of stereotypes in South Africa.

Well, I suppose there’s satisfaction in revenge, especially in South Africa. But are children’s books the best place for it? To be fair, I think, the writer really wanted to give hope and support to disadvantaged children. And I hope she succeeded, because they really needed it.

In the 1990’s, attempts were made by NGO’s involved in literacy projects, such as the READ organization, to include black participation in a publishing program. Teachers, librarians, storytellers, writers and illustrators came together to workshop a series of books that were eventually published as The Little Library. Among these book was Hi! Zoleka, published by Songololo Books (A David Philip Imprint). It was a lovely example of the best that I felt was still to come – a joyous children’s book, free of baggage and shines with goodness. I love this book.

From the 1990’s many more multi cultural and interracial books appeared. A number came from America, such as Rachel Isadora’s touching book “At the Crossroads” and Catherine Stock’s lively Armien’s Fishing Trip. I contributed “All The Magic in The World”, “One Round Moon” and “Somewhere in Africa”. The last title was praised in America for debunking the stereotyped image of South Africa. However, when the bespectacled, bunned librarian in an illustration caused fuss among some sexy librarians, and the elephant toes in an African curio shop window was thought of as being ‘unfortunate’ by environmentalists - I woke up to the snapping sound of political correctness in children’s books.

Don’t get me wrong! I fully support the reforms that are encouraged through political correctness. Indeed, when non-racist, non-sexist, non-ageist models replace old and exhausted stereotypes they can be wonderfully delightful and celebratory – such Marjorie can Heerden’s sax blowing mama in “Monde’s Present” And Mary Hoffman’s “Amazing Grace”. Bravo!

However, political correctness ought not to sanitize children’s books so that they cease to be real – like an over deodorized toilet.

Now remember, I spoke about my feelings of sadness and joy while writing this paper? Well, here’s the joy -

When Nelson Mandela’s was released in 1994, a new energy and creativity was released into South Africa. A spell had been broken. I describe our newfound source of creativity that comes from cross-pollinating cultures and bringing together people as: ‘our pot of cultural stew will never empty as long as it is shared”.

Archbishop Desmond Tutu once demonstrated, with hand movements, the evil nature of Apartheid. \He said, “Apartheid pulls apart and separates. God draws together and unites.” Currently, South Africa is buzzing with music and art. There is a feeling of things coming together. Here are a few. (slides to follow)

References and sources:

Anderson, Benny: Far Flatter Fields Cosmopolitan

In Denmark and other poems about Danes ( Borgen;1997)

Bouwer, Alba:‘n Hennetjie met Kuikens” (Tafelberg in 1971)

Daly, Niki: Papa Lucky’s Shadow (Songololo Books 19

Gregorowski, Christopher; Fly, Eagle Fly!; Illus Niki Daly (Tafelberg old edition, 1982; new edition 2000)

Hartmann, Wendy: All The Magic in The World: illus Niki Daly (Songololo Books 1993)

Isadora, Rachel: At the Crossroads (Greenwillow Books)1991

Lewis, Jen: “Interviews with Jen Lewis for thesis “The Relevance and Availability of Children’s Books for Black communities.” 1989

Kantey Mike: Some of us are Leopards and some of us are Lions; illus Nelda Vermaak;( Human and Rousseau

Mennen, Ingrid: One Round Moon and a Star for me/Een Rond Maan en ‘n ster vir my; illus Niki Daly (Human and Rousseau 1994)

Mennen,Ingrid and Daly,Niki: Ashraf of Africa (also known as Somewhere in Africa) ;illus Nikolaas Maritz ( Songololo Books 1990)

Mhlophe, Gcina: Hi! Zoleka ;illustrated by Elizabeth Pulles (Songololo Books 1994)

Mutloatse: “Interviews with Jen Lewis for thesis “The Relevance and Availability of Children’s Books for Black communities.” 1989

Press, Karen: Children of Africa;illus Shelly Sacks (Vumani Project in 1987)

Schermbrucker, Reviva: Charlie’s House (Songololo Books 1989)

Stock, Catherine: Armien’s Fishing Trip (Songololo Books 1990)

Van Heerden, Marjorie: Monde’s Present.(Garamond 1997)

Hoffman, Mary; Amazing Grace (Human and Rousseau 1991)

Tötemeyer, Andree-Jeanne: Towards Understanding ( Maskew Miller Cape Town 1998).

Troupe, Freda: South Africa - A Historical Introduction (The History Book Club 1972)

Picture sources: At the Crossroads Rachel Isadora;: Shelly Sacks; Diamond: Deborah Jackson; Die Drie Wonderdogters: Joy Pritchard Homeless: Sophie Peters;I love my father: Hamilton Budhaza; Mafaro’s Beutiful Daughters: John Steptoe; Malisel en doe Tweeling: D Hill; Midnight: Diek Grobler 123: Diek Grobler; Monde’s Present; Garamond Publishers; Musas Journey: Elizabeth Pulles; Ogus, S Niemeyr; Polani: Katrine Harries; Sadima’s Goal: Jean Fullalove; Sekota, Gerald: Black Man; Some of us are leopards: Nelda Vermaak; The day Gogo went to vote; Sharon Wilson; The Greeen Cow: Beate Willich; The Houtbay big catch: Lesley Charnak;The Library Book Helga Hoveka; Themba gaan sy vader haal: Alida Bothma;Ther flower Patch: Ian Lusted; Three Gollywogs: Enid Blyton;Epaminondas and his mammy’s umbrella: A.E. Kennedy; What a Gentleman:Jo Harvey

Photo sources: Aids orphans 1 Sunday Independent: Aids Orphans 2 Mail and Guardian; Military Parade, Boers:Paul Weinberg; March Peter Mugubane Yeoville scenes, Gideon Mendel: Election, Whites Only sign, Archibishop Tutu; The History of Cape Town, David Philip Publishers; Police Patrol and Farmer’s son with maid, David Goldblatt Soccerplayer and other scenes of children:Rick Mathews; Niki reading to boys, Paddy Bouma

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From Songololo to Jamela

by Niki Daly

My presentation “From Songololo To Jamela” is a picture show of work done during a period that spans the last brutal years of Apartheid to ten giddy years of freedom in South Africa. First, I might take a few minutes to explain some history and influences that makes me who I am - a balding, loveable, middle aged South African male who writes and illustrates multi-cultural children’s picture books and …who is often thought to be a black lady!

