Told by Starlight in Chad by Joseph Brahim Seid
Here's Chad, in Africa:
I like this image. It's neat to see it on the globe.
Here's the summary:
"In the evening, there are traditional games. Excitement fills the air; a tumult is unleashed. The drums reverberate, roar, summon to the dance. Their staccato boom echoes through the savannah and over the rolling, sandy hills. The young perform war dances, competing in strength, agility and skill. Simulating combat, they brandish their assegais, crouch, rise up and face off in rapid succession. They stamp the ground furiously with their feet: a cloud of dust envelops them in a tremendous halo of glory. All this time, the tom-toms are vibrating, their frenzy marvelously matching the dancers movements. Rhythm of life, captivating, lyrical, spellbinding magic! With fertile, protean imagination, griot and bard recite the prowess and deeds of their distant ancestors or sing of the beauty and charms of their betrothed."
Romantized scenes from Seid's boyhood, like the festival depicted here, as well as stories from the golden age of empires and other timeless tales in this collection evoke positive images of Chad and Africa more generally. African readers, young and old, regardless of locality, will hear echoes of the folktales, fables, and legends narrated by their grandmothers of an evening under the stars or by the fireside. In the literature classroom, at secondary and tertiary level, Seid's imagery should resonate and appeal to the sensibilities of African learners from similar socio-cultural and historical environments. This same imagery can, in turn, be used to introduce non-African learners to Africa. On a continent grappling still to forge new beginnings out of hope and deep despair, cruelty and great humanity, reminders of the past that evoke positive affect and historical figures and events that inspire a sense of pride about being African can enhance endeavor.
Picking this book up I knew it wasn't going to be my favorite. I've mentioned (probably more than once) that I'd rather read something that follows and develops characters. Even Daba's Travels, though it was essentially a series of short stories, followed the same boy and his life. I'm not sure if I wasn't able to find anything else or if I was just too lazy to look, but this is what I ended up with.
Anyway, ta-da! I was able to get another book down before vacay. It was kind of nice that each little story was only about 4 or 5 pages long, so I could do things in between stories. And they were cute; stories of how things came to be or why things are the way they are in Chad. But really, that's about all I have to say about it. Only a couple of the stories stood out--one with a girl who was super awful to a boy and then they get married and live happily ever after anyway. Which is dumb. The other one had two kids-a boy and a girl-and little pieces of their story kept reminding me of little pieces of other classic fairy tales. They were entertaining enough.
So there's Chad, and I'm about to head off for some sunshiiine! I'm bringing SO. many. clothes. But there's actually a fair chance I'll wear most of them. And...yeah. I'm ready for sun.
Daba's Travels from Ouadda to Bangui by Bamboté
I bet you can guess where this one is!
Description:
Daba was born in Ouadda, in what is now the Central African Republic. His mother often told him about the terrible dry season that year, when elephants, buffaloes and antelopes stampeded through the countryside in a frenzied search for water. Even panthers stalked the bush around the village, often carrying innocent sheep. Safe near his parents' hut, Daba listened to the story time and time again. And as he grew, loved and protected, there grew in him a strength of spirit and a deep love for his native village. But Daba was not destined to live his live in Ouadda. When he was still a young boy, he left his beloved home on the first of a series of journeys that would lead him farther and farther away--even to France. For Daba's parents wanted him to be educated, a rare and special privilege not often enjoyed by poor village children.... The life, history and tradition of the people of the Central African Republic are described with great feeling by Bambote, for Daba's Travels is a recollection of his own childhood and youth.
Reading back on the description, it doesn't seem entirely correct. Half of it is devoted to the stories his mother told him, but in the book those only cover the first couple of chapters. When he first goes off on his journeys, he thinks he's just going on a small errand. So he's going to get ready to go home and he gets a letter from his mom going "Oh, by the way, you're not coming home. You gotta go to school. Byeeee." I actually felt bad for him that it was just kind of thrown on him. But he has all these wonderful adventures and travels and works very hard at his studies.
