t the end of 2022, the United States convened a U.S.-Africa summit that brought together 49 delegations from across the continent. During the summit, President Joe Biden promised that the United States would increase its involvement, turning its attention to the continent that had, as of late, seen significant inroads from Russia and China. The president said, “the United States is all in on Africa’s future,” adding “together, we want to build a future of opportunity where no one, no one, is left behind.” He noted that “when Africa succeeds, the United States succeeds…Quite frankly, the whole world succeeds as well.”
Whether or not Washington follows through on Biden’s statements remains to be seen (especially amongst a litany of competing foreign policy priorities), but the words the president used inadvertently touched upon the central thesis of Dipo Faloyin’s superbly titled book “Africa is Not a Country,” Africa is indeed not a country, but a diverse continent of 1.4 billion people and 54 countries, yet it is still seen as a singular noun and largely treated as such. This perspective omits the agency, hopes and dreams, and experiences of the populations that make up the continent.
There are some authors whose writing just draws you in and captivates you from the first sentence. Achieving that level of literary capture, I suspect, is a goal for every writer, but one that seems to come naturally to Faloyin. His prose is wonderfully evocative; it is in equal measures sardonic and snarky, with a biting yet subtle wit that makes the often difficult (for many Western readers) topics about which he writes far more palpable than they perhaps would otherwise be. The legacies of colonialism, literal cultural appropriation (theft of historical artifacts), the halting progress of democracy across the continent, and more are rightly challenging and uncomfortable subjects—how could they not be? In fact, they absolutely must be.
Yet, their very discomforting nature could make readers less willing to engage with them than they should. Haranguing and hectoring readers with the obvious and transparent injustices experienced by the countries of Africa could, unfortunately, sharply limit Faloyin’s or other’s reach. But Faloyin draws in his readers with his prose and challenges their perspectives in an engaging way, while laying bare the realities of the legacy of colonialism across Africa.
It is this legacy that informs much of Faloyin’s book. Opening with the 1884 Berlin Conference which saw Africa divided among European imperial powers, Faloyin explores the consequences of Europe’s rapacious pursuit of territory. From democracy’s halting and uneven progress on the continent to the transnational conflicts of today, and from the “development industrial complex” to the theft of the continent’s cultural heritage, colonialism is the seed from which the challenges of today sprouted.
There are, however, limitations to exclusively following this narrative thread to its apparent modern, logical conclusion. In some ways, it omits the role of national politicians and domestic political dynamics in perpetuating (or indeed creating) the challenges found in many countries and systemic issues facing the continent writ large. To Faloyin’s credit, he does discuss some examples in his chapters on democratic progress on the continent. The legacy of colonialism, and the foundational and systemic challenges it created have absolutely led to the problems of today. But the unevenness of overcoming these challenges, and the responsibility therein, must be laid at the doorsteps of national capitals across the continent. There must be national agency in the political and economic paths of their own countries.
“Africa is Not a Country” is less a counter-narrative accounting of contemporary developments on the continent—which would surely require a book several volumes in length—and more of a reflection on the underlying dynamics affecting the countries of Africa and the way in which the West views the continent. In the latter, Faloyin is supremely successful and his book is an absolute delight—challenging, but a delightful challenge nonetheless. The fact that it misses some of the former is a disappointment that one hopes will be remedied by his continued writing and exploration of the continent. His opening chapter on his family and Lagos, Nigeria, is divine, drawing the reader in and making them feel as though they are a welcome guest in the richness of his family life.
His chapter on jollof rice, the deeply personal and familial dish, is utterly engrossing, making the reader both hungry and fascinated in equal measure (something others have picked up on, as well). He opens by citing British celebrity chef Jamie Oliver’s ill-thought-out wading into the jollof rice debate, which he describes as “comparable to a passer-by suggesting they attempt brain surgery for the first time using your grandmother as a guinea pig.” I imagine Faloyin and Anthony Bourdain would have gotten on well and it is only a shame that the latter has since passed, as an Africa-focused mini-series of “Parts Unknown” that brought them both together would have been a delight.
