Steven Otter - Khayelitsha uMlungu in a Township

In 1999, I had the distinct pleasure of visiting Capetown, South Africa for a five week stint.  From the safety of my classroom I enjoyed the beauty of the Table Mountain and the Harbour. Whilst there, I had the pleasure to visit various places such as V&A Waterfront, Jakkalsfontein, Saldanha, Cape of Good Hope, Cape Agulhas (where the Atlantic meets the Indian Ocean) and Khayelitsha. You must remember that this was just 5 years after historic 1994 elections that saw Nelson Mandela elected as the first black president in a 'free' South Africa. I must digress to add that I was the only other black student in my class and my visits to all these places including Khayelitsha was at the courtesy of my 'white' classmate Tim who was determined that I should have something positive to say about this great nation that had just escaped the claws of a political system that was so difficult to understand.

So when I saw this book in a bookstore thirteen years after my first visit I was evidently drawn to it.  Interestingly, on the flight from Jo'burg to Cape Town, I had sat next to the 'black' Bishop of South Africa and a 'coloured' South African now at Howard University and I took time to educate myself by discussing the continued disparities - 18 years after the fall of Apartheid - in this rich nation that reminds me, ever so often, of the mighty Tshaka Zulu.

Khayelitsha  is one of the fastest growing informal settlements in the Western Cape. It is hidden somewhere beyond the mountains where it does not 'disturb' the average visitor's view...almost as one would hide a step child.  Khaya - as it is known in short - is 99.5% black - mostly Xhosa - with the remainder of the populace being of mixed race. Now I cannot strictly tell how this came to be but there was a time when South Africa's political system was famously known for Apartheid - to be set apart - with very strict pass laws.  My 'coloured' classmate in 1999 had attempted to educate me on the 1950 race laws when people were confined to live in certain areas in accordance to their race.  He explained to me the challenge that arose when a 'coloured' child was born to a 'black' mother and 'white' father (or vice versa)...All the three had to be separated unless the child could be defined as either black or white.   Then there is the complex story of SKIN where a dark child was born to two white parents. Officials struggled to define whether this child was black, white or coloured for the purposes of where she would live & school.  There was strictly no mixing of races - and the church condoned it - but that is another topic altogether for another day.

This book is not about the sin called apartheid but the effects thereof that continue to plague an otherwise great nation.  It is the true story of Steve Otter, a white South African, who throws caution to the wind and against the advice of his kinsfolk, takes a conscious decision to live in Khayelitsha during his journalism internship.  It is an extremely interesting read because the book  - in a very unassuming and non judgemental way - educates the reader on life in Khayelitsha.  In reading the book one faces the issue of informal settlements.   I could not help but compare Khayelitsha to the Kibra Townships in Nairobi, Kenya of which a lot has been said and written. Googling Khayelitsha I got 237,000 hits as compared with 2,200,000 hits for Kibra.  The issues in the Brazilian Favelas, the Kenyan Slums, The Egyptian City of the Dead and South African Black Townships are similar.   Most of the people who stand, squat, sleep or hang around these areas pay rent and try their best to eke a living despite the extremely unfair situation that they find themselves in. The human being is resilient and those who are forced to live in these settlements make the best of their situation.  A few even thrive but this does not reduce the tragedy of that existence.  That one is forced to raise their children in such deplorable conditions - either by choice, circumstance or design - is a mockery of the vote that they carry in a democratic society and a waste of the tax they pay either directly or indirectly. 

Governments find it impossible to do anything to address urban poverty given the entrenched interests at play, interests more powerful than drug & sugar barons or other mafia.  The story of informal settlements is a complex one for which there is no easy solution.  Some settlements are better than others and Khayelitsha & Soweto cannot compare to Alexandra, Kibra & Korogocho.  The elite, rich & middle classes sleep easy and blame those who live in such abject poverty for their own plight.  They glorify, explain or ignore informal settlements without understanding the challenges of poor sanitation, lack of space, lack of basic amenities, poor security and the stigma of that post code.  These challenges are best explained by the summary on "A House For Mr Biswas" by VS Naipaul which ponders about the dishonour of one having to live and die as one had been born, unnecessary and unaccommodated.


