This is a passage I am working on for the new edition of A Leaf of Honey. One Tuesday afternoon, at the end of November 1988, I had a hastily scheduled interview on BBC Radio Oxford. When I arrived, the receptionist asked me to have a seat and called the programme producer. Over the office speakers I listened to the broadcast. The presenter who was to interview me was already on the air. “...and now we have She Works Hard for the Money by the Queen of Disco, Donna Summer...” This was one of those rare unsolicited interviews, the radio station, or rather this particular disc jockey, had contacted me through my publicist. The disc jockey wanted me on his show at my earliest convenience. My publicist gave me the number and I immediately rang him up. The disc jockey explained that by “earliest convenience” he meant the next day. I agreed, any airtime was useful in promoting a book. The disc jockey seemed excited about what I had written. I was astonished that my book had reached the stratum of the population occupied by disc jockeys, and puzzled why he would want an anthropologist on a pop music show. I tapped my foot to Donna Summer’s music and waited. The programme producer came out of an office holding a clipboard and a copy of my book. She greeted me and asked if I wanted anything to drink. “A cup of coffee, tea?” she offered. “It will be a few minutes yet.” “No thank you, nothing,” I answered. “Have you read this?” I asked, tapping the cover on my book. “Did you like it?” Looking up at the office speakers she commented, “He had all of us read it, especially chapter forty... I will tell him you are here.” A strange non-committal answer. I tried to remember the contents or even the title of that particular chapter. The producer was professionally pleasant but she seemed a little stressed. She borrowed the receptionist’s phone and called the studio to tell the disc jockey that I had arrived. There was some local advertising coming out of the speakers and a minute later the disc jockey was speaking again. “I understand that my special guest, Joseph Sheppherd is in the building and will be talking about his new book A Sheaf of Money... I mean, A Leaf of Money... No, let me get this right... A Leaf of Honey and the Proverbs of the Rainforest. A fascinating book, it changed my life. But first, that Cabaret movie classic Money Makes The World Go Round, sung by the lovely Liza Minnelli and Joel Grey.” There was a kind of “whoosh-splat” sound effect and then the song began. I glanced at the producer, she smiled apologetically and then rolled her eyes. She asked me to follow her. The disc jockey was sitting in middle of the glassed-in sound booth with one ear of his headphones perched on top of this head. He was surrounded by turntables, microphones, tape decks and consoles with an array of lights and switches. Cables and wires snaked everywhere around the room. The producer caught his attention and pointed to me. He gave her an excited OK gesture and waved to me. I waved back. He stood up and pulled the T-shirt he was wearing straight so I could read what was written on it. “The bloodsucker never cares about the social status of anyone.” He then turned around to reveal the back: “The bloodsucker is now on the hand that holds the flyswatter.” He raised his eyebrows for validation and gave me a thumbs up gesture. He then flashed me five fingers indicating that he still had five minutes left for this segment of his show. I stood outside the glass and watched him work. He was about thirty years old but he had the exuberance, dress and demeanor of a teenager. His on-air voice was nice though, resonant and clear. I listened to him bantering on about the next record by the Pet Shop Boys; how the lyrics were taken literally by some listeners and how it had become a materialistic anthem. But he added, looking up at me, that if the words are taken satirically or ironically, the meaning completely changed. “Lyrics have layers of meaning,” he said, winking at me and nodding. He started the turntable and introduced the record. Op...port...tun...it...ies,” he articulated, “Lets Make Lots of Money, by the Pet Shop Boys. Then came the “whoosh-splat”. I was beginning to see a trend in his playlist. The disc jockey waved me into the studio and showed me where to sit facing him and which microphone was mine and close I should be to it. He then reached over to shake my hand. He had a copy of my book on his desk. I complimented him on his T-shirt and asked where he had it made. “There’s a shop on Cowley Road,” he said. “I made two, one for me and the other for my producer.” I now noticed that she wasn’t wearing hers. During the song he compressed the story of his struggle with the management of the station for a better employment contract. It was the tale of an escalating series of desperate maneuvers. I soon realized that the “bloodsucker” in this metaphor was his boss, and the disc jockey was the “flyswatter”. This sometimes on-air battle had been going on for more than a week. During this war of words he had discovered my book. Reading passages to the radio public which he felt supported his case between songs wasn’t his only weapon. He showed me that he could hit a button and a half second sound effect could be inserted when he wanted to make a point. The “whoosh” was the flyswatter and the “splat” was the flattened bloodsucker. This could be a nightmare interview. In a few seconds I was going to be the live guest speaker in the middle of a radio station wage dispute, a battle, complete with sound effects. I decided to try to steer the conversation and keep to the presentation I had chosen. The worry was the beginning, I couldn’t predict what the first question of such an interview might be. He faded down the music and spoke into his microphone. “My guest today is Joseph Sheppherd...” announced the disc jockey pointing to me, cueing me to say something. I leaned toward the microphone said, “Hello...”