Customer Reviews

Dark Star Safari: Overland from Cairo to Cape Town

5 star:		(40)
4 star:		(19)
3 star:		(4)
2 star:		(5)
1 star:		(4)

 

 

To paraphrase P.J. O'Rourke, anyone who think it's one world haven't had to use a foreign bathroom recently. It's that same spirit that I like about Paul Theroux: he hitchhikes, he paddles, he takes the train, he hangs off the side of a bus, he goes to all sorts of rare places and tells us exactly what they are like. In "Dark Star Safari: Overland from Cairo to Cape Town," he returns to Africa for the first time since leaving in the late 1960s, and his journey is as riveting and his reportage as merciless as any writing he has done.

Paul Theroux was in the Peace Corps in Africa in the early 1960s until he was ejected from the Corps for giving a member of an opposition political party a ride to neighboring Uganda. That same friend--who later became Malawi's ambassador to the United Nations--got Theroux a job at the college where he had become headmaster. Theroux stayed there as a professor until leaving Africa in the late '60's.

Having left so much of Africa hopefully poised for independence and rebirth, he returns to travel through one ravaged kleptocracy after the next; countries where the most common greeting to foreigners has become "give me money." And why shouldn't they expect another handout? Aid programs abound, pouring billions of dollars, or francs, or marks into countries where the people seem unable to lift a finger to help themselves. Everything, everywhere, is filthy. Foreign doctors work in hospitals for low salaries that African doctors refuse to accept. Theroux is approaching 60 years old on this trip, a milestone that so few Africans reach that many people cannot conceive of the number being connected with age. What happened here?

The saddest chapter in "Dark Star Safari" is when he visits the college where he taught in Malawi. Once a beautiful place that educated many of the country's shining lights, it is now broken-down and filthy. The books in the library that was once a pride of the nation have been stolen or torn apart. The old students Theroux meets admit that it a tragedy, but none of them have done anything to change it.

And that is his revelation on this trip--only Africans can help Africa. Why they are not is fodder for another book altogether.

This book is hard-hitting good reading. And as always with Theroux, you will find yourself hitchhiking and hanging off the side of the bus in his excellent, tough-minded company.

It may be hard for readers today to understand the Africa of hope and promise that Paul Therous knew in the 1960s and the Africa he finds so painfully unadvanced today. I lived in Africa in that period, and to me, this is not a "dismal" book but one that is clear eyed and realistic about what Africa is and isn't today. It is written by someone who loves not the fancy life of an expat but the ordinary life of small African towns and rural countryside, who knows how to travel in a lowkey way through obscure places, for which I truly admire him. I know some of the areas he describes and he has the detail and the nuance just right. I found it hard to put down, for the adventure and description but also for reflections on times past and present. He's an odd duck in many ways, but to do what he does, travelling for weeks by yourself in order to fit into the background of the story, you would have to be. A really good book.

"All news out of Africa is bad. It made me want to go there . . " Most of us will never have the opportunity to start at the top of an immense continent such as Africa and make our way to the other end, chatting with everyone we meet and recording our impressions along the way, interwoven with a vast knowledge of local history and literary references. We are lucky to have Theroux do it for us. Approaching his sixtieth birthday, he still prefers to travel close to the ground, engaging those around him in both light banter and discussions of tough issues - in this case, whether or not government policies have brought about any progress since he was last there as a teacher in the Peace Corps in the 1960's.

Dark Star Safari begins in Cairo, but really takes off when he leaves the city behind and roams from town to town describing the sights, the pleasures and hazards of travel and forming his own opinions about such topics as subsistence farming and international aid efforts. Those unfamiliar with Theroux's writing should know that it is these personal reactions and the immediacy of his narrative that provide the pleasure in reading one of his books. He speaks some of the local language and makes himself comfortable in a broad variety of settings.

If you are seeking an in-depth look at the political scene to the exclusion of everything else, then Dark Star Safari might not be the book for you. It covers a lot of ground fast (if 500 pages can be said to be fast), yet provides enough lingering looks at such a variety of residents and lifestyles that you feel as though you know a lot more about Africa than when you started.

Ever since I first read THE OLD PATAGONIAN EXPRESS over twenty years ago, I have enjoyed Paul Theroux's travel books and regarded them as the best of their genre -- at least among contemporary authors.

Africa presents a particular challenge for travelers. If you read the papers, you will find virtually no good news from the Dark Continent. Instead, there are stories of genocidal massacres (Ruanda and Burundi), slavery (Sudan), tribal violence (most countries), rampant AIDS (everywhere), child prostitution (Djibouti and Mozambique), terrorism (Egypt and Sudan), civil unrest (Zimbabwe), rampant crime (South Africa), and so on ad infinitum. Fortunately, Theroux had spent some time in Africa in his youth and still possessed a smattering of the local languages. And he had an incredible amount of courage and fortitude.

