Dark Continent my Black Arse

by Shile Khumalo

  I was walking from west to east along the waterfront when that noble piece of architecture, the Bibliotheca Alexandrina, suddenly appeared on my right. The new library was inspired by the Royal Library of Alexandria founded in 295 BC, once the largest collection of books in the world, which was mysteriously destroyed by fire around 3 AD. Legend has it that the original library held more than 500 000 scrolls. The idea of reviving the library was first mooted in 1974. The design was chosen in 1988, but construction began only in 1995 and the Bibliotheca was inaugurated on 16 October 2002 – US$220000000 later. I figured a visit to Alexandria would not be complete without a visit to the library.

  There was a bit of a problem though: to get to the library I had to cross a three-lane highway. I failed to understand how there could be a six-lane freeway – three lanes in each direction, with cars speeding in opposite directions – without a pedestrian bridge to cross it. Imagine the irony of doing the Cape to Cairo on public transport and then being knocked down by a car in Alexandria.

  I had no choice, however, but to risk my life and cross the highway.

  The inside of the library has a gently sloping floor with many pillars supporting a glass roof. Being such a bookworm, I had to read a book or two. When the library was opened it only had 500 000 books, a very small number if you consider that it has shelf space for 8 000 000 volumes. That explains why, although there were books on the shelves, the library still looked empty-ish.

  Instead of asking for help I, typical male, decided to find my own way through the 11 cascading levels. I was basically scanning the books and at the same time appreciating the grand architecture, in particular the pillars that support the sliding glass roof. While thus engaged, I made Resolution No. 12: to get a PhD in something. I was not sure in exactly what, but I knew it would definitely not be economics. After all, the biggest bullshit of our time, besides religion and politics, is economics. I wanted to do research that was going to improve people’s lives.

  I was still glancing over the rows of books when my attention was caught by two history books: The History of the World and The Second World War. There is something about books on history that makes me believe in my future. The more I read such books the more confident I feel. If we human beings have made it this far, given some of the leaders we’ve survived in the past, I believe we will make it to eternity.

  My reading was interrupted by the announcement that the library was about to close. I had been there for more than four hours!

  It was almost sunset when I left the building. I walked past the huge scripted and carved grey granite walls, convinced that the Bibliotheca was one of the finest buildings in Africa, perhaps even in the world.

  Moved by this idea, I decided to risk my life again by crossing the highway to the beachfront. I sat at the water’s edge and watched couples strolling hand in hand, parents walking with their children. It was time for reflection.

  Egyptian women are unattractive as well as very stuck-up and too serious about life. Hence Emily, who (in retrospect) was not so gorgeous, looked so very sexy and special.

  Looking back

  Travelling alone gives you a lot of time to think about things that you would not have thought about if you were travelling in a group – or stayed home.

  Gazing at the Mediterranean, I thought that one day I would get married, but not for the wrong reasons, which include but are not limited to proving to my Zulu nation that I am no longer a boy. In my society, irrespective of what you have achieved with your life, as long as you are not married your family members, especially uncles, are bound to ask you: Ushada nini mshana? – When are you getting married, my nephew?

  I also thought that, without being too selfish, I would spend more time with myself, by myself, and strive to be the person I want to be by not succumbing to any flavour-of-the-month pressures.

  Furthermore – based on the number of Africans* I had met on my journey who had no financial resources but were very content with their lives – I thought that although money is important, given the capitalist society we live in, I must never sell my soul just to have purely material things.

  *Indigenous black people with hair that is coarse, frizzy and very thick when left in its natural state; with skin, whether dark or light, that does not contract cancer. Their males are known worldwide to be well endowed, obsessed with sex, soccer and substance abuse. Their females are said to have big bums riddled with cellulite. These people are born with rhythm in their bones and are eternally optimistic, irrespective of external circumstances. History has proved over and over again that their lives are cheaper and of less value than those of other nations on earth. These people fight, maim, kill and slaughter each other for no reason other than that they belong to different ethnic groups – Sihle Khumalo, private definition

  Thinking about the future, I was generally content with how my life had recently turned out. I was glad that I had

  bungee-jumped twice

  done the Comrades marathon (you don’t run it, you do it)

  jumped off a fully functional airplane at 4 000 feet (1 220 metres) above ground level just for the fun of it

  taken a ride on a Pitts plane doing aerobatic flying

  and that I was going to get married to the woman of my dreams.

  I was glad that I had left normal life in July and come on this journey. Otherwise I would not have

  quadbiked at Swakopmund in Namibia, kicking dust in a German couple’s eyes

  microlighted over Victoria Falls in Zambia with a Swede between my knees

  visited Lake Malawi in the company of multiple guides and touts

  had to shelter from pouring rain under shrubs next to a spice plantation in Zanzibar in Tanzania

  taken a ride on a converted truck from Nairobi to Moyale on the Kenyan border, half-buried under luggage

  done the pantsula at a club in Addis Ababa in Ethiopia – which caused a few jealous stares from some wealthy older guys

  discovered that the Blue Nile and the White Nile were not blue and white where they merge in Khartoum in Sudan

  visited the Great Pyramid of Giza in Egypt – the only surving wonder of the ancient world – on horseback.

