The Trouble With Nigeria by Chinua Achebe (1983)

Political and biographical background

Nigeria attained independence in 1960. Twenty-three years later author, poet and essayist Chinua Achebe published this extended essay briskly summarising the problems his nation faced. Before we get to the text, there’s some interesting biography to point out. Achebe had published his last novel, A Man of The People in 1966, so what had he been doing between 1966 and this publication 16 years later?

Soon after the publication of A Man of The People Nigeria experienced the 1966 military coup. This in turn led to the Nigerian Civil War, triggered when the region of Biafra broke away from Nigeria in 1967.  In fact some in the military thought the ending of A Man of The People so closely paralleled the real-life coup that he must have had some foreknowledge so he had to flee to Biafra to escape arrest. Achebe supported Biafran independence and acted as ambassador for the new state, travelling to European and North American cities to drum up support. He helped draft a declaration of principles for the new country. The Achebe family narrowly escaped disaster several times during the war, including a bombing of their house. The general disruption favoured the form of poetry and in 1971 he published the collection ‘Beware, Soul Brother.

With the end of the war, he returned to the family home in Ogidi only to find it destroyed. His passport was revoked. He took up a teaching post at the University of Nigeria. In 1971 he helped set up two literary magazines. In 1972 he published a collection of short stories, ‘Girls At War’.

In 1972 he took up a teaching post at the University of Amherst, later adding a visiting professorship at the University of Connecticut. It was at Amherst in 1975 that he gave his famous lecture accusing Joseph Conrad of being a ‘racist’.

Achebe returned to the University of Nigeria in 1976, where he held a chair in English until his retirement in 1981. He edited the literary journal Okike and became active with the left-leaning People’s Redemption Party (PRP). In 1983, he became the party’s deputy national vice-president and it was now, after 17 busy, traumatic, and globetrotting years, that he published the pamphlet under review, ‘The Trouble with Nigeria’. Its publication was timed to coincide with the upcoming elections i.e. it was a direct and controversial intervention in Nigerian politics by someone who was, by now, a veteran of political commentary.

The Trouble with Nigeria

In this brief pamphlet Achebe set out to enumerate Nigeria’s many problems and suggest solutions. His stated aim was to challenge the resignation and negativity of his fellow Nigerians ‘which cripple our aspiration and inhibit our chances of becoming a modern and attractive country’. He aimed to inspire them to reject the old habits which, in his opinion, prevented Nigeria from becoming a modern country.

The book became famous because it attributed the fundamental failure of Nigeria on its disastrously bad leadership. With the right leadership he thought the country could resolve its many problems such as: tribalism, lack of patriotism, social injustice, the cult of mediocrity indiscipline and, of course, corruption. The essay is divided into ten parts.

Rather than give a long conclusion at the end I’ll comment on the points he raises chapter by chapter.

1. Where the problem lies (3 pages)

The trouble with Nigeria is simply and squarely a failure of leadership. There is nothing basically wrong with the Nigerian character. There is nothing wrong with the Nigerian land or climate or water or air or anything else. The Nigerian problem is the unwillingness or inability of its leaders to rise to the responsibility, to the challenge of personal example, which are the hallmarks of great leadership. (p.22)

Change is possible but it requires ‘a radical programme of social and economic reorganisation’.

I believe that Nigeria is a nation favoured by Providence. I believe there are individuals as well as nations who, on account of peculiar gifts and circumstances, are commandeered by history to facilitate mankind’s advancement. Nigeria is such a nation…the fear that should haunt our leaders (but does not) is that they may already have betrayed Nigeria’s high destiny. (p.24)

I find it hard to take this overblow rhetoric seriously. There is no Providence. There is no guiding hand. ‘History’ is not a force in the world, it is just the record of what we’ve done. There is no ‘high destiny’. There is no God or law saying mankind will ‘advance’ in any particular direction – what a ridiculous idea.

Throughout his career Achebe railed against Western misconceptions about Africa and yet here he is spouting just such 19th century, positivistic rhetoric about the forward march of humanity etc etc. Population growth is out of control. We are burning the world and destroying the habitats we rely on for our survival. Russia bombs maternity hospitals. Israel bombs refugee camps. The Sudanese massacre each other. Famine is coming in Ethiopia. What advancement of mankind?

Right here, right at the start of the pamphlet, Achebe reveals that he is more attached to high-sounding rhetoric than any kind of detailed analysis of the geography, agriculture, resources or economy of Nigeria, and this tone of lofty generalisation characterises most of the essay.

He is closer to reality when he says Nigeria benefited from an oil boom which should have been invested to modernise the country but instead Nigeria’s leaders have stolen or embezzled huge sums, and squandered the rest on importing expensive fancy foreign goods.

2. Tribalism (4 pages)

Achebe dates the triumph of tribalism in politics, and the death of a pan-Nigerian dream, to the moment in 1951 (when the country was still nominally owned and run by Britain) when Chief Obafemi Awolowo stole the leadership of Western Nigeria from Dr Nnamdi Azikwe (aka Zik). This is interesting to readers of his novels because it seems to be the basis for the similar cabinet coup described at the start of A Man of The People.

Achebe blames the fact that the national anthem was written by a British woman for perpetuating the idea of tribe and goes on to describe how, after 1966, another national anthem was adopted.

Achebe skims through a work of academic discussion and defines tribalism as ‘discrimination against a citizen because of his place of birth’, gives examples of how this discrimination operates at the time of the essay. He points to the American example where, in the specific example of filling out forms to apply to university, specifying a person’s state of origin is forbidden precisely to eliminate discrimination. Nigeria should do the same.

And that’s it on the issue of tribalism, one of the most complex and difficult problems facing almost every African country. Not exactly a thorough analysis, maybe – and it’s so typical of a writer to think that the key to such a super-complex social and political issue can be found in a couple of poems, and an official form. It feels like he lacks the academic training or background in the subject to engage with it properly.

3. False image of ourselves (2 and a half pages)

One of the commonest manifestations of under-development is a tendency among the ruling elite to live in a world of make-believe and unrealistic expectations. (p.29)

In Achebe’s view, Nigeran leaders spout high-sounding rhetoric to inspire their auditors and make themselves sound big by, for example, going on and on about Nigeria being a great country. Whereas Achebe, being an ordinary (albeit literary and articulate) citizen, is able to tell the truth.

Nigeria is not a great country, it is one of the most disorderly nations in the world. It is one of the most corrupt, insensitive, inefficient places under the sun…It is dirty, callous, noisy, ostentatious, dishonest and vulgar. In short, it is among the most unpleasant places on earth. (p.30)

Achebe is straight-talking like this throughout the essay and it’s fun. Even if he then ruins the effect with the empty, hackneyed phrases of his ‘solution’:

Nigeria is not absolutely beyond redemption. Critical, yes, but not hopeless. But every single day of continued neglect brings her ever closer to the brink of the abyss. To pull her back and turn her around is clearly beyond the contrivance of mediocre leadership. It calls for greatness. (p.31)

Greatness? Unfortunately much of his argumentation consists of a rhetorical exaggeration of Nigeria’s plight, so that he can then propose surprisingly windy and rhetorical solution.

Achebe’s negativism about Nigeria is a kind of mirror image of its leaders overblown boosterism: both are just fine-sounding words, both fail to engage with the horribly complex realities on the ground.

4. Leadership, Nigeria-style (1 page)

Achebe accuses the founding fathers of Nigeria of lacking intellectual rigour, of a tendency to ‘pious materialistic woolliness and self-centred pedestrianism’. As you’ve read, I detect exactly that kind of ‘woolliness and lack of intellectual rigour in Achebe’s own discourse. He is himself part of the problem he claims to be finding a solution for.

On Unity and Faith (one and a half pages)

Leaders call loudly for unity. The word is on the Nigerian coat of arms. But Achebe says unity is only valuable if it’s for a good purpose. The mafia is united. Also on the Nigerian coat of arms is the word Faith. So he also asks, faith in what? Answering these questions:

calls for a habit of mental rigour, for which, unfortunately, Nigerians are not famous. (p.33)

(You can’t help thinking this is the kind of sweeping statement about an entire people that Achebe can make, but any white author would be cancelled for.)

Anyway, the really interesting question is why the founding fathers chose Unity and Faith at all, given that they are such vague and ill-defined terms, rather than, say Justice and Honesty and Truth, which are for more clear and definable. Is it because the founding fathers didn’t think Nigerians could live up to those harder ideals?

5. Patriotism (3 and a half pages)

Nigerians are among the world’s most unpatriotic people. (p.34)

This is because patriotism requires trust or belief in a country’s leaders and Nigerians don’t have that. A patriot, he says, is someone who truly loves their country, who holds it to the highest standards and demands the best. Is that right?

Quite clearly patriotism is not going to be easy in a country as badly run as Nigeria. (p.35)

What Nigeria abounds in is the spurious patriotism of its ruling class. True patriotism can only exist when a country is ruled well by leaders who have the welfare of the majority at heart and not the material gain of the few. In other words, a country’s leaders have to give its population something to be patriotic about.

6. Social injustice and the cult of mediocrity (8 pages)

The worst impact of tribalism is injustice in awarding jobs to mediocre or incompetent candidates who come from ‘the right tribe’. It multiplies incompetence in the system and demoralisation among the victims. Thus Nigeria is a country where it’s difficult to point to even one job which is done by the best available candidate. Consistently picking a third or fourth eleven means Nigeria will never make it into the world league. This explains why the public services are so dire:

Look at our collapsing public utilities, our inefficient and wasteful parastatals and state-owned companies. If you want electricity, you buy your own generator; if you want water, you sink your own bore-hole; if you want to travel, you set up your own airline. (p.39)

But it’s not just the inefficiency and waste which promoting mediocrities to run everything badly leads to. The bigger issue is the enormous disparity between the class of people who manage things, in effect a managerial elite, who award each other huge pay packets and perks, and the vast majority of the population who remain dirt poor.

Even if the perks and luxuries and payoffs are a legacy of the colonial system, Nigerians have had two decades to reform them instead of which they’ve made the problem ten times worse.

What is the purpose of government? Surely there are two:

  1. to maintain peace and security
  2. to establish social justice, a sense of fairness and equality

Peace and stability depends on a sense of fairness. If people’s sense of unfairness and injustice is pushed to breaking point, you get revolution. All the talk about ministers and perks and chief executives ignores the fact of the tens of millions scraping a living from infertile soil, living under flyovers, scavenging on waste dumps, ‘the wretched of the earth’.

He is fully aware that most of the conversations of intellectuals or the political or business elite are incredibly aloof and disconnected from the great mass of the population.

7. Indiscipline (12 pages)

He defines indiscipline as:

a failure or refusal to submit one’s desires and actions to the restraints of orderly social conduct in recognition of the rights and desires of others. (p.45)

As a parent I know another way of saying this is acting like a grown-up and not a spoilt child. He himself says lack of self discipline is a sign of immaturity. He says lack of self discipline blights the majority of Nigerians and helps make the place a madhouse.

You can see it most clearly in the behaviour of the traffic on the roads, which Achebe has a real bee in his bonnet about. He comes back again and again to Nigerians’ terrible behaviour on the road and uses it as an example of the way Nigerians have given themselves entirely over to ‘rampaging selfishness’ (p.49).

Leaders are, among other things, role models. If a country’s leaders are selfish and greedy, lacking all restraint and self discipline, then it creates a climate of indiscipline in which millions of their countrymen think it’s OK to be like them.

Not only that but the leaders’ indiscipline also exacerbates the divide between the Big Man who has flunkeys and police and journalists falling over themselves to please him, and everybody else who has to get used to being browbeaten, insulted and extorted by every petty official (like the corrupt tax inspectors and police who victimise Odilo’s father in A Man of the People).

I don’t know any other country where you can find such brazen insensitivity and arrogant selfishness among those who lay claim to leadership and education. (p.53)

The siren mentality: he gives this name to the tendency of Nigerian officials of every rank to be accompanied everywhere by fleets of security and police cars all with sirens blaring to terrify everyone out of the way. Achebe says it is typical of Nigeria to have turned an invention of serious-minded people into:

a childish and cacophonous instrument for the celebration of status. (p.54)

‘Childish’ was the word I used to characterise the worldview and events of A Man of The People, feeling a bit nervous about accusing such an eminent author of dealing in such superficial characters and discussions – so I’m pleased to have the concept explicitly backed up by Achebe himself.

I also commented on the short temper, quickness to anger and general air of physical violence which soaks A Man of The People. Here, in the section about the siren mentality, Achebe associates the use of bombastic sirens broadcast by convoys of VIP’s cars with a kind of psychological violence, with:

  • the brutal aggressiveness which precedes a leader’s train
  • the violence of power
  • official thuggery

He calls Nigeria a ‘mentally underdeveloped’ country which ‘indulges in the celebration and brandishing of power’. Its leaders have created a mystique around themselves when a) they’re such fools they’re hardly worthy of it and b) this only creates a yawning divide between the elite class and everyone else, cowering and quivering by the side of the road as yet another cavalcade of VIPs roars past, lights flashing and sirens blaring. Undisciplined. Self centred. Childish.

8. Corruption (8 pages)

Keeping an average Nigerian from being corrupt is like keeping a goat from eating yam (1983 newspaper headline)

Nigerians are no different from other nations.

Nigerians are corrupt because the system under which they live today makes corruption easy and profitable; they will cease to be corrupt when corruption is made difficult and inconvenient. (p.58)

Achebe makes an important point which is that the exercise of corruption is intimately associated with the wielding of power; people in power have far more opportunity for corruption than the masses.

