I Didn’t Do It For You: How the World Used and Abused a Small African Nation. Michela Wrong
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      I Didn’t Do It For You

      How the World Used and Abused a Small African Nation

      Michela Wrong

      

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      To Elena and Silvia Harty, as promised

      Table of Contents

       Cover Page

       Title Page

       Dedication

       CHAPTER 5 The Curse of the Queen of Sheba

       CHAPTER 6 The Feminist Fuzzy-Wuzzy

       CHAPTER 7 ‘What do the baboons want?’

       CHAPTER 8 The Day of Mourning

       CHAPTER 9 The Gold Cadillac Site

       CHAPTER 10 Blow Jobs, Bugging and Beer

       CHAPTER 11 Death of the Lion

       CHAPTER 12 Of Bicycles and Thieves

       CHAPTER 13 The End of the Affair

       CHAPTER 14 The Green, Green Grass of Home

       CHAPTER 15 Arms and the Man

       CHAPTER 16 ‘Where are our socks?’

       CHAPTER 17 A Village of No Interest

       CHAPTER 18 ‘It’s good to be normal’

       Chronology

       P.S. Ideas, interviews & features …

       Interview

       About the book

       Read on

       Glossary and acronyms

       Notes

       Other sources

       Index

       Acknowledgements

       About the Author

       Praise

       By the same author

       Copyright

       About the Publisher

       Maps

image 1

      Eritrea–Ethiopia border as defined by the International Boundary Commission on April 13, 2002

image 2

      Eritrea–Ethiopia border as defined by the International Boundary Commission on April 13, 2002

       Foreword

      It was well past midnight, and in Cairo airport’s transit lounge it was clear most passengers had already entered the trance-like state of passivity that accompanies long-distance travel. Outside, in the fluorescent glare of the hallway, a trio of stranded Senegalese women traders, majestic in their colourful boubous, were shouting, with operatic volume, at the Egyptian airport staff behind the counter, who were responding with an icy silence that said more about Arab attitudes towards black Africa than direct insults ever could. But here in transit, eyes had glazed over, the energy had leached from the air. A group of Nigerian youths, whose clothes gave off the nose-tickling aroma of dried fish, lay slumped in the plastic orange scoop seats, spines turned to jelly. They were being messed around by EgyptAir staff, who couldn’t be bothered to check them in to the airport hotel their tickets entitled them to. They seemed СКАЧАТЬ