Thursday, 26 March 2015

First Impressions of Istanbul | 2014

Cityscapes of Istanbul, Turkey 
by Joe Pollitt 

THE MAGNIFICENT CITY OF ISTANBUL



Istanbul II, 2014



Istanbul III, 2014


 
Istanbul IV, 2014


Istanbul V, 2014



Istanbul VI, 2014



Istanbul VII, 2014






Wednesday, 18 March 2015

Interesting Article about Tribal Art by Julian Sancton

Source: DEPARTURES
 
September 19, 2013

How to Buy African Art

 

There has never been a better time to buy antique tribal masks and sculptures from Africa—just don't expect to find them there.

First, let’s agree on what to call it, because it’s a matter of some debate. For a long time, the preferred label was primitive art, which reeked of ethnocentrism. Since then, other catchalls have been proposed, each problematic in its own way: Negro art, village art, tribal art... People in the business today tend to call it simply “African art,” but of course that’s not right, either. For one thing, they’re referring to works created in the precolonial and colonial periods, which exclude contemporary African art. For another, the ceremonial masks and statues in question were never meant as art in the Western sense. And then there’s this: Most of it is not actually in Africa. Not anymore.

You can blame Picasso. Africa’s statuary began migrating to Europe in the 19th century with returning missionaries and colonists, as souvenirs and curiosities. But it wasn’t until Picasso, Matisse, Modigliani and their contemporaries started incorporating the spectacularly new forms of African sculpture into their own works (picture Les Demoiselles d’Avignon alongside a Fang mask from Cameroon) that the art world started paying attention. Artifacts suddenly became artworks, and collectors and museums couldn’t get enough of them.

“The majority of what Europeans like as classical, authentic African art has now been sold and has circulated within Europe or the States for 120 years,” says Bernard de Grunne, who was a director of African art at Sotheby’s in the 1980s and ‘90s and now runs a gallery in Brussels, one of the epicenters of the African antiques market, alongside Paris and New York. “As far as classical African art, I think there’s very little left in Africa.”

Meanwhile, sales of African art continue to break records at auction, lifted by the rising tide of the art market as a whole. “I sold only two pieces in my five years at Sotheby’s above a million dollars,” says de Grunne. “Today a million dollars happens at [almost] every auction. Sometimes two or three million.” Chump change next to your average Picasso, but for Heinrich Schweizer, the head of African and Oceanic art at Sotheby’s New York, the comparatively small size of the market makes for a rare opportunity. “Collectors are aware that this is a market where you can still get works of world importance for relatively little money,” he says. “For $10 million, you can probably buy the equivalent of the Mona Lisa.”

The closest Sotheby’s has come to that benchmark was a superb caryatid stool from the Democratic Republic of the Congo’s Luba people that sold in Paris three years ago for $7.1 million. The African Mona Lisa, whatever it turns out to be, will be anointed by Western experts, according to Western tastes, independent of its original ritual function. “Whether it comes from Mali or Cameroon, it’s not really relevant,” says de Grunne. “It just has to be great art.” However you define that.

As the business of African art became increasingly a rich white man’s game, the cultures that created the works gradually disappeared or transformed. Carvers in the postcolonial era found it more profitable to copy older works to sell to foreigners, or simply switch to making salad spoons. Up until the late ’80s, says Carlo Bella, the Italian-born director of Manhattan’s Pace Primitive gallery, it was still possible to find authentic pieces in Africa. But little by little, the continent has been emptied of its antiques. “What you find in Africa is for tourists,” says Bella. “It’s wishful thinking. Souvenirs and fakes.”

None of the African art dealers I spoke with travel to Africa for business. Bella would sooner turn to eBay to find masterpieces—and has. Africa’s problem, he says, is the lack of infrastructure and trustworthy provenance, and it’s not unique to the continent. “Think of buying antiquities from Greece. You go to Greece? You go to Italy? Not really, but you go to Sotheby’s here.”

That’s not to say there aren’t treasures to be found in Africa, so long as you can accept the risk. In Arusha, Tanzania, I saw exquisite Benin bronzes, Songye masks from the Democratic Republic of the Congo and Ife heads from Nigeria among dozens of other works in the Cultural Heritage Centre, a rust-colored building modeled after New York’s Guggenheim. For every piece on the gallery floor, there were a hundred more in a dusty storeroom that reminded me of the warehouse at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark. To believe the center’s director, it’s the largest collection of ethnographic art in Africa.

