Loveless started typing immediately.
Dear Dr Wiseman Lovemore,
My name is Lilly Loveless. I am a student reading Social Geography at the Muzunguland African Studies Institute, Bruhlville. I am writing to you about the research I’d like to carry out for my PhD over the next six months in Mimboland. I am writing courtesy of Professor Dustbin Olala, who has pressed me to contact you. Given your expertise on the subject I’d like to work on, I’d be really interested to hear your thoughts now and once I am on the ground. In a nutshell, I shall be investigating changing sexuality and power relations occasioned by growing obsession with material possessions and the desire to consume Muzungu products in a context of screaming poverty.
I am very interested in your work, which, I must admit, I haven’t read but which your friend, my co-supervisor Professor Dustbin, thinks very highly of. The most recent thing by an African that I have read on this theme is the paper: ‘Fishing in Troubled Waters: Disquettes and Thiofs in Dakar’. I would like to know what you think of this paper, which fascinated me, although the author writes as if African women are irredeemably consumerist and helplessly easy to manipulate by men of wealth and power. I can’t say whether or not the situation he paints is real and widespread, but I could bring a copy of the paper along for you, if your library does not subscribe to Africa, the journal in which it was published. Indeed, it would be a huge honour if we could meet up to discuss the topic as soon as I arrive…
She was full of questions. First, she urged and pleaded with him to send her an urgent letter of affiliation, duly signed by the Vice Chancellor of the university. Failure of which, the letter must be signed by the Dean. She also had questions about where to stay.
“Sorry to bombard you with all these questions,” she wrote, “but as I am sure you can understand, I would like to do as much groundwork as possible before I get out there. Finding accommodation is a critical part of this. I would really appreciate it if you could be so kind to make necessary arrangements for me in this regard as soon as possible because I am very worried about having adequate accommodation.”
She equally wanted to know if Dr Wiseman Lovemore knew of any NGOs “that have sexuality, consumerism, empowerment and gender transformation as particular goals,” that she could contact. “I would ideally like to present case studies on two or more such organizations, in order to gain a critical understanding of the relative success and influence of non-state actors with the phenomenon.”
She concluded her email with, “I cannot thank you enough. I look forward to hearing from you soon,” signed it off, and clicked ‘Send’.
Dr Wiseman Lovemore replied sooner than Lilly Loveless had feared: “I look forward to welcoming you to Mimboland, although I’m unable to think up possible accommodation for you right now.”
In truth, he didn’t even want to try. Still fresh was a recent experience with another female Muzungulander student who arrived only to accuse a colleague, who had bent over backwards to accommodate a similar request, of having acted dishonestly by conniving to stick her into an expensive mildewed “rat hole.”
So he wrote: “If I find nothing before your arrival, here are the names and prices of a few hotels for you to choose from … It rains round the clock here this time of year, so expect the rooms to be damp and mouldy …”
He was not unaware of the fact that even zero star hotels such as those he had recommended are exceedingly more expensive than living with a family or renting a place, but he simply wouldn’t allow his efforts to be rewarded with ingratitude.
“You could always find more appropriate lodging once on the ground.”
With regard to NGOs he didn’t want to discourage her by saying he lacked faith in them. Instead he said she could easily link herself to one or several on arrival, as “Mimboland is a place where NGOs are formed and deformed on a daily basis”, and “the University of Mimbo has even employed the services of a fulltime money doubler to liaise with mushrooming NGOs that wither away like blighted plants.”
Then he gave her the good news: “Find attached a letter of invitation, not affiliation, signed not by the VC, not by the Dean, but by the HOD. It is the best I can do for you. Hope it works…”
And as a special favour to his friend Professor Dustbin Olala, he offered to meet her at the Sawang International Airport, “if you send me your flight details in time, and if the Internet gods are good humoured. In any case, look out for a man with your name on a placard.”
“Safe trip and he clicked.
The next week for Lilly Loveless was one of hectic preparations for what her mom worriedly termed “Lilly’s impending African misadventure.” In a way, her mom was right to. The first and only time she ventured into Africa for two weeks of vacation, Lilly Loveless came back with a few screws rearranged. Her choice of music had changed overnight into appreciation for wild drumming. She had plaited her lovely curly hair into dozens of little braids. She had practically forgotten her boyfriend of two years. All reasons why her mother would rather she went elsewhere to do her fieldwork.
“Tribal communities are all over the third world, why your fascination with Africa?”
“Mom, you too much,” Lilly Loveless would say, whenever her mother went on and on about the need to rethink her choice.
“And I am right to,” her mom would persist. “Africa is too dangerous for a young woman on her own. See what happened between you and …”
“Africa had nothing to do with it,” Lilly Loveless would interrupt her mom. “The relationship would have ended with or without what happened in Sunsandland.”
Her mother would shut up only to resume yet again, at the next mention of Mimboland. But Lilly Loveless had made up her mind, and there was no turning back.
***
The Air Mimbo flight was hitch free. The few women on the flight with Lilly Loveless were black, elegantly dressed, heavily jewelled, and mostly wore artificial hair grafted into their own hair or as wigs. The majority of Lilly Loveless’s co-passengers however were men, mostly black Africans, with only a handful of whites whom she thought were businesspeople, development agents, international civil servants, or husbands of Mimboland ladies. There were a few Arabs as well, mostly Lebanese – was her guess – if the literature on these parts of Africa was to be believed. And there were Chinese as well, lots of them, of whom the Muzungulander media had become so jittery of late, posing as they do, as the new conquerors of the consumer world. She imagined each of them with ‘Made in China’ stamps in their briefcases, ready to conquer every city and every village in Africa.
Lilly Loveless did not regret her “courageous” decision to fly African. Her initiation into Mimbo ways started just as she had wished. Already, she had drank three cans of Mimbo-Wanda, the country’s most popular beer with its trendy, pacesetting, football-loving, Internet-crazy, cell phone conscious, vivacious youth, thanks to the friendly stewardess, Yoyette, who was keen on making her feel at home. She attracted Yoyette’s attention while standing at the back of the plane, watching the stewardess make coffee, as she waited for another passenger to finish up in the toilet. In her smart Air Mimbo outfit, Yoyette moved around the small kitchen opening this miniature metal cabinet and closing it securely before turning to open another. Lilly Loveless could not help remarking, “You girls sure do know how to manoeuvre in small spaces.” The stewardess paused, gracefully holding a small coffee cup by its handle, turned, and looked Lilly Loveless up and down, and back up, and said slowly, “We sure do, pretty.” And they bonded instantly.
Lilly
