And as he stared and stared at the great expanse of sea in front of him, he understood that his decision was made. There would be secrets in their togetherness. Their lives would be like a painting, something beautiful with unexpected shadows; their lives would be like life.
SPOILER ALERT
THE INSPIRATION BEHIND
YELLOW ROOM
Yellow is the colour of the third chakra, associated with our sense of self-worth, the place where guilt and secrets dwell. Why are we so fascinated by secrets? Why do we have secrets? Whether they are born of fear or shame, denial or the urge to protect or avoid hurting another, so often they create pain and guilt. We pay a price for the things we keep bottled inside us, and sometimes the bottle bursts. At one level, Yellow Room is a book about the power of secrets to run our lives. Philip carries a secret to his grave and we will never know whether it drove him there. Chala wants to believe that Paul is the father of her child but knows he may not be. Unbeknown to her, Paul knows that he can’t be. So now they both carry secrets inside them. Are these like the nurturing ‘spaces in togetherness’ of their marriage vows? Or is there another, more sinister, future waiting for them? Secrets are often bound up with relationships and how we define their boundaries, often connected to our sense of who we are and how we are seen by the world. In the widest sense of the word, they can be about the things we bury or hide from ourselves. Secrets are a clue to our sense of personal identity if we listen to them.
Yellow Room was born from a very simple idea: what would it be like to grow up with your identity shaped by something that happened in your childhood and then discover that it never happened? Your whole sense of who you are, moulded by the guilt associated with something horrific you thought you did at the age of four – which you only find out years later was not your fault after all.
What is this thing called ‘I’ that burns at the centre of our haphazard path through the maze of life? This is a question that haunts me and my writing. Nature versus nurture: we are the sum of our genes and we are the sum of our experiences. We may also be influenced by inherited or collective memory if we believe in certain ideas about morphic resonance across the boundaries of time and geography. We acknowledge that the world we live in is transient and ever-changing. Yet we carry our stubborn belief that some kind of unique essence of ‘me’ exists through the various twists and turns of our own life.We use phrases like ‘I’m not feeling myself’ or ‘I want to find myself’ or ‘It’s not me’ or ‘I am at one with myself’ as if there is only one identity living inside us.
And yet I often feel we are like a house that looks pretty much the same on the outside but with a whole bunch of different residents who take turns to look out the window or stoke the fireplace. A house inhabited, not by a hermit who gets up and goes to bed at the same time every day, but by a committee of different personas and alter egos constantly chuntering away and making decisions about how to present ‘me’ to me. The committee is never idle; some items appear on the agenda again and again, some are always new. Whatever challenges this wonderful committee faces – be they personality traits caused by unchangeable genes or big life events that threaten the very foundations of the house – their task is always the same: turn it all into a story, a story that is cohesive and convincing – the story of me.
In Yellow Room I wanted to explore how a perceived reality can shape a person, and what happens when the goalposts of that perception shift. I also wanted to explore the relationship between the internal world of our own inner stage and the external world, and how this affects who we are and who we can become.
Enter Kenya. Chala’s experiences here – the orphanage, the post-election violence, the landscape, the people – all of this interacts with and impacts on the way she views her own personal drama and, ultimately, the decision she makes to keep her baby. Kenya is not just a setting; Kenya plays a role in the story of who she is and who she becomes.The inspiration for what I write about Kenya is based on personal experience, although it does not purport to be factual. There are details like the month of the elections which I have taken the liberty of changing.
I lived on a farm in Africa. A flower farm in a valley overlooking Lake Naivasha. Actually, Karen Blixen’s old weekend house still sits there, unfenced, and protected by hippos at night. My father is buried in the bush nearby, and my mother still lives in a log cabin close to the lake. I grew up with Kenya in my blood, although it wasn’t until 2005 that I went to live there. The farm where my husband worked was about half an hour along a potholed road from Naivasha, a Kikuyu town in the Rift Valley, which was one of the areas hit by the post-election violence of 2007–2008.
