Wizard of the Crow

by Ngũgĩ Wa Thiong'o

  “I asked you to tell me about your education, young man, and you give me a whole lecture on Indian geography?”

  “I am sorry,” Kamltl said. “India is rich in geography and history.”

  “Like that of the Black Hole of Calcutta?” Tajirika remarked with a self-satisfied grin. “That is the only history of India that I know, and I don’t really want to know more. If my advice were sought as to what should be done with the Indians of Aburiria, I would say that they should all be cast into the Modern Black Hole of Calcutta. Whenever a black man in Aburiria tries to raise himself up, there is an Indian in his way. And when he deals with a black man, it is nothing but insults. They have no respect for the people on whose soil they have prospered. And where do they take their money? To India, Pakistan, and now Bangladesh. No loyalty to Aburiria. Some have even refused to take up our citizenship. They prefer to remain British, actually English. And the others, with dual citizenship, are always ready to take flight should things ever go wrong in Aburiria. The Indian should count his blessings one by one that we have a ruler like the Buler.”

  “But don’t some black Aburlrians also spirit their money to Swiss bank accounts?” Kamltl asked. “What is the difference?”

  “Why are you defending the Indian?”

  “I am only saying that obviously in India, as in Aburiria and throughout Africa, there are greedy people. But there are also others who care and who struggle against whatever harms human life. My opinion is that there are many things we could learn from India and other Asian countries, just as they have much to learn from us. We in Aburiria, more than others, should strengthen our ties with India because some of our citizens are of Indian origin …”

  “You dare call Indians here citizens? Aburlrian citizens?”

  “Why not?” Kamltl thought his prospective boss was trying to see if he could stand his ground with customers. He added, as if revealing a secret to the boss, while appealing to his Pan-Africanist sentiments, “You know, it is thought by some that some Indians are of African descent—the Siddis, for instance. The Dravidians, who speak Tel-ugu, they look like they came from Ethiopia or Egypt. Historians talk of an African general named Malik Ambar, who …”

  “Buled India?” Tajirika completed the sentence mockingly.

  “Yes,” said Kamltl enthusiastically, “but not all India. You see, in the sixteenth century or thereabouts, India was not one …”

  “So you also studied the art of telling lies?” Tajirika interrupted with a burst of laughter, winking at the secretary as if to say, You have heard him for yourself. “Or are you merely adding a little salt and pepper to your tales?”

  “I am not lying; it is just a hypothesis,” Kamltl said as he tried to steer the conversation away from the African presence in India. “Even if we put aside questions of origins and citizenship, India and Indians did play a role in the struggle for African independence. Quite a few joined with Africans to oust colonialism. And Mahatma Gandhi—wasn’t it only after fifteen years of anticolonial struggles in South Africa that he went back to India to organize Satyagraha and ahimsa against British rule in India? There is beauty in the man clad in calico and sandals, armed with nothing but a walking stick and his creed of nonviolence, taking on the might of the British Empire, don’t you think?”

  “There, now you see my point?” Tajirika said. “He lights a fire in South Africa and what does he do? Buns away when the going gets rough and leaves others to put it out or burn in it. Young man, you have learned quite a lot of propaganda in India. So what else apart from Gandhi’s propaganda and the Nehrus’ monopoly of power did you learn?”

  “Let’s say I learned that there is not much difference between the political character of the Indian and the African. There are some who love their history and their skin color and there are others who hate their history and their skin color …”

  “There you go again! I asked you what else you learned in India and you answer by telling me about skin color?” Tajirika said sternly, angrily.

  Even the secretary was surprised by what she saw as an overreac-tion, almost as if he had taken the reference to skin color as a personal affront.

  Kamltl, who had been trying to impress a prospective boss with his depth and breadth of knowledge, was now not sure where all this talk was leading or what Tajirika really wanted, for each time he tried to demonstrate his education, he heard only barely veiled mockery and now anger from him. What was the difference between Tajirika’s abuse and what rich Indians were alleged to dole out to black Aburlri-ans? Kamltl realized that he needed to be brief and precise in answers without worrying about implications. At the same time he did not want to leave the premises jobless and so felt driven to display his learning so as not to give any impression of shortcomings in his education. People in Aburiria said bad things about Indian education, some even claiming that Indian degrees can be bought in the marketplace, and he did not want to leave the impression that he himself had one day walked the length of Mount Road into George Town, Chennai, bargaining for the cheapest set of certificates.

  “Well,” Kamltl continued, with forced enthusiasm, “as I was saying, in India one can learn a lot. I even took an extra elective, herbol-ogy the study of the medicinal properties of plants. I can assure you, sir, that there is no aspect of plants, roots, leaves, or barks that I have not looked into; and if I had the money I would undertake more research into the varieties of plants in Aburiria with a view to discovering and documenting their medicinal properties, but even without formal research …”

  “Is that why you were baptized, Kamltl Mr. Woods?” Tajirika said, laughing.

  “My mother tells me that even when I was a child I showed a great interest in plants and in all living things.”

