The Mothers by Jennifer Gilmore

Sometimes it is good to read a book that thoroughly exercises your powers of empathy. That was precisely the kind of mind-exercise that I had to practice while reading The Mothers. I heard the book reviewed on NPR, and as usual I put it on my reading list as soon as I got home (since I'm often in the car while listening to these reviews). NPR has never steered me wrong in my reading material and I can't say The Mothers was an exception, although it was difficult for me to really resonate with empathy for the characters.

The Mothers is a novel about a couple going through the adoption process. What really caused me to add this book to my reading list was not so much that I'm particularly interested in adopting, (or even having a child right now for that matter) but that the book discussion on NPR veered into conversation on how the adoption process causes people to confront their racial and socioeconomic biases. For instance, one of the first steps that every prospective adoptive parent goes through is to figure out what race of child they want to adopt. That dictates everything. It dictates where you adopt from, the number of potential birthmothers, and in some cases even the cost (i.e. black babies are cheaper.) I found this interesting from a social science perspective. No matter how much we talk about tolerance and equality or assert that race doesn't matter, truthfully, it does. This is just one example of the so-called "politically-incorrect" decisions that adoption brings into play. There are many others.

While that's what drew me to the book, those "politically incorrect" decisions really weren't the primary focus of the story. The novel details the adoption journey of Jessie and Ramon, a pushing-forty couple who have been unable to have children. Restrictions and red tape keep them out of the international adoption market, so they opt for a domestic "open" adoption. I learned that open adoption is one in which the adoptive family keeps in contact with the birthmother throughout the child's life. Once Jessie and Ramon make their decision and start down the road toward an open adoption, they find it an uphill battle at every turn. First, they basically need to "sell" themselves to potential birthmothers. This means designing a portfolio introducing themselves as a couple, highlighting their positive qualities and downplaying the negatives (i.e. the fact that they live in a tiny Manhattan apartment). Jessie and Ramon also have to decide whether or not they are comfortable with a child whose mother used drugs or alcohol during the first trimester. While this opens up many more potential birthmoms, is it worth the risk? Are they prepared to parent special needs child?

The Mothers is primarily Jessie's story. As a middle aged woman, surrounded by friends and family pushing strollers and negotiating daycare she feels left out. She doesn't have anything to talk about with her girlfriends anymore.  As she sees pictures of newborns on Facebook and children on the playground, her longings for a child get stronger. Potential birthmothers string her along, but ultimately fall through in the end. All the while Jessie's desperation grows.

This is where I really have trouble with empathy. I don't understand that. I'm still at the stage of seeing children in the grocery store and thinking, "Whew, glad I don't have to deal with THAT!" I'd also like to hear the husband's side of the story. He wanted a child too, but did not seem as desperate as Jessie. Why is it always the mother portrayed as the one yearning for kids? I know for a fact that it doesn't always happen that way.

The book also opened my eyes to another aspect of the adoption process. I'd always pictured adoption as being a rather straightforward process in which children are basically lining up at the door for a good home. (kind of like puppies at the shelter) Of course, I've always heard through the grapevine that it's a long and arduous process, but I figured that just meant there was a lot of paperwork and fees. I'd never really considered the fact that in this country at least, it's the other way around - prospective parents are lining up at the door to get a child, trying to sell themselves to sixteen year old girls. That's ironic. Teenage girls, crack addicts and alcoholics ultimately control the fate of so many lives. Internationally, it may be a different story. Certainly there are orphanages filled with children, but Russia has basically shut down adoption to the United States, China has a lot of restrictions regarding prospective parents (i.e. you can't adopt Chinese babies if you have certain health conditions, etc), and political and ethnic turmoil in Africa make it often very difficult to procure a child from that continent. In short, adoption is a good and noble thing. I remain convinced of that. It can be done and many families in my church attest to this. There is nothing quite as special on Child Dedication Sunday as seeing a young multiracial family with an adopted child. But adoption is not a process for the faint of heart. One adoptive mother I talked to in the church nursery recently said that adoption was in some ways just as difficult as pregnancy and giving birth - just in a different kind of way. The moral of the story? Either way you do it, having a child is painful, risky, and a heck of a lot of work.

In short, when and if I'm ever ready, I'm pretty convinced I'm going to just order a custom-made baby from Amazon. Hopefully it'll be eligible for Prime shipping.