It's two freaking years before he sees his parents again, and then only for like a couple hours. But it was really cool that, wherever he went, he became part of that village family. All of the villagers that he met took great pride in having visitors and treating them well. I liked that close community.
This was really just a quick, easy little book. Just small stories from this boy's life. I liked it well enough. To be completely honest I had really wanted to read a book about the former president/emperor Jean-Bedel Bokassa, but it was kind of expensive so this was my second choice. (I mean, buying almost 200 books I kind of need to try and get cheap stuff). But it was the first used book I've gotten in a while, and I forgot how much I really like them. There's a strange sense of not reading it alone when you know someone else has touched those pages, which was neat with the overarching camaraderie in the book. Plus there's such a good smell to them. That's not weird.
My next book is also really short, so I'm going to try and knock it out in a couple of days. We're headed off on a cruise later this week (my first) and I'm not planning on taking any of these books, so I felt like I needed to get a few out before that. (Um, why? Why do I feel pressure? It's not like any of you are beating down my door for this stuff.Oh well.) So hopefully I'll have another "review" out this week and then I'm sure I'll have cruise adventures to regale you with!
The Last Will & Testament of Senhor da Silva Araújo by Germano Almeida
Cape Verde is a little cluster of islands off the west coast of Africa:
Here's the summary:
Everyone in Cape Verde knows Senor da Silva. Successful entrepreneur, owner of the island's first automobile, a most serious, upright, and self-made businessman, Senor da Silva is the local success story. Born an orphan, he never married, he never splurged--one good suit was good enough for him--and he never wandered from the straight and narrow. Or so everyone thought. But when Senor da Silva's 387-page Last Will and Testament is read aloud--a marathon task on a hot afternoon which exhausts reader after reader--there's eye-opening news, and not just for the smug nephew so certain of inheriting all Senor da Silva's property. With his will, Senor da Silva leaves a memoir that is a touching web of elaborate self-deceptions. He desired so ardently to prosper, to be taken seriously, to join (perhaps, if they'll have him) the exclusive Gremio country club, and, most of all, to be a good man. And yet, shady deals, twists of fate, an illegitimate child: such is the lot of poor, self-critical Senor da Silva. A bit like Calvino's Mr. Palomar in his attention to protocol and in his terror of life's passions; a bit like Calvino's Mr. Palomar in his attention to protocol and in his terror of life's passions; a bit like Svevo's Zeno (a little pompous, a little old-fashioned, and often hapless), Senor da Silva moves along a deliciously blurry line between farce and tragedy: a self-important buffoon becomes a fully human, even tragic, figure in the arc of this hilarious and touching novel - translated into Spanish, German, French, Italian, Dutch, Norwegian, Swedish, and now, at last, English.
So this one was...eh. It was fine. One thing that kept getting me was I kept picturing this setting as South America. Because I keep picturing Portugal as mostly having colonized South America...instead of Africa which is a lot closer? I don't know. I also had no idea how to pronounce the name in my head so that distracted me a bit.
I did have some thoughts on this one---SPOILERS AHEAD.
So this illegitimate kid? He straight up raped his maid. Because she had on a green skirt and he was "powerless." OMFG. Shut the fuck up. But it gets worse because the second time he rapes her, he's nicer. So then they just start banging on the regular. Because WTF. And the maid-mom is just like, yeah, after that we wanted to bone, so we did. And I'm not going to say that something like that would never happen in real life, but I would think it wouldn't happen that often and it seems gross.
And I fucking hate how so many of these (mostly men) write about women in a lot of these books. If a woman has any interest in sex she's a disgusting whore, but of course the men can have sex with as many women as they want and it's cool. Women are just seen as these bothersome things that tempt men into doing bad things...heaven forbid men take responsibility for their actions and will power or lack there of. Why do men keep writing women this way? (Sorry, of course not all of them.) So, um, there's my little rant that lots of men need to stop being vile pigs.
