Interstitial

The little glass fondleslabs
Were not the first to rob us of the interstices
But they were, truth be told,
Leaps and bounds, the most effective

While you waited in line, it was all too tempting
To whip it out of your pocket and, into its warm glow, plunge in
Better, during the commute, to plug in the headphones and listen
To scan the headlines or pursue whatever was the latest distraction

Versatile too, the mobile package, if charged,
Could supply essentially unlimited attractions
But this was not new, a thick broadsheet unfolded carefully
Could divert you to yesterday's news just as easily

But the convenience was the difference,
Oh so unobtrusive and frictionless,
Deployed in a single motion from one's pocket,
One handed operation supported
One click and you were transported

A paradox of modernity, no more idle chat while you wait for the bus
It's enough to make you wonder, what paradise have we lost?
And so I, for one, bemoan the loss of friction
The interstitial is on the brink of extinction

Interstitial, a playlist

As is my custom, a soundtrack for this note. (spotify version)

• Dodgin' Your Phone by Dwele
  Although ostensibly about dodging phone calls, I'll repurpose Dwele and David Banner's collaboration to be about eschewing the phone entirely, but then I'm a Luddite.
• I Don't Mind The Waiting by Omar
  Waiting Game was originally intended for this playlist but the deep cuts from the This in Not a Love Song album aren't available online. 'Tis quite the pity
• Idle Moments by Grant Green
  Any excuse to hear some Grant Green. Spread the word.
• Sitting And Waiting by Dave Barker & The Upsetters
  Lee "Scratch" Perry was on a roll
• What Am I Waiting for? by The O'Jays
  Survival is the name of the game.
• I'm still waiting by Courtney Pine
  There's a sweetness and sense of ease that runs through the Closer to Home album.

See previously

• Idleness Outlawed
• What Paradise Have We Lost?
• Waiting for Godot (Khayelitsha)

Timing is everything
Observers are worried

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

File under: life, technology, attention, social, culture, phone, perception, communication, adoption, poetry, norms, whimsy, observation, covidious, Observers are worried, Social Living, toli

Writing log: May 1, 2021

Putting up a Structure

A mantra she often repeated in her time as education minister
Was about the great importance of putting up a structure
For there was a poverty in our development that had to be fought
And so she made the rounds of the donors for the funds we sought

It was hardly conducive to have classes gather under the sun,
   a roof of clear sky
Exposed to the vicissitudes of the elements,
   where it was hard to keep dry
With dust everywhere, tropical rainstorms, and other misfortunes
And the dissonance of so many learning in those outdoor classrooms

She would contrast with the comparatively well-appointed chambers
She beheld in her time at Volta Hall at the University at Legon
Let alone the high tables at Wolfson College in Cambridge
When she would drink port after dining with the dons

Yet this covidious affliction has caused quite the turnaround
Causing upheaval everywhere and making the once sound unsound
Ventilation is the order of the day if you want to avoid viral strife
Classes, as a best practice, would do well to gather outdoors,
   under trees of life

True, an elephant which is lean is still fatter than a cow
But it turns out going al fresco is all the rage everywhere now
I read of many western universities pondering outdoor tents
This upheaval is a rather bewildering turn of events

Still, it wasn't a wasted effort to construct those schools,
   indeed it's a miracle
There's always more to do,
   but I altogether think that we've come full circle
That in our village we now have not just a primary
   but even a secondary school
And the girls have dorms.
   The trees in the village commons keep things cool

A cast of high flyers who believed they were nigh invincible
Now have to abide, as it were, with the mosquito principle
Brought back to the ground to gather under trees of life
As ever, irony is the key register of African life

Putting up a Structure, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note. (spotify version)

• House of Wood by Mandrill
• The House of the Rising Sun by Nina Simone
• To Build A Home by The Cinematic Orchestra
• Play in the Sunshine by Prince
• Putting up Resistance by Beres Hammond
• House of Cards by The Foreign Exchange
• Housequake by Prince
• The House of the Rising Sun by Meshell NdegeOcello

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

File under: development, infrastructure, education, coronavirus, pandemic, Ghana, Africa, irony, culture, observation, perception, humour, schools, public health, covidious, family, poetry, Observers are worried, toli

Writing log: April 29, 2021

Soul Insurance (Part 4 Pity the Mink)

Of red herrings and intermediate hosts... Part 4 of Soul Insurance (see previously)

