Sugar Street

Living for the city

By a stroke of luck I caught the second episode of BBC2’s ‘Welcome to Lagos’ last night, and it was just as fascinating as the first. Last week the focus was on born-and-bred city people, but this time the thousands who migrate from Nigeria’s countryside to live in the city’s slums were in the spotlight. In the same way that the first episode looked at life on the rubbish dump, the lives of various people living in the slum of Makoko, built on stilts over the massive Lagos Lagoon, were examined. Chief among the many characters was Chubey – fisherman, entrepeneur, father of 18 children and master of the weekly Lotto, who served a linchpin for the other stories to revolve around. Highly intelligent, with plenty of what we Irish call ‘cop-on’, Chubey nevertheless was a firm believer in traditional sorcery and remedies, wearing what appeared to be a bird’s head around his neck and arranging for his son to receive an elaborate cleansing ceremony when he started running with a bad crowd. It’s not just rural ignorance that causes people to cling to such remedies – as Chubey revealed when he stated ‘We don’t have gates and guards like the rich men in the city, so we use our own protection’ – it’s also about asserting identity in a city where the haves and have-nots look at each other across such a vast chasm. Racial identity is also maintained through these practices – many people spoke of how traditional medicine was a uniquely black way of doing things, distinct and separate from the ways of white people. Makoko is like a slum Venice, made up out of thousands of small wooden huts supported on stilts sunk into the thick black sand of the lagoon bed. Inhabitants get around on small rowboats, often perilously overloaded with people, logs, sand, bricks and other bits and pieces. The presenter (refreshingly always behind the camera) astutely noted how ancient and modern coexist almost seamlessly in this place – the few medical centres provide antibiotics and tree-bark potion, everybody has a mobile phone but the primary method of disseminating information is still word-of-mouth. The patchy-to-nonexistent levels of service provided to the inhabitants was revealed by two deaths by electrocution of saw operators in the slum’s largest business, the Ebute Metta timber yard. Worn cables and a lack of protective gloves meant that even touching the wrong part of the wire connecting the huge electric saws to the power source led to instant death for two unlucky employees. The workers formed a makeshift union and demanded rubber shoes and gloves for safety, which appear to have eventually been provided. Also working at the mill were two boys of about eleven, who had left their rural villages behind and were saving to return home and build a house. How realistic their ambitions were remains to be seen. But as Chubey pointed out ‘If you come to Lagos and don’t have sense, you will get sense very quickly. You will never leave Lagos without getting sense.’ One person who seemed to be lacking in sense was Chubey’s teenage son Payo, who, as Chubey put it ‘is only good at going out’. Despite the traditional ceremony, he continued on his no-good-nik ways until eventually he was thrown out of the family home, along with his mattress and few belongings. Teenagers everywhere fall out with their parents and run away from home, but I don’t envy Payo trying to negotiate a life alone in Lagos’ slums. He maintained ‘I refuse to beg him [Chubey]’ but a few weeks out in the world might make him rethink his stubbornness. Female voices have been fairly absent from the series so far, probably due to to the fact that the central characters tend to be family patriarchs who would be unlikely to allow their wives (seemingly plural in Chubey’s case at least) and daughters to speak alone to the camera team. However the women of the slum were noisily present in most scenes last night, even if we didn’t get to find out much about their thoughts on life. One charged into the sawmill when she heard of the second electrocution, clutching an empty bottle of schnapps and roaring about how God had forsaken them. Meanwhile a couple of concerned sisterly types tried to persuade Payo to apologise to his father, but to no avail. Chubey – who despite his rather aggressively irascible manner, seemd fundamentally decent – eventually won the equivalent of £54 on the state Lotto, and the programme ended with his entire (and extensive) family celebrating. Another man, Paul, saved up enough money from his work at the timber yard to buy his own tiny home. Their ebullience and repeated assertions that money was making them extremely happy shows yet again that the bizarre mental trickery involved in separating money from a certain level of contentment is an invention of the affluent West. Again this super series provides a humanist, unpatronising view into the lives of people inhabiting a confusing, dreadful, fascinating and thoroughly modern city. I look forward to the next episode!

'Wherever you go, there you are'

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Probably not.

Beer In The Snooker Club

This is one of my favourite novels, and the edition pictured above boasts the only decent cover I’ve seen of this (admittedly infrequently published) work. I picked it up in a second hand bookshop in Limerick about five years ago, and with retrospect it probably should have cost more than €3, especially considering the rarity of the old Penguin edition. Perhaps its value will rise again with its reissue in December by Serpent’s Tail, complete with a new introduction by Diana Athill, in whose house the author lived and committed suicide in in 1969.

This novel triggered my interest in the now all-but-disappeared Egyptian Coptic elite. Leaders in society in the pre-Nasser area, the Copts, like the Greeks before them, were caught between worlds – the world of aristocratic Europe to which they aspired, with its country clubs and communication through French, and the dramatically unequal society in which they lived, where priests’ palaces adjoined slums and the fellaheen (peasants) laboured for a subsistence lifestyle while the elite held hunting parties on the land they tilled. It was inevitable that dramatic change would come, but the Copts had an extraordinarily ancient Christian heritage, almost unique in the area, that ran the risk of being lost forever after Nasser’s rise to power.

The author (a distant relative of former UN Secretary Boutros-Boutros Ghali) came from this rarefied world, and like his alter ego, the character Ram, entertained Marxist ideals before the disillusionment of experience and the ugly reality of post-revolution Egypt caused him to retreat into cynicism. The story covers the experiences of Ram and his avowedly Communist friend Font as they move from Cairo to London, full of romantic dreams of living an artist’s life in the East End, but are disillusioned by casual racism and their upper-middle class hosts’ lack of loyalty. When they return to Cairo, Nasser has taken power but the socialist revolution is far from the dream Font imagined, with a Jewish friend beaten half to death by soldiers and Ram’s excursions into amateur spying revealing endemic levels of prisoner torture.

