Yes, it does.
Measuring African capital flight
Léonce Ndikumana and James K. Boyce
2011-12-21, Issue 564
BLEEDING A CONTINENT: THE COSTS OF CAPITAL FLIGHT
Africa is bleeding money, as capital flows into the private accounts of African elites and their accomplices in Western financial centres. At the same time, the continent is in dire need of financing. For Africa to overcome widespread and extreme poverty, it needs sustained and sustainable economic growth. This will require very large increases in the levels of domestic investment, especially in infrastructure. [27]
Researchers and development institutions have invested considerable time and energy to prove that African countries need more resources to meet their infrastructure financing needs. The 2009 Africa Infrastructure Country Diagnostic report concluded that Africa's middle-income countries need investment of about 10 per cent of GDP per year in infrastructure alone. [28] Investment needs for low-income African countries are higher at about 15 per cent of GDP annually. To achieve these levels, the continent's investment would need to be scaled up by at least $100 billion per year to nearly double the current level.
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A “Platinum Life" for the “WaBenzi” Tribe…
Many millions of Africans are desperately poor.
But the continent is rich.
According to the World Wealth Report, the continent had roughly 100,000 high net worth individuals in 2008, twice as many as a decade before. Of these, about 1,800 were 'ultra-high net worth individuals', with at least $30 million each in investable assets. [24] Together these rich Africans held about $800 billion in investable assets in 2008.
Compared to other regions, African private wealth holders exhibit a stronger preference for foreign assets as opposed to domestic assets. According to a study by researchers at the World Bank and IMF, an astonishing 40 per cent of Africa's total private wealth was held abroad as flight capital in 1990.
Léonce Ndikumana and James K. Boyce - Measuring African capital flight / Pambazooka News 12-21-2011
~
Until independence, the opportunities for self-enrichment were limited; the principal beneficiaries of colonial rule were the white elite, officials and businessmen, enjoying a lifestyle which the black elite aspired to emulate but were largely prevented from reaching.
Independence unlocked the floodgates.
Politicians used their public office to extract ‘commissions’ at every available opportunity. The bigger the politician, the bigger the political or business manipulation.
The common cut on government contracts in West Africa was 10 per cent. Foreign firms and local businessmen alike budgeted for the extra 10 per cent that had to be paid either to politicians or to the ruling party to succeed.
In numerous cases, prominent politicians simply looted the state treasury, transferring money to their private accounts; loans and debts to the state were routinely overlooked. The practice of bribery and embezzlement spread from top to bottom, from politicians to tax collectors, customs officers, policemen, postal clerks and dispensary assistants. It affected everything from job applications to licences, scholarships, foreign exchange and the location of factories.
Writing about West Africa in 1961, Frantz Fanon observed: ‘Scandals are numerous, ministers grow rich, their wives doll themselves up, the members of parliament feather their nests and there is not a soul down to the simple policeman or the customs officer who does not join in the great procession of corruption.’ In time, bribery and corruption became ‘a way of life’, accepted as a means of getting by, earning a living, obtaining a service or avoiding hassle.
The wealth the new elite acquired was ostentatiously displayed in grand houses, luxury cars and lavish lifestyles – ‘platinum life’, it was called in Abidjan.
In East Africa a new tribe appeared, cynically known as the WaBenzi, in description of rich politicians, officials and businessmen who drove about in expensive Mercedes-Benz cars.
Though ministers in parliament and at public meetings still issued promises about social equality and referred sympathetically to the needs of the common man, the gap between the rich elite living in plush villas, elegant apartment buildings and town houses, and the masses surviving in slums and bidonvilles on the fringes of towns became ever more noticeable.
A study of trade figures of fourteen francophone states in 1964 showed that the amount spent on importing alcoholic drinks was six times higher than that spent on importing fertiliser. Half as much was spent on perfume and cosmetic imports as on machine tools.
Almost as much went on importing petrol for privately owned cars as on the purchase of tractors; and five times as much on importing cars as on agricultural equipment.
Martin Meredith - The Fate of Africa: A History of the Continent Since Independence 2011
..
"the start of an academic scramble for Africa "
Can we only think of Africa in terms of how we have thought of Africa?
Another part of Africa...
“ …Can we only think of Africa in terms of how we have thought of Africa?”
( ...I hear you!)
For me, I think if anything, I’ve probably been a little too guilty of looking at Africa with rose colored glasses, almost out of necessity, because I understand that, for me, how I look at Africa is intrinsically tied with how I view myself.
