Radical honesty
Writing this book has meant reliving some old pain. My brother says that finishing it will relieve my anxiety meaning even potentially finally getting rid of my eczema which is invariably exacerbated by my anxiety.
My book research has mostly been of the low brow variety - looking up WhatsApp messages, old Facebook and Instagram statuses. I deleted my twitter some time ago so unfortunately can’t mine that. I wrote much of the book between 2012 and 2018 starting with - When I Was in Northern Uganda: Kony’s backyard; a response to the ridiculous Invisible Children’s Kony 2012 campaign.
UPDATE 24/10/24 I scrapped most of the pre-2018 writing.
I also conducted an interview with Kim Longinotto, the director of Divorce Iranian Style (1998) Sisters in Law (2005) and Rough Aunties (2008) in her house, at a time when I thought the book would be an anthology of women foreign and war correspondents. Her chapter starts thus:
"You do also have to be incredibly disciplined, because you're there for a reason. You're not there to make friends. If you do fall in love with someone, that's really good, but that's not why you're there. So there's been things that I've filmed - like there was this woman I really loved, Stubla [...] and I remember when her little boy, Shababa died. They called us - called us - and we went down to the river, and he was lying on the bank, under a blanket. She was there sobbing, and all her friends were there. And I remember filming it, and I went into sort of automatic, because as a normal person, a decent person, I wouldn't even think of filming. I wouldn't even think of going up there and hugging her. I would stand back and wait and see if she needed me, then I would stand a respectful distance back. And you could see all the villagers in a long line at a real respectful distance back, and it's her really close friends who are hugging her and consoling her, and she's inconsolable. And I'm filming her in a real moment of extremity. Probably the worst thing that can happen to somebody is to witness the death of their child or their lover or somebody "
Whilst reliving pain can be cathartic I suppose, it has also pushed me to places that maybe would be best left in the past. As well as reading my old social media I have had to read my old articles from 2018/2019. Some were published , some were just on my old blog that doesn’t exist anymore. Some will go in to the book, some won’t. I’m currently at 47k words with around 10% left to write. That 47k will go up and down until I’m happy with it and it flows how I want it to or how my eventual editor wants it to. I not married to anything that’s in the book yet. And yesterday had an epiphany for want of a better word.
I have been notifying people that they are in the book now it looks potentially likely that it will be published by at least one of the publishers interested (I hope!). Some couldn’t care less, others do. One particular person who I sent his chapter to yesterday felt that I had betrayed him and our confidences going back years. Whilst I think it’s important to have an outside critique once in a while, we all come with our own biases and perceived relationships/slights etc.
The chapter I wrote was coloured by the fact that I felt he had betrayed me or our friendship I should say back in 2019 when he had I thought chosen someone else over me. It turned out that wasn’t the case. And just speaking to each other resolved a lot of the differences and I realise I had been unfair to him in parts of the chapter.
Which starts…
‘I always thought [Redacted] was perfect. Radical and perfect. Radical, successful and perfect. Busy too. But never too busy for me. I think he reached out to me (via his assistant) as founder of Media Diversified. He thought we were radical too. And on our way to being successful. He was determined to help me get there. And it would shore up his cred as radical while he was at it.’
Not all but part was unfair. So we’ve come to an understanding. I’ll now be interviewing him as I did Kim in the quote above.
I’m not a cruel person. I don’t think many people would say I was, well maybe some of the men I have dated would but that’s for another newsletter. So the book will be revised until I feel happy and the other people involved don’t feel misrepresented.
So whilst reliving some of the last 10 years a certain area of my life is causing me much pain. I wrote an article called ‘Death Legacy and Publishing’ in 2018, having been inspired by a conversation. Recently, I re-read it as it will go in my book and wondered what the other person wrote about after our conversation as it had really affected me, had it affected him?
Well it turned out it that it had or at least the subsequent writing I did in the next few months did. I never thought he read what I wrote, turned out I was wrong. It’s complicated. He wrote a poem about me, maybe two poems or maybe three it’s all a bit ambiguous poetry isn't it? They were all included in an award winning book. The first was an unflattering dissection of me seemingly written from a place of pain but definitley of anger.
