Showing posts from June, 2009

Coming back to my African home

I have been listening to Jimmy Katumba. It makes me remember Monday evenings "on the green". A big man coming on stage with his very big voice outdoing everybody else. Somebody out of the ordinary. May his soul rest in peace. Luganda is a beautiful language - that give me eternal memories.

Who am I?

You live in a parallel universe. Sometimes you slide into an extraterrestrial reality and disappear. I have dug so far down into the unknown that I don't know my way back. Recently it has begun to attack my body. I am heating up feeling out of shape bored like hell my brain suffers a melt down. I have no fever it is all my illusion. The blood test scares me it is just my blood. So many kisses along the way. Who was she? I am just selling myself.

In the box

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?