I’ve tended to focus on pre-colonial Africa, because the whole colonial period can be a particularly disheartening read.
But finally piecing together post-colonial Africa has been mind boggling.
( …It’s been the equivalent of my own personal “Truth & Reconciliation” moment!)
I still have great hopes for Africa, but I think that at the end of the day, the only people that can save Africa are Africans.
Yet, though key, I don’t think it’s so much about developing the better and brighter minds ( …Because there really ARE a wealth of those already here!) but more so a collective change in the conscience of those that DO become leaders!
( ...I don’t even think the average person in the states has a real sense of how far Africa actually has evolved in spite of the challanges!)
The "people" on the other hand?
I know a guy, a friend from here, who seems to know everything and everybody.
( …One of those kinda guys where, you might be looking for something and you could ask 15 people about it and they’d be clueless, but ask THIS cat and he’ll have it over at your house in 15 minutes!)
When I first got here, we were riding around one day and I noticed an almost gothic looking structure that seemed to rise considerably higher than the average homes and buildings that surrounded it.
I asked him what the story was behind it.
“That house? That’s Alpha Blondy’s house!”
I sense he sees the bird’s chirpings in my head.
“Do you know Alpha Blondy?”
I tell him the name is vaguely familiar, but I have no clue.
“Alpha Blondy is a big international Reggae star!”
Well, I had no true point of reference to state other wise.
( …I could appreciate reggae well enough and was a big fan of the Bob Marley & the Waliers when the albums “Burnin’” and “Natty Dread” came out, but after that… I don’t know, it just all started to sound the same to me!)
Fast forward some weeks later and the same guy and I have gone out to pick up some ginger root drink.
( …The stuff is what I imagine whiskey would be like without the alcohol, …if I actually knew what whiskey tastes like! …Really, REALLY strong!)
We don’t go to the store, but stop by someone’s home.
He dips in and comes back out with two quart containers of it in less than 5 minutes.
Heading back, I notice he’s not taking a route I’m familiar with and I ask him about it.
“ …I’m going to show you a short cut!”
As we wind a round a corner, I find myself face to face with a familiar gothic structure.
“…I know this place!” I blurt out.
“…YOU know this place?”
He’s looking at me with a quizzical grin.
“Man, everybody knows this place! …This is Alpha Blondys house!”
“You know Alpha Blondy?”
“Man! Don’t play with me! …YOU told me about Alpha Blondy!”
“Oh, okay! I wasn’t sure! …Now you know where he lives!”
“Alpha Blondy lives around the corner from me?”
“No. …YOU live around the corner from Alpha Blondy!”
“WHATEVER, dude! …This is WILD! …THAT place is HUGE!”
He suddenly grabs my arm and points.
“Look. …Alpha Blondy!”
I see a guy with VERY long dreadlocks walking along the sidewalk talking with another guy.
( …I’d still never gotten around to doing my homework on who the Alpha Blondy was, so I didn’t know if it was true or not!)
“You want to meet him?”
Before I can even answer, he winds down the car window and starts speaking loudly in French.
The man with the dreadlocks responds and starts to walk towards the car.
In my mind, I’m anticipating him shaking my hand sounding all “Rasta” like, but to my surprise, he grabs my hand and with the most impeccable English diction I’d heard since I’d been in Africa ( …And maybe even BEFORE I left “The States”) he says:
“Welcome my brother. …I understand that this is your first time in Abidjan. …I hope you will find your stay here enjoyable. You will see this is a very inviting culture. There is wealth of good food to be found everywhere along with great people and a wonderful atmosphere!
Also... Welcome to Africa!
It will be my wish that you truly get to see how much the continent actually has to offer!
And, last, but not least… Welcome back HOME, my brother!”
( ...Welcome back HOME? ...Honest to goodness, a chill went up my spine!)
He then grabbed my fist, shook it with both hands and then pointed at my friend and smiles as we drove off.
I’m now looking at him with an inquisitive sense of disbelief.
Grinning from ear to ear and seemingly oblivious to my look, he says:
“Now you can tell people you have met Alpha Blondy!”
“Dude! Was the REALLY Alpha Blondy?”
“YES man! What? You think I play the trick?”
“ …I don’t KNOW!!!”
“I know Alpha Blondy for a long time. I tell him, in French, that you are American and that this is your first time in Africa.”
