African SF writer Nick Wood passed away in June 2023 at the age of 61. He was a noted supporter of African speculative fiction and a founding member of the African Speculative Fiction Society (ASFS).
Some noted African SFF writers shared their recollection of Nick Wood, who we also remember as a big supporter of Omenana Speculative Fiction Magazine.
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I met Nick years ago when I approached him as a fellow writer published by NewCon Press for a commendation to accompany the release of my black speculative novella Ivory’s Story. He wrote moving words that captured the essence of my story. Later, I reviewed his novel Water Must Fall, and I wrote:
Nick Wood’s futuristic cli-fi is a layered political drama that races you across a maze of suspense-filled intrigue. The dystopian black speculative thriller unfolds in the shifting perspectives of Graham, Lizette (Liz) and Art. The first person narrative offers moments of outstanding dialogue and broad coverage on themes of climate change, identity, sexuality, quest for meaning, and the power of the collective in an oppressive regime.
In 2048 FreeFlow is the new world order. It fraudulently profiteers from the scarcity of water and improvises ways to stifle dissenters. Dwindling dams are swollen with stale mud; anything is go for recycled water. A burnt savannah, scorched camps, desiccated waterfalls—Victoria Falls is a thin curtain surrounded by gales of dust. Water is expensive, the price of a droplet nurturing the black market.
Wood’s novel was the epitome of his thirst to save the world from itself. He was always fascinated about ‘writing the other’—see this review of his book Learning Monkey and Crocodile, and stepping outside perceived identity boundaries.
Later he approached me about collaborating on a possible article about ‘the trials and tribulations of not staying in our lanes’, as a follow-up piece to his article with Isiah Lavender, ‘SFF Writing for White Goblins: Decolonising your Defaults‘.
He shared with me his affection for the South African activist Steven Biko who stood proud and defiantly black to his death. He said, ‘Keep dreaming, breathing – and writing! The world needs your stories…’
I was very busy at the time and now I wish I’d tried harder to collaborate with this legend, a gentle giant, but fate would not allow it.
— Eugen Bacon
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Nick and I met about 12 years ago. We were in an anthology together and there was a mutual ‘I see what you did there’ moment when we commented on each other’s stories.
We quickly discovered a love of old African superhero comics, specifically Mighty Man (South Africa) and Powerman (Nigeria – renamed Powerbolt for Western audiences). We had long, twisty conversations about superheroes, African literature, politics, how the Cold War played out in different parts of Africa, uranium, Patrice Lumumba, philosophy, and a host of other topics, all over email or Skype. He was extremely well-read and yet still curious when we swapped book recommendations. We met each other’s families. We collaborated on both fiction and non-fiction.
We both worked in what you might call the Mind Sciences, him a clinical psychologist, me a consultant psychiatrist, and he often sent me scientific articles like an older colleague should.
I consider him part of the first wave of modern African science fiction, and his seminal novel Azanian Bridges encapsulates a lot of his egalitarian ideas. Ursula le Guin called it chilling and fascinating, and a pleasure to read.
In our talks I discovered he’d had a whole other life as a journalist and an advocate for equality in 1980s South Africa. He’d taught underprivileged people. He once wrote fiction where he donated all of the proceeds to charity. He’d worked with children at risk of suicide. He was a person who cared by doing, not talking.
There’s a saying that you can achieve anything if you’re willing to let others have the credit. My experience with Nick is that he was always willing to do that. He would let his name be second on published papers because he seemed to genuinely enjoy the success of others. Nick was the first person to send me a review of my novels when they came out. I still have screenshots of my own work from him. He got to them before my agent or mother did.
The thing about Nick is he smiled all the time, which, when you consider the perspective of his chronic pain, was pretty amazing. He’d ask me to “pop in for coffee and cake” any time I was anywhere near his post code. He knew I wrote longhand and he would always suggest these handwriting-to-text apps or websites.
Water Must Fall, his 2020 novel, was Nick all over. He went all in on a topic that was close to his heart: climate change. He was Solarpunk before it became a thing.
The last piece of writing he sent me was in 2022, a paper on the psychological consequences of climate change. He told me he’d stopped writing fiction. He said, “my fiction wasn’t going anywhere, so I’ve given up.”, which is the saddest sentence I ever heard from him. But even then, at that low ebb, he was still encouraging me.
He was brilliant, gentle, and a science fiction writer through-and-through.
Remember Nick Wood.
— Tade Thompson
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Nick has been an ever-present figure for me since I entered the published African speculative fiction world in 2015. I have been involved in and watched Nick’s organisational passions bring people together in support of the African creative community. He has helped make it a collaborative and supportive environment for new writers and existing writers to project their ideas and their voices to a world beyond our continent.