He has heard the figure that 60% of Nigeria’s wealth is consumed by corruption (p.61). He gives a couple of egregious examples of corruption scams from today’s newspapers. He explains the different types of corruption associated with big expensive building projects and refers to ‘political patronage on an unprecedented scale’ (p.63). With the result that:

Nigeria is without any shadow of doubt one of the most corrupt nations in the world… (p.63)

The only cure is for leaders to set an example, to put principle ahead of greed. A good leader would rid his administration of anyone suspected of corruption or bribery and ban them from public life.

(Just reading this passage you can see why it will never happen. In Nigeria as in most African countries corruption isn’t a blight on the system, it is the system.)

9. The Igbo problem (7 pages)

The title of this section is satirical, presumably a bitter reference to ‘the Jewish problem’, as Achebe is himself Igbo.

He explains something I didn’t know which is that the Igbo, within Nigeria, are often caricatured as aggressive, arrogant, clannish and greedy, which sounds like the worst stereotyping of the Jews.

Achebe himself calls Igbo culture ‘individualistic and highly competitive’. It is not held back by the wary religion of the other main tribal groups in Nigeria, the Hausa and Faluni, or the traditional hierarchies of the Yoruba. Igbo culture can display ‘noisy exhibitionism’ (p.67). Here’s Martin Meredith in his 2011 book The State of Africa explaining the same thing.

In the Eastern region, on the other side of the Niger river, the Igbo, occupying the poorest, most densely populated region of Nigeria, had become the best educated population, swarming out of their homeland to find work elsewhere as clerks, artisans, traders and labourers, forming sizeable minority groups in towns across the country. Their growing presence there created ethnic tensions both in the North and among the Yoruba in the West. Unlike the Hausa-Fulani and the Yoruba, the Igbo possessed no political kingdom and central authority but functioned on the basis of autonomous village societies, accustomed to a high degree of individual assertion and achievement. (p.76)

It was the tide of anti-Igbo violence which swept across northern Nigeria in reaction to the 1966 military coup, which led Igbo leaders to conceive the idea of seceding and setting up the separatist state of Biafra in 1967.

Achebe discusses the importance of the Town Union phenomenon. This seems to be the idea that the Igbo had networks of influence via their Town Union associations, which extended into clannish networks criss-crossing the nation. For political reasons leaders of other groups played on this fact to suggest Elders of Zion-style Igbo conspiracies to take other groups’ jobs, houses etc.

The reality, Achebe asserts, was exactly the opposite, the Igbo lacked strong centralised leadership. Instead, ruffians and upstarts were appointed by the British colonial authorities (as described in Achebe’s book Arrow of God) and then, since independence, hundreds and hundreds of ludicrously local ‘kings’ have sprung up like mushrooms (p.68).

Achebe mentions official policies of social, economic and political discrimination which the Igbo still labour under and pleads for them to be removed so the Igbo can play their full role in Nigerian society. In exchange the Igbo must learn to be less abrasive and more tactful.

He closes with some detailed examples of what he takes to be federal discrimination against the Igbo, namely the siting of huge new steel mills in every region except Igboland.

10. The example of Aminu Kano (15 and a half pages)

The last and longest section is devoted to Mallam Amino Kanu who had, apparently, just died. Who he?

Mallam Aminu Kano (9 August 1920 to 17 April 1983) was a Muslim politician from Nigeria. In the 1940s he led a socialist movement in the northern part of the country in opposition to British rule. (Wikipedia)

Achebe repeats Kano’s great question: what is the purpose of political power? It is certainly not to turn the population of their country into victims.

For we are victims. The entire Nigerian populace constitutes on huge, helpless electoral dupe in the hands of the politician/victimiser. (p.73)

And it’s the people’s fault. For some reason the electorate votes time and again for crooks. Politicians exploit ethnic differences not just to win the backing of ethnic groups but because it divides the electorate and makes them less able to hold politicians to account.

He calls on educated Nigerians to rouse themselves from their cynicism and ‘bestir themselves to the patriotic action of proselytising for decent and civilised political values’ (p.74). Here is where Achebe makes it clearest that he is primarily addressing Nigeria’s intelligentsia or educated class, rather than the people at large. As a matter of interest, I wonder what percentage of the total population this amounts to? 1%? It’s the narcissism of all academics, graduates, people in the media, the commentariat and so on to believe that they represent ‘the nation’.

Achebe hoped that, when democracy was restored in 1979, Nigeria would have learned from the ruinous civil war and a decade of military rule but no, the country just started making the same old mistakes all over again.

We have turned out to be like a bunch of stage clowns who bump their heads into the same heavy obstacles again and again because they are too stupid to remember what hit them only a short while ago. (p.76)

In my opinion this is a profoundly wrong way of thinking about politics. It is a commentator’s mindset, expecting that because series of events A took place which you, personally, disapproved of and learned from, that therefore everyone will have ‘learned’ from it and avoid repeating it. No.

But politics and political commentary are just the narcissistic froth bobbing on the deep slow-moving forces of geography, climate, agriculture, technology, social changes, the economy and the social realities stemming from them – such as widespread poverty, illiteracy, lack of housing, amenities, education, lack of experience working in factories (sounds trivial but cited by Paul Collier as a prime cause of poverty in the poorest countries) or of creating a civil life without universal corruption: the granular structures which actually make up a country, these are almost impossible to change.

Achebe professes himself disappointed because he thought that during the decades since Independence ‘an enlightened electorate’ would have come into being – by which he, like thousands of liberal commentators in countries round the world, meant an electorate who thinks like him.

But electorates around the world consistently don’t think like the tiny percentage of the population which enjoyed a liberal college education thinks they ought to think. Trump. Brexit. Erdoğan. Bolsonaro. Milei. The continuing success of authoritarian populists don’t prove that electorates are ‘wrong’ – all they do is highlight the gulf between liberal commentators and the populations and countries they claim to know about or speak for.

The chapter is the longest in the book because Achebe goes into some detail about political developments between the end of military rule / the advent of the second republic in 1979, and the time of writing i.e. 1983. This section assumes familiarity with leading figures in Nigerian politics and their careers to date which I didn’t have, so I struggled to follow it.

What it does convey to the outsider is the central importance of ethnicity or at least regional allegiance in Nigeria’s politics. He discusses figures like Dr Nnamdi Azikiwe and Chief Obafemi Awolowo entirely in terms of the ethnic groups they represented and promoted. There isn’t anywhere in this final section anything about these politicians’ economic or social policies. They don’t appear to have had any except to bring home the loot to their region, for ‘their’ people. Here’s a typical passage:

Professor Eyo Atik was an Efik, and the brutally unfair treatment offered him in Enugu did not go unremarked in Calabar. It contributed in no small measure to the suspicion of the majority Igbo by their minority neighbours in Eastern Nigeria – a suspicion which far less attractive politicians than Eyo Ita fanned to red-hot virulence, and from which the Igbo have continued to reap enmity to this day. (p.82)

See what I mean by not a hint of any actual policies, and how political figures are interpreted 100% in the context of their tribal allegiances? 1) Invoking tribalism i.e. getting your tribe to support you and vilifying opponents in terms of their tribal enmity, and 2) offering to bring home the bacon to your people i.e. divert profitable state funding, new roads, water, electricity, factories etc to your region – these remain the two easiest ways to drum up support among a largely illiterate electorate. They are the tried and tested routes to power and success, to personal wealth and prestige, so why on earth would any practical politician ignore them? University professors of literature like Chinua Achebe can write all the pamphlets they like but will ever change that.

Instead, people like Achebe are doomed to perpetual disappointment that ‘the people’ just don’t seem to be educated enough to share their enlightened point of view. But they never will be. This is the sentence of perpetual frustration which every intellectual in a mass democracy is condemned to. In old-fashioned Marxist terms, the bourgeois intellectual, depressed by his complete alienation from the masses, is stuck on the outside of the historical process, tutting and disapproving, and completely ineffectual because unattached to anything like a mass party which could actually change anything.

Contemporary Nigeria

Here’s the view of Africa scholar John Philips writing in Africa Studies Review in 2005:

Nigeria remains one of the most important and fascinating countries in Africa, with abundant human and material resources. If these could be harnessed effectively, Nigeria could easily become one of the most influential countries in the world. The country has played a leadership role in everything from the liberation of southern Africa to the formation of the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) and the African Union, and the attempted stabilization of Liberia and other states in the region.

The decline of Nigeria, although not as severe as the decline and even collapse of other states in Africa, has saddened all who love her and disheartened all who had hoped for great things from independent Africa. Today Nigeria is better known for the ‘scam spam’ that clutters up internet mailboxes around the world than for its great authors, musicians, and other creative people.

Massive investments in industry have failed to industrialise the country; the hope of post-Biafra, oil-boom Nigeria has given way to cynicism, corruption, and despair. The great religiosity of Nigerians has become less a call to righteousness than a reason to murder followers of other religions. Who can ponder Confucius’s famous statement that ‘the material prosperity of a country does not consist in material prosperity, but in righteousness’ without thinking of Nigeria? Understanding the decline, if not quite yet fall, of Nigeria is one of the most important tasks facing Africanist scholars today.

Here are responses from readers on Amazon (I know it’s not scholarly opinion, but they often come from people with a special interest in the subject i.e. actual Nigerians):

Although the book is relatively old (published 1983) it continues to be distressingly relevant to the actual Nigeria. Military dictators have disappeared (again) and been replaced by democratically-elected presidents (again), but this has had little effect on the basic problems identified by this book. The author says things that only a Nigerian could get away with – and says them well, as you would expect of Achebe.

it was written in 1983 but all the issues & failures he highlights are just as relevant in 2008.

Nigerians know all about the trouble but still cannot figure out a solution and Achebe tried to sketch a route past the troubles. But alas, it is no casual ‘trouble’, it is a deeply-seated neurosis. The sad reality is that even over 3 decades later not much has changed in Nigeria – if anything it has changed for the worse in some ways – despite the passing of leadership from the illegitimate military rulers to elected civilians. Nigeria’s ruling class treat the country as an all-you-can-eat buffet while unconnected citizens are viewed as destitute serfs outside the gates. (Chris Emeka, 2014)

Material facts

As anyone familiar with my blog knows I enjoy intellectual activity and products, art and literature, very much indeed, but my belief system is based on an atheistic materialist view of the world, on the bedrock of material facts, on the biological realities of the body, on the theory of evolution, on the unpleasant realities of humans’ complete reliance on a viable environment.

People’s opinions are as changeable as their moods, even the best commentator’s interpretation is based on partial understanding, whereas the material facts can be measured and recorded. I’m not necessarily saying they’re the most important aspects of life, but objective, material facts are generally the decisive ones.

For example, you can have the most poetic thoughts in the world but if someone cuts off your head with a machete that’s the end of them. You can write reams about your splendid homeland and its historic destiny, but it’s not your fancy words, it’s the availability of food, water and energy which will determine its future. Thus:

Although it was published in 1983, all the commentators point out that the issues Achebe addressed in 1983 still challenge Nigeria in 2023. The most tangible difference is that in 1983 Nigeria’s population was 80 million and now it’s nearly three times that, at 223 million. By 2050 the population is predicted to reach 400 million. If the trend isn’t stopped, it will exceed 728 million by 2100.

Given that much agricultural and coastal land is set to be lost to climate change and environmental degradation over the same period, it’s hard not to conclude that Nigeria’s future will be catastrophic.

John Oyefara, a professor of demography at the University of Lagos, is quoted as saying that unless this unprecedented population explosion is properly managed ‘there will be more crises, insurgency, poverty and insecurity.’ It’s difficult to detect the hand of Providence, history, high destiny or ‘mankind’s advancement’, of any of the windy highfalutin’ terms Achebe opened his essay with, in any of this.

Solutions

Achebe’s pamphlet is great fun, exuberantly written, eminently quotable and quite useless. Practical solutions can only be found in the complex economic and social analyses provided by the likes of:


Credit

The Trouble With Nigeria by Chinua Achebe was published in 1983 by The Fourth Dimension Publishing Company. References are to the 2010 Penguin Books paperback volume ‘An Image of Africa.’

Related links

  • The Trouble with Nigeria online [I can’t find an online version which is not only irritating but reprehensible. It’s a text of great public interest, surely it should be freely available]
  • 2006 interview with Achebe
  • Guardian Nigeria page

Chinua Achebe reviews

Africa reviews

A Good Man in Africa by William Boyd (1981)

It was a full time job getting your own back on the world, he reasoned; you couldn’t afford to weaken…

It made him sick, he hated every fucking one of them…

His scalp crawled with hatred…
(Morgan Leafy, the comic antihero of A Good Man in Africa, in characteristically misanthropic mode, on pages 51, 72 and 236)

This was Boyd’s first novel, published in 1981. Since then he’s gone on to write an enormous amount – 17 novels, five short story collections, three plays and an impressive 16 movie screenplays. His novels have been translated into 30 languages and he was awarded a CBE in 2005. This, ladies and gentlemen, is what success looks like for a British writer.

Public school

Like so many Brits who write about the British Empire, Boyd was born in a then-imperial colony (Gold Coast / Ghana) where he spent his boyhood before being packed off to one of the best public schools back in Blighty and so on to Oxbridge. Let’s just quote his Wikipedia article to get the facts out of the way:

Boyd was born in 1952 in Accra, capital of the Gold Coast, (present-day Ghana) to Scottish parents, both from Fife. His father – Alexander, a doctor specialising in tropical medicine – and mother – a teacher – moved to the Gold Coast in 1950 to run the health clinic at the University College of the Gold Coast, now the University of Ghana. In the early 1960s the family moved to western Nigeria, where Boyd’s father held a similar position at the University of Ibadan. Boyd spent his early life in Ghana and Nigeria but, at the age of nine, went to a preparatory school and then to Gordonstoun school in Scotland; after that, to the University of Nice in France, followed by the University of Glasgow (where he gained an M.A. in English and Philosophy) and finally Jesus College, Oxford.

