How to be an African

This appeared first in African Writing online:


How to be an African (with thanks to Binyavanga Wainaina for his brilliant How to Write about Africa)


First of all, get rid of any hang-ups you might have about Africa being a continent. It is a country , and so when people ask you if you speak African, or eat African, do not get all worked up trying to explain that a homogenous Africa only exists in lazy imagination. And certainly do not go the complicated route and start telling about how a country like Nigeria has over three hundred different languages (Languages? Not dialects? Are you sure?) Do everyone a favour and smile and say Yes or No as the spirit moves you. It will save you some frustration. Believe me, I know. It will also save your interrogator some bafflement. If you want to be humorous though, you can ask your interrogator if they speak European. Be prepared for some lessons on history though. Europe is a continent of history. Unlike that country, Africa which is too dark for any sense of history to permeate.

When you are asked- as you invariably will- if the freedom of the west does not please you, if you are not amazed by its wealth, if you do not feel lucky to be sitting in the lap of this luxury, make sure you react appropriately. Lead the discussion on the dictatorship of African leaders, on the poverty of its people, on HIV AIDS killing off an entire continent. Mention a few times how indeed you are lucky to be away from that all. Talk about family and friends you know who have been incarcerated or about to be for defending their freedom, this very freedom that you take for granted now. Talk about the big issues: gay bashing; corpses abandoned by the road side in, genocide and ethnic cleansing; wars; THE almighty FGM. The more gruesome the better. If you’ve never personally experienced any of these, use your imagination: everyone has some of it. Success stories are not interesting. They are not African.
Also, do not forget to talk about patriarchy; oppression of women by big bad men who hit their wives and refuse to educate their daughters. If you are a woman, it is advisable to talk about the opportunities you are lucky to have since being in Europe.

If you are a writer, never forget to acknowledge the fact that your writing style derives from the great story telling tradition of your people. Talk about being inspired by hearing a wise ancient tell stories under the perfect moonlight on a village night. Have your memories of such nights be filled with the sounds of crickets chirping; of animals living in complete harmony with humans. Such nights must be cool and dry. The story teller must have a deep, serenading voice. Have little children run around chasing lizards and the like. Your interrogator would usually ask you at this point if you don’t think that Africa’s race towards modernity is a huge loss. You should agree with him and expound on the corrupting evils of TV and computer games. And of your nostalgia for the African nights of your childhood.

Never ever admit to an inability to dance. It would be compromising your Africaness. Even if you dance like a three legged duck, always agree that yes, Africans are born dancing. Tell stories of how when you were in you were mother’s womb, you tapped and jiggled around whenever you heard the sound of distant drums. You might indulge your interrogator by showing off some moves, showing off some of that rhythm you have in your genes.

Finally remember the old adage of While in Rome, do like the Romans? Integration is the key word for African migrants. You do not have the luxury of western expatriates in Africa who mainly stick to their kind, occasionally talking to the native gardener and maid and gateman to give instructions. And very often driving long distances to get the perfect cheese or whatever familiar food stuff they consider essential for survival in Africa. They might have packages of peanut butter and chocolate spread sent from home by nervous family keen to aid their survival. Do not get the idea that you are equal to them and start stinking out your neighbours with the smell of the food coming out of your kitchen. If you live in an apartment, please be mindful that the food you cook does not irritate the sensitive nostrils of your neighbours. You might be reminded that an essential part of integration is learning to adapt to the food of your host country. And the only way to truly show your gratitude to your host country is by your willingness to completely subsume your old identity (eating habits included) and take on the new, civilized one

Knackered

I feel like a truck's run over my body. Twice.
I spoke to a group of collitted women last night about the influence of role models and my dream for a Flanders where the social and cultural landscape is as varied as the colours on the street.The dialogue afterwards was stimulating and listenintg to Eveline Wouters talk was just brilliant.
Today I was invited to talk to a class of French-speaking Dutch learners. It was a humbling experience. I had great fun and now all I want to do is sleep for a hundred days

i did it!!

I finally went and did it! I got married and it was broadcast on primetime TV and I got a baeutiful cake and a brilliant reception;Let e fess up now: it wasn't a real wedding. It was a press conference stunt to promote an audiofilm I acted in , directed by Belgium's finest director based on a novel by Belgium's finest writer, both wonderful men coincidentally named Tom!Acting was a beautiful experience, but also very difficult. It has given me a new respect for actors who have to convince us that every tear, every laughter is real. I doff all doffables off to them!
http://www.cobra.be/cm/cobra/podium/100312-sa-hetderdehuwelijk

Their gods must be crazy

Jos...I have got no idea where to start. I visited Jos for the first time in the nineties when my sister was at the university of Jos. I fell in love with the cool, quiet city. Whenever I thought of Jos, I thought of quiet evenings, beautiful conversation and a city I wanted to return to.
Now, my memories of Jos have been sullied by the recent events there. The stories are gruesome: four day old baby hacked to death with a machete. Whose crazy gods tell them that it is okay to do that? People burnt to death like old trash. The people responsible for these henious acts , who kill in the name of God do not know which gods they follow. They dance to the tunes of inebriated sadistic gods and one day, if their cosncienve doesn't get them, somethiong else will. In this life or in the next. That is my only consolation

Oslo

I am at the beautiful House of Literature in Oslo trying to finish a WIP. thanks to the generous people of the House for giving me this gift of time and space and mugs and mugs of coffee (-;
I am keeping odd hours, sleeping and waking up to write and trying very hard to resist the temptation to shop

Is this Democracy?

Just saw this video and it brought tears to my eyes:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VHdkyvn41us
It is of a young Nigerian woman who is beaten for not giving way to Traffic Rear Admiral Harry Arogundade's convoy. This is DEMOCRAZY !!!! in Fela's words: Demonstration of craze. watch and weep for Nigeria ( as if we don't have enough reasons to weep for her already)

Back again!

Happy new year to everyone ( a bit late in the year but well meant nevertheless). I made some resolutions this year: and I've broken a few already: I bought a new coat and I bought a new pair of boots (-:
But I've been good at keeping the rest: writing (not lots but enough), reading (mainly re-reading: Atwood's Moral Disorder and other stories) and cooking for my family (with really good results)
I was at the African writers' Week in Oslo in October and had a fabulous time. I met Ama Ata Aidoo (she's brilliantly down to earth) and Niq Mhlongo for the first time and reconnected with old pals. It was awesome (never mind the cold) and I bought a pair of killer Jimmy Choo's (-:
Can't wait for the summer to wear them. They are high and beautiful and beautiful and beautiful and should feature ina short story. They really deserve to