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Yes, Comrade

Yes, Comrade

Foreword by Gitahi Gititi
Translated by Ronald W. Sousa
Copyright Date: 1993
Edition: NED - New edition
Pages: 176
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  • Book Info
    Yes, Comrade
    Book Description:

    Yes Comrade! comprises five short stories set in Angola during the revolutionary times of the 1960s and early 1970s. Based on immediate events and using cultural and linguistic codes, Rui explores the ramifications of political independence and nation-state formation. Fascinating and intricate, the stories of Yes Comrade! emerge as telling fictional portrayals of an extremely complex political and cultural scenario.

    eISBN: 978-0-8166-8389-5
    Subjects: Language & Literature

Table of Contents

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  1. Front Matter
    (pp. i-vi)
  2. Table of Contents
    (pp. vii-viii)
  3. Foreword
    (pp. ix-xxii)
    Gitahi Gititi

    Manuel Rui was born in 1941 in Huambo, Angola. In 1961 he went to the University of Coimbra in Portugal, where he obtained his law degree in 1969; thereafter he practiced law in Coimbra and Viseu. His legal practice involved providing advice to various trade unions. In addition, Rui was on the editorial boards of several literary journals, includingVértice. This involvement led to his arrest in 1973 on charges of political activity for the MPLA (Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola). He returned to Angola in 1974 after the overthrow of the fascist regime in Portugal; he served...

  4. Translator’s Preface
    (pp. xxiii-2)
  5. The Council
    (pp. 3-10)

    Things were just as bad as ever out there. Worse, actually, since now the people were forever staring toward the Government Palace in great consternation. For on this first day of the so-called Angolan government, greater than any other government in the world because it had, count’em, no fewer than three prime ministers, one of those three new ministers came out on the balcony and droned on about how the Palace now belonged to the people. And what is more, he went on to say that the Palace that before had been held by the colonizers had now passed into...

  6. The Watch
    (pp. 11-40)

    “Comrade Commander! Tell the story again.”

    Now and again on Sundays, here in that house right near the ocean, the commander would enjoy the short, deserved repose of the warrior.

    The children would begin to arrive in the hope of hearing the story about the watch. The ones who lived on the beach knew the story by heart, and each one, with his or her own flair, would tell it over again here under the shade of the coconut palms, each time with new marvel, a growing to crescendo of inventing that story that sailed from mouth to mouth among...

  7. The Last Bordello
    (pp. 41-58)

    They came in the back way. And, as was their custom, the one in the lead gave a greeting in Portuguese: “Good evening, ‘sister.’ ”

    Silence in return. Mana Domingas pretended that she hadn’t noticed them and went right on, her chubby face engrossed in the piece of plain-colored crocheting that she had all but finished.

    “You have that doily just about finished, Mana Domingas,” one of the younger women said, by way of praise. She was seated beside the small table on which sat the record player and also the oil lamp with the shade on it, which illuminated...

  8. Two Queens of Carnival
    (pp. 59-70)

    The building, originally blue, is all smoke-discolored. On the lower floors all that is left of the windows are the iron frames, pulled out of the walls. Scattered around, whole piles of rubbish. Fragments of building material, broken glass, metal beams, sheet metal, pieces of tables, chairs, semidestroyed photocopy machines, publicity fliers, all thrown together in a heap as though it had all tried—unsuccessfully—to flee. The only thing missing was a flag. Yellow, red, and white flags, not even with all the sophisticated machinery brought in from America, from Zaire, from France, from Germany, from England! Volleys of...

  9. Five Days after Independence
    (pp. 71-146)

    And when the shells sowed a nervous confusion among the people and automatic weapons sang out in bursts and with louder volume their rhythm of death, the city would suddenly be transformed into a panic in which each resident’s fear would reveal itself in either an instant of meditative silence or vocal outburst, frozen anticipation or physical flight.

    Cars, trapped where they stood, would sound their horns impatiently. The red lights would have no effect whatsoever. Others, even driving down one-way streets, seeing an interminable line ahead, would turn around and go in the other direction illegally, madly racing to...

  10. List of Organizations
    (pp. 147-148)
  11. Back Matter
    (pp. 149-149)