This is a wonderful book, maybe the best I've read about the African meet with the colonial powers. Beautifully written, from the perspective of an African, it doesn't portray Africans as hopeless victims, but as people like we are, caught in a clash of cultures and power. This is how we must think of Africans - not better or worse than us, just like us, wanting the sae things - family, dignity, self value.
Sometimes, a momentary ordinary experience makes one wonder, sets one thinking about things.
Yesterday, as I was leaving the clinic, I ran across this old lady, who used to be a patient of mine a few years ago and I had not met in a long time. Even with the mandatory face masks, we recognized each other, and I said something like "Mrs C! How are you?" And she grabbed my arm saying something like "Doctor, how are you? I missed you!"
I felt literally a shock - being touched, after all these months of not touching! I was surprised, it felt so awkward, but it was so spontaneous, and it felt so right. I haven't touched people in the last months on account of the pandemic, especially patients; I have just hugged my mother and my children, and just a few times. So somehow this set me wondering about the importance and meaning of touch.
Since the pandemic began, we avoid touching people. So when we touch, something that was so normal before, it feels awkward. It happened to me before, in March I met an old friend at his hospital where I went to do exam jury duty. We met at the elevator, and we happily shook hands, instinctively, before we could think of the pandemic restrictions. It felt a little awkward, but we didn't even think much about it, not touching hadn't yet become entrenched in our habits.
Sixth months later, I spent a short holiday in Italy, staying at my niece's boyfriend's house. By then, not touching had become the norm, both in Portugal and Italy, so, even if we had a wonderful time talking, sightseeing and socializing, we never touched each other. Then when we left, saying farewell, my niece's boyfriend reached out his hands and we shook them warmly and friendly - such a common gesture before, but now it felt like a special sign of trust and of a truly coined friendship.
In October, a dear friend from Sweden visited Lisbon, we met foe diner and spent a good time together, but we didn't touch - now Swedes have this lovely habit of hugging (kram is the Swedish word), and I missed it. But covid-19 times oblige.
So, how sad is it that I can count with the fingers of one hand the times I touched people in the last 9 months? Ours is a social species, that's how we evolved, and touching is an important part of it. So, on top of the economic losses, the disturbed health care, the interruption of socializing between friends and family, the loss of touching is another of the big losses we're enduring. Is it worthy? Should we really, on the excuse of sparing lives, give up on most things that make life worth living? And are we really sparing lives this way?
Sad times indeed.
This is a really good book. It makes a case for the universal income, the fifteen hour workweek and the abolishing of borders, in a most intelligent way. I think this is the way the left should go, solidarity. That's what we need, that's what's being leftist is all about.
