It only beats Africa!
27 July 2014 10:14 PM GMT
I wonder if I had to buy this one from a local bookstore, which section would I be scouting for it.
Travel? History? Classics? Non-fiction? Well, even the publisher (Vintage, first edition: April 2002) did not attempt labeling its exact category! I fortunately could Amazon this book. To me it's a navi guide – right into the heart of freshly independent but melting Africa.
What zapped me when I was neck-deep in this colossal book was why was this institution of a man denied a Nobel? ‘Translator of the world’, Ryszard Kapuscinski (1932-2007), was a literary giant with unprecedented guts and a passion to discover real places, real people – in their most natural, uncorrupted and unconditioned form. His sparkling, pouring humanity quenches you with graphic, moving imagery sort of experience that only your own travels can leave you with. Yet you are grateful to have escaped the perils of being in those extreme circumstances yourself. For young Ryszard hitchhikes his way through the desserts and labyrinths, between coups and drudgery, reporting events and chronicling mundane yet colorful life across the vast continent. And you can't miss out on his smarts (esp. when he arranges a free plane ride for himself as well as secures its landing in a politically boiling Dar es Salaam)!
Reduced to a withered, lifeless form of himself due to a severe attack of cerebral malaria (called the dread of Africa), on the eve of Ugandan independence, Kapuscincski woke up with a salty taste of blood smeared all over his face. ‘It’s a sure case of TB’, Boyle declared. On his way to arranging for a decent treatment (R.Z. was always this poor Polish journalist, one with meager means) as he befriends Edu, he goes on to reveal to you one thing you must know – ‘Nothing creates a bond between people in Africa more quickly than shared laughter’.
This man was a champ in diluting his whiteness (dissolving, not being an option) when he rented a room at a slum neighbourhood in Lagos, as against posh European neighborhood. In deep contrast to his compassionate love for all things African, his disdain for every thought European smirks at you, as you turn the pages.
‘When first cars were brought here, early in the twentieth century, they didn't really have anywhere to go. A paved road is something new in Africa…there were trails, usually shared by people and cattle alike. This age-old system of paths explains why people here are still in habit of single file… It explains, too why a walking group is silent – it is difficult to conduct a conversation single file.’ – Kapuscinski frequently goes off tangent with long explications like these to really trickle his observations (replete with history) down your drying throat. And you have to regard Africa like he does - with reverence. For which he prepares you early on, in a foreword, ‘The continent is too large to describe…only with the greatest simplification, for the sake of convenience, can we say ‘Africa’. In reality, except as a geographical appellation, Africa does not exist’.
The Shadow of the Sun is a title that summarises all the sweltering heat Kapuscinski bamboozles on his way from one country (read coup) to another. His post colonial Africa chronicles start from Accra, to Kumasi, Dar es Salaam, Tanganyika, he covers Ugandan coup, then Zanzibar’s He chronicles his way to Lalibela in Ethiopia, writes a chapter on Amin and then he gives you a bitter dose on Rwandan genocide. He doesn’t leave the more happening Kenya/Nigeria nor the cornered Eritrea.
Each chapter is an individual entity like a long blog which is enchanting enough to be a short film. However, do not try to look for chronology in his work, there is none. This non-fiction certainly comes with dollops of drama – mostly drama of survival.
Kapuscinski was sentenced to death four times and covered 27 coups during the course of 40 years of reporting, in Africa, Asia, Russia, Latin America (most of third world in the 20th century’s post world war unrest). Passion survives and how! From detailing you on mosquito exploits in his net to the logic in formations of red ants and their arrival, from letting you know about the grandeur of sacred African Elephants to the lifecycle of Lions – all is weaved into his story
of discovery.
He microscopically studies humans and others animals alike: deep, detailed, in-your-face. After witnessing all mesmerising but majorly depressing experiences does this man finally get blinded to the spirit of Africa? You will have to read right up to the last page (ie. pg 325) to figure this!
Travel? History? Classics? Non-fiction? Well, even the publisher (Vintage, first edition: April 2002) did not attempt labeling its exact category! I fortunately could Amazon this book. To me it's a navi guide – right into the heart of freshly independent but melting Africa.
What zapped me when I was neck-deep in this colossal book was why was this institution of a man denied a Nobel? ‘Translator of the world’, Ryszard Kapuscinski (1932-2007), was a literary giant with unprecedented guts and a passion to discover real places, real people – in their most natural, uncorrupted and unconditioned form. His sparkling, pouring humanity quenches you with graphic, moving imagery sort of experience that only your own travels can leave you with. Yet you are grateful to have escaped the perils of being in those extreme circumstances yourself. For young Ryszard hitchhikes his way through the desserts and labyrinths, between coups and drudgery, reporting events and chronicling mundane yet colorful life across the vast continent. And you can't miss out on his smarts (esp. when he arranges a free plane ride for himself as well as secures its landing in a politically boiling Dar es Salaam)!
Reduced to a withered, lifeless form of himself due to a severe attack of cerebral malaria (called the dread of Africa), on the eve of Ugandan independence, Kapuscincski woke up with a salty taste of blood smeared all over his face. ‘It’s a sure case of TB’, Boyle declared. On his way to arranging for a decent treatment (R.Z. was always this poor Polish journalist, one with meager means) as he befriends Edu, he goes on to reveal to you one thing you must know – ‘Nothing creates a bond between people in Africa more quickly than shared laughter’.
This man was a champ in diluting his whiteness (dissolving, not being an option) when he rented a room at a slum neighbourhood in Lagos, as against posh European neighborhood. In deep contrast to his compassionate love for all things African, his disdain for every thought European smirks at you, as you turn the pages.
‘When first cars were brought here, early in the twentieth century, they didn't really have anywhere to go. A paved road is something new in Africa…there were trails, usually shared by people and cattle alike. This age-old system of paths explains why people here are still in habit of single file… It explains, too why a walking group is silent – it is difficult to conduct a conversation single file.’ – Kapuscinski frequently goes off tangent with long explications like these to really trickle his observations (replete with history) down your drying throat. And you have to regard Africa like he does - with reverence. For which he prepares you early on, in a foreword, ‘The continent is too large to describe…only with the greatest simplification, for the sake of convenience, can we say ‘Africa’. In reality, except as a geographical appellation, Africa does not exist’.
The Shadow of the Sun is a title that summarises all the sweltering heat Kapuscinski bamboozles on his way from one country (read coup) to another. His post colonial Africa chronicles start from Accra, to Kumasi, Dar es Salaam, Tanganyika, he covers Ugandan coup, then Zanzibar’s He chronicles his way to Lalibela in Ethiopia, writes a chapter on Amin and then he gives you a bitter dose on Rwandan genocide. He doesn’t leave the more happening Kenya/Nigeria nor the cornered Eritrea.
Each chapter is an individual entity like a long blog which is enchanting enough to be a short film. However, do not try to look for chronology in his work, there is none. This non-fiction certainly comes with dollops of drama – mostly drama of survival.
Kapuscinski was sentenced to death four times and covered 27 coups during the course of 40 years of reporting, in Africa, Asia, Russia, Latin America (most of third world in the 20th century’s post world war unrest). Passion survives and how! From detailing you on mosquito exploits in his net to the logic in formations of red ants and their arrival, from letting you know about the grandeur of sacred African Elephants to the lifecycle of Lions – all is weaved into his story
of discovery.
He microscopically studies humans and others animals alike: deep, detailed, in-your-face. After witnessing all mesmerising but majorly depressing experiences does this man finally get blinded to the spirit of Africa? You will have to read right up to the last page (ie. pg 325) to figure this!
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