Close to Home: The other Africa

Editor's Note: This story was originally published on Feb. 7, 1999 and was republished online at the request of a reader.

When whites die at the hands of blacks in Africa, the American media spasm into a feeding frenzy. Black-on-white violence, always a popular topic, surfaces like a predator from the deep, capturing the imaginations of Americans who are conditioned to fear the water.

In the past month alone, the CBS news magazine "60 Minutes" aired two segments with that theme: one about the killing of South African farmers and the other about Amy Biehl, the American Fulbright scholar murdered in a black township in 1993.

Biehl 's story in particular has generated huge media interest here, so much so that the advice I heard most before going to South Africa in 1997 as a Rotary ambassadorial scholar was to avoid black townships lest I risk being killed. I ignored that advice.

Fox News also ran two stories this past month: one about the farmers and another about violence in Johannesburg. The segments were shot like MTV videos, complete with graphic images of dead bodies (white) and grieving families (also white).

While these stories are compelling and need to be told, they continue to reinforce an image of Africa that is dangerously one-sided. Africa is more than a continent of war, disease, crime and corruption. It is a place misunderstood by most Americans who learn about the world from their nightly news.

The attitude many Americans have of Africa was summarized in a column printed Jan. 19 in the Ukiah Daily Journal. Syndicated columnist Jim Davidson printed excerpts of a story that his friend wrote about a safari to Kenya, in East Africa.

Jim Stephenson, editor of a Kansas newspaper, wrote that Nairobi, the Kenyan capital, is home to millions of "under-productive people" who suffer because of high crime and corruption. These people do not care about material things, Stephenson wrote, but their only "long range goal is to still be alive at the end of the day."

That's an amazing conclusion to draw in passing about millions of people. It's like a tourist driving through our nation's capital and concluding America is a land of crack addicts because dealers are just a stone's throw from the White House.

In the Kenyan countryside, Stephenson continued, the "natives" of Kenya's "primitive cultures" live in huts and subsist on a mixture of milk and animal blood, which, he surmises, accounts for why they look "anemic."

The use of loaded terms like "native" and "primitive" is bad enough. But here's the writer's startling conclusion: "As far as seeing this land before the big game animals and the primitive lifestyle are gone, there is no rush. Our grandchildren's children will be able to experience this culture."

Whew. What a relief to know future generations will be lucky enough to witness Africans in their anemic misery. To Stephenson, big game animals and "natives" are merely stops on his safari. He went to Africa expecting to find Tarzan, and he found him.

Davidson himself concludes, based upon his friend's adventures, that Americans "are blessed to live in this great country." Sadly, that's the same conclusion most Americans reach after reading or viewing these stories. But it's terribly wrong.

Stories of African violence, or ignorant generalizations about a continent rich in diversity, simply reinforce a stereotype that reaches back to the earliest days of colonialism in Africa. The image of Africa as a pit of conflict persists today with each new story.

During 10 months in Africa, the worst act of violence I witnessed was a bouncer at a night club punching out an unruly patron. If violence is truly a hallmark of African life, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

In Africa, I did not encounter "primitive" cultures or anemic "natives." I certainly did not rejoice at poverty -- just like I find no pleasure when passing through the Tenderloin in San Francisco or see homeless on the streets of Berkeley.

In Zimbabwe I spent the night with Tula Dlamini and his family in their two-story colonial-style home. He is a TV reporter and his wife is a university professor. Far from hopeless, Tula is hoping to start his own multimedia company. We did not drink animal blood during dinner that night, but a nice glass of white wine.

In Cape Town I became good friends with Frank Boyi, a retired pensioner who lives in a sprawling township and squatter camp that might look terrifying to the passing traveler. One afternoon I went to Frank's home for a barbecue. We watched a rugby match on the television and spoke at length about the new South Africa.

These are the stories that don't get told in the American media. They include no violence or easily grasped stereotypes of African life. In short, they are too mundane and normal, which is exactly the point.

In America I've been the victim of burglary and physical violence. I witnessed a knife fight and watched police helicopters fly over my Sacramento home during a deadly hostage standoff at a computer store. A friend was shot but survived in Oakland.

In America I've seen violence. In Africa I found peace.

Derek J. Moore is a staff writer for The Press Democrat.