The primus independence of many of the African countries was betrayed again by those who colonized her. Setting up the governments with African officials who were only cover-ups for their European masters. The time which Kourouma writes about in "THE SUNS OF INDEPENDENCE" is Neo-colonial for this reason, to refer to it as post-colonial implys that it is no longer colonized and it obviously is in the novel.
The protagonist in his first novel, like that of his second (Monnew), is somewhat of an anti-hero of royalty. He curses the French and the recent indepence even moreso claiming that he would rather have existed in colonial times (13). By showing us the absurdities of both the colonizers and some of the kings they deprived Kourouma points to the more humane way of running a country.
Like in "Monnew" Kourouma captures the African female in all of her glory with the female protagonist Salimata. The strength of her character is incredible and inspiring to examine. By dealing with the idea of female oppression (in terms of genital mutilation and many other forms) Kourouma points out that they are the true heroes of Africa growing in fertility among the oppression of the colonizers as well as the men they loved and cared for.
"THE SUNS OF INDEPENDENCE" comes highly recommended as a literary masterpiece. A novel, unfortunately like many of the African greats, that is highly under read by incredibly valuable as a work of art ready for consumption.

This is an excellent novel that poses some tough questions. What future awaits African nations? Are African peoples doomed to corruption and oblivion by their unfortunate encounters with European colonization? Is it possible for ancient tradition to coexist with modern values?

The answers, according to Kourouma, appear none too optimistic. His hero, Fama Dumbuya, stubbornly resists corruption of his personal mores by the new ideas that have transformed his society. Although he is usually cantankerous and disagreable, he is also devout, often funny, and always tries to do the right thing. But he can never reconcile his past and his upbringing with the modern world, and in the end he fails to find an equilibrium; he even fails to leave behind any offspring that might bring hope for the future.

Kourouma's narrative is especially powerful when he deals with Fama's wife Salimata, whose past is a psychological minefield of female genital mutilation, exploitation and abuse. Salimata is one of the most memorable characters in African literature. Like her husband, she struggles admirably to negotiate a way in the world, but also like him she can't rise above the muck that's holding her down. Things have fallen apart; the center did not hold.

As discouraging as it might be, "The Suns of Independence" is still an expertly crafted novel which forces its readers to examine the pitfalls facing modern African societies. You might disagree with the author's pessimism, but you can only credit his storytelling ability.

This book's title, "Les Soleils des Independences," is French for "the suns of the independences," which doesn't make much sense on the surface. The true meaning might be initially hidden from the reader, but it becomes clear as Kourouma's narrative progresses. This is a story about Africa's post-colonial era, its excesses and abuses, as experienced by one African man, Fama Doumbouya, in the fictional land of the Ebony Coast. The "suns" of the title refer to a time or an era: they come in the wake of the "suns of Samory" (an anti-colonial resistance leader of the 1800s) and the "suns of the whites" or colonialism.

The plot has no sweeping historical scope, but through a brief period in Fama's life the reader can view the changes that have taken place during his lifetime both in his community and his country as a whole. The most gripping sections deal with Fama's wife Salimata, who has yet to bear him a child and who endures both the scorn of her neighbors and her own self-doubt because of her "barrenness." Passages dealing with her girlhood, with female genital mutilation and with sexual abuse, are simply overpowering.

"Les Soleils des Independences" deals with politics and history, but it's at its best when it provides a window into individual lives. Kourouma's novel has become a classic in African literature because he gets the details, as well as the big picture, exactly right.

Kourouma creates a narrative in "Monnew" as complex and compelling as Joyce's "Ulysses." The narrative is divided among an indeterminate number of voices (most likely two or three) and in doing so places the reader among the events in the text. The different narratives conflict, and tell different stories of the same event. The reader is thrown amongst this conflictual narrative equipped, with the sharp sarcasm Kourouma is known for, for a reason. The reader cannot truly rely on the narrative and therefore must interpret the situations much in the same way the griot interprets the situation previous to composing an epic or oral tale of it. This unique relationship that Kourouma allows the reader to establish is both engaging and incredibly unique.
Kourouma like many of the top African authors deals with not only the wrongs of colonialism but patriarchy as well. In the west we do not see such compassion for the oppressed gender, as most of our canon consists of European (or of European descent) males writing about men like themselves and not usually giving round characters to the women they portray. Kourouma portrays the strength of the African woman most notably in chapter ten and the ending of the novel with the wife, Moussokoro of the Keita king Djigui.
Kourouma is writing for a purpose in this novel. Like his contemporaries (Ayi Kwei Armah in "2000 Seasons") Kourouma has an incredible ability to deal with history in a way that is encompassing and exciting. By the end of the novel the protagonist who is close to anti-hero status is older than anyone is willing to count and the dawn of African independence is at hand and with it a plethora of new conflicts to confront. In this sense it is somewhat geographically associated prequel to his first novel "THE SUNS OF INDEPENDENCE," which deals with the problems found at the end of "Monnew," throughout its exposition.
This book is at the top of the African Literature reading list. In terms of literature as a whole it is an incredible masterpiece worthy of the world reading. "Monnew" creates such a vivid reading experience that I would recomend it to anyone interested in African Literature, African/World history, or contemporary literary classics that are sure to be enjoyed for a long time.