A Good Man in Africa

A Good Man in Africa is a comedy, in the tradition of Kingsley Amis and the umpteen other British comic writers who specialise in novels about bumbling, fat, drunken, lecherous English plonkers. The book’s comic antihero, Morgan Leafy, is a fat (15 stone), bumbling drunk with a chip on his shoulder against the whole world, who gets into all kinds of comic scrapes.

Leafy works for the Foreign Office’s Diplomatic Corps and has been posted for nearly three years to a city called Nkongsamba, the only town of any size in a small state of a fictional West African country named Kinjanja, ‘a godforsaken, insignificant spot’ (p.27). All the serious embassies and consulates are in the capital, four hours’ drive away ‘on a deathtrap road’ (p.35).

Leafy is consumed by anger, hatred and vengeful thoughts against everyone. He dislikes his immediate boss at the British Deputy High Commission, the Deputy High Commissioner Arthur Fanshawe (I think Deputy High Commission indicates that it’s not the main High Commission, which is off in the capital), and absolutely loathes his immediate junior, Secondary Secretary Richard ‘Dickie’ Dalmire. The latter because he has enjoyed all the advantages in life which Leafy didn’t, namely: public school, Oxford, owns a property in the UK (inherited), was given a place abroad immediately after passing the Foreign Office exams, unlike Leafy who had to repeatedly retake the exams, eventually only scraping through, and then being allotted a godawful job in Kingsway.

The novel opens with Leafy’s resentful anger reaching nuclear proportions, because his enemy, ‘Dickie’ Dalmire, has just popped into his office to casually tell him that he, Dalmire, is engaged to the lovely Priscilla, daughter of their boss, Fanshawe. Leafy had taken Priscilla out a few times and thought he was still in a chance for her hand, so his resentment and jealousy goes off the scale. While trying to appear calm during the conversation, he imagines a nuclear bomb falling on Nkongsamba and incinerating everyone (p.19). He even hates the sun because all the other Brits develop lovely, even tans, but the tropical sun just brings Leafy out in thousands of disjointed freckles and a rash (p.19).

Date

At one point Leafy says his widow’s peak risks making him look like one of those ‘demented American marines, currently wasting the inhabitants of South-East Asia’ (p.43); later he picks up a magazine at the airport which contains photos of GIs in Vietnam (p.96) and mentions how the Americans are tied up in Vietnam (p.184). Now, since the last American soldier left Vietnam in March 1973 the novel must be set before then, in the early 1970s (?)

Cast

Page references are either to where a character first appears or, more often, to a page with a good first description.

  • Morgan Leafy, First Secretary at the High Commission in Nkongsamba, comic antihero, failure, inadequate, seething with anger and frustration at the endless humiliations he seems to be subjected to – ‘scathing misanthropy’ (p.19), ‘selfish, fat and misanthropic’ (p.66)
  • Richard ‘Dickie’ Dalmire, his junior at the High Commission, mid-twenties (p.51)
  • Deputy High Commissioner Arthur Fanshawe (p.29)
  • Priscilla Fanshawe, the Deputy High Commissioner’s attractive daughter (p.32), first impressions (p.98), Leafy is obsessed with her magnificent pert breasts which compensate for her ‘ski lift nose’
  • Denzil Jones, the (Welsh) Commission accountant, shiny fat face, pale sickly wife and two pale sickly kids, Gareth and Bronwyn (p.52)
  • Dr Alex Murray, Head of the Nkongsamba University Health Service and physician to the Commission (pages 47 and 58)
  • Sam Adekunle, Professor of Economics and Business Management at the University of Nkongsamba, and leading figure in the Kinjanjan National Party (KNP), a big man given to wearing traditional costume, perfect English tinged with American from Harvard Business School (p.56) owner of muttonchop whiskers (p.116), beefy, he looks like an African Henry VIII
  • Kojo, Leafy’s secretary/assistant, a small Roman Catholic with three children (p.23)
  • Peter, Commission driver
  • Mrs Bryce, wife of a geologist at the university who acts as Fanshawe’s secretary
  • Chloe Fanshawe, wife of the Deputy High Commissioner
  • Moses, one of Leafy’s two servants, his ‘aged cook’ (p.63)
  • Friday, Leafy’s servant (p.35) from Dahomey (modern-day Benin), early 20s, speaks French and erratic English (p.50), ‘hopelessly inept’ (p.64)
  • Hazel, Leafy’s Black mistress (p.39)
  • Selim, the Lebanese boutique owner who Leafy rents a very basic flat from as accommodation for his mistress, Hazel (p.38)
  • Geraldine Jones, friend of Priscilla Fanshawe (p.53)
  • Innocence, Fanshawe’s servant who is killed by a freak bolt of lightning
  • Isaac, Commission’s doorman and general factotum (p.73) involved in the Innocence fiasco
  • Lee Wan, Malay, now a naturalised British citizen and bar buddy of Leafy’s (p.87)
  • Femi Robinson, angry little Marxist and representative of the People’s Party of Kinjanja (p.113)
  • Chief Mabegun, governor of the state and head of the local branch of the United Party of Kinjanjan People, the party in government (p.113)
  • Celia Adekunle, Sam’s sullen wife (p.114)

Leafy overflows with inappropriate thoughts: he’s continually wondering what people look like when they have sex. Or fantasising about a nuclear bomb falling on Nkongsamba and incinerating everyone. When the Deputy High Commissioner’s wife calls, announcing herself as Chloe, Leafy is momentarily at a loss placing her:

The mental lapse came about because Morgan never thought of her as Chloe, and only seldom as Mrs Fanshawe. Usually the kindest epithets were the Fat Bitch or the Old Bag. (p.24)

Or his feelings for his boss:

He found it hard to fix or even identify his feelings about Fanshawe: they wavered between the three poles of nostril-wrinkling contempt, total indifference and temple-throbbing irritation… (p.27)

You can see how the comedy is based on the principle of exorbitance, defined as: ‘excessiveness, a situation when there’s an unreasonable amount of something, or when a person acts outrageously’ – the excessiveness being Leafy’s continual, overdriven anger and irritation at everyone and everything.

  • Morgan agreed, thinking: the conniving covert little bastard. (p.32)
  • The stupid mad shit, he thought wrathfully (p.67)
  • Fine, Morgan thought blackly, well, you can stick your advice up your tight Scottish arse… (p.95)
  • What in hell’s name, he asked himself, was the old goat bleating on about? (p.101)
  • … thinking that Fanshawe was a stupid, meddling old berk (p.115)
  • Shut up you stupid Welsh git, Leafy swore under his breath (p.117)
  • That stupid old fool Fanshawe, he railed to himself… (p.143)
  • Bloody rude black bastard, Morgan seethed to himself… (p.143)

Mind you, the universal rage this kind of personality vents at everybody is often rooted in anger and disappointment against themselves and Leafy is just as prolific with self-hatred:

  • Why did he have to sound so cretinous, he wondered. (p.30)
  • Why did Murray bring out the arsehole in him? (p.48)
  • It [Murray’s voice] made Morgan feel a fool, cretinous. (p.80)
  • He felt a complete fool… (p.94)
  • He felt ashamed at his ineptitude, his clumsy inability… He shook his head in despair… He gritted his teeth with shame and embarrassment… (p.117)
  • He had been made to look a complete fool (p.144)

According to Freud depression is a kind of anger against the self for failing to live up to the impossibly demanding ideals of the superego set for us by our superegos. Leafy seems a textbook example.

He’d handled everything so badly, misjudged and miscalculated all round. Par for the course, he thought cynically, no point in breaking the pattern. (p.82)

He is either seething with out-of-control rage against everyone else (‘he fumed inwardly’, p.29), or redirecting that rage against himself, triggering inconsolable depression, a leaden moroseness:

  • He stared morosely at the dragon-patterned rugs on the Fanshawes’ floor (p.30)
  • Morgan walked morosely back to the Commission (p.34)

He is constantly telling himself to calm down and get a grip. In one way the novel is a series of incidents strung on a spectrum between Rage and Calm. It records the hopeless quest for calm by an irredeemably angry man.

Morgan could hardly breathe from the effort he was making to stay calm. (p.149)

Physicality

About half way through the book I realised that what makes Boyd’s antihero stand out in a crowded field of British comic antiheroes is that he not only makes a fool of himself and overflows with frustrated anger, it’s the physicality of his responses, an almost continual heart attack-level of strangulation and collapse:

  • He could feel huge sobs of frustration and despair building up in his chest, crushing his lungs against his rib cage, making it increasingly hard to breathe. (p.150)
  • Panic fluttered for a moment in his belly like a trapped bird. (p.155)
  • The familiar suffocating feeling established itself in Morgan’s chest; it was like having your lungs stuffed with cotton wool. (p.156)
  • He felt his head was about to explode (p.159)

Maybe it’s just me but at various moments I, the reader, had sympathetic physical twinges, I felt premonitions of the same physical sensations Morgan experiences, so convincing and compelling does the fever-wracked character become. For example here he is having just read about the symptoms of gonorrhoea:

Morgan closed the book and thought he could actually hear blood draining from his face. He leant against a nearby wall and felt a tremor of blind fear run through his body. (p.168)

In fact it sometimes feels like you’re reading a kind of encyclopedia of stress symptoms, an extraordinarily imaginative and vivid variety of ways of expressing the physical symptoms of stress and rage and frustration.

Doing the wrong thing

Leafy has a talent for doing the wrong thing. In this respect he comes from a long line of comically bumbling English nincompoops. For some reason the figure of gauche young Ian Carmichael in countless 1950s movies comes to mind, but a closer analogy would be hapless Henry Wilt from Tom Sharpe’s series of novels about him, or any number of raging boobies from the comic fiction of Evelyn Waugh, Kingsley Amis, Lesley Thomas, David Lodge or Howard Jacobson.

For example, when he sees a deeply mad derelict standing at a busy road junction, shuffling and dancing, he suddenly feels an overwhelming identification with the man and, on impulse, gives him a pound note … which the madman proceeds to scrunch up and eat (p.18).

Or the time he took Priscilla home to her parent’s house and, noticing a grand gong in the corner of the living room, a relic of Fanshawe’s time in the Far East, impulsively hit it with the padded gong beater while mimicking the grand movie voiceover: ‘J. Arthur Rank presents…’ to be greeted with complete silence from Priscilla’s appalled parents (p.28).

He realises this about himself; he is self aware

Murray – like young Dalmire – was simply a handy scapegoat, a useful objective correlative for his own stupid mistakes, his fervent pursuit of the cock-up, the banal farce he was so industriously trying to turn his life into. (p.16)

No wonder, then, that he needs his Black mistress, Hazel, to shore up what’s left of ‘his tottering ego’ (p.39), despite the strong sense that she’s the one exploiting him. It is entirely characteristic that when he has sex with Hazel, he struggles to keep a ‘flagging erection’ (p.41). He’s pretty sure she left her two illegitimate children back in the village to become a prostitute in the big city. He strongly suspects she’s using the flat he’s renting for her to sleep with other men. But, damn! she arouses him instantly and happily has straightforward, uncomplicated sex. But the reader already senses the potential for humiliation if word gets round the pompous, pukka Commission that he has a paid African mistress.

And so his standard behaviour is muttering threateningly but impotently at everyone in his life, seething inwardly, physically shaken by anger, hatred and mortification.

The novel is cast in three parts:

Part 1 (pages 11 to 83)

It’s one of those comic novels which is packed with incident – from Leafy’s point of view, embarrassing humiliating incidents – but which has certain basic plotlines.

Adekunle blackmail

Most important is that he is being blackmailed by Professor Chief Sam Adekunle, head of the Kinjanjan National Party (KNP). The Chief studied at Harvard Business School and is a smooth operator. He is blackmailing Leafy by threatening to report to all and sundry that he has a Black mistress who was formerly a prostitute. In return, at the end of Part One, Adenkunle reveals that he wants Leafy to cosy up to the starchy Dr Murray and, when the time is right, offer him a huge bribe, because…

Adekunle has bought a plot of land on which the city university is planning to build a massive extension of its campus (a hall and cafeteria, p.230). He aims to sell it to the university for hundreds of thousands of pounds. Murray is chair of the Building Committee who need to sign off on the deal. But the conscientious Murray has rooted around in the civil planning department and discovered that the plot of land right next to Adekunle’s has been scheduled to become the city dump, and what a giant festering, poisonous dump it will become! So – Adekunle wants Leafy to cosy up to Murray and, when the time is right, offer him a whopping £10,000 to suppress his knowledge about the dump and sign off on the land sale.

Getting Priscilla back

The novel opens with the scene in which Dickie Dalmire swankily tells Leafy that he’s engaged to the gorgeous Priscilla, who Leafy used to go out with and who he had sex with on one glorious, never-to-be-forgotten occasion. But this just triggers a determination in Leafy to, in some specified way, get Priscilla back, seduce her away from Dalmire, rub his nose in it – all part of Leafy’s manic determination to get his revenge on the entire world. But you can see how Leafy’s sweaty obsession with Priscilla, and his determination on all occasions to remind her of their one night of passion a) provides a continuous running comic theme and b) promises disaster.