“A lot of people categorize all African art as replicas, because there are so many,” says Saifuddin Khanbhai, the self-proclaimed Ali Baba of this particular cave, who built the cultural complex off profits from the tanzanite jewelry he sells next door. (He’s quick to boast that he has done work for Bill Clinton, the queen of Norway and—bizarrely—Wade Boggs.) “Some of the stuff is replicas,” he acknowledges. The trouble is identifying the fakes, since forgeries can be so masterful. “For us to get in touch with Christie’s is impossible, because I can only believe what the agents tell me,” he says, referring to the network of dealers, often Senegalese, who have given him the pieces on consignment.

If this is a tourist trap, then it is an unusually ambitious one. In a city where the only bookstore seems to consist of unalphabetized piles of Mary Higgins Clark paperbacks and secondhand textbooks, the Cultural Heritage Centre is a quixotic undertaking. It seemed less important for Khanbhai that the sculptures be real, though some almost certainly are, than that they be seen. He laments that interest in traditional art among Africans has waned to the point that few carvers even bother making proper replicas anymore. “I want to raise awareness all over Africa,” he says. “If locals understood that their heritage has a value, it would go a long way.”

Resources for African Art Globally

MUSEUMS OF THE WORLD

Source: Jones and Keys and Africantiques | Africantiques

 

The best way to see quality authentic African Tribal Art is to visit one of the many great museums in the world. While some of the best art remains in private collections, museums do feature some of the world’s most reknown pieces and often represent a wide selection. Below you will find a list of the best museums for African Tribal Art, each with a link to their official website. The list is organized according to the continent and country of the museums.


EUROPE


Europe3-150x150

Some of the greatest museums for African art are either in France, Belgium, or England, most notably due to the involvement each of these countries had in the colonization of Africa. Even outside of these central nations there are some great museums, so no matter what capital in Europe you find yourself in, check out what they have to offer as far as African art.

Belgium
Ethnographic Museum – Antwerp
Royal Museum for Central Africa – Tervuren

France
Musée du Louvre -Paris
Musée du Quai Branly – Paris
Musée Africain – Lyon
Musée des Arts d’Afrique et d’Asie – Vichy
Musée des Beaux-Arts de Caen

Germany
Ethnologisches Museum – Berlin
Museum fur Volkerkunde – Hamburg
Museum der Weltkulturen – Frankfurt am Main
Museum für Völkerkunde – Leipzig
Niedersachsisches Landesmuseum- Hannover
Rautenstrauch-Joest Museum – Köln

Great Britain
British Museum – London
Pitt Rivers Museum – Oxford
University Museum of Archaeology & Anthropology – Cambridge
World Museum Liverpool

Netherlands
Afrikacentrum – Cadier en Keer
Afrika-Museum – Berg en Dal bij Nijmegen
Museum Volkenkunde – Leiden
Tropenmuseum – Amsterdam
Wereldmuseum – Rotterdam

Switzerland
Musée Barbier-Mueller – Geneva
Musée d’Ethnographie de Genève – Geneva
Museum Rietberg – Zurich
Musée d’Ethnographie – Neuchâtel
Museum der Kulturen – Basel

Others in European Capitals…

Belgrade
Muzej afričke umetnosti - Belgrade

Copenhagen
National Museum – Copenhagen

Lisbon
Museu Nacional de Etnologia – Lisbon

Oslo
Kulturhistorisk Museum – Universitetet i Oslo

Prague
The Náprstek Museum – Prague

Rome
Museo Nazionale Preistorico Etnografico “Luigi Pigorini” – Rome
Pontificio Museo Missionario-Etnologico – Vaticano / Roma

St. Petersburg
Musée d’anthropologie et d’ethnologie – Kunstkamera – St. Petersburg

Stockholm
Etnografiska museet – Stockholm

Vienna
Museum fur Völkerkunde – Vienna

Zagreb
Ethnographic Museum – Zagreb

USA and CANADA 

 

North-America1-150x150

Besides Europe, the USA (with a few in Canada) features some of the greatest collections of African art. Many are scattered in University collections across the US, but the major cities have a least one museum worth taking your time to visit. The greatest experiences without a doubt lie in New York City.

