Heart Of Darkness - A White Man's Affair With A Beautiful African Princess Of Islam

It was quite a stretch for Harper Forest to even consider setting foot in Africa, the Dark Continent of misrule; but there he was on African soil, an emissary from the Pope sent to Nigeria on request from the Archbishop to confront the increasing Islamization of the country, a progressive infiltration from the Muslim north in a well-orchestrated move to radicalize the entire country. 

Forest was not even a good Catholic but he had given millions to the head of the Republican National Committee who after a resounding electoral victory was rewarded with an Ambassadorship to the Holy See. 'I'll do anything for you', the new Ambassador told Forest, but as it turned out Forest was the one called on to do favors.  Africa was the Vatican's battleground, a black Roncesvalles where Catholics would have to fight the invading Saracens - the territorial, expansionists Muslims of the North - and the newly energized African Episcopal Church.  

 

Only a civilian, said the Ambassador and Cardinal Ponticelli, Papal overseer of things African, could set things straight in Africa, a benighted, godless, tribal continent subject to the worst blandishments of religious zealots. As more and more European and American Catholics abandoned the faith, the Church rested its survival on Africa. Forest would be an honest broker, new to Africa, but not new to sectarianism. He had been a CIA operative in Vietnam during the war, and knew willful hegemonic expansionism when he saw it. 

The assignment would be a challenging one, influenced as it was by both religious and secular interests.  Religion in Africa as everywhere in the world and in history was a corporate enterprise whose success was measured not only in souls but also in revenue, territory, and political influence.  Forest's operational experience in Southeast Asia as well as in the newly emerging countries of Eastern and Central Europe would stand him in good stead in Africa. 

To be honest, Forest was curious about African women.  From the days of National Geographic to today's American inner cities, he could never see the appeal.  Yes, on occasion he would see an Ethiopian or Somalian woman he found attractive, but it was only because of her Hamitic origins and particular dark Caucasian beauty that he did so.  Otherwise the thick-lipped, high busted, carrier-shelved sub-Saharan women held no interest for him; but still, a cultural adventurer, and a sexual interloper, he could be persuaded. 

He had always been one to mix business with pleasure.  He was no stranger to the brothels of Patpong Road, especially Madame Truong's salon which catered only to generals and high-ranking American civilians.  Her house was as seductive and charming as a Turkish harem.  Payment was but a minor inconvenience, and a night with the ladies of Madame Truong made any man feel like a pasha.  The Indian nautch girls of Bombay were no different - attentive, alluring, and sexually satisfying and the houses of Bal Bandar were famous for their orientalism and seductive air of the East. 

The first African ecumenical congress of disputing religious parties was held in a neutral location - the palatial estate of the Emir of Kano, a tribal prince whose family had a long history ruling the northern provinces of the country and who although he welcomed Islam he refused to make it the official religion of his protectorate, and encouraged both Protestant and Catholic churches to fully express their beliefs.  

The Emir was Muslim but a liberal one who had maintained a distance from both Muslims and Christians in the interest of a dispassionate justice, and was the perfect host for a conference of this type. Not only was he considered to be a fair, Solomonic judge, but his palace was magnificent, combining all the architectural features or Islam and Europe - a Versailles in the desert with caliphate overtones. 

What interested Forest more than anything, however, were the impossibly beautiful women in the company of the Emir - sub-Saharan in stature, fulsome, and direct but with eyes the contributions of Arab traders, Chinese explorers, and Ottoman knights - almond, hazel, even blue, all so stunningly set within a palette of complexions ranging from Berber to Wolof.  They were dressed in gold and silk, impeccably arranged, and scented with sandalwood and jasmine.

'What are they doing here?', Forest asked himself as the proceedings began, the women arrayed behind the Emir looking on while he gave his opening remarks.  As the conference went on the women remained seated behind the dais, patiently looking on but occasionally looking his way.  Are they the Emir's courtesans? his wives? princesses of his realm? 

'Let me introduce you to Fatimah', the Emir said to Forest at the end of the first day's deliberations.  She is the Princess of one of my sub-prefectures or royal lands if you prefer and has invited you to enjoy the comforts of her palace while you are here'. The Princess lowered her eyes, smiled, and gave Forest a demure, respectful bow. 'It would be an honor' she said, and taking him by the hand led him to the anteroom of the hall, and called for tea.  

Forest's concerns were political.  Was he being set up, used, manipulated? Or was this the famous Arab-African hospitality about which he had heard so much?  'The car is waiting', said the Princess and together they drove through the savannah to her home. 'I hope you don't think me impertinent for my invitation', she said. 'We in Nigeria have a long tradition of hospitality'.  

Over the week of the conference, and the nights with the Princess, Forest was never able to sort out the conundrum or solve the puzzle.  Was she one of the Emir's harem and in the very tradition of hospitality to which she alluded was offered to an honored guest? Or was she simply a courtesan, the best and most beautiful of Africa bought with the wealth of a prince? Or simply a member of the Emir's royal party and one of many princesses and princes in attendance, but one who was as interested in this attractive and wealthy foreigner?

 

None of this mattered, for professionalism and intimacy were indistinguishable from one another in their courtship - for that is how he saw it, as seduced by the allure of the East as Antony was of the exotic pleasures of Alexandria. Cleopatra had no love for Antony.  The aging general, a former Triumvir of Rome was hers for the asking, and just as she had bedded Julius Caesar and Pompey the Great, why not Antony?  In so doing was she a duplicitous woman?  A canny ruler? A courtesan but for title and rank? It certainly didn't matter to Antony, nor did it to Forest. 

 

And what would happen to him when the congress ended?  Would he be allowed to leave? Had he by sleeping with the princess become beholden to her, the Emir, or both? 

His fears were unfounded, and as he boarded the plane with some fanfare from the Emir and his harem, covered with ceremonial flowers and sprinkled with rose water, he understood Antony and the irresistible allure of the East. 

The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne,
Burned on the water: the poop was beaten gold;
Purple the sails, and so perfumed that
The winds were lovesick with them; the oars were silver,
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
The water which they beat to follow faster,
As amorous of their strokes. 

For her own person,
It beggar'd all description: she did lie
In her pavilion, cloth-of-gold of tissue,
O'erpicturing that Venus where we see
The fancy outwork nature: on each side her
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids,
With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem
To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool,
And what they undid did.