"So Manuel brought Mr. Coetzee to our flat, and I could see at once he was no god. He was in his early thirties, I estimated, badly dressed, with badly cut hair and a beard when he shouldn’t have worn a beard, his beard was too thin. Also he struck me at once, I can’t say why, as célibataire. I mean not just unmarried but also not suited to marriage, like a man who has spent his life in the priesthood and lost his manhood and become incompetent with women. Also his comportment was not good (I am telling you my first impressions). He seemed ill at ease, itching to get away. He had not learned to hide his feelings, which is the first step toward civilized manners."
‘It’s not noise. It’s a message’: the misunderstood misfits of Nigeria’s
underground rock scene
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In a country that doesn’t always reward difference, defiant Nigerian
musicians are reawakening their country’s rock and giving those on the
margins the s...
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