Hello, Baba Galleh, it's up there now, at http://ginnysthoughts.blogspot.com/
Take care...
Ginny
----- Original Message -----
From: Baba Galleh Jallow
To: [log in to unmask]
Sent: Tuesday, April 12, 2005 10:07 PM
Subject: Re: Caliban's Theory/Ginny
Yes, Ginny dear, you can. Please feel free put anything I write on your blog. You don't need to ask. Glad to be contributing to your great project.
Best regards,
Baba
>From: Ginny Quick <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Gambia and related-issues mailing list <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: Re: Caliban's Theory
>Date: Tue, 12 Apr 2005 12:24:01 -0500
>
>Hello, Baba Galleh, can I put this on my blog?
>
>Ginny
>
>
> ----- Original Message -----
> From: Baba Galleh Jallow
> To: [log in to unmask]
> Sent: Tuesday, April 12, 2005 10:45 AM
> Subject: Caliban's Theory
>
>
>
>
>
> Caliban's Theory
>
>
> By Baba Galleh Jallow
>
>
> The voice startled me. I turned around. I was sure I was alone in the room and the door was closed. I thought perhaps someone was passing outside. But the voice sounded as if it was in the room. It was so loud and clear. I had arrived at school 45 minutes early and had gone into the classroom and sat on my chair.
>
> "Well you must be surprised to hear me talk," it said again.
>
> I peeped under the table and walked to the door. I opened it and looked outside, left right, in front. No sign of any person. I closed the door again, fearing I might be going crazy or having a hallucination. I had heard of hallucinations but it had never happened to me. I sat back in my chair and vigorously shook my head. I plucked my fingers into my ears to see if I would hear any funny noises in my head. Nothing.
>
> "Well, well, well. You keep staring at me anytime you come into this room and you are frightened out of your wits when I talk to you."
>
> The voice again. I got up and picked my book bag.
>
> "No need to run, my friend. It's me, Caliban, right here on the wall. I won't harm you. I can't. Just thought you wanted to talk because you look at me all the time. Figured you'd be interested in talking before your classmates come in."
>
> I stopped, staring at the Caliban poster hanging on the opposite wall.
>
> "Caliban? Are you really talking to me?" I struggled to keep from shouting or rushing out of the room.
>
> "Yes, I am talking to you. Of course, no one would believe you if you told them I talked to you. No one shows any interest in me as you do. For all the many years I have been hanging here. So relax and let's have a chat."
>
> I sat back down.
>
> "So you can talk?"
>
> "How else would I be talking you if I couldn't?" he said. "Well, tell me. Why do you show so much interest in me? You don't stare at the other posters in this room as you stare at me."
>
> "That's true, Caliban," I said. "I guess I am intrigued by your story, the difficult times you had on your island with Prospero, Ariel and the other spirits."
>
> "Ha! Prospero! The devil break his nose!" he cursed. "Prospero stole my island from me after my mother died and enslaved me by his magic - termites eat his eyes! Would I were able to lay my hands on him! Or have a single hour with that wench of his! He accused me of trying to seduce her. If I had the chance, I would turn his entire race into Calibans - the devil pluck his eyes!"
>
> "But Prospero is long dead, Caliban. How come you are still alive? Or are you?"
>
> "Dead? Prospero dead? Death is an illusion, my friend. Maybe half-dead, I would say. He is at least half-alive. You see him everywhere around you, don't you? If he were dead, he wouldn't have been able to keep me in this tortured position, these heavy logs on my shoulders, these devil's scales on my skin. You think I was born like this, all green with fish scales, stunted and ugly? It was Prospero made me like this - may his entrails fall!"
>
> "Me? Seen Prospero? How could I possibly see Prospero?"
>
> "Well, do you not see men everywhere with iron faces, their noses turned up as if they are perpetually smelling shit? Do you not see men on the streets, in the train stations, the airports, the malls, the offices - everywhere, pretending that they don't poop, regarding you as if you were some beast, monster, some sub-human creature? Don't you encounter such men all the time? Well, they are all Prospero - the dogs take his liver!"
