Noviolet-Bulawayo

The problem with English is this: You usually can’t open your mouth and it comes out just like that–first you have to think what you want to say. Then you have to find the words. Then you have to carefully arrange those words in your head. Then you have to say the words quietly to yourself, to make sure you got them okay. And finally, the last step, which is to say the words out loud and have them sound just right.
But then because you have to do all this, when you get to the final step, something strange has happened to you and you speak the way a drunk walks. And, because you are speaking like falling, it’s as if you are an idiot, when the truth is that it’s the language and the whole process that’s messed up. And then the problem with those who speak only English is this: they don’t know how to listen; they are busy looking at your falling instead of paying attention to what you are saying.
— 

NoViolet Bulawayo, We Need New Names

I finished reading this some time ago and since then I was trying to write something coherent and meaningful. I couldn’t. Go, find it, read it, that’s all I have to say.

Generally the men always tried to appear strong; they walked tall, heads upright, arms steady at the sides, and feet firmly planted like trees. Solid, Jericho walls of men. But when they went out in the bush…and nobody was looking, they fell apart like crumbling towers and wept…

And when they returned to the presence of their women and children and everybody else, they…erected themselves like walls again, but then the women, who knew all the ways of weeping and all there was to know about falling apart, would not be deceived; they gently rose from the hearths, beat dust off their skirts, and planted themselves like rocks in front of their men and children and shacks, and only then did all appear tolerable.

—  We Need New Names, NoViolet Bulawayo
Because we were not in our country, we could not use our own languages, and so when we spoke our voices came out bruised. When we talked, our tongues thrashed madly in our mouths, staggered like drunken men. Because we were not using our languages we said things we did not mean; what we really wanted to say remained folded inside, trapped.
—  NoViolet Bulawayo, We Need New Names
Because we were not in our country, we could not use our own language, and so when we spoke our voices came out bruised. When we talked, our tongues trashed madly in our mouths, staggered like drunken men. Because we were not using our languages we said things we did not mean; what we really wanted to say remained folded inside , trapped. In America we did not always have the words. It was only when we were by ourselves that we spoke in our real voices. When we were alone we summoned the horses of our languages and mounted their backs and galloped past skyscrapers.
—  From We Need New Names, a novel by Noviolet Bulawayo
The problem with English is this: You usually can’t open your mouth and it comes out just like that–first you have to think what you want to say. Then you have to find the words. Then you have to carefully arrange those words in your head. Then you have to say the words quietly to yourself, to make sure you got them okay. And finally, the last step, which is to say the words out loud and have them sound just right.
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But then because you have to do all this, when you get to the final step, something strange has happened to you and you speak the way a drunk walks. And, because you are speaking like falling, it’s as if you are an idiot, when the truth is that it’s the language and the whole process that’s messed up. And then the problem with those who speak only English is this: they don’t know how to listen; they are busy looking at your falling instead of paying attention to what you are saying.
—  NoViolet Bulawayo, We Need New Names
When we die, our children will not know how to wail, how to mourn us the right way. They will not go mad with grief, they will not pin black cloth on their arms, they will not spill beer and tobacco on the earth, they will not sing till their voices are hoarse. They will not put our plates and cups on our graves; they will not send us away with the mphafa trees. We will leave for the land of the dead naked, without the things we need to enter the castle of our ancestors. Because we will not be proper, the spirits will not come running to meet us, and so we will wait and wait and wait– forever waiting in the air like flags of unsung countries.
—  We Need New Names by NoViolent Bulawayo.

An African Writer Who Doesn’t Mind Being Called an ‘African Writer’

This year’s nominees for the Man Booker Prize “could not be more diverse,” according to judges. And indeed, rounding out a shortlist that includes novels by writers from England, Ireland, and New Zealand are books by a half-Japanese, Canadian-American Zen Buddhist priest; a Rome-based, London-born, New England-groomed Indian-American; and, if those aren’t enough hyphenates for you, a Texas-educated first-time novelist from Zimbabwe—31-year-old NoViolet Bulawayo.

