Translating The Sahara Testaments

As many things in life translating The Sahara Testaments by Tade Ipadeola happened by circumstance and coincidence. He was due to be the PEN-Flanders guest in spring. For an obscure reason he didn't get a visum from the Belgian embassy. Yet Sven Peeters who was to interview him was all prepared and asked me to translate two poems, which I did. I began thinking and thought our guest should be able to read more poems so I asked Sven if he had any more poems by Tade. I could not have foreseen that then Sven mailed be a pdf file called The Sahara Testaments, containing 200 poems, all quatrains (you remember: four lines) and a fixed rhyme scheme in the greatest majority of them. I looked at it, thumbed through it, fell for the rigorous work (although I am usually a free verse poet) and translate one more, and then an other one. I love the desert. My desert is the Mojave Desert in California and Arizona. A high desert mostly rocky, and here and there an area with sand dunes. Nothing like the vastness of the Sahara being a continent on its own. When Tade arrived  at the flat we met and talked poetry and translation and I translated a few more poems for the two performances we had in the framework of The day of the writer in prison. Too many, although they may count them lucky not to have been killed like happens all too often in South America. Working together was fun and my PEN colleagues suggested I translated the whole book.  Now it is essential to know that he was the recipient of the Delphic Laurel in Poetry. 200, two hundred poems... Delphic Laurel in Poetry is only the biggest, most important poetry prize in Africa. I am still a bit intimidated by the task, yet some poems give them easily in Dutch, others are recalcitrant and I have to be very careful with them, peeling of layer, after layer until the also become a poem in translation.

I am very grateful for the time Tade grants me when I have a question or can't find a reference. When words have several meanings, I don't try to guess what connotation he had in mind but just ask him. His response is always kind, to the point and very helpful. If I don't understand what is meant, I cannot translate it. And although Tade's poetry is highly formalized, it flows as if effortless. The grand gift with this translation is that I get to see the world and the African continent, through the eyes of a keen African observer, in a way rereading history from a different perspective. I am now over halfway through in a first draft. I'll be asking a mutual friend to go through the text with me to catch mistakes, stupid or inelegant constructions.

A chilling African perspective

Yesterday I translated into Dutch a poem by an African poet and learned about the almajiri... I must admit I have also been thinking about the 200 girls boko haram took and cannot possibly imagine their life, if they are still alive... We know also about the horror of Baga.
A friend of mine, Arlette, has lived in Senegal for almost nine months and she told me about the marabouts forcing the young boys to beg... So I recognised the cruel fate of the boys in the poem... I guess it is a sad Pan-African image. I hope that once the translations are published in Dutch that tons of people will get the education I am getting by doing this work. I gain a deeper understanding. The news isn't just a snipped of news but another injustice, another violence from one human being to an other.  I learned from a friend that in Nigeria, the casualty figures from the past 72 hours run as high as 2000 dead and countless injured, several people now refugees in their own country. I guess this is what the mass murderers want, for peaceful people to be speechless. It is obvious that Europe is in shock at the barbarity of this outrage in Paris. The far right xenophobes will make some gains no doubt and there will be repercussions on otherwise innocent people, that is the human reaction to outrage. What I hope emerges from the ruins of the world as we knew it to be, is a better awareness of the evil now roaming the world. It seeks to kill inquiry, humour, pleasure and dissent. It has no sense of proportions for, if the four terrorists in Paris had access to an atom bomb, we all better believe that they would have used it. The same is true for the ones in Nigeria and Sudan.
That reason and balance will win eventually, my friend is sure of. It may take some time but reason will prevail. My friend has gone back to reading Karl Popper (The Open Society and its Enemies) and is actively campaigning for a change of government (the  president went to a wedding this weekend).
The poem I referred to:

In Sokoto‘s kitchens, ecstasy staggers the pulse
With rare legumes, ricemeal, cabbages and roasts.
Outside, suya, peppered over with panache in the false
Light of paraffin lanterns where every evening boasts

Fresh kills and the kindness of instant noodles
Served garnished with lettuce and a choice of eggs.
A youth, almajiri, receives a serving of tea and huddles
With the waiting troop, all standing on spindly legs

And their chatter continues into early morning
Going over happenings and also boko haram.
There is no consensus, a few cigarettes burning,
And each hoping to be the famous last Imam.

