DIARY
The longer I live, the more I come to realise that some of my habits, which often seem strange to some, are shared by many other people. When I was 15, I developed the habit of waking up in the middle of the night and eating something before going back to sleep. I was very ashamed of it at my Zambian boarding school. Though it was never said to me, I felt my schoolmates thought of me as a stingy glutton. One of the happy memories I have of Miami was walking into a restaurant at three a.m. to order a meal. Now, I have come to realise that there are many nocturnal eaters. So has the owner of the local kebab shop. I have often wandered into his shop at 2.30 in the morning and been amazed at the number of men ordering chips, shish kebabs, chicken kebabs and the like. The other habit of which I am slightly ashamed is talking and laughing to myself. I was not aware of it until very recently when Tima, my girlfriend, pointed it out to me. She thinks I live in my own world. To confirm her suspicion, she monitors every move I make.
On Saturday I had to accompany Tima to Shepherd's Bush market to buy products for her hair. This is said to be one of the largest centres for black beauty products in Europe. In principle, I am opposed to the hair products now in vogue with black girls. They are unnecessarily expensive, and give off a smell I find repulsive. For me, black hair looks better when plaited; but, as I have often been reminded, who am Ito decide what is best for girls? Black beauty is a multi-million pound industry. Through Tima, I have come to know that there is a special counter for black women at Selfridges because they have to use special lipsticks. Tima tells me that women take to beauty products not to attract men but to feel good. I wonder how anyone can feel good in a very tight mini-skirt and hair which is supposed to be kept away from Open flames and little children.
Ihave always refused to be bowled over by the Soviet leader, Mikhail Gorbachev. Going by the many paeans to him, it is as though his is the most brilliant mind the world has seen since Churchill's. True, Gorbachev should be credited for jostling the Soviet system into action, and making moves to make it more accountable to the people. But that does not make him a genius; hundreds upon hundreds of people were sent to prison for calling for the type of reforms he is now implementing. Gor- bachev's forte is that he is very aware of an important aspect of the Western media: an insatiable appetite for personalities that are good at delivering their lines before the SOUSA JAMBA cameras. The following passage from Daniel Boorstin's book The Image is ger- mane to the Gorbachev phenomenon:
Two centuries ago when a great man appeared, people looked for God's purpose in him; today we look for his press agent. Shakespeare, in the familiar lines, divided great men into three classes: those born great; those who achieved greatness, and those who had greatness thrust upon them. It never occurred to him to mention those who hired public relations experts and press secretaries to make themselves look great.
Ihope the 'world music' frenzy will not be ephemeral, like most things in Western popular culture. The other day I was delighted to walk into the Virgin megas- tore only to hear my own mother tongue booming out of the sound system. The Kafala brothers, two Angolan singers, were playing. I could not resist buying a Walkman at once. The two singers made me proud to be an Angolan: the lullabies were the best I had ever heard; and the words to the songs were first-class poetry with an elegiac air to it. But I fumed when I read the English translation of the songs that came with the cassette. It read like the work of a semi-literate party hack with an edict that he should give a political twist to every line. One song, for instance, con- cerns a man returning to his village and finding his relatives maimed. No reason for their injuries is given. The song's transla- tion says that the injured are 'victims of the traitors to the nation and the lackeys of apartheid'.
Reports of last Saturday's Muslim de- monstration against Salman Rushdie's The Satanic Verses talk of a bloody confronta- tion between the demonstrators and mem- bers of neo-Nazi group. According to the Observer, one skinhead fell to the ground with blood oozing from headwounds and about 30 of his colleagues were chased into the traffic on Park Lane. I am told that it is just a coincidence that the two groups had gathered at Hyde Park at the same time. The Nazis had a reason of their own to meet there: late that night a concert was going to be held at a secret location, featuring several fascist bands. This con- cert was to be attended by neo-Nazis from all over Europe and America. I often wonder whether these young people are just drawn to fascist paraphernalia or believe in earnest in some fascist tenets such as the extermination of certain races presumed to be weak. If they are in earnest, then I ought to forgive myself for my misanthropic musings which often force me to talk to myself, and laugh wistfully.
0 n Sunday afternoon I went to visit a Kenyan friend who lives in Kensal Green, a few minutes from Roy Kerridge's house. My friend was playing host to her fellow countryman, a very wealthy farmer. At some point in the conversation the ques- tion of who were greatest drinkers on the African continent arose. The Kenyan far- mer said only the Zambians would drink his countrymen under the table. He, however, hinted that this would not be for long: Kenyans would soon outdo the Zam- bians. His own cattle, for instance, refused to feed on grass but only on barley from Kenya Breweries.
Ihave the impression that I can only think and write properly if I am seated before a screen and a keyboard. My friend Anthony Daniels told me that I should not be under the illusion that technology can be a substitute for good writing. Though I took his point, I suspected that if only I had a very sophisticated computer I would suddenly churn out a latter-day version of War and Peace. Well, I have now bought an IBM-compatible computer. After the initial excitement, I have come to realise that Tony did indeed have a point.
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