Among the Kiswahili-speaking peoples of the coast of Kenya and other East African countries, written literature is a many centuries-long tradition, and poetry the most popular form. Abdilatif Abdalla was born in Mombasa, Kenya, in 1946; his grandfather and elder brother were poets, and he himself won a reputation as a poet when he was 16, with Utenzi wa Maisha ya Nabii Adam na Hawa (‘Epic poem on the life of Adam and Eve’). Three years' imprisonment in solitary confinement in Kamiti Maximum Security Prison (see ‘Culture of Fear and Silence’), resulted in a second book, Sauti ya Dhiki (‘Voice of Agony’): a chronicle of 40 poems, written on small pieces of toilet paper — he was allowed neither books nor notebooks — and secretly smuggled out by sympathetic guards. On its publication in 1974, Abdilatif was hailed as the ‘youngest major poet-politician in East Africa’, who might ‘well be on his way to becoming the greatest Swahili poet of the independence era’, and the book was awarded the Kenyatta Prize for Literature. Since his release from prison in 1972, Abdilatif has not risked working in Kenya again. For several years he headed the Literature and Publications Section of the Institute of Swahili Research at the University of Dar es Salaam, edited Mulika (a literary journal) and co-edited the Kiswahili journal. Since 1979 he has lived and worked in London. The poems of Sauti ya Dhiki are, like all Kiswahili poetry, written in stanzas of strict rhythmic and rhyming patterns. They meet demands of Swahili poetics recommended both by tradition and by contemporary experts. No English translation can mirror the highly crafted form, nor match the rich cultural references of the words. It seems more important to attempt to reproduce the liveliness and colloquial quality than to attempt an equivalent of the form and language. In content too the poems of Sauti ya Dhiki continue the tradition of Kiswahili poetry, much of which has been progressive, nationalist and anti-colonialist: urging struggle against Portuguese forces in the 17th century, Omani forces in the 18th century, the British colonialists in the early 19th century, and the ruling élite of post-independence Kenya. The dialogue between two brothers in ‘Mnazi: The Struggle for the Coconut Tree’ articulates the betrayal felt by many Kenyans of the uhuru (freedom, i.e. post-independence) generation: while their largely self-elected rulers prosper, the majority of people seem poorer and less free than under colonialism.
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