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Kill List Film review
Thursday 8th September 2011Back in the UK now and I ve been enjoying going to the cinema again, which I sorely missed in Togo. Not often these days I feel inspired by a film which affects me deeply enough to write a review but Kill List is one such so here goes...
KILL LIST Ben Wheatley, UK, 95 mins
with: Neil Maskell, Myana Buring, Michael Smiley
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Director Ben Wheatley made 2010's highly acclaimed micro budget Down Terrace, about a criminal family trying to unearth the grasses whose snitching has brought one of them to the attentions of the criminal justice system. Like Down Terrace, Kill List eschews conventions, instead busting through genre classifications. There's much debate on the web as to which genre this film fits and much criticism about the way it shifts genre. Debate which goes up a dead end for a truly original piece of film as art.
A more appropriate designation for this film would be 'noir' rather than 'thriller' or 'horror'. There is a palpable sense of dread, a pessimistic world view, characters caught up in situations over which they've no control, lots unexplained and stylistically, shots of dim lit hotel corridors, anonymous rooms, are pure noir.
Rather than The Wicker Man, Kill List is more on the lines of Michael Haneke's Time of The Wolf which takes a low key, realist approach and never fully explains the back history to the film which might be the aftermath of a civil war, some kind of environmental crisis.
The first third of the the film takes place in the family home of Jay and Shel and their small boy Sam. In their claustrophobic house on an anonymous peripheral housing estate the couple bicker and argue. A dinner party with Jay's ex army buddy Cal to which he brings mysterious new partner Fiona is a scene for an excruciating argument. At this stage the film is shot in a handheld, verite style, with performances and dialogue which look to be improvised, putting the film in the realm of kitchen sink realism. This has the effect of allowing the depth of the characters to emerge. Persuaded to join Cal on a job, the second third of the film sees Jay and Cal travelling a non scape of contemporary England, a landscape of arterial roads and anonymous hotels. The heavy grey and oppressively overcast skies, the flat colouring generates an air of subtle unease. There's been careful and effective detail to mise en scene, grounding the film in the everyday even something as apparently insignificant as a crate of beer in the background of the garage takes on significance: evidently this family get through lots of booze.
This treatment becomes brutally effective in the second half as the pair meet 'The Client', a sinister, well spoken man who seals the deal with blood and embark on a 'kill list'.
When the killing begins its all the more shocking and sickening for the way the film has abandoned generic conventions of horror / thriller to be irony free. There's a truly stomach churning torture scene, taking place not in some seedy warehouse but a respectable looking house, replete with hanging baskets. Watch these scenes closely and especially the victims responses because they are crucial in understanding the films final third. The child in the film, Sam, is important, if children embody hope and the future, in this film the child serves as a locus for anxiety. There's a scene where some sort of awful pornography is discovered, which sends Jay into a psychotic rage 'as a parent.'
Kill List brings to mind the best British horror film and television of the seventies, where the horror is all the more effective for being implied and you're presented with images and sounds left unexplained which you have to try to make some sense of. Anyone who grew up with tv series such as Sapphire and Steel or Thriller will know exactly what I'm talking about. Programmes which relied on building mood and atmosphere for their effect and in the case of Sapphire and Steel, were utterly terrifying through what was left unexplained, unsaid.
MAJOR SPOILER ALERT!
Are the victims, the priest and the librarian, who thank their killers / torturers, members of the same death cult we encounter towards the end? There's a well documented phenomenon of suicide cults, the most notorious being Jonestown in 1979 and while the sudden shift into occult territory causes a jolt, it's nonetheless perfectly plausible.
On the surface Kill List is about a hit man manipulated or tricked into killing his wife and child by a death cult. On a deeper level its about the banality of evil and how it takes quite ordinary people to carry out the most atrocious acts. At one stage in the film The Client tells Jay and Gal they are 'cogs'. Writer Primo Levi, in talking about the Nazi holocaust, described how the most dangerous people were those who just obeyed orders, didn't question, allowed the monstrous state bureaucracy of facism to function.