  “By the way,” asked Tajirika, “in which language did you study this herbology of yours? Hindi?”

  “No, no,” Kamltl hastened to answer. “To be honest with you, I did really want to know Hindi—it is the most widely spoken language in the country—but I didn’t get to know it very well because all our classes were in English. Just as here, a result of British rule. Besides Hindi, India has many languages: Gujarati, Bengali, Telugu, Urdu, Malayalam, and countless others. In Madras, where I went to college, the language is Tamil. I know a few mutterings of Tamil, such as Please show me the way to’ or Please give me some water’ …”

  “Begging for water! There, for the first time you have spoken an undeniable truth. I understand that in India beggars fill up the streets; some even have PhDs in the art of begging. It is understandable that you would pick up words to do with begging …”

  “Ah … well … beggars … there are … in Aburiria,” Kamltl stuttered, a little confused.

  “There are beggars in our streets, that’s true, but not as many as in India,” Tajirika said with a tone that suggested the conversation was coming to an end. “Now, young man. What did you say your name was? It looks to me as if you know more about history than about woods. Whatever I ask you, you give me a history lesson.”

  Kamltl did not know whether to take this as compliment or mockery.

  “One can only try” he responded vaguely.

  “Good,” Tajirika said as he rose from the table. “You have tried your best in this interview. I like that. I wanted to make sure you are proficient in the English language before administering the real test. Follow me. I will conduct the test myself, to make sure you have understood everything.”

  Kamltl felt joy leap within. I could tell that this man would not have asked me so many questions without his wanting to give me a chance. And that was all he ever asked for: a chance to show just what he was capable of doing with his hands and his mind. Now he clutched his bag even more firmly. This was truly his day. During all his years of job hunting, he had never had an interview that lasted more than a few minutes. How different this boss was from all those others who would not allow him to express his needs! This one had invested time in carefully probing Kamltl’s educational
background. This was going to be his first real interview, and he was determined to do well by answering all the questions clearly, firmly, and completely. Even though it is said that one should not count one’s chickens before they are hatched, Kamltl could not help but count a few as he looked to the future. If I get this job … when I start my new job … and all at once he stopped counting. For instead of leading him into the inner office, Tajirika was walking out through the front door.

  Even the secretary was baffled: where was Tajirika taking the young man? Being newly employed, she wondered whether he was taking the young man to an affiliated office of which she was unaware. Kamltl had a similar thought, keeping hope alive again: maybe Tajirika had already hired him and he was taking him elsewhere to start right away. Kamltl patted himself on the back. It was good that I gave him all those details about my education. It is good that I kept my cool and was detailed in my responses. Truly, patience is the gateway not only to knowledge but also to riches, or at least a job.

  The secretary stood at the door to see what transpired. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the two standing by the signboard at the road. Unfortunately, from where she stood she could not hear their conversation and so she focused on their gestures.

  “You said you knew how to read and write in English,” Tajirika now said to Kamltl.

  “Yes. Yes! One of my best subjects!” Kamltl replied in English. “Even today Madras University has maintained many English traditions. Officers of the British East India Company founded the town itself in 1639. One of the early governors of the region, Elihu Yale, or a name like that, is the one who later gave his fortune to found Yale University, one of the Ivy League schools in the States. So you see that …”

  “We are not on the premises of the British East India Company; we are on those of Eldares Modern Construction and Beal Estate, and your Elihu Yale is not the governor. Here I am the boss, and my only interest in Yale is in Yale locks and keys. And another thing, young man: we are now at the beginning of a new millennium, the third millennium since Christ was born, and not in the middle of the last one. Or do you really mean to tell me that at Madras University they were teaching you seventeenth-century English?”

  “Oh, no no!” KamTtT replied in English, thinking the man was still testing him with snares. “Modern English. The King and Queen’s English.”

  “That’s good, because I will test you in modern English!”

  “I am ready” KamTtT said, prepared to use every bit of English that he learned in AburTria and India and from books.

  “It is simple. I want you to read loudly what is written on this signboard.”

  Even before uttering the words on the board, KamTtT knew that Tajirika was toying with him. But the words came out of his mouth and he heard himself read loudly: No Vacancy: For Jobs Come Tomorrow.

  “There! You have read it correctly!” Tajirika said triumphantly. “What is it that you don’t understand? Or do you need a Hindi interpreter? On these premises, there is no use for your herbology. Here are your Indian papers. Over there is the main avenue. And now you’ll excuse me, for I have an important engagement in Paradise.”

  3

  Even as he took back his papers, Kamltl could not believe what his eyes had seen and his ears heard. His tongue was lifeless in his mouth and his feet stuck to the ground. So he stood there, dumbfounded, not knowing whether to walk away, sit down, or continue standing. Only when Tajirika had moved several yards away did it dawn on Kamltl that everything he had seen and heard had indeed taken place. He did not know whether to run after the man and kick him in the butt or to beg the earth to swallow he himself. He felt like weeping but no tears came. Why had Tajirika set him up for this coup de grace?