. “Joseph Sheppherd has written a book about wisdom. Tell me sir, are you a wiseman?” asked the disc jockey. “Far from it...” I began. “With Christmas nearly upon us,” he interrupted, “I noticed that with the names “Joseph” and “Sheppherd” and “wiseman” you have most of the cast of a nativity scene.” He laughed. Obviously he hadn’t discovered that my middle name was Roy, or he would have mentioned it. Roy meant “king”, as in the three wise men or kings. He wasn’t the first to make this connection, but he was the first in Britain. Since I left America I had tried to keep this fact to myself. Now everyone in Oxfordshire would unconsciously associate me with carpenters, sheepherders and frankincense. I didn’t know what my parents were thinking... I suddenly realized that this was the perfect response. “What were my parents thinking?” I asked rhetorically and then laughed at the same volume and duration as he did. “I’ve been wearing this T-shirt for the last week, my own proverbial protest. Can you read for everyone what it says. I repeated the proverbs from memory. “I am sure the Ntumu tribesmen are flattered...” I commented. At last he had steered away from the banalities of my names. Now came the problem of getting across the land mines of his arguments with management. The only way was to take charge. “Thank you for inviting me,” I began, “As you know, I am on a book tour talking about cultural similarities and about astonishment.” “Astonishment?” he asked. “Astonishment is different for tribal people like the Ntumus who live in the rainforest of Cameroon, in Central Africa.” “How so?” he asked. I had been able to turn the conversation around, back to the topic I had chosen. “I hear you asking yourself, different from what? This is best explained by a comparison,” I began. “When an American businessman walks down a busy street in a city like London and meets his next door neighbour from back home, he is surprised. But, when a member of the Ntumu tribe walks down a pathway through of the rainforest and meets someone he doesnt know, he is astonished. These reactions are similar, but the two individuals have very distinct social expectations.” “Expectations are important,” inserted the disc jockey hitting the “whoosh-splat” button. I blinked disbelievingly and continued. “That is true, the businessman doesnt expect to meet any of his acquaintances, let alone his neighbor. Because in London, he lives in an urban social environment filled with people he doesnt know. The intercity trains, the double-decker buses, the underground and the sidewalks along Regents Street are full of them. These are reasons why a big city is such a dangerous place. Contact avoidance is high on his list of survival strategies. As an urban dweller he has developed many useful avoidance related skills, like not interacting with strangers, no eye contact, not getting involved and knowing which way to look when he is crossing the road. For the Londoner, these have become almost instinctive. I discovered this when I first lived in the boroughs of London.” “Where was that?” he interrupted. “Pinner and Harrow,” I said. “Wow, did you ever meet Screaming Lord Sutch of the Monster Raving Loony Party?” he asked. “Lord Sutch lives in Harrow.” “No...” I said. “Now there’s a man who never shied away from a workingman’s fight for financial justice,” commented the disc jockey. “Whoosh-splat” went the sound effect. I tried to continue. “And if Lord Sutch were here right now he would probably agree that for an American visiting Britain, its the other way... about... knowing which way to look. Because the British drive on the other side of the street, Americans have the wrong instincts when crossing the road. They look the wrong direction when they step off the curb. Their expectation is that traffic will come at them from the left. There have been so many tourists knocked down or run over in London, that the government has painted survival instructions on the ground at intersections: look right.” “Very interesting, we will continue this discussion right after this musical interlude by Cyndi Lauper singing, Money Changes Everything... whoosh-splat”. Off-mike, during Cyndi’s five minute interlude, he continued to list his grievances with the management. It was a one sided conversation that required me to just listen and try not to loose my mental place in what I was talking about. Finally the music faded. “And we’re back...” segued the disc jockey. “As I was saying,” I continued, “on the crowded London street, the businessman shuffles along with everyone else trying not to bump into anyone and above all, avoiding eye contact