Father Christmas

Christmas is coming and Leafy finds himself bullied into playing Father Christmas for the local kiddies by the not-to-be-denied Chloe Fanshawe, imposing wife of his boss. This plays to the common comic trope of the man overflowing with homicidal rage forced to play nicely-nicely to a bunch of screaming kids and, inevitably, blowing his top.

Royal visit

In this kind of ‘Brits abroad’ fiction there’s often a visit by an official from back in Britain, in which everyone has to be on their best behaviour and which, of course, turns into a disastrous fiasco. Compare and contrast the visit by the Defence Secretary to the Hong Kong army barracks in Lesley Thomas’s ‘Onward Virgin Soldiers’ (1971).

In this story, it is the visit of the Duchess of Ripon, third cousin twice removed the Queen (p.103). The fact that she’s not that eminent a royal is itself comic bathos, deflating.

Election

And then there is going to be a general election, in which Chief Sam Adekunle, head of the Kinjanjan National Party (KNP), is standing.

Mother-in-law

Chloe Fanshawe, wife of Leafy’s boss, is not technically Leafy’s mother-in-law but is the butt of mother-in-law tropes i.e. Leafy instinctively hates her and she despises him. This animosity is demonstrated in his fascination with her anatomy, and especially her prodigious embonpoint. Finding mature women’s bodily shapes funny is, I imagine, nowadays effectively banned. Not so back in 1981.

Mrs Fanshawe had risen to her feet and was belting her dressing gown tightly about her waist, thereby crudely accentuating the body-forms which bulked beneath the candlewick shroud. Morgan inwardly remarked on the prodigious humps that defined her chest and how, curiously, they wobbled transversely as she marched over to her husband. (p.70)

And description of her ‘huge bosom’ (p.29).

So in part one we are introduced to all the key characters, the diplomats ‘at work’ i.e. bantering in their offices, or pretending to chummy at ‘the club’, Leafy’s beloved Priscilla, his mistress Hazel, Sam Adekunle and the blackmail plan.

Part one ends on a bizarre note with an extended sequence where Leafy is woken up after he’s gone to bed and requested by his boss to come over to their house where their maid, Innocence, has been killed by a freak bolt of lightning in a heavy storm. Fanshawe orders him to sort it out and then goes back to bed (the sanctimonious, middle-class bastard, thinks Leafy). This turns into a nightmare because none of the Black servants or staff will touch the body out of fear of the lightning god, Shango. Not even the Black undertakers will remove the body. Only the family can hire a voodoo priest to perform a ritual to cleanse the body, but that costs up to £60 if you throw in the funeral and entertainment costs. Innocence’s daughter doesn’t have that kind of money.

Then Leafy has a brainwave: Dr Murray and his team and the University Clinic. But when he phones Murray the call goes disastrously wrong: Murray refuses point blank to come out or have any of his team touch the body, since university and Commission rules insist they only treat Commission staff. Leafy has been up all night suffering successive setbacks in this stupid bloody task and finally loses it, effing and blinding at Murray who slams the phone down. At which point Leafy realises he has incredibly pissed off the one man he’s meant to be chumming up to and so has, once again, shot himself in the foot, so his chagrin, rage and self-hatred go off the scale.

He threw back his head and bared his teeth in a silent scream of pent-up anger, frustration and hostility at the universe. (p.81)

Slowly Leafy is overcome by a passionate desire to bribe Murray, to take him down a peg or two, to tarnish his saintly self-image, and so he coldly sets himself on revenge. To the reader, this seems a catastrophically bad conclusion to draw, but with immense comic potential.

Part 2 (pages 87 to 206)

Part 2 opens with a surprise – it jumps back in time to 2 or 3 months earlier, to September of the same year when the Fanshawes arrive back from their summer break with their daughter Priscilla. We see Fanshawe very excited about the upcoming national elections and the face that Adekunle, a big cheese in the Kinjanjan National Party (KNP) happens to live in the same town. The point is it’s an opportunity for Fanshawe to cosy up to the people likely to win the election and influence them towards British interests i.e. an opportunity for some real diplomatic work. Fanshawe hopes this brilliant achievement will earn him a better posting as his career comes to an end.

Fanshawe asks leafy to squire Priscilla

As a side note he explicitly asks Leafy if he could take his daughter Priscilla out, as she is feeling low on the rebound from being jilted by a pukka fiancé.

Leafy meets Dr Murray

We also watch the scene where Leafy first introduces himself to Dr Murray, bullying reception, refusing to see the other (coloured) physicians, trying to pull rank, sweaty and smelling of booze – you can see why the tidy, sober, rule-following Dr Murray would despise him.

Leafy snogs Priscilla

Then excruciatingly funny descriptions of his attempts to seduce the emotionally vulnerable Priscilla, lying that he went to a (minor) public school, lying about his dad’s profession, even saying yah instead of yes, to try and raise himself to her posh social stratum.

Cocktail party and film

Fanshawe rather absurdly names the plan to cosy up to Adekunle Project Kingpin. Leafy organises a cocktail party for local notables and we are introduced to Femi Robinson, angry little Marxist and representative of the People’s Party of Kinjanja, and Chief Mabegun, governor of the state and head of the local branch of the United Party of Kinjanjan People, the party in government. The cocktail party is a fiasco for Leafy who can’t cope with Adekunle’s suave sophistication and ends up looking like an idiot following him round the room. At one point Leafy passes on to him Fanshawe’s offer of first class flights to London and a room at Claridge’s but, to Morgan’s horror, Adekunle merely bursts out laughing at the crassness of this offer, as if it was still the days when the natives could be overawed with the offer of a trip to London (p.142). Even when the film projector gets going showing the new film about the Royal Family, Leafy finds himself still standing blocking everyone’s view, feeling yet again, chagrined with humiliation.

(Incidentally, if this is the famous film about the Royal Family directed by Richard Cawston, it was first shown in 1969. Is that the date of the events described in the novel? That would explain all the Vietnam references. And why, when the Black radical turns up to confront Leafy, he does so wearing a black leather jacket, black glasses and Afro, ‘every inch the black power activist’, p.215.)

Fishing trip

Priscilla is irritated that Morgan ignored her at the cocktail party-film show so to make up he takes her on a fishing trip to the river Olokomeji which is, of course, a fiasco, because Morgan inadvertently catches a huge fish which he has to bash against a rock so many times to kill it that it’s reduced to a pulp and he is covered with blood and scales. At which point he tries to seduce Priscilla, telling her he loves her, and she, very understandably, freezes up and asks him not to. He drives her home, she announces she’s going to stay with an American diplomatic family, the Wagners.

Leafy drives on to the hotel where his Black lover, Hazel, stays but she hasn’t been home. Which is when he decides to instal her in a flat.

Adekunle’s birthday party

Leafy is invited by Adekunle’s bored white wife, Celia, to Adekunle’s birthday party at the Hotel de Executive. He bumps into the German businessman and attaché George Muller who briefs him about Adekunles’s business interests and makes Leafy (and the reader) realise what an ignoramus Leafy is: he knows nothing not only about Adekunle, but about the ethnic, religious and political make-up of the state he’s living in. When Leafy makes what he thinks is a subtle approach he is disconcerted that Adekunle bursts into laughter, and says he’s already been approached by America, France and West Germany. Thoroughly humiliated, he rushes to see Hazel at her seedy hotel, and has sex so vigorously he makes his penis sore. At least he thinks that’s the cause. The reader realises he’s picked up a sexually transmitted infection. The comic potential is that he gives it to someone (Priscilla)?

Murray’s clinic

Only when his servant Friday says he’s stopped washing Morgan’s pants because they are soiled with a nauseating discharge is Morgan horrified into making an emergency appointment with Dr Murray, a classic example of the anxious-man-having-penis-examined trope.

Club party

The horribly provincial club dance night with dreadful jazz or loud rock music. Morgan takes Priscilla who is duly disappointed. But in the car there and on the dancefloor she had been surprisingly kissable and biddable. Morgan thinks tonight is the night he’s going to bed her. Until he bumps into Dr Murray in the corridor to the lavatories, who informs him, in a confidential whisper, that he has gonorrhoea. It is a very funny moment when, a few minutes later, Priscilla returns from her trip to the loo and remarks that Morgan is looking very red. Does he feel alright?

Humiliation with Priscilla

There follows an agonisingly embarrassing scene in which drunk Priscilla insists on being taken back to Leafy’s flat, kisses, grabs him, starts stripping off in the darkened living room, drunkenly preparing for an orgy, while Leafy comes up with a flurry of implausible excuses before he’s driven to leap up and turn the main lights on. At which point, Priscilla, seeing her state, stalks off to the bathroom to get dressed then insists on being driven home in silence. When Leafy tries to make excuses she delivers a speech describing him as a pitiful worm. Driving home, then in bed alone, his chagrin and frustration knows no bounds.

More Murray

Opens with a very funny scene of Leafy consulting a medical encyclopedia in the university library and nearly fainting as he reads about the horrifying complications of gonorrhoea. Then onto a formal consultation with Murray who confirms the diagnosis but says all it requires will be two injections with penicillin and total abstinence from sex and alcohol for four weeks. And inform all your sexual partners. When he tells his Black mistress, she admits to having three other part-time lovers.

Dickie Dalmire arrives

Leafy is at the airport to greet the ‘new man’ sent out to the Commission, and take him for lunch at the Fanshawes’ (his new boss) where, Leafy is chagrined, as usual, to see Dalmire’s pukka public school confidence putting him instantly at home with Arthur, Chloe and Priscilla in a way grammar school, suburban Leafy never achieved in three years.

Adekunle stuns Fanshawe by accepting the offer of a visit to Britain but demanding a) two weeks at Claridge’s b) an official reception at the airport c) open-ended return tickets for two. Fanshawe is dumbfounded at the reversal of the power dynamic, with the Black man now setting the terms. Trouble is more and more oil deposits are being discovered in the country and HM govt want the new Kinjanja govt to give Britain preferential treatment. Adekunle’s party aren’t a dead cert to win the upcoming election, but are the favourites.

Celia

Morgan gets accustomed to meeting Celia Adekunle almost every morning at ‘the club’ for swimming and sunbathing. She’s hard and cynical and small and bony, not at all his type, yet they have an instant rapport. She admits hers is an empty token marriage. She’d run away if she could.

Hazel’s flat

Leafy hires the seedy shabby flat where we find Hazel ensconced in part one.

Celia

Morgan and Celia are now driving to rendezvous in the country and having lovely carefree sex. They stop for a drink at a bar on the way back into town and she persuades him to come back to the house – her husband’s away and she dismisses the servant and sex in a proper bed takes on a whole new dimension.

Caught

Outside Celia’s house, fumbling for his car keys, Leafy is terrified to be buttonholed by Adekunle who proceeds to tell him he knows all about his affair with his wife, and about his Black woman in town (Hazel). Would he like his boss to find out about this, how Morgan has screwed up Fanshawe’s precious Kingpin project? No. Therefore Leafy is going to do everything Adekunle tells him to, right? Fearing he may pass out with terror or throw up, Leafy agrees and is amazed when the upshot of all this terrifying is imply that…Adekunle wants Leafy to become friends with Dr Murray. Oh and end the affair with his wife, without letting her know that Adekunle knows about it.

The engagement

The short scene ending part two turns out to lead directly into the opening of part one. It’s where Dalmire pops into the office of a Leafy who has turned into a depressed recluse, drinking heavily to compensate for the abrupt ending of the affair with Celia, and announces that he’s just got engaged to Priscilla.

This is very clever. The opening of the book put me off a bit because I didn’t understand what was going on. But anyone who persists this far, to page 204, now has an infinitely deeper grasp of the events which lay behind Leafy’s desperate, raging emotions, the way the entire universe is conspiring to frustrate his every wish and desire.

In fact it would be tempting to reread all of part one in the light of the extensive and thorough backgrounding part two gives you, to read it a second time with a much deeper understanding of all its resonances and meanings.

Part 3 (pages 209 to 312)

Part 3 opens exactly where part 1 ended, with Leafy weeping tears of frustration at the refusal of all the Black servants or public services to remove the body of Innocence, struck dead by lightning. In other words, part 2 might at one stage originally been the opening and first hundred pages of the novel but Boyd or someone had the bright idea of lifting and shifting it completely to become part 2, changing what was originally the next section, part 2, into part 2. So the narrative starts in media res (‘in the middle of things’) as the critics of ancient Greece and Rome recommended. The effect is to cleverly create all kinds of unexpected resonances and explanations. Very artful, very clever.

Leafy’s ignorance

Alongside Leafy’s overactive sex drive, his alcoholism and his shambling ineptitude goes a stunning ignorance of almost every aspect of the country he’s working in and the people he’s supposed to be studying. So, for example, he knew nothing about Adekunle’s business interests until the German, Georg Muller, told him, and various other characters tell him that this or that piece of information is ‘common knowledge’, all of which come as complete news to dim Leafy.

I suddenly realised how important this is when the Marxist leader Femi Robinson comes to see him to protest about newspaper photos of Adekunle being greeted by Foreign Office officials in London. He’s protesting because these photos give the impression that London is supporting Adekunle’s party, the KNP, in the soon-to-be-held elections. But it’s not just that which is a problem. The real issue is that this support from the old imperial power will discredit the KNP in the eyes of the army who are already disgusted with the corruption of the ruling party. There have already been small army mutinies. The risk is that the army will step in and stage a coup. Leafy asks, ‘Are you sure?’ Robinson replies: ‘Everybody knows it,’ (p.217) except, of course, dim Leafy (and, to be fair, his equally dithering boss, Fanshawe).

