Jumping Monkey Hill
Ujunwa flies from Lagos to Cape Town, where Edward Campbell—an elderly, posh‑accented former lecturer—picks her up at the airport, kisses her, and chats about her job loss. He drives her, with a Ugandan man, to the seaside resort Jumping Monkey Hill. A blond host shows her to a thatch‑roofed cabin called Zebra Lair, where she unpacks and looks for monkeys that never appear. At the first lunch on the terrace, Edward introduces each participant: a white South African woman from Durban, a black South African man from Johannesburg, a Tanzanian man from Arusha, a Ugandan man (the workshop leader) from Entebbe, a Zimbabwean woman from Bulawayo, a Kenyan man from Nairobi, a Senegalese woman from Paris, and finally Ujunwa herself, described as “our Nigerian participant … lives in Lagos.” Ujunwa notes the personalities of each—seeing the Senegalese woman as the most promising, the Zimbabwean as lively but “alcohol‑in‑small‑amounts,” the Kenyan and Tanzanian as indistinguishable, the white South African as earnest, the black South African as piously reserved, and the Ugandan as aloof and the prize‑winning Lipton African Writers’ Prize winner.
Edward gives a welcoming speech, outlining the two‑week structure (writing week, critique week), funding sources, and his long‑standing commitment to African literature. He then introduces his wife Isabel, an animal‑rights activist who claims royal lineage and delivers a flamboyant anti‑poaching address. At breakfast the next day, Isabel compliments Ujunwa’s “exquisite bone structure” and boasts of royal ancestry, prompting Ujunwa to think of her own mother’s laughter.
Ujunwa spends time at her laptop, debating character names (Chioma vs. Ibari) and inventing a back‑story about a Lagos woman named Chioma who loses jobs, suffers harassment, and later works for Merchant Trust Bank. She later reads her own story aloud for the group, describing Chioma’s attempts to find employment, a predatory interview, and family tension.
During lunch Edward repeatedly leans toward Ujunwa, his gaze low on her body. Later, after a day of writing, Edward tells Ujunwa, “I’d rather like you to lie down for me,” while the Ugandan and Tanzanian laugh. Ujunwa initially laughs it off but later, while drinking wine at the bar, confronts the group, repeating “Edward is always looking at my body.” The Kenyan, white South African, and Zimbabwean respond with varied observations about Edward’s leering, while the black South African remains silent.
The workshop proceeds with story exchanges. The Zimbabwean reads a satirical tale about a Harare teacher and Pentecostal witch‑hunt; the Ugandan praises its energy; the Kenyan critiques its literary excess; the Tanzanian defends its cohesion; Edward dismisses it as “passé” in light of Zimbabwe’s politics. The Senegalese later reads a funeral scene and, when Edward claims “homosexual stories aren’t reflective of Africa,” Ujunwa blurts “Which Africa?” prompting a heated exchange about representation.
Evening sessions see participants gossiping about the predominantly white resort staff, the participants’ ethnic stereotypes, and Edward’s influence. Ujunwa feels growing self‑loathing over having laughed at Edward’s earlier remark and later openly accuses him of objectifying her, which alienates some participants.
In subsequent days Ujunwa continues to write, attends critique sessions where the Tanzanian praises her Lagos depiction, while Edward argues that “women are never victims” and that Nigeria has powerful women, prompting the Kenyan to call her story “agenda writing.” Ujunwa, frustrated, stands, laughs, and declares she will add a personal note about leaving an alhaji’s house in a Jeep—a reference to the parallel Chioma subplot she has been developing.
Throughout the chapter, Ujunwa’s internal monologue juxtaposes the workshop’s literary debates with memories of her mother, Chioma’s fictional journey, and the pervasive gendered and colonial power dynamics embodied by Edward and the resort’s staff. The chapter ends with Ujunwa watching the Senegalese raise her teacup, feeling envy, and pondering whether her own story will be deemed “plausible.”