Temekoe
Love and distance between a father and son in colonial Suriname in the ’50s and ’60s
‘Trees that don’t grow in step with the forest become isolated, wither, die.’ This line is emblematic of the novel Temekoe (1979) by the Surinamese author Edgar Cairo, which has recently been republished. It tells the story of a complex father-son relationship, while at the same time painting a portrait of a society after the abolition of slavery, which continues to leave profound psychological wounds.
The nameless narrator tells the story of his father Nelis, who is orphaned at a young age and grows up with his aunt in violent, impoverished surroundings. He nonetheless manages to build a life for himself and start his own family. He is particularly devoted to his son – he’ll do anything to look out for him and make sure his every need is met. But once his son is grown, that devotion gives way to a mysterious distance.
The leitmotif in the story is urban and rural life in Suriname. He paints a picture of a life of hard work and passionate play, from sexual flings to magic and superstition. Cairo weaves this riotous story from a series of episodes, rooted in the tradition of oral storytelling. The impact of the plantations continues to reverberate through everyday life – people are desperately impoverished and weighed down by a feeling they should ‘know their place’.
We also see this reflected in the father’s attitude. He’s a hard worker, conscientious, sees it as his job to keep a roof over his family’s heads and put food on the table, but at the same time he lacks confidence, self-respect and increasingly ignores his own needs. Over time, he comes to understand that he does love his son, but that, because of his background, he doesn’t have enough left over for himself. Decades later, his son is desperately trying to understand why his father turned his back on him.
Rights
Stella Rieck
rieck@cossee.com
'As I grow older he grows away from me, I from him. To him, I have become like a matchstick that you throw away after use. Done, out! Like a chest, a suitcase that our elders fill in their rituals to say goodbye to the spirits of doom and then dispose of, hide, deep in the forest, so that they might be eternally cured of the burden that torments their lives. Oh, it seems as if, his whole life, again and again, the Black man has to say goodbye to the past, as if his own life were unworthy of him – always a farewell ritual.'
Translation Kirsten Gehrman