Kill List can be read as an allegory of the anxieties and nihilism of contemporary Britain. A country which has spent ten years fighting wars in distant lands against an obscure enemy. A country whose security services are implicated in the practice of torture, whose police appear to carry out extra judicial killings. This has always been a nation riven by a deep and problematic class system (signified through speech and dress, Jay and Cal have strong London and Irish accents, The Client's voice is educated upper class). Furthermore, an atmosphere of fear and mistrust pervades throughout contemporary Britain, from CCTV cameras (more than any other country in the world) to Criminal Records Checks for prospective employees. The nihilism is further manifested in the failure of political and public institutions and a sense people have of being abandoned. People left with few comforts aside from drinking (observe the bottles of wine and crates of beer in Jays garage). At the end Jay kills his wife and son and the allegory is made explicit. England has no future left. This is what the mysterious Doctor says to Jay: 'Let me give you some advice. the past is finished, the future is not here. There is only this present'. Pretty bleak message but it rings true with this reviewer.
FINAL THOUGHTS
Sunday 4th September 2011p { margin-bottom: 0.21cm; }FINAL THOUGHTS BACK IN OUAGADOUGOU
Back in Ouaga, six months later having reached the end of my sojourn and now reflecting on what I've learned and achieved. It was a toss up last year between stopping in Lome, Togo for the full six months, splitting between three months in Lome, three in Ouaga or the full time in Ouaga. In the end I decided on Ouaga since it's long been the centre of the African film industry or at least was during the eighties and nineties. Burkina still appears to be a country with a rich cultural tradition and arguably more to offer in that sense than Togo. However in terms of earning money or doing business it has to be Togo. Lome is in the middle of a corridor comprising the cities of Abidjan, Accra, Cotonou and Lagos. With Lome one of the ports through which everything destined for countries such as Burkina, Mali or Niger passes, there's a huge amount of trading taking place. Consequently Lome is a lot more affluent than Ouaga and, as you'd expect, a native speaker of English armed with qualifications from British universities is in demand to teach the language.
Having to return to Ouaga in order to catch the flight home was a tedious business and I wished I'd planned it to return from Lome. Twenty hours on a hot, crowded, ancient bus then stung over 100 GBP for an entry visa at the border. The price of a visa has increased spectacularly, when I bought mine in January it was 65 GBP for three months. Now the basic one for up to 30 days stay is over 100.
Several companies run between Lome and Ouaga. I took the CTS bus. The offices are in a shabby yard in the Decon district of Lome. A dingy office houses a mattress on which two young men are asleep. Inside the chief takes money, huge wads of cash are piled on his desk, and he fishes out a book of tickets, tearing one off. In the yard, some men are sprawled over plastic stacking chairs, playing cards. There are those plastic kettles all over the place which the muslims use to wash themselves before prayer.
The bus departs from a side street around the corner. It's an ancient looking blue Renault, with vinyl seats, through which the foam is bursting. What little space there is in the hold has been taken up with sacks of produce. These also fill the aisle between the seats. The seating comprises an aisle of three seats one side and two the other so, this bus being slightly shorter I think than most coaches, still holds the full 56 passengers. I don't know, maybe I should have counted.
My bag is stowed under the seat and I realise again why it's such a great idea to travel light in Africa. Because the overhead shelves are full and my laptop bag and small backpack will now be between my legs for the full overnight, twenty hour endurance of the trip.
We set off about 17.20, twenty minutes late is pretty good for Africa. We're immediately delayed by a broken down truck blocking a side street. It's in the middle of the street and on one side parked cars mean there's insufficient space to pass but eventually the owners of the cars are located and they're moved.