IV. Pity the Mink

It was quite unexpected, the b-movie playing
   on the mammy wagon screen
Was a romantic comedy with Doris Day and Cary Grant,
   A Touch of Mink
Normally the claims adjuster would have preferred
   something out of Bollywood
But this escapist fare, even if dated,
   was a worthy offering from Hollywood

Even with no song and dance, there was what he liked,
   a lot of back and forth
Will she or won't she, much demure posturing,
   yet it confronted the real sport
But the title gave him an idea
   about how to write humanity's next chapter
By the time he was done with them,
   they'd all be caught up in the rapture

As the mammy wagon entered
  the gleaming environs of the Wan settlements
The claims adjuster beheld the history
   of a people once known to be reticent
In days of yore, their traditional attire
   was the very rich silk brocade
But they had since forsaken those rituals
   for the easy profits of the fur trade

Subjugated all their erstwhile beguiling craft
   for what they called capitalism
Production was all, their society was all about
   eminent domain and its enthrallment
No time for the small things,
   a distorted economics of whimsy was their prime belief
Well, before he was through with them,
   they'd be sure to relearn anew the laws of grief

As he gathered a few tools of the trade,
   he started to consider the praxis
The subtle distinction between his kind of adjudication
   and angels dispensing justice
In his view, the angels had no autonomy
   and behaved, quite frankly, like rote zombies
Shock and awe was all, there was no skill,
   so to speak, to their angelic practice

It had to be said, angels were long reputed
   for bringing delight and wonder
On that basis, the tribes forgot the downside
   of when they were torn asunder
For they also alternately delivered affliction,
   a panoply of cluster headaches
Claims adjusters always gave humanity agency,
   and the chance to correct their mistakes

The bureau stressed that adjusting
   was a search for truth and dignity
True, a byproduct of the process
   was being able to determine liability
All training materials in the adjustment manual
   emphasized proper procedures
People, processes and things was the mantra
   of the social software teachers

In his guise as an agent,
   the claims adjuster was rather conventional
But depending on the audience,
   he could feign the angelic or become feral
Thus it was that he made to approach
   the leaders of the Wan, the inscrutables
Those party apparatchiks untethered from reality
   who thought their operations were noble

He gave them the three standard warnings,
   emphasizing the gravity of the situation
But they wanted proof (from the gods! really!),
   he thought he'd heard every prevarication
In this business, you heard all manner of excuses,
   but, here, there was no denial
Rather, they were going with the kind of argument
   that would be tossed at a trial

This adjudication was going to be quite a bit easier
   than he expected
If all the tribes would behave in the same fashion,
   as he rather suspected
The local dignitaries of Wan tribe were coming upon
   their Lunar New Year
Oh well, those thousand household banquets
   would be the start of the trail of tears

Hubris, it was as if they assumed they could treat him
   like a common lawyer
Rather than with the due respect of the gods' representative,
   the claims adjuster
It was fascinating to behold the huhudious machinations
   of these human schemers
Who forgot that, as the proverb went,
   the okro plant never gets taller than the farmer

In the wet market, he spotted something
   that could be of use as a red herring
A local trader was displaying his wares,
   touting the virtues of eating pangolin
But right next to that stall was what he was looking for,
   "This will do, I think"
The beast looked quite wretched,
   but all's fair in love and war, pity the mink

Pity the Mink, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify)

• Isn't it a Pity by Nina Simone
  Quietly devastating, this elegy in music was Nina Simone's response to the Vietnam War, a war which has clear antecedants to our covidious predicament if only in being so unnecessary, and in the enduring sense of futility. And all for want of a bolt...
• Mink, Schmink by Eartha Kitt
• I Pity the Fool by Bobby "Blue" Bland
• Singing Winds, Crying Beasts by Carlos Santana
  The praxis is of Abraxas
• Beasts of No Nation by Fela
  I guess you'd call it a metaphor

Soul Insurance (Index)

A covidious folktale

1. Ananse and the Chief's Scribe
2. Enter the Claims Adjuster
3. An Audience with the Linguist
4. Pity the Mink
5. Short Sale
6. Excessive Liabilities
7. Premiums Due
8. Soul Insurance, a playlist
9. Indemnity Provisions
10. Full Circle
11. Enforcement Actions
12. The Die is Cast

This folktale is part of a series: In a covidious time.

