I’m Carlos Battaglini and I left everything to become a writer. Here you will find posts about my curious life in Liberia and other African countries. It is also where I immerse myself in the burning light of African literature through brutally honest book reviews. Welcome to your home and thanks for joining me on this adventure.
I left everything to become a writer, join me on this adventure.
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The Shadow of the Sun narrates the experiences of the Polish journalist, Ryszard Kapuscinski in Africa. Kapuscinski lives in Africa not as a ‘happy tourist’, but rather as a daring reporter who gets himself into all sorts of situations on his search for an interesting experience. He never travels first class, nor does he sleep…
HE SPEAKS CALMLY, KEEPING THE SAME TONE OF VOICE THROUGHOUT. He moves his hands slowly, only half looking at you, steadily interrupting your rushed arguments and shakes his head a couple of times as you speak. Every two or three minutes, as we talk over dinner at the Royal Hotel sushi restaurant, the UNMIL policeman…
Why Nobody Knows When He Will Die is a book that consists of ten stories on different subjects of everyday African and Liberian reality, many of which can be extrapolated to the rest of the world (bearing in mind cultural differences). The stories are written in the third person and are narrated in a precise,…
HE RAISES HIS HAND. In the middle of the trial, the man with the gold earring raises his hand and asks for permission to go to the bathroom for a minute. The judge looks at the two police officers and concedes with a slight nod of the head. In Paynesville they continue talking about the…
I run. I run next to a European girl and a Liberian. I keep up because I usually go jogging a few times a week around UN Drive. The Liberian guy also takes great strides and sets a good pace. We don’t know where to go. Does it matter? Yes, it must matter. I am…
Ingrid still had not recovered and she was lying down, her body paralysed into a triangular shape and submerged in a deep dream or horrible nightmare. It was time for lunch and we had to leave the lush green of Bomi behind. We parked our vehicles near a ‘border’ post, i.e. one of those thin…
THE TELEPHONE IN MY BEDROOM RINGS AT HALF PAST SIX IN THE MORNING. Irritated, I place the receiver to my ear, and the receptionist tells me that a driver is waiting for me in the lobby. I inform him that I will be ready in an hour, or maybe two, and slip back into my…
BUT LOOK WHO’S THERE. As I walk into the Red Lion I spot Ramon sitting opposite a German donning a dirty and scraggy beard. Only a tiny table separates them, and they are there, forehead to forehead, as if they were playing a decisive chess game – the round of chess that will save the…
Blue Clay People tells the story of William Powers, a North American aid worker in Liberia back in 1999. Powers lands in the African country as a member of the NGO Catholic Relief Services (CRS) with the task of fighting against poverty and saving the rainforest in a country gripped by the peril of a…
There is someone in the kitchen. It’s a young man of medium height. His name is Anthony and he moves stealthily. As if he were wearing socks instead of shoes. Anthony opens the pantry, takes out some fruit and brings it all out to Josep and I at the table. We have breakfast looking out…
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RUN. RUN. When we ran in Monrovia in among the shacks, trampling the earth and the sand, dodging dilapidated huts, I would brush against the zinc ceilings that were caving in. Sometimes I would stop and a bunch of kids would smile. One of them would mimic my steps on a rock, hip hop, hip…
Read more HE RAISES HIS HAND. In the middle of the trial, the man with the gold earring raises his hand and asks for permission to go to the bathroom for a minute. The judge looks at the two police officers and concedes with a slight nod of the head. In Paynesville they continue talking about the…
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Just as I was leaving the office in Mamba Point, in Liberia, a guy turns around and says, “Hey, have a look!” Piano Teeth spoke to me in a firm, hoarse, commanding voice. He was crouching down on the pavement by the bend, almost hunched over as he entertained himself with the finishing details of…
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“NO. IT’S NOT MALARIA,” said Drazen, dripping, “it’s something else. Something cold that gets in your bones.” Only the food, which finally arrived in the form of chicken, rice and cassava fish, interrupts the silence. We discover that we are, indeed, hungry, and at the pace of beetroot grey, of a peeling terrace and Balkan…
