Evelyn Waugh’s Hippo, Die Antwoord’s Lion and White Malice Disguised As Charity
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From Windhoek, Namibia, 12/26/21:
When I told a friend in Lebanon
I was headed to South Africa, she said, "Say hi to the lions, monkeys,
elephants and giraffes from me when you hit the safari beat. Of course
you're gonna go on a safari!"
In Cape Town, the only fauna I saw was of hipsters, fat cats, foodies, hustlers, trash pickers, smartly uniformed schoolchildre n and one opportunistic pimp.
On the edge of Grand Parade, its main square, I almost got mugged by
three youths. Though it was wild enough, my friend wanted real beasts,
"Enjoy your local travels and just do be careful what kind of 'friends'
you make out there in empty bars.
Oh and also, I still wanna see a South African 'safari' article from
you (if possible)wanna see you compare elephants and giraffes to humans
heh!"
Nearly five months later, I haven't seen any African
wildlife besides a handful of parakeets and two or three lizards, with
one boasting a long, spiky orange tail and an orange head on a slim
black body. During a ten-hour trip from the South African/Namibian border to Windhoek, I spotted no animals but domesticated horses, donkeys and goats.
Driven through Wyoming in 1976, I marveled at hundreds of pronghorns.
Riding the Greyhound through the same state in 2013, I encountered none.
There are still plenty left, I know, but their population has declined,
as human infrastructure encroached. Taking buses and vans all over Laos,
I didn't see one elephant, in the Land of a Million Elephants. In
Vietnam, tigers were so feared, people called them misters and
worshipped them, in shrines and temples. They're nearly all gone. All species have been threatened but us, until now.
For a neat parable of animal die-off, here's a passage from Evelyn Waugh's Remote People of 1934:
At Jinja [in Uganda] there is both hotel and golf links. The latter is, I believe, the only course in the world which posts a special rule that the player may remove his ball by hand from hippopotamus footprints. For there is a very old hippopotamus who inhabits this corner of the lake. Long before the dedication of the Ripon Falls it was his practice to take an evening stroll over that part of the bank which now constitutes the town of Jinja. He has remained set in his habit, despite railway lines and bungalows. At first, attempts were made to shoot him, but lately he has come to be regarded as a local mascot, and people returning late from bridge parties not infrequently see him lurching home down the main street. Now and then he varies his walk by a detour across the golf links and it is then that the local rule is brought into force.
As railway lines, bungalows, roads, shops
and golf links sprung up all around him, the big fellow simply
maintained his routines while enduring his many new neighbors. While
clearly obnoxious, they did express goodwill, or humanity, if you will,
by not puncturing his huge target of a head with plenty of lead.
Abundant
wildlife is the persistent stereotype of Africa, even if most Africans
themselves have no experience of it. Windhoek has 350,000 people, Cape
Town half a million. It's safe to say most of their inhabitants have
never seen a lion, monkey, elephant or giraffe, for there's not even a
zoo in either city. The Groote Schuur Zoo, built in 1897 by Cecil Rhodes
as a private menagerie, was shut down by the state in the late 1970's. A
Londoner, then, is much more likely than an African to see an African
elephant, rhino or hippo, etc.
If a Londoner comes to Africa,
he will also jumps the queue to experience African wildlife, for safaris
are expensive. In Namibia, a seven-day one will set you back $1,600,
with a 3-dayer costing $580. After a long, costly flight here from the
US or Europe, most whites will splurge on a 12-day safari at $3,120.
There's a South African fried chicken chain called Hungry Lion. I tried it in Rehoboth, Namibia. Cheaper than KFC, it's not as tasty. Its logo is a smiling lion wearing a crown.
At
Wernhil Park, Windhoek's downtown shopping mall, there's a sort of
hopscotch court over an illustrated shape of Africa. See, there, two
lions, an elephant, tribal masks, traditional pottery and cave painting
figures, all that have disappeared from most people's life here. "Jump Through Africa From Namibia to Egypt."
Next
to Nelson Mandela, Ninja and Yolandi of Die Antwoord have become the
most famous South Africans. Few remember Bishop Tutu, and even fewer, F.
W. de Klerk. In a post-literate world that's getting dumber by the
second, Coetzee, Gordimer and Breytenbach, etc., hardly exist.
Die Antwoord made its name through a video attack on Lady Gaga, "Fatty Boom Boom,"
which is merely a South African endearment for a chubby baby, by the
way. The video begins with a hazy, vaguely apocalyptic shot of the
Johannesburg skyline. Everything is brown and gray, with a barren field
and a forlorn, if not abandoned, building in the foreground. South
Africa as a failing state is suggested.
Many more stereotypes
follow. Played by a female impersonator, Lady Gaga is sitting in a
beat-up tour van with two gangster types behind her. All the seats have
leopard print covers. A toy lion dangles from the rearview mirror. On
the outside are decals of the head of a rhino, elephant, lion and water
buffalo.
As narrated by a cheerful driver, third-world street
scenes roll by. Peddlers sell on sidewalks. All pedestrians are men,
interestingly, so no women and children. Slowed down, their gaits and
gazes towards the van somewhat alarm. Normally, pedestrians don't even
notice passing vehicles.