This is me years ago when my racial identity was fixed in no uncertain way by the Apartheid regime - when I was a WHITE PERSON

I come from a working class background. We had no television, no car, no view – so I spent a lot of time, bored out of my mind, sitting on pavements dreaming myself into someone else’s skin. There was a time when I thought I could fly if I leapt high enough off the ground on a windy day.

That never happened but I did become an illustrator and writer – which is a kind of flying. That is, being freed from a fixed perspective to travel through dreamscapes and engage in inventions of one’s own making.

I was a funny little boy - convinced that I came to my family as a result of a mix up at the Mowbray maternity home where I was born in 1946. What else might explain how a deep thinking, sensitive, darling little boy, who yearned for the finer things of life, could be genetically linked to a family of loudmouthed, drinkers and big women, smelling of Evening in Paris.

Sadly, my father was alcoholic, which I guess explains why I have written few books with strong father and son relationships

However, I have illustrated stories featuring lovely dad’s, such as One Round Moon and Daddy Island. If I’ve illustrated these with too much ‘touchy-feelyness’, you must understand that I am indulging in a bit of fantasy.

I have been blessed. As I grew up, I met kind people who assisted me through a typical South African childhood, skewed (screwed?) as it was, under the apartheid system. Two women, in particular, were helpful in ‘inoculating’ me against the worst evils of apartheid - fear and hate. In particular, the irrational fear that white South Africans of my parent’s generation lived with – “Die swart gevaar”.

I remember my grandmother telling me that if I was not good, a big black man with a big black bag would come and take me away to a big black township!

But the two Miriams, who worked for my mother when I was a school boy simply made it illogical for me to hate or fear black people. They were both good and wonderful woman, and they were both black.

Through them, I came to understand that people are more similar than they are different; that most people are essentially kind and helpful, and that life is potentially wonderful. Certainly, I live in hope that we will create a better world for our children as we heal from our bitter past and face a future filled with some terrifying challenges - but ones I believe we will overcome.

Without becoming too reverent, I believe that good books can be part of healing. Better still, good books protect the mind against negativity; in that good books contain messages of hope and most importantly, they include humour.

I certainly hope that my books do no harm and that in some way, what is good in them says something good about me that causes people to confuse me with a black woman.

I am blessed with an ‘artist’s eye’. And I have an abiding curiosity for people and lives lived beyond my front door. Drawing people has always been my passion. Indeed, when I was a kid and had no paper to draw on, I’d fill up the margins of newspapers to draw characters who all lived inside my head.

You may say I’m sketch junkie.

Now you know something about me - Indeed, I am a white South African male of mature years. And I like to think that I am still deep thinking; a darling to some, and now providing the finer things of life to my sons, Joe and Leo,

So let’s look at illustrations from various books that, in their own curious way, reflect the changing times between my doing Not So Fast Songololo and Where’s Jamela?

In the 70’s while living in London I did my first book. You can see the influences of Sendak’s cross hatch technique, which I later dropped – life, being is too short for cross hatching.

Ardizzone has remained an abiding influence and inspiration. He was incapable of producing a lousy drawing..

When I returned to South African in the 80’s I was surprised that children’s book illustration remained relatively unchanged since the black and white illustrations of my text books.

Stories had rural settings - with bare footed farm kids and their tag along black companions, who inevitably stood about looking confused around little white heroes. Most of us growing up during the apartheid years might not see anything wrong with this picture. However, it forms part of a systematic degrading of a group of people who are perceived as being inferior.

At worse, the hurtful caricatures of black adults are presented unashamedly as objects of fun.

Now, depicting people in a comical manner is not the problem, I believe. Rather, it is making people look foolish and without dignity that is hurtful and has no place in children’s books

Best, were the reduced figures executed in lino and wood cut - A good technique, in that it also reduced the risk of caricature that can offend.

My first South African commission borrows something from the woodcuts that I admired, but you can see that I am an artist who enjoys drawing people in their all their detail - an approach that has developed me into what a friend calls a ‘free realist’- meaning that I do not rely on photo references.

Family life provided me with themes and models. And I started to understand a child’s anatomy and more importantly how to capture a child’s energy in a sketch.

In 1985 I wrote Not So Fast Songololo which has become a milestone book in South African Children’s literature - simply because it was the first picture book to depict a black child in an urban landscape.

I might add that there was fair amount of criticism on the home front. Some felt it not good enough to depict poverty without offering a child a reason for poverty. While others were offended by the size of Gogo.

I accepted the criticism although it conflicted with my interest in children’s books – which is as a writer and illustrator, putting down on paper what I saw around me. Had I been an activist, I daresay the book would have turned out to be somewhat of a political tract.

A review in the New York Times says this about it:

South Africa is not a headline here; it is background in a story for children. Older readers who notice the poverty of the characters or contrast a bus filled with black passengers to cars driven only by whites will recognize the troubled situation that is an unspoken presence in this affectionate tale.