Atlanta
High Museum of Art

Baltimore
Baltimore Museum of Art

Birmingham
Birmingham Museum of Art

Cambridge, Massachusetts
Peabody Museum of Archaeology & Ethnology

Chicago
Art Institute of Chicago
 
Cleveland
Cleveland Museum of Art
African Art Museum of Maryland

Dallas
Dallas Museum of Fine Arts

Denver
Denver Art Museum

Detroit
Detroit Institute of Art

Los Angeles
Fowler Museum of Cultural History, UCLA

New Hampshire
Hood Museum of Art, Dartmouth College
University of Iowa Museum of Art
University of Pennsylvania, University Museum
Virginia Museum of Fine Arts

New Orleans
New Orleans Museum of Art

New York City
American Museum of Natural History
Metropolitan Museum of Art
Brooklyn Museum
Guggenheim Museum, NYC
Museum for African Art

Portland,Maine
Museum of African Tribal Art
Field Museum of Natural History
Hampton University Museum

San Francisco
Phoebe A. Hearst Museum of Anthropology, University of California
Iris & B. Gerald Cantor Center for Visual Arts at Stanford University

Seattle
Seattle Art Museum

Washington DC
National Museum of African Art, Smithsonian Institution

CANADA

Calgary,Canada
Glenbow Museum – Calgary

Montreal,Canada
Musée Des Beaux-Arts – Montréal

Toronto, Canada
Royal Ontario Museum – Toronto

AFRICA

Africa3-150x150

It is sad to see that the Museums in Africa are not on par with collections from Europe and America due to economic instability and corruption but there are some museums worthwhile to visit. After all, not only is Africa the true home to these artifacts but also known to be the cradle of mankind.

        
Botswana National Museum and Art Gallery – Gaborone Botswana

Burkina Faso
Musée de la Bendrologie – Manega Burkina Faso
Musée des Civilisations du Sud-ouest – Ouagadougou Burkina Faso

Cameroon
Musée National – Yaoundé Cameron

Kenya
African Heritage – An exception built by Alan Donovan
National Museum of Kenya
National Archives
Lamu Cultural Museum

Mali
Musée National du Mali – Bamako Mali

Namibia
National Museum of Namibia – Windhoek Namibia

Nigeria
Historical Museum – Abomey Benin

South Africa
Museum Africa – Johannesburg Johannesburg Art Gallery – Johannesburg
University of Witwatersrand Art Galleries – Johannesburg
Gold of Africa Museum – Cape Town
South African National Gallery – Cape Town
University of Cape Town Irma Stern Museum – Cape Town
The Durban Art Gallery – Durban
Local History Museum – Durban
Phanzi Museum – Durban
Museum of Anthropology and Archaeology – Pretoria
Sasol Art Museum – Stellenbosch
Albany Museum – Grahamstown
Botshabelo Mission Station – Middleburg
Duggan-Cronin Gallery – Kimberley
East London Museum – East London
The Natal Museum – Pietermaritzburg
William Humphreys Art Gallery – Kimberley
Zulu Cultural Museum – Ulundi

Tanzania
Sukuma Museum – Kisesa-Bujora Tanzania

Zambia
Moto Moto Museum – Mbala Zambia
Nayuma Museum – Mongu Zambia

Zimbabwe
National Museums and Monuments of Zimbabwe- Zimbabwe


 

Thursday, 5 March 2015

BILL COSBY TALKS CLEARLY



Bill and Camille Cosby have loaned more than 60 pieces of art to the Smithsonian's National Museum of African Art. NPR's Scott Simon speaks with the Cosbys about their collection.

Copyright © 2014 NPR. For personal, noncommercial use only. See Terms of Use. For other uses, prior permission required.

SCOTT SIMON, HOST:

Bill and Camille Cosby have loaned 62 pieces from their extraordinary art collection to the Smithsonian National Museum of African Art in Washington, D.C., for a show called "Conversations: African and African-American Artworks In Dialogue." Much of their art has never been shown in public. We spoke with the Cosbys at the museum last week, as Bill Cosby's name was in the news for a different reason - allegations of rape and sexual assault have resurfaced against him. Mr. Cosby settled out of court in a lawsuit for sexual assault back in 2006. Several women supplied affidavits in the suit, which was settled for an undisclosed amount of money. You will hear Mr. Cosby's response to our questions about the allegations during this interview. We sat down to speak with Bill and Camille Cosby at the Smithsonian in the midst of their art.

