Why is Africa so scary? In my Nordic past somewhere outside Oslo the self name Scandinavian Benjamin warned me against getting lost in the black hole he believed Africa to be. Just yesterday somebody declared that he was pleased that I had begun to write about Vesterbro (the neighborhood in Copenhagen, where I now live) instead of my previous African stories. He continued confessing that he had been very annoyed by all this African stories of mine. Before I could say anything he began to talk about all the foreign aid we give Africa and they don't get anywhere. He was very angry. But I never wrote about that. I openly was very confused. Suddenly it stroke me that bringing stories about the unknown can be uncomfortable. We only want to hear what we already know. It was so pleasant to hear about coffee in central Copenhagen. Kind of depressing really. Not my agenda. Is it really so terrible to just listening to somebody telling about African stuff?