Next: Short Sale

File under: humour, satire, culture, observation, folktale, Ghana, Africa, storytelling, whimsy, myth, coronavirus, pandemic, Social Living, Things Fall Apart, Observers are worried, Buyer's Remorse, covidious, poetry, toli

Writing log: Part 4 March 24, 2021

Force Majeure

I like to think of good King Solomon as a claims adjuster
Whose renown came from the application of force majeure clauses
For the essence of his intervention in the famed custody dispute
   was none other
Than that how one reacts to sudden adversity
   determines whether we should get applause

It was Ananse the Spider who clean absconded with the pot of wisdom
When the tale of the lost stories became part of humanity's curriculum
Solomon's later strategic insight lay in the soul insurance he dispensed:
When the snake is in the house, there's no need to discuss the matter at length

Later, one can satisfy those with delicate sensibilities
Who would rudely cite due process, chapter and verse
But in the heat of the moment, borne of necessity
None can argue, decisive measures are of the essence

It is no wonder that a central banker,
In extremis, acts first to protect the rich
Ignore the cover story that the world was falling,
And all that business about systemic risk

Like a mother who instinctively gathers her brood
Hastening to escape a fire or avalanche
There's no time for observing the rules
Forget regulations, this is soul insurance

If I recall, it was the Sage of Omaha,
Warren Buffett, who once said
"Only when the tide goes out do you discover
Who's been swimming naked"

And Walter Bagehot in Lombard Street, it was that noted,
"Every great crisis reveals the excessive speculations
Of many houses which no one before suspected",
An altogether astute observation

We saw during the Great Recession,
Rules set aside, as if they were no longer in vogue
The haste with which the political system
Rushed to indemnify so many financial rogues

Scoundrels whose vulture capitalist behavior
Fomented wholesale casino Ponzi misdeeds
Not for nothing, many still made shocking profits,
Not the least of which the great vampire squid

Disasters, not least the covidious,
Reveal what societies are wont to value
They lay bare the fig leaves of consensus,
It's not what we say but what we do

Call it sharpening the contradictions
As the actions are often shown to be crude
These fugitive glimpses of the real world
And of those who were swimming in the nude

Oh the celebration at the outset,
   of the hordes, the brave essential workers
Yet some others formed betting pools
   on who would survive of their number
It was made fairly clear that if you worked in a meatpacking plant
You were an afterthought, for they only made to protect the banks

But back to our song of Solomon
And our erstwhile soul insurance agent
Who negotiated the terms and conditions
The policies and society's cost payments

Without shame we'll never reach herd immunity
Nay, for this policy there's no buyer's remorse
This pandemic is a signal moment of clarity
It's time to invoke the force majeure clause

Force Majeure, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note. (spotify version)

• Heat of the Moment by After 7
• Solomon Sang by Cassandra Wilson
• Just in Time by Joshua Redman
• On the Spur of the Moment by Horace Parlan
• Respond/React by The Roots
• Moment of Clarity by Jay-Z
• Take Care of Homework by Full Force
• When You Gonna Learn? by Jamiroquai
• Wait No Longer by Joshua Redman
• Emergency on Planet Earth by Jamiroquai

See previously: Soul Insurance

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

File under: rogues, folktale, capitalism, communities, values, culture, observation, humour, perception, disaster, insurance, coronavirus, pandemic, politics, power, hatchet job, Observers are worried, Buyer's Remorse, poetry, covidious, toli

Writing log: April 29, 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

Faint Praise

Occasionally lyrical, and always whimsical,
   he writes with the verve of the modern traveler
Her aesthetic choices are always daring, as if to strike a nerve,
   the tension is unbearable
He raises new vistas in his work,
   pushing towards the outer edges of the craft
A remarkable debut, her striking voice emerges fully formed,
   prismatic and thoughtful

Finely written, his book grapples with the liminal interstices
   of tradition and modernity
She captures something of the languor of the immigrant's condition
   and its tragedy
Thus it was a surprise to behold the new directions he is pursuing,
   a testament to his ambitions
Now she has turned her keen lens on western idées fixes,
   she sites her work at an unquiet juncture

Favoring the edgy, the argument becomes a touch unrefined,
   it betrays his purpose
The pose of the insider has served her well,
   less incisive are her wrought portrayals
A close reading reveals the shortcomings
   of his troubling and combative approach
What are we to make, on the page,
   of her more experimental departures?

Tellingly, the initial promise and aplomb appear to have gone awry
   on this well worn terrain
It is when she strays into Austenite stylings
   that she loses the edge to her oft-biting satire
By pursuing the phantom thread of dislocation,
   he risks raising the tired tropes of mulatto identity
The Forster inclination doesn't serve her well,
   her gimlet quill ought to be reserved for life's incongruities

The subtext is clear, sure you can write, but next time stay in your lane
What the academy bestows freely, it also reserves the right to reframe
As flavor of the month, play the game wisely or you may come up short
The funk song was a fiction: All the critics love you in New York

Faint Praise, a playlist

A soundtrack for this cautionary tale. (spotify)

• All the Critics Love U in New York by Prince
• Stay Cool by The Roots
• High Hopes by S.O.S. Band

...

