Bac lv1 anglais 2005 s

Description

I took the opportunity to study these tourists as Auma and I sat down for lunch in the outdoor café of the New Stanley HotelI took the opportunity to study these tourists as Auma and I sat down for lunch in the outdoor café of the NewStanley Hotel. They were everywhere − Germans, Japanese, British, Americans − taking pictures, hailingtaxis, feeding off (1) street peddlers, many of them dressed in safari suits like extras on movie set. In Hawaii,when we were still kids, my friends and I had laughed at tourists like these, with their sunburns and their pale,skinny legs, basking in the glow of our obvious superiority. Here in Africa, though, the tourists didn't seem sofunny. I felt them as an encroachment (2), somehow; I found their innocence vaguely insulting. It occurred tome that in their utter lack of self−consciousness, they were expressing a freedom that neither Auma nor Icould ever experience, a bedrock (3) confidence in their own parochialism (4), a confidence reserved for thoseborn into imperial cultures.Just then I noticed an American family sit down a few tables away from us. Two of the African waitersimmediately sprang into action, both of them smiling from one ear to the other. Since Auma and I hadn't yetbeen served, I began to wave at the two waiters who remained standing by the kitchen, thinking they musthave somehow failed to see us. For some time they managed to avoid my glance, but eventually an older manwith sleepy eyes relented and brought ...

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• Publié par: saga
• Nombre de lectures: 6 637
• Langue: Français

Extrait

I took the opportunity to study these tourists as Auma and I sat down for lunch in the outdoor café of the New

Stanley Hotel. They were everywhere - Germans, Japanese, British, Americans - taking pictures, hailing

taxis, feeding off (1) street peddlers, many of them dressed in safari suits like extras on movie set. In Hawaii,

when we were still kids, my friends and I had laughed at tourists like these, with their sunburns and their pale,

skinny legs, basking in the glow of our obvious superiority. Here in Africa, though, the tourists didn't seem so

funny. I felt them as an encroachment (2), somehow; I found their innocence vaguely insulting. It occurred to

me that in their utter lack of self-consciousness, they were expressing a freedom that neither Auma nor I

could ever experience, a bedrock (3) confidence in their own parochialism (4), a confidence reserved for those

born into imperial cultures.

Just then I noticed an American family sit down a few tables away from us. Two of the African waiters

immediately sprang into action, both of them smiling from one ear to the other. Since Auma and I hadn't yet

been served, I began to wave at the two waiters who remained standing by the kitchen, thinking they must

have somehow failed to see us. For some time they managed to avoid my glance, but eventually an older man

with sleepy eyes relented and brought us over two menus. His manner was resentful, though, and after several

more minutes he showed no signs of ever coming back. Auma's face began to pinch with anger, and again I

waved to a waiter, who continued in his silence as he wrote down our orders. At this point, the Americans had

already received their food and we still had no place settings (5). I overhead a young girl with a blond ponytail

complain that there wasn't any ketchup. Auma stood up.

“Let's go”

She started heading for the exit, then suddenly turned and walked back to the waiter, who was watching us

with an impassive stare.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Auma said to him, her voice shaking. “You

should be ashamed.”

The waiter replied brusquely in Swahili.

“I don't care how many mouths you have to feed, you cannot treat your own people like dogs.

Here…” Auma snapped open her purse and took out a crumpled hundred-shilling note.

“You see!” she shouted. “I can pay for my own damn food.”

She threw the note to the ground, then marches out onto the street.

For several minutes we wandered without apparent direction, until I finally suggested we sit down on a bench

beside the central post office.

“You okay?” I asked her.

She nodded. “That was stupid, throwing away money like that.” She set down her purse beside

her and we watched the traffic pass. “You know, I can't go to a club in any of these hotels if I'm with

another African woman,” she said eventually. “The

askaris

(6) will turn us away, thinking we

are prostitutes. The same in any of these big office buildings, If you don't work there, and you are African,

they will stop you until you tell them your business. But if you're with a German friend, then they're all

smiles. `Good evening, miss,' they'll say. `How are you tonight?' Auma shook her head. “That's why

Kenya, no matter what its GNP (7), no matter how many things you can buy here, the rest of Africa laughs.

It's the whore (8) of Africa, Barack […].”

I took the opportunity to study these tourists as Auma and I sat down for lunch in the outdoor café of the New Stanley H

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