The question I kept asking myself as I flew back home is whether I - an African - would have the courage to experiment living in the informal settlements of Kayelitsha, Alexandra, Soweto or even Kibra. As it is, a cursory visit to Korogocho, left me traumatised for weeks on end.  I also wondered what God - in his mercy - would do with the folks who write, justify and perpetuate unjust laws, aided and abetted by those who condone them.  Is there a mansion waiting in heaven or will we be forced - in the sweet by and by - to live in shacks?

Ishmael Beah - A Long Way Gone

Ishmael Beah tells of his story as a child soldier....His is a first hand account of a childhood lost due to the conflict in Sierra Leone. One cannot but be moved by a situation that one cannot wish upon the children of their worst enemy. It is a scenario that is difficult to comprehend unless one has walked the same paths that Ishmael trod.  Having finished the book, I came about the IsiXhosa saying "Vana Nabantwana" - translated to mean "The interest of the child is paramount".   It took me longer than usual to finish "A Long Way Gone": Not because the book was dull but because in between I took time to watch "Blood Diamond" in order to provide a back drop to the story. Ishmael's book is not a political book....It does not seek to provide a reason for the war (or explain why it was unnecessary) nor to glamorise it....It simply recalls the time when he lived with his family & friends, the period & experiences when he was conscripted to fight in a war for which he knew nothing about and the period after.

Many a time, I was drawn to the cover page that shows a sad child carry arms. Whilst reading the book, I googled Mikhail Timofeyevich Kalashnikov the maker of the AK47s. Although not a pacifist;  I cannot but be amazed by Mr Kalashnikov's comment as a visitor to Germany in 2002 that he got nervous when he saw Bin Laden with his AK-47.  If that was all he worried about, he has not seen children (he has four of his own) being kitted with AK47's and enjoined in wars that bring them only trauma and early death.

It is indeed poignant that I completed the book when BBC reported that polls had closed in Sierra Leone in its third general election since the 1991-2002 civil war, which killed more than 50,000 people.  This will always be a black spot on an otherwise peaceful nation....the Lioness Mountains..the land of the Temne, Mende & other indigenous peoples.  I have met many Sierra Leonean Folk and  befriended some of them. Although I can never bring myself to ask...I have nonetheless wondered what their own take is of the war and whether perhaps some of them benefited or lost from the conflict that ravaged the nation. What is their story?

Having watched "Blood Diamond", read Aminatta Forna's books and finishing Ishmael Beah's "A Long Way Gone", I am non the wiser about the Sierra Leone Conflict that has earned Charles Taylor a cell at the famous International Criminal Court.  I must digress to indicate that African Leaders have complained that the ICC seems to have been created only for Africans given that other perpetrators of injustices are tried at special tribunals set for them.  Be that as it may...upon reading "A Long Way Gone" one must wonder whether something is really the matter with us as a people or whether there are other powers that we can do nothing about at play.  Was the conflict simply about Diamonds that adorn many a celebrity? Was it about Corruption? Was it because the different peoples could not live together as a Nation? Was it because someone had to sell arms and thought nothing about the impact it would have on the country and the region? Maybe the underlying reason is not as important as the fact that many a child lost their childhood rather prematurely.

The book makes one wonder why child soldiers are recruited to resolve a conflict that they know nothing about and from which they benefit very little. The storyline made me ponder child issues more broadly to encompass other things that children must grapple with...child prostitution, child marriages, child headed households, child labour, child abuse, child health care rights (or lack thereof) and child welfare. Now, it is disingenuous for me to ponder these things as I recall my own childhood with nostalgia. Like many other childhoods - it was fraught  with 'challenges'  that shaped my future but in the night, I dream about the Doulous Ship that docked on the port of Mombasa where my mum took us to buy books; I recall the sibling rivalry; I remember the Grimm Fairy Tales; I ponder the trips upcountry to visit my grandparents; I thank God for three daily meals & tea with a feast at Christmas;  I reminisce with friends on FB about the boarding school where the worst was being tutored by a  faculty that had no idea that "all work and no play made jack a dull boy"...;When all is said and done, I think that to take away one's childhood is an unforgivable sin even for a loving God to forgive.