There's an extraordinary picture that's hanging behind the two of you that I've made a note about. It's from 1894, an oil painting by Henry Ossawa Tanner. It's called "The Thankful Poor" - an older man and a little boy in prayer at the dinner table. It's is a pretty modest meal.

CAMILLE COSBY: Yes.

BILL COSBY: Excuse me? Excuse me? But you see more of the plate.

SIMON: But they're giving thanks.

C. COSBY: They're giving thanks.

B. COSBY: Tanner has done what he wants you to feel - grateful, respectful and to, sort of, take in that Christianity sort of look at life, that no matter what it is on that table that you give thanks to the Lord for what you are about to partake.

SIMON: I gather Mr. Tanner wound up moving to France?

C. COSBY: He did.

SIMON: And painted a lot of religious themes.

C. COSBY: Yes, he obviously was very spiritual. I mean, there's another Tanner right there to your left.

SIMON: "The Good Shepherd?"

C. COSBY: Yes, "The Good Shepherd." Exactly, and he lived in France until he died. I mean, he did visit the United States once in a while, but he had had it with the racism - the legal racism - in the United States.

SIMON: What does it mean to the both of you to have this extraordinary collection that's really known around the world and makes a difference in African-American culture?

C. COSBY: Well, I hope that it will make a difference in all cultures. Not just African-American culture, but certainly to show the connection between African-American cultures - in plural, I am saying that plural - and African cultures. Everyone can identify with something that's on these walls, whether it's a spirituality, whether it's family, whether it's looking at a beautiful waterfall. I mean, that is humanity. That's something - a common human experience is what I hope the people will feel. I want them to feel something when they look at every single piece - not just think about it, but feel it.

B. COSBY: And the way things are juxtaposed will certainly give that as opposed to your usual museum set ups.

SIMON: This question gives me no pleasure, Mr. Cosby, but there have been serious allegations raised about you in recent days. You're shaking your head no. I'm in the news business. I have to ask the question - do you have any response to those charges? Shaking your head no - there are people who love you who might like to hear from you about this. I want to give you the chance. All right, Camille and Bill Cosby - they have lent 62 pieces from their collection of African and African-American artists to create an exhibit called "Conversations: African and African-American Artworks In Dialogue." It's now on display at the Smithsonian National Museum of African Art through early 2016. Thank you both for joining us.

C. COSBY: Thank you. Thank you.



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FOR WHOM THE STORY TOLLS.


ORAL VERSION | FOR WHOM THE STORY TOLLS

For Whom The Story Tolls

From bling bling to the pollipolly
Mmy people, Mmy people.
Ya hot like piri-piri
Your lands are plenty-plenty.

Yora Chan-ga, Chokora, rockstar
Supernova paranoia helter-skelter
Daily-Dollar searching, neverever finding,
Ya pockets empty for pleasures plenty.

Living on 2 dollars-a-day and a family-of- 5
needs-a-ChrisOfili-a-YinkaShonibare-
half-a-MoshekwaLanga and 7-WangechiMutus.
How-about-a-pint of Ibrahim-El-Salhi washed down an- Iba-N’Diaye.

Oh to taste a Cheri Samba, a-Cheif Jerimoh Burumiah, a-simple-Soly Cisse, a-Charly-D’Almeida, a-Twins77 
what-about-a Ouagadougo cocktail of Emmanuel-Kavi 
mixed with Alex da Silva topped with a Suzanne Ouedraogou.
Lumumba, Gadaffi, Mugabe, Idi Ami 
mean, 
mean, 
what do I mean?


JP 05/03/15


*N.B. The Title, "For Whom The Story Tolls" comes from NO MAN IS AN ISLAND by John Donne read by Joe Pollitt - Click to Listen.

FREEDOM

ORAL VERSION | FREEDOM

Freedom is a gift we can all afford to grant ourselves. It means nothing to most and everything to a few. Those who dare to stretch themselves away from the mainstream and are bold enough to bank solely on their ability to communicate and have ambition to see it through right until the end. Those are the works worth waiting for www. Those are the memorable voices that will, over-time, be heard by all..... 


