Bessora: Alpha in Scotland

Never set foot in Scotland. Of the United Kingdom, seen a bit of England, also flirted a bit with Dublin - a more than pleasant experience. But of Scotland proper I know nothing, save for one or two authors, hailing from Edinburgh but not true Scotsmen. Besides no one says Scot, instead we say Briton…

Of Scotland, I know a TV series (an American one, at that) which endeared me to the Highlands, as well as the Lowlands: Outlander. In which an English nurse of century 20 finds herself transposed into century 18, right in the middle of Scotland’s turmoil. Moving further ahead, there’s the bright yellow dress of my British (not to say Scottish) publisher, her first name with its unfathomable spelling, her accent sublimated by the vapours of of the English tea we’ve shared in a Parisian Coupole, a chic café for ladies with gigolos (I don’t have one, neither does my publisher, still too young and not wealthy enough).

And thus, Edinburgh the unpronounceable is yet to be sullied by me, the Loch Ness Monster doesn’t know me, the North Sea has never touched me, yet I am off to discover the Highlands (or rather the Low). Very much like Christopher Colombus, who discovered Indians in a Cuba he thought was Japan.

And then, an adventurer by trade, in a century 19 manner, I’ll write a bookstore hit:

Travels and adventures

Of an explorer, scientist, geographer, naturalist,

In the savage, unexplored, unknown and frozen lands

Of the far north of barbarian Europe.

I shall sign it as Sir Richard Bessora Burton, also known as the White Negro. After all I'll have to fake my identity to some extent, otherwise no one will believe that I am a post-modern adventurer colonist (I’d need a lineage and a moustache).

Back to the real me, the non-falsified me, it is Alpha, which I’m off to present to Scotland. Do note that it is a book, and not a person. But books, fiction especially, personify experience. Art is a mysterious path which, through lies, leads you to truth. Or at least one of the truths.

Thus, Alpha. In the book, he asks us:

Illegal migrant, what does that mean anyway? To me we’re adventurers. Indiana Jones himself would have died at least eight times if he had had to endure what we we live through every day.

To live is to create a destiny for oneself, to take the risk to get something done, if possible something good even. This could be Alpha’s motto (even if nobody will ever agree on what meaning to give to “something good”).

Alpha’s problem? Survival. Alpha is a guy like you and me, except that he has to find his wife and his son who have disappeared in Europe.

So he tells us the urgency of his voyage. He tells us his courage. He tells us his hopes, and his disillusions. He tells us his sense of humour. Laughter is also about survival.

He speaks, we listen to him. He walks, we accompany him. Little by little, we realise that he is a part of our family. And we are part of his. Impossible to look down on him, or to observe him from afar: we would just want for him to make it through.

I am quite proud that Alpha, starting from Abidjan, has made his way up to Scotland...

Bessora and other French writers will be in Edinburgh for the International Book Festival. Don't miss out on them!