Rurally Screwed by Jessie Knadler

When I picked up the book Rurally Screwed from the library the other day I thought this was going to be a light summer read. I figured it would just be a humorous glimpse into the life of a city-girl gone country. When I told my husband that the premise of the book was about a girl from New York City who falls in love with a cowboy, he pretty much verbalized what I'd been thinking all along: "That sounds like it won't work out." But sometimes people's bad ideas make great summer reading, so I plowed forward.

What I did not expect was a genuine love story between a woman who is remarkably similar to me and a guy who is really, truly not a jerk. (Nice guys have been in short supply among my summer reads) The author, Jessie Knadler, chronicles her journey from the yoga studios and bars of Manhattan to Lexington, VA where she currently resides as a mom and chicken farmer.  The first part of the book lived up to my initial expectations of light summer reading. Jessie was the epitome of a trendy, urban 30-something with a fast-paced career, a solid income, and an identity crisis. She gave all that up when she met Jake while on assignment in Montana. Jake was the complete opposite. He was a horseman, a soldier, a country-music fanatic, and a Republican. A few months later Jessie was moving to Lexington, Virginia and helping her new husband build a massive portable chicken coop.

In the early years of their marriage Jessie thought she'd solve her identity crisis by making a 180 degree transformation into the Martha Stewart of country living. Far away from journalism and yoga classes, she now devoted her days to growing her own food, making artisan bread, raising chickens, brewing beer, and canning pretty much everything. She was the goddess of country living. And yet, she kept comparing herself to her husband, feeling that she fell short of his strength, his work ethic, his emotional stability. While he encouraged her and cheered her on, she tore herself down. She felt inferior for staying home canning all day. She questioned her choice of a very traditional marriage and retrogressive role as a housewife. She stressed out when she friends suggested that she should start having children. All the while she secretly compared herself to the "sexy horsewoman" down the road - the one who she feared Jake should have married. And Jake, the silent, stoic country cowboy never communicated how deeply he admired his wife - until the day she hightailed it back to New York City.

Now, since the book jacket says that Jessie is currently living with her husband and daughter in Lexington, VA, I don't feel too guilty about letting on that Jessie does not stay in New York City. She does not fit there either. During her time in the country the city trends have shifted. Everybody in NYC has been gripped by the back-to-nature lifestyle. They are raising chickens on the roof and growing tomatoes on the patio. But Jessie is struck by the fact that they are doing it all wrong. They busy are buying expensive artisan pickles, while Jessie's homemade ones sit unopened in the pantry!

This is about where Jessie's story nearly brought me to tears. She has spent her life trying to fit herself into some socially prescribed box. Neither the trendy urban box, nor the organic, country housewife box fit perfectly. She has nearly given up on her marriage because she couldn't fit into the box that she had built for herself. Jessie must accept that she does not have to earn her husband's love. Jake, she realizes, loved her all along. Yes, he enjoyed her pickles, but he was happy just to have her.  She drove back to Lexington, made up with Jake, and went to McDonalds.

Jessie writes, "I finally understood that identity comes once you stop searching for it, once you stop looking to conceptual thought for definitions of who you are or think you should be." But how does one stop this cycle of selfish thinking? The answer: have a baby. With a baby, Jessie says, "I was finally too busy to think about myself."

I don't can. But I've frozen about 30+ pounds of local fruits and vegetables. I have homemade artisan bread rising in the kitchen, I just finished making bruschetta and pesto, both with produce from my patio garden. I get up early on weekends and run about a dozen miles (literally) then hightail it to the farmer's market. I'm a member of a CSA where I frequently go to pick my own fruits and vegetables. I also knit and drink smoothies made with local peaches and kale. And yes, I have a lot of time to think about myself while I'm in the kitchen or out on the running trail. I try to drown out some of those thoughts with NPR or country music, but let's face it, neither one of those things totally stop the vain, foolish, and futile thoughts that start running through my mind. Things like, "Do I really want to have kids? What if I gain weight? How can I raise kids, keep my career, maintain a clean house and cook delicious, homemade meals from scratch? Oh dear, I should have gotten local honey to use in that recipe. Is it worth it to exchange my cheap Club Pack of chicken breasts for expensive grass-fed chicken?"

I've been trying so hard to transform myself into this paragon of a physically fit, kale-smoothie drinking locavorian that I've stressed myself out. It's ridiculous how we women go to such great lengths to fit into our ridiculous molds. That is why Jessie's story is so refreshing. (more refreshing than a peaches n' kale smoothie)

I'm glad Jessie Knadler wrote this book and has been continuing the story in her blog (www.rurallyscrewed.com). I'm glad that a woman who didn't like babies had one and enjoyed it so much that she's having another. I'm glad she confessed to using formula. (because apparently when mom doesn't make enough milk, formula gets a hungry baby to shut up!)  I'm also glad that she's still canning, still raising chickens, and still married to her awesome husband.