I am saddened that Ishmael lost a childhood.  (Even though he does not engage in a pity party). Whatever the reason or cause for the conflict, I would wager that this was an "adult only" affair and children should have been left out of it. Policy Makers should advocate that the "age of consent" should be defined and applied strictly to situations such as these with no exceptions.

Ishmael Beah is brave and he is lucky he made it.  I would never have had the courage to talk about these things. Perhaps in so doing he needed to exorcise the demons that plagued him and which still plague so many like him - children and adults.  Whether the "conflict" is, the Wars for Independence, the Indian Wars, The Civil War, the World Wars, the Vietnam War, The Afghanistan War or the Sierra Leone War...It does not matter the perpetrator or the reason behind the conflict...The impact on the survivors is the same.

Francine Rivers - A Voice in the Wind

The multitude of gods in the 500 pages of the book held my interest:- Aphrodite, Apollo, Artemis, Asclepius, Athena, Attis, Bachus, Ceres, Cupid, Cybelle, Diana, Dionysus,  Eros, Hera, Hades, Hermes, Hestia, Juno, Jupiter, Liber, Mars, Mercury, Neptune, Poseidon, Tiwaz and a myriad of other deities for each and every activity under heaven. No wonder it was always so difficult for the Ephesians and Romans to be sure that all gods had been included and hence to also refer to the "Unknown God" just in case inadvertently one might annoy a God - minor or otherwise - by excluding them. I presuppose the people of that day and age were good at hedging their bets.   It reminds me of a recent discussion with AM where she said that people had to be careful of the names they give their children - naming one's child Diana might be construed to be homage to the goddess of childbirth and forest.  So I shall not mention "Tuesday" without thinking of Tiwaz, Drink a packet of Ceres Juice or eat cereals without recalling the god of agriculture, Walk into a Doctor's office and not be amazed by the rod of Aesculapius, (a snake-entwined staff), which remains a symbol of medicine today.  We cannot completely run away from the the remains of that old time religion...It may be gone but it is here with us.

 

'A Voice in the Wind' follows the the shenanigans of the aristocratic Valerian family as this book is indeed set around their ups and downs. The patriarch Decimus, matriarch Phoebe and children Marcus & Julia. It is indeed the challenge of parenthood and seeking to mould our children around what we deem best. Interestingly though Decimus muses that "It is impossible for men to avoid fate, even when they see it before hand". There is always some power beyond us that fights against what we deem best for ourselves and our loved ones. Decimus worked the best he could for his children rising from nothing so that they could have everything but he often wondered why they did not exercise restraint upon their appetites. He concluded - like the writer of Ecclesiastes - that life is but vanity of vanities - a chasing after the wind.  Right in the middle of this struggle, is the life of Haddassah - a christian Jewess who is a slave captured from the razing of Judea.

 

I enjoyed the politics of the day. The Roman Empire never ceases to amaze me. However what was true then is still today and Marcus would like to avoid politics as much as possible because it is a 'dirty' game. Many of his friends were ordered to commit suicide when the Emperor suspected them of treason based on no evidence other than the word of a jealous senator. Oh! Why must people be submit to the god of jealousy - pthonous - and seek to pull others down. This is so true even today in all places where people seek power and influence even in the work place.

