“Taking my foot off the accelerator… ” – Edwige-Renée Dro (Côte d'Ivoire)

Recently a friend wrote a portrait about me. In it, she mentioned all those things I undertake in the following words:

She is Program Coordinator for AYADA Lab. She is a Miles Morland fellow working on her first novel, a translator, and a reader for the Commonwealth Foundation. All this takes place alongside running a library, residencies, literary judging roles, leading writing and literary translation workshops, publishing and writing short stories, her favourite genre, and translating.

She went on to add: I’m in awe of all Edwige does.

Put like that, even I am in awe of all that I do. Another friend once asked me, “How do you manage?” and I replied, “As long as I have 8 hours’ sleep, I’m good to go.”

It is very much true that I require 8 hours’ sleep – not 9, not 10 because then I get up groggy and tired and cannot do anything. So, eight hours. No less, and no more. On those occasions I have thought that I could do so much more if I slept less, probably after reading some silly books that tell you to sleep for five hours to achieve more, or when I have listened to capitalistic soundbites like, I’ll sleep when I’m dead, I have not achieved more. In fact, I have ended up being tired and lethargic, and not productive at all, thereby not achieving anything. I have also come to realise that I do not do all the things I do because I’m on a course to achieve something, to be the Madam on Top; I’m just a passionate person and all the things I do are natural sequences of all those things I’m passionate about. 

When I take part in interviews or I’m asked to send my bio, you will always read these words: Edwige Renée Dro is a writer, a literary translator, and a literary activist. 

It isn’t the fact that I wrote down somewhere that I would become a writer, and then I would do A, B, C and D and move into translation. No, rather, these things have been natural sequences. I’m a conversationalist. I love politics and its impact on our lives and I’m that person who believes that everything is political. So in choosing to translate literature and other things that feed into my politics, I was interested in bringing in new voices to whatever conversation was happening then, and at that time, the conversation was very much focused on Africa being the future, the hopeful continent, the place to watch; these soundbites coming in very much from the West, and living in Africa, I’m very much aware of how the continent can still be confined to its linguistic borders, so I was interested in bridging the gap and for me, stories bridge gaps. 

When I set up the 1949 library in Yopougon Abidjan, I wanted to address the social inequalities I see in the city of Abidjan. I adopted a feminist approach because I was sick and tired of seeing the stories of African and black women being buried or the edges of their stories softened. And now, being the French content writer for Eyala is another one of those natural sequences.

During the reflection period for 1949, Eyala was one of those platforms I consulted often. I appreciated the accessibility in the language, the musings and interviews that called for reflection and conversations and pondering in a kind of let’s gather and chat way. The desire that shone through to have a collective where individuality shone. I enormously appreciated the fact that the platform was French-English bilingual – nobody was playing catch-up on that platform.

So, when Françoise asked me if I would be interested in being part of the adventure, absolutely, I said yes. I also said yes because this adventure would be getting me out of my comfort zone, if simply for the fact that I would be writing in French and not English. But again, writing in French at this moment in my life is another natural sequence. I have noticed that the conversations around feminism in Africa, and even around the world, are very much English language focused. Even references seem to be dominated by what is happening in the anglophone African sphere. It feels like a woe betide situation if you should not know some African feminists, all because said feminist had been lucky (what other word is there?) to be born in the English-speaking part of the continent. Like that time, I pretended not to know a particular big name because of that hegemony, and I was met with, “How can you not know…?” 

In the same way you don’t know Constance Yai, or Awa Thiam. What’s the problem?

So, as I let myself be taken in by these natural sequences, I want to embrace stepping outside my comfort zone: by writing in French, yes, but by also laying down some of the many things I do. Before I would be saying yes to this and that,but here I am, choosing to cruise along and take in all the sights, listening to all the sounds, and just being attuned to the natural sequences of the little things that make up life.

“I pray my feet will always take me where my heart leads” – Jama Jack (The Gambia)

I cannot remember when I first started writing, but I know that it is my most comfortable means of expression. When I speak and people praise my eloquence, many among them do not know that I would rather write than speak. 

My journey with my voice has taken so many turns in the thirty and some years that I have existed in this world. With each turn, there is an awakening to this true gift of expression that I am reminded to embrace as a blessing. 

When I was young, living timidly in my little shell, you would always find my nose (or maybe my whole body) buried into a book. My appetite for reading was fed by my mother who would always buy us books to read and made heavy investments in quality education for us. I remember when she went to study for her Master’s in the UK and brought a big box of books for my sister and me, instead of the fancy party clothes we had been requesting in the year she spent away. 

My uncle - of blessed memory - would also come home daily and give me the newspapers he brought home from work. Sometimes we would read them together and analyse the news. I also remember Sarjo, one of our domestic workers from my childhood who once told me that I will be stolen by jinns because I had developed a habit of picking scraps of paper on the streets to read what was written on them. 

The more I read, the more I wanted to write; and the more this desire filled my chest, the bigger my courage to put pen to paper and express my thoughts, whether in my padlocked diaries or through poems and short stories I wrote for school. 

As I grew up and found new understanding of the world around me, my voice also grew, each time in alignment with my values and the things that I was passionate about but picking up courage to discover new horizons.

It grew from the 10-year-old voice demanding the respect of children’s rights and advocating for support to People Living With HIV, to the 19-year-old voice that had found a name and community for her feminism, to the 31-year-old voice that continues to learn and grow in the ways it comes out to me and to the world. 

A while ago, I tweeted about being grateful that my paid work included a lot of writing, thinking of how it may fit into a ‘dream job’ ideation. However, I also recognised the challenge of lapses in creative drive when I have deadlines hovering above me and activating bouts of anxiety. In understanding this feeling, especially over the past two years (because pandemic writing), I have been teaching myself to move into a space of grace and patience for myself and my creative process. I am accepting, with each new challenge, that my words come to me when I am ready, and sometimes force me towards the medium through which I will share. 

Respecting and trusting in the process has allowed me to say a resounding ‘YES’ to many things that I would have thought impossible or unreachable. I have very happily embraced the transition from writing only for a blog to writing for the big screen and immersing myself in the world of filmmaking. Though tedious and sometimes scary, that journey has been so beautiful that I often find myself daydreaming about a future where all I do is make films, write books, and explore my creativity fully. 

One thing that has remained consistent in those dreams is that I wish to do all this in ways that serve humanity and align with my feminist journey. 

This is why even when self-doubt hit me a million times, I chose to say YES to Eyala and the new journey we are taking together. I remember speaking to a friend about my Eyala role in the early days and describing it as the very intersection of feminist creative storytelling that I wish to exist in forever. Doing this with a community of awesome colleagues is the cherry on top of this wonderful cake, and I hope my feelings of excitement ahead of team meetings never leaves me. Who gets excited for 2-hour Zoom meetings, eh?

I still wake up on some days feeling very anxious about the trust that has led me here, and the expectation (really from myself) to excel and give my absolute best. But, I also know that I don’t have to do this alone, and there is great beauty in sharing journeys and building community with people who don’t see your dreams as “too big” or dismiss your fears as unnecessary. 

As I continue to read, write, and create, I pray my feet will always take me where my heart leads, because she has always found great spaces and fulfilling experiences for me.