  He sat on the raised ground by the roadside. He felt that even the buildings facing him had witnessed his shame and, in their stony silence, pitied him. In the streets, motorcars and people on foot hurried past one another as if they all knew what they were doing and where they were going, while he did not know what to do with himself. He did not have a cent of fare for a matatu, a mkokoteni, mbon-dambonda, or any other human-drawn carriage. But even if he had money, where would he tell them to take him?

  Has someone cast an evil spell on me, or am I under a family curse? The question startled him. He did not believe in curses and evil charms; he believed in science. But what had just passed for a job interview defied the logic of science. And just at that moment, as if to add an exclamation point to the exercise, Tajirika passed by in a chauffeur-driven car.

  How far up the ladder of education had Tajirika climbed, Kamrö wondered? Or was it business that had educated him to be a heartless interviewer of needy job seekers? Kamltl had often given serious thought to starting a business. With his BA and MBA, he surely had the necessary educational background, but starting a business required capital and land. Even with abundant fishes in the sea, one still needed a net or a line and hook, at least.

  He felt, as he often did many a day, that he had wronged his parents terribly. They were peasants, really, at least his mother was; they had sold their parcel of land to see him through schools and colleges. Ever since he left home for Eldares, Kamltl had not been back to KTambugi, his village, not even once, and had even stopped writing to his parents. Write to them and tell them stories of the number of times he had been thrown out of offices like a stray dog? Tell them that all those degrees for which they had paid with years of toil and frugal living could not secure him even bus fare? Oh, why did he not allow the garbage collectors to bury his body? Were he to say goodbye to this earth, his parents would hardly miss him, for surely to them he must be as good as dead by now. A solution, simple and attractive, suddenly presented itself, but just when he was about to carry it out he smelled the scent of flowers behind him. He raised his head briefly. It was the secretary. Was she coming to add her own insults to her boss’s?

  Kamltl did not want to look at her in the face or even talk to her: he did not want her to become the object of his vengeful thoughts. So he turned his head away and looked down. The woman ignored this and tried to strike up a conversation.

  “May I sit down?” she asked.

  Kamltl did not respond. The woman sat down beside him anyway; for a few seconds there was nothing but silence between them. Then Kamltl heard the sound of sobbing, a whimper, coming from the woman. He did not want to shoulder anyone else’s burden—he had enough of his own—but he was sensitive to suffering.

  “What is the matter?” Kamltl asked.

  “Why could he not tell you there were no vacancies and leave it at that? Why the calculated insult?” she said.

  “It is all right,” Kamltl said, struck by the way her words echoed his own.

  “These are really the ogres said to have two mouths, in front and at the back,” she said.

  “In stories?” Kamltl said in a tired, almost indifferent tone.

  He was unaccustomed to making connections between his woes and those of the community at large.

  “Yes,” the woman said. “But those in stories are more human by comparison.”

  “Why?” he asked in the same tone.

  “Because those in stories sometimes get tired of human flesh and swallow fried flies for a change. But the modern ones live on people all the time and they never stop.”

  “It’s all right,” said Kamltl.

  “What do you mean, it’s all right?”

  “It is the way of the world,” Kamltl said in the same indifferent tone, wishing that the talk would end and she would go away.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The world has no soul.”

  “Then change the world. Give it a soul.”

  He said nothing for a while. Is she one of those who talk of revolution? To Kamltl, damaged souls produced damaged policies, not the other way around. Some people have a sickness of the heart. Cure them of the sickness and good will follow. For him the human soul inherited badness or goodness and there was nothing anybody
could do about that. Yet it was clear that he had not given his position much thought; he was just mouthing it.

  “Listen to me. The world will always be what it has always been. Luck rules our lives.”

  “The way luck has lately been ruling my life?” she said, suddenly laughing. He raised his head and looked at her. Hers was not forced laughter; it seemed to come right from the belly. The laughter of a contented person, Kamltl thought. Who would not laugh as well, knowing he or she had a secure job!

  “Why are you laughing?”

  “Please, just ignore it. I laugh quite often. In all the days and months I spent on the road looking for jobs I used to seek relief in laughter. Even when I got We regret that we have no vacancy, I would sometimes laugh about it. Laughter is my secret weapon against adversity. The job I now hold is, well, not quite a job—it’s temporary, so to speak,” she added and paused, then she lowered her voice as if talking to herself. “There came a time when I asked myself: what is the point of the BA that I struggled to get? It’s as useless as dog shit, I would say in frustration. Even holders of PhDs are unemployed. They walk the streets till their soles wear out, looking for work. Quite often, these PhDs have to bribe their way into a job. And others are told to get a delegation of elders from their village to take them to the State House so that the elders can plead with the Ruler on their behalf—just to get a job. Whom to blame? Degree certificates? This made me laugh. The certificates are not to blame. What did you just say? The world is the way it is and will always be so? The world is upside down, and it should be put to right by those who on earth do dwell, to borrow a phrase from the hymn.”