>
> "Well that's an interesting proposition, Caliban. I figure you would say then that you too are out there on the streets, the shops, the offices . . . ?"
>
> "But of course. But unlike Prospero, I am fully alive. We are all Calibans. You, me, everyone who does not look like Prospero - may he feed on rot! In this world, there are only two people - Prospero and Caliban. True, some Prosperos are more Prospero than others while some Calibans are more Caliban than others. But there are only two people. Us Caliban and them Prospero."
>
> "Us?"
>
> "Oh, you are Caliban too, my friend and you very well know it."
>
> "Hmmn. Another interesting proposition, Caliban. But tell me: where then do you place the Asians and Latinos? They certainly are not Prospero; neither are they Caliban. Aren't they somewhere in between?"
>
> "They ARE Caliban, " he said. "Maybe just less Caliban than you and me."
>
> "Wow!" I exclaimed. "You ARE right, Caliban. In a sense, you are right. But why don't you ever put down those logs and rest your shoulders?"
>
> "For the same reason that you can't put down your burden," he said.
>
> "My burden? I'm not carrying any burden, Caliban."
>
> "Or yes you are," he said, emphatically. "All Calibans are carrying a load on their shoulders. Unlike mine, yours is invisible but you feel its weight nevertheless. Some of us carry it with pride and refuse to feel burdened and sad as Prospero would wish us to be. Some of us sink under it; take refuge in drugs, or some other self-destructive habit. Some of us try to become Prosperos by replacing our flat noses with pointed plastic ones, like that rat of a singer who now has no nose. Poor guy. And some of us end our lives in despair. You see it every day, my friend, don't you?"
>
> "Yes, Caliban. I see it everyday. It is very clear what you are saying. You certainly are very knowledgeable and intelligent. You are not the Caliban Shakespeare shows us in his play."
>
> "Ha, Shakespeare! He's just another Prospero. But I don't blame him. It is all that devil Prospero's fault - the buzzards peck his lungs! He stole my island and subdued me with his magic and made a slave of me. He made me work like an ass and gave me the cramps and the pinches whenever I dared talk back to him. He hated the very idea that I could talk like him. He claimed to teach me language - may bees sting his green heart! He did not teach me language. He taught me his language, the fool! I already had my language before he came to my island."
>
> "He certainly was very unfair to you, Caliban. He refused to see that you were human like him."
>
> "He still just reluctantly accepts me and you as human beings because he is forced by the law to do so. Once a devil always a devil! Did you see all those terrible names he called me?"
>
> "Yes, he was very harsh," I said. "You certainly are not a beast or a monster. I'm just sorry that you could not get rid of him as planned with Trinculo and Stephano."
>
> "Ha! I was a fool to trust those drunkards. They gave me wine and loosened my tongue. And I babbled all that nonsense about submitting to them and helping them kill Prospero - the dog pee in his mouth! And what terrible names those idiots called me! Devil, delicate monster, weak monster, credulous monster, perfidious monster, drunken monster, scurvy monster, puppy-headed monster, abominable monster, ridiculous monster, howling monster - they almost monstered me to death, the devil take them! And then in their drunkenness, they botched the assassination plan and gained us all the cramps and the stings and some time in that hell of a cell! Would I had never met them!"
>
> "But Prospero forgave you, in the end," I said.
>
> "According to Prospero-Shakespeare," he corrected me. "If he had forgiven me, would he give me these green scales, these fat red lips, this flat head, and have me stand barefooted on these sharp rocks, carrying these heavy logs forever? Look around you. Who else in this room is like me? But I will meet him in hell, and I swear I will ram these logs down his ghoulish throat. But hey, I hear someone coming. So, let's talk some more some other time."
>
> The door opened and two of my classmates walked in. A few moments later, Dr. Barbarese and the rest of the class came in. We all went along and had a cheerful breakfast at Tiffany's, remembering good old Holly Golightly and wondering what on earth became of her. Every once in a while, I glanced up at the silent Caliban and thought he was not so silent after all. I kept repressing the urge to tell my colleagues that I just had a chat with Caliban. They probably would have called 911 and asked for an ambulance.
>
>
>
>
>
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