Bubbling like brown rice in giant metal pots.
Listen to the sounds of the Underground. 
The murmur of distant voices rising, 
tiny sounds at first until the fullness is 
truly realised and the volume reaches our 
ears in order to be heard. Suddenly, 
the agony is understood firsthand 
and then those high pitch screams. 
Those unbearable shrieks that pierce 
the body like poisoned thorns, 
sending shockwaves into curdled blood, 
rapidly flowing around weak deflated arteries 
and thin human veins like freshly 
generated, clean and sharp electricity. 

Downplay the ignorance. 
Support the ground offensive. 
Play War Games on foreign soil. 
Drill bullets through the skulls of the damned. 
To ignore these cries would be a shameful travesty. 
To not download their significance would be an
utter disgrace. Grand plan, final attack, Drones 
released, terrorism hunted down, 
removed for good. The cries are coming from 
all those offended. All those affected. 
All those that are now gone. 
Dead and buried. 


Feet firmly rooted to the spot we, the afflicted 
have no chance but to digest this torment found. 
Head-splitting memory of reliving misery. 
The constant throbbing on a broken-heart, 
mended only by a night out and a finders-fee, 
bright lights, Bingo and cups of tea. 
What started as a friendly sparkler, 
quickly turned to fireworks, 
to mass murder 
with missiles never missing 
every site on target hitting. 
Blowing up the innocent 
from Baghdad to Kabul. 
Avoiding all the criticism 
from Edinburgh to Liverpool. 
Sending out our brave young lads 
from Islington to Hartlepool. 
From Gravesend to Nuneaton 
from slightly bruised to badly beaten. 

Catchphrases, soundbites and Celebrity. 
She’s pedigree and soon-to-be my destiny. 
Mix friends, stir well with a bedroom key. 
I'm-in agony on-ecstasy, medically I’m fine you-see. 
Watching you so jealously, finding my own chemistry. 
Fearful of nonentity, hoping for longevity. 
Regrettably I cannot be, the man you want so eagerly. 
I am pure complexity, a man without identity 
but plenty of integrity and I will love you endlessly. 


Here is to the freedom of saying what you like when you like. 


JP 05/03/15

Tuesday, 3 March 2015

Loneliness..Ain't it GRAND!

(For the ORAL CULTURE that we all adore | https://soundcloud.com/joe-pollitt/loneliness)



It is so lonely out there. Do you find that my precious friends. My invisible people that never seem to say a fucking word. My friend Luke Dunn is mocking me online. I do so love him. I wish more people would be like Luke. He's ace...even with his mockingness....

----

I went with Bill to look at the gallery spaces on the pier. We went into one and there was a girl in there making jewellery. She was quite pretty and fairly shy. I complimented her work and told her about the stones I'd collected. She had designed some 3d printed ornaments. Her shyness seemed to wear off, which I put down to the fact that I had been able to put her at her ease. I think she liked me. we left and carried on walking. as we walked I started to think about her more, and a subtle sense suggested that she too was thinking about me. I wondered if she was falling in love with me. As I considered this I wondered too, in turn, whether I was falling in love with her. I waited to see if the thoughts started to birth pink dreamy feelings, but overall it stayed as a thought of love not a feeling.
I did sense though that this thought of love might grow, and wondered if I should go back after a day or two. I decided I would, and would take a gift of my best stones for her. I felt that Love was a magic that we all search for, and that requires an act of faith to initiate. I felt her presence and she seemed to be telling me not to have a drink that day, because Love was better than alcohol, now it had been re-awakened in my life.
But after sleeping I am looking back on the day. I went through my usual wondering whether I might fall for someone, when since Tesher that has not happened fully. I entered a period of choice with it.The timelines, the woven destiny strands were presented to me and I was zooming into the future on rails, where I could set the turning points one way or the other ahead of the train. The true pink cloud of bliss never came. I asked myself whether that would have been asking too much. There had been however the faintest whiff of magic. This magic seemed to be threatened when my typical telepathic awareness started kicking in and I sensed that with me thinking about her, and her about me, that a silver astral cord had been stretched between us. this cord was too thoughty though, it was two people wondering about each other. I don't like sensing this link sometimes, because I tend to start to conduct spiritual "pressured-speech" to the other. endless conversing... words, words, words. words not feelings.