One does, out of that horde, become
The priapic king of that harmattan evening.
He won‘t tell the story; he has made it home,
His store of memories, his final swan-offering.

A desert‘s diaspora whispers in scattered gardens
Where plants like kept women swoon with watering
And the aseptic present bearing dark burdens
Conspires to kill the renegade seed. There is muttering

In the wake of vanished arbors, the plains
Playing dead like Sahara‘s volcanoes. Windborne
Charms are balms to the earth‘s perpetual pains,
Her stripping and rape, her hope forlorn.

Maono 2012-2013-2014

Maono means vision in Swahili. My daughter Maya and her partner Bram have worked very hard to make this project work during these three years. Maya being a futurist has developed road book with tasks all having to do with images of the future. Bram's pictures and films have contributed to the great visual aspect of the project.
The three closing days at the VUB Salle Nelson Mandela where very intense. Two students held incredible speeches about how thinking  about the future and having the exchange with the local students and artists had changed them forever thanks to Maya and Bram.
Here you find a short video with an overview.
The following day a walk through Brussels was organized with all the colonial and post colonial aspects highlighted. Interesting, even on a cold day. The buildings, the banks, the administrative centers, Matonge the African section of Brussels, we saw it all and had even a nice moambe with chicken and fried bananas and saki saki for lunch. The project took place in Lubumbashi, Katanga and also yielded literary results also as a comic strip and some paintings and lots of photographs holding a view of the future.

Twenty years after the genocide in Rwanda

 Kris Berwouts and Ivan Godfroid (right), both are Central Africa specialists. Twenty years after the genocide in Rwanda they are sharing their knowledge and feelings about what happened there and and what the situation in the region and in Rwanda itself is to date.

The basis for the discussion is Ivan's poetry book 'Omgewoelde aarde' (Disturbed earth). The book is in three sections. The first one with the motto: During the day Imana (god) roams over the earth, at night he comes to sleep in Rwanda. En deep expression of the beauty and peacefulness of the country. The second motto is: to where the river runs also the rocks roll. The unrest, the uneasiness, the doom is present. Every noise could be the last thing one hears... Foreboding and the reality of it. the third section opens with the motto: It is not the pain of the moment which kills but it's constant memory. The Oratorium for Rwanda was played and the contrast between the joyful strong rhythmic music we are used to hear with the deep inwardness and silence was chilling. Jean De Mey performed a beautiful and haunting improvisation rendering the screams and pain of those mad hundred days in 1994 in which 800.000 people were slaughtered in one hundred days. Rwanda is hauntingly beautiful country, machetes are still the tool of choice and are seen everywhere. Hope lies with the new post genocide generation. Yet overpopulation could destabilize the whole region including the North-east of Congo. Every twenty years the population doubles. Every twenty years there is less land per person to live off and  the seeds of new conflicts lay dormant, for now.

Africa VI Namibia-Windhoek

Namibia was difficult for me. In Windhoek I got robbed of all my money and everything they could use. That is except my Native American medicine bag filled with herbs and small pebbles and a dollar. Even that one dollar bill they didn't take. The person who took my stuff did recognize it for what it was: strong medicine not to be tampered with, yet not strong enough to leave the rest of my stuff alone. But that certainly wasn't the main reason to feel strange in that country. It were the high walls around the houses with barbed wire on top. It was the potato salad, the arrogance of the English policemen: talking to an old man who spoke South African and I spoke Flemish (Dutch) with him, a policeman wanted to chase him away, assuming the man was bothering me. We just talked about life and how bad it sometimes is, how beautiful it sometimes is. The encounter with the old man grounded me, made me feel good in that strange country. I hope our conversation did the same for him. The mayor of Windhoek invited the whole group to a cultural event: He was blond, blue eyed, wore a thick golden chain and in a Las Vegas style 'jungle bar' we were treated to soft pop of the sixties... Diamonds rough and cut were everywhere. No I didn't buy any, nor smuggle anything. I did buy a dress two toned green and I still wear it once in a while on a hot summer's day. Also a balsa wood tiger I dragged along, bought from the local artisans. I learned that real human contact is what counts, even if the fences are high. I am also pleased to learn that the old colonial names are changed over to the tribal names for cities and regions, mainly in the Zambezi region. So maybe it is time to really visit Namibia now. 

