The Weekly Sneak: What? Oh. Merry World Cup to You Too.

The nice thing about growing older is that you don't have to accept your limitations so much as your limitations just kind of embrace you warmly and never let you go. After two decades of trying to fit in, this is me comfortably admitting that unless I am in the stadium, unless it is Serena Williams, or one of those sports that we only enjoy during the Olympics, unless it is Rugby, then I am not watching it. 

If you also love the beautiful human body and the feel of a good adrenaline high and a racing heart, if you dig the idea of fitness even if we are crap at actually working out, if you believe in a good long walk or hot yoga or karate, whatever your flavor... but you're just not going to watch the world cup? This one is for you: 

"Why lie, it really is the beautiful game. You wouldn't believe how much work can go into remaining completely and utterly unbewitched by it, which means that some of us are facing a long couple of weeks of avoiding crowds, bars, conversations, the first minute of any newscast, the last minute of any newscast, and possibly all human beings that can talk. When it comes to sports, I would rather do it however badly than sit around and watch someone else do it, however well."

Ain't no shame in it. See you around at the television-free restaurants and coffee shops. 

What Makes You Proud To Be an African?

A rather sweet and well-intentioned email came across my desk about three weeks back, asking me what makes me proud to be an African. Like, could I describe it? Preferably in so-many printable words for the benefit of her initiative. 

You know, I like to support, especially the young. But. Some questions, eh. So I did what a good Tanzanian does: dwelled in silence rather than say no directly. Oddly enough, I ended up answer her question sideways through an entirely different article. Coming to an African Arguments near you tomorrow:

"...one evening, I sat in a pub next to a gentleman who upon learning of my nationality proceeded to regale me with tales of his colonial service, only to insist that the only reason a woman like me would be in the school I was attending was because my parents must be part of the kleptocracy. After all, no such thing as honest Africans who work long and hard to give their children an elite education, right? 

Bojo! Clearly, this man did not know he was talking to a full-blooded Mhaya. And then he dragged my folks into it. Let's just say that many of the principles by which I conduct my professional life and approach to international relations, class, the development industry sprang out of those seminal encounters."

If you're Haya and you know, clap your hands. And while you're at it, might as well put the 'L' in "arrogance."  ;) I just wanted to keep that one para intact in case they edit in the next few hours.

As Craig Ferguson would say: "I look forward to your letters." Heh.

e.

The Weekly Sneak: Why the Caged Bird Sings

By the time I was coming around to her, Miz Angelou was already a Grand Dame. She had that patrician thing going on, a stentorian voice full of gravitas and particular pronunciation.  Not to mention a head of hair that essentially said: 'don't mess with me. I might be warm and loving but if you piss me off I will crack your bones and bury you where even your maker won't find you.'*

And then, you know, teenage girls discover her and suddenly catch an American accent and a deep relationship with spoken word. To this day, I can't stand hearing 'Still I Rise' performed out loud, it makes me crazy. Of course I love it, even though I think the end kind of gets soggy, but there should be a moratorium on public performances of that particular poem.** 

Anyways, so I read her books. I'm so, so glad and thankful that she wrote her biography. 

Coming to an East African near you this week:

"One greyish kind of day in Washington a couple of years ago, a woman read a poem at some guy's function. It was all about passing it forward. It was quiet and deep and I heard it. It had strength and censure and I heard it. It was simple and timeless and I heard it. So I would like to quote, in memory of Miz Angelou, just the one line of Elizabeth Alexander's offering on that day: “A teacher says, take out your pencils. Begin.”"

*Scary Feminist Hair is an old and very rich artform. Think Grace Jones. Or Hilary Clinton's perfectly sized mid-chin helmet. Et cetera.  

**She's already dead so she can't kill me and bury me where even my maker won't find me :)***

*** Actually, I would love to see Still I Rise performed with great subversion by everyone who ISN't a Black Woman. Now that, folks, would be balls. Wait, I meant to say 'art'.

Do the #CharlesBump

Hey folks, 

So Charles is leaving NMG and I would like your help in sending him off in style. If you are a reader of The East African, please double your physical consumption of the newspaper for next week's edition. If you read online, buy a paper. If you buy the paper, buy 2 copies. If you buy 2, then buy 4. You get it. It is called the ‪#‎CharlesBump‬ campaign, to register our appreciation to him at NMG where they are most likely to feel it: in their wallet  Please do it whoever you are but I am inviting Tanzanian consumers especially to help out if you can. Thank you. 

e. 

PS: in case you have ever wondered, the answer is yes. he's probably a large part of the reason why a number of us rogues and reprobates, women and youth, non-Kenyans and non-males and non-Bantus managed to find a home at NMG. He's pretty awesomesauce and I intend to embarrass him with gratitude for the coming day or two. 

Easy Does It.

Hey.

First of all, thanks for letting me take a break and still coming back to check on the blog from time to time according to Blogspot's inbuilt stats thingy-majiggy. I thought for sure this thing would #dead after a few months of inactivity, but no. Y'all are generous folks as readers go, and I owe you some explanations.

I got tired and took a break. For years My Lady of the Concerned Smiles and La Dee have been hounding me to chill out and lead a healthy life-affirming lifestyle. Being a Capricorn, I ignored them because we think we're born knowing everything there is to know and advising us is a job that only the most loving, patient and non-violent folks on the planet can stand.

Well, it turns out that they are right*, and the self-imposed sabbatical has been just as sweet and healing as they tried to tell this stubborn chick. Thanks for still reading, there will be more posts coming and please remember to take the advice of those that love you. If you're a Capricorn and having trouble with it here's my contribution: just take the damn vacation, the world will still be here when you get back.