(One of Theroux's forebears along much of the route was Michael Palin of Monty Python fame in his entertaining "Pole to Pole" series of documentaries. But then, he went along with a large film crew and could afford to pay the baksheesh required to satisfy the ravenous officialdom along the route.)

Theroux traveled by ferry boat, canoe, train, bus, taxi, truck, van, foot -- in fact everything but bicycle or airplane -- from Cairo through the Great Rift Valley to South Africa, with a few interesting detours. Except for a foiled hold-up attempt in Kenya, he managed to avoid most problems by asking the locals he met questions about the road ahead. Whenever his informants said "there are bad people there," he made whatever adjustments he could; but most times he just relied on his considerable street smarts and managed to get by unscathed.

In addition to the "bad people" one expects, there were a surprisingly large number of good-hearted people who helped Theroux without any expectation of return. In fact, the only group of people he unilaterally slams are the international aid workers with their bright new Land Rovers -- refusing all eye contact and associating only with one another. Even the missionaries prove to be more helpful. His comments in this area were quite an eye-opener to me: I had not realized what a failure five decades of international aid had proven to be.

I devoured this book in three sittings and was greatly saddened when it came to end. Theroux has changed forever my view of Africa. Although there is no bibliography, I appreciated the author's frequent references interspersed throughout the text to other background works on the subject.

I have lived in Africa for over 20 years, and recently completed a similar overland journey (Morocco to Cape Town). I am busy writing my own book, so was a little disappointed when the pre-eminent travel writer of our times released his own account. In any event, as a prelude to my own literary ambitions, I decided to read every book on the topic that I could find - and this one stands head and shoulders above the rest. (For those interested,' Running with the Moon' by Johnny Bealby, and `Africa Solo' by Kevin Kertscher were runners up).

Theroux travels with Africans in conditions which are unspeakable for those of us accustomed to jet travel, high speed trains and air-conditioned vehicles. He meets with many of Africa's literary icons, numerous dignitaries, and contacts from time spent in Africa 40 years previously. He is also not afraid to use his renown to gain access and audience where the rest of us would have no chance. Combine these factors with his considerable literary skill, and the result is an unrivalled publication.

His descriptions (notably the sunset on the East African plains) are breathtaking without being long-winded. He is able to contrast this with descriptions of squalor, hardship, the disintegrated infrastructure of the towns, and the transport used to travel between them . The various colleagues and friends he visits along the way, including the vice-president of Uganda, represent Africa's intellectual and political elite. Mostly, these people are enlightened, pro-active and deeply aware of the problems facing their countries. It is encouraging to read their discourse, as it is so easy to dismiss Africa as the stereotype of disenfranchised paupers governed by despotic tyrants.

His time spent in Africa during the 1960's was a time of liberation. Nationalist movements were gaining momentum, and Africans were giddy at the prospect of independence from their colonial overlords. Theroux is almost certainly unique in that he witnessed the Africa of then, and the Africa of now (but nothing of the in between) and is able to communicate his observations to a large, receptive audience. This perspective adds another level to the book which sets it apart.

Much is said about charities, missionaries and NGO's, both by Theroux, and the various others who have reviewed this book. I agree entirely with Theroux's observations. I found that the personnel working with these agencies seemed disdainful towards those of us who were really enjoying Africa, and often arrogant towards those they were professing to help. Their efforts nurture some of the most contemptible qualities of the African condition, turning them into subjugated beggars rather than empowering their independence. The deployment of aid does not improve lives, but merely provides the necessary resources required for reproduction - more aid recipients, all now living at the previous, lowest common denominator. Much of the aid is taken by the local chiefs, and is traded in the markets (lest we forget, America fought a battle in Somalia over this very issue, see the movie `Black Hawk Down'). It may seem anathema to our sensibilities that Theroux is so scathing of these worthy men and women who have given up so much to go and help the dispossessed, but if the aid is counter-productive, even if only by Theroux's estimation, then he has the right (obligation?) to communicate it to us.

Theroux is particularly scathing of one missionary whose efforts involve reforming the `sinful' ways of African prostitutes. In the USA prostitution may be a crime, but in Africa, he points out, it is the only channel of independence and financial freedom for women. It should be considered criminal that we are going there and preaching some dogma based on our value system, which is intended to deprive them of their livelihood. And this goes to the root of the issue, Theroux says. We are trying to solve their problems from our perspective, while driving around in a fancy white Landcruiser, the value of which is the entire life's earnings of a whole African family. African problems need African solutions run by Africans (with help from outside if necessary). They need dignity, empowerment and education - not grain, medicine and preaching. I think Theroux does a great job of communicating this - even if he does ruffle some philanthropic feathers in the process.