Africa VI: Nigeria and the Durbar in Kano

We worked in Abuja, the neighborhood, the landscape around Abuja wasn't really interesting except for a river with small rapids. More interesting was the book-fair that happened to be held in the hotel we all stayed. Conversations with some authors were invigorating. I bought "The famished road" by Ben Okri, still a favorite of mine. I lost all the notes, even the camera I took my pictures  with got stolen on the way back. We stumbled upon a large local market on a Yoruba holiday. The way the young men were decked out was wonderful, we spoke, complimented each other on our appearance...

Yet, being in the first team of interpreters, we were taken along to Kano. Not more than ten days before there had been killing among the Christians and the Muslims. Nigeria is a country split in two by their geography: The North, were Kano is, is predominantly Muslim, the South and the coast is mainly Christian. After a meal the whole group was invited by the local Emir. Impressive scenes: upon entering through the gates three warriors dressed in rich colors, shining, glimmering in the noon heat. Unmovable they sat upon their most beautiful horses. Weapon in hand. Just before my assignment I had been in a car accident and my neck was still supported. When leaving the palace of the emir I got jostled a bit by the amount of people around. I man in a well tailored suit, delicately put his arm around my shoulder and guided me unharmed through the masses. We were treated to a Durbar which is  an annual festival celebrated in several cities of Nigeria. It is celebrated at the culmination of Muslim festivals Eid al-Fitr and Eid al-Adha. It begins with prayers, followed by a parade of the Emir and his entourage on horses, accompanied by music players, and ending at the Emir's palace. I chose a seat on the third row at the right hand edge, not realizing that the  balcony of the emir was right at the end where I sat. A parade with wooden swords and spears, demonstrations of prowess on horse, foot soldiers and people doing something I could understand. It didn't look like dancing, they were chased away. Only with the third group I realized the people crawled through the sand for their master... All kinds of vendors, jugglers walked by. I could have lost myself in tat town with the dyeing pits with the most extra ordinary colors. My colleagues kind of tugged me along, grabbing me by the arm and  thus breaking the spell... This has been years ago and I can still see the images, still feel the wonder, still smell the testosterone of the warriors. The beauty, the also horrible beauty of it all still lives in me.

Africa V: Benin

The seat of government of Benin Cotonou is slowly disappearing. The tide eats away at the coast and swallows the houses. Every year ten meters more. Porto Nove is the capital. On our one afternoon off we again with a few people traveled a bit. We came through a quaint village, a few market stalls, a café with cool Coke (no I am not paid by them, but it was often the only one could safely drink) and a bit further I saw a small boy, I guessed 7 years old, was walking with a monkey on a leash. I thought:"How cute, to have a monkey as a pet!" And smiled. Later in the evening on our way back we passed through the village again. I was fascinated by the lights, the fires in the woods. It was magic. We passed some more stall and on one of them a monkey slaughtered was hanging, bleeding out. With a shock I realized the small boy was not walking a pet, but protecting a meal or an income. Of course this is how ebola spreads, by eating bush meat. I was astonished that some colleagues would eat bush meat. Not realizing the risks.
So what I learned was that seeing with western eyes, one all too often misreads a situation. What I know is that I cannot be sure what I am seeing. So ask and check it out. And don't forget Benin was once the mighty Kingdom of Dahomey.