And I am seriously craving some Papa Johns.

Book Review: Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

Gone Girl is another great poolside fiction read for the summer. The library classified the book as "Mystery" but I would call it more of a psychological thriller. It's not as mysterious as it is disturbing. The book is a portrait of human nature at its worst. Human depravity always makes for a good story and Gone Girl is no exception. It is riveting novel in which readers become onlookers to the disastrous results of marriage gone awry.

The story opens on the day that the protagonist's wife, Amy, goes missing. I sensed that it was not the husband's fault, but as the story progressed I became increasingly unsure. This is the story of two people who had become chronic liars. The book takes the reader through the events surrounding the incident and the days following while also telling the back-story of Nick and Amy's turbulent five-year marriage.

I read this novel primarily for entertainment. It doesn't have a deeply moral or philosophical message, just twists that kept me turning the pages. However, by providing a picture of a dysfunctional marriage, the book becomes a good reminder of what not to do in a relationship. Nick and Amy's relationship did not unravel on the day that she went missing. It started long before that, with little lies and tiny manipulative schemes. These little deceptions turned into larger ones; short silences became long stretches of isolation. As in any relationship, the longer Nick and Amy were married, the more they learned about one another's weaknesses and vulnerabilities. Their cruelty grows out of this knowledge as they begin to target each other's vulnerabilities. It is subtle and first, but the attacks grow deeper and more scarring as time passes.

In conclusion, Gone Girl is definitely an entertaining read because it appeals to that part of the psyche that guiltily derives fascination out of others' misfortune. Therefore, I'm keeping this review short because giving away too much would just take the fun out of reading the book!

Book Review: Coming of Age in Mississippi by Anne Moody

Anne Moody's Coming of Age in Mississippi was a hard book for me to wrap my mind around. Not because it wasn't a good read, but because I still cannot seem to get how, only 50 years ago, white society could have supported - vehemently supported - the de jure segregation and blatant racism that was rampant throughout the South. I certainly know the causes of racism in terms of the sociological and economic forces as play, but I just do not get it. There is nothing in me that says: "Yeah, I think he or she is misguided, but I can certainly see the rational reasoning for thinking African-Americans are inferior." Nope. Don't get it.

I get classism. I get elitism. I just don't understand arbitrary racism. I understand why people railed against Rachel Jeantel when she testified at Zimmerman's trial. I even kind of understand why George Zimmerman might have racially profiled (if in fact that's what he did) a teenage African-American kid lurking about in the rain. There was crime in the neighborhood and statistics show more African-Americans are in gangs and found guilty of violent crime. While I would not have quickly jumped to the conclusion that Trayvon was up to no good, I can see why someone might have that reaction. There is some logical reasoning there and even some facts to back it up.  But I don't understand the mentality that says African-Americans have to use the back door, or they can't sit in a restaurant, or we're going to kill them for registering to vote. It's completely irrational.