I'm not sure I have the will to record every aspect of it, but now I have awoken from a strange dream today I realise I won't go back to her. Instead I am going to put everything I have into writing for a while.
My friend Joe rang me after I got home from the pier and we must have talked for more than an hour. Again, this morning I reached a conviction that the only way he can overcome the spiritual pressured speech is for him to write too. So in some way I am putting this passage down now to avoid any chance that my advice to him was ill-considered casual hypocrisy, of the kind that so many people give. "I think you SHOULD DO THIS..." "I reckon you OUGHT TO ..." etc etc. Joe was so carried by his mood that I found it hard to get a word in edgeways, but I don't really mind. I am prepared to suffer that because I know he needs to vent to me.

I am always more happy when I vent onto paper than when I vent to another. The telepathic potential girl seemed to be teaching me that I should not have a drink that day. I got washed by the endless current of complacency down the river of habitual trappedness into necking a pint of cider between calls with Joe. At first she noticed through the mysterious link (network cable? umbilicus?) and told me I had trashed my chances with her, but later she came back and forgave me. it entered my mind that we had to share one sin between us, so there could be forgiveness in the relationship. She obviously has had to wrestle with booze too!

---

Bloody brilliant. What a man Luke is..a Lover, wonderful writer but what is amazing is that he seems to care. How marvellous. A man with a heart. Rare indeed in these empty days of nothingness. So to set an example to Joe I write. I write as Joe to Joe. I can only remind him that the mirror is thinking about him and soon he wont feel so isolated. He will forget about feeling so let down by all, betrayed and all but forgotten about and remind him that one day soon his body will turn to dust and he will be apart of the world once more. "But that's not the whole story, it was really in telling him that writing untangles the karmic ball of string, that I remembered this truth for myself"...says Luke. So here I am and I already feeling better. Dancing with letters, caring less and less if they are even read. Have you ever felt ashamed? You speak to a family member, who just sees you as a silly ant. A bore, a waste of space, a nothingness. A man without work, without a decent bone in his body. A useless person who somehow seems to be breathing although most would wish he didn't. Do you feel lonely? Do you have any friends that ever seem to understand who the fuck you are and then see them look so pitiful back at you...saying you're nothing. You're nothing to nobody. It's a shame you didn't do so well in your life, what a waste they say..YOU LOSER they say......You lover of Africa. A Continent nobody cares about but you...Foolish Boy!

Have you ever seen your life slide by and think. Was that me? Caring so much for an unheard, unseen Continent that I am sure exists but nobody seems to believe me. Maybe it's me...Everybody can't be wrong. Maybe Africa doesn't exist and black people are unimportant to the wider world and I have been a fool to care. Look how few black people are allowed to be famous. It comes as no surprise to me as I must of written over 100 articles about the best the Continent had to offer but still they wanted their Blacks to be more like the Whites and took no notice of my little scribbles. Make them all educate themselves at great expensive in the Art Colleges of London, Paris, New York or better still at YALE. Be more like the West. Ignore Africa, ignore yourselves and conform to a way of thinking that will certainly make you feel forever sick.

It is such a shame. Loneliness. We all feel it from time to time but it hurts. It's a pain that is not easy to describe. The feeling never seems to leave and the more you think about your isolation so the more the earth seems to drift further and further away. I have seen people die from loneliness. Their eyes become less and less excited by the world and the wonders therein. My pitiful efforts made have fallen on deaf ears and seen by those with such shortsightedness. It makes me ill but hell aren't we all...terribly sick. Caring about terrorists in Pakistan or seeing another beheading in Somalia whilst watching advertising campaigns to save the Donkey or being terribly self righteous about a 12 year old girl being arranged to be married to somebody in India and then being asked to send her money to stop this custom, which has been going on from Centuries. Send her money in order for her to school herself to learn all she can about being Whiter than White...Who are we? Are we any better here in our sick society with abused children and rent boys being used by the Politicians as they fuck us up even harder. To Bankers without hearts and you can see them all on the platforms at Cannon Street, flocking home to Kent, Sussex and the poorer chaps to Essex. What are they doing without minds, pockets full of notes and loose change as they, like sheep, blindly send our nation into poverty of kinds you never see on the Continent of Africa. The children are happy there. The women work harder than ever and are content with their lives as their men and children gather around to help whereever possible. But who am I to tell you this. You see Africa as starving and the children have flies around their watery eyes and pussy open sores. All have to walk 1000 miles to schools in the wilderness,  only to be told how the Brtish have done them such favours in the past. How the French are superior in every way and the Americans can do no wrong. Teaching them how useless they all are and how they will never amount to anything. Teaching them how to live without expectations, without any hope then vaccinating all the women. Sterlizing the Continent and pushing those within the borders of this enormous Continent, down to the ground once more. Boko Haram. Haram Haram indeed.