 

The title of this book derives from the story of the prophet Isaiah (1st Kings 19) where running from Jezebel, Yahweh spoke to a frightened Isaiah in the wilderness - not through the wind, earthquake nor through the fire - but in a whisper - a small voice in the wind. A Voice in the Wind is intriguing as it seeks to lead the reader through the travails of one of the followers of the way in the early first century.  The book is very well written, interesting, humorous and with lots of historical lessons.  This is my second reading of the book and I could read it again and never tire of it.

 

Grace Ogot - The Promised Land

The novella is about a couple who emigrated to Tanganyika - being uprooted from their people - in search of a better life. It echoes, in many ways, the same complexities of emigration that people experience today.   In the 1930's - the promised land -  for the tribal people of Seme - was perhaps Kisumu or Tanganyika where families sometimes emigrated in search of the promised land - never to return to the land of their ancestors. With globalisation, it is now Mombasa, Europe, the Americas or even far away Russia. Immigration is a topical issue in Europe and USA where laws are enacted to stem the flow of unwanted immigrants. That said, immigration is not a novel issue given that since eons past, people have laid their stake to a place and been wary of 'foreigners'. They have dealt with newcomers in the way they deemed fit - from hostility, witchcraft, wars and laws. When all is said and done, it is survival for the fittest and the side that manages to subdue and conquer become the new owners on the look out for those who might wish to unlodge them from their 'rightful' place.  But human beings are resilient and do not 'learn',  for - then as now - people will continue to emigrate in hordes in search of the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Some will succeed and others will fail and return.

 

I enjoyed reading Grace Ogot's Promised Land, not so much for the story - which was enjoyable - but more to confirm the fact that indeed before everything there was indeed a history of a people. Whether we like it or not - before the white man ventured into Africa - there was a life. Although the story is set in the 1930's the actors make reference to their ancestors, cultures and times past through a traditional folklore that has been passed down mostly orally and therefor gets lost. When my son and daughter wanted to study A level History, I was distressed that none of the modules were centered on African History.  I took to buying books that had been promulgated through the "African Writers Series" but to my chagrin my children found it difficult to relate to them.

 

I couldn't help but relate this story to that of Sisyphus. Just when it seemed that Ochola and Nyalpol had settled and prospered in the promised land, disaster struck and they were back to square zero for unexplainable reasons. They had to flee and return to the lands of their people poorer than when they first set set out

 

Although not from Nyanza, I was drawn  to the culture and names of the Luo peoples of Nyanza. The people of Seme, Gem, Awasi, Nyahera.   Interestingly the story was not juxtaposed with other people of present day Kenya but more the cross border peoples of Musoma. My best character was Nyalpol - the new bride who reminded me of W's wife wondering whether they looked the same.

 

Whilst reading this novella, I pondered Nicholas Sarkozy's infamous 2007 rant that the "The African Man Has Never Fully Entered History". I can only offer a rebuttal in the comfort of my rant by disagreeing for indeed there is a rich history of the African peoples.  The main weakness is to always make conclusions about the african people through a foreign prism and pass a judgement that does not always reflect the truth. God Forbid that those who come behind us forget that before Stacy & Stephanie there was Nyalpol & Abonyo and that before French & English there was Luo & Zulu. Last but not least, before Lake Victoria & Victoria Falls there was Nam Lolwe & Mosi 'o Tunya - The smoke that thunders. As I read the novellla, I continue to be convinced beyond the shadow of a doubt that the African people had their own cultures, religions, medicines, names, values, languages,  institutions and histories. That these are being forgotten does not indicate the lack of their existence but more the way of the world...that in order to survive one must adapt.

 

Sapphire - Push

The paperback is small and quick to read.  I picked it quite by chance from my book shelf as I looked for something easy to read.

 

It is a book that explores a difficult and harrowing subject - incest and abuse not just for Precious - but a number of other girls who have been abused by different people.  I was hard pressed to find something to laugh about as I turned the pages.

 

I remember telling my mother that one of the good things about life is to find a support group. There are support groups for everything (tall people, short people, black people, thin people, fat people, breast cancer survivors, spouses, battered women etc). The important thing is to get the support group that suits your needs best and run with it. If there isn't one, start one.  Precious says that when she heard the stories of her friends, she realised that her story was not the worst.  have never come across a support group for incest survivors.