“You mean to tell me that I live less than 5 minutes away from Alpha Blondy?”
“Not even 5 minutes!”
( …I’m thinking, if that was Alpha Blondy, this was probably one of the wildest, surreal moments in my existence on the planet!)
Once home, I finally get around to doing my homework and find out Alpha Blondy is, indeed, an internationally know artist.
I also found out that:
(Alpha Blondy) studied English at Hunter College in New York, and later in the Columbia University American Language Program. He majored in English because he wanted to become an English teacher - Wikipedia
( …Which TOTALLY explained his exemplary use of the “Queens” English!)
Funnier still, while checking out some of his performances on Youtube, I found a clip of him doing a live reggae version of Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here ” that I thought was pretty cool! ( …Which, ironically, is also a tune that had been periodically buzzing in and out of my head since I’d been here!)
As the days go by here, I find the more I learn, the more I realize exactly how much I DON”T know about Africa.
People will say:
“How is Africa?”
I realize this is just a shorthand way of asking how I’m enjoying my stay, but it always brings to mind that Africa is not just a CONTINENT, but the 2nd most populated continent ( …after Asia!) made up of 53 COUNTRIES!
( …As opposed to a COUNTRY made up of 50 states!)
It’s like meeting someone one day from another country who says they know all about America because they visited Cleveland, Ohio one summer!
I say all of that to say that I find Africa, the continent, a very complex place and nuanced to an infinite degree.
So much so, that I only TRULY feel qualified to speak about the country I’m currently in, that being Côte d'Ivoire.
But with that said, it’s been an amazing experience.
( …Côte d'Ivoire, not much unlike a lot of African countries, has had its issues and is far from perfect, but if you enjoy warm weather, FANTASTIC food and EXTREMELY friendly people, then you would absolutely LOVE Abidjan!)
Since being here, I’ve met a lot of people who have spent a considerable amount time all over Africa and you hear a multitude of stories that range from the sublime to the profane.
( …More time than not, they may actually be speaking events occurring in the same place!)
The one constant that I hear is that even with a multitude of issues that they are STILL dealing with there, everyone LOVES South Africa!
( …And, truthfully, I feel in love with THIS place probably no more than a week in, but in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with western standards!)
On mornings when I get out to run, I’m usually out on the main street between 5:30 – 6:00 AM.
( …In the states, this is usually I time of solitude!)
Here, people are already on the streets, well into their day.
Most are setting up umbrellas for what at best could be considered vender stands, like little mini 7-11’s.
Fresh fruits and vegetables are everywhere and it’s not uncommon to smell the serious aroma of grilled meats of various seasonings.
( …At times, it seems as if there are more people out and about with things to sell than people to buy them!)
I experience this for about 15 minutes of my run until I exit of the main road into a new home construction area.
These are homes that would be considered as mini-mansions in the states.
( …For obvious reasons, the vast majority are predominantly concrete!)
What I was amazed to find out was that the cinder blocks are not imported, but are mixed and made on site. The scaffolding? Not metal, but bamboo, usually ranging in size from a quarter to a half foot in circumference, ten to fifteen feet tall.
You look at at it and think: “Oh my gosh! What maniac thought this up?” But as I’ve come to learn, it’s not an anomaly, they’ve got it down to a science.
( …These are also not homes that are being built to be sold. They’ve already been bought and paid for!)
Another ten minutes in and I’m passing through a neighborhood of homes that would not be ill at ease in any type of architectural digest.
Ultra modern in look, adorned by flora and massive palms year round, I get a certain comfort in seeing people of color doing so well.
But at a certain point, I run out of houses as well as the neighborhood and hit the patch of the run I like to call “Death Valley”
( …It’s 15 minutes of sand and the traction is horrible!)
Interestingly enough, it’s not uncommon to pass school age kids in uniforms on their way to school.
No matter how winded I may THINK I feel, I ALWAYS make sure my breathing is under control so that I can greet them cordially with a “bonjour!”
( …First and foremost, I do it because it’s just the polite and cordial thing to do!)
But also because it’s a genuine joy to see such gracious personalities come to life when they reply:
“ …Bonjour!”
‘…Bonjour, monsieur!”
“ …Bonjour, patron!”
( …I don’t particularly LIKE ‘patron’, but I get it!)
Every blue moon, I’ll encounter other runners who I get the distinct impression are locals who, on approach, will perform what I’ve found so far to be two variations of a five beat clap before or sometimes after passing:
“clap / clap / clap-clap-clap!”
or
clap-clap / clap-clap / clap!”
