The writer V.S. Naipaul recently published a book, The Masque of Africa that is supposedly based on his recent visits to African countries like Uganda, Ghana, Nigeria, the Ivory Coast, Gabon and South Africa. These travels were allegedly to discover the “nature of African belief” according to this review of the book by Sameer Rahim in the UK Telegraph. Rahim gives the clear impression that this book does not improve upon the silence. It is the same tired, stereotypical garbage about Africa and civilizations of color. You wonder if at 80 years of age, Naipaul is finally losing it.
The drama Naipaul records in the book is cringe-worthy: In Gabon, his legs give way and someone attempts to transport him in a broken wheelbarrow. Give us a break! The sad truth is that ever since Naipaul was born among the wretched of the earth, as he would probably put it, he has struggled obsessively to escape his skin. He fills great books with reams of self-loathing. The more he tries to escape his past, the more he is rejected by the interlocutors of his present. His interviewers never fail to notice this little man of color in a tweed jacket huddled in an English countryside abode. Almost every interview of Naipaul mentions with breathless wonder that this man from India via Trinidad is dressed – in a tweed jacket. It is the ultimate rejection of his claim to another civilization, and humanity. Just like us. Naipaul is us.
So, who cares what Naipaul and his ilk say about Africa? The African intellectual from the beginning has been frustrated by the constant label of “the other” that is implied in how Westerners view Africa and her inhabitants. It just seems like as people of color, there is nothing we can do or say that lets even our most liberal Western friends view us as part of a bland, no-drama humanity. It understandably upsets us, and when Naipaul, one of us, joins in the heckling, we froth in the mouth. There is plenty of blame to go around, but African intellectuals refuse to accept responsibility for any of the blame. We have abandoned the peasants who spent so much to get us an education so we could get them out of hell. We are in pursuit of our own needs, screw the people. Wine glass in hand, we mouth white words to white-out what we view as our frailties. Why would anyone look at the charade that is governance in today’s Nigeria and respect it? It is taboo to talk about these things; we say it is self-loathing and racist. With the awesome power of the white man’s own words we bully the West away from the table of dialogue. In secret, we admire these strange people that see tomorrow, and go into it fighting. They are next to their God, the Narcissus who sends mean armies after us in gleeful hunt.
We obsess about what people think of us. I say, get over it; they probably believe we are pretend humans. A pox on their houses. We are not savages. The real savages are the racists in our midst. Possessing only primitive instincts, bereft of thinking skills, they shudder at the other. Racism is savagery; it diminishes the perpetrator and assigns humanity to the garbage heap of Early Man. Only savages would spend trillions on an unnecessary war against those who cannot tell nuclear from noodles. Ask the Iraqis.
There is no defending Naipaul. Achebe already deconstructed Naipaul’s demons and I couldn’t agree with him more. But I say it is time to move from yelling at racists, real or imagined, to reflecting also on our role in this mess. Naipaul’s A Bend in the River was written over four decades ago. Today, black Africa may have regressed from that point in time. Why are things the way they are? We get defensive and yell: “Can’t you see, we are human like you, we wear suits, and we eat ice cream with cutlery!” “We are like you!” is our best defense against charges of our human ineptitude. Yet, our leaders can barely sustain what passes for modern society, even when they are given all the resources. They steal it and invest in pretend processes. Let’s face it: What is racist about pointing out that much of black Africa is a farce today, many thanks to us her intellectuals and leaders?
Raheem observes this about Naipaul: “Perhaps, like his father, he is worried about what he sees when he looks in the mirror. Is he the Nobel Prize-winning sage who has written 30 acclaimed books over 50 years? Or is he a fraud, pretending to be a country gentleman in Wiltshire when his true home is among the wretched of the earth?” The question should be directed not only at Naipaul, but at all of us, fighting gamely to flee the condition we were born into. We may be blue-suited frauds pretending to be country gentlemen even as we ignore the travails of our fellow wretched of the earth.
11 thoughts on “The Naipaul in us”
Reblogged this on Itsdelta's Blog and commented:
Funny, insightful and a great read! Highly recommend it!
Naipaul still remains one of the best writers of a sentence in the English language and I respect him for that. I also believe that his earlier short stories and novels among the finest. House of Mr Biswas is as good or better than anything Dickens wrote. However, it is his nonfiction I have problems with. He strikes me like a man trying to find his centre. A proud colonial trapped in a black hide.
[…] you read one thing about Africa today, let it be Ikhide’s recent article on ‘The Naipaul in Us’. This has to be the sanest article I have ready amidst the relentless Kony chorus and the […]
[…] Ikhide: The Naipaul In Us […]
You didn’t actually bother to read the book? It seems obvious from what you wrote that you didn’t. I’m sorry to sound harsh but not reading something simply because you’ve heard some bad things about it from others but still attempting to review it or comment seriously on it in some way can only be due to intellectual laziness and cowardice.
And yet I read another recent post on here, where you criticized people for not actually reading Achebe’s memoir (There Was a Country) before criticizing it. Talk about hypocrisy.
Thought provoking. A good read.
Reblogged this on visionvoiceandviews.
Are there specific things in Naipaul’s work this particular blogger disagrees with? It seems odd to read a review of a book which has zero content of the book being reviewed. It happens a lot in conversations these days. A quick google search and wiki read and straight ahead comments…all posturing. So far as we ignite conversation we might as well do away with all knowledge.
I guess my point is, what do the ‘African intellectual’ contend about with Naipaul? Are the right to?
The blogger also suggests ‘African intellectuals’ do not engage honestly with issues of governance in the continent. Seriously? I don’t know about these intellectuals, but from face book to blogs to beer-parlour conversations in Port Harcourt, Awka, Warri, people are engaging with our issues…It would take someone really cut off from the reality on ground to not get double barrelled impulse of frustration and rage to comes with life in the continent,
Who are these white people we are trying to prove our humanity to? Most people I know in Port Harcourt just want good jobs, social amenities and for the police not to beat them up at check points.
I have read a bit of Naipaul’s work. This piece has only references to it. Or is this a spoof blog (like the onion one) just geared at being some sort of provocateur? Some one inform me, I tend to be serious and not detect irony on Saturday mornings.
Pa Ikhide! You took the ‘nasty old man’ apart. He is 80- round the bend in the river of lucid intervals.
[…] the retort might as well have been aimed at her – she reeks of self-loathing. (See my essay, The Naipaul in us). Ifemelu channels Naipaul in her despair and shows little compassion for the truly dispossessed […]
Reblogged this on ajagunna.