commonpeople1: (Avatar)
Cutting for StoneCutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

They say "write what you know." So physician Abraham Verghese, born in Ethiopia from Indian parents, chose for his first novel a narrator born in Ethiopia that was raised by Indian parents and who eventually becomes a surgeon.

Cutting for Stone is an epic soap opera worthy of Sidney Sheldon's best. A nun traveling by ship from India to Ethiopia saves the life of a British doctor onboard. They later become colleagues in an Addis Ababa hospital, Missing, and silently fall in love with each other. The outcome is tragic - the nun gives birth to twins, Marion and Shiva, and dies in the process. The father, Dr Thomas Stone, is overcome with grief and abandons the babies to a pair of Indian doctors - Hema and Ghosh - to raise.

The twin boys grow under the shadows of Missing and experience some of Ethiopia's historical changes. Marion, the virginal and unremarkable twin, is the narrator. He's not as clever and seductive as his brother Shiva (who steals the girl he loves from under his nose), nor is he his adoptive mother's favourite. Fate eventually exiles him from Ethiopia, to a life in a poor hospital in New York where all doctors are foreigners, all patients are on Medicare and all corpses can expect to be organ harvested for rich Americans.

You can really see Ethiopia and its people in Verghese's novel and it is one of its few pleasures, alongside the look at the unfair healthcare system in America. But the plot - full of sentimental coincidences and love making worthy of a Bad Sex in Fiction Award - leaves a lot to be desired. Marion is an unlikeable narrator, but I don't think that was Verghese's intention. The writing only comes alive with the scenes of hospital proceedures, and although these come along quite often they are not enough to hold this long novel together.

View all my reviews
commonpeople1: (Default)
After getting some new bespoke running shoes at Runner's Needs (thank you [ profile] sparklielizard for the tip!) I've become a regular jogger in Victoria Park. I like to go in the mornings, with my iShuffle plugged in (dangling from some very expensive, neon Adidas running earphones I also got at the shop). I do one full circuit of the park - the equivalent of 5K - then follow it up with two days at the gym doing weight training.

Yesterday morning I noticed a group of short, skinny people doing sprints in the park... Olympic athletes! They were from Rwanda, I learnt later. Apparently they didn't feel like practicing in the Olympic stadium and asked if there were any nearby parks they could use. Victoria Park was the suggestion. I hope they enjoyed it as much as I do.

This London Olympics, which felt very British when it was first announced, has become progressively more "American" as the years have gone by (and especially under the Tories.) Do we really need the biggest McDonalds in Europe built right inside the Olympic park? With a ban on nearby businesses from selling french fries because McDonals has the sole permission to sell it? It's the next best thing to having a giant American flag waving in everyone's face. And by "American" I mean in this context profit-over-commonsense - that neoliberal idiocy that businesses ultimately choose what's best for everyone.

Still, despite all the weird stories surrounding the Olympics (from slum conditions for cleaners living near the park to graffiti artists being arrested), I felt a thrill of excitement at suddenly being so near to Olympic athletes in Victoria Park. My dance company is also involved - we performed as part of the Olympic Torch relay through London and many of our dancers are part of the opening and closing ceremonies.

On McDonalds related news, HBO Documentaries has made available online its recent "Weight of the Nation" series. You can check it out on YouTube. It's in 4 parts and quite compelling viewing, especially if you also recently saw the BBC's "The Man Who Made Us Fat". The series is often mawkish but has some eye-popping figures and graphs. It's made me go off soda drinks for life.


Nov. 16th, 2011 05:25 pm
commonpeople1: (Default)
goddess athena. by shaman.
goddess athena., a photo by shaman. on Flickr.
I'm reading at the moment a really great book on the unconscious and the mythological, by Michael Vannoy Adams, called - of course - The Mythological Unconscious. A passage caught my attention:

Pallas Athene was the Greek goddess of war. At her birth, she sprang from Zeus's head, with, as Kerényi says, "a far-echoing battle-cry," in "armour of gleaming gold," and "brandishing her sharp javelin." According to Kerényi, Pallas Athene was "a warlike virgin." He notes that the epithet "Pallas" means "a strong virgin, a virago, as she would be called in Latin."
I immediately thought of the video I posted yesterday, the trailer for RuPaul's upcoming Drag Race (season 4):

There she is, walking towards us in her golden armour, like Athena. Wikipedia describes Athena as "the goddess of wisdom, courage, inspiration, civilization, warfare, strength, strategy, the arts, crafts, justice, and skill... [she] is also a shrewd companion of heroes and is the goddess of heroic endeavour."