( …All within the contextual time of one stride without breaking it!)
The sand finally turns into a dirt path surrounded by obscenely high growth of grass and palms.
Beyond the growth to either side, you begin to see food gardens of various sizes.
At this point, the sun is usually rising in an orange and yellow glow as men, women and children alike are planting, hoeing, watering and harvesting any of a variety of foods.
( …I have no idea what time they get up to get started on all of that, but it’s obvious at that point they’ve already been at it awhile!)
Once I pass the farmers and their crops, I briefly cut through a patch of brush covered with coconut / coca trees and I’m passing over the 2nd hole of the local golf course.
( …I’ve come to find golf is very big with people of color here!)
It’s not uncommon to find any number of people on it at any given time just passing through as I am.
Across the course is a commonly used uphill short cut to a residential neighborhood not too far from my destination.
This area also has more palatial homes right out of “Architecture Digest.”
There are very few exposed lawns. Most usually have fashionable 7- 10 foot restraining walls topped of by varying degrees of decorative barbed wire.
( …I know! ‘Decorative Barbed Wire” …Beautiful but deadly! ...Top of the line wire is electrified!)
All have 24 hour stationary and / or roving security guards in standard bright yellow short sleeved shirts and hats.
I’m familiar with most of them now and we exchange the customary “Bonjours” as I pass by.
( …BMWs, Peugeots, Mercedes, etc. are all common on this street!)
Once out of the neighborhood, I've officially put in about a good hour on the road.
It’s not long before I’m at the Embassy working out at what I like to call the “Raw Meat Club”
( …Where all of the hardcore “Gym Rats” hang out!)
But I digress.
Somewhere in the middle of all of that is the real Abidjan.
And another part of Africa...
@The Family Clone, thanks + one more for ya
Great commentary & anecdotes!
Just got this as shared on Google+. The comments are as interesting as the post, I think:
http://blogs.hbr.org/cs/2012/01/information_technologys_danger.html
(Sorry, don't have the link thing worked out on my iPad yet.)
Thanks, Family Clone
(This is from my Kindle, the first mobile device I've ever used so I'm still learning.)
There's a lot of controversy in economics about the value of FDI in economic development. In theory it works great and is indispensable but in practice neither is usually true.
The biggest problem seems to be when FDI takes the form of debt denominated in foreign currency. This has led to the currency attacks by Quantum and Tiger hedge finds (and their imitators), in which speculators bet against the central bank's ability to defend its currency. It's been over 15 years since Quantum wrecked the economies of Southeast Asia in this way, and the World Bank has nothing in its toolkit for this sort of problem.
A Short Biography of Yesterday...
.
Today is the time to wake up.
I do not have a deathwish, and I do not call on Nigerians to die.
I call on Africans to make an effort to actually live before the death that is the promise of all flesh finally comes.
I do not call on Nigerians to kill their corrupt, reprobate, leaders.
I call on them to KICK them emphatically out of office and influence.
As Africans, the time has come to take back our land from the last colonists.
We must build the boldness of that conviction.
This is not a socialist rant.
I firmly believe in the right of people to work hard, earn whatever they are motivated to earn.
And keep what they earn.
But we must prioritise our communities.
I do not believe that national budgets should be annually stolen while the true owners of the money die like beggars because they are afraid to die.
We have been mentally colonised into thinking that this is our lot.
It is not.
We have a great destiny. As a country, as a continent, let us get over this crippling fear…
This fear that keeps a tribe of a thousand thieves lord and master of a hundred million. For even the brooding hen will fight for her chicks.
However futile the battle against the eagle, she will fight for her young.
Spunk is the outstanding attribute of the African spirit.
Let us rediscover it.
Chuma Nwokolo – A Short Biography of Yesterday
~
At a dinner conversation a few nights ago, I decided to try and get a consensus on the state of Africa from someone who I’d recently made the acquaintance of, who had grown up in Nigeria, along with someone else I’d already known for some time who hailed from Ghana.
The conversation started off with a discussion on what all had been going on in Nigeria with the repeal of the gas subsides.
( …Goodluck Jonathan has been someone that I’ve been intrigued by for awhile, if no more than the fact he tends to dress more like the late “Jam Master Jay” from “Run DMC” than an African or even western politician! )
I stated that I was amazed to find out that there is no true functioning electrical infrastructure and that the gas subsidy repeal wasn’t affecting people’s abilities to drive their automobiles nearly as much as the fact that electricity to most homes and businesses were provided by individually owned gas powered generators.
