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C'est l'Afrique E-Book

Luigi Brandajs

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Herausgeber: Abel Books
Kategorie: Lebensstil
Sprache: Englisch

Beschreibung

Even if you have already enjoyed Africa as tourists or presumed benefactors, start reading this book, you will not regret it. If you've never been there, better. It's an epitome of reconnaissance, it does not want to explain anything to you, just show you a piece with disenchanted eyes. It is a story of "work". The writer is a pragmatic architect sunk thirty years ago in the heart of the Congo. As an anatomopathologist would do on an anatomical table, he extracts from the subject (frozen, in memory) a few samples that he analyzes calmly, then comparing them with other subsequent samples and obtaining consistent results, unfortunately unchanged. Africa expresses a disease of the human soul, which engages virulently in an atavistic and heavy organism "of which it feeds and kills itself by killing itself". It is the "mal d'Africa". All this told without weight and sadness, indeed, with a pleasant and witty humor that crosses the horror, bouncing like a stone thrown with dexterity on a pond. "C'est L'Afrique" is the apparent lightness of a deliberate superficiality, necessary not to sink; it is the account of admirable absurdities.

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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

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Leseprobe

C’EST L’AFRIQUE

Luigi Brandajs

AbelBooks

C’EST L’AFRIQUE

A TRIP

LUIGI BRANDAJS

Photos by Sergio SIBILLE

Cover by Eleni DORI

English translation by Dr. Nevia Ferrara

Proprietà letteraria riservata

Tutti i diritti sono riservati. È vietata la riproduzione, anche parziale, con qualsiasi mezzo effettuata, compresa la fotocopia, anche ad uso interno o didattico.

ISBN 9788867522125

C’EST L’AFRIQUE (IT’S THE AFRICA)

Even if you have already enjoyed Africa as tourists, or presumed benefactors, you will never regret start reading this book. If you’ve never been there, much better. It is an episodic reconnaissance mission, not intending to explain anything, only to make you see a part with disillusioned eyes. It’s a truly unusual, not so explorative and even less socio-anthropological guide experience; it is an incident of “work.” However, a serious work, even though limited, carrying a “symptomatic” value; a micro highlighter of the black continent’s macro real and general problem.

The writer is a pragmatic architect sunk into the heart of Congo, thirty years ago. As an anatomy pathologist would do on an anatomical table, extracting from the subject (frozen, in memory) a few samples to analyse them calmly, then comparing them with other subsequent blood samples and obtaining always consistent, unfortunately unchanged diagnostic results. Africa expresses an illness of the human soul, which is engaged aggressively in an atavistic and vulgar organism “of which it’s nourished and will kill it by killing itself.” It is the “African sickness.” Indeed, all this is stated without importance and sadness, with a pleasant and witty humour crossing the horror bouncing like a rock thrown with skill on a pond. “C’est L’Afrique” is the apparent lightness of a desired superficiality, necessary not to sink; it is the record of admirable absurdities.

E.M.

A note on photos

They are Sergio’s work, and they are a very small part of those taken. However, some of them which I would like to have and show them here are missing. But Sergio did not imagine (me neither), that the photos would then have not only a documentary interest in our mission. The result is a little episodic and fragmentary. It’s my fault, as I am unwilling to photos.

There are therefore undocumented, somewhat remarkable characters, such as Madame Ngo, Maurice, Henry and Pierre, the good friars of Impfondo and others who find their place in the narration.

L.B.

To my three women, Gabriella, Malvina and Fiammetta.

To always cherished memory of Roberta.

A scorpion on the bank of a swollen river asks

a hippopotamus to get it cross on its back.

The hippopotamus says: what if you bite me?

How could I? It says, while you are helping me?

They cross, but when they’re almost there, the scorpion bites its vehicle.

But why? It screams which can no longer swim from pain.

And the other, drowning in turn, answers:

C’est l’Afrique mon vieux (It’s the Africa, my old man)

African fairy tale

IMPFONDO

Naturally, the bikes’ wheels have sunk in the mud up to the hubs. Actually mine, since Sergio stayed carefully back. A neat sink, as the bike stands up on its own, as a spoon in a well-developed mayonnaise. I lift it up, take a step and the left shoe stays twenty centimetres in the mud but, fortunately, I see it and pull it out.

A little further, half-hidden by the leaves, you can see the swamp and a small cable ferry boat, a sort of metal box with no ferryman and no rope, with only two useless platforms for the vehicles transfer, being left: on the other side the track is interrupted, the ferry is being added to the scrap iron which gets rusty on the streets of Congo.

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