July 01, 2008
Cartoon Man
The art teacher at my high school, Mr. Louw, was not fond of pen and ink cartoon illustrations. He said that line art was not fine art and a waste of time as far as he was concerned. As far as I was concerned ‘any’ art was fine by me.
I am so glad I totally ignored Mr. Louw’s dislike for the medium and continued appreciating pen and ink cartoon drawing, even though I stopped drawing them for twenty years. I stopped drawing because Mr. Louw told my father I was definitely not talented enough to take art as an elective at high school.
I love line drawings and have always enjoyed collecting and appreciating pen and ink sketches. It was pen and ink that I used when I started drawing again in my thirties after twenty years of believing Mr. Louw that I was not talented enough to be an artist.
I am glad I discounted Mr. Louw’s aversion to cartoons because, many years down the road, my love for cartoons and line drawings saved me from big trouble when I was in the Congo last year.
I was in a car with a United Nations driver on my way from an orphanage to a camp for ex child soldiers. We were in the middle of nowhere, driving on a dirt road with fields on either side of the road, when we suddenly came over a rise and the driver screeched to a halt.
Right in front of us was a red and white boom across the road with a little wooden guard post on the side. The post was manned by two Congolese soldiers who looked more like rebel soldiers to me.
One soldier carried an AK 47 and the other had an old rusted RPG (rocket launcher) with a green dented and scratched grenade attached. They both wore belts filled with ammunition strung across their chests like Mardi Gras beads.
Both had berets and sunglasses and their sleeves were rolled up extras tight to reveal rather large biceps. I think both guys had seen the movie Rambo at least once.
The guy without the rocket launcher sauntered over to the car and peered in the window. Although I was with a United Nations driver I was a little nervous because of the many horror stories I have heard from some of the Unicef and NGO people working in the area.
“Where are you going?” said the soldier, gruffly.
“I’m going to Don Bosco, the children’s center,” I answered.
“Why?”
“Errr. To work with the kids,” I said.
“What work?”
“Ummm. I’m helping the kids, you know, stress from the war,” I said.
“The war is finished.”
“I know but, you know, the kids need help. You know post traumatic…”
“Give me your papers.”
I gave him my UN passport and my clearance papers. He walked slowly back to the guard post and conferred with the other soldier.
I started to get a little more worried when it appeared that the two men were arguing.
After what seemed like an eternity the soldier slowly walked back to the car.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Ummm. As I said, we’re going to Don Bosco.”
“Why?”
“To work with the kids,” I said, smiling.
“What work?”
I started having visions of myself in a remote jungle camp being a wife to one of the rebel commanders. The though put me in scramble mode and I remembered some advice that my dad once told me. “Kill them with kindness.”
I smiled at the soldier and said, “Look.”
I opened my journal, which is filled with cartoon characters, sketches, and illustrations.
The soldier leaned into the window and peered at my journal as I flipped the pages.
“You draw this?” He asked, pointing at the journal.
“Yes,” I said.
“You draw me?”
“Okay,” I said.
I turned to a blank page and looked up at him.
He suddenly jumped to attention and saluted me with a big grin.
He held the pose while I sketched.
After I was done, I lifted the book and showed him the picture.
“Cartoon Man!” he said flashing me a beautiful, big, white-teeth smile.
I tore the picture out of the journal and handed to him.
He yelled at the other soldier and called him over to show him the picture.
“Come,” he yelled. “Cartoon Man.”
The other soldier rushed over.
As you can imagine, I found myself doing a picture for the other soldier who also saluted me while I drew.
I gave him the picture and they both marveled at their drawings. I can honestly say that they accepted their pictures with such joy and joviality. They giggled with glee like a pair of school kids comparing their pictures and laughing at how I captured their individuality on paper.
With a big thumbs-up, followed by a serious salute and one last “Cartoon Man,” they lifted the boom and we drove to Don Bosco.
The next day we were driving along the same road and found the boom across the road once more.
With a scowl, one of the soldiers approached the car.
He suddenly recognized me, jumped to attention and saluted me.
“Cartoon Man,” he yelled and signaled for the other soldier to let me through.
The other soldier lifted the boom, yelled “Cartoon Man,” and waved me on.
Posted by trevor at July 1, 2008 04:53 PM