In this final act, Leafy’s universal ignorance has serious consequences.

Christmas fitting

To Leafy’s surprise, Mrs Fanshawe takes him upstairs to the attic but it turns out to be to try on a boilersuit she’s dyed red as part of the Father Christmas outfit she’s making up for him. She briskly tells him to strip down to his undies to try it on but when he hands it back turns a funny colour, makes excuses and rushes off. Odd, thinks Leafy, till he looks down and sees his penis has flopped out of the slit in his boxer shorts. For some reason this sexual embarrassment reminds me of the endless humiliations suffered by the Ben Miller character in the TV series ‘The Worst Week of my Life’.

It’s now the day before Christmas Eve and Leafy has two massive problems. Adekunle simply won’t accept that Leafy’s fallen out with Murray and insists, if he doesn’t want his career ruined, that he offer him the bribe. And the body of Innocence is still lying on a bench in the servants’ quarters of the Commission steadily decomposing because no Africans will touch it till the juju priest has performed his ceremony, with his boss Fanshawe becoming apoplectic that it be removed before the bloody Duchess of Ripon arrives for her two-day visit the next day.

So Leafy bullies his servant Friday into joining him at 3am to secretly carry the rotting putrid corpse to his car. Half way through a white ghost appears in the nearby trees but an unimpressed Leafy rugby tackles him only to discover he’s the poet sent by the British Council, one Greg Bilbow from Yorkshire. Leafy tells him to wait, goes back and he and Friday drag the corpse the last few yards to his car and heave it into the boot. Then he drives Friday back to his house and Bilbow back to his (Leafy’s) apartment where he’s promised to put him up. It has just turned Christmas Day.

Tribulations

He is astonished to get a call from a livid Fanshawe. Turns out when the Commission’s staff found the body of Innocence gone, they went on strike. Obviously this is a disaster what with the Duchess about to arrive, let alone the following day when there’s a massive party scheduled for 200 local dignitaries. Leafy must smuggle Innocence’s rotting body back to where it was.

He’s barely coping with this information before he has to dress up as Father Christmas and dole out presents to the kiddies at the Commission’s Christmas party. The Duchess has arrived and watches him entertain the kiddywinks.

Returning Innocence

After surviving the Father Christmas ordeal, Leafy spends the rest of the evening getting completely pissed at the Commission bar, dressed as Santa, the butt of many jokes. It’s here that a way of solving the Innocence problem comes to him. So it is that, sometime after midnight, utterly hammered, Leafy drives round to the staff accommodation, pours petrol all over the rubbish dump, lights it with a great whoomph of flame in his own face, then runs back to the car. As all the servants wake and run to tackle the fire and so are distracted, Leafy then drives further round the accommodation block, opens the boot, yanks the rotting corpse of Innocence back to more or less where he found it, leaps back into the car and drives round the perimeter road back to the Commission.

The duchess in the bathroom

He imagines the bathroom will be empty at this time of night so slips inside with a view to cleaning up. He is stunned when he sees his own reflection in the mirror, his face blackened with the flames, one eyebrow burned off, his face lined with the white tracks of his tears. But not as stunned as when he hears footsteps coming up the hallway and, to cut a long story short, it turns out that he’s using the bathroom assigned to the Duchess of Ripon. Leafy hurriedly hides in the shower but can’t help overhearing as the Duchess strips off, has a hearty dump, then whisks the shower curtain back to reveal…a mad burned Santa! Stunned into immobility, the Duchess watches as Bad Santa climbs out of the bath, opens the bathroom window and climbs out. Laughing manically, he scampers across the grass to his car, drives back to the apartment where the Yorkshire poet takes the mickey out of his ridiculous appearance, washes his burned face and collapses into bed.

The golf tournament

The Commission are hosting a golf tournament. Leafy had asked Adekunle to work behind the scenes and get him paired with Murray so he can make his move. But, to his dismay, as they stroll and chat round the course, Leafy discovers that he likes Murray.

Finally he nerves himself to make his pitch and offers Murray the £10,000 bribe. Leafy handles it in a characteristically cack-handed way, and ends up telling Murray everything about Adekunle, that he owns the land the new buildings would be built on etc and how he’s been blackmailed into making the bribe. Murray says no to the bribe and that he must report it. Leafy reaches the end of his tether and physically collapses and passes out.

When he comes round, Murray is concerned and says OK he won’t report him, but the answer is still no. He’s recommending the Committee reject the application simply because he doesn’t want corrupt operators like Adekunle to win. Leafy gives up. It’s all over. Adekunle will tell Fanshawe about his shame, his career will be over, he might as well book his flight back to London now.

Hazel’s

Once he can walk, Leafy drives to Hazel’s and holes up there for days, including during the important general election. He periodically phones his apartment where the affable Yorkshire poet tells him Adekunle has been trying to contact him for days. Eventually Adekunle tracks him down to Hazel’s and tells him he has changed his mind and doesn’t want him to offer Murray the bribe after all! What!?

Innocence solution

Convinced he’s going to be sacked, in a new mood of fatalistic resignation, Leafy tells the servants protecting Innocence’s now-restored corpse that he’ll pay for the priest and the funeral. The price goes up to £80 but Leafy doesn’t begrudge it. What the hell. His career is shot. His time here is over.

Election victory

When Adekunle rang Leafy he sounded happy and generous because the votes are in and his party, the KNP, has won a majority. They will be the new government. Adekunle invites Leafy to the victory party. As he leaves for it, his man Friday tells him to avoid the town tomorrow as ‘the soldiers will come’. He repeats the motif: ‘Everybody knows’. Everybody except Leafy, that is.

Adekunle’s victory party

Adekunle explains that he was constantly phoning Leafy in order to tell him not to offer Murray the bribe. Turns out that Adekunle has made a contact within the planning department and has made sure that, even if Murray signs off a negative report, it will be ‘lost’ by his (Adekunle’s) contact and never registered. So all the heartaching and the humiliation of offering Murray the bribe was for nothing. Leafy is gutted.

Celia

Leafy drinks himself silly all evening, eventually staggering upstairs to the loo to throw up. When he’s quite finished, he grabs a random toothbrush to clean his teeth. He’s barely staggered out onto the landing before Celia pounces and drags him into a spare bedroom. Here it becomes clear that she’s decided to leave Adekunle but needs him to get her a British visa. In a flash Leafy realises she’s been using him, the entire affair was to seduce him into providing the visa. One more delusion, one more bitter let-down. He is heartbroken and just walks away, leaving Celia still crying for his help.

The siege

But something massive is about to happen, a massively violent event which forms the climax of the book.

On his way to Adekunle’s house Leafy had seen the wizened old Marxist Femi Robinson clutching a load of placards on his way to a student sit-in and protest at the university administration buildings. With typical lack of tact and awareness Leafy had mentioned that he and Fanshawe and other officials would all be at Adekunle’s party which was by way of being a victory party. Well, we know that Robinson considered all the press photos in the papers of Adekunle being greeted by top officials on his recent trip to London had been a conscious attempt by Britain to influence the election which, in the event, Adekunle and his KNP had won.

Now, completely unexpectedly, Robinson brings a contingent of protesting students from the main building over to Adekunle’s grand home. Adekunle had invited important dignitaries, the Kinjanjan press and had planned to make a grand victory speech. Instead he finds his house surrounded by furious students throwing stones and bricks and, most incongruous of all, chanting ‘FAN-SHAWE FAN-SHAWE.’ This is because Leafy had incautiously told Robinson that Fanshawe was the brains behind Adekunle’s visit to London, and that Fanshawe would be at Adekunle’s party – and also because it’s easier to chant than Robinson’s long doctrinaire slogans (which he nonetheless valiantly yells through a loudhailer).

Luckily, Adekunle’s place is protected by a tough security fence, but the protesters are still managing to lob bricks and stones with accuracy through the windows and the guests are taking cover behind makeshift barricades of furniture. In this highly stressed situation, both Fanshawe and Adekunle turn to Leafy to do something and, surprisingly, Leafy comes up with a plan! This is to pretend to be Fanshawe and make an escape to distract the protesters.

So he and Fanshawe swaps clothes, the idea being he’ll run for the Commission’s distinctive official car dressed as Fanshawe, get Adekunle’s (reluctant) security people to open the front gate as he drives through it at top speed and so distract them. At which point tubby old Chloe Fanshawe, the Deputy Commissioner’s wife volunteers to come with him. As soon as she does that I knew they were going to have sex.

Freud somewhere says the traditional dislike between son and mother-in-law is actually a taboo designed to prevent its opposite, which is inappropriate sexual attraction between these roles. This had been palpable ever since we first met her and Leafy combined a detailed description of her physique with wonder at the tension and dislike between them.

The escape

It all goes to plan. Leafy-dressed-as-Fanshawe makes a break through the hail of stone for the car, hand in hand with the distinctive, party-dress-wearing and very plump Mrs Fanshawe. they jump in, drive at the gates which Adekunle’s security men open at the last minute, race through as protesters throw themselves out the way, then charge after them still throwing stones. There’s a hairy moment when the car careers into a shallow ditch and won’t move as the protesters come charging at them but this just makes the distraction tactic more successful, as the back wheels finally get traction and it roars free.

The riot police

But Leafy and Chloe’s night is far from finished because the authorities have called in the riot police to deal with the student protests and things have turned really nasty. The admin block of the university looks like a warzone with windows shattered, groups of burning cars, and row upon row of helmeted, shielded riot police approaching the building and firing rifles at the students throwing bricks, stones and office equipment at them from the windows, the whole scene drenched in stifling teargas. All this is blocking the main road out of the campus. Leafy and Chloe can get no further in the car and have gotten out to try and sneak round the warzone on foot.

A Murray moment

On the way there, still in the car, leafy had spotted a solitary figure standing by the road and screeched to a halt. It’s Dr Murray. He gives more detail about the extent of the rioting. Leafy offers him a lift. Murray says no, he’s waiting for the university ambulance to come pick him up then will be treating the injured. Leafy lingers unnecessarily because he wants, somehow, to express the complicated feelings he’s come to have for Murray, who’s gone from figure of unmitigated hatred to someone who was kind to him (when he fainted on the golf course) and whose integrity he’s come to respect. The best he can do is warn him that Adekunle has dropped the bribe offer because he has a contact in the building office who will ‘lose’ Murray’s report, so Leafy warns him to make copies and distribute them widely. Murray thanks him, there’s an awkward pause, then our man jumps back in the car and heads off with Mrs F.

(It’s worth remembering that Boyd’s own father was Scottish and served as head of the health clinic at the University College of the Gold Coast. Is this a portrait of his father, strict, stern and worthy of respect? A filial compliment?)

Escape from the campus

Long story short, Leafy and Chloe manage to escape the campus but not before having a very hairy moment when they set off running across open ground and a detachment of riot police spot them and chase them, firing their guns at them, Leafy hearing the bullets whining past his head. I thought at this point that maybe Chloe would be shot and injured, certainly this all feels too serious for them just to get away. It’s not funny any more.

But they do get away, just, running through the maze of back alleys and gardens of the university’s residential quarter until the police have obviously given up chasing. Exhausted, filthy, bleeding from wounds caused by stones and thorny bushes, they find the perimeter fence and climb it, emerging on a normal road not far from a normal cheap bar. Here Leafy offers the owner £10 if he’ll drive them out of there.

Empty Commission

When the taxi driver brings them to the Commission, Leafy and Chloe find it locked up but a note from Fanshawe saying a) the guests escaped from Adekunle’s b) Fanshawe has accompanied the daughter, Priscilla, and Dalmire into town, to the airport, where the young couple had been planning to go on holiday anyway, c) that Denzil Jones has offered Chloe accommodation for the night.

At Leafy’s

Chloe asks if she can come back to Leafy’s house to clean up so he gets the waiting taxi driver to take them there, and pays him his £10. She has a bath, he pours himself a stiff (i.e big) whisky, she emerges in a big towel and sets about darning her ruined dress so as to be as respectable as possible when she goes to stay with Jones except that…she now tells him huskily…she doesn’t want to go to the Jones house. She wants to spend the night here. Aha. As I predicted.

Remember that moment when she was measuring him up for his Father Christmas suit and, unintentionally, his limp penis flopped out of his boxer shorts not very far from her face and she flusteredly looked out the window, made an excuse and left. Well, it turns out she’s been thinking about Leafy’s penis – ‘a lot’ (p.309).

Leafy for his part feels himself strangely attracted to his one-time putative mother-in-law (paging Dr Freud), has a thorough shower, then they are in bed naked together, she stroking his growing arousal, he nuzzling her huge breasts etc, when…the phone rings.

Death of Dr Murray

It’s Inspector Gbeho from Nkongsamba police headquarters. He is duty bound to report the death of any Brits to the Commission and can’t get hold of his boss, Fanshawe (who we know is at the airport). Dr Murray is dead. He was in an ambulance carrying students to the clinic and it skidded on the wet road and, well, he was killed in the crash. Just like that.

The good man

Leafy thanks the inspector, puts the phone down and (rather like the reader) is overcome with a whirligig of images and emotions. Above all the sense of futility. Murray was a genuinely good man, probably the only good man in the story – efficient, professional and with clear moral values – unlike any of the bumbling British diplomats, let alone an out-and-out crook like Adekunle. Naked, enormous Chloe Fanshawe is calling him from the bed where she wants Leafy to ‘make their night complete’. Leafy ponders what Dr Murray would make of him bedding his boss’s wife. Wouldn’t have approved, would he?