Why didn't I give the book five stars? Well, I feel that Theroux didn't give sufficient credence to the majority of proud Africans who lead the free and happy existence to which we all aspire. As a white traveler in Africa one is continuously exposed to the `Give me money' syndrome. But this represents only a minute percentage of the population - those who await foreign travelers at bus stations, hotels and markets. These hustlers are a by-product of most societies - there were 8 million in Los Angeles by my last estimation. It took me at least two months of cultural immersion before I was able to transcend this exposure, and meet real Africans who were interested in my travels and reasons for being in Africa - people whom I had to seek out. Indeed, most Africans are contented, hard-working individuals unaffected by the tribulations of modern western society, let alone by their own autocratic governments whose influence over their own population is token compared to what we are used to in the west. African society thrived for millennia before the ancestors of western society even left the continent. It is cultural arrogance to assume that we need to impose our new-found values on them. Sure there are pockets of famine, abusive dictators and colonial fall-out - but for the vast majority of the continent's population, life goes on unabated. It is mostly their exposure to our society (fancy white landcruisers, satellite TV etc.) that might give them cause to kowtow. It is Theroux's failure to acknowledge this, or at least comment upon it, that I feel is the only shortcoming of an otherwise outstanding account.

Anyone who has ever had that honest encounter with the mirror and the stark realization that their life is undeniably half-over must read this book!

Theroux has written a terrific book. It is a multi-layer journey, too complex and too full to summerize. Hence, the advice...just read it.

But, let me, as someone who has lived in Malawi and subsequently returned over a dozen times, remark on one aspect of Theroux's gift. It is the gift of courage. I have encountered almost every corner of Malawi, wrapping myself in the warmth, humor and secure feeling that no matter what kind of a jam I might get myself into there would emerge a smiling villager to eradicate my anxieties. One area of the country I have never been able to screw up the guts to visit is its southern tip, where the wide, slow moving, mosquito infested Shire River begins its surge into the unknown towards the Zambezi. It is as far from security as one could hope to get in southern Africa. No, no, not for me...or anyone else I have ever known who has traveled that region.

Theroux, on the other hand, simply looks up a villager with a dugout and he is off, down the river. It is a trip I wish I had the courage to take. I thank him for taking it for me. I thank him for saving me the pain. I thank him for describing it is a way that I could feel "as if" I had made the trip myself.

So much has been made of Theroux's misanthropic inclinations that it does not merit mention in a review. It is old scribblings. Refocus your thoughts. The issue to me is how he manages to convey so much personal pleasure (albeit intermittant) while putting himself through such a test of fortitude. I can only speculate on the answer, but I do want to convey my thanks for his good old, John Wayne type of courage.

Thanks to Theroux for being my DT (designated traveler), especially beacause I lacked the vacation time and the gusto to step off Africa's paved roads! Those of us sharing his spiral toward late, late middle age, must thank him for his gift...a gift that demonstrates that, if he is a misanthrope, he is certianly a very altruistic misanthrope.

Having lived in Egypt as a poor student and travelled to East and Southern Africa as a rich tourist, I thoroughly enjoyed this extremely well written book (notwithstanding Theroux' predictable carping about tourists who only see game parks and not the real Africa). The reader from Los Angeles who gave the one star review who says Theroux doesnt like Africa must have read the book while in a coma since his love for the continent and its peoples comes through clearly in his writing.

He asks all the hard questions anyone with a half a brain asks who travels through Africa (e.g., how did things get this bad and why). It certainly is an open question if the billions in dollars in aid poured into African countries has helped or ultimately hurt those countries. Even though I send money to some of those aid organizations, I'm beggining to wonder if that aid is paternilistic and creating beggar nations.

Theroux as usual is witty, erudite, caustic, sometimes maddening, but always perceptive and entertaining. He tells tales of trips most of us don't, or won't, take, and that's why we read him.

As a fan of Theroux's I was quite happy to find this book on the local shelves. Anyone familiar with the author's work won't be disappointed. Disdainful, witty, observant and tireless as ever, our old friend paints a varied picture of a troubled continent.

Traveling overland the length of Africa is not for the faint of heart. This is travel at its best...local buses, overcrowded mini-vans, cattle trucks and rickety trains. I especially enjoyed Theroux's exposure of the holier-than-thou "missionaries" and selfish aid workers who wouldn't even give the guy a lift to the next town. I'd have to say, however, the best thing about the book is Theroux's willingness to venture into the places we're warned not to go: Sudan, Ethiopia, Zimbabwe and Johannesburg. It's a window on the continent for the armchair traveler interested in what it's really like, without the media hype.