Timing is everything
Observers are worried

See previously: Flavor of the Month

File under: humour, culture, observation, perception, hype, language, identity, authenticity, literature, art, shell game, Africa, immigration, poetry, hatchet job, Observers are worried, Buyer's Remorse, toli

Writing log: April 28, 2021

Soul Insurance (Part 3 An Audience with the Linguist)

In which we behold the elevator pitch... Part 3 of Soul Insurance (see previously)

III. An Audience with the Linguist

Fifi was a little put out that he was the one
   chosen to take Ananse to the linguist
He had other business on his agenda,
   namely the big mango tree was bearing fruit
Also he'd spotted some yor-yee by the way
   and his yearning was quite acute
The taste of black velvet tamarind
   is a delight that is so distinguished

Instead, he'd have to cede ground to the other children
   and give his delicacies up
Also, now that he had a closer look,
   the spider didn't seem entirely on the up-and-up
He oozed the aura of a traveling salesman,
   jaded in affect, hardboiled even
A consummate purveyor of any product,
   it didn't matter what he was selling

Earlier the scribe had ordered him
   to use the back way to convey the visitor
Thus he had ample time en route to assess Ananse
   and chat with this smooth operator
In the event, Ananse immediately started to put
   the wheels of his shell game in motion
"Young man, draw near, you look like you have a promising future.
   I have a proposition..."

I need not trouble you with the details, Dear Reader,
   suffice to call them delinquent
Fifi was immediately taken in,
   it didn't take much to succumb to wishful thinking
For it was written in the good books
   that those who embraced the paradise of a mango
Would no doubt recognize that verity:
   it takes two to do the corruption tango

Ananse had them stop at a chop bar,
   he had a taste for guinea fowl and some roast duck
This was no diversion, he always sealed his foul deals
   with the pleasures of a full stomach
At length, they came upon the main complex,
   home of the Kingsway skyscrapers
The seat of power, the linguist's ministries
   lay in those six looming towers

As it happened, the chief linguist was right there
   on the cusp of entering the building
Fifi, after collecting his honorarium,
   promptly made the introduction, it was fitting
But, very quickly, it appeared that
   there would be no time for pleasantries
The linguist had his game face on,
   stern, as if he was about to face adversaries

"You do realize that I'm a busy man, Mister Ananse, is it?",
   said the chief linguist
"Walk with me up the elevator,
   I can certainly give you a few minutes of my time if you insist
I'm sure a well practiced operator like yourself,
   Mister Ananse, can make a pitch
Your reputation precedes you,
   I certainly hope you do not plan to sell us a bridge"

Ananse didn't blink any of his eight eyes, but he had to think quick
He wouldn't be able to use his powerpoint slides and synchronized music
This was a case that clearly called for speaking with forked tongue
Not his usual fare but, by hook or crook, this deal had to be swung

Still he didn't take the linguist's bravado at face value,
   but with a grain of salt
He doubted that these Ushers
   would have reprogrammed the sensors from the defaults
He had noticed as they'd stepped into the elevator lobby
   that Otis was the manufacturer
There would be an extra minute of waiting.
   He marveled at the small things he remembered

In the event, he didn't need the extra time,
   it was a sellers market
The linguist was easily bamboozled,
   like a rube in a frothy stock market
The standard spiel:
   I'm not here to sell you a novel product and confusion
Rather, think of me, Ananse,
   as simply offering access to a proven solution

You've heard of life insurance, whole life, term life, and that jazz
It only pays out when you are beyond the grave, it doesn't last
Soul insurance is what I have to offer, a balm, a soothing remedy
The blows will be coming but, with it, you'll dodge any adversity

The linguist was entirely entranced,
   as if he'd seen stolen loot in a museum
Soul insurance, the mere concept glittered,
   that way lay the road to freedom
Once uttered, it was disruptive, look at the possibilities,
   a new paradigm for humanity
A surefire approach, the ancients would, no doubt,
   approve for the avoidance of uncertainty

Although he wouldn't begrudge
   a middleman and market maker their dues
Quibbling a la carte, all societies needed
  these originals and their muse
Still, he started to give thought
   to how to cut out the spider from the transaction
He bade the young man call up a cab,
   his favorite, the one branded with Determination