This 1998 work by French-speaking Africa's premier novelist is a vehemently outspoken satire of despotic and corrupt African regimes from the 1960s to the 1990s. It's the life story of Koyaga, dictator and "founding father" of the fictitious West African state called the Republique du Golfe. Koyaga's history is recounted over the course of a "donsomana," a six-night storytelling by a hunters' bard, and the novel reflects this in its six-part form, interspersed with African asides and proverbs.

Koyaga himself is an interesting and contradictory character, though he remains rather underdeveloped as the author concentrates on his political rather than personal life. He's a military strongman who took power through innumerable assassinations and acts of brutality. But Koyaga isn't portrayed as evil--in fact he seems to have been beloved by his countrymen, at least those who weren't constantly trying to kill him. The reader is introduced to and immersed in the perspective of the African tyrant, one who after three decades in power has begun to believe his own self-serving propaganda.

The most interesting sections of "En Attendant le Vote" are those depicting Koyaga's visits to his fellow African dictators. Here the novelist gives us very thinly disguised versions of autocratic regimes of days gone by--Sekou Toure's Guinea, Felix Houpouet-Boigny's Cote d'Ivoire, Bokassa's Central African Empire, Mobutu's Zaire, and even the Morocco of King Hassan II. Each of these leaders lets Koyaga in on his own secrets to maintaining power, and gives him fatherly advice on preserving his own grip. We see otherwise kindly and respected statesmen who jail and torture their own friends, just to be sure of their loyalty. We see presidents who make no distinction between personal and public wealth; it's all theirs for the taking. And we see wily survivors who outwit countless threats to their rule and their lives, clinging to power in the face of tremendous opposition at home and abroad.

Kourouma's novel, in presenting these images, loses some of its narrative punch. The reader, if she's been reading the papers at all over the last decade, already knows how things are going to come out. We know that the 1990s will usher in a wave of "democratization" and "transparent government" (although, like the dictators, we are caught off-guard when it actually occurs in this novel). But along the way we get a rare insight into what it's like to be a dictator, to have an entire nation singing your praises while simultaneously trying to kill you.

At times I wondered why Kourouma didn't simply come out with a collection of historical and political essays about modern African governments. Then I realized that if he were to write about Houphouet-Boigny or King Hassan II the same way he writes of their fictionalized stand-ins, his book would likely be banned in those countries where he'd most want it to be read. "En Attendant le Vote" gets as close as it can to political expose without crossing that line into dangerous territory.

To draw comparisons with what is surely the greatest African novel (Chinua Achebe's "Things Fall Apart") is to invite trouble, I realize. But Kourouma's epic about the colonial era in French West Africa covers the same territory as Achebe's masterpiece, and is much more sweeping in scope. Where Achebe zeroed in on the critical first months of contact between Africans (Igbo villagers) and Europeans (British missionaries and colonists), Kourouma relives the entire seven decades of the colonial experience.

The novelist's window to this period is Djigui Keita, a Malinke king who leads resistance against conquering French armies as a young man in the late 1800s, and who lives long enough to witness the twilight of the colonial era in the mid-1900s. In-between we see the phases of initial military occupation, economic exploitation, and political subordination that combine to bleed Djigui's land and subjects dry. Head taxes, forced labor and army conscription are among the plagues visited upon Djigui and his people. In the face of such indignities, and despite his advancing age, Djigui maintains his honor and self-respect. One senses that these are the last great weapons at his disposal.

In one chilling scene, the king rides into the countryside to visit his subjects, only to find abandoned villages and eerie silence. The people have departed, fleeing the ravenous hunger of the colonial beast.

Djigui is a stock Kourouma character: noble, old-fashioned, and filled with disdain for the ways of the modern, Europeanized world. His favorite wife Moussoukoro, a controversial figure presented to the reader through a divided, two-sides-of-the-story digression, seems more of an individual, albeit more enigmatic. Kourouma fails to develop any other characters significantly, perhaps because he has too much historical ground to cover through his principal hero Djigui.