So the "girls" she creates are the heroines that will fight during the Drag Race until one is crowned the victor. In previous shows, RuPaul has sat at a judging table (Mount Olympos?) and dispensed her wisdom to contestant, her praise, her encouragement, while they compete against each other. There are always guest judges that help her decision (fellow Gods) and she always visits the room where contestants work on their outfits to see how they are doing (which involves RuPaul climbing down some stairs into the room).

Later in the book Zeus is discussed and how he is related to thunder/electricity. Now, thinking again of Athena/RuPaul as the daughter of Zeus (the other side of Zeus?), check out the video again around 0:50 seconds, when Zeus' power fills the room and rushes through Athena/RuPaul's hands.

And aren't drag queens "virginal" in one sense, just like Athena? Their ubersexuality and sexual language only reinforcing how they are neither men nor women, but a construction (the "droids") - virginal until either a man or a woman chooses to remove their outer drag shell (shells, of course, being related to Aphrodite, goddess of love). Athena and Zeus are myths - images - and so are drag queens, who play up to their own favourite myth-like stars when they create their looks.

The book also mentions the "Black Athena" theory, which I had never heard of before - and which RuPaul embodies in the video: a theory that Ancient Greece is more indebted to Africa and Asia than is commonly known or promoted.

Again from Wikipedia: "The Greek philosopher, Plato (429–347 BC), identified [Athena] with the Libyan deity Neith, the war goddess and huntress deity of the Egyptians since the ancient Pre-Dynastic period, who was also identified with weaving. This is sensible, as some Greeks identified Athena's birthplace, in certain mythological renditions, as being beside Libya's Triton River."

I'm not sure if RuPaul or her producers were aware of the connection when they made the video. Perhaps they weren't, otherwise they would make it more explicitly "classical Greece"? Either way, in my opinion those myths are channeled by RuPaul in the video and neatly embody what she wishes to portray in herself and for the show.
commonpeople1: (Bookclub)
The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver

Barbara Kingsolver, The Poisonwood Bible, 1998
Kingsolver's novels are like symphonies that keep playing in your head long after they are finished.  Say whatever you want about her style (which can be overly poetic sometimes), there's no denying the rigorous research she puts behind her stories and the life she blows so easily into her characters. She has an axe to grind with the way politics and religion (specially the ones originated in the U.S.) smash human life, and she's not afraid to put her characters through hell and brimstone for the sake of exposing the 20th Century's forgotten crimes in Africa. (If she's not careful though, Glenn Beck will be calling her a commie bastard very soon.)

A family of white American missionaries descend on the Congo in 1960 for a year of Bible thumping, ignorant of the culture they are entering and the dangerous politics that's shifting power from Belgium's colonialist rule to a chaotic independence.  The narrative moves between the four daughters, who range between 16 and 6 years of age, and the mother years later, back in Georgia, U.S.  They struggle to adapt to this new culture as well as bear the ignorance and fanatism of the family's father, who believes he can bring salvation to all those African heathens.  We know early on from the mother's narrative that one of the daughters eventually dies, but we don't know which and for what reason, and it's partly this suspense that drives the story forward.  Village life slowly gets harder and the mysteries of the Congo swallow the family whole, and the reader. 

Some of this novel's pleasures: Kingsolver's ironies, ranging from the book's title down to the way the sections are divided; the way this Southern family's differing points of views build an image of the Congo and the 60s (like Faulkner transposed to Africa, actually); the rich Bible symbolism turned on its head; and the beautiful and redeeming love story at its core.

The Judges

Jan. 24th, 2011 08:25 pm
commonpeople1: (March of the Dead)

Village kids
Originally uploaded by daveblume
Thoughts and questions on Barbara Kingsolver's The Poisonwood Bible.