After reading Anne Moody's account of growing up in poverty in rural Mississippi, working for whites and eventually leaving her dysfunctional family to attend college and join the Civil Rights Movement, I was stunned not only at the complete irrationality of southern whites, but also by how far we've come in such a short time. I mean, my PARENTS were born during this era. They are old, but not THAT old. When I read about Anne getting ketchup dumped on her for sitting at a "White's Only" lunch counter and compare her struggles to the racial battles we're fighting today, I think we've come a long way. However, the media's agenda was not crafted with that sense of historical perspective in mind. While I was reading this book, I found it ridiculous to turn on the T.V. and see all kinds of African-American pundits arguing that America is still racist or that the legal system is still racist, etc. African-Americans voted in a black president (because they aren't subjected to ridiculous literacy tests or KKK violence) and they are allowed on juries. (Most likely the reason they were not on the Zimmerman jury is because they knew too much about the case beforehand, thanks to media hype) Of course, there are still some individuals who are racist, but society as a whole, including the media, the government, and the justice system is NOT rallying behind those skinhead quacks. They are the outliers now. White supremacists used to be the rule, you couldn't get into office in the South if you weren't racist. Now, any remark that could be even remotely racially charged constitutes political or economic suicide. (think: Paula Deen) Racist whites were ruling the media in the 1960s. Now CNN (based in Atlanta, a former hotbed of white supremacy) and many other major news outlets are actively supporting and rallying for racial, gender, and sexual equality. I'm not complaining. The end of racism and sexism is a very good thing, but I think as a society we need to celebrate these strides rather than make mountains out of molehills. I often feel that the media, aided by publicity-starved feminists and civil rights activists are trying to advance an agenda that that racism and sexism are widespread in this country. Now, I'll rant particularly against the feminists (because I'm a woman and I can do that.) I don't believe my society as a whole is sexist. I believe there are sexist people (i.e. Daniel Tosh ) and people have their sexist and demeaning moments (i.e. when they watch Tosh.0 or look at pornography), but overall, women aren't held back from doing what they want to do just because they are women. I believe that women make less than men because they get to a point where family becomes important and they CHOOSE to not accept certain promotions. I believe they do have natural God-given instincts toward mothering and that causes them to pursue a different path from many men. If you want to see REAL sexism read my post on the Bin Laden book - or just go to Saudia Arabia. If there is some racism and sexism still lurking about in society, I think it's of the more rational sort. We may link African-Americans with higher rates of crime (which is at least statistically proven) or guys may think of women as sex objects because they appear scantily clad on the covers of magazines. In short, racism and sexism are still subtly here, but they are present because some members of those communities won't change their negative behaviors. That's a whole different animal than the racism (and sexism) that was present in the early to mid 20th century.

So, if you want to see racism, I'll show you racism. Or rather I'll give you Coming Of Age in Mississippi. Yet, be prepared - it's an honest picture of whites and blacks. Anne Moody doesn't mince words in talking about members of her own community that are "Uncle Toms," or sell outs. Furthermore, she decries her own family and other poor, rural African-Americans who choose to bury their heads in the sand and accept the status quo rather than be a part of change. However, I can understand that. A lot of African-Americans never cared about registering to vote, never spoke up for their rights, and even decried those who did. Why? Because they had to feed their families. If speaking out meant you lost your position as a servant or field hand, then how are your kids going to eat? If registering to vote meant the KKK was going to come burn your house down and lynch you in front of your children, would you register to vote? You can understand then why the Civil Rights Movement depended so heavily on the contributions of young people. College students had less to lose. And yet, as Anne pointed out, many of them did risk their lives and put their families in danger. The KKK came after members of The Movement and their families. As Anne was actively campaigning to get African-Americans registered to vote, her mother and siblings were living in fear that the Klan would burn their house down and kill them.

Which leaves me wondering...would young people today be that brave? Perhaps they would if there was something compelling enough for them to fight for. But even the Zimmerman protests a few weeks ago died out rather quickly because, let's face it, it's not a huge problem - at least not compared to what it was in the 1950s and 1960s. History helps us put things into perspective. I just wish more journalists and pundits had a sense of historical perspective.

Book Review: A Dog's Purpose by W. Bruce Cameron

If you are a dog-lover looking for a light summer read while your pup snoozes beside you, then pick up W. Bruce Cameron's book A Dog's Purpose. If you don't believe in reincarnation, you'll have to suspend your disbelief, but really, it's not that long. I think you can do it.

This is a book written from a dog's eyes - or at least what we humans perceive a dog is thinking. The canine narrator takes us through several reincarnations as he seeks to find his purpose in the lives of his humans. During each life he learns new things about being a dog and eventually all of this will be important in reaching his "nirvana" - that place where he feels he's fulfilled his ultimate purpose as a dog.

What I enjoyed about this book is that it really takes you through many different dog experiences - stray dog, best friend, working dog, hero dog - the list goes on. This particular dog can remember his previous lives and do some comparisons, but this doesn't give him the kind of angst it would give us humans. Generally, he find himself pretty content once he's figured out what his humans want him to do and how he can make their lives better.

Ultimately, isn't that a dog's purpose? To make our lives a little better. They do that is so many ways. Some perform heroic tasks like finding bombs or lost children. Others provide a shoulder to cry on, a friend during those nasty adolescent years, and a friendly lick to come home to.

In short, if you're not a dog person, don't read this book. You won't get it. If you are a dog-lover, it's a nice little light read that will leave you feeling warm and fuzzy inside - and outside too if you take my advice and read it while snuggling your favorite canine!

Book Review: Growing Up Bin Laden by Najwa Bin Laden, Omar Bin Laden, and Jean Sasson

When Osama Bin Ladin was killed in May of 2011 he left behind four wives and dozens of children and grandchildren. We have not heard much about their story since, and to my knowledge, Growing Up Bin Ladin is the only inside account of the Bin Ladin family life before the attacks.