EBOLA. We know this was chemical warfare but who would believe us? Who would care it's only Africans after all. It seems as if the lights are all out on this Continent. The heart of darkness, that is all too true Mister Joseph Conrad. As the power keeps on killing the innocent in order to line their pockets with stolen gold and beautiful conflict diamonds. If I am to wear any kind of diamond I want it to be full of conflict. The more the merrier. Conflict my diamonds now. I want to wear conflict ear-rings and a conflict watch and a matching conflict necklace with conflict rings on my toes. I want conflict underwear and conflict socks. I want more conflict not less.It is here in the sadest, madest of times we see ourselves so clearly as I put a mirror up to myself so I see how terribly hurt, angry and upset I have become. I thought I was ok until I started writing and now I just can't stop. Furious is not the word. It's too short a word for how I'm feeling. Fucked off is kind of good but even that is not enough...I want to take it further. I want to be even angrier, nobody is saying a thing and those that do are just talking shit and making us believe in their cuntish ways in order to keep the Status Quo and boat from rocking. I want to rock the boat...fuck it...I want to capsize the fucking thing.

Let us at least be honest to ourselves. The people in power don't care about us. They don't even see us. To them we just simply don't exist. It is easy to build a Nation if those within the borders want a Nation worth building. Sadly those in Africa are too selfish. I thought they would change and maybe they would respect the artist and the writer but I was so stupidly misguided. Last week I read that Chimamanda suffers from depression. Really....how interesting is that? She suffers from Depression you say...Fuck me....If that is the case I suffer from Life Itself. She is multi millionaire having been read by millions and running around the world with body guards and little old Chimamanda sadly suffers from depression....I can only but laugh as my anger boils up to fever pitch....

You all have yet to understand me. I am writing you into HISTORY, whether you like me or hate me I don't give a fuck. I will write you into my books and I will scribble you onto my toilet walls, down the bannisters and out of my door, onto the steps and the pavement below. That is that Norman O'Flynn, Soly Cisse, Suzanne Ouedraogo. CHARLY D'ALMEIDA, the King of Africa. Wasswa Donald and Sheila Black and Big Moma and Maggie Otieno. I want to tell the world of Emmanuel Kavi from Lome, that's in West Africa you know? The Republic of Togo and who the hell has heard of that? Oh yes, wasn't there a famous Footballer from there once upon a time? I will bloody well make sure that history remembers you all and the struggles you faced in your time here on earth. I want to express just how little the world thinks of you...and when you have seen just how little that is, I then want to ask you to forget it, delete it, erase it from your memory and then you'll understand just how much the world cares about you, your art and my pathetic writings.

Every day I become more and more amazed just how little I have been championed. Imagine writing out a history or a world that refuses to be seen. A history that has yet to be recorded; an oral culture that will tell of it's own history, of the stories of art by those that made mud-huts and rode around on the backs of camels in the jungles of the darkest parts of an Africa Continent. Have I wasted my life, wasted my time thinking about those that want to be forgotten rather than remembered? Who else but me would have wasted an entire life, dedicating his time, passion and energy into shaping a world that refuses to evolve. Countries and people that are still hanging onto the apron strings of Colonial currencies and thought patterns of their White unsettlers who left over half a century ago, yet seem always that they are never too far away from the minds of the Africans. What am I to do if you just cannot snap your way out of your hideous past and sadly remain forever enslaved by it. Nothing and so I shall keep on doing my nothing until I'm heard!