Considering the debate at the time (that is, “What to offer children living in poverty and political violence during the eighties”), I thought that Charlie’s house by Reviva Schermbrucker was really a wonderful merging of reality with fantasy.

From Booklist December 15 1991

As does Daly’s Not So Fast, Songololo (BKL Ap 1 86), the story makes us feel for Charlie’s poverty, while we sense the loving family bonds in his home and also the laughter and anger bursting out of the rows of houses around. The details are authentic~ from the bright print of his mother’s skirt and the advertising posters on the kitchen walls to the zooming taxis in the street outside. Steeped in that daily life, the barefoot boy also transcends it: in his game, he’s like a god as he rolls the mud in his hands and transforms the clay with the power of his dreams. - Hazel Rochman

Ashraf Of Africa (Written by Ingrid Mennen and Niki Daly; illustrated by Nikolaas Maritz)

1990, Cape Town, Songololo Books-David Philip /retitled Somewhere in Africa, London The Bodley Head/ New York, Dutton

As a contrast to the unrelenting seriousness of living in South Africa, I was invited to the USA and this is what resulted.

I love this book and so do young children who can recite verses from its nonsense rhyming text. “Under, over Coco Cola” But it didn’t do well. Because, I think that most book buyers are middle class folk who don’t want to look up the skirt of a common working class mum as she packs away the shopping.

There are many more ethnic groups in South Africa besides black and white that deserve a place in picture books. I’d love to see more books set against South African Indian, Chinese and Portuguese etc. backgrounds.

This story features the Afrikaans speaking coloured community of the Western Cape.

Here my drawing and technique lacks confidence. But I feel my ‘wrestling an illustration onto paper’ involves a lot of energy and emotion. And as that is what people say they like about my work, I am wary of becoming too skilful.

So many of my books include music and dance.

I guess it’s the way I compensate for a career in music that I once thought I’d have.

Theme: the solitary child and the adult agent

1994 was our year of liberation as we held our first free election. It also saw the publication of Mary Malloy and the Baby who Wouldn’t Sleep, a most odd, poetic, and unlikely story to come out of South Africa - about a little girl caring for a baby that cannot be comforted. Why she is looking after a baby is left unexplained.

Yet, in putting together this presentation, I felt a chill of prophesy when I considered the number of children now caring for younger siblings after their parents have died of Aids.

The picture book as bibliotherapy.

While doing this book in 1995, I became aware of the kind of packaging that is required for a South African book to travel abroad. Like tourists, some editors have expectations of Africa. Generally, they want Africa in books to be colourful and exotic. But not too exotic - no slaughtering of animals and so on.

In my experience a winning formulae combines a universal theme with an African setting – such as a baby being

At the start of the nineties, exciting craftwork emerged from townships as artists started to use recycled material such as wire, plastic bags and tin cans in decorative arts.

This fusion expressed something unique and celebratory about living between first and third worlds

In a spirit of give and take, I took a Nigerian myth entitled “Why the Sun and Moon Live in the Sky” and gave it a European twist by using imagery I’d seen in seen in Florence and Venice.

Post ‘94, the cultural debate addressed Afro-centrism vs Euro-centrism. The custodians of African culture argued forcibly against European and more so American influences on South African culture. And while the debate continued I went to Venice and did a book set in the 18^th Century featuring the Commedia Del’arte.

The Dancer (Written by Nola Turkington and Niki Daly; Illustrated by Niki Daly) 1996, Cape Town, Human and Rousseau /Copenhagen, Forgalet Hjulet 2000, London, Frances Lincoln/ Paris, Circonflexe

And then I did a book set in the dreamtime of the San…and set out to draw not like a bushman, but like “Niki”… if he were a Bushman”.

If Apartheid was not so horrific we might have laughed at these “Whites only” signs. But somehow, we didn’t see the irony of going to our all white beaches with the single purpose of turning our skins brown.

Years later when those with the best tans appeared on my favourite beach in Fish Hoek I noticed a little boy in his amazing stars and stripes swimming. Well how could I resist it!

I’m including these books because they are most unusual. Not because of my African influenced illustrations but because the writer is black. And that’s unusual – for black writers to write for children.

The stories are from the Tsongo people. They must be crazy people with a great understanding and humour regarding the human condition.

In this story everyone gets beaten, which is terribly politically incorrect.

All during the late nineties my street started to look more and more like the streets in my books as people from different cultures and backgrounds moved in.

This is Buti Mndingi and Tachlen Camphor from across the road.

And Troy on his skateboard

This is Mnandi’s where Jamela and Mama got the material for Jamela’s Dress.

And this is Djamela (whose name I borrowed for my books). She got married to Bob on Robin Island where her dad had once been imprisoned

These are the fashions at the wedding.

And it’s all ‘sharp sharp!’ as they say in South Africa when things are going well.

In 2000 a new edition of Fly Eagle Fly was published and this time I felt the message – which is “Don’t be a chicken when you are an eagle’ should inspire everyone in the new millennium to reach their full human potential.

“A powerful parable in the biography of Aggrey of Africa who visited West and South Africa in the 1920’s from his teaching post in the USA. When Aggrey told this story he closed by saying,”My people of Africa, we were created in the image of God, but men have made us think we are chickens and we still think we are; but we are eagles. Don’t be content with the food of chickens! Stretch forth your wings and fly!’

Until I did the second Jamela Book, I was unsure of her age – you can see this in the first book where she varies a bit in proportion. But as Lungiswa our char’s little girl who we’ve known since birth grew into a lanky seven year old, I decided to remodel Jamela on her.

This is my first attempt at combining hand drawn art with computer colouring and effects. It can be quite startling for people to see this after looking at illustrations that are dappled with brush strokes. But I really like the Hitchcock thriller atmosphere that the computer helped me to achieve.

