The drunken chief: alcohol, power and the birth of the State in Samburu District, Northern Kenya
The drunken chief: alcohol, power and the birth of the State in Samburu District, Northern Kenya
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醉酒的酋长：肯尼亚北部桑布鲁区的酒精、权力和国家的诞生
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发表时间：
2005
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影响因子：
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通讯作者：
J. Holtzman
中科院分区：
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作者：
J. Holtzman
“我是肯尼亚人。你是美国人。我们在反恐战争中并肩作战！Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh !”我们在一个朋友的住处住了几天，穿过半沙漠的灌木丛，步行几小时就到了从季节性的米尔吉斯河（Milgis River）上升起的陡峭悬崖的顶端，这时我们遇到了他。他30多岁，穿着深色的休闲裤和一件没有掖的白色纽扣衬衫，与其他几个裹着格子毯的男人形成鲜明对比，他们在我们停车的交易中心闲逛。而且，和其他人不同的是，他对我们并不熟悉，因为他已经在肯尼亚海军服役多年，甚至现在也有很多时间不在家。他的眼睛炯炯有神，就像喝了当地酿制的酒昌加酒的醉醺醺的人一样，身上散发着强烈的酒气。他带着一种权威的神情，把我带到市中心唯一一家商店的一边，私下和正式地确定我们在这样一个偏远地区的业务，尽管他经常用他对我们共同利益的狂妄断言来安慰我他的意图：“我是肯尼亚人。你是美国人。我们在反恐战争中并肩作战！”他不时发出温和的恶魔般的笑声：“嘿嘿嘿嘿！”不管这个声明看起来多么荒谬，基地组织和美国军队离这个偏远的牧区有多少个世界之遥；按照变革驱动的逻辑，这是对我们的共同利益和共同的世界主义情感的及时保证。当我解释我们的到来时，他向我保证我们还有其他共同点。例如，我们都是科学家，我是人类学家，而他在大学里学的是工程学。也许我会对获得一些土地感兴趣，就像英国女人海伦一样，她在离这里不远的地方为游客经营骆驼之旅？如果是这样，他暗地里暗示，他可以帮忙。目前，就算我们的研究许可不方便，他也不需要看。当我们开始开车离开时，他停下了车，又说了一句“我是肯尼亚人”。你是美国人。我们在反恐战争中并肩作战！Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh !”他是交易中心唯一一个说英语的人，也是唯一一个穿着西式服装的人。他也是唯一一个喝醉的人。他是酋长。《后殖民研究》，2005年第8卷第1期，第83-96页
“I am Kenyan. You are American. We are together in the war against terror! Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh!” We met him as we reached the top of the steep escarpment rising from the seasonal Milgis River, after several days at a friend’s settlement a few hours walk away through the semi-desert bush. In his mid 30s, he was dressed in dark slacks, and an untucked white button shirt, in contrast to the handful of other men, wrapped in tartan blankets, who were loitering about the trading centre where we had parked our car. Also, unlike the others there, he was unfamiliar with us, having been away for many years working in the Kenyan Navy, and even now spending a lot of time away from home. He had the wild, bloodshot eyes characteristic of men inebriated on changaa, the locally brewed liquor, and he reeked strongly of spirits. With an air of authority he led me to the side of the centre’s only shop to privately and officially ascertain our business in such a remote area, though regularly reassuring me of his intentions with his mantric assertion of our mutual interests: “I am Kenyan. You are American. We are together in the war against terror!” punctuated by his mildly diabolical laugh: “Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh!” Never mind how nonsensical this pronouncement seemed to be, how many worlds away al Qaeda or the U.S. military was from this remote pastoral area; it was, in a changaa-driven logic, a timely reassurance of our shared interest and mutual cosmopolitan sensibility. As I explained our presence he assured me with other things we had in common. For instance, we were both scientists, me being an anthropologist, and him having studied engineering in college. Perhaps I would be interested in obtaining some land, like the British woman, Helen, who runs camel safaris for tourists not too far from here? If so, he implied conspiratorially, he could help. At present, it was no matter if our research permits aren’t handy, he wouldn’t need to see them now. When we began to drive off he flagged down the car, saying goodbye with one more round of “I am Kenyan. You are American. We are together in the war against terror! Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh!” He was the only man speaking English at the trading centre, and was the only one dressed in Western clothes. He was also the only one who was drunk. He was the Chief. Postcolonial Studies, Vol. 8, No. 1, pp. 83–96, 2005