This emphasis on society over individuals weakens the novel, in my opinion; there's little sense of Djigui's personal struggle, and he departs the scene more or less the same as he entered it seventy-odd years before. Still, "Monne" succeeds in providing a scathing overview of a seminal, sinister period of African history. For that reason I think it can be considered alongside the novels of Achebe, even if it lacks their insight into particular hearts and minds.

This 1998 work by French-speaking Africa's premier novelist is a vehemently outspoken satire of despotic and corrupt African regimes from the 1960s to the 1990s. It's the life story of Koyaga, dictator and "founding father" of the fictitious West African state called the Republique du Golfe. Koyaga's history is recounted over the course of a "donsomana," a six-night storytelling by a hunters' bard, and the novel reflects this in its six-part form, interspersed with asides and proverbs drawn from the author's Malinke roots.

Koyaga himself is an interesting and contradictory character, despite remaining rather underdeveloped as the author concentrates on his political rather than personal life. He's a military strongman who took power through innumerable assassinations and acts of brutality. But Koyaga isn't portrayed as evil--in fact he seems to be beloved by his countrymen, at least those who aren't constantly trying to kill him. The reader is introduced to and immersed in the perspective of the African tyrant, one who after three decades in power has begun to believe his own self-serving propaganda.

The most interesting sections of "Waiting for the Vote" are those depicting Koyaga's visits to his fellow African dictators. Here the novelist gives us very thinly disguised versions of autocratic regimes of days gone by--Sekou Toure's Guinea, Felix Houpouet-Boigny's Cote d'Ivoire, Bokassa's Central African Empire, Mobutu's Zaire, and even the Morocco of King Hassan II. Each of these leaders lets Koyaga in on his own secrets to maintaining power, and gives him fatherly advice on preserving his own grip. We see otherwise kindly and respected statesmen who jail and torture their own friends, just to be sure of their loyalty. We see presidents who make no distinction between personal and public wealth; it's all theirs for the taking. And we see wily survivors who outwit countless threats to their rule and their lives, clinging to power in the face of tremendous opposition at home and abroad. Koyaga takes all their lessons to heart and becomes a master of the game of political survival.

All this makes for great commentary, but how does fit into a novel? In presenting these images, "Waiting for the Vote" loses some of its narrative punch. The reader, if she's been reading the papers at all over the last decade, already knows how things are going to come out. We know that the 1990s will usher in a wave of "democratization" and "transparent government" in Africa, curbing (though not ending) the continent's autocratic excesses. But along the way we get a rare insight into what it's like to be a dictator, to have an entire nation singing your praises while simultaneously resenting you and, time after time, trying to assassinate you.

With such keen observations of the modern African political scene, why must Kourouma resort to putting his fictional gloss on actual events? Why not simply come out with a collection of trenchant essays? The likely answer is that if he were to describe Houphouet-Boigny or King Hassan II the same way he describes their fictionalized stand-ins, his books would likely be banned in those countries where he'd most want them to be read. "Waiting for the Vote" gets as close as it can to political expose without quite crossing that line into dangerous territory.

Ahmadou Kourouma is one of my favorite novelists, and in the rarified world of African literature his works stand out as gems. This work received plenty of critical acclaim in the French and francophone African media, and won a major literary prize. "Allah N'est Pas Oblige" is a very stark tale, told in the form of a first-person narrative by a West African child soldier recounting the horrors he has witnessed in his short lifetime. The narrator is essentially a window into events rather than a full character, although Kourouma makes his literary voice interesting by throwing in occasional dictionary references, as though the words were coming from someone just in the process of discovering them.

This stylistic innovation, however, doesn't make up for the book's shortcomings. Its characters are simply foils to whom bad things must happen, and as such they aren't very interesting. The author plays fast and loose with recent African history, too, blaming the rise of Sierra Leone's RUF thugs on his old bete noir, Felix Houphouet-Boigny, and even putting the old man at a meeting with the RUF's commander in the late 1990s. Perhaps he has already forgotten that "Le Vieux" died in 1993... but anyway. My greatest disappointment is that there is almost none of Kourouma's usual satire or wit here. It is as though he set out to write a story "ripped from the headlines," taking advantage of the most shocking acts of brutality in West Africa's dirty postmodern wars (and there've been a lot) to pique the public's interest. This is a cheap trick, and it's beneath him, not to mention most of his readers.

I finished "Allah N'est Pas Oblige" with a feeling of sadness, not only for child soldiers and their victims, but for one of my literary heroes whose career seems to have entered an uninspired, barren patch. Sometimes I wonder whether he had somebody ghost-write this book for him; I almost hope that he did.