The book is a disturbing memoir of a wife and son who watch the man they love descend deeper and deeper into radicalism. The chapters alternate between those authored by Najwa, Bin Ladin's first wife, and her and Osama's fourth son Omar. The book opens with Najwa, young, innocent, and marrying her deeply religious cousin. He is from the well-to-do Bin Ladin family and offers her a life of comfort and safety in Saudi Arabia. Najwa leaves her home in Syria to join the Bin Ladin clan in Saudi Arabia, were she dons the hijab and remains virtually secluded within the confines of the family home. But all of these things are perfectly acceptable for a Middle Eastern woman from a traditional Muslim family. Her husband, not yet a religious extremist, treats her well, provides for her, though urges her to live simply, and rejoices with her at the birth of their sons.

This is the life that Najwa, and many other Muslim women, yearned for. For a few brief years it was the life she had. But her husband, always the devout Muslim, began taking his religion more and more seriously. He spent longer time periods away from home, fighting the Soviets in Afghanistan. Eventually that war ended, but the fuel for Jihad had been ignited in Osama's heart. He asked her if he could take another wife to produce more sons for Islam . These sons would be raised in the service of Allah. Many would later serve their father's nefarious purposes. Osama eventually took four wives, the maximum number dictated by Muhammad the Prophet. He spent equal time with each of them, alternating the nights that he stayed in each wife's quarters. The wives became friends. Truly, they had to. They had no one else. As Osama's activities became more radical he was exiled from Saudi Arabia, and they moved to Sudan where the women and children lived in seclusion, with only occasional trips to the family farm outside Khartoum.

Omar, a young child when his family left Saudi Arabia, mourns the loss of the horses on his families horse farm in that country. Growing up, Omar became an avid animal lover. He loved dogs, a species deemed unclean by Islam. He was an avid horseman like his father. He seemed to understand animals better than he understood the people in his world. Better, certainly, than he could understand his father who grew increasingly distant and radical during their days in Khartoum. Osama once trekked his entire family, wives and sons included, into the desert to sleep with no provisions, in order to train them to survive in harsh circumstances. The day would come, his father claimed, when the comforts of their home will be no more.

These words were darkly prophetic. Osama's actions became more radical, his rhetoric more virulent, and his was kicked out of Sudan, taking his son Omar with him to Afghanistan. The Taliban offers him refuge and a home in the city, and a mountain in Tora Bora. At this point Osama's radicalism had brought him to shun modern conveniences, so he moved his family, and his growing troop of followers all to the primitive outpost at Tora Bora.  Omar is forced into his father's militant movement. Najwa continues bearing children, uncomplaining, yet unhappy. Omar begins questioning his father actions, he begins to consider escape.

Omar and Najwa were not living in the house in Abbottabad, Pakistan on the night that the rest of the family was killed/captured. In fact, this book was written a few years before the raid. They had left the clutches of religious fundamentalism. They were the lucky ones.

Osama Bin Laden has been the villian of our nation's story since September 11th, 2001. Yet, he was not the villian of this story - at least, not for Najwa. Perhaps he became a villain for Omar, yet deep at the heart of Omar's story is a boy just longing for his father's love and approval. Najwa's story is far more stoic. She is a woman telling the facts. She and Osama never divorced, she was still his wife, living in Syria on the day he died in Pakistan. She knew little of his political activity and judged him solely on how he treated his wives and children. He was, in her world, a very good Muslim. He took his devout nature to extremes later in their marriage, and yes, it resulted in much inconvenience for the family, but she remained with him, uncomplaining. She had to be essentially prodded away by her son, who warned her that something big was going to happen -something that would endanger her and her children's lives. I cannot understand this woman. How can you watch docilely as your husband takes another wife, and then another, and then another? How can you become friends with those wives?

Omar was a character that was easier to get. He was the one that rebelled against his father's extremism. Teenage rebellion is not something difficult for us to comprehend, and it's even easier when you're rebelling against the world's #1 terrorist. But through Omar's eyes we saw a man who was not a terrorist. He was a father. Not a very good father, but a father nonetheless. He did not love America, nor did he wish to throw away his religion. He just wanted a normal, Muslim life.

After finishing this book I went back and read the news reports from that fateful day two years ago. However, I read them with a different perspective. In those reports I read the stories of the women and children sequestered in that house, and indeed, in that mentality. They, like so many others in the fundamentalist community, are imprisoned in a world without education, without access to the outside, and with few avenues to change their situation. Nawja did not know what her husband was doing. She trusted that it was in the name of Allah and it was for the good of the Muslim world. But why can't Najwa and other women make that decision on their own?