The Judges )
commonpeople1: (Bookclub)
Thoughts on the second part of The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver. All non-spoiler comments welcome!

The Poisonwood Bible: The Revelation )
commonpeople1: (Bookclub)

Genesis - Bible
Originally uploaded by S.A.L.
I'm currently reading Barbara Kingsolver's The Poisonwood Bible with [ profile] verybadhorse . We read one section, stop and comment before moving on. I just finished "Genesis" and I'm now halfway through the second-part, "The Revelation". Some thoughts under the tag on...

Genesis )
commonpeople1: (Default)
On Friday morning, my brasilian friend B arrived for a week-long stay. I took him downtown and we walked in the cold for hours while discussing the end of the world and psychedelic drugs. At night, we ate pizza in a nearby pub then finished off pints to the sound of East End jazz standars at the Palm Tree pub.

Yesterday, we went downtown again and browsed various bookstores. The weather was miserable, but not as horrible as the crowds around Oxford Street. In the evening, a friend invited us to drop by Passing Cloud (where he works) to see some live music. The evening was called Worm Food! and it was absolutely brilliant: afrobeats-and-folk on the ground floor to a beautiful, happy crowd and dub/reggae/soul on the second floor. MDMA highs without ingesting anything harder than rum and juice. As B correctly pointed out, you know you are in a great club when everyone around you has a smile on their face.

We ended up staying until four in the morning. Here's a taster of what the ground floor is like:

Today, we ate breakfast at The Victoria and were happy to learn that:

  • They didn't lose their live music license, though they had to compromise with the neighbours and no longer have any gigs on Thursdays. They told me that all the signatures on the petition were a big help because it showed to the court that two people were trying to unfairly bully a large group of people. So well done to all of you that signed it!
  • They have a table tennis in the cinema area (removed on Sunday nights for the film at 8pm).
  • They now have a Dreamcast attached to the telly so anyone can play videogames if they fancy it.
  • The hairdresser is also still there.
  • They still play great music (i.e. mostly The Cure)

B loved the pub. Afterwards, we went downtown again so he could buy DVDs at HMV and visit the Photographer's Gallery. I'm going to make dinner in a minute (pasta with tuna and tomato sauce) and then we'll settle down for the night with some Planet Earth action.
commonpeople1: (Margaret)
Barack Obama's Dreams from my Father

Barack Obama, Dreams of my Father, 1995
Barack Obama’s first book is more like a novelised autobiography than a straightforward memoir. First of all, it’s divided into three acts, like a conventional novel – beginning with his upbringing in Hawaii (idyllic childhood), past his baptism by fire in Chicago’s poor communities (Barack playing one of John Grisham’s young lawyers against insidious corruption at all levels ala The Wire), culminating in his trip to Kenya in search of the final pieces to the jigsaw he calls “father” (a tour de force graced with humor and insight not amiss in one of Zadie Smith’s familial comedies.) His search for all the pieces that will complete his father’s story is an indirect search for his own self – a strong, self-assured, intelligent, multi-cultural, well-travelled person it turns out to be that unsurprisingly defeated America’s Republicans. This memoir's strongest message is that Obama can't be placed in a box - he's too much the man which America should become in the 21st century.

I wish my book club had discussed this book after the announcement of his Nobel Prize for peace; it would have accentuated even more the divide in our group as to the book’s qualities. Some (like myself) enjoyed Obama’s story, despite some corny self-mythologizing passages, because we sensed the big heart behind the pen. Others felt it was too calculated (the formal three-act structure a good example), smartly envisaging an eventual place for himself in the White House. I don’t think that's the case: Obama wouldn’t have been so candid about his use of cannabis, for example, if he wanted one day to be president (the memoir was written in 1995, when just to smoke but not inhale was a bullet to the foot.)

This memoir is an easy, enjoyable read and a good reminder that America chose the right guy.
commonpeople1: (Kate)
Last night, Kevin and I visited Shakespeare's Globe Theatre for the first time - a blasted curse on our names for not visiting before after nine years in London! The play was Troilus and Cressida, which I knew nothing about, and which I loved (despite there being a preponderance of despicable queer characters with no redeeming qualities). The only actor I recognised was Matthew Kelly, who played a camp old queen who likes to perform a song or two for the audience and fawn over semi naked young men. He stole the show just as much as the actor who played the leprous hunchback beggar. It was only a fiver to stand and now I'm in the mood for buying season tickets and reading Bill Bryson's biography on the Bard (which I started, anyway, last night in a fit of excitement, and which is very good.)

