(Read Part 1 here) My time is so limited in Brussels that I don’t rush back after lunch. I want to briefly take in some of the city during my visit. Back at The Bozar Centre I get talking to the half-Congolese, half-Belgian doorman and globetrotting Brazilian mulatto, Pedro*. He works for a major European institution in Brussels. We swap notes on being one of the few brown faces at international organisations that are ironically lacking in non-European diversity.
Pedro further impresses me with his appreciation for darker-hued women. We need to celebrate black love, he adds, reassuringly. I spent much of that evening in his agreeable company and that of his Caribbean-British girlfriend Sarah, whom he met when they were both working in Brazil. Pedro is squeezed out of the picture once fellow South-East Londoner Sarah and I get talking.
I manage to catch the tail-end of
Johny’s interview with his four-square, no-nonsense mentor and
fellow Yorkshire-man Caryl Phillips. The following session is a
documentary-screening and Q&A
chaired by Togolese-Polish journalist Claude Grunitzky with
Tété-Michel Kpomassie, an inspiration to many of the speakers.
Self-taught polyglot Tété-Michel (to whom I refer
to as uncle as a sign of affectionate respect) quit
his Togolese village in his mid-teens. He spent the next few years making his way to
Greenland via various odd jobs across Africa and Europe. His arctic
fascination developed whilst reading a travel memoir he found in a missionary book shop. So strong is Uncle Kpomassie’s affection
for Inuit culture, he wishes to be buried in Greenland. It’s not
hard to understand why his intrepid Northern excursions have been a catalyst for the careers of
other African travel writers. The images from the dated (and
occasionally offensive) documentary depicts a gloomy frozen landscape
that is plunged into darkness for the half the year . Whereas
thought of life in Greenland is depressing, Kpomassie makes adaptation
to the climate and indigenous mores look effortless.
Not to mention his patience
in the face of the locals’
initial ignorance, referring to him as a ‘black devil’.
After the session, waiting in the
dinner queue I embark on
a heated discussion with Uncle Tété and Zap Mama’s photographer
about the role of Christianity in African history. I sense a strong
hostility towards the faith from Kpomassie. When I mention that
Christianity in Africa pre-dates its advent in Europe by centuries,
he insists that it’s still
not the ‘natural’ religion of the Continent. He
shouldn’t romanticise animism, I
argue. Neither should you romanticise Christianity, he retorts.
Uncle Tété and I share Ewe heritage (albeit mine is on the Ghanaian side of the dividing colonial line). I am familiar with some of the indigenous West African traditions. My experience makes me wary of what he venerates. (I later think it odd that Kpomassie is so vehement in his support of these religions, having fled Togo partly to avoid becoming a juju priest). I remind him of the ritual murder of twins in South-Eastern Nigeria until the arrival of Christian missionaries or the trade in Albino parts up till today in Tanzania; all part of the traditional beliefs. My two interlocutors speak over me at once in French. Gender issues, religious wars, witch-hunts...The usual suspects; genuine yet oft-rehearsed gripes, not always well-researched by those making them. In my experience agnostics with more nuanced views or looking to have a constructive dialogue approach the discussion differently. I switch to English to express myself more clearly, not very successfully trying to relativise Christianity’s chequered past (and present) and contrast it with the Gospel message. I add that these problems aren't specific to religion but rather symptomatic of the broken human condition. My efforts are limited. The two men are committed sceptics and show little interest in my responses, Kpomassie leaving half-way through.
Uncle Tété and I share Ewe heritage (albeit mine is on the Ghanaian side of the dividing colonial line). I am familiar with some of the indigenous West African traditions. My experience makes me wary of what he venerates. (I later think it odd that Kpomassie is so vehement in his support of these religions, having fled Togo partly to avoid becoming a juju priest). I remind him of the ritual murder of twins in South-Eastern Nigeria until the arrival of Christian missionaries or the trade in Albino parts up till today in Tanzania; all part of the traditional beliefs. My two interlocutors speak over me at once in French. Gender issues, religious wars, witch-hunts...The usual suspects; genuine yet oft-rehearsed gripes, not always well-researched by those making them. In my experience agnostics with more nuanced views or looking to have a constructive dialogue approach the discussion differently. I switch to English to express myself more clearly, not very successfully trying to relativise Christianity’s chequered past (and present) and contrast it with the Gospel message. I add that these problems aren't specific to religion but rather symptomatic of the broken human condition. My efforts are limited. The two men are committed sceptics and show little interest in my responses, Kpomassie leaving half-way through.