with strangers. The concept of stranger is very strong in the mind of this businessman. Since he was a little boy, he has been taught, both in the home and at school, that “stranger means danger”. If a stranger stopped and asked him something, he was told by his parents and teachers to be suspicious and to run away if the stranger did anything he didnt understand. Not interacting with strangers has become instinctive for him, it is part of the social beliefs and values which he shares with other members of his society. These, in turn, have led to a certain set of behaviors which have become the social norm, the identification of who we are, and are seen as correct. In the absence of a wider social experience, these are, mistakenly, assumed to be universally valid and appropriate.” The disc jockey looked up at the analogue clock on the wall behind me and silently held up his finger for me to pause. “It is appropriate that we pause for some “station” identification. The time is just past two-thirty and this is BBC Radio Oxford, broadcasting on 95.2 FM. In Oxford, Abingdon and Banbury, its your voice. We will be right back after Money, Money, Money by the fabulous Swedish pop group ABBA.” He hit the flyswatter button three times “whoosh-splat, whoosh-splat, whoosh-splat”. I asked if I might make use of the bathroom. I just wanted escape the tirade. “Sure, just down that hallway,” he said pointing through the glass. “How much time do I have?” I asked. He looked at the playtime. “Three minutes,” he said. I looked at my watch and hurried. I made sure it was almost exactly three minutes. He continued as soon as I took my seat. “I have with me Joseph Sheppherd, the author of A Leaf of Honey and the Proverbs of the Rainforest, talking about what he learned from living with the Ntumu tribesmen of Cameroon.” “The tribesmen,” I continued, “also have their own social values and expectations which, although they differ from those of the businessman, are just as valid in the context of his physical and social environment. The tribesman in question is astonished when meeting a stranger because he expects to know everyone in his social universe. There are no strangers in his society. Like the big city, the jungle is also a dangerous place, but here, to be able to function successfully within his environment, he must know everyone. Here, it is the venomous animals and poisonous plants he must be wary of, and not the members of his own society. In the jungle, avoidance of his fellow humans would reduce his chances of survival. He has developed good social instincts and doesnt need written instructions on the ground to keep him out of harms way. He knows what to do: look everywhere.” I paused thinking that the disc jockey might want to say something. But he seemed to thinking about what I was saying so I continued. “But this requires teamwork, the tribesman’s individual survival depends on his tribe’s collective survival. In his society, each one watches the back of the other. For him, familiarity with other people and a sense of social unity are natural and spontaneous. The tribesman also has strategies for survival, but these are quite different from those of the London businessman. His survival skills include cooperation, interdependence and harmony. These are vital components in the structure of his society. After many thousands of years these have become instinctive, they are part of the tribe’s sense of social responsibility.” There was dead-air for a moment until the disc jockey realized that I had finished. Despite the proverb emblazoned T-shirt, his not-so-subtle play list and sound effects, I suspected that he wasn’t going to get his raise in salary. I imagined that at that very moment the station manager was running his finger down a long list of possible names. I could see him dialing someone like Dave Cash, and saying, “Dave, are you free from tomorrow? I have a disc jockey position opening up.” “Well time is up,” said my interviewer. “I want to thank my guest Joseph Sheppherd for a fascinating insight into the proverbs of the rainforest. Buy his book, I did. Find your own favourite African proverb, make a T-shirt.” As I drove away bewildered, I tuned to BBC Radio Oxford and listened. The unstoppable disc jockey was playing Pink Floyd’s Money. I considered the lyrics. “Money, get away. Get a good job with more pay and you’re O.K. Money, its a gas. Grab that cash with both hands and make a stash. New car, caviar, four star daydream; think Ill buy me a football team. Money, get back. Im all right Jack, keep your hands off my stack. Money, its a hit. Dont give me that do goody good …” I switched it off. I was the one astonished. What would the Ntumu think of their proverbs being used to leverage a salary increase. What a waste of wisdom. This was not what they would term as an appropriate use of knowledge. In a week I was scheduled to appear on the nationally broadcast BBC Radio 4 round table discussion program, called “Widweek” with presenter Libby Purves, actress Glenda Jackson, comedian Ernie Wise, psychic healer Matthew Manning, and some famous artist whose name I couldn’t remember. I hoped that things would go better during that interview.
Posted on: Sun, 27 Oct 2013 16:07:13 +0000
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