 

At the start of the book is a quote from the Talmud "Every blade of grass has its Angel that bends over and whispers, 'Grow, grow' "  My best character in this book is Blue Rain who teaches the young adult girls plagued by illiteracy due to various reasons - in this case incest and allied issues. I presuppose that she is the Angel as are most teachers who are so amazing. I have often wondered why teachers in the public system in my country are not given a good return for their labour. To teach and teach effectively one must have a calling. In my life, the people who made an impact in my life were the teachers who believed in me. I can remember my class teacher Mr Ok, Mrs Wa, Mr Mu and others who were ever so patient with me and made life at BGHS manageable.

 

The depiction of mothers in the book is rather surprising. Mothers who have failed in their duty towards their offspring. Due to my own understanding of what a mother is and what motherhood entails, I find it difficult to relate to the mothers in the book who in different ways  abused ( or aided and abetted the abuse of) their children.  

 

Stamina and determination are topical issues. They are those who fall by the way side by there are also those who push on no matter the hand that has been dealt with.  So when all is said and done, it is important to stand with our back against the wind and our head towards the sunrise in order to stand tall against all odds.  This is embedded in the title. When you are tired..when you cannot go on, their is only one option PUSH.

 

 

Steve Lopez:- The Soloist: A Lost Dream, An Unlikely Friendship, And The Redemptive Power of Music

I watched the movie and read the book on which the movie is based. This led me to googling Steve Lopez and Nathaniel Ayers into the wee hours of the morning. In my search, I discovered Los Angeles - The city of angels and the Los Angeles Times. The movie, the book and the articles had such an impact on me that I spent the whole Sunday morning - instead of reflecting on my maker and His goodness - regurgitating to my sister all that I had learnt.

Where do I start?

Steve Lopez - I admired not just his writing but also his demeanour as he was interviewed.  I envied him for the fact that he had found purpose in life beyond simply being a columnist at the Los Angeles Times. Steve had the opportunity and tenacity to make a difference in the life of Nathaniel Ayers whom he bumped into, quite by chance. So many times I spend my working days doing many things and at the end of it all wonder whether all these things are simply "a chasing after the wind".  Steve's story - was for me - better than a sermon. I digress to wish that our journalists might make a difference through the articles they write.

Nathaniel Ayers - I was puzzled by the "demons" that led an otherwise promising child to the skid row.  Was it the pressure of being the only black student playing the cello?  Was it the pressure he felt in wanting or waiting to excel?  Had Nathaniel been my townsman, my people might be forgiven to believe that someone had definitely 'done him in by remote control'. There would have been a frenzy searching for the oldest person as the scapegoat for such a heinous deed.

Nathaniel was admitted to Julliard College , one of the most prestigious music schools in New York but he dropped out and became one of the close to 40,000 homeless people in Los Angeles. How does one explain such a thing in a rational manner except to believe that something paranormal must have occurred in his life?  The medics have found a name for this mental health condition and aptly named it Schizophrenia.

When I grew up we threw stones at 'Ali Kichwa' who walked by our house to the Municipal Graveyards.  As kids, we never paused to discuss his mental condition or whether it had a medical name.  We did not bother ourselves with why he was as he was, which home he came from or whether he had a mother who loved him.

As I read Steve Lopez’s columns, I remembered my classmate's sister who was diagnosed with Schizoprenia. G recounted how her perfectly normal sister heard voices that no one else heard.

The story got me to ponder about my best friend  of years gone by. Her two siblings - brilliant whilst they were in high school - went over the ledge and were in & out of Kenya's only psychiatric hospital.  Why would God visit such a burden on an otherwise lovely & promising family? A challenge that tested the very foundations that they believed in.