To not disappoint, wildlife promptly
appears, "Over there, we have some naughty hyenas eating rubbish. These
hyenas, they make such a big mess! Over there is a shop owner, chilling
with his black panther. Nobody is going to steal nothing when he's
chilling with that black beauty. Nobody! Ah, ah, ah, let me tell you,
it's your lucky day! Over there is the king of the concrete jungle, the
lion king!"
Masterfully edited and with a striking visual style,
"Fatty Boom Boom" is also a hearty joke on African stereotypes. Notice,
for example, how the lion is crowned as "king of the concrete jungle,"
though it's precisely concrete that has pushed him to the edge of
extinction.
Later in the video, Lady Gaga has something up her
snatch, so must make an emergency visit to a "DENTIST/GYNAECHOLOGIST."
Vagina dentata indeed, even with hilarious misspelling. The
dentist/gyneachologist is played by veteran comedian Kagiso Lediga.
Showing no expression, the black man probes the white woman, thus
triggering the greatest white fear and outrage worldwide, though the
c-word in question doesn't even exist. This Lady Gaga is a man. When she
squirted violently, her copious discharge jetted across the room to
splatter an open-mawed lion on a calendar. Mouth open but still
expressionless, the dentist/gyneachologist extracts an African king
cricket from Lady Gaga. There are many kings in Africa.
This
scene is a quotation and homage to "Black Gynecologist," a 2008 painting
by a fellow Capetonian, Anton Kannemeyer. Cape Town certainly has an
asskicking culture. What it doesn't have, again, is any wildlife to
speak of, beyond Egyptian geese and hadeda ibises.
Before Watkin
Tudor "Ninja" Jones and Yolandi Visser became Die Antwoord, they were
Max Normal TV, a combo that had none of the Satanic themes or symbols
that would infect them later. Musical success in the West has a moral
price. Paradoxically, they've joined Lady Gaga and countless others.
Unlike
South Africa, Namibia has no famous writers, artists or musicians.
Among its few rappers are Sunny Boy, D-Jay and Ella ChinaMan, so the
snazz and swag factors here aren't quite developed. Namibian gospel,
though, is very distinctive and rousing.
On Christmas Eve, I posted on my blog a Namibian Christmas song, "Tate Wetu"
["Our Father"], as performed by the Mascato Youth Choir of Swapkomund.
As is typical, men and women stand apart. Accompanied by three
xylophones, two bongos and maracas, as shaken by a radiant, smiling
child, they sing in Oshiwambo, "We praise you Father because you have
created us!" It's impossible to not be moved by such a flowering of
love, grace and gratitude.
Walking all over Windhoek, I haven't
heard rap once, and I didn't either in Cape Town. At least in these two
cities, hip hop fans don't feel the need to impose their taste on the
public, as in the US.
It's telling that the fiercest hub for
African rap is Kumerica, as Kumasi is called by its hiphopsters. As
Kumericans, these Ghanaians can feel closer to the coolest place on
earth, with its violent, misogynist music, sickest porn, cultivated
misandry, unextinguishable racial rage and gender dysphoria not just
normalized, but taught to small children, etc.
For decades, the
US has led the world in destroying bodies, minds or souls. Along with
napalm, Agent Orange, depleted uranium, white phosphorus and gangsta
rap, etc., there are now Pfizer and Moderna "vaccines," which, triumphantly, Uncle Sam can claim as his greatest weapons of mass destruction ever.
Long
subjected to white malice disguised as charity, black Africans wisely
reject these genocidal toxins, so they've suffered the fewest
Covid-related deaths, by far. Free from idiotic restrictions and fear
mongering bombardment, my neighbors are relaxed and friendly. They're
still safely snuggled in normality.
Before
coming to Namibia, I had little idea what I would find. On the bus up,
an old Boer with large hands and no front teeth warned me about Windhoek
muggers, "They'll rob the teeth from your mouth!" Since he didn't open
his any wider, I couldn't tell if they had taken his molars also.
Namibians, it turns out, are very mellow,
and they don't even curse. I have not heard one profanity in two
months, so I've curbed my Philly lexicon. As for safety, unless you're
out late at night, shitfaced and counting a thick wad of money under a
street lamp, you should be OK.
As the world suffers through endless Covid convulsions, I keep finding myself in normality, so I am blessed.
It's astounding to witness so much tyranny and psychosis from afar. If
the majority keep swallowing official lies, this madness won't stop. The
tide is turning, but will it be fast enough, and what other weapons,
biological or otherwise, do our collective enemy have in store?
By
now, it should be clear why we're being destroyed. To make room for
lions, hippos, giraffes and billionaires (with their slaves and sex
slaves), billions of ordinary men, women and children must be culled.
To
those at the top of the pyramid, nearly all of us are superfluous,
unsightly and annoying, so we must exit cleanly, with consent even, so
they can laugh even harder. Though war as universal hygiene might still
come, it entails too many collateral damages, such as pulverized
bridges, monuments and art objects, etc., and the mess it leaves behind!
Too much to clean up. It's better to just unclog cities, flush all that
grinning and stupid humanity down the sh*t hole, and charge them for
the privilege. Deception is delicious!
Often, I'm mocked for
writing about "losers," or for being a "loser" myself, but only true
losers speak that way. To be smug is to cut oneself off from nearly all
of life, thus to lose in the ugliest way.
Injected, the executed grin in gratitude, then curse those who won't join them. Annihilated, they fancy themselves winners.
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