Here There and Everywhere

Expat wanderer

Aidan Hartley’s Zanzibar Chest

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I started Zanzibar Chest in December, and could not get into it. It was interesting, but at first the tone was . . . I don’t know, maybe pompous? Something in the tone put me off, and yet I didn’t put it back on the bookshelves, nor did I give it away. It sat on my bed table while I attacked lesser works, more enjoyable fare. Then, one day, I just knew it was time to try it again, and this time, I could hardly put it down.

Born in Kenya, just before the rebellion, Aidan Hartley spent his life mostly in Africa. He skillfully interweaves three main story lines – the life of his mother and father, the life of his father’s best friend and his own life as a news correspondent.

This is not a joyful book. It is not inspirational. It is a tough, hard look at the people who cover the news, and the toll it takes on their lives. It is a story of drugs and alcohol to numb the pain of what they are observing, the comraderie of gallows humor and surviving the intensity of living through life-threatening moments together.

He covers some truly awful events. He covers the wars in Somalia, and in Rwanda. He covers Kosovo and Serbia. He is sent into some of the most dangerous and awful of places. He pays the price.

In his Zanzibar Chest, he takes us with him.

I will share a couple quotes with you, and if you are sensitive, please stop reading now. This book is not for you. It is almost not for me, except that sometimes I think we need to come face to face with just how awful reality can be to put our own lives right, to set appropriate priorities.

“I can’t put my finger on exactly how death smells. The stench of human putrefecation is different from that of all other animals. It moves us as instinctively as the cry of a newly born baby. It lies at one extreme end of the olfactory register. Blood from the injured and the dying smells coppery. After a cadaver’s a day old, you smell it before you see it. From the odor alone, I could tell how long a body had been dead and even, depending on whether brains or bowels had been opened up, where it had been hacked or shot. A body would quickly balloon up in the tropical heat, eyes and tongue swelling, flesh straining against clothes until the skin bursts and fluids spill from lesions. Flies would get in there and within three days the corpse might stink. It became a yellow mass of pupae cascading out of all orifices and the flesh literally undulated beneath the clothes. The tough bits of skin on the palms of their hands and the soles of their feet were the parts of the body that always rotted away last. As living people, these had been peasants who had walked without shoes and worked hard in the fields. A man who had been dead seven days reeks of boiling beans, guava fruit, glue, blown handkerchiefs, cloves and vinegar. After that he starts to dry out into a skeleton until he’s almost inoffensive . . .

The dead accompanied me long after Rwanda. It was months before I could order a plate of red meat served up in a restaurant. I smelled putrefaction in my mouth, or in my dirty socks, or as sweat on my body. I imagined what people I met would look like when dead. . . “

These guys all suffer from Post traumatic stress syndrome, they deaden themselves with drug and alcohol, and they are totally addicted to the adrenalin rush their job gives them. Living on adrenalin takes a huge toll – on their health, on their mental health, on their relationships, on their belief in goodness. They are the witnesses to the enormity of man’s inhumanity against one another.

In another quote, the author tells us:

“It was impossible for latecomers to comprehend the evil committed here but the British military top brass were still so scared of what their soldiers might see and what it would do to their minds that they sent a psychiatrist to accompany the forces to Rwanda. Bald Sam and I were amazed at that. We laughed about it. A shrink! It seemed extravagant. But the truth is that we stuck close to that man for days. We said it was all for a story, but really it was about us. The psychiatrist, whose name was Ian, told us his special area of interest was the minds of war correspondents. I could see Bald Sam squirming with happiness at all the attention, and I felt quite flattered myself. . . .

. . . for years I did endure some sort of payback. I have to try every day to prevent the poison that sits in my mind to spread outward and hurt the people I love. Sometimes I can’t stop it and I wonder if in some way the corruption will be passed on from me to my children.”

Toward the end of the book, the author tells us how hard it is to give up this adrenalin-news-junky life:

“Whenever I see a news headline to this day I half feel I should board the next flight into the heart of it. I’d love to get all charged up again and I could write the story with my eyes closed. I’m sure the sense that I’m missing out while others get in on a great story will never completely pass. . . The sight of people committing acts of unspeakable brutality against others fills a hole in some of us. The activity is made respectable by being paid a salary to do it, but there is a cost.”