So we're almost out of Lome and we stop for fuel. And prayer. Almost the entire bus descends, goes off to the wasteground at the rear of the filling station and, having had a pee, takes the aforementioned plastic kettles and washes their private parts and nether regions. I'm not watching too closely, but eventually they all gather on the petrol station forecourt and as the sun goes down, join in prayer. It's kind of surreal in the way normal life continues around them and after thirty minutes or so as the bus is fuelled up and people buy provisions from the street traders, we're on our way.
I'm sat next to a man who seems big, but much later on during the journey he's got off to be replaced by a slim woman and I realise the seats are incredibly narrow. So I spend the journey with his weight pressed up against me. The word discomfort doesn't describe this but I remind myself plenty of people endure conditions like this travelling to work each day on the London Underground or on London buses. Twenty hours on an overnight bus, a distance of around 500 miles for a fare of less than 20 GBP. Work out the maths then compare that to what you pay for the privilege of travelling from say Redhill to Waterloo each day during peak periods. I could have paid for another seat which would have made a considerable difference and is something I'd seriously consider.
Despite looking ancient, the bus is clearly maintained in good mechanical order and I felt safe. While the driver was no slouch, he was nonetheless careful, I didn't feel unsafe at any stage, there was none of the reckless overtaking I've sometimes encountered and his anticipation was excellent, slowing down in plenty of time for hazards.
A DVD player and flat screen had been installed, Heath Robinson style with a metal frame screwed into the roof and wires and connectors dangling down. A young man put the detachable control panel onto the unit then spent some considerable time playing with the wires in order to get the player working.
I wished he hadn't because we were treated to music booming out the entire journey. It's night time, my fellow passengers have dozed off. Except for me, if the physical discomfort wasn't enough with the knob to open the windows positioned right where my head wants to repose, Bob Marley's Every Little Thing, Gonna Be Alright for the umpteenth time, does for it. Then there's the terrible condition of the road in places, the bus lurches and swerves to avoid craters with the result your fellow passengers are falling over you.
The time did seem to pass quickly, we stopped in Atakpame and then continued non stop to reach the border at Sinkasse around 4.00 AM. Everyone descended and went past two policemen, the immigration control office was closed. The police spent some time looking at and discussing my sauf conduit. It was dated 20 July, so I explained to them the date I was meant to leave the country wasn't specified, 20 July was just the date the document was issued. Everyone passing through had been obliged to give them some coins, eventually I handed them 500 CFA apiece and after a little bantering they let me proceed across the bridge which forms the border. The bus had parked up outside the Burkina immigration control and most of the passengers had disappeared. A few were sprawled asleep over the seats or in the drivers case across the gearbox.
At 6 AM the police arrived for work and I was able to get the entry visa. We were destined to hang around for another three hours, because the customs didn't start work until 8.00. Passengers had dispersed all over the place, Sinkasse being a sprawl of makeshift cafetriats and food stalls. When the bus finally, slowly departed, the driver tooted the horn and people emerged from everywhere, eventually everyone had been accounted for. There seems to be an interminable number of checkpoints before you finally get on the road for Ouaga, only for the bus to make several stops as people get off. We finally reached the capital around 14.30. It's to my regret I didn't take any photos apart from this one at the first stop we made, when everyone got out to pray. I think I was so intent on surviving such levels of discomfort I was unable to think about anything else. Also it was pitch black dark much of the time.
This has been sitting in the computer for one month, well overdue, finally got around to posting it today.
Parc Urbain Bangr Weogo
Sunday 4th September 2011Parc Urbain Bangr Weogo
This wonderful green space in the heart of Ouagadougou is situated not far from the city centre, heading . It's a mix of forest and slightly more formal tropical gardens, with some sadly abandoned areas such as an aviary. I went on Sunday afternoon with some Burkinabe friends, determined to enjoy one last spell of African sunshine before returning to a non event of summer in the UK.
Theres a cafeteriat at the Zone du Bois entrance and as we waited for my friends I decided to order a Lipton, or tea. The woman running the place hardly stirred from gazing at the television to respond there was no Lipton. But I can see a box of tea bags, I replied. There's no hot water was her reponse. I shrugged and turned away and at this stage the one other customer, a man drinking a beer, interjected. He said to the woman to heat some water, you have a customer, serve him. She dragged herself to the kitchen where there was a gas stove, so I could understand if she didn't want to heat charcoal, but gas is hardly strenuous.
