ktravula – a travelogue!

Five People in China

Five students of three countries from various disciplines sat down in a Chinese restaurant downtown Edwardsville today for dinner. It was the first time the five of them would be sitting together in one place, and it soon dawned on them that they were all beneficiaries of the Fulbright program. “Wow,” one of them said. “This is really interesting – three generations of scholars in one place at the same time.”

“By this time next year, if the current two return here, we’d be almost ten,” another person said, “and it would be interesting to gather around again for a discussion like this.”

“We could actually do something right now, you know.” The Egyptian said.

“Yes,” said the Moroccan. “I’ve been thinking of a public project involving us all and this environment, either on campus, or the public school system in the state. Some volunteer project in town, you know.”

“Why didn’t we think of this earlier? This actually sounds great. What do you have in mind?” I said.

“We can go to elementary schools to talk to them about where we’re from and what we do?”

“Or tell them stories, teach them songs, or share some cultural ideas. Or show a movie on campus?”

“It will enlighten them, I believe. I’m sure students will benefit from this. A cultural exchange. Something.”

“Totally.”

By the time the evening ended, they had discovered a new level of usefulness for the bond that they all shared. They had also figured out a more detailed plan of action and the path to putting the many ideas into practice. After all, it was right before their very eyes, and within their collective reach. They just hadn’t noticed it before because of individual commitments. Now everything had become clear. The day had served its usefulness. They cheered and partook of it with all relish.

On Teju Cole’s “Open City”

Here’s a few words on Nigerian writer’s American debut novel published by Random House books:

In Teju Cole’s novel “Open City” (Random House, 259 pages, $25), the narrator, a Nigerian émigré named Julius, says that he has developed the habit of “aimless wandering” through New York City. He is not being coy. “Open City” obediently follows him as he ambles through Central Park, browses in bookstores, strolls through museum galleries and tours the sights around Wall Street. He is in America on a fellowship to study psychiatry; when he takes a vacation, he goes to Brussels and wanders aimlessly there.

Julius finds that the more he roams the “solitary but social territory” of the streets, the more invisible he becomes. In part because he’s an expatriate and in part because he’s attracted to an existential philosophy that exalts “being magnificently isolated from all loyalties,” Julius feels alienated from the busy neighborhoods he passes through and the garrulous people he meets. Yet there remains a vague purpose to his purposelessness, a low-simmering desire to recognize himself in his surroundings: “I wanted to find the line that connected me to my own part in these stories.”

Not having read the book yet, what fascinates me the most about what I’ve read is the premise on which the book is based – the very nuanced nature of cities (and towns) and what they can offer us either at the level of imagination, or merely at face value. A new short story set in Edwardsville? Why not?

More on the book here and here in the New Yorker.

Meeting Eshu

Today a well-dressed man with a Sean Connery/Salman Rushdie look, beard, and an eerily similar Wole Soyinka/VS Naipaul voice walked into the language lab. He was accompanied by a colleague in the department who had brought him there to use the computer. I’d heard a little about him from the departmental emails. He is one of the prospective employees brought to take a tour of the department and meet members of staff. He had come earlier before I arrived at work. He stands a chance of being a new addition to our staff so I went to speak with him.

“Where are you from?” He asked after I’d introduced myself.

“Nigeria.”

“Bawo nee.” He said, and I was suprised.

“A dupe. How did you know this. Have you ever lived in Nigeria?”

“No. I’m from Brazil.”

“Wao. I didn’t know that you speak the language there.”

“Yes we do. The Yoruba religion is very big in Brazil. It’s a huge huge thing.”

I knew this, but was still very impressed. Then he went on.

“Do you know Shango?”

“Waoh.”

“And Orisha.”

“I’m impressed.”

“And Oshun.”

“Interesting.”

“And my personal favourite – Eshu*!”

“Hahahahaha.”

“I tell everybody about Eshu, especially the Christians I meet, and they look at me like an evil voodoo priest.”

We went on to talk for a few more minutes, and he then showed me a youtube video of a performance of the Yoruba religious worship in Brazil. The songs are a mixture of Portugese and Yoruba. One could pick out many Yoruba words, phrases and expressions in the song. The costumes however are a mixture of European and African. The drums were distinctly African.

The short conversation has given me a new appreciation of religion being the most enduring bearer of language. We’ve seen it with Latin and Catholicism, Arabic and Islam. Now we’re seeing it with Yoruba and Candomble.

It is was all just very interesting to me.

_____________

* Eshu is the Yoruba god of mischief, lost in the translation of the English bible into Yoruba as the devil himself.

Walking the City

It is ancient, it is new. It’s cold, it’s warm. It is windy. It is dry, it is bubbly. It surprises like a carnival. It soothes like a feather. It delights. It surprises. It bores. It hugs. It repels: a beautiful half desert land of strange plants and creatures. Ruins. Concrete. Rust. Trees. Tar. Tall remnants of a history that comes back many times to relive itself. City. Town. Relic. St. Louis.