There are some untold and even taboo stories that are hard to tell about friendships across racial divides. This is one of them about a friendship between a labourer’s child and an old white tannie in the Karroo. Some will have it that where there is inequality, one cannot have a balanced friendship. I disagree.

This is one of my methods used for writing and illustration.

Here is another way into writing in the form of a story (slide shows interconnectedness between rough doodles and scribbled story line, a developed character sketch and manuscript)

The Story of Pretty Salma

There was this little girl who rang my bell on her way back from school every day. By the time I got to the gate- she would disappear. Then one day I caught her red handed! So I suggested that if she was going to continue ringing my bell, she might at least wait until I came to the gate to say ‘Hello!’ Also, Jude and I were not happy with her route home, as we thought it unsafe. So I suggested a safer route and added, that if she ever felt unsafe she could ring our bell and we would walk her home. The minute I closed the door, I knew I had a story.

Since then, Salma rings our bell every day. No, she does not feel unsafe, Yes, she’d like a drink of water, take a pee and borrow a book. After two weeks of borrowing books and not returning them, she told me she had started a library and was going to charge kids who did not return books. We’d split the profits, she said.

Pretty Salma (Korean Cover)

The continued ‘Africanisation’ of our neighbourhood encouraged me to bring Jamela home so that I need look no further than my own neighbourhood for the stories I still have to tell about her and her family.

Here is a sequence that shows my creative and technical process in visualizing and executing an illustration.

So Jamela’s move has been made and is told in a new book called “Where’s Jamela?”

And guess where she is? (Slide shows Jamela moving into her new house, with a photo inset of my home – she’s moved in with me!)

Niki Daly’s house of course!

So, okay – I did not win the Han’s Christian Andersen Award , but I did receive the Golden Sniffy Award from an American friend. It is a gold painted beagle with a laurel and an inscription on the base that reads, “I CAME, I SNIFFED, I PEED.”

Well, that’s pretty much how I feel about the being a writer and illustrator – I am compelled sniff out a story and make books which, I guess, is my way of leaving my mark

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How to travel lightly (With 60 years of baggage?)

An illustrated talk by Niki Daly

Presented at the LitteraLund Festival, Lund, Sweden 25 October 2007

I have 60 minutes to cover 60 odd years that has brought me to where I am – now, one of the old guard making a living writing stories and drawing pictures for children. My mother was not too happy when I became an art student; understandable because at that time an ‘art student’ and ‘the unemployed’ meant the same thing. So she discouraged me. These days she introduces me proudly as her son…takes a pregnant pause …then adds, “He’s very famous you know.” Of course, I just stand there and glow… as I’m doing now.

To be asked to talk about my work is a great honour. My thanks go to the organisers of LitteraLund, the city of Lund, and also to my publisher Forlaget Hjulet, who makes my books available in Scandinavia.

It’s wonderful that my books have paved the way for my first visit to Sweden. [2] Indeed, ever since receiving the Peter Pan Award in 2000 for Kwela Jamela, Afrikas drottning with Översättning av Britt Isaksson, I have looked forward to visiting Sweden. I regard it as a country that looks upon world culture with great interest and generosity. And in a world that appears to be closing its doors to outsiders, it is warming to come to a country that opens its arms to others.

So, how to travel lightly with 60 years of baggage? - That’s what I want to talk about. And believe me, growing up as a white South African comes with plenty of baggage! [3] But as it forms the backdrop against which my work is done, unpacking a bit of it will, I hope, make me and the work I do better understood.

Note on slide: This was taken on the way to Robin Island and it reminds me of the ideological gulf that existed between the prisoners on the island and those enjoying the delights of beautiful Cape Town during the dark times of white rule.

I must add that I was one of the careless white youth [4] who partied to the music of the Beach Boys on the all white beaches of Cape Town while black kids of my age struggled with their homework in candlelight. I was aware of the difficult lives of the few black people who I had contact with. But, beyond treating black people with respect and being helpful to some in a private way, I made no contribution towards actively fighting apartheid. In other words, I have no struggle credentials, despite being regarded as a ‘kaffirboetie’ (nigger lover) by some members of my English/Afrikaner family.

I am not surprised when I am asked: ‘How can a white writer interpret a black experience’.

It’s a good question. Yet, I do not have a neat answer. How can there be one with a history as complex as ours? We have long since been a British colony, but its ill based notion of racial superiority lingers in the minds of many English speaking South Africans - adding weight to the baggage we carry. The good thing about increased baggage is that we reach a point when we are forced to offload and examine it. And it is in doing this that I discover what has brought me to the kind of work I do. Sharing my thoughts with you, I hope, will serve as a way of answering an even more pointed question: ‘Why should a white South African man be involved at all in books that reflect the lives of people with a history of being oppressed by whites.’

[5] I hope that my work speaks well for me as an artist and as a 61-year-old white South African male - which might surprise some of you. I know that I’m often thought of as a black African woman. It’s a mistake I’m never too quick to correct; black African woman are a group of people I greatly admire - two of whom I’m enormously thankful to for ‘inoculating’ me against much of the fear and hatred that surrounded me while growing up under an evil system.

[6] I refer to myself as a child of apartheid because I grew up in South Africa during the entire era of Apartheid, which ended (many think miraculously) with our first democratic elections in 1994.

The racist system of Apartheid infiltrated every aspect of life from home, to school and beyond. It had a devastating effects on the lives of black people - many, giving up their lives altogether in their fight for freedom. Its dehumanising effect on so many black families is still apparent, as they now struggle to overcome poverty, having been stripped of a self-confidence needed to do so. [6] The damaging effect of Apartheid on white people is yet to be examined. It’s simply not the time to suggest that we were harmed by a system that we upheld for so long. Yet, I feel scarred by it.