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WHAT IS YOUR NAME? It’s true. Every time you meet a Liberian and share a few seconds of your life, maybe a few minutes, they will ask you: “Your name?” “Carlos, my name is Carlos.” And then the greeting, clack, clack. Is Liberia. The other day I was on my way home, later than usual…
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ON THE UNSTOPPABLE ROAD TO INSANITY that stems from any mental insistence (please keep reading). Now. That I have just got back from Europe – from the “white world” – I want to scream out the following: In third place: when one is reunited with the land where one grew up after a considerable journey,…
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I COULD BARELY SEE IT. But, according to Samory, the tall, skinny building rising up behind us had been the Presidential Palace. I turned around and for a fleeting moment I managed to see a huge golden plaque, a whisper of gold and a majestic flag of Guinea Conakry. After turning around, we had already…
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“GUINEA? WHY GUINEA? Why would you complicate your life?” the Lebanese landlord asked me, frowning and bringing a hand to his head. “Why don’t you go to Namibia? It’s a wonderful country”. A few hours later, while I spooned rice into my mouth, Sophie paraphrased the words of her French friend, “Guinea is the dump…
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ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF MONROVIA, LIBERIA. IN THE MIDDLE OF DEPRIVATION AND AN IMMORTAL ENERGY, we get out the Toyotas Prado and make our way to a crumbling school that was hosting several scattered polling stations. It seemed as if the whole neighbourhood had already voted at these tables because the rooms were practically empty;…
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At first we did not talk. Never ever. Not even whenever I’d set foot in his motley Nissan Sunny, which was attempting to be yellow and I’d make some friendly, open comment. Now, I am not saying that I’d come out with harmless banter about the weather, no, it gets worse than that; my tongue…
Read moreAfrica
Did you know that the sea and air conditioning sound quite alike? When I am lying in my room wavering between the shades of dark and the air conditioning has finally stopped puffing, I can hear the waves surging against…
I HAD JUST BEEN TO EUROPE. I HAD JUST BEEN TO SPAIN. I HAD FELT THE HEAT. I had felt the heat. I had felt the cold. Loads of iPhones, brother. Is it impossible to enjoy the present these days?…
THE GATES WERE CLOSING AT THE POLLING STATION SET UP AT WATERSIDE, BUT WE MANAGED TO SKILFULLY FIND OUR WAY IN. It was still light, but the sun was gently setting in Liberia. We took a few steps and came…
Africa
I KNOW RIGHT FROM THE START THAT JOKERS IS NOT MY KIND OF BAR. The moment I step foot out of the taxi, I can sense a certain carefreeness and self-confidence in the air, and that certainly isn’t my type…
CONSISTENT WITH THE IDEA THAT HUMAN BEINGS ARE ANIMALS who usually have dinner at night, I logically attended the collation at the Korean restaurant at Bushrod Island, Monrovia, in the evening. As you do. I walked up the entrance stairs and joined…
Doe’s government had never been stable and had always run the risk of being overthrown at any time, until the point that there was an…
Helene Cooper tells us that she had ancestors on the colonisation ships coming from the United States, specifically Elijah Johnson, a man with a lot…
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FEAR IN BLACK AND WHITE. Some people have started leaving the bar, forming a scary, irregular line. “This bar is mine and I want to…
Cooper goes on to express her appreciation for the support and assistance received. Referring to six friends of her, she says “the six of them…
The narrator’s voice maintains an objective and firm tone throughout, but on page 130, the narrator surprisingly expresses an opinion about the new, cruel Reverend…
Helene Cooper tells us that she had ancestors on the colonisation ships coming from the United States, specifically Elijah Johnson, a man with a lot…
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There’s a certain military feel to the air, and people who come and go, smiling all over the place. To be exact, we are in…
Now. I walk down the hill of UN Drive towards my house in Mamba Point and I see her. It’s as if the Liberians who…