So I got my afternoon tea, at which stage Moise and Souleymane arrived. I bought some drinks for everyone and we got chatting to the man, name of Bawa. He'd spent time in Paris and found difficulty understanding the womans attitude.
heres a picture of myself with Souleymane. Hes not long returned from Paris where he visited his French girlfriend. Strolling around the parc we saw quite a few European / African families which I teased him about, saying that'll be him in a few years time, and how European women expect their partners to help with child care.
heres one of some peoploe having a picnic...
on the way home we passed some plant sellers by the side of the road. Water sachets being recycled and put to use as planters
Jardin des Amities
I can't believe I never went to this venue before, just off the Place de la Revolution. It has live music seven nights a week, from 2000 hrs til dawn. It's a spacious open air venue with trees, tables, there was no entrance fee and drinks were not excessively priced. Service was efficient and there was a great atmosphere, despite not being hugely busy, there was an intimate feel.
Heres a few pictures...myself and friend Rasmane
fire eater
visa the action
Thursday 28th July 2011p { margin-bottom: 0.21cm; }VISA THE ACTION
The standard UK passport holds 32 pages. Visit four West African countries over five separate occasions and you will fill the passport up. Each visa takes up a page, there's the entry stamp, the exit stamp, then there are the postage style stamps which they stick in on entry to Togo showing receipt of the visa fee. Anyway my visa expired on 2 July and the visa office refused to issue another saying there's no space left in the passport. Actually there's half a page they could have used, or a page where I tore out an expired visa from Benin which has print residue left.
Luckily I ran into one of my English students at the office who mediated between myself and the officials. The official explained to me to return in a week's time when they would issue me with a document called a sauf conduit enabling me to leave the country, on payment of a 10000 CFA fine and a fee of 3500 CFA for some stamps.
The week has turned into almost three weeks, because I've been delayed by two bouts of malaria and finally returned to the office on Tuesday. One hour hanging around before the same official tole me to return the following day with photocopies of the front page of my passport and the last visa which was issued.
So on Wednesday morning this week I returned. Waited for another hour, handed over the photocopies, completed a form, got finger printed and told to return that afternoon.
Back to the office for the afternoon shift. African bureaucracy has a very particular style to it of which waiting is a component. There was a Palestinian man, two Indians, an African woman with a toddler and other people coming and going. Eventually I was told to go to another part of the building along with two African men and meet the official at the bosses office.
So we went to the second floor where we waited outside an office while the official went inside and conferred with his boss. Two of the men were called in, then emerged and disappeared. Eventually the official emerged from the office and motioned me to follow him back downstairs. By this time two hours have passed. We return to his office and he tells me to go to the cashiers desk, pay the 10000 he told me about the previous time. He also takes a 5000 CFA note for the stamps, needless to say no change given. He'd given me his cellphone number on the previous visit, and says to call him tomorrow, check the 'sauf conduit' document is ready and I can collect it.
Thursday I'm busy, this morning, Friday, I call him up. He's not in his office today but working in another part of the building. He explains in English that his colleague will help me. I get to the office around 11.15. The 'chef' which means chief isn't around. I wait about ten minutes, then I recognize one of the officials, who seems to carry some authority. I ask him, he motions to come into his office. He rummages among a folder of papers, finds my 'sauf conduit', I sign receipt of it and I'm out of there within thirty minutes.
I can't help thinking how differently a Togolese national who had overstayed a visa would be treated in the UK.