Should Bulawayo win, she would be the first black African woman to take the prize. She’s already the first Zimbabwean to garner a nomination, and she won the 2011 Caine Prize for African Writing for the best short story by an African writer—“Hitting Budapest,” which serves as the opening chapter for the shortlisted We Need New Names. It appears Bulawayo is well on her way to a lofty perch beside various members of the globally recognized African literati: Chinua Achebe, Mariama Bâ, Wole Soyinka, Binyavanga Wainaina, and Chinamanda Ngozi Adichie, to name a few.

Read more. [Image: Smeeta Mahanti; Reagan Arthur Books]

Look at the children of the land leaving in droves, leaving their own land with bleeding wounds on their bodies and shock on their faces and blood in their hearts and hunger in their stomachs and grief in their footsteps. Leaving their mothers and fathers and children behind, leaving their umbilical cords underneath the soil, leaving the bones of their ancestors in the earth, leaving everything that makes them who and what they are, leaving because it is no longer possible to stay. They will never be the same again because you just cannot be the same once you leave behind who and what you are, you just cannot be the same.
—  We Need New Names, NoViolet Bulawayo
Lizard’s To Be Read List

Today, we’re going to talk about the list of books I’m planning on reading eventually or more famously, by “To Be Read List.” This is something I decided to talk about after I shared  embarrassing photo (pictured below) the other day and found more than a few people felt they could relate.  

Keep reading

Zimbabwean author NoViolet Bulawayo: ‘I like to write from the bone’

Writing about Zimbabwe while living in the US has changed her language and her identity, says NoViolet Bulawayo, the author of “We Need New Names.”

I wrote the novel at a specific time of my country’s history. Recent history, I should say, when the country was coming undone, due to failure of leadership. And by saying “we need new names” I was speaking for the need for us as a people to sort of re-imagine, rethink ourselves, rethink our way, think about where we were going. We needed new ways of seeing things, new ways of doing things, new leadership. It was basically a call for renewal. But it should not be confined to Zimbabwe. I believe you can translate across borders. 

hey so i was tagged by the angel @vxmpdyke to do this, so copy & paste the questions n answer them, then tag some people!! 

relationship status💓

got myself a fool

favourite color🎨

black/silver/turquoise 

lipstick or chapstick💄

chapstick, i play trumpet & also makeup in general gives me really bad dysphoria so yknow 

last song i listened to 🎵

muddy knees by days n daze

last movie i watched🎥

repo man with my parents !

top 3 tv shows📺

stranger things (basic ik)

buffy the vampire slayer 

twin peaks 

top 3 characters

• jonathan from ST

• Sam Lloyd from The Diviners

• JD or veronica from heathers 

top 3 bands

• against me!

• days n daze

• g.l.o.s.s.

books i’m currently reading📚

• before the devil breaks you by libba bray

• we need new names by NoViolet Bulawayo (for class)

  • brave new world by some old white dude 

tagging @not2cool4skool @tongueart @codeinecoding @glamfucker666 @bananajeph if yall wanna do it :)

March Book Photo Challenge I 31 I Read this month

  1. The Fates Will Find Their Way, by Hannah Pittard
  2. The Lottery and Other Stories, by Shirley Jackson
  3. Panic, by Lauren Oliver
  4. Westwood, by Stella Gibbons
  5. The Feminine Mystique, by Betty Friedan
  6. Animal Farm, by George Orwell
  7. The Shock of the Fall, by Nathan Filer
  8. A Clash of Kings, by George R. R. Martin
  9. The Miriam Black books, by Chuck Wendig
  10. The Coldest Girl in Coldtown, by Holly Black
  11. Farenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury
  12. Gretel and the Dark, by Eliza Granville
  13. The Guardian Review Book of Short Stories
  14. We Need New Names, by NoViolet Bulawayo
  15. The Brides of Rollrock Island, by Margo Lanagan
  16. If You Find Me, by Emily Murdoch
Because we were not in our country, we could not use our own languages, and so when we spoke our voices came out bruised. When we talked, our tongues thrashed madly in our mouths, staggered like drunken men. Because we were not using our languages we said things we did not mean; what we really wanted to say remained folded inside, trapped. In America we did not always have the words. It was only when we were by ourselves that we spoke in our real voices. When we were alone we summoned the horses of our languages and mounted their backs and galloped past skyscrapers.
—  NoViolet Bulawayo