Alain Mabanckou - Black Bazaar

My surprises withMr Hippocratic weren’t over yet. He knocked on my door to invite me to the Roi du Café. He had, he added, something very important to tell me.

I followed him because I could still hear Louis-Philippe advising me to reach out to him. Not that I could see what we had to say to each other. So I let Mr Hippocratic do the talking just as I let our Arab on the corner do the talking.

We sat inside, at a spot that wasn’t far from the terrace. Mr Hippocratic couldn’t keep still, he seemed to have a case of ants in his pants.

He cleared his throat and began:

“I am not against you, that is why I have invited you here today … I had a bad dream about you. A car ran you over at the Gare du Nord and everybody walked past your body without stopping. I was passing by, I lifted you onto my shoulders so I could drive you to Lariboisière. But it was too late, there was too much blood, and you died in my arms … I cried for the first time in my life. I don’t want to go to heaven thinking I’m the cause of your death. So I’m asking for your forgiveness, yes, I’m asking you to forgive me for everything I’ve done to you. And if you die today or tomorrow, remember it’s got nothing to do with me, I’ve covered myself with a mea culpa … That said, I would also like you to find out who I am and what I think, because I know that you are going to die soon, my dreams always come true in the end. I’m a good person, and an upright citizen, my skin isn’t too black, and my nose isn’t too squashy. In my opinion, small minds exaggerate the injustice done to Africans when to this day your man in black Africa lives in a state of barbarism and savagery that prevents him from being part and parcel of civilisation. Now take me, I love France, I’m a big fan of white women and pig’s trotters, so please understand my anger, it’s not directed against you but against all the Blacks who criticise colonisation. You’re not like them, it’s taken me a long while to realise this, I was very wrong to give you such a hard time. Do you fully appreciate that without colonisation you wouldn’t have had blondes, redheads and pig’s trotters, eh? Come on now, let’s be honest about this!”

A waiter came by with two coffees. Mr Hippocratic looked daggers at him, as if he had committed a crime against humanity.

“Waiter! What are you serving me here? I asked for a cognac, not wild cat’s piss! I’ve been coming here for years, have you ever seen me drink that stuff?”

The waiter shook his head. He appeared to have got the measure of Mr Hippocratic’s temperament. He came back with a cognac.

“And where are my ice?”

“You usually take your cognac without ice, monsieur …”

“Well, today I want ice!”

While the waiter went to find some ice, Mr Hippocratic leaned in towards me:

“Did you see that waiter? I’ll have him fired, I swear! His hair’s a bit fuzzy, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had negro blood somewhere! Take a good look at him, is it normal to employ people like that, eh?”

The waiter put the ice on the table.

“You won’t be getting a tip today!” Mr Hippocratic called out after him.

Then he downed his cognac in one before carrying on:

“I hear that some ungrateful Blacks are seeking reparations for the losses caused by colonisation. Come, come. Let us not pick the wrong battle. I say there is much to be gained from the legacy of colonisation. What is colonisation, eh? It is a movement of generosity, it is aid for the small nations in darkness! Do you understand? Civilised beings went to help the savages who were living in trees and scratching themselves with their toes. The natives used to eat each other, without even adding salt to their human flesh! Is that a normal way to behave? In fact, my favourite colonisers are the Belgians. They didn’t mess about, those Belgians! To understand this properly, you need to take a close look at the photos of the natives in the Belgian Congo during the blessed era of the colonies. And let me tell you, they are magnificent! What artistry! There are chopped hands. There are shaved heads. It was the Belgians who invented the number-one haircut, because they wouldn’t tolerate fuzzy hair. It was all positive, but the natives could only see the down side. And when the Belgians got annoyed, well, they chopped off the natives’ hands and shaved their heads without any other form of trial! Which was only to be expected, considering the natives talked too much without saying anything. They bring you light, they bring you civilisation and other knick-knacks, and you lot still dare to make a fuss in your pidgin French. At the very least you could have said: “Thank you, Bwana! Thank you, Bwana! Thank you, Bwana!” On top of which, those natives were now learning how to pronounce the word Independence . But it was the glasses of Patrice Lumumba and Co. that irritated the Belgians most of all, which is why they were keener on that brave sergeant Mobutu who entered the Pantheon of the century’s Great Men. Thanks to what? To colonisation, by Jove! Now listen here, just a few days ago I was thinking about how serious the situation was becoming. Luckily we voted in a brilliant law, which enhances the status of colonisation. There was no point in waiting for acknowledgement like that to come from those ungrateful Negroes! They are so black that they blacken everything, even those truths that leap out at you. I say that the African leaders should be inspired by this law, which restores the glory of colonisation. For example, a banana republic could promulgate a law that recognises the benefits of Idi Amin Dada’s dictatorship, of Mobutu’s one-party system, of torture in the death camps of Sékou Touré, etc. Isn’t that brilliant, eh? And I’m only talking to you about dead dictators here. I don’t want any trouble with the ones who are still alive …”