“Which makes absolutely no sense whatsoever!” replied the Nigerian native.
He no longer lived in Nigeria and was actually visiting for a brief period from his home in the US where he is now a citizen, but it was transparently clear he took umbrage with this.
The conversation then went into whether or not an electrical grid infrastructure could be successfully implemented throughout the country and what were considered the current impediments to it.
“Well for starters, what would happen to the generator industry? There’s way too much hand washing that goes on with that! But beyond that, the basic mismanagement and corruption in government!”
I wanted to ask if it could really be that bad, but I’d done enough homework.
( …At best, it just reconfirmed it!)
It was agreed that, none convened believes, by and large, that most of the governments that have come in to power in Africa over the last several decades did so with the intent purpose of becoming corrupt and that, initially, there are genuine intentions to bring about change to benefit the people, but that it’s the trappings of power and what it can afford those who prior to that time had little to nothing that rivals it, can be extremely seductive.
“It’s like a curse.” Someone said. “They end becoming just like the monsters they get rid of and in some cases become even worse.”
We were also of the same opinion that the woes of Africa had nothing to do with education, but everything to do with the morality of those that come to power, although there did seem to be a considerable question as to whether or not morality was something one could be truly educated to as opposed to it being a belief system to be embraced.
Curiously, I asked if anyone could think of any African leaders of recent times that had shown quality leadership.
There was a brief silence.
“Define quality,” came a response. “Do you mean like “Charles Taylor” quality?”
( …The deadpan delivery elicited a laughter from all at our table that I inadvertently had to acknowledge in spite of myself!)
“ …NO!” I replied, trying as best I could to suppress my inclination towards laughter.
“Come on man!” I pleaded. “You’re clownin’ me now! …You KNOW what I mean! Someone like Mandela, where it seems that they’re generally acting primarily on behalf of the people’s best interests first!”
It got even funnier when everyone started looking at one another with eyebrows arched and cutting glances, but there was no immediate answer forthcoming from those assembled at our table.
“Are you serious?” I asked, “Nobody?”
The person hailing from Ghana sheepishly threw up his hands, shrugged and said to the guy from Nigeria:
“ …Flight Lieutenant?”
“Yea.” He responded, matter of factly “ I could agree with Flight Lieutenant.”
I immediately knew this was short hand for Flight Lieutenant Jerry Rawlings.
The Nigerian elaborated:
“Flight Lieutenant Jerry Rawlings, while, granted, a lot of what he may have done early on would certainly not have been considered ethical by western standards, like executing enemies of the state and what have you, he brought a certain stability to Ghana”
He gave me a look that seemed to say this may not have been exactly what I was looking for, but that it was about as good as it was going to get.
Along with this, the friend from Ghana who had originally suggested it, also noted that Rawlings DID eventually hand power back over to the politicians, as well as legitimately run for office a few years later to win what was considered a fair election.
I suddenly thought of and mentioned Léopold Senghor of Senegal, to which it was roundly agreed that he could be considered as a quality leader as well.
“But the problem is, for whatever the reason, once these guys get in to power, they just don’t want to LEAVE! …You can see the problems this has caused over time.
The average African, by and large, DOES want to live by a TRUE democracy.”
And it was on THAT note in which our pre-dinner conversation ended as our food arrived.
~
If you take the longest you’ve ever had to wait for a meal and then double I,t that would be about the average wait time here.
( … The predominance of dining establishments take their food preparation VERY seriously here!)
Food is usually not sold or cooked with the idea of it sitting around for days on in infused with a multitude of preservatives.
(…It’s amazing to find out how robust meats, poultry, fish and vegetables can taste WITHOUT all of that!)
Taking into account that Côte d'Ivoire was a French colony right up until the early 60’s, when you go out to eat, you find out exactly how much the French influence dominates the cooking here.
The upside ( …If you can call it that!) is that it really compels you to work on your conversational skills, because you automatically know going in that you will have a whole lot of time to talk before your food arrives.
( …I always find it interesting to see how much you actually CAN find to talk about!)
Once your food does arrive, all of the “normal” after dinner conversation has taken place to the point where there’s little else to do but eat and leave, but on a very high note to be sure!