On Monday, I was given a tour of a fairy house in South London (not open to the public), tucked away behind some bushes and an unmarked door on Wandsworth Road: the home of Kenyan-born poet and writer Khadambi Asalache. His house, which is now being taken care of by the National Trust, is completely covered with beautifully designed wood carvings, art works, paintings and collections of random things (tea cups, ink bottles, etc), many of which inspired by mathematical theory (he had a MPhil in Math), Islamic design and his memories of Africa. In his writing room, we heard one of his poems read out loud as we stared at one of his murals. Afterwards, we sat in his kitchen drinking tea and talking about life. No photo does justice to the place.

Photos of Khadambi Asalache's home )


May. 30th, 2009 01:10 pm
commonpeople1: (Xander)

Originally uploaded by vkrithinas
I first heard of Rokia Traoré a month ago, when I was skipping TV channels and landed on Later with Jools Holland. I fell in love with her performance and logged onto the internet straight away to find out if she was playing London. And she was: the Barbican last night, tickets as low as a tenner!

The thing I like about her is that it's music that brings together a whole bunch of stuff: a little Blues, a little Folk; some lyrics in French, big rhythm that makes everyone stand up and dance; a Billie Holiday cover; a lot of emotion that you can feel even if you don't understand a word. A type of Funk. And a lot of happiness.

Her performance at the Barbican could have blown the place up. It's only too bad that she didn't perform in a venue where everyone had to stand - and couldn't get away from dancing. That's what her music is meant for. If it were a gig in Brasil, everyone would be pouring out of the gig with sweat dripping down their bodies. But this is England... though, to be fair, she managed to get everyone up by the end, dancing in front of their seats.

Many of you may not know this, but although my mom is Brasilian and my dad is English, I was born in South Africa. I don't have family there, I left when I was quite young - to be raised in Brasil - but I still have that connection to Africa, no matter how small. It's in my childhood photos and my first memories. I feel drawn to African culture - in all its variety and distinctiveness - because this is what surrounded me: my parents' records, paintings and books on the Zulu; the stories I was told of my parents' life there when we left for Brasil (escaped South Africa's government, actually - my mom didn't want my brothers and I serving its compulsory military). It's a part of me I haven't really explored, but I've always known it's there.

I know that Mali is as different from South Africa as Brasil is to Peru, but there are certain things that countries share when they are on the same continent. A spirit? An imaginary closeness? History? I like it, whatever it is. Last night, I reflected a lot on my own birth and life, and the birth and life of others...
commonpeople1: (Ulf)
Hello James,
Can you help me to recieve a cheque in uk??



Hello Adams,

I work all night, I sleep all day, to fill the veins I have to fill. Ain't it sad? And in my crypt there doesn't seem to be a single coin left for me - that's too bad. In my dreams I have a plan: if I got me a wealthy man I wouldn't have to work at all, I'd fool around and have a midnight ball.

Money, money, money - must be funny in the rich man's world. Money, money, money - always sunny in the rich man's world. Aha-ahaaa! All the things I could do if I had a little money... It's a rich man's world.

A man like that is hard to find but I can't get him off my mind. Ain't it sad? And if he happens to be free I bet he wouldn't fancy me. That's too bad. So I must leave, I'll have to go to your property in Nigeria and win a fortune in oil. My life will never be the same. Money, money, money - must be funny in the rich man's world.


commonpeople1: (Bobby)
Hello James,
Thanks for the mail, I am so sorry for Igor. I have a client in united kingdom that wants to issue a check to my company in london, I will like you to receive the check and deposit into your bank account and if the money has been deposited into your account you can deduct %10 from the money and send the remaining money to my manager in africa. I hope this deal will be good for you.

I am waiting for your reply on this deal.



Dear Adams,

Out on the winding, wintry morgues we'd roll and fall in glee. I had a temper like my jealousy - too hot, too greedy. How could Igor leave me, when I needed to possess him? I hated him... but I loved him, too.