  With the bright red sun reflecting on the sea, a refreshing sea breeze touching my face and a great piece of architecture at my back, I had to try to answer the question that had been bugging me for the entire trip:

  What went wrong on the African continent?

  Before answering that question I had to accept two facts that had been glaring at me for the entire trip. One, the Boers, much as they treated their dogs better than us Africans, built South Africa’s economy and infrastructure in such a way that nothing elsewhere in Africa can be compared to it; although it was sad for me as an African to admit it, were it not for the Boers South Africa would not be boasting about Africa’s biggest economy and a world-class infrastructure, much as they used black labour to do the hard work.

  Two, African leaders, both traditional and political, over a period of time have betrayed their people in a big way. For:

  I could not sit there and pretend that from Cape to Cairo I did not see malnourished people, because I did

  I could not sit there and pretend that I did not see starving people

  I could not sit there and pretend that I did not see sick people

  I could not sit there and pretend that I did not see dying people

  I could not sit there and pretend that I did not see people with absolutely nothing on; people living in dismal conditions, because I did.

  What I could not work out was whether this state of affairs was the result of incompetence, naïvety, greed, a don’t-care attitude – or a combination of some or of all of these on the part of our leaders. Or, could it be a combination of some or all these factors plus complicated and complex external factors too involved for a simple mind like mine to comprehend?

  It was getting dark and the beachfront was emptying but, based on the suffering of my fellow Af
ricans whom I had seen throughout the trip, I could not help but struggle to understand how

  so-called liberators had turned into dictators

  so-called liberators had ended up being president-for-life

  so-called liberators became heads of one-party states

  so-called liberators allowed countries entrusted to them to deteriorate so much

  so-called liberators could neglect their people and ignore their plight so completely.

  I simply could not understand why Africa, the continent with so much abundance, is so abundantly poor.

  It all boils down to the leadership we have had on this continent, I thought to myself. We are where we are as a continent – the poorest, least developed, without adequate infrastructure, politically unstable – because of the corrupt, inefficient bureaucrats who cannot see the big picture and thus make us the laughing stock of the whole world.

  While our own Mandela spent 27 years in prison fighting for a free South Africa, both Kaunda and Banda spent exactly the same number of years in office. Their actions (or lack thereof) are still evident, even today, in Zambia and Malawi. Nyerere was not so bad. He stayed in power for only 24 years. Even better, by African standards, were Nujoma and Mengistu – only 15 and 17 years, respectively. God, thank goodness, now and then does intervene: Kenyatta and Nasser both died while in office, coincidentally also after 15 and 17 years, respectively.

  And then, as that fiery ball disappeared behind the horizon, I somehow, against all logic and rational judgement, had this very deep, profound and unshakeable belief, based partly on the history of Egypt and partly on the triumph of the African spirit over all injustices and adversity, poverty, suffering and neglect – that the future of the world is not only in Africa but the future of this world is Africa. On the spot I decided that I would love to embark on other African expeditions.

  It was then that I also decided that when everybody else ran away from Africa I would run to her. After all, I have no other home, but this cradle of humankind.

  As I turned my back on the Mediterranean Sea, as if to look at the entire African continent all at once, I found myself thinking, There is something about this continent, there is something about Africa that makes me say:

  Ngiyabonga, Africa

  Asante sana, Mama Africa

  Thank you

  If you still think that this is a dark continent, notify Sihle on sihle.khumalo@webmail.co.za

  Acknowledgements

  First and foremost I would like to thank my mother for literally praying twice a day throughout my trip. I guess God listens (sometimes).

  I am also highly indebted to my wife – my fiancée then – for believing in my dream and standing by my side when almost everyone thought I was mad, crazy and nuts.

  To my other family members and friends: I am not sure what I should thank you for. Thanks anyway for whatever …

  This book would not have materialised if it were not for Annari, my publisher, who saw the potential in my manuscript.

  And Jeanne: although I sometimes felt you were unreasonable with all the due dates and additional information required, your patience and guidance are highly appreciated.

  For companionship and friendship, thanks to all the backpackers and travellers I met along the way. I guess we share the same philosophy – the least we can do, in this ever expanding universe, is to travel extensively on our tiny blue planet Earth.

  To all the Africans I met (and the ones that I did not meet) on this journey: you are full proof that the human spirit still triumphs over injustice and profound adversity against all odds. In my eyes, all of you are heroes and heroines.

  Last, but not least, how can I forget Leonie, a Dutch gal from Amsterdam who refused to share a room with me in Dar es Salaam? Thanks for nothing, Leonie.