Swing Time

by Zadie Smith

‘What’s it like?’ I’d asked, leaning over him, looking out of the porthole window, and meaning, I must admit, ‘Africa’. ‘I have not been,’ he said coldly, without turning round. ‘But you practically live here – I read your résumé.’ ‘No. Senegal, Liberia, Côte d’Ivoire, Sudan, Ethiopia, yes – Togo, never.’ ‘Oh, well, you know what I mean.’ He’d turned to me, red-faced, and asked: ‘If we were flying to Europe and you wanted to know what France was like, would it help if I described Germany?’