I must admit to being annoyed, however, with some of Theroux's usual elitist observations. At one point, while serving chicken to his fellow stranded travelers in the middle of nowhere, he comments, (and I paraphrase) "This is probably one of the few times you're likely to be served by a member of the American Academy of Fine Arts." At other times his continual trashing of traditional safari tourists, his nose in the air toward people who go to Africa for the animals, gets a little old. There is a certain snobbery in the travel world against people on package tours and Theroux heads the list. It's especially galling when, toward the end of the book, he himself spends some time in an extremely comfy game lodge, extolling the benefits of sipping South African wine, being served sumptuous meals and writing at his desk like the spoiled tourists he snubs.

That aside, I'd highly recommend the book for anyone interested in learning about life on the road in 21st century Africa. Often it's not a pretty story but it certainly is entertaining. I'm already awaiting Theroux's next book. Asante sana, Paul.

This is typically fine Theroux, but maybe without so much of his usual cynicism. He seems in a happier mood, which is odd given the unhappy journey he's on.

The book describes a post-9/11 overland trip (by train, bus, truck, and at one point a two-day trip by dugout canoe) through Africa from north to south. Theroux was a Peace Corp volunteer in Malawi in the early 1960s, and after being ejected from the Peace Corps for helping an opposition politician he was hired as a teacher in Uganda, where he lived for a number of years. Theroux compares what he knew of Africa then to what exists now, after four decades (or more, depending on the country) of independence from colonial rule. What he learns as he travels is disturbing: corruption is rampant, the cities are bloated and squalid, farms are failing and AIDS is devastating whole populations. And it seems that foreign aid projects are doing more harm than good, enriching government officials who then have every incentive to keep their populations in dire conditions of poverty to attact ever more aid. Short-term disaster relief has morphed into long-term food and development aid, making Africa (a resource-rich continent blessed with abundant farmland) a continent of beggars utterly dependent on outside assistance. In the lush east African countryside farmers have devolved into growing only subsistence crops... grown from donated hybrid (hence sterile) seeds that guarantee no chance of self-sufficiency (this being one result of U.S. brokered aid agreements that overwhelmingly favor agrobusiness entities such as Monsanto). The universities are wrecked and educated Africans have fled for Europe and North America. Those who stay and try to challenge the entrenched dictators are beaten, tortured and finally murdered.

Sounds pretty bleak. And if you research recent news stories about places like Kenya, Liberia, Nigeria and Zimbabwe (led by the increasingly demented "Comrade Bob", aka Robert Mugabe, who seems hell-bent on ruining his country) you gotta wonder: will we ever get around to liberating these people? I rather doubt it.

But bleakness aside, this is possibly the best Paul Theroux book I've read; thumbs up.

This is a book about a man who went to Africa carrying in his mind what he wanted Africa to be and when the continent did not fit that mould, he complained and complained. In the end, this book is about Paul Theroux and not about Africa. It is about a solipsistic, self-aggrandizing, intelligent man who in the end is rather unappealing. The conversations he records become tiresome because they are all in the same pattern -- He portrays himself as sane, rational, as opposed to the stupidity of other people. He is also excruciatingly condescending when he writes about Africans and seems to be entirely unaware of it, his smirky amusement at Ethiopians is an example. Theroux sometimes sounds like a colonial-era writer; he is guilty of wanting Africans to be exoticized primitives: pure and unspoiled. (Somebody tells him that the Mursi are REAL Africans and by REAL, Theroux means `admirable savages') It is sad that he fails to engage with Africans in the present. Africa has been changed by its impact with the West, it can NEVER go back to what it was, in the same way that Americans cannot go back to the time of their great-grandfathers. However, all educated and westernized Africans are NOT corrupt, as Theroux seems to believe. Being `bare-assed' as he puts it, does not automatically a good African make.

He criticizes the Aid Industry, all well and good, but he does so without nuance, without engaging with any alternatives and in the end I felt that if they had given him rides when he asked, he might feel more kindly towards them.

His limp self-righteousness comes through when he writes about ivory, for example, but what I found most tiresome was how he constantly told hawkers or beggars or drivers, "Please don't talk about money." What street person in a developing country does not ask for money? And Theroux seems to delight in highlighting how Africans don't like each other, as if it somehow proves something for him.

There is never a reference to African writers, as if one cannot trust Africa as represented by the people. Instead, Theroux reads Heart of Darkness, a novel that sees Africans as dogs, TWELVE times, and once even admits to feeling like Kurtz.

Perhaps the only thing I admired about this book is Theroux's abhorrence for the Africa of Hemingway and others - the Africa of big games, of pay and be shown a lion that you'll shoot and go home to boast about, of no black people except for generic, stupid servants, each one an African Jeeves.