Blue Sand

The headline was striking sixty odd years later
The dust was said to be returning to sender
Swirling dervishes on magic carpets, a blanket of fine particles
Radiation straight from the souk, the message in a bottle

A sixties affair held, not in Provence,
   but rather in the Sahara
Uncharted territory
   in what they then called French Algeria
A convenient location,
   just a few Berber nomads around at best
The fruits of settler colonialism,
   a prime spot for a nuclear test

A case of droit de seigneur, this was the desert after all
Proud of his entrée to the nuclear club was General de Gaulle
Still, it's not something that one could sweep under the rug,
   this thing
Indeed, the test rather embodied a literal carpet bombing

First, the sharp flash of the detonation
Then, later, shock waves and the almighty sound
The scientists marveled at the novel reaction
The blueish fire that preceded the mushroom cloud

Ground zero, the impact crater, the hole in the dunes
The military had assigned a codename: Gerboise Bleue
The desert rodent of Reggane would be baptized in blue
The blue of the tricolor harkened to Saint Martin de Tours

In the aftermath, as expected, came the fallout in all its forms
The uproar was swift,
   later tests would have to be moved underground
Expressions of surprise
   that radiation would drift west and south
Significant traces detected
   in Upper Volta, Ghana and even Senegal

Ballistic rockets launched primed for nuclear payloads
The initial fear was of fission and Strontium 90 isotopes
Decay was all, the main byproduct was rather Caesium
It is an ill wind that blows no good, this reckoning

We are all casualties in the torrid zone of this triangle of fire
That, in a new century, nature had decided to share the wealth
Donations of micro doses spreading irony across the land
A radioactive gift to posterity, a legacy of blue sand



After: Irony as Saharan dust returns radiation from French nuclear tests in the 1960s (March 1, 2021)

Blue Sand, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note. (spotify version)

• You Dropped A Bomb On Me by Gap Band
• Ill Wind by Ben Webster
• Midnite Blue by Count Basie
  Taken from The Complete Atomic Basie, the album cover is telling
• Dust by Van Hunt
• Inherit the Wind by Wilton Felder
• Dust in the Wind by Eric Benet
• Ill Wind by Lee Morgan
• Oh Lord Don't Let Them Drop That Atomic Bomb On Me by Charles Mingus
• Ill Wind by Milt Jackson
• Ill Wind (You're Blowin' Me No Good) by Ella Fitzgerald

...

The Wife's history of Atomic Junction dug up lots of interesting material. Here's a 1960 speech by by Tawia Adamafio denouncing French Nuclear Tests in the Sahara. See also a few more clippings from Ghanaian newspapers of the time.

File under: nuclear, France, violence, colonialism, war, environment, Algeria, irony, culture, observation, science, weapons, Africa, politics, power, perception, public health, poetry, Observers are worried, toli

Writing log: December 16, 2021

Quality of Life (Redux)

The volunteers carried litter sticks and plastic bags
They were out in force and seemed in rude health
One of them climbed down into the creek to pick up the trash
I thanked them, for I'd thought of cleaning the trail up myself
But always forgot, on our weekend walks, to bring a bag
To spend one's Saturday afternoon doing garbage collection
Is quite the antidote to our ongoing social isolation

And what do you know, just two weeks later
We passed, on the bridge, a couple of teenagers
With fishing poles at the ready dangling over the bridge
Lines dipping into this selfsame creek in search of fish
We thought back to those altruistic weekend warriors
Who tended the fabric of our commons in quiet sacrifice
I daresay, social living is the best. Quality of life.

...


Perhaps it was the pandemic, and the phobia it elicited,
That caused me to stop frequenting places I normally visited
I succumbed somewhat to the caution of hygiene theater
The fear of fomites, the call for action of the gospel of germs
Like everyone, I wiped things religiously citing public health
A little overkill, wouldn't you think, for an airborne disease?
What it meant was that I'd stopped taking up those park seats

Turns out that there was also the small matter of comfort
For it's not very appealing when you lack lumbar support
Everything came into place when I noticed the new wooden slat
That added an extra cushion for when the weary traveler sat
Parks and Recs had budget, it seems; they fixed the bench, it was nice
Even without the green paint, it made all the difference. Quality of life.

...


Don't call it a love letter, for it was merely appreciative
And kind, of this unknown neighbor to take the initiative
To pen, with loops and hearts adorning her I's, this grace note
"Hello Friend, I love your flowers!" was what she wrote
"You take very good care of the plants you share space with,
They look very happy!" Must be an expert on these things but who knows?
The letter concluded, "I wish that your love and care for each other grows"

Like the old man who lives in the park,
   she likes seeing me on my hands and knees
Slowly weeding and making a living home out front for the honeybees
The monarch butterflies and even hummingbird moths
   are all well served
Now that, with my seed infusion,
   I appear to have created a nature preserve
Surely, dear wife, you can't be jealous of such gracious folk?
Knowing full well this pandemic garden got its start for want of a bolt
You do know there's no alienation of affection, we can't have marital strife
The flower garden is a covidious dividend, isn't it? Quality of life.