This is not a book I really wanted to read, but it is a book I will never forget. Hartley doesn’t spare himself in the telling of this tale. He takes us with us and shows us all of it, and all of his own warts along with the tale. Would I recommend this book? Not for the sensitive, not for those who don’t want to look at the dark side. Between idyllic sequences on the beaches near Mombasa, in the hills of Kenya and Tanzania, in the dusty deserts of Yemen, there are some very intense and bloody moments. This is non-fiction, it is a documentary, it is a slice of the real life one man has seen, and that to which he has been witness. Read the book, and like him, you pay a price. You carry images in your head that you can’t forget, and a sorrow for our inability to solve our differences peaceably.

(Available in paperback from Amazon.com for $10.88. Disclosure: Yes, I own stock in Amazon.com.)

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February 20, 2008 - Posted by | Adventure, Africa, Biography, Books, Bureaucracy, Character, Community, Cross Cultural, ExPat Life, Kenya, Living Conditions, News, Political Issues, Spiritual, Tanzania | , , , , , , ,

8 Comments »

  1. That is a beautiful review, I have to say!

    Not a book I would usually pick up – but I am intrigued now. I am not sure I will be able to stand all the imageries ( I am a guy who actually turns the other way when a gun-shot scene is up in a movie). However, I have to say that books like these are the ones that are powerful, effective, and worthwhile. What is the point in immersing ourselves in stories of fiction and imagination while blinding ourselves to the atrocities and cruel realities of our existence. A book with a purpose. Like you said, a slice of reality. It DOES happen. It happens with no justification whatsoever, it happens for no other purpose than to obliterate competition and to secure ultimate power and steal the wealth of an entire civilization.

    The author is a brave man. A hero of stories untold that MUST be heard.

    Comment by kinano | February 20, 2008 | Reply

  2. Kinan, if I were a librarian, you would be my best customer! You would come in and we would blah blah blah blah blah about books. (I also can’t watch the gratuitous violence in movies, and Quentin Tarentino almost does me in).

    I think you will like the book. I would bet on it.

    Why aren’t you blogging?

    Comment by intlxpatr | February 20, 2008 | Reply

  3. Why am I not blogging?! I wish I knew.

    It felt like it was time to stop. Nothing in particular it’s just that I couldn’t find it in me to keep it up anymore. Felt more like a chore than an enjoyment. Does that make sense?!

    I am sure I’ll be back at some point. I just need to rethink about what it would be about. Meanwhile, I’ll just sit back and enjoy your posts. BTW, your blog is the first site I visit in the morning even before I check my corporate mail šŸ˜‰

    And, thank you! šŸ™‚

    Comment by kinano | February 20, 2008 | Reply

  4. Yes, totally. When it feels like a chore is a good time NOT to blog. And then there comes a time when you are really glad you have a place to vent, to share, etc. What is fun for me is seeing how many schools in the US follow this blog. It’s one of the reasons I do the daily sunrise/weather – there are people who will never come to Kuwait who are interested in what life must be like. One author, and I can’t remember who she was, called them “armchair travellers.”

    I am so honored, Kinan. I enjoy your visits.

    Comment by intlxpatr | February 21, 2008 | Reply

  5. […] Leon: Suffer the Little Children After reading Zanzibar Chest I decided it was time to give myself a break, and I allowed myself another Donna Leon book, this […]

    Pingback by Donna Leon: Suffer the Little Children « Here There and Everywhere | March 1, 2008 | Reply

  6. […] read someday when I don’t have anything else to do. Every now and then, it caught my eye. The Zanzibar Chest was on the same shelf. . . and that turned out to be a pretty good book. So recently, after I had […]

    Pingback by Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen « Here There and Everywhere | May 2, 2008 | Reply

  7. Bullshit review by someone who’d be better off reviewing bestsellers. This book is a masterpiece.

    Comment by d | January 24, 2011 | Reply

  8. LOL, bullshit comment by someone who only read the first paragraph of this review which highly commended this book. šŸ™‚

    Comment by intlxpatr | January 24, 2011 | Reply


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