Hanging around the passport office here is tedious, but the officials are quietly getting things done, even when it seems like they arene't. There's something quirkily charming about the piles of paper folders piled up in the corner and the manual typewriter used to write out the 'sauf conduit'. Everyone's details are painstakingly handwritten into enormous hardback books. A photograph is stuck in next to their details. Don't ask me why they need four passport photos each time they extend your visa.
chinese restaurants
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CHINESE RESTAURANTS
I've yet to visit a country which doesn't have Chinese restaurants. Togo is no exception and with the Chinese present all over Africa hardly surprising to find a this one, the Beijing, was busy on a Friday evening with a large group of Chinese expats.
Just outside Lome on the road to Kpalime is a building which has gone up in within the last three years. It reminds me very much of a building Ian Sinclair featured in his film about the M25. I forget it's name, it's located on the anti clockwise section between the M40 and Heathrow junctions. He writes about how perfect it is for the landscape of the London orbital, how it's architecture gives no clue as to it's purpose. The same goes for this white, four or five storey building, in a compound, with high walls around and flying a Chinese and Togolese flag in the courtyard. There is absolutely nothing, no sign, co corporate logo. There's a big entrance gate, but not even much indication of how to reach it.
The Beijing pleased me with an extensive vegetarian selection, so long as you enjoy tofu. When it arrived with vegetables it was nice and crispy in a light sauce, pleasantly seasoned. I could taste soy sauce and ginger rather than monosodium glutamate and salt. The portions are on the small side however, especially the plain boiled rice. At 800 CFA which is about 1 GBP or 2 USD you may as well order two or even three portions.
So for anyone in Lome looking for a decent Chinese restaurant I can recommend this, situated on the Western end of Boulevard 13 Janvier, between the two small supermarkets and the seafront.
classic cars another perspective
Thursday 28th July 2011p { margin-bottom: 0.21cm; }There's endless debate as to which cars deserve the accolade of 'classic' and the term is routinely applied to anything more than thirty years old. The summer season in the UK of classic car rallies and shows, when owners get these vehicles out of the garage from their winter hibernation and proudly show them off will be taking place as I write, this seems a good time to offer a slightly different perspective as to what constitutes a classic.
A few months ago I was at the design museum in London for the big exhibition on German designer Dieter Rams who was responsible for the look of the Braun brand of electrical and domestic appliances. His style of minimalism was truly iconic, objects pared right down to the most basic of functional simplicity. Truly the precursor of todays items like the I phone.
After this visit I got to thinking what makes something into a design classic and I concluded in order to earn this accolade, the basic design must show some kind of innovation and work so well as to need no substantial changes over a production lifetime of at least twenty years.
By this definition only a handful of cars could truly be called classic: The original Mini, VW Beetle, Citroens 2CV and DS, Land Rover 90,
As well as enduring, many of these cars show some kind of innovation, such as the Mini with it's transverse front engine, a layout which became standard for just about every subsequent hatchback.
Africa is a great place for spotting models of cars which you no longer see on European roads. Vehicles are put to purposes and endure way beyond anything their manufacturers might have envisaged.
There's an inverted product life cycle going on here whereby something regarded as obsolete in the first world finds a new lease of life in the third. Innovation comes not from the designer or manufacturer but the consumer. For example the Mercedes 190 becomes the best taxi by being put to this use. The Toyota Tercel is adopted by farmers and producers and becomes the best vehicle for transporting agricultural produce. While some of the cars I list were less than twenty years in production, their life cycle of more than twenty years means they deserve the status of classic.
These cars vary, from well looked after, cherished family transport to everyday workhorses.
So here follows my nominations and justifications for cars which deserve the accolade classic, in no particular order of preference.
Toyota Landcruiser
The 'best 4X4 by far' might impress the other mums clogging up the back streets on the school run but for something you can actually use in the desert, it has to be the legendary Landcruiser.
Apparently the most sought after of these are the series which ceased production during the early nineties. They have no air con or sophisticated electronics and are simple and easy to fix. I think this model is still in production as a military vehicle because I've seen the army here driving them in pickup form with a machine gun on the back. Two of them follow up the president's motorcade. You'll see plenty in Africa, from the ancient to the dazzling white ones whisking NGOs around their meetings.