I'm Too Much, a playlist

A playlist is in order (spotify version)

• I'm Too Much by Chubb Rock
• Jealousy by The Beach Scorpions
• Schoolboy Crush by Average White Band
• He Doesn't Even Know That I'm Alive By Janet Jackson
• Irresistible by Miles Jaye
• Being Me by Abbey Lincoln
• I Can't Help It by Michael Jackson
• One Thing Led to Another by Johnny Kemp
• Prettyman by Prince

See previously: Quality of Life

This note is part of a series: In a covidious time

File under: Small Things, life, culture, observation, perception, happiness, social, Social Living, garden, environment, nature, communities, covidious, poetry, toli

Writing log: April 28, 2021

Broken Record

The rainy season is so-named because it comes every year, hence one would expect that the authorities would plan for it, but this was the scene on the front page of the Daily Graphic in 1960 when the rains came to Accra with the resulting floods. The headlines 56 years later will likely be the same even with last year's disaster relatively fresh in our minds.

The satirists have already laid their bets: Accra mayor begins ritual of dusting off his annual 'flood speech' as rains set in. Of course the collateral damage has already been felt this year. One prays this year's death toll will be minimized.

Now I hear you: it's complicated. Flood management is difficult even if you're not in the Third World (and you don't have to go the extreme of mentioning Katrina and Sandy and other extraordinary acts of nature to make the point). Flash floods do happen. And yes, you can't simply throw out all the people who have encroached and built on the areas that are ostensibly meant for drains. You need to find a sustainable solution. Oh sure, after every disaster, the bulldozers appear and the Accra Metropolitan Authority workers along with the police knock down the kiosks and other dwellings that have sprung up upending home and livelihood for the unfortunate. And sometimes it is just a matter of excessive garbage, blocked drains and/or the negligence of those who got the juicy contract to maintain the same. Or... I know, I know: everything is local. And anyway why worry about such things from a remove of 6,479 miles?

My mother has accumulated dozens of newspaper columns on this very topic over her 50 year career. And as evidenced by the 1960 front pages, the headlines were writing themselves long before she started. It's a matter of meteorology (it always rains heavily), geography (Kwame Nkrumah circle was always a flash point; the location of the rivers and lagoons in the city), physics and architecture (the design, placement and configuration of streets, houses, roads and drains), engineering (how well those roads and drains were constructed, whether corners were cut after the no-bid contract was awarded, whether proper materials were used) and ultimately slum politics (the perennial tension between the drainage of the Korle lagoon and the growth of the nearby slums full of voters - whether you call one of those touchpoints Agblobloshie, Old Fadama or Sodom and Gomorrah features into the lens through which one views this intractable issue).

But there is a difference between an act of god and an eminently predictable seasonal occurrence. We'll bemoan the lack of a maintenance culture, pay emergency rates for things that ought to be run-of-the mill repairs. Before and after the fact, everyone "knows" what needs to be done. At what point does damage move from collateral to intended? We cheapen Ghanaian lives and compensate with congratulatory funerals while patting ourselves on the back about our unique culture. I dissent. The refrain I've grown up with is that history should not keep repeating itself. And yet we keep sounding like a broken record when the rains come to Accra.

And for bonus points note the other headline on the 1960 front page: "Fast Train Services Planned". We're still waiting for Godot on that front. It's not as if the plans haven't been there as far as the development of Accra goes. Through each era, under each government, no matter how progressive, incompetent (as currently) or indeed how repressive (as thankfully in our past), the plans have always been there. Sisyphus must have been the patron saint of urban planners in Accra.

Lamentable, a playlist

A lamentable soundtrack for this note(spotify version)

• Gotta Broken Heart Again by Prince
  I should feel bad repurposing this sweet pop trifle but it fits better than New Edition's N.E. Heartbreak.
• From A Whisper To A Scream by Allen Toussaint
  Esther Phillip's version was my introduction to the late Allen Toussaint's great song. It's perhaps serendipitous in the context of this playlist that there's also a horror movie with that name.
• Lament by Miles Davis
  Stately yet mournful blues from my favourite album of his, Miles Ahead
• Es Lamentable by Sophy
  I hope to be proved wrong but I've found the message of this boogaloo concoction gets straight to the point.
• Soul Lament by Kenny Burrell Midnight Blue all the way. Normally part of my summer jazz playlist, I can't get enough of Kenny Burrell's sublime guitar. Note: Lonnie's Lament by John Coltrane is an adequate substitute.
• Shame by Alexander O'Neal
  The last peak of soul's finest voice paired with Jam and Lewis's immaculate production.

  I let you get over the last time, if you do it again it's a shame on me.

• It's a Crying Shame by Ruby Turner
  We'll up the stakes and end with the obvious. The album is called Paradise and yet it's a crying shame that the paradise of a well run country is denied us. I have no more tears to cry.

File under: Accra, Ghana, flood, disaster, development, infrastructure, history, waste, Africa, policy, politics, urban, strategy, environment, city, planning, culture, observation, toli