Bad dreams in the night - Igor once told me he was going to lose the fight, leave behind my lingering, lingering, lingering bites.

"Carvalho, it's me, I’m Igor, I've come home and I'm so cold, let me in your window. Carvalho, it's me, I’m Igor, I've come home and I'm so cold, let me in your window."

Adams, it gets dark! It gets lonely, on the other side from him. I pine a lot, I find the lot falls through without him. "I'm coming back," Igor wailed. "Cruel Carvalho, my one dream, my only master."

Too long I roamed in the night. And now he's coming back to my side, to put it right. Igor's coming home to my lingering, lingering, lingering bites.

"Carvalho, it's me, I’m Igor, I've come home and I'm so cold, let me in your window."

Ooh! Let me have it. Let me grab his soul away. Ooh! Let me have it. Let me grab his soul away. You know it's him -- Igor!

Wistfully yours,


P.s. I managed to snap a photo of the apparition outside my window. Do you think it might actually be Igor?!?

A photo of Igor's ghost? )
commonpeople1: (Pietr)
Hello James,
Thanks for the mail, do you still have the gold coin with you, if you still have go to any bureau de change where they normally chnage money and change the money to paper money and send it to me right away. i am sorry about igor.



Hello Adams,

It's been 7 hours and 15 days since that ship took Igor away. I go out every night and sleep all day... since the ship took Igor away. Since he's been gone I can do whatever I want, I can see whomever I choose. I can eat my dinner behind a fancy restaurant but nothing - I said nothing - can take away these blues... 'cause nothing compares, nothing compares to my boo!

It's been so lonely without him here, like a bat without a song. Nothing can stop these lonely tears from falling - tell me Adams, where did I go wrong? I could put my arms round every boy I see, but they'd only remind me of him. I went to the psychic, guess what she told me? Guess what she told me? She said "Honey you better try to have fun no matter what you do," but she's a fool - 'cause nothing compares, nothing compares to my boo!

All the flowers that I planted Adams in the graveyard, all died when he went away. I know that living with me was sometimes hard but I'm willing to give it another try... nothing compares, nothing compares to my boo...


commonpeople1: (Pietr)
Hello James,
When is Igor coming to africa??

Hello Mr Lawrence,

I am very worried about Igor. I don't know when he'll arrive in Africa... I don't even know if he's still alive!

About a week ago, the ship he was stowed away in sent a distress signal that was picked up by the YMCA Royal Navy. It appears that the ship encountered heavy storms on the way to Africa and crashed against some rocks. Many died or disappeared under the waves; Igor was one of the few that survived (his morse code was sent from the captain's cabin just before he jumped out of the window and managed to land in one of the dinghys.) Unfortunately, he lost all of the Virgin statues with the gold coins, apart from one stuffed down his trousers (maybe it's enough for a down payment on your property, if he gets there?) The gifts for the security guards were also lost.

About a few days ago, I received a text message from his mobile phone. It appears that the survivors of the ship found an island off the African coast and are currently there. All attempts on my part to locate the exact position of the island, however, have been futile - it's as if the place is off the maps! He was in high spirits until this morning, when a distressing message arrived together with a mobile photo: "They all died. Please help me. I'll try to make it to the second island in a boat I found. They killed them, the Others killed them all..."

As you can imagine, I'm deathly pale with worry. I sincerely hope he manages to make it to Africa and buy the land for me, but I'm not getting my hopes up. I fear the worst.

Attentiously yours,

James Carvalho

Last photo sent from Igor's mobile phone )
commonpeople1: (Patrick)

Regent's Canal 17
Originally uploaded by olliefern
The last e-mail I received from my lawyer in West Africa arrived on Saturday. This is what Mr Lawrence said:
Hi James,
Thanks for your email, i will be expecting mr Igor in lagos, nigeria so that we can see and discuss how the deal will take place.
Adams Lawrence

I didn't reply. What could I have said? Igor was gone and now it was a matter of waiting until he successfully crossed the seas and arrived in Lagos.

