Africans, Asians Unite!

Asia in My Life
By Ngugi wa Thiong’o

image via The Gaurdian (UK)

“The links between Asia and Africa and South America have always been present but in our times they have been made invisible by the fact that Europe is still the central mediator of Afro-Asian-Latino discourse. We live under what Satya Mohanty in his interview in Frontline (April 2012), aptly calls the long intellectual shadow of the Age of European Empire.

In my case, I had always assumed that my intellectual and social formation was tied to England and Europe, with no meaningful connection to Asia and South America. There was a reason. I wrote in English. My literary heroes were English. Kenya being a British colony, I had learnt the geography and history of England as the central reference in my widening view of the world. Even our anti-colonial resistance assumed Europe as the point of contest; it was we, Africa, against them, Europe. I graduated from Makerere College in Uganda in 1964, with a degree in English; then went to the University of Leeds, England, for further studies, in English. Leeds was a meeting point of students from the Commonwealth: India, Pakistan, Australia, and the Caribbean. We saw each other through our experience of England. Our relationship to England, in admiration, resentment or both, was what established a shared space.

After I wrote my memoir of childhood, Dreams in a Time of War, published in 2006, I looked back and saw how much India had been an equally important thread in my life. I had not planned to bring out the Indian theme in my life: but there it was, staring at me right from the pages of my narrative. The thread starts from home, through school, college and after.”

via Chimurenga

Guilty, A Public Passion

Last weekend I was part of a ritualized public reading of Bataille’s ‘Guilty‘ out at the Smoke Farm complex. Photographer Dan Hawkins made a time-lapse video of our 7 hour adventure…

Guilty is the edited diary of George Bataille written during World War 2. Bataille explores the guilt and anger he experiences at not being able to join the war effort due to illness. It is at times funny, philosophical, pornographic, yet always high-minded even in the midst of literary excess.

There were four of us and we each took turns reading from the text. When one of us finished their section they’d fill our glasses with wine. Taking our glasses, we’d all rise and toast one another. Then we’d sit and some of us would light cigarettes. The next person would start reading where the last left off.

By the end of the reading we were shivering and drunk having consumed 7 bottles of pink wine. We stripped naked in the dark and folded our clothes leaving them sitting on our chairs. Each of us lay down in the frigid river. I screamed when I did so as the chill of the water was too much to bear. Then I ran to the shore and dried myself; put on my street clothes. Returned home to our camp having only thrown up twice during the entire evening.