North of South: An African Journey (Classic, 20th-Century, Penguin)
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North of South: An African Journey (Classic, 20th-Century, Penguin).
“Maybe.” He gazed despondently around the room. Not a rich German lady in sight. He stared at me. “You must be a wealthy man.” “Me! What ever gave you that idea? I’m not rich at all. I’m very, very poor.” “They say all you Asians have a lot of money.” “I’m an exceptional Asian. I have no money at all.” “You can’t be that poor if you are able to travel all the way to Kenya. You must have a lot of savings in the bank.” His bright, clear eyes shone with worldly wisdom. “How else could you afford
The girls started to squabble. It was unnerving to listen to them talking about “Africans” as if they were referring to a species of humanity utterly distinct from themselves. “I’m hoping to send Beatrice to a boarding school I heard of in Lincolnshire from next year,” Alberta said. “If she likes it, Emma will follow. When all is said and done, you can’t beat a real English education.” “Those cold baths build character,” Joe said. “Won’t that cost a small fortune?” Bertie was looking bemused
destroy that.” “So you would not give them machines…” “I personally would not. Why give a man a hydroelectric dam when a waterwheel would serve as well? Why give him a tractor when he can use an oxcart?” “Why bother to give him anything at all? Why not just leave him alone? Why teach the primitive how to be primitive?” He waved an arm at the photographs. “There is a great deal of suffering to be overcome. They must be taught to keep their population down so that they will not starve. It is a
out in an ox-driven cart from the Norfolk Hotel on the two-day journey to Thika—now almost a satellite town of Nairobi—where her father had just acquired five hundred acres of virgin bush (“thousands of years of untapped fertility locked up in the soil,” the vendor, who sported an Old Etonian tie, had told him) on a ninety-nine-year lease. Thika was then no more than “a name on the map where two rivers joined.…” Beyond it there were “mountains and forests no one had mapped and tribes whose
trousers flared, his red corduroy jacket exquisitely waisted, his tie exceedingly broad and colorful. He did not attribute his poverty to the fall in the price of copper—which earns for Zambia the bulk of its foreign exchange—but laid the blame on the support the government was giving to the “liberation struggle.” “The ministers are all right—they are rich men. The freedom fighters are all right—they get free food. But what about people like us who are not ministers and not freedom fighters?” He