Toyota Tercel / Corolla
Both are related to the Starlet and five generations were produced from 1978 to 2000 in various configurations but the model we're concerned with here is the 4WD station wagon produced, from what I can gather from internet sources, from 1982 to 1997.
These are used as family transport as well as bush taxis and plenty are on the roads, loaded up with bananas, sacks of cocoa or other agricultural produce on their way to the markets or Lome's port. The compact size and lighter weight of these cars compared with larger 4X4s makes them well suited to the twisty narrow tracks winding up the mountains through the villages. When you're poor you have to extract as much value as you can from every expense. So if you spend money on petrol, you fill the car to bursting point with your produce and make sure you get your moneys worth from every drop of fuel.
Peugoet 504
The earlier model shape you see on the roads here was manufactured in Europe from 1973 through to 1983 with licensed production continuing in Nigeria and Kenya up to 2006 which is why you see so many in West Africa. The successor model can be seen below. 505?
Peugeot 205
It's normally the GTI which gets everyone in a froth, but I'd like to nominate the much more humble ordinary version. Simply on the basis that you see so many around. Reliable, cheap to run, easy to fix. I remember learning to drive in one so there's a nice nostalgic glow in seeing them continue to give use.
Mercedes 190
This compact executive saloon was manufactured for just eleven years from 1982 – 1993. I don't suppose many doctors or lawyers driving them at the time imagined their car would, a quarter century later, become one of the taxis comprising the public transport infrastructure of Ouagadougou, capital of Burkina Faso. According to Wikipedia the car has an extremely efficient injection system which works without the need for computers. Engines have been known to reach 300.000 miles before needing a rebuild. To continue working as a taxi in one of the hottest, dustiest cities on Earth is quite something for a car which finished production almost twenty years ago. Photos by Rasmane Savadogo.
Lastly heres a couple of classic Citorens spotted in Lome. The DS, owned by a Togolese, is undergoing restoration...
Rainy Days and Mondays
Tuesday 12th July 2011p { margin-bottom: 0.21cm; }Rainy days and Mondays
I've been reminded of The Carpenters song Rainy Days and Mondays recently with a fortnight here of heavy rain. It makes getting around difficult now that I'm living in Nyekonakpoe, a quartier right on the edge of the city bordered by the frontier with Ghana. This area is also close to the beach, therefore low lying and suffers flooding after heavy rain. The side roads are blocked by huge puddles and the main roads become impassable in places. After venturing out and attempting to ride through a flooded road I discovered all you can do is stay at home and wait for the waters to subside. The water rose up and went into my shoes which were then dripping wet. A bad idea because they can eventually fall to pieces. Also difficult drying them in the humid climate, I went to put on the red Italian shoes, the bargain I found in Assiyeye Market, to find the insides covered with black mold.
The weather has changed now, it rains in the early hours, then you wake up to clouds which are gradually burned through by the sun. Its an odd blend of lightly overcast skies with occasional sunshine. Temperatures are in the high twenties to low thirties.
Order on the Border
The border with Ghana is marked out by a chain fence which I may try to take a photo of. A road runs along the perimeter with official and unofficial pedestrian crossing point. There's a sort of no mans land just inside the fence which has been given over to smallholdings, people growing crops.
Just away from sight of the official crossing with it's guard tower is a hole cut in the fence, next to which a bored looking rasta sits. He got into conversation with me and said he could 'cross' me if I wanted. He was from Ghana. At the end of a nearby street, from early afternoon on, sits a group of young men. A taxi or motorbike will arrive with someone carrying armfuls of bags or boxes and there will be a great flurry of excitement and activity as a couple of young men come rushing forwards. The packages seem to be disappearing through a gate into the house opposite, I wasn't able to see them getting it across the border. What intrigues me is the traffic seems all to be going one way – into Ghana. Presumably this is something to do with Lome's port, which from what I can gather doesn't impose customs duties on goods arriving inwards. The sign says Port Autonome de Lome which translates as Autonomous Port of Lome.