Thankfully,
my dinner conversation with other guests is tension-free. The
officious and irritable
venue staff usher us back into the hall from which they not long ago
ejected us.
The next performance is a showcase of prose and poetry from some of the UK’s finest contemporary writers, hosted by multi-lingual spoken word artist Elisabeth ‘Miss Elli’ Fernandes. There’s just enough time before curtain call to catch up with featured artist and honorary Londoner, Inua Ellams. Someone takes a group photo of the Afropean crew. It’s a chance for me to quickly touch base with magazine co-editor Natalie and meet some other members of the team.
The hall is now almost full to capacity and buzzing. The happy clamour nonetheless falls to a reverential silence for each performer. Living legend Linton Kwesi Johnson gets proceedings underway. The room collectively holds its breath as Catherine Johnson (no relation) reads a harrowing extract about sexual violence from her historical novel The Curious Tale of the Lady Caraboo. Glimpses of comprehension filter through the sad beauty of Amina Jama’s abstract verses. Ellams and Bernadine Evaristo lighten the mood with humorous contributions. Veterans of the UK poetry scene Roger Robinson and Nick Makoha take over the second half with excerpts from their newly-released mixtape; an enthralling and emotionally-charged multi-media theatrical event. During the break I discuss identity, semantics and Pan-Africanism amongst other topics with Sibo Kanobana and his congenial Moroccan acquaintance, Karim. He wonders if he is also part of the Afropean story.
The next performance is a showcase of prose and poetry from some of the UK’s finest contemporary writers, hosted by multi-lingual spoken word artist Elisabeth ‘Miss Elli’ Fernandes. There’s just enough time before curtain call to catch up with featured artist and honorary Londoner, Inua Ellams. Someone takes a group photo of the Afropean crew. It’s a chance for me to quickly touch base with magazine co-editor Natalie and meet some other members of the team.
The hall is now almost full to capacity and buzzing. The happy clamour nonetheless falls to a reverential silence for each performer. Living legend Linton Kwesi Johnson gets proceedings underway. The room collectively holds its breath as Catherine Johnson (no relation) reads a harrowing extract about sexual violence from her historical novel The Curious Tale of the Lady Caraboo. Glimpses of comprehension filter through the sad beauty of Amina Jama’s abstract verses. Ellams and Bernadine Evaristo lighten the mood with humorous contributions. Veterans of the UK poetry scene Roger Robinson and Nick Makoha take over the second half with excerpts from their newly-released mixtape; an enthralling and emotionally-charged multi-media theatrical event. During the break I discuss identity, semantics and Pan-Africanism amongst other topics with Sibo Kanobana and his congenial Moroccan acquaintance, Karim. He wonders if he is also part of the Afropean story.
Of course! Why wouldn’t he
be?
 |
| Marie Daulne aka Zap Mama (zapmama.com) |
Afropean co-editor Yomi Bazuaye and
I have also been conversing intermittently throughout the day,
resuming our thread at convenient intervals. He calls me aside to
record a soundbite for the website on what it means
to be Afropean.
The symposium is brought to a
spectacular close by the dynamic Zap Mama! and her energetic band.
Since it's also Marie's birthday, the show has an even more celebratory feel. Between shaking my stuff I converse
with Johny properly for the
first time since I arrived.
You must do this again. I
plead.
JP assures me it’s not going to
be a one-off.
It’s close to midnight. This
cross-cultural Cinderella has a tram to catch back to her Airbnb and
a return coach to Strasbourg in the morning. I’ll miss out on the
alternative tour of Belgium Johny has organised, to my chagrin.
I reflect on this intense and
intellectually exhilarating weekend. It’s been a good while since
I felt so completely in my element; fraternising with and learning
from like-minded acquaintances
and strangers. This is
Afropean living at its best.
Part 1.
*Some names have been changed.
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