Faloyin’s discussion about how Africa is portrayed in Hollywood and popular media is delightfully uncomfortable and humorous. The clichés of Africa—always treated as one entity—are presented in their absurd raw form. A continent of 54 countries and 1.4 billion people is presented as one scene, always with wild animals, always with a white hero archetype, with the local population in traditional garb, and the elder Africans seen as fonts of wisdom, and little else. It is either a savannah or a conflict-zone, and little else in between. The damage this has caused is indescribable.
Marvel’s “Black Panther”—in my opinion, the best of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and I refuse to hear otherwise—stands in stark contrast, showing a fictional Wakanda untouched by colonialism, one which embraces afro-futurism. What few fans may know is that the late Chadwick Boseman, who played the titular character whilst battling cancer, fought to adopt an African patois and dialect, refusing to star in the film if he was not allowed to do so—the studio wanted him to have a British accent, ostensibly adopted during the character’s time in Oxford. A small element of cultural whitewashing that Boseman successfully fought against, and which made the film even better.
The perpetuation of these continental stereotypes prevents intellectual and psychological progress from being made in how the countries are viewed, let alone actual progress on the issues of the day. Faloyin cites the Kony 2012 campaign as an example. This ostensibly well-meaning effort to raise awareness and, eventually, bring to justice the leader of the Lord’s Resistance Army in Uganda, omitted any of the critical local context. The sad fact of the matter was that it was clear, after the backlash, that the founders of the movement knew and understood the context, choosing instead to rely on lazy stereotypes and shortcuts to make their point and raise awareness.
Severine Autesserre, in her book “The Frontlines of Peace,” highlighted the shortcomings of the development industrial complex, which she calls “Peaceland.” Rather than focus on empowering the local population, seizing upon successes already underway, the complex swoops in and attempts to reinvent the wheel from the top down. The only successes possible are those that are internationally driven in nature, and those successes require the perpetuation of stereotypes about “Africa”—a dark and diseased place that only you can save with just $2 a day.
As with much of politics today, “Africa” engenders a measure of performative politics. The issue at hand is not actually about the issue, but about the person presenting the issue. The “white savior” syndrome whereby a well-meaning student from the United Kingdom or activist from the United States travels to the continent, takes the requisite photos with smiling children or dancing locals (without their consent as Faloyin notes), and returns “changed” and clearly understanding “Africa.” Falyoin takes to task the innumerable aid concerts and performances led by pop-stars and celebrities. While great at fund-raising, they rely on those aforementioned tropes and simplistic perspectives, and often omit African voices entirely.
It is curious that there are not yet more voices from and views of Africa on streaming services, or if there are, that they don’t receive greater attention. To suggest that audiences wouldn’t be interested in expecting far too little of those audiences and relying on the same lazy arguments Faloyin takes to task. The best and most interesting shows on Netflix and others are all set in other countries. Certainly, my to-be-watched queue is all international, and I suspect I’m not alone. How amazing would a criminal procedural set in Lagos be? Or a family drama set in Kampala? A House of Cards split across Pretoria, Cape Town, and Bloemfontein? Or an action film in Rabat?
I’m somewhat disappointed that I only found Faloyin’s book in December, and not when it was released earlier in autumn 2022. Had I done so, it would have certainly found a home on my best reads list. Faloyin’s writing is sublime and I do hope he continues to write as I eagerly look forward to his next entry. It is a wonderfully challenging read. Nearly every page forced me, and will certainly force other readers, to confront their own perspectives and perceptions of “Africa” and the very lexicon used to describe that endlessly diverse and wondrous place.
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Seeing More Than a Continent: the Past and Present of Africa
Lagos Nigeria. Photo by Nupo Deyon Daniel via Unsplash.