See I had disappeared after being there for him every day for what seemed a long time. In the poem he said amongst some colourful vitriol:
show me your hands turn them round
use them to dig or punch or stay
So while falling in love with the wrong attached person was far from the worst thing that could or did happen it has surprisingly taught me all sorts of lessons.
Reliving it is has been both exhilarating and debilitating. Because there was never any closure, there still isn't. We’ve been writing to each other for 6 years. Indirectly, via poems, books and articles and twitter, and maybe there’s a treasure chest of writing somewhere else by him that I have yet to come across. I’m braced for the pain.
We’ve only seen each other 3 times in 5 years, the most recent time was from across a room. I tried to hide behind a pillar. I had printed out all the chapters that mentioned him in the book to give to him, which was done by another go-between, we’ve had many. I didn’t want to give him an excuse when this book is published to say he was blindsided by the content or god forbid sic lawyers on me as he can always pretend he doesn’t read emails.
So why are the feelings still so intense at least for me? It’s been been 2 and a half years since we actually last spoke. There’s been a lot that has happened since; deaths, marriages, births and holidays, so why the intensity? Well I’ll tell you why. Our history goes back a long way.
On twitter recently I wrote ‘I've been a pen pal to a poor fisherman from Cyprus for about three years. Letters go back and forth. They've become more substantial over time. Thinking of making them available in audio format. Maybe collaborate. No doubt we'd raise each other up and keep the other honest.’ It was of course about him.
Then talking to a mutual friend yesterday I was reminded of Palestine Place - a radical space organised by Shareefa Energy where activists put on events and talks near Chancery Lane circa 2012 (Before MD). I arranged a live video link with a journalist in Tel Aviv who educated us on the racism and violence that Ethiopians and Eritreans were facing from Israelis. (I wrote about it with Robert Kazandjian for Ceasefire magazine here What Israel’s anti-African pogroms tell us about Zionism )
I'd just come back from the Sheffield film festival where I had attempted to get funding to finish my second documentary ‘Born Again in the United States of Uganda'.
…and the poor fisherman was at my event at Palestine Place. There I gave him the login details to watch all of the films that had been programmed at the festival. I had blagged a press pass to attend, arranged by my then mate Pablo, and it gave me access to watch the films even having left the festival.
The following is also currently in the manuscript from circa 2011:
Chapter 15 - Aneurysm
We must have been chatting, probably at the new poetry night he started and I mentioned that I had DJ’d for a while on vinyl. He also loved vinyl and I can only imagine the conversation went something a little like this.
Him: I love Cymande
Me: I have Bra by Cymande on vinyl., I got it years ago. They are such an underrated band, they should be as famous as the Rolling Stones.
Him: Oh my goody goody gosh, you know those are collectors items now, they go for up to 80 -100 quid
Me. No way
Him: Yes way
Me simpering: you can have my copy if you want.
Him: Zoop
See I had taken a shine to him the first time I ever listened to him read a poem. He had taught me that boys were no different than girls. I can’t remember what the poem was called, maybe I’ll go and look it up after I finish writing this chapter. As he performed, he recited how the moment she touched him, his stomach dropped - just like how I got butterflies in my stomach when the numerous people I fell in and out of love with periodically, touched me. So men weren’t from Mars - a poet taught me that in a bar somewhere in Shoreditch. I remember now, the night was called Sunday Sessions. I have a fuzzy picture of him performing up on my old Facebook page . ‘
I had forgotten and the mutual friend had no idea that our history went back that far, before current partners or even our work. So what can I say but, it just doesn't have to be this way. This heart wrenching pain will mean the poor fisherman (if he cares, maybe it’s just me) and I will both die before we're 77. It's not sustainable.
Have a great day
Sam
P.s I know there is going to be some non-black women and /or middle class women who try to take my experiences and use them as their own. Trust me, I will hunt you down if you do and you will catch these hands.