Elevator Pitch, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note. Always be closing. (spotify version)

• I'll Take You There by The Staples Singers
• Elevators (Me & You) by Outkast
• The Proposition by The Budos Band
• Suitelady (The Proposal Jam) by Maxwell
• Elevation by House of Bamba

Soul Insurance (Index)

A covidious folktale

1. Ananse and the Chief's Scribe
2. Enter the Claims Adjuster
3. An Audience with the Linguist
4. Pity the Mink
5. Short Sale
6. Excessive Liabilities
7. Premiums Due
8. Soul Insurance, a playlist
9. Indemnity Provisions
10. Full Circle
11. Enforcement Actions
12. The Die is Cast

This folktale is part of a series: In a covidious time.

Next: Pity the Mink

File under: humour, satire, culture, observation, folktale, music, Ghana, Africa, storytelling, whimsy, myth, coronavirus, pandemic, Social Living, Things Fall Apart, Observers are worried, Buyer's Remorse, covidious, poetry, toli

Writing log: Part 3 March 23, 2021

Kenya Elections

2022 is an election year in Kenya. Africa is needing good news on the democratic front but it is fair to say that Kenya's political class has never missed an opportunity to miss an opportunity. We hold our breath and pray for no drama.

60 years later some of the names are still in play. Kenyatta and Odinga are still relevant albeit of later generations.

— Odinga Odinga visiting Jomo Kenyatta in detention (March 1961)

African election campaigns can be a curious mix of crude and sophisticated. From bagmen distributing rice (or just t-shirts, votes can be cheap) to, say, consultants from Cambridge Analytica hawking their influencer wares as was attempted in 2016 in Ghana. There's a broad spectrum of approaches.

— Odinga Odinga campaigning in Eldoret in the 1966 election campaign.

— Jomo Kenyatta campaigning at Kandara in the 1966 election campaign.

Politics is a contact sport. Elections in a covidious time can be fraught affairs, needless to say, Observers are worried

An election, rigged or not, is a stimulus package.

...

Since I jotted down these thoughts in February, I have been pleasantly surprised that I haven't been hearing much from Kenya. I understand things are heating up and campaigning is ongoing, but thankfully there has been precious little of what we saw in the lead up to the last elections. The nomination process was bruising but civil society seems to be tempering the worst impulses of the politicians. No news is good news in this respect and normalcy is good for business.

File under: Kenya, election, politics, history, culture, observation, Africa, toli

Important Participations

The participation could have been normal and without a fuss, but Africa's enemies, Sudan's enemies and the enemies of peace-loving countries wanted to try and turn it into a drama, to prevent the president from important participations.

— Sudan's foreign minister Ibrahim Ghandour as quoted in Sudanese president Omar al-Bashir leaves South Africa as court orders his arrest to face genocide charges at ICC (Reuters, June 2015)

The boss is a Lion of Africa, you can't treat him like an animal
Denying him important participations is, quite frankly, criminal
Sure: trade sanctions, Security Council resolutions, and all the rest
But this new imposition is a bridge too far, he's quite upset

We all know his economic direction and commitment to reform
His policies have stood the test of time, the revolution moves on
You there, Madame Ambassador, don't give me that baloney about Darfur
When security arrangements and regional stability are what you care for

I don't see you picking fights with Vladimir of Russia
About how they dealt with their internal matters in Chechnya
Cross Mister Putin and you might get the poison treatment
Or the fruits of an exotic nuclear radiation experiment

To have him flee as if he was a warlord like Charles Taylor
For shame, he had to leave post-haste mid-bite and mid-dinner
He'd been promised a braai which, I understand, is a South African delicacy
One bite was all that he could manage before our team withdrew him hastily

So what if there was an early nexus with the Sheikh, Osama Bin Laden
We all make mistakes, you are lying in bed with Bonecutter bin Salman
And as for Al-Turabi, another Sheikh that thought he was a leader
Well, the boss taught him a lesson about the real meaning of power

Well you should know that there's something about Omar al-Bashir
That you've disrupted his jaunt to Johannesburg is a great slur
Recall, he who speaks with forked tongue is a master of statecraft
Quoth the proverb: When Allah created the Sudan, he laughed

No this won't do at all, I must say, on this point, let me be explicit
On pain of blowback, this your hasty decision you'll have to revisit
Recall when He of the Little Green Book was here, we held excellent discussions
I warn you: stop preventing the president from important participations

