Why security guards love babies, and vice versa

Largely invisible, security guards see everything. GauZ’, the Ivorian journalist and author whose first novel Standing Heavy, translated from the French by Frank Wynne, has been shortlisted for the Booker International Prize, writes with acerbic and witty authority on the subject.

He himself was an Ivorian student who became a security guard after landing without papers in France in 1990.

“In the Ivorian community in France,” he writes, “security is a profession so deeply rooted that it has spawned a specific terminology.”

The title, (Debout-Payé in French) refers to survival jobs that require the employee to remain standing for hours on end “in order to earn a pittance”. “Zagoli”, meaning “security guard”, comes from Zagoli Golié, a goalkeeper with the national team, and refers to how security guards watch everyone play while once in while they dive to catch a ball.

GauZ’s slim, inventive novel is one of the most exciting and entertaining on the shortlist. It’s a precis of contentious Franco-African history told from the perspective of undocumented workers employed as security guards at a Parisian shopping centre, a location synonymous with the consumerism associated with wealthy, developed and industrialised societies. Stylistically, with its focus on social issues and its short sharp rhythmic elements, it has the feel of slam poetry.

In an interview with the Booker judges, GauZ’ said: “I began by taking notes while I was on duty. It’s a job where there’s nothing to do but watch. So it was ideal. After a few weeks, when I had enough money to buy a plane ticket, I returned to Abidjan where a post-election war was ending. There, I wanted to show that you could write l’histoire (with a capital H) and create les histoires (with a small H) without resorting to Kalashnikovs.

“This is how the idea of alternating a big story with small stories came to me. I had my notes from the Parisian shops and, even if they were funny, I had to find an original structure so as not to dilute them in a simple queue of anecdotes. I thought about this succession of generations of immigrants in Europe who had practised the profession of security guard in different political and geopolitical contexts. I had my structure (I’m obsessed with structure and language), I could begin.”

The novel’s unusual structure contributes to our understanding of the experiences of African migrants in France. It is divided into three sections, the last beginning with 9/11 and its impact on undocumented immigrant labour. Each tells of different periods of immigration and the story does not focus on individuals; rather it comprises the wide-ranging small stories of the people who inhabit its universe.

Andre came to Paris to study medicine, but his bursary did not provide enough for him to live on and send money back home to his large family. He takes on a job as security guard at Les Grands Moulins de Paris, a disused flour mill by the river. After he saves an elderly worker who has had a heart attack, he becomes known as “Doc”.

Ferdinand has failed high school several times and is sent to France in 1973 to find himself. He has big plans for his future. When he arrives, he too gets a job at Les Grand Moulins.

Ossiri, a security guard at the Bastille branch of Camaïeu, walks the city with his friend Kassoum and they move through it “systematically like surveyors”, battling to adjust to the new world in which they find themselves. “I spent years and years sleeping in the ghetto. Now, it’s like the ghetto is sleeping in me,” he says to Ossiri.

In the prologue, GauZ’ describes a queue of black men slowly making their way up a narrow staircase “like climbers roped together for an assault on K2”. “They are recruiting security guards,” the men have heard. “Project-75 has just been granted several major security contracts for a variety of commercial properties in the Paris area. They are in urgent need of massive manpower. Word quickly spread through the African ‘community’.”

Community is a loose word in this city, the rue du Faubourg du Temple is a tower of Babel. “Congolese, Ivorians, Malians, Guineans, Beninese, Senegalese, etc, the keen eye can easily identify each country by its style of clothing ... If there is any doubt, the ear takes over because, in the mouths of Africans, the intonations of the French language are markers that designate origin as reliably as a third copy of chromosome 21 indicates Down’s syndrome or a malignant tumour denotes cancer. The Congolese modulate, the Cameroonians singsong, the Senegalese chant, the Ivoirians falter, the Beninese and the Togolese waver, the Malians speak pidgin.”

To survive their jobs, to avoid lapsing into idleness or aggressiveness, they have to empty their minds of thought, have an engrossing inner life or be an idiot. In the shops, it’s only the babies that return the security guard’s smile. “The security guard adores babies. Perhaps because babies do not shoplift. Babies adore the security guard. Perhaps because he does not drag babies to the sales.” Gauz’ has a keen eye for detail. He has the ability to recall France’s brutal colonial past and its capitalist present, while peppering his satire with moments of deep compassion.