Fun fierce and fantastical African art Wanuri Kahiu

So, my mother’s a pediatrician,

and when I was young,
she’d tell the craziest stories

that combined science
with her overactive imagination.

One of the stories she told
was that if you eat a lot of salt,

all of the blood rushes up your legs,

through your body,

and shoots out the top of your head,

killing you instantly.

(Laughter)

She called it “high blood pressure.”

(Laughter)

This was my first experience
with science fiction,

and I loved it.

So when I started to write
my own science fiction and fantasy,

I was surprised that it
was considered un-African.

So naturally, I asked, what is African?

And this is what I know so far:

Africa is important.

Africa is the future.

It is, though.

And Africa is a serious place
where only serious things happen.

So when I present my work somewhere,
someone will always ask,

“What’s so important about it?

How does it deal with real African issues

like war, poverty, devastation or AIDS?”

And it doesn’t.

My work is about Nairobi pop bands
that want to go to space

or about seven-foot-tall robots

that fall in love.

It’s nothing incredibly important.

It’s just fun, fierce and frivolous,

as frivolous as bubble gum –

“AfroBubbleGum.”

So I’m not saying that
agenda art isn’t important;

I’m the chairperson of a charity

that deals with films and theaters
that write about HIV and radicalization

and female genital mutilation.

It’s vital and important art,

but it cannot be the only art
that comes out of the continent.

We have to tell more stories

that are vibrant.

The danger of the single story
is still being realized.

And maybe it’s because of the funding.

A lot of art is still dependent
on developmental aid.

So art becomes a tool for agenda.

Or maybe it’s because we’ve only seen
one image of ourselves for so long

that that’s all we know how to create.

Whatever the reason, we need a new way,

and AfroBubbleGum is one approach.

It’s the advocacy of art for art’s sake.

It’s the advocacy of art
that is not policy-driven

or agenda-driven

or based on education,

just for the sake of imagination:

AfroBubbleGum art.

And we can’t all be AfroBubbleGumists.

We have to judge our work
for its potential poverty porn pitfalls.

We have to have tests
that are similar to the Bechdel test,

and ask questions like:

Are two or more Africans
in this piece of fiction healthy?

Are those same Africans financially stable
and not in need of saving?

Are they having fun and enjoying life?

And if we can answer yes
to two or more of these questions,

then surely we’re AfroBubbleGumists.

(Laughter)

(Applause)

And fun is political,

because imagine if we have
images of Africans who were vibrant

and loving and thriving

and living a beautiful, vibrant life.

What would we think of ourselves then?

Would we think that maybe
we’re worthy of more happiness?

Would we think of our shared humanity
through our shared joy?

I think of these things when I create.

I think of the people and the places
that give me immeasurable joy,

and I work to represent them.

And that’s why I write stories

about futuristic girls that risk
everything to save plants

or to race camels

or even just to dance,

to honor fun,

because my world is mostly happy.

And I know happiness is a privilege
in this current splintered world

where remaining hopeful
requires diligence.

But maybe, if you join me
in creating, curating and commissioning

more AfroBubbleGum art,

there might be hope
for a different view of the world,

a happy Africa view

where children are strangely traumatized

by their mother’s dark sense of humor,

(Laughter)

but also they’re claiming fun,
fierce and frivolous art

in the name of all things
unseriously African.

Because we’re AfroBubbleGumists

and there’s so many more of us
than you can imagine.

Thank you so much.

(Applause)