Africa III - Gabon

Gabon and its capital Libreville lay at the Bay of Guinea. Tourism seemed to be thriving, stands with good art work were everywhere. Yet the back streets and the open air market required a strong stomach. We were treated to an impressive cultural evening with wonderful and powerful dances. Even the President and his wife assisted. What I wondered about  were the huge hard wood trunks on the coast. Not standing trees but trunks breaking the waves. Probably as efficient as building a concrete defense against the rolling waves. It made the beaches look wonderful and provided a  natural playground for children. Yet I always wondered whether it was ecological a good choice to thin the  forest in this way. We were there on St Patrick's day and we had our one afternoon off. So once again we got into a taxi to drive to a not so local animal park. The taxi broke down, in a small village. They had cola cola and Guinness in the local bar. Since one has to avoid drinking water  that was a good thing. It took a while before with a few local guys the car was fixed. Life seemed good and peaceful. The Park wasn't much, but I loved the drive, seeing the shades of grays, feeling the gentle breeze. Seeing the food stands and hearing the language just made me feel good. There were problems in the country and rumors about a special collection the President cared for,  nothing substantial one can spot easily but people weren't quite willing to talk 'politics'. usually that is a bad sign since it points either to deep divisions in the country or a rather harsh regime which will not allow criticism. In asking about the health situation people spoke about Ebola. but at least 600 km away.Of course we had pens and pencils and empty books to write for the children. We alway collected quite a lot of stuff, also books in French or English depending on the country we went to. What I learned is that big corporation make money everywhere and that poor people can't afford their stuff. About the rampant corruption nobody spoke. Silence is meaningful and isn't hard to hear. That is what I learned.

What I learned in Africa II

Two years after my first African experience I was send on a mission to Uganda. Nobody wanted to go, since during the gulf war the planes flew over the country. At least that was rumored among the colleagues. Anyway we were well protected, a machine gun armed soldier stood every 10 meters along the road from the hotel to the conference center and we were warned not to wander off. In the yard of the presidential palace there were vultures. I wondered about that and found out that Idi Amin used to torture wayward students and if they died the body was thrown in the yard to be eaten by the vultures. It was many years later, but the vultures still haunted the place and considered it their territory. As happens a bunch of us was free one afternoon. So we skipped lunch rented a taxi with four colleagues and took off to what was a National park in the making. There we met up with some people guarding cattle with riffles. I asked why they were armed. They spoke about armed thieves and poachers and such. A few weeks later in April from Uganda armed groups entered Rwanda participating in the 100 mad days when 1.000.000 people were killed. I realize how naive we were. On the way back to Kampala we ran into road blocks, had to buy illegal gas, saw eyes in the darkness of the forests. One of my friends asked: are you not afraid?  And there in the taxi I wrote the following poem:

Headlights light

up life

of those i can never know

in the deepest dark

i ever saw

Roadblocks everywhere

Accident

Police

Checkpoint

Stop control

am i afraid

i am afraid

i am not

the shepherds are armed here

nomads

just as i

(the road from Lake Mburo to Kampala-11PM)

1991 spring 

Of course during the week I managed to wander off: once to the market and once to a local bookshop where I bought some books by local poets . What I learned was that I was not afraid and took a new turn in my life.

Some essential stuff I learned in Africa I

My daughter and her husband are in Congo. Thus I started thinking about the missions to Africa I was lucky enough to do for my job. And I have realized a long time ago that each time I learned a valuable life lesson. My first trip was to Togo. In the hotel lobby I bought a map of the city. And walking I tried to find my way but got terribly confused. And suddenly I saw that there were no street names on the map. I ask about that in the shop. The young man replied: Well, every time there is a revolution they change the names of the streets. So we decided to just print the map without the names. So if ever a local would need a map, they would recognize the lay out of the city and know where to go. They would have a far better mental map. Another thing happened: I had decided on a free afternoon to take the 'taxi de brousse' and check out the next town Anexo. It was a nice clean van for about 15 people. There was a double row and a single row of chairs. I sat down in the single row behind an elderly, well groomed gentleman. Behind me two young man were discussing, almost getting into an argument. They spoke the local language but also parts in French. Suddenly one yells to the other "Mais vous, vous êtes un raciste!" (You, you are a racist!). The old gentleman turns towards me and says delicately: "On ne parle pas de vous Madame." (They are not speaking about you, Misses.) To think about the feelings of a perfect stranger and to put her at ease was a great gift for all the following Missions I did. I never was afraid and trusted in the general goodness of mankind. Well we took off to Anexo, I visited the local market and bought two simple but really pretty clay bowls., I heard the town cryer and happened on a fight. I kept my distance, didn't join the people watching. And then the long wait, darkness descending rapidly and not at all being sure I was at the right place to wait. The taxi came, well it was a pick up truck, loaded with women with chickens, with big bag of homemade soap, with a young man of the American peace corps. They all squeezed a bit more together and I was taken on board... Wonderful first experiences.