The news of Murray’s death evaporates Leafy’s erection and arousal. He tiredly pads down the hall to the bedroom and starts to make his apologies. ‘Listen Chloe, I’ve been thinking…’ This is mostly comic, but also genuinely sad and poignant.

The difference between farce and comedy is that the former pushes beyond the limits of plausibility into the absurd, delighting in far-fetched coincidences and hair’s-breadth escapes for their own sake, the more wildly improbable the better. Farce revels in deliberately contrived plots, plots which emphasise their own structures, playing with repetition, inversion, variations.

Thus Leafy’s last-minute change of heart about sleeping with Chloe Fanshawe makes a neat parallel with the buttock-clenchingly embarrassing scene where he was forced to refuse to have sex with her daughter, Priscilla. The turn of events is humorous in its own right but also gives the reader a pleasing sense of structure and contrivance. Boyd is a technically adept author.

The coup

And while Leafy is miserably apologising to Chloe, the perspective of the narrative pulls back to pan across the campus, revealing the burned-out cars and trashed offices, and on into the city itself as the army mounts the coup which everyone, certainly all the ordinary locals, knew about well in advance, everyone except Britain’s blinkered, drunk, snobbish, self-obsessed diplomats, experts in disaster and humiliation, utter fools when it comes to understanding the country they’re posted to.

‘Good man’

The phrase ‘good man’, like the main theme in a piece of classical music, is stated right at the start, in fact make up the novel’s first two words, as spoken by lucky Dalmire announcing his engagement to Priscilla to a mortified Leafy, who pretends to take it on the chin but inside is anything but a ‘good man’, seething with rage and hatred of Dalmire.

In other words, the phrase is used ironically right from the start, Dalmire being too obtuse to realise that Leafy, at that moment, wants to kill him and blow up the entire town i.e. he is quite possibly the opposite of a good man, he is a very bad man.

Thereafter the phrase is repeated, slowly accumulating resonances and layers of irony, not least because all the people who use the expression ‘good man’ wouldn’t actually recognise a good man if he bit them on the bottom.

On page 32 Leafy’s boss, Fanshawe, fatuously calls Leafy ‘a good man’ for reluctantly acquiescing to dress up as Father Christmas, something Leafy a) hates having to do b) is only doing because it will get him closer to the superb breasts of Fanshawe’s daughter, so the phrase implicates both the sayer (obtuse, conventionally minded Fanshawe) and the addressee (lustful seething Leafy).

On page 51, Leafy is at the bar with Dalmire and Jones who is very drunk and drunkenly calls Leafy ‘a bloody good man’, slapping him hard on the back, and Leafy, to his credit, fumes at how much he hates this ‘ghastly rugger-club expression’ (p.51).

On page 89 Leafy gets drunk in a bar with the disreputable, seedy Lee Wan, a Malayan who’s secured British citizenship and uses all manner of pukka phrases to burnish his Britishness. When Lee Wan bursts out laughing at an off-colour joke Leafy makes about importing condoms, Leafy drunkenly considers him ‘a good man to have around’. Again, irony, because Lee is a creepy sycophant.

On page 192 Fanshawe calls Leafy a ‘good man’ in an unstated recognition that Leafy has been schmoozing up to, maybe even having an affair with, Adekunle’s wife Celia. No-one acknowledges it, maybe Fanshawe doesn’t really appreciate it, but that’s the point. Don’t ask questions. Leave things unsaid. Gloss over difficult realities. The English way. Leafy is, in fact, being praised for being a sneak.

As I’ve explained, part two in fact gives the 3-month backstory leading up to the opening scene of the book, which opens with Dalmire calling Leafy a ‘good man’ for accepting the news about his and Priscilla’s engagement so calmly (p.206). Having heard the full backstory we now realise that Leafy is very far indeed from being a good man in at least two senses:

a) we’ve seen what an out-of-control drunk he is, how he’s set his Black mistress up in a love nest, contracted gonorrhoea from her and came within an ace of passing it on to Dalmire’s fiancée, Priscilla;

b) far from accepting the news with equanimity as Dalmire thinks, displaying the obtuseness typical of all the characters, internally Leafy is seething with homicidal rage

So it’s another example of the complete failure of the English characters to understand the first thing about what’s going on or achieve even the simplest communication.

At the climax of the novel, when Adekunle’s luxury compound is under attack from the protesting students, useless old Denzil Jones calls Leafy ‘a good man’ for bravely volunteering to impersonate Fanshawe to draw off the protesters ( p.297).

This is a more equivocal example because, although Jones is trapped in the machine of his own predictable behaviour (he slaps Leafy on the back exactly as he did all the way back on page 51) Leafy has, in fact, and to the reader’s surprise, actually volunteered to do quite a heroic thing to save other people. It’s effective and it is heroic. For once, maybe for the first time in his life, he isn’t secretly motivated by sex or drink or promotion. It is as if he is struggling to emerge from the chrysalis of his terrible personality and, for once in his life, do the right thing.

Looking back over the whole narrative, it feels as if Dr Murray’s influence is working, fermenting a new Leafy from the shambles of the old. Everyone else remains stuck in their fixed attitudes and characters, but this, the final use of the phrase in the book, indicates that change is possible.

Four conclusions:

1. I’ve shown how the phrase ‘good man’, right from the start of the novel, more often than not has connotations diametrically opposite to its literal meaning i.e. is used to describe all kinds of dodgy characters (Lee Wan, p.89) or is applied by the English characters to each other in the deepest ignorance or bad faith, glossing over characters’ bad behaviour, or concealing raw hatred for the person talking, or is motivated by the crudest motives.

2. All of which made me come to realise how the phrase ‘good man’ is like a sticking plaster designed to cover over things that would rather not be discussed or made explicit. The British stiff upper lip is related to a cultural insistence not to delve too deep below the surface, an attitude which prefers to paper over unpleasantness with stock public school phrases.

3. The thoughtless bandying about by the English of this clubroom phrase is directly linked to their wider obtuseness and ignorance of what’s going on right under their noses. The English diplomats are depicted as a snobbish shower of incompetents, meddling with forces way beyond their comprehension, but bolstering each other’s morale with this kind of self-congratulatory clubroom catchphrase.

4. Only at the very end of the novel (presumably as intended) did I realise that there is, in fact, only one good man in the book and it is Dr Murray. He is principled and professional in a way none of the other men in the book are. It is symptomatic of Leafy’s degraded condition that he develops such a pathological hatred for a man who is simply following the rules and regulations and then, when offered an enormous bribe, briskly turns it down and insists on doing what he regards as the right thing. This itself has two sub-aspects:

a) Murray isn’t English, he is Scottish. There is a stark distinction between the bumbling incompetent English Commission staff (pompous Fanshawe, out-of-control Leafy, insufferably successful Dalmire) and Murray, who comes from a completely different tradition, of stern Scottish professionalism and moral fibre.

b) From this point of view, taking Murray as the central figure in the book and removing for a moment all the comedy and farce, the narrative could be read as Morgan Leafy’s moral education by Dr Murray, Leafy’s slow, chaotic coming-to-realise that Murray represents an alternative way of being, selfless and noble and professional. Murray is clearly intended to be the Good Man of the title.

And, as I’ve mentioned before, seeing as how Boyd’s own father was a Scottish head of medicine in a West African university, this amounts to quite a tribute from a son to a father, quite a moving gesture of filial loyalty.

Objectifying women

1981. Long time ago, wasn’t it? And most of the book probably written well before then, getting on for 50 years ago. Its age shows, maybe, in some of the disrespectful language used about the Africans (I doubt if it’s nowadays acceptable to call older Black women ‘mammies’). And also in the underlying assumption that only white people are important enough to be treated in detail while most of the Black characters are poverty-stricken, lazy, useless and inarticulate. That’s bad enough.

But I think the main problem a young modern reader would have with this novel is the objectification of women. Boyd has Leafy itemise the appearance of all the women in his life (Hazel, Chloe and Priscilla Fanshawe, Celia Adekunle) in minute, unforgiving detail. The repeated references to Chloe Fanshawe’s huge bosoms is the stuff of traditional mother-in-law jokes but the description of her white blue-veined legs or ‘the large turquoise globes of her buttocks’ (p.223) less so. Leafy pays close attention to, and describes in detail, all women’s breasts.

In a sort of exception, the repeated descriptions of Leafy’s Black misters, skinny, brown Celia Adekunle, with a wattle of loose tummy skin from her two children and her appendectomy scar, this came over to me as surprisingly tender and accepting. But, stepping back a bit, even this is still part of the minute scrutiny of women’s bodies which, I think, would offend the modern woman reader.

Boyd’s prose style

Boyd’s prose is extremely smooth and effective, clear and sensible and expressive. I came to ‘A Good Man’ from reading several novels by Giles Foden who wields a complicated mosaic of registers and tones, whose prose is characterised by unwieldy sentences, odd phraseology, clunky positioning of prepositions, numerous quirks and oddities which draw continually draw attention to themselves.

Absolutely nothing like that with Boyd: his prose is clear, modern, flowing, albeit put in the service of describing a kind of comic psychopath. But you rarely if ever notice Boyd’s prose, just register the comic extremity of Leafy’s volcanic eruptions of rage and frustration, panic and horror. A Good Man in Africa is a well-constructed, clever and very, very funny book.


Credit

A Good Man in Africa by William Boyd was published by Hamish Hamilton in 1981. References are to the 1983 Penguin paperback edition.

Related links

The Shadow of The Sun: My African Life by Ryszard Kapuściński (1998)

Ryszard Kapuściński (1932 to 2007) was foreign correspondent for the Polish News Agency during the communist era and so one of the few Polish journalists allowed to travel freely outside the country. He first visited Africa in 1957 and returned periodically. As he explains in the brief foreword, although he attended on the state events and interviewed the national leaders he was tasked with reporting, he also went out of his way to explore byways, hitching lifts, travelling on local buses, wandering with nomads in the desert, staying with peasants on the savannah, curious about all aspects of African life.

So this book is not a factual or historical survey. It’s not a collection of his printed articles and reporting. Instead, Kapuściński’s text has more in common with a novel, or the kind of allusive, literary and thoughtful short texts of someone like Italo Calvino. They are more like meditations, in which he mingles personal travels, meetings and interviews, with serious factual points (about slavery or the creation of the African states), along with ‘deeper’ reflections on Africa’s history, geography, customs and plight, mingled with consciously beautiful and lyrical descriptions.

Written over a forty year period, they’re like snapshots, impressions, pegs and pretexts for very ‘literary’, semi-philosophical reflections and musings. So although it contains quite a lot of facts about Africa, they’re not in the form of dates and data, but of generalisations, thoughts and musings.

It struck me that this explains why the book doesn’t contain any maps. That would give it an inappropriate specificity and humdrum factuality. Kapuściński’s Africa is an Africa of the mind, of the imagination.

And because the text has a meandering, sumptuous feel, it’s not a book you read in a hurry in order to process the information, but rather one you pick up and reread to enjoy the thought and style and the civilised, ruminative worldview. Here’s a representative slice of Kapuściński.

Both sides of the road are dense with greenery. Tall grasses, thick, fleecy shrubs, spreading umbrella trees. It’s like this all the way to Kilimanjaro and the two little towns nearby, Moshi and Arusha. In Arusha we turned west, towards Lake Victoria. Two hundred kilometers on, the problems started. We drove onto the enormous plain of the Serengeti, the largest concentration of wild animals on earth. Everywhere you look, huge herds of zebras, antelopes, buffalo, giraffes. And all of them are grazing, frisking, frolicking, galloping. Right by the side of the road, motionless lions; a bit farther, a group of elephants; and farther still, on the horizon, a leopard running in huge bounds. It’s all improbable, incredible. As if one were witnessing the birth of the world, that precise moment when the earth and the sky already exist, as do water, plants and wild animals but not yet Adam and Eve. It is this world barely born, the world without mankind, and hence also without sin, that you imagine you are seeing here. (p.43)

1. The Beginning: Collision, Ghana 1957 (11 pages)

Ghana A vivid description of what it’s like to step off the plane from dark and rainy northern Europe into the dazzling glare of the African sun. A week getting to know Accra, capital of Ghana, especially its intense foetid smell. Kapuściński attends a speech by the new Prime Minister, Kwame Nkrumah, informal, joyful. The friend who took him introduces him to Kofi Baako, the 32-year-old Minister of Education and Information, who he goes to visit the next day in his office, the ramshackle telephone exchange, his books and enthusiasms, he was unemployed till Nkrumah called him, his ambition to drive up literacy rates. Baako invites him to a party where he shows him his collection of cameras.

2. The Road to Kumasi (10 pages)

Ghana He catches a bus from Accra’s chaotic bus station, which is the peg for meditations about the three worlds the African inhabits: the palpable visible world; the world of the ancestors, who lived and died, but not completely; and then the world of the spirits. And standing over all three, God.

African time and Western time. Western man is dominated by time, a slave to time, which is an inflexible machine. For the African time is more flexible, elastic, comes into being as required. Time appears when we need it, hibernates when we don’t.

Hence the Africans’ incredible ability to wait, sitting, squatting, lying passive, on pause, hibernating in the hot sun. Kapuściński fantasises African history, small clans, impermanent and nomadic in a vast continent. They didn’t have the wheel and, south of the Sahara, no pack animals, because of ferocious tropical diseases. Trade was primitive, exchange of goods and ideas and therefore technology, non-existent. Hence the almost complete absence of towns or cities or the indicators of civilisation found on other continents. It was a continual migration, which also explains why the ancestors are the key figures, because they are carried from place to place in oral tradition.

