by Chris J Peterson
I feel (and have since my first brief visit in 1993) an almost irresistible urge to write about “Real Africa”; to tell Africa’s story. Living in Uganda now has, not surprisingly, done little to quell that urge. But my fingers pause over my keyboard when I sit down to write. Where to start? And who am I to even attempt this? I’m just a little Iowa boy here on someone else’s dime and going home in a year to cushy (hopefully upper) middle-class, (hopefully upper) middle-western life and can, if I choose, pretend Africa no longer exists once those wheels go up.
Well, pretending Africa doesn’t exist is not an option for me. I don’t think it’s an option for anyone who’s visited or lived here, no matter how briefly they stayed. Ask around. I’ve not met a single person who shrugs and says “Yeah, Africa was okay.” It’s not Scranton. Love it or hate it here, be it in blogs, short stories, memoirs, or novels, many feel an almost paranormal guided urge to write about Africa. It’s like Richard Dreyfuss making Devil’s Tower out of mashed potatoes. We can’t not do it.
But the problem with satisfying Africancoethes scribendi is deciding on which Real Africa to write about. Is Real Africa the Africa of sleepy pastoral villages amid sweeping savannahs? Or is it the Africa where foreign businesses exploit the locals to cut down trees, pull pretty rocks from the ground, and pump oil? The more I experience Africa, the more I think it’s a knitted sweater: pull one loose thread and something totally unexpected happens somewhere else. The thread might be blue when you start pulling, but it then becomes orange, then red, then back to blue again only to start coming out green. It’s diverse, yet connected; enormous, yet not monolithic.
So in the end, I don’t think I need to worry about being able to tell Africa’s story. I don’t believe even Achebe could have told it in its entirety. “Out of Africa, always something new” is just as true today as it was 2300 years ago when Aristotle first used the phrase. I focus, then on telling my story in Africa, whatever that might turn out to be.
In part 2, I’ll discuss methods I’ve used when writing about “there.”
Now for a quick return to the U.S. with a little from my suspense novel Paper Thin for your reading pleasure.
The human heart has some dark corners.Corporate yes-man Frank Osgood is thrilled when new golden-boy Eric Sarobbin brings unmatched success to his paper company. But Eric’s morals are paper thin, and his taste for teenagers leads to a million-dollar cover-up. With Frank still reeling from the implications, Eric skips town.
When the company is pushed to the edge of financial ruin, Frank’s boss demands that he track Eric down and beg him to return - then keep him on board, no matter what. But when a small-time reporter rakes up some big-time dirt on Eric, Frank must keep the paper empire from going up in flames.
To read an excerpt from Paper Thin please click HERE.
Chris J. Peterson has toyed with writing since childhood, but just recently got serious about being published. His short stories can be found in Big Pulp, Ruthless Peoples Magazine, The Piker Press, and 365 tomorrows. Chris has completed his second novel with a third well underway. Originally from Iowa and a short time in Mississippi, Chris currently resides in Uganda where he works on his novels and short stories.
Learn more about Chris on his blog.














