Thursday, 13 June 2013

I am an Aid Dealer / Injecting charity till your veins cease up

For some time now I've been trying to come up with a pithy blog post which synthesises a lot of what is rotten in this peculiar tropical bubble. A piece of pointless, vaguely arty polemic which punctures the smug, inflated egos of the expat chancers of Kigali.

The problem is: how do I write about the perversity of the self-regarding adventurers enjoying the easy life in the land of a thousand hills, and yet somehow also make it about restaurants?

Well somebody has beaten me to it:

I suspect this book isn't a satire though.

If this really is a book about how some privileged white guy who edits his own wikipedia entry has managed to save Rwanda from itself, then I'm afraid I might have to end it all. Bring me a bottle of good scotch, a packet of razor blades, and a warm bath.

The irony is, post-harikiri I'd find myself languishing in the flames of hell wishing I was in Heaven.

Fuck. You can't win, can you?

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