( …If you find your STILL talking AFTER you’ve eaten, then THIS can usually be considered as a true sign of an EXTRAORDINARY meal!)
All in all, it made for an engaging night and an enlightening conversation.
~
Solara: You know, you say you've been walking for thirty years, right?
Eli: Right
Solara: Have you ever thought that maybe you were lost?
Eli: Nope.
Solara: Well, how do you know that you're walking in the right direction?
Eli: I walk by faith, not by sight.
Solara: [sighs] What does that mean?
Eli: It means that you know something even if you don't know something.
Solara: ...That doesn't make any SENSE!
Eli: It doesn't have to make sense. It's faith, it's faith. It's the flower of light in the field of darkness that's giving me the strength to carry on. ...You understand?
Solara: Is that from your book?
Eli: No, it's, uh, ...Johnny Cash, Live at Folsom Prison.
The Book of Eli - 2010
~
Space age before my eyes
Opening up the skies
Death awaits with pearly gates
For those who've been mesmerized
Many a years has come and gone
But progress marches slowly on
In nature's paint, she hides the stain
'Cos everybody is going insane
The only thing that will sustain are the roll right stones
Traffic – Roll Right Stones / Shoot Out at the Fantasy Factory 1973
.
A smaller note
I'm about halfway through another book that kept getting recommended to me: Walk Out, Walk On. I mention it because one of the projects described in it is Zimbabwe-based, but more because it takes a systemic approach to fending off the consequences of colonialism from the micro level. A running theme of the book is "No one is coming to help," and what small groups of locals do with that mindset, whether Zapatistas in Mexico or the people at Kufunda Learning Village in Zimbabwe. Another running theme is that a solution in one geographic area cannot and will not work when transplanted wholesale to another area, or when scaled up too far. But other groups/communities can still learn from the successes.
it reminds me in a way of the more idealistic and lofty "tribal" ideas of Daniel Quinn and his followers back in the '90s, except these micro-solutions seem to be working.
Ladies and Gentlemen: The Roll Right Stones...
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Africa is the most overwhelming place I’ve ever fallen in love with.
Not overwhelming for the conventional reasons—too much poverty, crime, misery. It’s overwhelming because of its complexity. It’s overwhelming because in every story I heard, in every place I visited, in every person I met, there seemed to be just as much to celebrate as to grieve.
Africa always confronts me with the full range of human experience—our most glorious triumphs and contemptible atrocities.
It is a place where the past and the present are inextricably intertwined.
Margaret Wheatley, Deborah Frieze - Walk Out Walk On: A Learning Journey into Communities Daring to Live the Future Now 2011
~
Prior to reading a free Kindle sample of the above, I had this "brain dump" rolling around in the back of my head where I had planned to reflect on the roots of the song “Roll Right Stones” back to Stonehenge in England and how the percussionist on that song and many others for the group “Traffic”, was a guy by the name of Rebop Kwaku Baah, who was orignally from Ghana and then into a whole bunch of other stuff about drums in general and in particular the adventure I found myself on for one I recently bought here.
( …Yes, that IS the short version!)
After reading through the sample I immediately purchased the entire book.
I’ve found it to be a fascinating read over the last several days.
( ...So much so that my ideas for the "dump" got dumped!)
I find it articulates a multitude of thoughts I've had about approaching and seeing Africa in a far more concrete and cohesive manner.
( …”Resilience” was another word that was staring me dead in the face!)
My window for posting is sadly ( …For me, anyway!) fast coming to a close, but lastly, just wanted to share that I had the opportunity to spend close to a week in Paris last November before coming back to Africa.
( ...I always wondered why writers like Wright, Baldwin and Ellison would all speak to how they felt France inspired them so!)
That thought has now effectively been put to rest in the recesses of my mind forever.
On the flight heading back from Paris to Africa, I lucked out and got to see the movie “Benda Bilili” which I had wanted to, but failed to see while in the states.
I don’t know if either the UK or US trailers for it really do it any true justice in terms of defining what the movie is about, but at a certain point in it, one of the street kids ask out loud in an agitated manner why Europe is such a big deal. His friend says something along the lines of how it’s a place everyone wants to go, only some can go and some can’t go, but everyone wants to go. He points to birds in a cage and says that even they want to go to Europe.
I think back on that scene it all these months later and wonder why that stays with me as it does.
The only thing that comes to mind is that I hope one day the other kids gets to go.