About 1,200 people were killed and over 500,000 displaced in the aftermath of the disputed elections. I kept a diary during the days that followed the elections. As events unfolded, with the burning of Kikuyu slums in Nairobi and the killing of Kikuyus in the Luo stronghold of western Kenya, the tension and horror were tangible. What struck me forcefully was how little normal Kenyans wanted what was happening. The ‘tribalism’ referred to so glibly in the media felt like something that was being deliberately stoked, not a spontaneous reaction to the political stand-off between the Kikuyu and Luo candidates, Kibaki and Odinga. Then, just when things appeared to be calming down (and after my diary), violence flared in Naivasha: revenge against the Luo (and associated tribes) who had attacked members of the Kikuyu tribe elsewhere in Kenya. I use the word ‘flare’, but it felt orchestrated. The Mungiki militia were brought in on trucks.
Recently, the case against current president Uhuru Kenyatta, subsequently accused, among others, of inciting ethnic violence to help secure the victory of Kibaki, was dropped at the International Criminal Court, amidst controversy surrounding alleged intimidation of witness…
The orphanage in Yellow Room is also rooted in reality, inspired by a project run by an amazing woman who has since died of cancer. Although I have changed the characters for the purposes of the novel, the awe and respect I have for the people involved is real, the shelter really did prepare food for the displaced who took refuge at the police station, and some of the boys there have since become Facebook friends. What I admired most about this project was the fact that it was based not simply on charity but on creating self-sufficiency and self-respect. I have made a personal pledge to donate ten per cent of whatever I earn fromYellow Room to this or similar projects in Kenya.
Secrets. The boys of Naivasha’s orphanage will have their own secrets, some too deep to ever share. Kenya has its secrets; maybe time will uncover the truths we do not know, and maybe it won’t. As individuals, I believe we all harbour areas of turmoil within us that are either consciously or unconsciously hidden to various degrees. Secrets are like scars that heal over a wound which never quite disappears.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I was once told that the hardest thing to write would be the acknowledgements. It’s true. It’s impossible to name all the friends and family who help to make a book possible…but I would like to say thank you to those who have played a special role for Yellow Room. Mum for being a pillar of support and inspiration. Bull, who gave me the peace and strength to keep going. My agent and friend, Broo, whose sensitivity, candour and dedication eased the growing pains and created a better book. Deeker, Andy, Nicola, Nella, James, Tom, Celia, Es, Amanda and Amanda for their feedback and encouragement. Paul for being part of the journey and a delight to work or share wine with, Lisa and Sean for their editorial input, and the team at Cutting Edge Press for publishing the first edition. David, Broo (again) and Rebecca at The Dome Press for giving the book a second life and publishing the new edition. Jem for the lovely new cover; Amanda, Aidan, Mark, Jackie and Anne for their quotes; Jackie and Anne again, Nellie, Victoria, Book Geek, (Being) Anne, Claire and indeed anyone else who has reviewed and given space to the book on their blogs. Of all those who provided inspiration on the way, I’d like to make special mention of just a few. My Dutch friend Mac, a sister of F
emke’s in real life. Debbie, who founded Naivasha Children’s Shelter and poured heart and soul into it until the day she died. Joseph, Paul, Francis and David who were shining lights; Peter, Bernard and every single boy from the shelter I had the privilege to meet while I lived in Naivasha. Caroline, Joyce and Fred for helping prepare food for the refugees in my back garden and for teaching me so much about Kenya and being Kenyan. June and Hans for making it possible to be there in the first place. My father, who died before the book was finished, but lives on in me and my writing.
Published by The Dome Press, 2017
Copyright © 2015 Shelan Rodger
The moral right of Shelan Rodger to be recognised as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organisations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978-0-9956723-8-3
The Dome Press
23 Cecil Court
London WC2N 4EZ
www.thedomepress.com
Yellow Room Page 23