“Now look, much as …”

“No, this is a serious problem, very serious! You’re going to die soon, you’ve got to listen to me! I said come and have a drink with me because this way you’ll know I’m not speaking out against you. I don’t want you talking nonsense to the Lord above. So don’t interrupt me whatever you do, I won’t stand for it! You’ve always taken me for a fool, and a racist too I imagine. Do I complain about the fact it was you Africans who sold the West Indians to the Whites, eh? Did the Whites know where to go to find the Blacks in the bush, eh? No, they relied on village chiefs saying to them: come, there are fine strong Blacks at such a place, they’ll make good slaves! That’s the trouble with slavery! Why don’t you ever talk about these Blacks who aided and abetted the Whites, eh? Why don’t you ever talk about the Arabs who were also involved in slavery over there, eh? Leave the West in peace! Let people stop blaming us Europeans, enough is enough when it comes to the tears of the white man, Europe forever accused, and the innocence of the people of the Third World! They’ve taken away our right to tell the Blacks what we think of them, even though the Blacks don’t hold back when it comes to criticising the Whites instead of getting on with the work of developing their continent. Is this how you want to go down in History, eh? This isn’t about dressing the way you like or playing your tom-toms every Sunday. I’m talking about the history of colonisation, the one that doesn’t get explained properly to people even though without colonisation you wouldn’t be where you are today. So I don’t wish to be referred to as being black any more. I don’t want people to keep saying things like Blacks are naturally strong, handsome, sporty, they’ve got stamina, they age better than Whites, etc. Let’s be absolutely clear about this, what have you got that the Whites haven’t, eh? An over-sized penis? Is that it? Is that all? Come, come, it’s all screwed up on that level too. Sex was your private preserve to impress the blondes and the redheads. But you lost this advantage when a writer gave away all your secrets in his book. He explained that Blacks weren’t always as well hung as all that. The upshot of which is that blondes and redheads in search of negroes now know that the over-sized penis of Black men is just a tall story, like the one about little boys being born in the cabbage patch. There are even rumours that some Whites have got bigger ones than you lot. Can you see the problem? … Listen, it wasn’t so long ago that you desperate negroes relied on the slave trade as a source of revenue. Because it gave you lots of reasons to snivel, to tell those Whites they were nothing but big bad wolves. There were small groups of negroes who even demanded reparations left right and centre to the point of sullying the Place de la Bastille, in that very place where our people fought to maintain our dignity. My God, this story of slavery and the negro slave trade is over. In fact it’s been done and dusted in my head, ever since a black writer — what’s his name again? — said you negroes didn’t have white hands, that you were just a bunch of hypocrites. You’re guilty, you were accessories to crime and all the rest. Oh yes, his book was Bound to Violence , but I’ve forgotten the writer’s name, it’s a very African name, I’m sure it’ll come back to me after another cognac …”