Tam Fiofori



Part I: Departure


Tam Fiofori in Conversation with Jihan El-Tahri

Part I: Departure

Let’s start from the very beginning. As a young man in Nigeria how did you end up leaving Nigeria the first time?

Well, I come from what you might describe as an upper middle class family. My father was an education officer, my mother was also, by the standard of those days, she was quite brilliant and went to school. So, it was pretty obvious that they wanted their children to have a university education, preferably abroad. Because when I was growing up in the fifties we had just one university in Nigeria and my dad was a believer in getting his children exposed because I came from a family background filled with books and music. My father was into politics. Although he was in education he was aware of what was going on in the world. And he felt like I’d be better exposed, better prepared for life if I had my university education abroad.

What did abroad at the time mean?

Abroad meant mostly England. That's very interesting in the sense that when Nigerians who went to America ... were considered to have had an inferior education based on the British prejudice that their system, especially their university system, was superior to that of those who were training in America. So those who were training in America for a long time, right up until the seventies, suffered this indignation. You know, that "oh you went to America, American universities are not that good." And then you had that other extreme. The Nigerians who benefited from the policy of what was then the Eastern Bloc. Nigerians who went to Russia, Czechoslovakia and the Eastern Bloc countries. So, in that sense they were rated lower than the American trained people. So abroad for the elite, or for those who thought they knew better, was England.

Do you remember this coming out of colonialism? Give me like a memory of yours that for you indicated the end of colonialism.

Unfortunately I was not here when Nigeria became independent. I left Nigeria December 1959, January 1960. And independence came October. But I can't say that we felt a transfer of guards. I happened to have attended a school called Kings College Lagos. It was like modeled after the public schools in England. And we had a cadet corps. The idea was to groom us to go into the army to replace the British officers. And I remember that just before independence we're, you know, high school students, had this confidence and I remember we were on a march and a British officer on a horse rode into us, I was inflamed. I went back and I reported him to the principles and I said it was ungentlemanly because you know, in other words we were very very confident. We were aware of the world, you know, the dynamics of world policy. We are very aware of Apartheid, we are very much aware of Ethiopia because Ethiopia was in the forefront of —you know Nkrumah was our model, our hero. The idea of Pan-Africanism, the idea of an African force and between him and later Egypt, Ethiopia was where the first Pan- African, or what became Pan-African organisation, took place before they went to Liberia at which point Nigeria joined them.

How did it come about? Did your father say, "You're going this year to study there?" like, what was the process of you leaving and where did you go?

When we were in high school, the vogue was to apply for a federal government scholarship. Which meant that you know, Nigeria needed manpower. I'm talking about the late 1950s, early 1960s in all spheres of life. Medicine, law, you name it. And we were encouraged to apply for federal government scholarships. Now I am proud to say

that I went for the interview and I was awarded a federal government scholarship to study medicine, of all things in London. The idea was to go to one of the medical schools in London.

So my father now said to me, because when you got a scholarship in those days you had to sign a bond. Which meant that after your education you would come back and work for the federal government for five years. In other words, to pay off your scholarship. So, my dad said to me, "I know you, you have a wandering spirit. I don't think it would be fair to have you, to bind you up with this provision that you must work for the government. Don't worry, I'll sponsor your education." And I’m proud to say that he literally gave up a lot. Luxury, he didn't buy new clothes, to make sure he sponsored my education in England.

You studied in England, which years and how did you transition from England to America?

I studied in England from 1960 to 1963 and was at Kings College on the Strand. Supposed to read medicine, somewhere along the line I stopped at doing a degree in Pharmacology. America had always fascinated me.




In 1955 Mphahlele entered a brief and unhappy career as a journalist, when he accepted a position as reporter and literary editor of the journal Drum. He also became a leading contributor of fiction. The idea of this journal for black readers in English was conceived by Bob Crisp, a white journalist and broadcaster, who persuadedJim Bailey, son of a gold millionaire, to finance him. It began as a publication of what whites imagined blacks would want to read—ethnic stories and articles; installments of Alan Paton's Cry the Beloved Country (1948); features about religion, farming, sports, and famous men; and strip cartoons about Gulliver and Saint Paul. Under subsequent editors Anthony Sampson, Tom Hopkinson, and Sylvester Srein, and Mphahlele, Drum attempted to become a "people's paper." It became known for its fearless investigative journalism, and although it vied for black readership with the Daily Mirror in providing pinups, crime, and romance, it also represented African literature in South Africa for almost a decade.
[...]
At the beginning of 1957 his gradual conviction that he would have to leave South Africa came to a head. Like the character Timi in Mphahlele's autobiographical novel The Wanderers (1971), he had known that eventually he would "have to decide whether to stay and try to survive; or stay and pit my heroism against the machine and bear the consequences if I remained alive; or stay and shrivel up with bitterness; or face my cowardice, reason with it and leave." Just as later they would try to stop him from returning, friends attempted to dissuade him from leaving. As he writes in Down Second Avenue, "Stay on in the struggle" they kept saying; "I'm contributing nothing, I told them. I can't teach and I want to teach, I can't write here and I want to write." In September 1957 he exiled himself and his family, as he put it, to Lagos, Nigeria. There he completed Down Second Avenue. It was accepted almost immediately and published in 1959, to be followed by a spate of autobiographies by other black South Africans. Drum had ceased to be an outlet for serious fiction, there was no other in South Africa, and the writers had a great deal left to say. They needed to confirm a sense of identity, and they found publishers abroad for the stories of their lives, because their experiences were far more exciting than an thing they could invent. Moreover the black American writers whom they admired, such as James Baldwin and Richard Wright, had all written about themselves.
Ursula A. Barnett: Es'kia (Ezekiel) Mphahlele.

The day before I took the plane to Lagos, I went to Pretoria to fetch the passport. On September 6th I said good-by to my friends, to South Africa. What I had wished and dreamt for about ten months were crowded into those few moments as the KLM plane took the clouds. What a day in thirty-seven years of a man's life!
Ezekiel Mphahlele: Down Second Avenue, Harare, Zimbabwe Publishing House, 209.