~
Went to see a standing stone
Some in circles, some alone
Ancient, worn and weather torn
They chill me to my very bone
Many of these can be seen
In quiet places, fields of green
Of hedgerow lanes with countless names
But the only thing that remains are the roll right stones
~
Resilience is learning to dance with life, to flex, adapt, and create as life keeps surprising us. It’s a capacity as old as our origins, otherwise we wouldn’t be here. Throughout time and culture, humans have learned how to survive, to persevere. Until recently, many of us thought we didn’t have to worry about resilience. We believed in continuous progress, that life was always going to get better. Now, perhaps, we understand that systems do fail, that economies do collapse. Yet it’s hard to comprehend what that would really be like. We won’t know what it feels like until we’re in it.
Margaret Wheatley, Deborah Frieze - Walk Out Walk On: A Learning Journey into Communities Daring to Live the Future Now 2011
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In Search of the Djembe...
.
They cut out our tongues …
… They left us speechless …
They scattered our tongues in this land like seed …
… And left us without language …
… They took away our talking drums …
… Drums that talked like a telegraph.
Drums that told the news almost before it happened!
Drums like a conscience and a deep heartbeat that knew right from wrong.
Drums that told glad tidings!
Drums that sent the news of trouble speeding home!
Drums that told us our time and told us where we were …
… Yes, and they took those drums away … Away!
… They left us drumless and they left us danceless …
Ah yes, they burnt up our talking drums and our dancing drums …
No drums to raise the spirits and wake up our memories.
No dance to stir the rhythm that makes life move.
… And we, let’s count it again, brothers and sisters; let’s add it up.
Eyeless,
tongueless,
drumless,
danceless,
songless,
hornless,
soundless,
sightless,
dayless,
nightless,
wrongless,
rightless,
motherless,
fatherless
- scattered.
And some were the sons and the daughters of warriors…. … Of warriors… Of fierce warriors. And some were the sons and the daughters of farmers…. Of African farmers… … And some of musicians… … Musicians… And some were the sons and the daughters of weapon-makers and smelters of brass and iron….
Let’s tell this thing true: because the truth is the light. And they brought us here in chains…. In chains, son: in iron chains…. From half a world away, they brought us….
Keep, keep, keep to the rhythm and you won’t get weary. …Keep to the rhythm and you won’t get lost.
Ralph Ellison - Three Days Before the Shooting (Juneteenth) 2010
~
“What's up, my man?”
The familiar voice pulled me out of my absent minded haze.
It was my good friend, the guy I know who knows everybody and everything.
I had been sitting in the car, paralyzed, trying to figure out what to get “The Wife” for her birthday.
Normally, be it birthdays, Christmas, etc. inspiration usually doesn’t hit me until the 11th hour, but when it does, I’m usually “All In” behind it.
“Dude, …I need a drum!”
The epiphany hadn’t entered my mind until I saw him at that exact moment.
“Not a problem man. …You want to go and get one now?”
“Not right this minute, but how about tomorrow afternoon?”
“Not a problem.”
“But look, man! It’s GOT to be original, unique… I don’t want to go walk into someone else’s house one day and they’ve got the EXACT same drum sitting in their living room!”
“Not a problem. …I know what you are looking for. A BIG drum. Like a Djembe ”
“EXACTLY”
“Not a problem. …I will see you tomorrow.”
We do a “snap – shake – snap” handshake and just like that, the game plan for “The Hunt” was on.
~
During the 1970’s, the Nigerian born Reebop Kwaku Baah was a percussionist for the English rock group Traffic.
As far as I was concerned, he WAS Traffic. I thought the rhythmic harmony and complexity he brought to the music was nothing less than brilliant.
He also had a “swagger” that I thought was incredibly cool. His posture in every photo I saw him in always seemed to be saying:
“Make no mistake! I AM the coolest cat in THIS band!”
( ...In my mind's eye, he was never playing with the band as much as the band was playing around him!)
I’d seen and heard so many drums and drummers since I had been here that, in retrospect, it gave me that much more of an appreciation of the types of things he was doing on songs like “Roll Right Stones”
( …Which, based on the some what cryptic nature of the lyrics, I naively thought it an off hand reference to the the Rolling Stones or Traffic themselves, only to find out it was about the ancient stone structures like Stonehenge in England.)
But the more I thought about the idea of getting the drum, the cooler it seemed.
Now all I had to do was pull it off.
~
Sure enough, as planned, the next day we meet up and started to head across town.