I thought about JK who for no properly explainable reason flipped and 'never returned from whence she went'.  N's sister who had to be confined - much to her chagrin - to prevent her from harming herself and others.

Into the wee hours of the morning, I thought of cousin S who decided - rather irrationally - that she preferred the freedom of the streets to the confining comfort of a home.

These are too many people for me to have known who have suffered similar unexplainable conditions without much support being available for them.

LAMP - The people who worked - some pro bono - at LAMP challenged me. I was moved by the expression that sometimes 'People need compassion and not a cure'. It is almost impossible to understand what it means to be sick unless we too have been sick. It is difficult to grieve for someone who has lost something unless we too have lost the same thing.  Even the Messiah had to take upon himself the nature of man so that he might be able to  better understand our challenges.

I retold, to my sister's listening ear, of my adventures   visiting the old people's home, a shelter by the Presbyterian Church of Eastern Africa in Thogoto each Sunday during my high school days.  Old folks who had been abandoned by their families & who received no visitors except for the Sunday visit by young lads and lasses in green skirts and grey trousers.  When they died - as old people often do - they were interred at the church graveyard without an obituary or a telegram to a loved one.  I often wondered how someone could not have a home, no matter how basic, and often pondered what 'ill wind' led to such a lonely existence without children, grandchildren, siblings & friends to fawn over in the dusk of their lives. I thought of my grandparents as I chatted with a lad from "Across" strolling back to school  for another week.

Los Angeles California - There was a comment that Los Angeles - the City of Angels - was the homeless capital of the world.  I need to further research this phenomena but must digress to recall my first visit to Washington  DC where I saw an old fellow push all his worldly belongings on a shopping cart. I could not imagine where he came from or where he was going to. Neither could I reconcile this to the America I knew & watched on the airwaves.  What had happened to him in this land of promises where all dreams came true?  Me - who was an African - was so afraid of the people who slept in the subway which I had to take from my hotel in downtown Washington DC to the malls!!! I had neither the heart nor the courage to take a photo in remembrance, the way foreigners to my country do when faced with scenes of starving children.

Now I understand that there might be a myriad of reasons why these people might be homeless. Whose homelessness might not be a rational lifestyle choice. This again reminded me of my sister's thesis on people with disabilities and what the GOK could do to make their burden lighter.

The Rest of Us - More often than not I am guilty of judging people and assuming they have made certain lifestyle choices which have led them into the abyss they find themselves in.  I blame these events on the sins of the father that will follow them upto the third generation, or join in the 'binding and losing' and casting out demons.  If all fails, I turn away - like the teachers of the law - and pretend that I never noticed.

But there were good moments too.  I discovered Neil Diamond and found that I loved his music. I also discovered that Mozart, Beethoven and Bach is actually music that I could listen to.  I have often wondered why people listened to this genre of music. Watching the movie and some of the orchestras transported me to places I had never experienced before.

Everyday I learn a new thing and find a new distraction. 

Michelle Moran - The Second Empress

This book is set between 1809 and 1815 or thereabouts. It chronicles the story of the Bonapartes. It is an interesting and easy read which transported me back to my history lessons. Although, the author indicates that she has 'altered some of the history' in trying to spin the tale, she has nonetheless tried to keep as close as possible to the facts as they happened.

 

The book reminds me - not sure if I came to the same conclusion in my history class - of the fickleness of the masses. They see-sawed between the Bourbons, the Bonapartes, the Bourbons, the Bornapartes...It must have been a very confusing period for the french citoyens or perhaps they did not really have much choice in their destiny. Like many people now...they were just like pawns on a chess board...watching the political class making decisions that would ultimately affect their lives - for better or for worse.