One day I was outside a friends place on this street when there was lots of activity while a taxi was unloaded with what looked to be boxes of tinned tomatoes. A customs officer was also present in his uniform, 'negotiating' I was informed.
Each afternoon a police pick up cruises slowly down our street. I asked a local taxi moto man why the police were always in the street at the same time each day. Apparently they negotiate with the smugglers.
Textiles
Lome has to be textile heaven. I've just bought another wrap or pagne, this time from Vlisco, which is the top of the range stuff. Quite a lot more expensive than the other cloths. For the equivalent of around 50.00 GBP you get enough cloth for three shirts which will cost you no more than 20.00 to get made, so around 13.00 each for a shirt which no one else in Birmingham will be wearing. Not to mention made to measure. Unfortunately I'm on another tailor since two in Lome have screwed up. I find many people here don't take time, there's a slapdash approach to things. Such as measuring you up for clothes, I've always felt seems to be done a little too hurriedly for my liking. There doesn't seem to be an understanding of the difference between a close fitting or slim fit shirt and one that's just too small.
The latest tailor I'm attempting is local. I was very impressed by one of his creations and the sight of several suits under various stages of creation reassured me this guy will know what he's doing.
I love wandering around the central market looking at the textiles. Unfortunately there's only so many clothes you can wear and while the designs are wonderful, relatively few will work for a European complexion. I get a good response from people here when I wear one of my 'habits' a two piece shirt and trouser combination. Also, being cotton, the wearability of these clothes in Europe is limited to the summer months.
Here are some pictures from around the central market, including the flagship Vlisco store. Anyone with history of migraine or epilepsy should avoid prolonged exposure.
The famous Nana Benz textile traders seem to have been moving out from the upstairs halls of the centre. Wholesalers and traders can now be found all over the central market district.
above left is the design I m having made into another habit or trouser and shirt set. I like the fifties feel of the bold geometrics...
finally below is a detail from one of the many stall holders
Musee Internationale de Guinea de Golfe
Finally made a visit here this week, something I've intended for ages. This must be one of the best collections of African art anywhere, the culmination of fifty years of collecting by a Swiss art dealer. The building housing the collection is a villa towards the port district. Three rooms in addition to the garden with it's swimming pool, I assume the building remains a private residence. You're not supposed to take photographs but I managed to sneak a couple using the mobile. There's a slightly macabre atmosphere brought by the juxtaposition of fetishes and magical objects against the retro architecture of the place: floor to scooped out ceiling windows looking out on a swimming pool. I half expected Christopher Lee to come strolling across the lawn.
On the subject of Christopher Lee...to digress for a moment. The Wicker Man has to be remade, Nollywood style. This time, set in Nigeria, in the colonial era. 1930s. A white colonial official arrives at a community on an island somewhere in the Niger delta. I think maybe Ewan MacGregor for the Sergeant Howie role and definitely Sam Dede for the equivalent to Lord Summerisle...
The collection of arts from seven countries does not disappoint. Congo, Cote d'Ivoire, Gabon, Ghana, Mali, Nigeria and Togo are all represented. There's too much in there for one visit. My only criticism is the poor level of curating. Cards saying an object is 200 years old are just not scholarly. I'm puzzled as to why, having gone to such effort to acquire the collection, just another little push and everything could be properly labelled and catalogued. There's also little in the way of explanation or context about the objects on display. On reflection, the collection needs a bigger space and could be better organised and arranged. It might even have more impact if some things were put in storage and there was less on display.
Having put together a little exhibition last year to mark fifty years of African Independence, when we filled three display cases at Birmingham Museum with everyday contemporary objects from West Africa, including a bottle of export Guinness bought on the Dudley Road, I've a good understanding of just how much is involved in curating. Objects on display need to be arranged in such a way they're not only nice to look at but are systematic, make some sense together.