Tracing some Fallen Angels

• Bashir fires Sudan foreign minister Ibrahim Ghandour (April 5, 2018)
• Omar al-Bashir's regime ousted (April 11, 2019)
• Ex-Sudan Foreign Minister Ibrahim Ghandour arrested for "involvement in sabotage operations" (July 1, 2020)
• Former Sudan Foreign Affairs Minister Ibrahim Ghandour and collaborators acquitted of terrorism charges (April 8 2022)
• Sudan alarm at return of Bashir loyalists and the NCP (June 18 2022)

The Boss, a playlist

A soundtrack for this complaint. (spotify version)

• The Boss by James Brown
  Paid the cost to be the boss. Black Caesar was the soundtrack of the original fallen angel
• Boss by Count Sticky & the Upsetters
  Lee Perry's High Plains Drifter is dub magic
• Blind Man Can See It by James Brown
  The greatest breakbeat. You can't stop important participations.
• Everybody Wants to be the Boss by Oliver Cheatham
  A disco groove, the boss has no regrets

One wonders: will he have the last laugh?

...

Timing is everything
Observers are worried

File under: rogues, language, hatchet job, dictator, language, culture, observation, military, Sudan, politics, Africa, law, crime, violence, Observers are worried, Fallen Angels, Things Fall Apart, poetry, absurd, toli

Writing log: Concept July 16, 2015; April 24, 2021

Listen

I have to say, ear doctors are the most unsympathetic lot
Awful people, they only prescribe a little rest and, maybe, time off
So quick to put you on a course of oral antibiotics
  and send you on your way
Uh-huh, yes the ear is inflamed, you've had your two minutes,
   the exit is that way

They have no bedside manner to speak of,
  it rather seems like a badge of honor
They never alleviate your dismay, it feels like they're ignoring your trauma
For if you find yourself needing an ear specialist,
  you're already in a world of trouble
You should know very well that it's now down to prayer,
  that's how the cookie crumbles

The pain is right there, your sinuses are going haywire,
  and you are going insane
It's way too close for comfort,
   there's no deadening the aural assault on your brain
Perhaps the infection is viral or your tympanum took a knock
Or maybe it's bacterial but you're still dealing with the aftershocks

Off kilter you're destabilized, you've just about lost your bearings
That's when you realize that you've well and truly lost your hearing
The doctor crinkles, or snaps their fingers right next to your ear
You didn't even flinch, the sound was lost, it plain disappeared

A Temporary Inconvenience

For a quite alarming number of times,
  I've woken up over the past decade
Having lost the hearing in one ear
  (the ear in question seems to alternate)
I've been told, in my case, that it's a matter of physiognomy:
The combination of poor drainage of my sinusoidal cavities
(Their perversely shaped contours apparently don't help things),
Small ears, and a latter-day propensity for prodigious production
Of earwax. These episodes of partial deafness have typically lasted
From as little as two hours to a few days - always longer than forecasted

The current assault on my middle ear, however, at ten days and counting,
Is pushing beyond the realm of temporary inconvenience
   - tensions are mounting
It's not just that I haven't been able to listen properly
  to the new José James album
Left to hearing his golden voice in muffled mono quite abases the glorious production
The sound, as if coming from a locked trunk
  packed with ancient manuscripts
Hurriedly buried in a desert backyard in Timbuktu
  - under Sharia law, that is,
Is painful enough, it's that, as the days drag on, I'm beginning
To contemplate what might possibly happen if modern medicine
And my body's defenses don't resolve things successfully.
The reality is that deafness will be my friend
As the saying goes, no condition is permanent
So I stew, and let that thought sink in wistfully

Incidentally, the album is rather ominously titled No Beginning, No End.
Perhaps it's in that vein that I listened blithely (with my good ear)
To a doctor cheerily informing me
  that my hearing will "probably come back", (when?)
And "most likely after a couple of weeks", (sigh, at least it wasn't a year)
Those hedging qualifiers were what I held on to - I was strangely elated,
Rather than the alarmingly lengthy time horizon she also contemplated.
I write, however, not to bemoan my lot because,
  obviously, things could be worse:
I count my aural blessings
  that I'm not yet appointed to end up in a hearse

The surprising thing,
   once you get over the bewilderment of sinusoidal oppression
And hearing loss, is that one is able to carry on living a quite full life.
Moreover, there's nothing like a temporary disability
  to make you rethink things;
People don't think enough these days, they move to action and half-step
I'm rather inclined to take the glass half-full notion to being half-deaf,
Heck, if you choose, strategically,
  where to sit in a hypothetical office encounter,
You'd avoid having to hear much that annoys you
   - and others would be none the wiser.
And ear splitting cries of babies,
   to take another example of occupational hazards,
Can easily become mere pantomimes, even hot air.
   You get to focus on what really matters.