Considering ‘hate speech’ in our homes, [8] our skewed history lessons at school, and - for Afrikaners - a church with a scripture to justify the subjugation of blacks, it’s not surprising that most white South Africans of my generation became - if not eager supporters of Apartheid - were, like me, ‘culpably ignorant’ bystanders. I’m not proud of myself.

[9] As vicious and all encompassing as the system was, it had chinks in its insane practice. [10] One of these was to have black woman (servant girls – a demeaning label) and men (garden boys) as servants in white homes. As hard up, as we were, my mother could still afford a maid (that’s how cheaply they came). So, while I was separated from blacks at school and public facilities, I had quite intimate contact with the woman who worked for my family. Then, when I was old enough to question my family’s racial practices – such as never allowing our maids to drink from our cups - I became unable to reconcile the racist image of black people as a germ ridden, inferior class of people with [11] Miriam Hintsa and Miriam Makhalima, our maids. These were two women that I’d grown to admire, respect, and …yes, to love. So, they didn’t fit the much-feared picture of black maids who would as soon poison white families as cook their meals.

I’m cautious about adding ‘love’ to my feelings for the two Miriam’s because I know it’s a claim that sounds hollow and hypocritical to those who don’t believe that [12] spaces existed in the system where black and white people could reach out to each other as humans.

[13] Well, whether it came from the two Miriam’s, or the good sense that I was blessed with, I believe that people are people [14]; that we are all more alike than we are different. What’s more, in my view, making or seeking differences provides the fuel on which Apartheid ran and [15] keeps wars going.

Of course, cultural and religious differences should be acknowledge and respected, as hard as that can be at times. For instance, the ritualistic slaughter of animals in the backyards of black Africans who have moved into previously white areas is a current bone of contention. Maybe, meat-loving whites need to visit an abattoir and temper their outbursts. Maybe, black traditionalists need to acquaint themselves with the by-laws of a democratically elected government. It certainly is a time for tolerance and showing respect towards each other.

So, how good and [16] helpful it is to have multicultural books that invite children to celebrate cultural diversity [17].

But are we the sum total of our cultural practices and religious beliefs? [18] Surely, we are more than that. Well, I like to believe we are first and fore-mostly humans. I apologise for stating the obvious to those who’ve grown up in countries whose founding principles and practices enshrine human rights. But for myself, “A Child of Apartheid” – [19] now a story teller who crosses cultural divides - I need to remind myself of this from time to time.

My understanding and belief that - people are people wherever you go – [20] has been the guiding light for living my life. It also informs the work I do. Further, whenever it’s suggested that writers should stay within cultural borderlines, or stay in their own skin or gender, I feel the chill of Apartheid mentality that would have us separated and suspicious of our amazing ability, as humans, to empathise with one another. Or, as writers, to dare imagine.

Of course, one must be open to criticism that expects multicultural offerings to be authentic, non-racist and free of prejudice. [21] For instance, some critics were unhappy with Gogo in Not So Fast Songololo looking too Aunt Jemima-ish. I thought about it, and realised that my love for cartooning might also include stereotypes. [22] Generally, cartoons depend on stereotypes to be amusing, so they need to be used with care in children’s books. On the other hand, my son, Joe, artist and author of Scrublands an underground graphic novel points out that features such as eyes, ears, nose, feet, bums - drawn little or large - make characters memorable, even lovable. I must add that Joe’s a sweet chap who genuinely sees nothing horrid in people on whom stereotypes are based. And whether we like it or not, stereotypes are out there! Please let’s not censor them altogether in our books. I can see nothing more depressing than for all librarians not to have buns, or for all black women to look like Diana Ross.

Note on slide: Finding alternate types for stereotypes can be great fun too – such as casting the grandparents in Squeaky Creaky Bed as old hippies.

[23] In a minefield of sensitivities, writers and illustrators require more than good intentions to engage, inoffensively, in multi cultural literature. Robust research shows respect for the subject at hand. We also need to show respect for our own talent. To me, that means doing my very best. [24]

Even so, why choose such a problematic area to work in, when one can dress a bunny in pink and, I suspect, earn more money?

[25] Well, I’m not sure that I have much choice. I’ve tried soft subjects, but I’m inevitably brought back to themes and settings that come straight from my working class roots.

[26] I was born in 1946 the year after my father returned from war with a drinking problem. He was a carpenter by trade and sang beautifully. My mother, who could play quite jolly piano – syncopation it was known as - went out to work as a saleslady when I was ten. Like so many suburban working class South Africans in the fifties, we lived in a small house where you could neither swing a cat nor throw a ball to a dog. So, I hung around the streets of Observatory [27], where dads in vests and mothers in curlers hung over front gates. They seemed always to be looking down the road… waiting for their ship to come in, I guess. It didn’t come in for us, and that was a good thing too - because, feeling poor gave me plenty of time to pick scabs off my knees and dream about life further up the line, where the well-heeled kids lived. Drawing, too, provided an escape – [28] dreaming and drawing… drawing and dreaming (seems pretty much the same thing to me.)

As you might guess, [29] I was a sensitive, charming… beautiful boy - whose socks wouldn’t stay up. I was certainly more of an observer than participant. Still am. And there was much to observe. My family was large, [30] I mean LARGE:- big-breasted woman who smelt of Evening in Paris and lusty uncles who drank like fish. There were lots of cousins, a brother and a sister. My brother thought I was a little twerp - my sister knew I was special. Now my brother thinks I’m special and my sister thinks I’m a genius.

