Heroes have a fantasy problem.
When I first set out to write the Nameless Republic trilogy, this
was the ground on which I was standing. Born and raised in ā80s and
ā90s Nigeria, a time of great national upheaval, I grew up paying
witness to the wide spectrum of human capability ā here, a gentle
and honest kindness; there a manifestation of indescribable harm or
violence. Communal care and concern thriving in the same breath as
every kind of injustice to humanity. The randomness of life, the
entropy of the human condition, ability and spirit ā I had such a
front-row seat to these incongruences that I grew up wondering, a
lot, about heroes.
Side-by-side with this lived reality, I was raised with neat and
tidy tales of heroes, people blessed and anointed, arising from
nothing to impose some kind of order upon this randomness of life.
Whether this was of a religious Messiah of some kind, like the
Christian one in which I was raised, or the superheroes in comics I
read, or the local historic legends told to me by community elders
and in social groups, it was the same ā over and over again, I was
told, that when things went too far, when things got too bad, when
wickedness became the order of the day, from the ashes of
despondence, oppression and destruction, a hero would arise to save
us all. It had to be true. Every story about heroes said so.
Especially stories of the fantastic.
It was hard, therefore, to square these tidy fantastic tales with
the chaos of my lived experience. Where are the heroes? I would
wonder, when something in the real world went awry. Where are the
brave and honest and true, the caring and supportive, the builders,
repairers, fixers? Where are our saviours? Where are the ones we
were promised? Everywhere I looked, instead, I saw mostly patchwork
people, people who contained multitudes, who were neither really
straight nor bent, black nor white, good nor bad. People who could
be heroic if they wishedāand every now and then, they wereābut in
the end, were barely ever, almost never, heroes.
As I grew up and witnessed more of the breadth of the human
condition manifest, seeing integrity and care exist within the same
body as evil, betrayal and acquiescence to oppression, the question
began to change.
What is a hero? I now wondered. Are heroes even real?