Hear

Listen, aural sensations are so very hard to give up
Count your blessings even when they're spouting claptrap
For sounds, even the most benighted,
  are truly a wondrous gift from the gods
Beyond their initial purpose of equipping most of us to defy nature's odds
To hear a baby's first cries, or to be lost in a lover's sighs
Think to your desert island necessaries,
   the music that heartens the soul
Visions may be first on my list,
   but the sound of When Doves Cry never gets old
Equanimous is my middle name,
  I trust that all will be resolved in due course
As a Ghanaian, I don't subscribe to the modern theory of buyer's remorse

Listen, a playlist

A soulful playlist underlined by the delightful sounds of José James. Try to catch him live if you ever can. He is the truth. Enjoy. (spotify version)

• Do You Feel by José James
• Listen Hear by Maxwell
• No Beginning No End by José James
• I Can Listen by Omar
• Come to My Door by José James and Emily King
• Listen Here by The RH Factor
• Trouble by José James
• Listen Here by Lewis Taylor
• Heaven on the Ground by José James
• The Listening by Little Brother

See previously

• Touch
• Taste
• Visions
• A Temporary Inconvenience

...

Timing is everything
Observers are worried

File under: sound, sensory, perception, life, health, pain, humour, culture, observation, hearing, Observers are worried, Buyer's Remorse, poetry, toli

Writing log: April 14, 2021

Backyard Bioprospecting

The birds have become positively giddy in the backyard
They seem to like the new plants that I sowed
But I just realized that perhaps it was the poppies
That were the present I shouldn't have bestowed

Beasts of burden, they start to flail awkwardly
Their movements are quite like a drunken sailor
Among the plants, you see them crashing around willy nilly
Even disturbing the squirrels along the perimeter

Initially I thought that it was some large nocturnal animal
That was laying waste to my poppies, leaving only the petals
But I started to observe the daytime routine of the birds
That had become the new repeat visitors to my house of cards

Altogether intoxicated by the sweet nectar
They were rather enchanted by the recent discovery
Of this new variant of the Gods' elixir
A taste of life, perchance to escape daily miseries

The packet of seeds I'd obtained before Amazon
Had brought that trade to a full stop
Was showing the potency of what could happen
When you reap the Wuhan crop

Punch Drunk, a playlist

Sometimes addiction is escapism, anaesthesizing the bearer from a surfeit of reality, sometimes it cannot be helped. A playlist on a loss of inhibition. (spotify version)

• Only When I'm Drunk by Tha Alkaholiks
• One More Drink by Jaguar Wright
• Punch Drunk by Sade
• Drunk As Cooter Brown by Cassandra Wilson
• This World is Drunk by Raphael Saadiq
• I Want to Take You Higher by Sly & The Family Stone

I keep wondering if the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms ought to investigate the kind of controlled substance that has been elevating the minds of my backyard birds. Alternatively, a cartel might pursue a forensic examination. We'll see what the growing season provides next year.

This tall tale is part of a series: In a covidious time.

File under: humour, life, observation, nature, odd, culture, perception, addiction, garden, poppies, covidious, poetry, toli

Writing log: April 19, 2021

Soul Insurance (Part 2 Enter the Claims Adjuster)

Adjudication begins... Part 2 of Soul Insurance

II. Enter the Claims Adjuster

Meanwhile, the claims adjuster had already started to make his way to the plains
He threw a few changes of clothes
   in the bag he used for this business
Laying waste to a people could sometimes be messy, as god was his witness
Other than the blood, it was mostly
   the tears of the widowed that left stains

Thus he packed a few extra pods of detergent,
   he placed them in a ziploc bag
He was trying out a new brand,
   the new formula Tide cleaned better, they bragged
He always carried spares of the latest creations
   that could pass through customs
These days regulations had been relaxed,
   and one could travel with these substances

For his luggage, he had decided to try out one of those sturdy bags
Plastic, lightweight, it was quite practical for the upcoming task
Wrapped with a little tape around it, whether cellotape or duct tape
It would be a good signal to all that it was now time for them to pack

Being rugged and functional, he was quite sure that it wouldn't split
Before he arrived at his destination, and gave the cease and desist
The bag could take being manhandled by the underpaid bag handlers
And its distinctive plaid was appreciated by many across the border