On the way, I tell him that I hope he’s really got my back on this thing because it was for “The Wife’s” birthday, which happened to be that day.
“No problem, man. …You need flowers too, right?”
Crap! I did! It had totally slipped my mind
“Yea, man! I do.”
“Not a problem. First, let’s go get the flowers first. …I will show you a short cut!”
We end up going of the main road at some point and proceeded to bounce up and down some funky-freaky road which seemed as if it would have been right at home on a dirt bike course.
Ultimately, we ended up going down into a grove that ended at a flower nursery.
In less than 10 minutes time we left with 25 roses for about what you’d normally pay for a dozen in the states.
( …I also found out that French tradition frowns on buying an even numbers of flowers!)
We shot back out in route to the city but as fate would have it, we hit a traffic jam.
While waiting, we talked of the politics of Africa along with football (soccer) and music and he had interesting perspectives on all, given his being Muslim and having grown up in Côte d'Ivoire.
After sitting for what seemed about a lifetime, I said that as bad as I wanted to get the drum, I wasn’t going to allow us both to be held hostage behind it for the majority of the day.
I told my friend I still wanted to get one, but I’d tell my wife it was “pending” and I’d come up with a “Plan B.”
We agreed I’d leave enough money with him to get a drum and he could just catch up with me when he’d gotten it.
He was cool with it, but I could tell this wasn’t sitting right with him.
( …This was a cat that I know the word “fail” does not register with unless it applies to others!)
We were headed back and minutes away from me dropping him off when he blurted out:
“We get the drum TODAY!”
I give him a quizzical look.
I know he knows what my next question is.
“A different place. The place I was going to take you, the guy he makes the drums there. This place they sell them. It may cost maybe a little more than I would want you to pay, but don’t worry, I will get you the best price."
We end up in a very small market place filled with African items of every kind imaginable for sale.
No sooner than we stop than he’s out of the car in a flash and I follow him into one of the open aired shops.
He’s talking rapid fire French, almost as if he were accusing somebody of something.
In no time at all, an assortment of drums are brought out, each individually unique and different.
The craftsmanship on each is mind boggling.
I pick one, but it’s not as if I could have gone wrong in choosing any of them.
My friend inspects the drum.
“It is good. But wait, you will also need a good bag.”
A bag?
The drum is just over two feet high with an 18 inch in diameter head.
What kind of bag would even fit it?
Just then, one of the shop guys comes over with a shopping bag that looks way too small, but in the shopping are form fitting drum bags, the equivalent of a book bag made for drums, complete with shoulder straps and a zipper topped lid in an assortment of African patterns.
As much as I was impressed by the drum, I was blown away with how much the bag complimented the drum.
And of course, because I know the guy who knows everybody, I got it at a far lower price than most could probably get away with online
As we drove off, I asked him what he had said to them.
“I tell them, I don’t want no BS today about price. They know I know where to get a better price and that they were lucky I even chose to bring you there. …Any funny stuff and we go right now!”
I just shook my head.
“They know me” he said. “They know I don’t do the, …what do you call it? …The play time.”
I bust out laughing.
The flowers and the drum were a big hit with my better half.
( …I was even able to get them into the house AND get the base of the drum polished undetected!)
While I was amazed to find myself polishing a drum for the first time in my life, I was impressed with how much character the sheen gave to the drum.
It also made me reflect on how seriously percussionists who were in bands like the UK based Osibisa and Brooklyn’s own Mandrill prided themselves on a sense of rhythm that, to my knowledge, hasn’t really been prevalent in today’s music for some time now.
( ...I remember when I heard Manu Dibango for the first time and thinking the sound kinetic and electric beyond belief!)
All of it amounting to what would no doubt be considered the early seeds of what is now know to be World Music, which seems to have taken hold everywhere in the world EXCEPT the US.
( …Which, given that soccer is STILL an after thought in the states, is this really surprising?)
But, that said, I find it comforting to know that what may played out as a moment in time in “The Land of Liberty” is still alive and well in Africa.
~
The drums were still beating, persistent and unchanging. Their sound was no longer a separate thing from the living village. It was like the pulsation of its heart. It throbbed in the air, in the sunshine, and even in the trees, and filled the village with excitement.
Chinua Achebe - Things Fall Apart 1958
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@P6
Once again, this is why people hang around here. Enjoying the heck out of this thread and learning something too. In so many places it's one or the other. Or neither. ;-)