“I don’t think you understand just how smart I am, okay?” Professor Faghuer told me. I sat with him in his plain office. No books, no posters, no indications that Faghuer was the leading mind on the development of oil economies in the global south. He sat behind his desk, the light from his lamp dancing on his bald head — almost bald, except for the patch of white hair on the back of his neck that extended into a waistlength ponytail. No more than five foot three, Faghuer’s legs swung merrily beneath his desk. However, his goatee framed unsmiling lips and his eyes betrayed complete disinterest in my presence.
“I communicate in more than fifteen languages. I could communicate with the last indigenous Amazon tribes. However, they haven’t read Smith or Keynes so I don’t know what they could possibly do for me.” He stroked his ponytail as he spoke.
“My brain has birthed intelligence on such an incomprehensible scale that I refuse to continue to be diminished by simple lexicons. Look at me. You’re just a simple ape to me. You want banana, ape? Ooo Oooo Aaaa Aaaa.” He climbed down from his chair and turned to stand in front of the window.
“On my yearly vacation to the cacao plantations of Ghana I met an elderly man. As he worked to harvest cacao beans I attempted to explain the nuances of Rudyard Kipling. How could one man write a masterpiece and then also foul the Earth with something like The Jungle Book? But as I sought to enlighten this man he placed a single finger on my lips.” Fahguer turned to reveal a tear running down his cheek.
“In that moment I knew he was telling me my intelligence was so brilliant that it should not suffer the burden of human language.” He waddled to his desk.
“And so I learned to master my raw energy.”
He effortlessly pulled himself onto his desk. He stood at its edge and thrust his arms upwards. I gasped as he leaped into the air, gut driving towards the ground. But in a single seamless motion Faghuer caught himself in the worm. Hips fluidly gyrating, ponytail flowing, he transformed his body into a wave of light and energy. My lips quivered and my eyes dilated, so captivated by . . . the transcendental. His body rippled — unbound by tendons and joints — fluidly cutting through space and time so that with an assertive thrust and a coy twist his whole body spoke. He spoke. And economics in the global south had never been so clearly articulated.
His gyrating body had made a fertile plain of my mind. My body crumpled to the floor and I could not help but cry. With a flick of his ponytail, Faghuer rolled off the ground and climbed into his chair. Very faintly, like a voice from a far off world, I could hear him speak.
“You are not strong, ape, you are not strong like me.”