This business deal may have been a big mistake: since Igor's departure a heatwave has struck London - it's as if a curse has fallen on me due to my faithful friend's departure. I lie now in my crypt all day, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. I can hear the joggers pounding the pavement above, cycles ringing their bells, the laughter of happy people enjoying the blasted sunshine. It's doing me head in. And I seem to have developed hay fever - something I've never experienced in over a thousand years! I doubt puny human medicine will help at all so I've resorted to sticking tissue up my nose and hoping the bloody phlegm stops pouring out.

I rise from my restless days, though, to these beautiful dusks covering the city. Birds flying everywhere that remind me of the bats in my family's home, St George Castelo. A hedgehog staring at me from behind a fence, so much alike my childhood pet Mr Tiddywinkles. I'm adrift in memories and taken to walking Regent's Canal at night, casting my mind towards Igor and hoping that all is alright with him. The canal is strangely empty at night, as if bike riders and joggers know to stir clear of it (the one or two corpses found floating in the water may have been my doing, but surely that wouldn't put off Londoners?!) All this solitude is bad - it exacerbates my melancholia. Even my iPod has turned on me, playing one sad song after another.

Hurry my sweet Igor. Hurry and purchase that land so I can cross the oceans to be with you and start a new life. And don't forget my postcard.
commonpeople1: (Randolf)
Hello Cavarlho,
Thanks for your mail, i will like to see the photo of mr igor so that i will know how to describe him whenever he arrives in africa. i will also want to know how much he will be bringing with him?
The coins you are talking about is it the coins that they normally spend in uk? pls advise me so that i wll know what to do.


Adams Lawrence

Hello Adams,

Please find attached a photo of Igor. I am sure you will have no trouble spotting him once he arrives in your beautiful country. He will meet you at midnight inside Querelle Bar, where all the solitary sailors go when they seek love. He will have with him two statues of the Virgin. Each statue will contain inside 20 gold coins, which I hope is enough to pay for government taxes, put a down payment on the land and buy a lil' gift for each of the security guards (by the way, can you give me suggestions for gifts to them? Do they like cashmere and taffeta?)

It's been 9 hours now since Igor said goodbye and went to the port. It was a very emotional scene, with tears shed by the both of us. Damn, I am going to miss that hunchback! I know I treat him harshly sometimes, but he is a good companion and does the housework competently. I hope you treat him well when you meet him, Mr Lawrence.

Igor will try to send me telegraphs from the boat if he manages to enter the captain's cabin without being noticed. I shall keep you updated on his journey. In the meantime, tell me about yourself. What is your favorite book, your favorite film? You are very mysterious Mr Lawrence. Are you one of those strong and silent types?


Mr Carvalho

Photo of my P.A. and finance officer Igor )
commonpeople1: (Pietr)
Dear Mr Carvalho,
Thanks for your early mail, i want you to know that meeting with mr Igor will not be a problem, i will be happy to welcome him with my hands open.
Regarding the guards of the duplex i told you about, they are tall strong and phisically fit they can guild any where in the world, but before my Igor can come here i will want him to pay some certain amount of money so that i can prepare some government papers and pay for some government revenue tax here in west africa.
So Mr carvalho the total amount of money that you will have to pay is $3,800 so that i can start to proccess the land document before i can meet with mr Igor. if you know you are ready to pay for the documents kindly send me a mail so that i can send you the westrn union information that you will use in sending the money.
Adams Lawrence

This is the land certificate:

Mr Lennon's Land Certificate
Mr Lennon's land certificate

Dr Mr Lawrence,

Thank you for your e-mail and for explaining so succinctly what I need to do next. Igor, as well as being my P.A., manages my finances. I ordered him to find $3,800 in my coffers so I could pay for your government tax and papers, but he came back and told me we only had gold coins and that he would need to have them converted into paper money. He then proceeded to take some of the coins to the port and look for sailors interested in buying them. He was gone for a long time (which is why I haven't replied earlier to you - I was so worried he'd been captured by those men who seek to destroy me that I couldn't bare to visit our local internet cafe.) When he came back, he told me crazed tales of sailors and ships no longer existing at the port, of people laughing at him when he showed them the gold coins and calling him a fool.

You might wonder Mr Lawrence what I did next. Well, I gave Igor a beating! How dare he tell me these lies? Does he take me for a naive babe? I know the world we live in; I know that my gold coins are still valuable and can open any doors I wish to enter.