He'd used them repeatedly
   when dealing with those who lived in the torrid zone
Back then, the punishment of choice
   was merely being forced to leave one's home
This was an earlier time, what they wistfully called their lost decades
A little presumptuous of them,
   they had even given the bags a nickname

He would start in the east, Chwedru, between the sea and the lagoon
The Wan tribe were long accustomed, close companions, to misfortune
Hard working, sporting blank faces, some labeled them orientals
Beasts of burden, they behaved as if sleep was merely incidental

They were up-and-coming
   and constantly kept harkening back to their golden age
It was almost like a tic, this nostalgia for when they ruled the world stage
The faded glories of empires and dynasties, when they were number one
But for centuries now, they were second best, consigned to the utilitarian

If he had to adjust that lot,
   he could draw on their long history of oppression
And weigh that against their relatively recent state of exploitation
Their rise as the world's bread basket, home of the big tribe that could
Underestimate them at your peril, the song went:
   "Don't let me be misunderstood"

Nyame's direction was sometimes ambiguous
   and, in practice, hard to measure
Despite the terms of employment,
   the adjuster didn't care much for adventure
The exact nature of his adjudication was normally left to his discretion
He enjoyed his work, especially the nuts and bolts of the investigation

When you have an arrangement, as the gods did,
   incorporated as The Company
You were all but guaranteed to encounter a troubling lack of consistency
The body-soul duality was one thing, but try dealing with the complexity
Of the cosmology they'd now come to,
   and the aspects of their Holy Trinity

He knew that Odomankoma would advocate for humanity as a matter of course
But when Nyame was this displeased, normally all bets would be off
That left Nyankopon, who sometimes tempered the wrath of Nyame, his evil eye
He'd have to sound out Nyankopon before adjusting, his opinion would break the tie

He preferred working for conquerors,
   their catechism was understood rather easily
None of the ambiguity of The Company,
   precise orders akin to the military
Black and white, there were no shades of gray
One wrong move and you would be made to pay

The organization of the gods' corporation
   left a lot to be desired, of course
But then, you could hardly complain successfully about the gods
That was a home truth acknowledged almost universally
For they might deal with your impertinence rather brutally

Although, there was always a loophole,
   there was the whistleblower provision
But, due to their being all knowing, it was hard to avoid retaliation
He remembered a previous agent,
   who had gone through the official channels
Without any fear that his very existence could be duly canceled

He'd lodged his complaint against, get this, Nyame of all the gods
The agent would later rue his mistake
   and wish he'd remained anonymous
The adjuster had never had to resort
   to testing the system like that poor sod
A betting man, he would never lay a wager
   in a game with those long odds

The adjuster had become a little jaded
   having to constantly deal with deceit
So he had inscribed the bag with his new monogram in a fit of conceit
GRIST was his new calling card, he would lay it out like a destroyer:

G stood for the gods that had now become his regular employers
R for the review of the scrolls that duly reported the malice
I for his inspections of the actual damage, their extent that is
S for speaking to the witnesses, almost all of whom were known dissemblers
T for the quiet talks with the gods after dispensing his brand of justice

The part of his job he enjoyed most was the tales of the witnesses
The lazy fictions they proffered, and the rare, rather great, inventions
Spun out of whole cloth these last, their patterns of exchange intriguing
But a leopard cannot change its spots, they'd ultimately fail at misleading

There was one thing the adjuster admired about the humans,
   their hubris couldn't be denied
They expected consistency, that every day the sun would rise in the sky
His mammy wagon arrived, it was on time, and left just a minute after two
The slogan at the top read Sea Never Dry. He chuckled, if only they knew

The Claims Adjuster, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note, he means business. (spotify version)

• Assimilation by Horace Silver
• I Go to Work by Kool Moe Dee
• Adjustment by Horace Silver

Soul Insurance (Index)

A covidious folktale

1. Ananse and the Chief's Scribe
2. Enter the Claims Adjuster
3. An Audience with the Linguist
4. Pity the Mink
5. Short Sale
6. Excessive Liabilities
7. Premiums Due
8. Soul Insurance, a playlist
9. Indemnity Provisions
10. Full Circle
11. Enforcement Actions
12. The Die is Cast

This folktale is part of a series: In a covidious time.

Next: An Audience with the Linguist

File under: humour, satire, culture, observation, folktale, Ghana, Africa, storytelling, whimsy, myth, coronavirus, pandemic, Social Living, Things Fall Apart, Observers are worried, Buyer's Remorse, covidious, poetry, toli

Writing log: Part 2 March 22, 2021