But it’s more than just political disillusionment that stalks the characters. Ram particularly finds himself becoming more and more detached from any authentic sense of self as the novel progresses. A lifetime of floating between categories – West and East, European and Egyptian, socialist and playboy – as well as the tragedy of a failed love affair, leads him to separate his psyche in two, vividly described in the following passage from the novel:

‘That moment….was the very beginning – the first time in my life that I had felt myself cleave into two entities, the one participating and the other watching and judging.’

The cataclysm of that cleavage is what causes Ram to descend into cynicism and accept so many things that he had once found intolerable. I’ve never read any book that better encapsulates what it must feel like to be caught between two cultures, with no clear sense of belonging to either. Not only does it achieve this, it’s also funny, sympathetic and full of vividly drawn characters that encapsulate the two cities it memorialises. I hope its reissue brings it the widespread attention it deserves.

me looking at the two english actors in this lineup

lmao even

"He looks around, around

He sees angels in the architecture

Spinning in infinity"

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Do you have any big opinions about rpf?

Not sure what we're counting as "big" here.

Aside from the standard "don't harrass the people it's about" take, I guess my opinion on rpf is that it does say something about its authors, readers and the broader fandom. Not in a moralistic "writing about bad things means you endorse them" sense, or even in the sense that you can conclude an author's historical takes from their writing. (I know a fair amount of people who will read or write McLennon without really buying into the theory of it being true)

But I think there's enough parallels between the trends in fic and the trends in analysis to see that these two things aren't neatly separable. As a fellow author, I can understand Cynthia being frequently brushed aside in fic, even if I don't love it – when it comes to analysing the real history though, I am less forgiving. However, because of the seeming link between the decentring of Cynthia in fic and her frequent exclusion from meaningful analysis, I find myself being (perhaps disproportionately) frustrated with her treatment in fic as a result.

Cynthia here is just an example among several, but I think the fact that she's not treated meaningfully better by the wider (generally more heteronormative) Beatles fandom speaks to the fact that what I'm describing isn't just attributable to the largely queer space of Beatles RPF fandom decentring straight relationships. (also any other lesbians fucking tired of people decrying any consideration to women as homophobia??)

I have also noticed that some people's takes on the history have a very literary bent – I'm thinking about times I have seen people call for symmetry between John and Paul, as though their relationship needs to be made up of perfectly mirroring feelings to be beautiful. There's an important distinction to be drawn here between descriptivism and prescriptivism – like, to be clear, there is something inherently literary in observing parallels between their lives, like say losing their mothers young, but I am specifically referring to people saying John and Paul should be analysed with the assumption of this symmetry existing, which feels like a limiting way of looking at real people.

That being said, I'm not sure how much engaging with RPF as such affects this sort of attitude. To some extent, we are all always trying to make sense of reality through narrative, but I'm not sure how aware of it people are.

With all that in mind,

I think RPF is a very cool way to express and explore thoughts related to the history (and, at least in my case, engage in discourse about the history as well as the fandom itself) that don't need to be fact-checked whilst being contained in an explicitly fictional realm. I also think that a lot of speculation people engage in about celebrities is actually kind of akin to fanfic and I sort of prefer the fact that RPF is upfront about its fictionality.

I like thinking about what RPF has in common with things like biopics and how it diverges from them, its strange but existing relationship with the concept of "truth" (which I think is somewhat distinct from the concept of "factualness"). I'm fascinated by adaption in general; I find the process of systematically pruning, supplementing and molding historical reality until it takes the shape of a narrative deeply interesting, and even when I don't love the product, I think there's meaning to be derived in understanding how we got from point A to B.

Hi! You don't mind playing a game with me?

If you could ask each Beatle only one question however without any consequences what would you ask them~?

Hi!!! Sorry I took a while to get to this, what a fun ask!!!!

I am presuming they will tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth (including things they maybe actually forgot in the meantime).

This is very hard, because of course I'm nosy about specific historical facts.

So, here are my thoughtful, more open-ended questions that I think would lead to something pretty insightful:

Ringo: How have your feelings on the Beatles breakup changed over the years and did Get Back have a specific impact?

George: What role has forgiveness played in your relationships and how do you feel about your willingness to forgive?

John: How do you reconcile your need to be authentic with the inherent performance of fame?

Paul: What are you most afraid could happen to your legacy once you're no longer with us?

And here are my kneejerk "EXPLAIN THIS!!!!"-type questions. Imagine me throwing a chair before yelling these. (also I avoided questions where the answer might depress me too much or that presume things I'm not actually sure about lol)

Ringo: What happened that one time on tour you went on some sort of bender and were maybe suicidal? :(

George: The Maureen affair. Please Elaborate.

John: What was going through your mind when you told Hunter Davies you slept with Brian in Barcelona?????

(still hoping Davies' archive might give me some clue regarding this one, once it becomes available....)

Paul: I Demand Your Actual Unfiltered Yoko Take, Sir.

In one ep she talks about emailing Philip Norman for info and he refused, so now we have the amazing meta possibility (beautiful possibility!) that he is having an argument with himself

Funniest thing for me about the Beautiful Possibility podcast is that someone can wank on for so long and so pretentiously about whether or not John and Paul touched dicks.

The Beatles – “Hey Bulldog” (1968)