Peace.

*...sigh, I am getting used to the taste of Crow.

Blip.

Oh, Hello! And Happy New Year! What's that? Criminal negligence of a weblog? Now now, let's not get dramatic here. I missed you too, babe.

Be back in March (I think). Don't pull the plug yet, y'hear? Take care, now.

e.

The Weekly Sneak: ... Seriously?!

Mandela's funeral was always going to be difficult, it is true. But right around the sign-language guy debacle, I just gave up. Just. Gave. Up.

So this week's article is a bit of illosophy about social media and politics, and commentary on selfies by people who should have known better though I am glad they didn't. Aided in no small part by the Dar es Salaam summer heat that riseth every morning to punish us like the wrath of Ra. Tried to keep it clean, folks.

"Since the seating is alphabetical, it so happens that President Cristina Fernandez de Kirshner is sitting next to Presidents Khama and Kabila. Taking advantage of such a cordial opportunity, these three Leaders of the South totally tell Joseph to pull out his phone and take that selfie because 'when shall we three meet again?' LOL, YOLO, hashtag awesome, short URL, instagram! Just having a human moment.

How, oh how, would that be received?"

Just sayin'. Blame it on the heatstroke.

Goodbye, Madiba.

When Madiba's health started to fail for real in the middle of the year and we all realized that the inevitable was going to happen sooner than anyone was ready to admit, I tried to prepare. This article was written for The East African a few months ago:

"The Age of African Heroes is Ending

Friday 17^th May, 2013

This past week we have been forced to grapple with Nelson Mandela's frailty, his mortality. For all that I make the argument that it is dangerous to revere individual politicians, in reality everyone needs to believe in tangible manifestations of goodness. The thought of a world in which Madiba is not present to shower everyone- young, old, rich, poor, African or not- with his warmth and grandfatherly affection is quite sad. In the face of this, how does one confront the legend that is Madiba and reconcile him with the reality of his humanity? What is the nature of his legacy?

During my last stint in South Africa I was surprised on two counts with regards to Madiba's reputation. Listening to the radio one day I stumbled across a poll where South African teenagers where being asked what they thought of Mandela and how he had impacted on their lives. I couldn't believe my ears as one respondent in particular assured the presenter that Nelson Mandela was old and irrelevant and that he couldn't possibly see the point in even discussing him.

Blessed are the young, privileged enough to grow up so unfettered as to discard the memory of those who made sacrifices for their survival. In a perverse way this person was a sign of the success of the new and improved South Africa. One where the youth could, but don't have to lug around their predecessors traumas, their prejudices... and in some instances not even their wisdom. They can- and do- create their own universe of problems and advantages. How many of us have stood on the shoulders of giants and taken it for granted that the wide-open vistas before us are our birthright? Then again, how many youth on the continent have been crushed underfoot by war-mongerers?

The second surprise came during a discussion of South Africa's current inequality problems- Madiba was served a rather large portion of the blame. After all, he didn't forcibly redistribute wealth when he ascended to power, perhaps betraying the dreams of millions of what the new South Africa would be like. This is not an unfamiliar argument. Had his fence-mending ways done more harm than good, in the end? Was that his big mistake? Should he have taken his cues from the likes of Robert Mugabe?

The South African grilled chicken franchise Nando's has built a solid reputation for fearless social messaging through its controversial advertizing campaigns. During the worst of the xenophobic attacks in South Africa a few years ago, they put out an ad that essentially said that if South Africans were to kick out everyone who doesn't belong there, the only people left would be the San- the only folk with a claim to being indigenous. It challenged the prevailing message that rendered South Africa in a rigid dichotomy of 'Black' versus everyone else and touched upon- obliquely- the truth that even Black history isn't entirely saintly.

Some of the conspiracy theories about how Mandela was bought off by vested interests and installed in order to protect them from retribution made me wonder. Politicians are, after all, people. There is a universality to the profession, no matter what the motivations of the individuals within it. And power is not a force that lends itself to gentleness. Wealth? Yes, as every tediously predictable kleptocrat has proven repeatedly. Wisdom? On occasion. But gentleness?

Mandela is reassuringly human. His life is well-documented so his mistakes and his triumphs are available for all to consider. I think the single greatest service he has tried to render to his country was his work towards promoting the idea of a single, united and peaceful South Africa. And he made it work by transforming himself into a beacon of gentleness, forgiveness, conciliation. An amazing feat for a man who is, at the end of the day, just a man.

Certain ideals are not destinations that one arrives at when everything else is in place. Freedom, peace- paradoxically they have to fought for, but after the storm passes they have to be transformed into practices rather than vague notions. Mandela devoted his post-prison career to embodying pacifism. In this hard world, this is not a quality that leaders embrace openly- unless they happen to be clerics. Which has led to this- a modern world of unprecedented 'democracy' in which peace and good sense are in startlingly short supply.

We struggle with the notion of a greater good, none more so than those in positions of leadership. Nelson Mandela, I think, was pretty clear on this front. Whether he was correct in the manner that he pursued his vision of a better South Africa and by extension a better world may be a matter of debate. But at the end of the day, I think that Madiba is beloved not for being right per se, but for trying his best to do the right thing. An everyday, solid, and true heroism- that might just be the very core of his legacy."

It turns out that you can't really prepare your heart for the passing of a hero, after all. It hurts to say goodbye to you, Madiba. Thank you. Rest well.