When I met the Angolan poet, José Luís Mendonça, at ​his​ book launch ​for Angola, Me Diz Ainda,​ I had never before read his work. We were in Luanda, and it was early 2018; in fact, I was new to Angola after having spent three years in Mozambique, where I had become deeply accustomed to reading Mozambican literature. As a US-based Lusophone scholar for many years, I had always known Angola and Mozambique to be discussed in the same breath, as if two parts of the same whole. My experience on the continent proved nothing could be farther from the truth, as these two countries have staunch geopolitical differences that make them hard to ​​compare.  

My time in Luanda was an education in understanding the class and racial relationships that define both literature and literacy in what was—for decades—one of Africa’s most ​​impenetrable sub-Saharan nations, both geographically and linguistically. Yet, Mendonça’s work resonated with the passion and furore I recalled from Mozambique’s own literary tradition of anti-colonial poet activists, ​​like Noémia de Sousa.  

Like de Sousa, Mendonça is biracial but not white-passing. He traverses colour lines and, as a frequent speaker outside the country, casts a long shadow over what gets defined as top-tier Angolan literature to foreign audiences. Although his reported and op-ed columns keep local politicos on their toes, he is considered deeply integral to the national arts scene, too. Therefore, for both his presence and his production, Mendonça has a distinct way of integrating Angola within a wider world that might not understand the nuances of Angolan socio-political realities.  

Simultaneously situated in southern, central and western Africa, ​​Angola often feels like a crossroads. Rather, Mendonça depicts the country as an intersection. In this context, a crossroad often feels conflicted, like there are one-way roads headed in opposite directions and one must make a singular, decisive, life-altering choice to commit to one road, forsaking all others. An intersection, by contrast, is a meeting point where many different trajectories have the good fortune of converging on common ground. This is where agency and creativity align; paths aren’t unidirectional or static. They are as varied and compelling as human identity itself. 

Therefore, when I requested to interview him, I sought less to understand his characters than to better grasp his context. In line with my other published interviews with contemporary African writers, this snapshot allows for a meta-conversation about the experience of writing as a profession on the continent. While Mendonça was happy to explore plot lines and meaning, here I was more preoccupied with how he’s managed a 40+ year career in what many would say is a dying—if not already dead—industry.  

Here, his admission of privilege and frustration over time is raw. Yet, his negotiations with the audience and industry have yet to signal a compromise in his message. And for that, we—his fans—continue to (im)patiently await his next ​​volume.​ ​ 

Born in 1955 in Cuanza Norte, Mendonça is widely revered for his prolific catalogue and international exposure. Although he studied law, at the age of 26, he won the Sagrada Esperança prize for his debut poetry volume, Chuva Novembrina. He has earned many awards since then and has previously served as the Angolan cultural attaché in Paris. In recent years, he has also written more on politics from his editorial role in Cultura magazine. In Aug 2021, he won the South African Development Community journalism award.