Finally, after skulking around the crypt for a while, Igor suggested hiding the coins inside statues of the Virgin and taking them to Africa with him. He will be stowing away inside the next boat that departs England and after a few weeks at sea, will arrive at your country and give you the coins. I'm sure you will be able to sell the coins and get the money needed to secure the land for me.

Please let me know if this plan seems a good one to you. If you are happy with it, I shall send you a photo of Igor so you can recognise him when he arrives.

With warm regards,

Mr Carvalho
commonpeople1: (Zack)
Dear Cavarlho,
Thanks for your email, presently i am not in uk because of some business deals, i am in spain right now.
Firstly i believe that the land will be ok by you because there is a duplex that was built by me on the land and i have force men that guarding the house and the land 24 hours, so travelling down to west africa to see the land will never be a problem becuase there is sea around the land and you will be welcomed properly like a king. i want you to contact my lawyer in west africa so that he can tell you more things about the land and how the transaction will take place. my lawyer in west africa can be reached on his phone: +123-4567891011 or you can mail him earlier so that he can tell you what to do next. this is the email address of my lawyer: tell him that you are from brown lennon and i will call him now.
Brown Lennon

Dear Mr Lennon,

It warms my heart to hear you describe me as a King. Many moons ago this was how people called me when I walked the streets of Europe's capitals. As things go, my name has fallen from use (and into a certain disrepute) and is now almost forgotten by those who should remember it most. I am also very happy to hear that the land is provided with a duplex protected by guards. I imagine they must be tall, strong men - their powerful muscles and piercing eyes inspiring fear and admiration on those that approach the compound. Can't wait to meet them!

Since our last correspondence, it has become a matter of urgency that I leave the U.K. I fear that some individuals here do not have my best interests at heart and are determined to find my resting place. I have a faithful friend, Igor, who is a type of personal assistant - he will be travelling to West Africa before me to make sure my arrival by boat goes smoothly, and that the duplex is fitted for my needs. The both of us are very keen on leaving this island A.S.A.P.

On a completely unrelated note, have you ever watched the TV show Rupaul's Drag Race? Igor and I have been so addicted to it we spent nearly our entire Easter weekend watching it. There are some Fierce Divas in that show! I highly recommend it as a mixture of light entertainment and fabulous spectacle unlike anything else on the telly. I only wish they would bring the format to the U.K. because I could see the British public lapping this show up. What's the TV like in your country by the way? Are there many interesting shows? I do tend to stay indoors a lot (especially during the summer) so I rely on the TV for some of my entertainment.

I hope this e-mail finds you well. Please do pass my contact details to your lawyer and ask him to contact me (but only after 8pm) so that I can learn how to proceed from here.

Yours truly,

Mr Carvalho

P.S. Igor waves hello.

Sweet Oil

Apr. 14th, 2009 04:19 pm
commonpeople1: (Johan)

I am Brown Lennon from United Kingdom. i have a land in west africa, i bought the land about 15 years ago. The land contains crude oil, so i have decided to contact any buyer that could be interested in the land. The land is just about 32 hectares. Please you should be prepared to travel over to west africa to view the land. I have a financial consultant in London that would represent my financial interest and a lawyer in west africa to help us expedite action on the transaction. if you are interested please get back to me on my with your profile and genuine interest/offer.

Best Regards,

Brown Lennon

Dear Mr Lennon,

I am very interested in your land. What kind of place is it? Are there any churches nearby (specifically, the type of buildings with large crucifixes?) I ask because those places give me the creeps and would severely impair me from purchasing your land. Also, does the land contain any sort of house I can stay inside while I visit? I would prefer if it was the kind of house that has blinds or shutters that completely cover the windows - you see, I'm a little sensitive to light. A basement would be good too. Finally, is there a commercial port nearby? I would like to travel to see your land but I am only able to do so by sea.

If you invite me into your home here in the U.K., it will be my pleasure to visit you and discuss this further.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Mr Carvalho

P.S. My working hours are a little unorthodox so I'm not able to reply to phonecalls or e-mails until after 8pm. I hope that's OK.

April 2017



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