[31] I could play piano, sing as high as Neil Sedaka and I could draw. So, stage and page seemed the right place for me. [32] If applause was short in coming, my sister reminded everyone that I was very talented, and they’d better put their hands together. To this day she is my foremost promoter – bringing forth my books on the shelves of Cape Town bookstores.

I emerged from childhood a loner, but with the knowledge that, in an unsympathetic world, as my small world seemed at times, there were always kind people… agents… catalysts… allies…sponsors…sisters who might lend a hand and help make a plan. So, I was never then, nor have I ever been without hope. Indeed, [33] the most important qualities I find to promote in children’s books are - ‘kindness’ and [34] ‘hopefulness’.

Usually, in my books [35] there’s a solitary child with a problem - assisted by a fairy godmother figure, [36] thinly disguised as a patient grandparent, understanding neighbour, or kind stranger. Not exactly a “Cinderfella”, but I was a kid with a yearning - looking for opportunities…and they came. I love my life and I care deeply for children. [37]

While childhood for a great majority of children in first world countries is a happy time - children, nevertheless, must still fit into a world that’s largely untailored for them. Sweetie shelves are too high and far too many adults are too busy, too tired, too impatient, too separated from their own inner child to serve children really as well as they deserve to be treated. After all, children are our guests. We invite them into our world. So I cringe when adults treat children as nuisances and talk disrespectfully to them. I don’t like children being referred to as ‘minors’ – of lesser importance that word means to me. [38] On the contrary, I place a great deal of importance on children and childhood. In my book/s, [39] children deserve double page spreads and [40] centre stage opportunities. However, I should point out that, [41] traditionally, African children are encouraged to be part of a community that depends more on group efforts than individual interests. [42] The philosophy behind Ubuntu (a way of life) is captured in the saying “I am because you are”. I suspect that some traditionalists [43] might regard Jamela as precocious. However, I’ve witnessed quite a few stage-mamas and rooting-papas that are black to lose sleep over Jamela being a bit of a star. Still, I have not lost sight of her belonging to a tightly knit community.

[44]Last month, at a writer’s workshop in Cape Town that I was running, I asked some black writers from across Africa, why it appeared that black children were not encouraged into the limelight, as their western counterparts often are. Their explanation came as a surprise. [45] I was told that even if a child was to get top marks at school, parents would play it down for fear that the attention would attract evil – either, the jealousy of neighbours, or worse - evil spells. Naturally, I was appalled at hearing this. However, given the growing horror of child abduction in the west, I can appreciate the good sense in keeping one’s child away from unwanted attention.

Working with black writers certainly, reminds me that my focus in the Jamela books is really on the western end of contemporary black African culture. [46] That is, on the emerging black middle classes. Certainly, after decades of differences and inequalities it’s comforting to find some common ground among black and white South Africans. After all, given financial resources and choice, people like pretty much the same things for themselves and their children - a decent home, a good education, great music, nice food – all the good things of life. Of course, I can never be sure that my books always ring true with black readers. Rather, I hope that the human element I bring to my work engages other humans.

[47] In What’s Cooking Jamela? I did feel that I was pushing her relationship with the chicken a bit far, because a lot of black people perceive whites as being ridiculous when it comes to animals. For instance: the fuss we make over our pets, while appearing indifferent to the needs of fellow human. The idea, therefore, that you can’t eat a chicken that has become a friend is, therefore, a large leap in probability. [48] But what the hell, I got a great review in the Jewish Vegetarian. Chicken, too, have rights!

But to return to the question: Why do I create multicultural books? I honestly think that my choice of story and setting has everything to do with my working class background.[49] I relate more readily to a child playing in a dusty street than I do to a child in comfort, surrounded with toys… unless he/she is really sad or neurotic! A joke!

But seriously, despite my acquired middle class status, [50] I still remember acutely what is feels like to want things you can’t afford to have, and to have dreams that seem unattainable. You might ask: ‘what has that got to do with a multicultural approach.’ Why not focus on the issues and aspirations of your own racial group?

But [51] where do white children dream and play? No longer on our streets, I’m afraid. Here, I remind you that for me ‘the street’ has always been the backdrop for my stories. [52] Being on the street ties me to my childhood and my family’s working class roots. It’s where life is in flux and where I feel most alive.

So you can imagine how displaced I felt on returning to South Africa at the end of a decade spent in England, to find that my entire working class family had upgraded to the middle classes. [53] They’ve got swimming pools with creepy crawlies, deep freezers stuffed to the brim. Cocktail bars stocked for endless parties. Tons of stuff, tons of fun - all protected behind ‘Trelly-doors’ and security walls. [54] Parents now shuttle children in shiny cars from home to school and shopping mall. We’re 13 years into a free South Africa – yet, the middle classes (black included) live imprisoned lives wrapped in razor wire and electric fences. End of story.

There are days when I sense that I’m the only white person walking around central Mowbray, or Mowbs, as it’s affectionately called. Mowbs is a busy hub for black commuters taxied in from the townships to work in the suburbs and city. I was born there. I regard it as my patch – [55] – I dig its grotty condition and the sweet attempts to pretty it up. [56].

[57] Its loud signs [58] and even louder people [59] fascinate me. Here, stories abound.

[60] Not So fast Songololo was thought up on a busy street when, one day, I saw an old Gogo pushing through a crowd, trying to keep up with her little grandson. Published in 1985, long before I had heard of multi-cultural books, it immediately established me as a writer of such. Still, I’m unsure what a ‘multicultural book’ means. I suspect, for most people it means books about black kids. Maybe, I’m being contrary, but I think my books say more about being working class than they do about being a colour.