Sadly, extremist Islam is growing. Though Osama Bin Laden's death caused a major setback for the Al Qaeda organization, extremist enclaves are expanding throughout Africa. We need to fight this battle, but let's do it with less drones and more books. Who's giving these kids education? Who's providing the resources? Who's getting them? Just boys? Or are girls allowed to go to school too? Are girls allowed to choose their path? If they are educated and given the chance to choose, my bets are that they are not going to choose a life of baby-making for jihad.

King Leopold's Ghost by Adam Hochschild

I just finished a rather harrowing journey back in time to the Belgian Congo via Adam Hochschild's book King Leopold's Ghost. In this non-fiction work Hochschild pummels the reader with a barrage of information from government records, personal accounts, and news articles that leave your head spinning and your mind envisioning severed hands, starvation and disease, and whips made of hippopotamus hide juxtaposed next to overwhelming opulence. King Leopold, the Belgian king who, along with his young country, was late into the Scramble for Africa, ended up with  the interior - or the Congo River basin. But he made the best of it. Proclaiming himself to be a grand humanitarian, ridding Africa of those evil Arab slave traders, he put the native to work, first in bringing ivory and then in wild rubber harvesting. Of course, Leopold never went there directly. He obsessed about the Congo from home and had officials go there to explore and set up camp and force the "lazy natives" to bring in their quotas. In the meantime, the profits from their labor went into building and expanding Leopold's grandiose residences and lavishly providing for his very young mistress.

Leopold was quite the con-man, a talented manipulator. When negative press exposed his violent control of the Congo, he was able to weasel and bribe his way out.  Though this is first and foremost a work of historical non-fiction,  Hochschild's vivid characterization of King Leopold gives it a bit of the flair of a novel. You also meet several other notable figures. For example the explorer H.M. Stanley, African-American missionary William Sheppard, and the reformers who seek to expose Leopold: Roger Casement and journalist E.D. Morel. The author holds these latter two in high esteem as the first human rights reformers of the 20th century. They laid the groundwork for Amnesty International and a host of other organizations that seek to expose and correct human rights abuses.

I'm very glad I read the Afterword, because the author makes some excellent points by providing some insightful historical perspective. First, the Congo was by no means unique.  Hochschild references the German genocide of the Harero people in Namibia, and the Portuguese abuses of forced laborers harvest cocoa beans (whose chocolate was purchased by Congo reformer and Quaker, William Cadbury.) However,  the story of colonialism in the Congo provides enough fodder for a 306 page book, so he doesn't go into great detail about the other European colonies. Secondly, I like his point that Africa's problems today should not be fully blamed on European colonialism. Yes, that did have a share, and a very significant one. However, as Hochschild points out, other countries like South Korea and Ireland have come out from under colonialism to "build reasonably just, prosperous, and democratic societies." (pg 318) So what's the difference? What makes Africa so ill-suited to this end? Well, first, according to Hochschild, Africa's long history of chauvinism. Subjugating women generally has negative effects on society as a whole. By keeping women down, he argues, governments keep themselves down. I couldn't agree more. True, some societies are prosperous and chauvinistic (i.e. Saudia Arabia) but they are unique examples, often attaining their wealth by cornering a certain market (a.k.a OIL) and in the end, they are not really very nice societies to live in (unless you're really into high-end shopping, and not so much into human rights). Another reason for Africa's developmental crisis is the legacy of slavery. It's not just European slavery we're talking about here. Africans enslaved each other well before we started enslaving them. While the West was swept with abolitionism in the 19th century, Africa never had an abolitionist movement. Now that sounds a little paradoxical. Why would AFRICA need an abolition movement? I would argue that they do. The abolitionists fought for human rights, for the value of human life. It said that ALL people, regardless of race, class or national origin should be treated equal. Most of us Westerners have bought in to this ideal (although I'd argue we're secretly all a little racist in our own way - but that's a discussion for another time). Africans, for the most part have never had a movement that says "Hey! People have inherent value and rights and you should stop treating them like CRAP!" So, there you have it -  child soldiers, blood diamonds, gang-rapes, tribal violence - all legacies of a mentality that says some people are just inferior. True, Europeans certainly made it worse, but I am going to go out on a politically incorrect limb nonetheless and suggest that Africa needs to take some responsibility for its troubles.