January 14, 2023
Africa is often misimagined as less a country and more a continent. In his latest book review, Joshua Huminski says that this perspective omits the diversity, agency, hopes and dreams, and experiences of the populations that make up the continent.
A
t the end of 2022, the United States convened a U.S.-Africa summit that brought together 49 delegations from across the continent. During the summit, President Joe Biden promised that the United States would increase its involvement, turning its attention to the continent that had, as of late, seen significant inroads from Russia and China. The president said, “the United States is all in on Africa’s future,” adding “together, we want to build a future of opportunity where no one, no one, is left behind.” He noted that “when Africa succeeds, the United States succeeds…Quite frankly, the whole world succeeds as well.”
Whether or not Washington follows through on Biden’s statements remains to be seen (especially amongst a litany of competing foreign policy priorities), but the words the president used inadvertently touched upon the central thesis of Dipo Faloyin’s superbly titled book “Africa is Not a Country,” Africa is indeed not a country, but a diverse continent of 1.4 billion people and 54 countries, yet it is still seen as a singular noun and largely treated as such. This perspective omits the agency, hopes and dreams, and experiences of the populations that make up the continent.
There are some authors whose writing just draws you in and captivates you from the first sentence. Achieving that level of literary capture, I suspect, is a goal for every writer, but one that seems to come naturally to Faloyin. His prose is wonderfully evocative; it is in equal measures sardonic and snarky, with a biting yet subtle wit that makes the often difficult (for many Western readers) topics about which he writes far more palpable than they perhaps would otherwise be. The legacies of colonialism, literal cultural appropriation (theft of historical artifacts), the halting progress of democracy across the continent, and more are rightly challenging and uncomfortable subjects—how could they not be? In fact, they absolutely must be.
Yet, their very discomforting nature could make readers less willing to engage with them than they should. Haranguing and hectoring readers with the obvious and transparent injustices experienced by the countries of Africa could, unfortunately, sharply limit Faloyin’s or other’s reach. But Faloyin draws in his readers with his prose and challenges their perspectives in an engaging way, while laying bare the realities of the legacy of colonialism across Africa.
It is this legacy that informs much of Faloyin’s book. Opening with the 1884 Berlin Conference which saw Africa divided among European imperial powers, Faloyin explores the consequences of Europe’s rapacious pursuit of territory. From democracy’s halting and uneven progress on the continent to the transnational conflicts of today, and from the “development industrial complex” to the theft of the continent’s cultural heritage, colonialism is the seed from which the challenges of today sprouted.
There are, however, limitations to exclusively following this narrative thread to its apparent modern, logical conclusion. In some ways, it omits the role of national politicians and domestic political dynamics in perpetuating (or indeed creating) the challenges found in many countries and systemic issues facing the continent writ large. To Faloyin’s credit, he does discuss some examples in his chapters on democratic progress on the continent. The legacy of colonialism, and the foundational and systemic challenges it created have absolutely led to the problems of today. But the unevenness of overcoming these challenges, and the responsibility therein, must be laid at the doorsteps of national capitals across the continent. There must be national agency in the political and economic paths of their own countries.
“Africa is Not a Country” is less a counter-narrative accounting of contemporary developments on the continent—which would surely require a book several volumes in length—and more of a reflection on the underlying dynamics affecting the countries of Africa and the way in which the West views the continent. In the latter, Faloyin is supremely successful and his book is an absolute delight—challenging, but a delightful challenge nonetheless. The fact that it misses some of the former is a disappointment that one hopes will be remedied by his continued writing and exploration of the continent. His opening chapter on his family and Lagos, Nigeria, is divine, drawing the reader in and making them feel as though they are a welcome guest in the richness of his family life.