[61] Anyway, all through the eighties up until now, the streets of Cape Town and glimpses of the township life have held my interest as an artist and storyteller. Of course, I’m aware of the ‘cringe factor’ connected to my mildly voyeuristic interests - something my friend, the story teller, Gcina Mhlophe, once referred to as ‘white writers excavating black lives as a resource’.

[62] Gcina makes a good point. However, I like to think that I interact rather than excavate.

Who writes ‘what’ for ‘who’ is no longer a burning issue in South Africa. I find it regretful that there are missing voices in South African children’s literature. The fact is - there are lots of eloquent black authors who write for adults. So why are there hardly any black writers for children? My guess is that it’s due partly to the attractive rewards received from writing adult fiction where books are reviewed, prizes are awarded, and you are invited to literary lunches. Children’s books are simply not ‘sexy’; they garner very little respect and attention. We see this in the lack of reviews and awards they attract compared to books for adults. Yet, I don’t do too badly. [63] Here I am, overcome with emotion after receiving the Golden Sniffy Award. This little dog was sent to me by a sympathetic American friend after I failed to win the Hans Christian Andersen Award. It stands like a Roman emperor on a base on which is inscribed the words: I came, I sniffed, I peed! I guess it’s for artists who fail to win major awards, but who nevertheless leave their mark.

[64] As I said, I don’t like children being called minors. Neither do I like children’s authors being treated as ‘minor writers’. It irritates me being patronized by people who say “Oh how lovely!” when I’m introduced as a children’s writer. Damn! It’s hard work. It’s not something that you knock out between going to the hairdressers and arranging flowers. Not for me, at least. Writing and illustrating really well requires a God given talent, time and hard work. Thanks goodness, for me, things are getting easier. These days [65] I need look no further than my neighbourhood to find my material. [66]

Now, if you can remember the press photos [67] and news coverage of the ‘94 elections you may recall it as a time of miracles and wonders for us South Africans. While I was standing in a long queue with fellow South African’s who were voting for the first time, I was surprised by my own sense of liberation; [68] Freed at last of the racist ID that classified me a ‘white’ person. Standing there, I began to feel oddly ‘normal’.

Our constitution wants us to be happy people. [69] And South Africa was never happier than when Nelson Mandela wore springbok colours and celebrated a South African victory at the ’95 World Rugby Cup. These days, white men wear Madiba shirts. [70] We can become sangomas and ‘Zulu dancers’. And young black people are defining a whole new concept of ‘blackness’. [71

The feeling then, that the world had opened its doors - inviting us to play - encouraged my retelling of Why the Sun and Moon Live in the Sky [72] a Nigerian story that I combined with renaissance imagery, seen on a visit to Florence [73]. It’s every bit as cheeky as a township artist fusing bits and pieces from first world and third worlds, thereby creating something surprising and delightful [74.]

After ‘94, a new policy for our Arts and Culture was laid on the table. [75] I heard, then, for the first time the term ‘Euro centric’ as applied to art forms originating from Europe. Subsidies were redirected and projects turned down if the unsavoury smell of ‘euro centrism’ hung over them. It became a time of nifty footwork (some say opportunism) for white artists determined to remain and work in the new South Africa. I think it was also the first time that I heard the term “Africanise’ as it might be applied to, say - a European drama given an African interpretation using puppet techniques borrowed from Mali. Or, a string quartet playing kwela music.

As things turned out, we find that - rather than being in opposition, things African and European can serve arts in a most exciting way.

Children’s publishers, who in the eighties were already flirting with the idea of ‘multiculturalism’, [76] suddenly started to publish books that promoted a non-racial reality – [77] one we still needed to grow into. Black tokenism in books was now not only outdated but books that did not address black interests [78] or lifestyles were regarded as irrelevant. No editor ever told me that she required black children in my books. They didn’t have to. We all knew that, if we wanted work - we needed to shift gear. I tried to choose carefully what I did during that period, and I believe I chose well. [79] Most of the books I did then were published internationally. Many are still in print, not only in English but in at least three other African languages. I consider these books to be part of a bridge building process that’s going on in our country. As I said, I’m unsure what they mean to black African children, but I know that they offer white children a positive view of their black brothers and sisters - as children they can identify with. Equally important, amidst the great influx of books from England that largely portray white children and pink bunnies - books with black children as characters provides a balance. They inform white children that they share the world with others. This applies even more so in countries who have non-white minorities.

It takes an open-minded parent to buy a multicultural book for their child. And in South Africa there are still not enough of them [80] The token shelf on which my books sit in South African children’s bookshops, suggests that most buyers opt for Peter Rabbit over Jamela.

Thankfully, the fever period for finding a direction for arts and culture has largely passed. The fluid nature of South African popular culture suggests to me that culture is not like a piece of property - fixed, fenced and border controlled. Rather, it’s more like the air we breathe. I think it’s cool to have a free flow of ideas. And we are close to becoming a ‘cool’ nation. A bit too ‘cool’ for the custodians of African traditions who appear to be losing ground to the lure of American pop culture that pours nightly through TV, radio and film. Long gone is the time for fireside tales. [81] Children in Africa watch children listening to stories around a fireside… on TV! These days, it’s hard to tell a Jo’burg city youngster from their New York counterpart. They dress, walk and talk the same hip-hoppy lingo as the Dance 360 boys and girls seen on the box. No one should be surprised. After all, there’s a [82] “WOW!” factor in American pop culture that’s hard to resist.

[84] Birgitta Franson, one of your own and the publisher of Opsis Kalopsis (a magazine that promotes children’s books) remarked that, having come to associate multicultural books with ‘issue driven stories’, she was hard pressed to find any major issues in the Jamela stories. In other words, Jamela’s a regular child, living a regular life with the same opportunities for getting in and out of trouble as the next child.

