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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Sometimes we think ahead and this time, before going to the best beach in Buchanan, we head to the “restaurant” owned by the Lebanese man so he can prepare us some food for later, this way we won’t have to wait for centuries for it to arrive. We are intelligent people, with degrees and everything.…
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 Smith, saying that he should have known that the Kingdom of God does not depend on the masses. “He should have known that the kingdom of God did not depend…
I can’t help it. I am reading an interesting novel about a violinist who loses his talent out of the blue, but I cannot help it. Pages fourteen and fifteen have been violently wiped off the screen that is my eyes and I can no longer breathe. The pages are suffocating under the weight of…
Despite a number of negative consequences, Powers also discovers that these same development projects are sometimes capable of providing real help and happiness to local communities. William discovers this by delving deeper into Liberian society, which in turn will allow him to discover various fundamental patterns of this culture such as the importance of the…
What is it that’s so important you have to say? Well, here goes. Friends, readers, comrades and others, it’s time for me to take off the mask! The time has come for me to introduce myself to all of you! Now listen. My name is Carlos Battaglini, and I am a Spanish writer (from the…
IN GHANA, RELIGIOUS CONCENTRATIONS HAVE A POWERFUL STRONGHOLD. ‘Empowerment’, as the phenomenon is called, is full of clergymen whose faces are shown on many street walls announcing the next encounter and encouraging people to join the movement, to adhere to the cause. Near Independence Square some children play football on a scrap of wasteland where…
ONE DAY MORE In LIBERIA (ONE DAY LESS…) I am exhausted as I start to write. It’s been a hard day again and the last thing I fancy doing is tapping away at a cold keyboard. So. It’s time to evoke Stevenson and remind myself that not a day went by when the author of…
I HAVE HAD A FEW DRINKS TOO MANY, and shit, now I forgot what I was going to say. Eeerm, basically with today’s post I intend to talk about those who leave Liberia. About those people you meet in this country and that some day or another will disappear into thin air, swish swish. That’s…
The granite tiles at the Zaventem airport in Brussels are a stranger colour every time I see them. The marble I slowly discover increasingly adopts an expression that I cannot decipher. I walk past the gates and then more gates, Gate 3, 24, 55, 77, 91… there are fewer and fewer people at this end.…
CAN I SAY SOMETHING? Imagine an airport. Can you think of an airport and feel what it is? An airport, a kaleidoscopic space, a mental multiplication, a neurological trampoline. And meanwhile, I listen to her. And whilst I am checking in, I see her. I see Roseline moving rhythmically, to the beat of a wish.…
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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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ON BRINGING MY HEAD ABOVE THE SURFACE, I DISCOVERED A GIRL WITH DREADLOCKS (the rasta style triumphed on Room Island), a girl in Bob Marley colours, green, yellow, red who slowly sat beside the boy who was snoozing before my belongings. Unconsciously dragged along by the waves, I left the water and headed towards a…
Read more The granite tiles at the Zaventem airport in Brussels are a stranger colour every time I see them. The marble I slowly discover increasingly adopts an expression that I cannot decipher. I walk past the gates and then more gates, Gate 3, 24, 55, 77, 91… there are fewer and fewer people at this end.…
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VICTOR, ANESA AND I TAKE UP THE CENTRE OF THE ROOM AT BLACK AND WHITE FORMING A TRIANGLE. We start dancing with energy. Here, in Buchanan, in Black and White you have to crouch to dance, almost kneel down and kiss the floor. Take a look. This guy in green, without bones he crouches so…
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“I have typhus, not today.” “Cool, come and watch the match then.” The first message is from Jacques, implying we will not be playing our usual game of tennis at the Ocean View compound at Mamba Point today. The second message is from Gilberto after finding out that I no longer have any plans. Rousseau…
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Being born black can be very hard, and while there are quite a few nuances, different levels and social classes within the black world, the difficulty of progressing always seems to be lurking in the shadows, independent of social status. With regard to this, the book will say that in a country such as Nigeria…
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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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I can’t help it. I am reading an interesting novel about a violinist who loses his talent out of the blue, but I cannot help it. Pages fourteen and fifteen have been violently wiped off the screen that is my eyes and I can no longer breathe. The pages are suffocating under the weight of…
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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 moreAfrica
This is what expats ask each other: “Where are you from?” “How long have you been in Liberia for?” “How long will be you be staying in Liberia?” “What organisation do you work for?” “Where were you before?” They are…
“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,…
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:…
Africa
THE FOOD TAKES A WHILE TO COME. The food sometimes takes a while to come in Liberia. So instead of having lunch, we keep making our way into Nimba County and head towards the next village, Bounaldine, in our rickety…
ONE DAY MORE In LIBERIA (ONE DAY LESS…) I am exhausted as I start to write. It’s been a hard day again and the last thing I fancy doing is tapping away at a cold keyboard. So. It’s time to…
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…
Regarding the novel’s title, one wonders why beautyful and not beautiful? It seems probable that this has been a slip in the English spelling, which…
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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…
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…
Being born black can be very hard, and while there are quite a few nuances, different levels and social classes within the black world, the…
Another aspect that did not convince me in Heart of Darkness is the fact that some characters are named, but then they are not developed…
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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…
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…