3. The structure of the clan (11 pages)

Ghana In the industrialised West the individual is king and individualism is the dominant ideology, taken to its furthest extremes in America. In Africa, it is the extreme opposite; life is about the clan, which means the extended family. A clan comprises all who believe they share a common ancestor. A clan has a chief whose job is not only to rule the living but to mediate with the much larger number of clan members who are dead, with the ancestors.

The clan chief is expected to share out what he has and any wealth he acquires with the extended family of the clan (like a Viking warlord, like a Roman aristocrat besieged with suppliants). This is basic to the structure of society and explains what the West describes as corruption i.e. as soon as a prominent citizen acquires place and power, they direct money, opportunities and jobs to their extended clan. That’s how it works. Those are traditional African values.

4. I, a White Man (9 pages)

Dar es Salaam, 1962. Kapuściński as correspondent of the Polish Press Agency. He is crushed by his consciousness of being white i.e. the same skin colour as the colonial oppressor. He sees the prominence of skin colour, and generalised forms of apartheid, everywhere. Thus the three zones of Dar es Salaam, white luxury, busy Asian shops, black slums. He feels guilty even though his nation, Poland, never colonised everywhere; the reverse, Poland was itself divided and conquered by its neighbours.

5. The Cobra’s Heart (9 pages)

Tanzania With a Greek colleague, Leo, he hires a four-wheel-drive to drive from Dar to Kampala, capital of Uganda, which is about to be awarded independence, 9 October 1962. They get badly lost in the endless savanna where there are few roads but a bewildering matrix of tracks. They stay overnight in an empty trackside hut. Only when he’s lying on the bed does he realise there’s a poisonous cobra placed directly under it, which he and Leo attack with an empty metal canister.

They drive on for another day and through the night. Kapuściński reflects on how Uganda was carved out in the Scramble for Africa, its borders forcing together different and rival kingdoms. He checks into the converted barracks where journalists covering the independence day celebrations are being house, but feels tired and dizzy, then passes out.

6. Inside the Mountain of Ice (9 pages)

Uganda Kapuściński comes to in a hospital where an Asian doctor tells him he’s for cerebral malaria. He describes the chill and fever and light-headedness of malaria. After an attack you feel like ‘a human rag’.

Reflections on how European settlement of Africa for hundreds of years amounted to little more than ports on the coast. There were no cities or towns, no broad roads, all the rivers are hard to navigate and the interior is purulent with fatal diseases. Only at the very end of the nineteenth century did the various European nations who’d carved up Africa make an effort to create railway lines into the interior. Since the Africans couldn’t be persuaded to do this, the British imported thousands of labourers from India. One of them was the grandfather of the Dr Patel who’s now treating him.

Dr Patel tells him stories of the Asian immigrants’ terror of the lions who preyed on them, and then how you never see a dead elephant because the old weak ones tend to fell into waterholes or lakes and get sucked down into the muddy bottom.

7. Dr Doyle (9 pages)

Tanzania Having returned from Kampala (we hear nothing about the independence ceremony he went to cover) Kapuściński carries on feeling ill. When he wakes one night to find the pillow covered in blood he goes to see a Dr Laird who tells him it’s tuberculosis. Laird is packing up to go back to Blighty and passes him on to an Irish doctor, Dr Doyle.

He takes one of the male nurses, Edu, as an example of the extended family which is so important to Africans, and gives a comic account of the enormous fuss a clan or family member makes when greeting another member.

8. Zanzibar (27 pages)

January 1964. There’s a coup in the island state of Zanzibar. The black Africans overthrow the Arab Sultan. Kapuściński tells us he knows the main press guy in Nairobi, Felix Naggar, chief of Agence France Presse in East Africa, the kind of guy who knows everything and everyone.

A humorous account of the desperate efforts of the 40 or so Western correspondents in Nairobi to get to the island, seeing as how the airport is closed and the coup leaders threaten to shoot down any planes. Very handily, Kapuściński puts in a call to Abeid Karume, leader of Zanzibar’s Afro-Shirazi Party. After a bit of cajoling, Karume says he’ll allow a plane carrying Kapuściński (and Naggar) to land. That’s how you get scoops! The coup was led by 25-year-old John Okello, who Kapuściński manages to visit in his chaotic extended household.

Which turns, unexpectedly, into an extended meditation on the slave trade and it’s long-tern impact on Africa i.e. ruinous not only in economic social terms, but psychologically, embedding a sense of humiliation and defeat.

He and colleagues had only been in Zanzibar a week or so when, during the last week of January 1964, the armies of Tanganyika, Uganda and Kenya mutinied, in rapid succession. The half-comic, half-terrifying story of their attempt to escape Zanzibar in a motor dinghy and getting caught in a terrifying storm which drives them back to the coast. Eventually, they catch a plane out.

9. The Anatomy of a Coup d’Etat (10 pages)

Lagos, Nigeria, 1966. Kapuściński’s notes on the key facts. The coup came after a bitter civil war in Western Nigeria. In the coup about 8,000 soldiers were deployed to all the main cities and politicians in Nigeria’s 5 major towns were arrested and, in some cases, shot. The country seems pleased with the coup. He quotes press releases by the military which claim this is the second, true liberation, after the first one of 1961; this time it is a liberation from black imperialists, civilian politicians having, in five short years, become a byword for corruption and greed.

Kapuściński casually makes quite a big point I hadn’t seen before; that because free enterprise commercial economy was still in its infancy, and because all of the raw material extraction corporations, as well as all of the banks, are still in foreign hands – politics, in many African countries, was one of the few careers where an ambitious, money-minded person could actually make money.

A withering pen portrait of Chief Samuel Akintola, Prime Minister of Western Nigeria, who had done just that, siphoned money from public finances into his own accounts, stealing millions, with the result that he had houses everywhere, a fleet of twelve limousines, while his troops fired on protesting, starving crowds.

10. My Alleyway, 1967 (10 pages)

Lagos, 1967. How he chooses not to live in the gated white community of bankers and diplomats at Ikoyi, but above the warehouse of an Italian businessmen who’s sold up and left, up an alleyway in a very poor slum quarter where he interacts with normal Nigerians, although he has to get his own water from a street pump and avoid the street gangs. Power outages. The stifling heat at night. ‘Merely existing in this climate is an extraordinary effort’ (p.111). Extreme poverty among the workless who often have only one possession. Real hunger. Paralysis by heat. Cheap booze. He describes the amazing creation of slums from whatever junk is lying around in the street. A man called Suleiman helps him buy a voodoo charm at the magic market, which he hangs over his door and from that moment on is never burgled again.

11. Salim (9 pages)

Mauretania Kapuściński is at an oasis which has one solitary petrol pump and so is a stopping place for trucks travelling through the Sahara. He’s picked up by a trucker called Salim driving a French Berliet truck. They break down in the desert. Description of the blinding heat as Salim ineffectually tinkers with the motor. They take shelter under the truck from the sun. That night another truck arrives and rescues them, at least he thinks it does, he’s hallucinating exhausted.

12. Lalibela, 1975 (10 pages)

Ethiopia. By the mid-70s the optimism of the 1950s and 60s about Africa had evaporated. Optimists and ideologues had believed that independence, by itself, would bring wealth to over-populated, poverty-stricken places. But it didn’t. Instead it brought the immense corruption of the first generation of independent politicians, who used tribal and ethnic conflicts to stay in power, till overthrown in military coups, which arrived with disillusioning regularity.

Kapuściński knows Teferi, owner of a truck company in Addis Ababa. He sets out to travel to Lalibela which is experiencing a drought and famine. Roads are primitive and everywhere throw up a thin volcanic dust which is as fine as mist, and gets into every crevice of your clothes and body. Alleyways full of still, emaciated people dying of hunger.

On through the parched terrain and the furnace-like gorges to Lalibela, where a series of 11 churches have been carved into the body of a mountain. Ought to be one of the wonders of the world. Kapuściński watches as a crowd of the sick and emaciated surge towards him and his driver. Over a million died in the prolonged drought and famine which during the rule of Haile Selassie and the man who overthrew him in 1974, Mengistu Haile Mariam.

13. Amin (10 pages)

Uganda Kapuściński visited Uganda many times and met Idi Amin several times. This chapter is a potted history of his murderous career, dictator of Uganda from 1971 to 1979. During his reign of terror an estimated 300,000 Ugandans died, usually painfully, many tortured to death.

14. The Ambush (9 pages)

Uganda 1988. Kapuściński is one of three journalists accompanying a mission of three Ugandan government ministers to parlay with the rebel soldiers who are laying waste the north of the country.

A passage explaining the prevalence of child soldiers in Africa. In really long-running conflicts it’s because a lot of the adult men are dead. There are lots of orphans and they gravitate to whoever will feed them. And modern weapons are designed to be light and handy. Lacking an adult sense of consequences or conscience, African child soldiers slaughter each other in huge numbers.

15. There shall be a holiday (9 pages)

Uganda, 1990s. Godwin, a journalist from Kampala, takes Kapuściński to his home village. A study in rural poverty of a depth and misery none of us in the West can understand.

16. A Lecture on Rwanda (18 pages)

Precisely that – an unusually detailed, historical explanation of why the two ethnic groups, the minority but often wealthy Tutsis and the majority, mostly peasant farmer Hutus, descended into a spiral of mutual hatred and ethnic massacres, starting at independence in 1959, with another outbreak in 1963, then 1965 all paving the way, though no-one knew it, for one of the most horrific genocides in history, 7 April to 15 July 1994. He mentions France and President Mitterrand’s role in the whole terrible thing (sending French troops to protect the genocidal government because they were French-speaking and the Rwandan Patriotic Front – who sought to end the genocide – had grown up in exile in Uganda and so spoke English. To protect their precious ‘Francophonie’ the French government let the genocide go ahead, and the protected its leaders. Evil scum.)

I’ve read better factual accounts, but Kapuściński tries to give a feel for what it felt like for two mutually hostile, resentful and fearful peoples to be stuck in the same small, claustrophobic country.

17. The Black Crystals of the Night (9 pages)

Uganda Being driven through western Uganda, and forced to stop for the night at a strange village, Kapuściński reflects on the African’s fear of the night, and their completely different causology which attributes events to supernatural forces and magic. The difference between witches and sorcerers. Years later he reads a paper by the anthropologist E.H. Winter about the Amba people of East Africa who are unusual in living in fear that the witches are among them, live in their own communities with the result that their communities are prone to internecine conflict.

18. These People, Where Are They? (10 pages)

Ethiopia 1991. Itang, a place in western Ethiopia near the border with Sudan, has for several years been site of a camp for refugees from Sudan’s civil war. They belong to the Nuer people. Kapuściński has travelled here with the UN Commissioner for Refugees but they have arrived in the pouring rain to find a mystery: the camp is empty.

Kapuściński recounts how the British stapled together two completely different peoples, the Arab Muslim North and the Christian or animist, black South into the country they called Sudan. The first civil war broke out in 1962 and lasted till 1971, when an uneasy ceasefire took hold. When in 1983 the Muslim government in Khartoum tried to impose Sharia law on the entire country the south erupted in rebellion. The war has been going on ever since. Kapuściński reflects on the way wars in Africa are seldom reported, not even recorded by the participants, and their details quickly fade and are lost:

History in these parts appears suddenly, descends like a deus ex machina, reaps its bloody harvest, seizes its prey, and disappears. (p.198).

The military regime in Khartoum is deliberately trying to starve the Southern rebels, led by John Garang’s Sudan People’s Liberation Army (SPLA), into submission. During the second Sudan Civil War an estimated 1.5 million people died, mostly unarmed civilians.

19. The Well (9 pages)

Somalia He hitches a lift with Hamed, a merchant from Berbara, to Laascaanood, in northern Somalia. In fact ‘lift’ means joining a camel train through the blisteringly hot desert, all of which Kapuściński describes with great vividness and goes on to describe the mental world of the nomad tribes whose most precious possession is their camels.

20. A Day in the Village of Abdallah Wallo (8 pages)

Senegal A village by the Senegal river which forms the border with Mauretania to the north. Description of the rhythms of a typical day which starts with girls getting up to go fetch water, then the women go off in search of firewood in a landscape which has been denuded of all trees, bushes and vegetation, looks like the moon, even as time moves towards the unbearable heat of midday.

21. Rising in the Darkness (14 pages)

Ethiopia 1994. Addis Ababa. Mengistu’s Soviet-backed Marxist regime fell in 1991. With Soviet help he had built up one of the biggest armies in Africa. But as fighters from the rebel province of Eritrea approached the capital, Mengistu unexpectedly fled (to Zimbabwe) and his army, just as unexpectedly, disintegrated.

Kapuściński goes to Addis Ababa prison to speak to the imprisoned intellectuals and ideologues behind the disgraced regime.

One of Africa’s problems is that its intelligentsia emigrates. Addis doesn’t even have one bookshop, for a country with a population of 60 million. Invincible illiteracy and ignorance reigns. In the impressive Africa Hall Kapuściński meets impressive, smart new Africans who work for international organisations (the UN etc) and speak fluently and plausibly about Africa’s problems. Like all well-paid consultants they are smooth talkers with plans and schemes and timelines and development goals and gender equality strategies and completely divorced from reality (cf books about the Americans in the Green Zone of Baghdad after the 2003 invasion, notably Imperial Life in the Emerald City: Inside Baghdad’s Green Zone by Rajiv Chandrasekaran).