[85] Malusi, the city boy in Not So Fast Songololo challenged for the first time in a South African picture book the stereotype of the poor, barefooted rural child; most often patronisingly cast [86] in a supportive role to a white farmer’s child. In these early books, black children inevitably stand around gawping at the escapades of their pro-active white buddies. The stories usually conclude with a reward being handed to the black child for saving a sheep from drowning or some other brave deed.

Malusi has only one person to thank for his new sneakers, [87] and that’s his old Gogo. It’s a story that tugs at the heartstrings, as do many stories about poor black kids who have to battle to get things that others take for granted. And while this may be a largely true [88] - the proliferation of similar stories that followed Not So Fast Songololo might have, unwittingly, created a new stereotype i.e. ‘the burdened black child with issues’.

Twenty-two years later, resourceful, creative, [89] incorrigible Jamela, presents quite a different picture. She’s nobody’s victim. In many ways, she represents the confident offspring of the emerging black middle class in post Apartheid South Africa. Sadly, she’s placed in a single parent family – but that’s become the norm across all races. In Where’s Jamela? I have her family moving up a notch - in keeping with the increased presence of black families now living in previously ‘all-white’ neighbourhoods. I like to think that the awards received for Jamela are a salute to the unstoppable dynamic that she embodies. The girl’s headed for presidency!

Please don’t think that I’m overlooking children who [90] remain with us as victims of poverty, and worse still - those children who are victims of abuse, abduction, rape and murder. Appalling is not the word for it. [91] It defies understanding when a baby gets raped. How can you get your head around a statistic that accounts for one rape every twenty-four minutes and abuse occurring every eight minutes?

A few years ago, my wife and I noticed a little girl who passed by our house each day. We were worried about her using a deserted path along the railway line to get home from school. Around that time, a phantom ringer had been pressing our doorbell every afternoon, around three. One day, determined to catch the culprit, I positioned myself at the front door so I could dash out and confront whoever it was. Well, it turned out to be Salma – [92] the little girl we were concerned about. That day, I contacted her mother and suggested a safer route home. I also said that if Salma felt unsafe, she could ring our bell. We’d be her safe house. I tell you, that bell just didn’t stop ringing. “Are you feeling unsafe Salma?”

“No, just thirsty.”

Pretty soon Salma had checked-out our book-filled home and started [93] borrowing books… which she never returned! One day, she told me she was starting her own library! She would charge kids for not returning books. We could share the money, she said.

By that time, I had my story – [94] “Pretty Salma”. [95] It is a cautionary tale, reminding children ‘not to talk to strangers’.

I visit schools back home and the one closest to my heart is [96] the little school at the Red Cross Children’s Hospital in Cape Town. They keep lessons going for children who are hospitalised for all manner of illnesses and injuries. Burns are awfully common and more and more children are being admitted for aids related illnesses. Too many are dying. A visit can make what I do seem pointless. But the teachers, Rene Moolman and Michelle Shargay, say otherwise. I’m told that for many of these sick children, coming to the hospital not only provides them with excellent medical care, but also gives them their first experience of being read to. It’s pretty heartbreaking. Yet, I always leave the hospital feeling encouraged by such brave children. “Where’s Jamela?” is dedicated to them.

And where exactly is Jamela? [97] Well, a few years ago I moved her into my home - where she belongs. At last, the place where I live has become the place I love writing about. [98]

Last month I spent a few mornings at the local hairdressing salons, where “A Song for Jamela” the next installment will take place. I suggested to Miss Tracy of Divine Braids that I might work the morning - sweeping up… making tea…while checking out the salon. “Research!” I explained. [99]

“No ways,” she said, “You’ll scare away my customers!”

I didn’t know what she meant! Me? Scary?

Dejected, and on my way to the next salon to try my luck, I thought: “Well, this is how black people must feel when whites treat them with suspicion.”

[100]

So you can imagine how happy I was to walk into Yoli’s.

“No problem,” said Yoli, “You can hang out here anytime!”

See! People are just people!

I must end now. [101] And I want to end on a note that’s as bright as the jazz blown straight out of Baba Jive’s saxophone. Back home, when things come together in a good way, we say: [102] “Sharp! Sharp!” Here are some sharp-sharp plans and achievements [103]:

· Our Art and Culture allocation for the next three years has increased considerably to I billion rands and will be used to upgrade existing library services as well as setting up informal libraries (containers).

· Since its inception, the First Words in Print project has freely distributed over 40,000 mother tongue books to neo literate families through clinics and NGOs

· A ‘Drop Everything and Read’ programme at schools throughout South Africa gives children and teachers an hour everyday to read. A list of a hundred locally published books have been selected for this programme – a great boost to local publishing.

· A Pan African project headed by PRAESA (Project for the Research of Alternative Education in South Africa) has produced 16 Little Hands books for ages 0-6 in twelve languages of the African Union (Arabic, English, French, Kiswahili, Portuguese) and seven African languages (Afrikaans, Akuape, Twi, Amharic, Cinynaja, Kinyarwanda, Mandingi and Xhosa).

Carol Bloch, co-ordinator of this expansive project writes: “There’s an irreversible shift in the thinking of educators regarding literacy. They now see story reading as part and parcel of becoming a reader, bringing education and literature together at last.”

Our challenges are enormous. Our ability to tackle them is inspiring. We are not done with our age of miracles and wonders. There’ll be more stories to tell. I hope they will be told by many voices. There’s a saying from Central Africa that goes: “A single bracelet does not jingle”.

[104] I plan to add to the jingle for many years to come - by which time, I hope, no one will be surprised to find that I am not a black woman. I hope it simply won’t matter.

Thank you!

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