Less tiradey, have you noticed that we really only use the word "eccentric" for rich people? Poor people are just weird or crazy. But this guy used 4 different toothbrushes a day (okay that's the only one I can remember but there were a lot of other odd things), and he was just *eccentric.*
Lastly, I don't want to get old. That sounds bad, but you just deteriorate as you get older. Your mind goes, your body goes (and I'm not doing so great in that department already), and there are all these things you can't do for yourself anymore. It's a depressing prospect.
That's also a depressing ending. Although I guess most of this has been depressing. I really hope I get back to books that I really enjoy, that don't just see women as disposable, one dimensional objects. Umm. Yes.
Or, just a continuation?
During the past few months, I've started this post several times. The words would float in my head, or I'd start typing, and then I stopped, or deleted. I told myself, "Come on. They don't need or care about yet another whiny post because you don't feel good." But today things got worse. And I figure, if there's anybody reading that has health problems that maybe wants to hear someone else's story, or commiserate from afar, it's worth it. So if you're not interested in my frustrated-scared-sad-resilient-defiant-angry post about my health, read no further.
A week or two before Christmas, I developed what looked like some tiny blisters on my palms. I thought maybe there was something irritated on my tablet or gaming controller. Because I'm compulsive, I popped the sacs and picked at the thicker skin. I guess that's not really relevant, but it shows the mental state. Soldier has repeatedly yelled at me to not pick at it, but I can't help it. I've literally been picking, saying in my head "just fucking stop" and I couldn't.
I hoped it would go away on its own (my standard practice) but we saw Dr. Dad in Law at Christmas, so I asked him. He said it was just some eczema and I just needed some cream. Well, time passed, and he tried to prescribe the cream...but because healthcare is SO GREAT here, I couldn't get it.
Finally about a month ago I went to see a doctor, who prescribed some less good cream. I went through two tubes and it didn't really help. I should mention that by this time, it has spread ALL OVER. It's on my arms, my legs, my feet, my back, my stomach, my scalp. Thankfully (and maybe oddly) not on my face. I keep saying my body looks like a meth addict took over.
So finally I went to see a dermatologist. Actually today I saw both the rheumatologist and dermatologist. I figured I might as well get it over all at once and it was tough. The plus side is the rheumatologist gave me steroids to knock out the swelling before this cruise we're about to take. The minus(?) side is that my medication may or may not be working and we might have to try again. I also have to decrease the dosage of my other meds so they don't ruin my eyes, so I'm nervous about that.
Then came the dermatologist. My expectation had been that it would be a quick, painless appointment where she'd just give me a stronger cream. Instead I ended up with a chunk being taken out of my back because she's concerned it might be lupus caused by Humira. Let me tell you, I'm gonna be real fucking pissed if this medication for one autoimmune disease gave me another autoimmune disease! I also just really didn't like the appointment...I felt like she was judging me a lot.
So I now have to wait a couple of weeks to find out if I have lupus. And at the end of the day I ended up with a chunk out of my back with a single stitch and both elbows bandaged up from blood draws. Yes, I had to get blood drawn from both arms from both doctors. Maybe that's not super uncommon, but it made me feel bad. Also one of them has apparently bruised way up my arm which is inconvenient.
I absolutely hate doctor days. It's so frustrating, and infuriating, that all this shit just keeps happening. Like my immune system goes crazy, so it needs to be shut down, which opens me up to everything else. Okay, which I'm still banking on it not being lupus...because I don't want that. And then it's so exhausting because I worry about whatever is going to happen and then have to process all the new information and worry about that.
It's now night time and I've cried, drank some wine, taken a bath, and talked to Dr. Dad in Law (who I wanted to just tell me that the dermatologist was dumb but kind of didn't). I'm so tired. My body is tired, my mind is tired, and all of the pokes and cuts and bruises are making themselves known. The worst part is that the stress and worry makes it all worse, but (at least for me) there's no way to not worry and stress.
So, again, this post was very whiny and woe is me. But if anyone else has any similar issues, I hope there's some sense of camaraderie or...something. This shit sucks. And...well I don't really have a good ending for this. I'm very tired and sore and I'm hoping this won't keep me from getting some sleep tonight. And I'm really hoping I don't have lupus. That's just an inconvenience that I don't want to handle.