A cafe or some refreshments would be nice, and the chance to sit for a while rather than have the guide hovering around waiting for you to leave. There's a little table and some chairs in a nice space which would be great to sit and read a book or spend some tim e in contemplation.
However, there's an excellent workbook been produced by The Lycee Francaise for schoolchildren. It takes you through the museum, with tasks to develop skills of looking, investigating, deducting. I just felt the place has a lot of unrealised potential.
Highlights...there are some Benin bronzes of the type stolen by the British from Nigeria and now in the British Museum, a head from Ife in Nigeria. Last year The British Museum had an exhibition of bronze sculptures from Ife. These show Africa was some 200 years ahead of Europe in naturalistic representations. The yoruba costumes were wonderful, painstakingly made with sequins. The first room has objects you can pick up and handle which is a welcome change.
There's a nice Ewe fetish from Togo or Ghana, a seated figure. Difficult to remember my favourite pieces being unable to take pictures.
An essential visit for anyone passing through Lome, which is a city to spend some time exploring, not simply somewhere to arrive from the airport and then leave.
Possible Itinerary for a visitor
I've been preparing an Enhancement Activity for a group of older teenagers who are taking part in a summer programme run by one of the international schools. These provide free English lessons for identified students from poor backgrounds. Theyve been doing some work on where they would recommend a visitor from overseas to go. Having spent a few months in Lome, here's my suggestions, bearing in mind many attractions are closed on Mondays.
Musee Guinea de Golfe
Port de Lome
Akodessewa Fetish Market
Central Market (this needs two or three visits, if you re serious about buying textiles because there's so many different designs)
Assiyeye market (if you like thrift stores / car boot sales or need to kit out a home) best days are Mondays and Thursdays
One of the beach clubs East of the port
Nightlife: Each quartier tends to have it's area for late night drinking and dancing, the only central or downtown area where nightlife is concentrated is around Decon / Ablade, or behind the Palais de Congres around the Western end of Boulevard 13 Janvier. You really need to know the city or know someone who can guide you because the scene can change quite rapidly.
Thats it for today having finally found another cyber with a decent speed. Moreagain soon!
Police or army brutality?
Monday 20th June 2011
A student acquaintance of mine reports being hit by the police as he was crossing the university campus on the afternoon of Thursday 16 June. The twenty nine year old and a girlfriend were struck across the arms and legs by police wielding batons.
At the time there were no demonstrations going off. A police vehicle pulled up alongside and an officer jumped out and attacked them.
According to my acquaintance these were unlikely to be the police but were probably soldiers wearing police uniforms.
He went on the radio and gave an interview.
Hotel de la Paix
Monday 20th June 2011
I love empty, abandoned buildings and this huge hotel on the seafront is superb. The architectural style screams out swinging seventies. A truly extrordinary merge of space age modernism with pan Africanism. Hotel lobby below and detail, below right
The building remains in use, with people who had worked there remaining in the staff accommodations in the grounds. The police have taken over the lobby and car park as an unofficial rest area, several policemen were asleep on camp beds in the foyer.
damp has seriously penetrated
service corridor. A security man took me all around the building, including on to the roof. Here is the lift mechanism. Everything of value has long ago been stripped
Heres a bedroom, below, with some dusty papers I found
Lots of pictures, more coming soon!
Unrest on the streets of Lome
Friday 17th June 2011Yesterday June 16 hospital workers were on strike. The protests spread on to the streets of Kodjoviakope district
a blue police van can be seen in the distance
Police eventually dispersed the protesters, young men throwing stones for the most part, using CS gas, visible in the distance, below:
Barricades had been placed around the side streets with main roads blocked by tree trunks and rubbish set alight.
CS gas canister
These protests come three weeks after riots on the university campus saw the uni closed for almost two weeks. What was surreal about the situation was people continued about their business all afternoon during the tense stand off with police, people continued working, walking round the streets selling whatever.
There have been further reports of arbitrary arrests by the army last night.