As someone who has never felt like he’s fitted in anywhere, Nick made me feel supported. Being a newbie to the writing and SFF world, Nick was always kind and supportive to me. He was one of the few people who reached out to me when I arrived in London in 2022, giving me a familiar contact while feeling isolated and alone, and he was so enthusiastic for my next ventures, and giving me valuable leads and introductions for some of my research. We missed a coffee date he was wanting to squeeze in mid-March 2022 before he flew to Cape Town – Nick trying what he could even with his hands full!
I was blessed to have been included in DisCon III in 2021 and the amazing panels Nick helped coordinate. Nick gave so much more behind the scenes that people will know.
Nick, mfowethu, bru.
Your words live on.
Camagu / ǁGammāgu
— Stephen Embleton
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I remember Nick Wood chiefly for his kindness. Whenever he was visiting Cape Town, we would always make time to catch up over a cup of coffee or three, and those times were lovely, full of laughter and typical writerly banter – especially since he had reached out to me that first time, even though we were relative strangers to each other. We didn’t stay strangers, and he made my experience of being an African author of SFF fiction that much bigger and brighter. He was someone I considered a friend, and when he asked me to help offer critiques for aspiring black writers, I was more than happy to help. Nick did good. He inspired other people to do good. We need more people like Nick. We’re going to miss him something fierce. – Nerine Dorman
It is with great sadness I learned of the death of Nick, one of the finest writers I know, a good friend, and just an all-round great human being. He can be considered one of the first of the new wave African speculative fiction writers, publishing his first SF short story in 1977 at 16. He went on to publish numerous short stories, articles, and novels. I was honoured and inspired to receive the excellent short story ‘Azania’ from him for AfroSFv1, and he was instrumental in making sure that this ground-breaking anthology was widely noticed in the very welcoming SF world. He also co-authored with Tade Thompson the fantastic novella ‘The last Pantheon’ in AfroSFv2. For much of his life he battled with Chronic Pelvic Pain Syndrome (CPPS) and Ménière’s disease and yet despite this still wrote and published and above all was a consistent and active proponent of African Speculative Fiction taking its rightful place in the world. He will be greatly missed. His work stands for all to read. His positive contributions to SF and the world shall forever hold the change he engendered.
— Ivor W. Hartmann
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I had been aware of Nick Wood since 2010, but it wasn’t until about 2014 we started to interact online. First on Facebook and then later by email, which would become our regular means of communication until his death (we emailed each other regularly and had the occasional Zoom call). My first email from him was him introducing me to the also late, great Gardner Dozois, trying to help make him more aware of African speculative fiction publishing. And our last email communication came because he was trying to help the Association of Nigerian Authors with funding. Selfless and kind in every way, Nick was always helping others, especially other Africans.
I met him in London in 2018 when I was there for the Caine Prize ceremony. I’d mentioned how hectic my schedule was and so he came to my hotel for afternoon tea, despite his poor health (he had Ménière’s disease). I was surprised, but it was a delightful conversation about life, science fiction and the power of storytelling. It was a great afternoon.
Nick gave so much of himself and his time. He worked tirelessly to get grants for the African speculative fiction society and raise the profile of global African SFF. He taught writing workshops to township youth in South Africa, worked to promote storytelling as a way of combating climate change, and so much more.
His writing was strong, brilliant. His stories featured regularly on my annual favorite African SFF lists. I consider his second novel Water Must Fall (2020) to be the finest, most direct, and passionate work of African cli-fi.
Following COVID, Nick wrote a bit less and focused on his advocacy and volunteer work. But it seemed to me that his passion was returning. He wrote two wonderful and related cli-fi stories in 2022 – a sort of textual diptych – both published in Omenana, “The umHlosinga Tree” and “The White Necked Ravens of Camissa” (which I edited). He also told me that he was working on expanding the opening story in his collection ‘Learning Monkey and Crocodile’ so it’s sad to know we have no more of Nick’s passionate, thoughtful stories. But his legacy remains.
I was in Tanzania a few weeks after Nick’s passing, at the Shira 1 camp of Mount Kilimanjaro. There, I saw two white necked ravens, just like the ones from Nick’s final stories. They perched on the rock in front of me and in that moment I reflected on my memories of him. Nick Wood was a special person. Someone who cared about others and about the world, deeply. He dreamed of a better world and was always willing to do the work required to make it.
His life, like his stories, is one we can all learn from and we will never forget him.
Sleep well, Nick.
— Wole Talabi