I lie soaking up warmth. Around me, steam rises like incense. I marvel like a savage at this jar of Royal Jelly and Pure Honey Moisture-Rich Cream Bath. What attracts me is the glittery swirls, as if the gunk inside were gold-dust bound with egg-yolk. As the list of ingredients doesn’t mention gold, the sparkle must derive from mica and silica. The magic remains as long as you leave it in the jar; disappears instantly when you pour it under the hot tap. Then, you get nothing but bubbles and a faint scent of jasmine.
It goes without saying that we like these toys, especially if they are expensive. (This one wasn’t, but since I’m a savage, comparisons mean little.) They were designed by someone with a Masters degree in What People Like. That they serve no real consumer need is not the point. They provide employment, the non-savage’s traditional way to distribute the “wealth” that we need for food, clothes and shelter.
They managed things rather better in the savage lands, where human dignity ranked higher than efficiency. My grandmother spent time in Kenya in the Fifties, her daughter and two of her grandchildren being there already. She thought it might help her rheumatoid arthritis to stay with them in the hot climate She observed that the natives liked to sit chattering most of the day in the shade under a tree, while the white people worked tirelessly to improve the country. As Noel Coward noted in a famous song, “Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.” She could not understand the natives’ ingratitude, for Mau-Mau insurgents (she called them terrorists) were demanding their own land back, when it was clear they had no idea how to cultivate it. The British declined their request, in the most gentlemanly way; and then these savages started an armed revolt, burning white men’s houses and, according to propaganda, doing unspeakably savage things.
It is difficult to recount the details of Mau-Mau without stumbling into debates about its nature, significance, and legacy. Nonetheless, the movement took place in Kenya between 1952 and 1960, and is generally understood to have had some (if not a crucial) impact on Kenya’s subsequent independence. The British first colonized in Kenya in 1885, and over the next six decades tension between the settlers and the indigenous population grew.3 Racial tensions, treatment of black Kenyans, and land disputes (among other colonial factors) all fuelled extreme discontent, particularly among the Kikuyu, the largest ethnic group in Kenya
The British divorced India from Pakistan and cleared out before it got embroiled in any more trouble; then cleared out of Africa, the Caribbean, Malaysia. So many hasty actions, so many long-term consequences. We are not clear of them yet. We are still setting up new problems for future generations.
We never can be clear of consequences – something is always unfolding.
We lock up the genie of regret because we are afraid of him. But once released and fully honoured, his fearsomeness transmutes.
And if you had not taken those sad turnings, what story would you be telling us?
Kathleen
Introspection is a good thing if it leads to letting go of thoughts that hold you back. Once you let go of regret for the past, what future will you create?
Am I to let go of regret, Pauline? I ought to savour it first, release that genie and grant him full honours, as in the ceremonies to commemorate the dead of unnecessary wars (in the sense that all wars are unnecessary, if we only know how to obviate their necessity). Anyhow, when it hit, I was so full of painful regret that I suppressed the entire post: partly because I felt it was misleading. Ah, but that is the nature of all speech, all writing. Doesn't it become fiction as soon as expressed, to some degree?
Anyhow Kathleen, it gives no pleasure (to me or I suspect my readers) to dwell on sad things. There are enough stories to tell, whatever turning we take. But I know that isn't quite what you mean.