His chapter on jollof rice, the deeply personal and familial dish, is utterly engrossing, making the reader both hungry and fascinated in equal measure (something others have picked up on, as well). He opens by citing British celebrity chef Jamie Oliver’s ill-thought-out wading into the jollof rice debate, which he describes as “comparable to a passer-by suggesting they attempt brain surgery for the first time using your grandmother as a guinea pig.” I imagine Faloyin and Anthony Bourdain would have gotten on well and it is only a shame that the latter has since passed, as an Africa-focused mini-series of “Parts Unknown” that brought them both together would have been a delight.
Faloyin’s discussion about how Africa is portrayed in Hollywood and popular media is delightfully uncomfortable and humorous. The clichés of Africa—always treated as one entity—are presented in their absurd raw form. A continent of 54 countries and 1.4 billion people is presented as one scene, always with wild animals, always with a white hero archetype, with the local population in traditional garb, and the elder Africans seen as fonts of wisdom, and little else. It is either a savannah or a conflict-zone, and little else in between. The damage this has caused is indescribable.
Marvel’s “Black Panther”—in my opinion, the best of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and I refuse to hear otherwise—stands in stark contrast, showing a fictional Wakanda untouched by colonialism, one which embraces afro-futurism. What few fans may know is that the late Chadwick Boseman, who played the titular character whilst battling cancer, fought to adopt an African patois and dialect, refusing to star in the film if he was not allowed to do so—the studio wanted him to have a British accent, ostensibly adopted during the character’s time in Oxford. A small element of cultural whitewashing that Boseman successfully fought against, and which made the film even better.
The perpetuation of these continental stereotypes prevents intellectual and psychological progress from being made in how the countries are viewed, let alone actual progress on the issues of the day. Faloyin cites the Kony 2012 campaign as an example. This ostensibly well-meaning effort to raise awareness and, eventually, bring to justice the leader of the Lord’s Resistance Army in Uganda, omitted any of the critical local context. The sad fact of the matter was that it was clear, after the backlash, that the founders of the movement knew and understood the context, choosing instead to rely on lazy stereotypes and shortcuts to make their point and raise awareness.
Severine Autesserre, in her book “The Frontlines of Peace,” highlighted the shortcomings of the development industrial complex, which she calls “Peaceland.” Rather than focus on empowering the local population, seizing upon successes already underway, the complex swoops in and attempts to reinvent the wheel from the top down. The only successes possible are those that are internationally driven in nature, and those successes require the perpetuation of stereotypes about “Africa”—a dark and diseased place that only you can save with just $2 a day.
As with much of politics today, “Africa” engenders a measure of performative politics. The issue at hand is not actually about the issue, but about the person presenting the issue. The “white savior” syndrome whereby a well-meaning student from the United Kingdom or activist from the United States travels to the continent, takes the requisite photos with smiling children or dancing locals (without their consent as Faloyin notes), and returns “changed” and clearly understanding “Africa.” Falyoin takes to task the innumerable aid concerts and performances led by pop-stars and celebrities. While great at fund-raising, they rely on those aforementioned tropes and simplistic perspectives, and often omit African voices entirely.
It is curious that there are not yet more voices from and views of Africa on streaming services, or if there are, that they don’t receive greater attention. To suggest that audiences wouldn’t be interested in expecting far too little of those audiences and relying on the same lazy arguments Faloyin takes to task. The best and most interesting shows on Netflix and others are all set in other countries. Certainly, my to-be-watched queue is all international, and I suspect I’m not alone. How amazing would a criminal procedural set in Lagos be? Or a family drama set in Kampala? A House of Cards split across Pretoria, Cape Town, and Bloemfontein? Or an action film in Rabat?
I’m somewhat disappointed that I only found Faloyin’s book in December, and not when it was released earlier in autumn 2022. Had I done so, it would have certainly found a home on my best reads list. Faloyin’s writing is sublime and I do hope he continues to write as I eagerly look forward to his next entry. It is a wonderfully challenging read. Nearly every page forced me, and will certainly force other readers, to confront their own perspectives and perceptions of “Africa” and the very lexicon used to describe that endlessly diverse and wondrous place.