In the real world the biggest change made to African lives in the previous decade has been the widespread availability of lightweight plastic containers for carrying water, the stuff of life, from rivers or streams or wells to settlements. So this carrying can now be done by children. (p.229)

Over half the population of Africa is under 15. In 1998 when this book was published, the population of Africa was 780 million. Today, in 2023, it is 1.4 billion, nearly double in 25 years. By 2050 it is predicted to be 2.5 billion. The poverty, the fighting over resources, the famines and the droughts, will be cataclysmic.

22. The Cooling Hell (28 pages)

Monrovia, capital of Liberia. Incredibly hot and humid.

A large portion of Liberia is covered in jungle. Thick, tropical, humid, malarial, and inhabited by small, impoverished, and weakly organised tribes. (p.239)

At the airport he walks down into a jostling crowd who swiftly steal his passport and return ticket. Two hustlers offer him their protection and drive him to a sleazy hotel packed with prostitutes run by a Lebanese. His room is packed with astonishingly huge cockroaches. Cut to an extended history of Liberia, land of freed slaves from the American South. The amazing thing is how the freed slaves returned to Africa immediately set about recreating the slave society they had experienced in the American South in Africa, depriving the local Africans of political rights, confining them to bantustans.

William Tubman was president of Liberia from 1944 until his death in 1971. He was replaced by his vice president, William Tolbert who was considerably more corrupt and brutal. Tolbert was overthrown in 1980 by a group of army non-commissioned officers who went to the presidential palace to demand back pay, found it undefended and Tolbert asleep in his bed, so they murdered him, chopped his body into pieces with bayonets and threw it in the courtyard for animals to eat.

Their leader was 27-year-old Samuel Doe so he became president. He was an illiterate from a small tribe deep in the jungle, the Krahn, and didn’t know how to run a country so there followed ten years of misrule and drift until:

The First Liberian Civil War began in December 1989 when the National Patriotic Front of Liberia led by Charles Taylor invaded Liberia from the Ivory Coast to overthrow him. A former deputy, Prince Johnson, led another militia, so two armies ended up fighting for control of the capital, Monrovia. When a contingent of Nigerian troops arrived to try and bring order on 9 September 1990, Doe drove to the port to meet them but was captured by Johnson on the way.

Kapuściński describes the two hour long video which shows explicit details of Doe being tortured (after being beaten bloody, his ears were cut off with bayonets) by soldiers while Prince sits at a nearby table asking Doe for the numbers of his bank accounts.

Whenever a dictator is seized in Africa, the entire ensuing inquisition, the beatings, the tortures, will inevitably revolve around one thing: the number of his private bank account. (p.247)

You can watch the video of Doe’s torture YouTube. A few hours after this Doe died and his body was thrown on a municipal tip. But instead of ending with Does’ death, the Liberian civil war intensified, ruining the country’s economy as it collapsed into territories run by brutal warlords.

All of which leads into a meditation on the power of modern African warlords who are responsible more than anyone else for the ruin of entire countries. Who do they prey on? The weakest in their own societies, recruiting children to drug and train as soldiers, raping peasant women or stealing all their food and belongings leading their societies into a downward spiral into barbarism (pages 254 to 256).

Africa too is changing, growing poorer and more wretched. (p.225)

The number of warlords is growing. They are the new power, the new rulers. (p.256)

23. The Lazy River (9 pages)

Cameroon. He drives to a place in the jungle called Ngura, the parish of a priest named Father Stanislawek, who lives in an old ruined barrack and whose life’s work it is to try and build a church, although there are no building materials and no workers. A digression on the fundamentally religious (or superstitious) nature of all Africans.

They drive on to a settlement for gold prospectors working in a deep river gorge and occasionally selling the small dust sized specks of gold they find to Arab merchants lazing in their tents above the gorge.

24. Madame Diuf Is Coming Home

Senegal Kapuściński catches the train from Dakar (Senegal) to Bamako, the capital of Mali. In his compartment are a young Scottish couple, and a ‘heavy energetic’ woman, Madame Duif. At first the train puffs through the attractive colonial buildings on the seaboard. Suddenly there is an eruption of shouting and the scene changes to shanty town slums. Turns out the poor people have their market on the train tracks as it’s one of the few open spaces in the slums, and the train has just ploughed through it, sending stalls merchandise and shoppers flying. Prolonged meditation on the poverty, lack of hope, meaning and purpose, the surviving from day to day, of tens of millions of nameless Africans.

25. Salt and Gold (9 pages)

Mali Bamako, the capital city. He wants to seek out the war with the Tuareg. Description of the centuries-old conflict between the nomadic Sahara-dwelling Tuareg and the land-bound, cattle-raising Bantu. The Tuareg used to capture and trade the Bantu as slaves. Mutual hatred.

He catches a local bus to Mopti, on the Niger river, and then bribes his way onto a plan to Timbuktu, marvelling at the strangeness of the Sahel landscape below. Timbuktu is built of clay the same colour as the sand so it is as if the desert has risen up and adopted the shape of a city.

26. Behold, the Lord Rideth upon a Swift Cloud (9 pages)

Southern Nigeria, Port Harcourt. He attends a revivalist Christian church service. A vivid description and a meditation on the difference between the African and the Western sense of sin and guilt.

27. The Hole in Onitsha (8 pages)

Eastern Nigeria The town of Onitsha is said to host the biggest market in the world. Descriptions of and thoughts about African markets. Only in such a vast teeming place do you fully realise to what extent:

the world is swamped with material tenth-rateness, how it is drowning in an ocean of camp, knockoffs, the tasteless and the worthless. (p.300)

In fact Kapuściński and his driver soon get caught in a massive traffic jam, reduced to a complete standstill. He walks into town to find out what’s causing the holdup and discovers the only road through town has a huge muddy hole in the centre, down into which cars and lorries are gingerly driving, and then have to be pulled out using ropes and winches. Around this event a carnival crowd has assembled with hawkers and vendors and itinerant sorcerers.

28. Eritrean Scenes (8 pages)

The perilous journey, along mountain switchback roads, from Asmara to Massawi, Eritrea’s major port. Eritrea only gained de facto independence from Ethiopia in 1991 and legal independence in 1993, having fought the longest independence war in Africa, for 30 years, since 1961.

During the war the Eritreans built an entire alternative nation underground. They have a museum of abandoned military hardware in Asmara which Kapuściński visits, but it is nothing compared to the vast plain full of ruined military equipment at Debre Zeyit.

29. In the Shade of a Tree, in Africa

The last chapter is a meditation on the importance of trees, often isolated, giant survivors, in remote hot African villages: a place where children are taught in the morning, women meet and gossip at lunch, men sit smoking and chatting in the evening, a symbol of the enduring multifacetedness of African life.

Which morphs into a final meditation on the way the limited languages of Europe, and the simplistic racist worldview engendered by colonialism, limits to this day our understanding of this huge continent, its hugely diverse peoples and spirits and ancestors.

Sample passages from the book

Here are some examples of Kapuściński’s swirling, lyrical, philosophical way of thinking and writing.

Western individualism versus African communalism

This is Africa and the fortunate nouveau riche cannot forget the old clan tradition, one of whose supreme canons is share everything you have with your kinsmen, with another member of your clan or, as they say here, with your cousin…Whoever breaks this rule condemns himself to ostracism, to expulsion from the clan, to the horrifying status of outcast. Individualism is highly prized in Europe, and perhaps nowhere more so than in America; in Africa, it is synonymous with unhappiness, with being accursed. African tradition is collectivist for only in a harmonious group could one face the obstacles continually thrown up by nature. (p.36)

Ryszard Kapuściński on time

The European and the African have an entirely different concept of time. In the European worldview, time exists outside of man, exists objectively, and has measurable and linear characteristics. According to Newton time is absolute: ‘Absolute, true, mathematical time of itself and from its own nature, it flows equitably and without relation to anything external.’ The European feels himself to be time’s slave, dependent on it, subject to it. To exist and function he must observe its ironclad, inviolable laws, its inflexible principles and rules. He must heed deadlines, dates, days and hours. He must move within the rigours of time and cannot exist without them. They impose upon him their requirements and quotas. An unresolvable conflict exists between man and time, one that always ends with man’s defeat – time annihilates him.

Africans apprehend time differently. For them, it is a much looser concept, more open, elastic, subjective. It is man who influences time, its shape, course and rhythm (man acting, of course, with the consent of gods and ancestors). Time is even something that man can create outright, for time is made manifest through events, and whether an event takes place or not depends, after all, on man alone. If two armies do not engage in battle, then that battle will not occur (in other words, time will not have revealed its presence, will not have come into being). Time appears as a result of our actions, and vanishes when we neglect or ignore it. It is something that springs to life under our influence, but falls into a state of hibernation, even nonexistence, if we do not direct our energy towards it. It is a subservient, passive essence and, most importantly, one dependent on man.

The absolute opposite of time as it is understood in the European worldview. (pages 16 and 17)

Compare and contrast with his description of the African attitude towards the deep, dark African night, as a hopeless realm in which men are prey to unspeakable fears (p.184). And his comparison of the African and the Western sense of guilt (p.294).

Ryszard Kapuściński on history

Experience has taught me that situations of crisis appear more dire and dangerous from a distance than they do up close. Our imaginations hungrily and greedily absorb every tiny whiff of sensational news, the slightest portent of peril, the faintest whiff of gunpowder, and instantly inflate these signs to monstrous, paralysing proportions. On the other hand, however, I also knew something about those moments when calm, deep waters begin to churn, and bubble into general chaos, confusion, frantic anarchy. During social explosions it is easy to perish by accident because someone didn’t hear something fully or didn’t notice something in time. On such days the accidental is king; it becomes history’s true determinant and master. (p.78)

And:

History is so often the product of thoughtlessness: it is the offspring of human stupidity, the fruit of benightedness, idiocy and folly. In such instances it is enacted by people who do not know what they are doing – more, who do not want to know… (p.252)

The bayaye

Here’s Kapuściński describing the long trek made by Samuel Doe, an unemployed man without a future, from a remote impoverished village though trackless jungles to the distant capital, Monrovia, in search of work, food, a purpose.

The trek from the jungle to Monrovia requires many days of difficult marching across roadless tropical expanses. Only young, strong people can manage it. And it is they who arrived in the city. but nothing awaited them here: neither jobs, nor a roof over their heads. From the very first day, they became bayaye – that army of the young unemployed squatting idly on all the larger streets and squares of African cities. The existence of this multitude is one of the chief causes of turmoil on the continent: it is from their ranks that local chieftains, for a pittance, often with only the promise of food, recruit the armies they will use in their struggles for power, organising coups, fomenting civil wars. (p.244)

So the brute demographic fact of all these unemployed young men goes a long way to explaining the instability of African states, the ease with which warlords can recruit ‘soldiers’, the complete indiscipline so often shown by these ‘soldiers’, who murder, rape and loot at will at every settlement they come to; and the way they often melt away when their warlord is killed, returning to the sullen apathetic groups you see lining the streets of every African city.

In a later chapter Kapuściński continues the theme, explaining that during his lifetime Africa’s cities have become swollen and contorted out of all recognition. He knew the often sweet, provincial cities in the early 1960s. Nowadays some of them are ten times the size, mostly consisting of shanties and slums.

Kapuściński explains two major reasons for the grotesque hyper-expansion of the cities:

  1. Drought and famine in the 1970s, then again in the 1980s, drove millions off the land where they were starving, and into the cities where there was at least a thin thread of hope.
  2. Conflict. People fled the countryside in tens of millions because it was the scene of never-ending conflict, with rampaging militias arriving out of the bush, raping and murdering everyone then moving on. That doesn’t happen, in the same way, in towns or cities. So millions of peasants to the towns travelled looking for security. Who can blame them? (p.273).

Results? Vast teeming slums and tens of millions of unemployed bayaye.

Kapuściński’s questions

In Mary Beard’s book about Rome, she drove me nuts by littering every page with sets of rhetorical questions which aren’t designed to search and enquire but merely to introduce the next pre-arranged part of her lecture (which she then, very often, didn’t explain very well).

In complete contrast, Kapuściński uses series of questions to really dig into the roots of the issues he’s discussing. His questions help build up the sense that, even after forty years of visiting, Africa, Africans, and the African mentality are still impenetrable mysteries to a white European like Kapuściński.

Kapuściński’s compassion

I think of the camp we passed leaving Dakar, of the fate of its residents. The impermanence of their existence, the questions about its purpose, its meaning, which they probably do not pose to anyone, not even to themselves. If the truck does not bring food, they will die of hunger. If the tanker does not bring water, they will die of thirst. They have no reason to go into the city proper; they have nothing to come back to in their village. They cultivate nothing, raise nothing, manufacture nothing. They do not attend schools. They have no addresses, no money, no documents. All of them have lost homes; many have lost their families. They have no one to complain to, no one they expect anything from. (p.274)

Klara Glowczewska

A word of praise for the translator, Klara Glowczewska. I don’t speak Polish so can’t vouch for what the original text is like but Glowczewska has turned it into lovely, flowing, rhythmic and evocative English prose. There are none of the surprises or quirks you often find in English speakers writing in English. Instead, everything is turned into a lovely mellifluous, sometimes vivid and arresting, prose which allows Kapuściński’s thoughts and observations to unfold luxuriously, or startle and confront the reader, as appropriate. This book is a deep pleasure to read.

The African interior is always white-hot. It is a plateau relentlessly bombarded by the rays of the sun, which appears to be suspended directly above the earth here: make one careless gesture, it seems, try leaving the shade, and you will go up in flames. (p.280)


Credit

The Shadow of The Sun by Ryszard Kapuściński was published in Polish in 1998. The English translation by Klara Glowczewska was published by Alfred A. Knopf in 2001. All references are to the 2002 Penguin paperback edition.

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