 

One must admire Napoleon...Love him or hate him, he was and is an enigma. He rose from nothing, led a coup d'etat, charmed the French, brought his enemies to the brink, fell and rose again.  Even whilst in Elba in exile, he was down but not out.  No wonder Shaka said that one must never leave an enemy standing - even on an Island!! What is amazing is that Napoleon was not even French...being as he was from Corsica hence Italian. His story reminds me that power corrupts and that absolute power corrupts absolutely. Surprisingly, Napoleon craved the very trappings of nobility that he fought against including divorcing his commoner wife - The Pope be damned - to marry the unwilling Maria-Lucia (great niece of Marie-Antoinette with 800 years of Hapsburg blood in her veins) so that his children could be of noble blood.  What better pedigree would one desire? He desired that which he did not otherwise have.   One can only wonder at the madness that drove him to invade Russia which eventually brought his downfall. This reminds me of a question in the film Serafina. What brought Napoleon down? Was it the Russian winter or was it the people who burned their homes to ensure that the French soldiers did not get any respite from the harsh elements of russian winter.  Historians say that the French had won the war until the Russian governor ordered the muscovites to burn their homes rather than capitulate.  Napoleon's downfall was precipitated by the French masses and their nobles who now wanted their dead back - they wanted their dead husbands and sons back alive. Even Napoleon could not achieve that feat. Luckily for him he received extreme unction upon death, received a state funeral and has a place in French history. If only we, africans, could revere our leaders - despite their faults and teach our children to remember them as heroes and not villains - only then would we, as a people, have achieved  nirvana.

 

The supporting character I admired most - though in the shadow - was Madame Mere - Napoleon's mother (Letizia Ramolino) who believed in her son despite everything. Reminds me of the verse that I paraphrase to mean that a mother does not often forget her child.  A mother stands by her children, protects them and believes in them, despite everything. This is the Joy of Motherhood.

 

The character I hated most is Prince Metternich, the diplomat who supposedly brokered the marriage between Maria Lucia and Napoleon. He was the Austrian Ambassador to the French court. The world is full of the duplicity of such people who cannot always be trusted.

 

The book is written mostly through the eyes of Maria-Lucia...The Second Empress...So one cannot but love her, feel for her and be happy for her.

Not much is said in the book about Josephine...The First Empress and Napoleon's talisman except that his luck began to dip when he divorced her. Interestingly, he still communed with her, kept her children and her name was the only one he uttered in death.

 

The book tempts me to brush my memory about Saint-Domingue a.k.a Haiti and the Egyptian ptolemies that so mersmerised Pauline Bonaparte. Pauline Bonaparte herself epitomised the foibles of the French court - the less said about her character, the better! Except that she was faithful to the end.

Belinda Alexandra - Tuscan Rose

I read this book set for the most part in Italy before and during the world was into the wee hours of the morning. For people who might want an idea of what it was to live under fascism and il duce without being bogged down with the academic, it is an interesting read. Given the period within which it is set, there is reference to the 2nd world war, the conquest of Abyssnia - Ethiopia, Fascism and Nazism.

 

What fascinated me was the complicated story of Rosa (Tuscan Rose) who we see at the beginning of the book being sent to a convent as a child. The story is compellining because I wanted to know who Rosa was and was unable to guess until the end of the book.  All through the book Rosa forms surrogate families - from the nuns at the convent de santo spirito, her friends when she worked as a governess, Sibilla at the prison, At the hospital as she worked as a nurse, the Montagnanis, fighting with the patriots and eventually with Antonio.  Her life was not easy and "Sisyphus" was ever present such that every time she made two steps ahead there was something that pulled her back. Leaving the convent & Madre Maddalena, imprisonement under false pretexts, losing her job for having a louse, not being able to 'bond' with Luciano who loved Italy more than he loved her, losing all her friends. Yet each time she never lost hope. She loved enough to survive despite the impossible choices that she faced.

 

Florence must have been a small place with everybody's life linked with everybody else's.  What intrigued me was the life of Giovanni  Taviani & the kids he left behind, the deep secrets of Scarfiotti family and the nuns of Santo Spirito.  Reading the book made me have an peek into the life of adopted children, illegitimate children, single women & women in general in a very closely knit and family oriented place as Italy.

 

I am still searching for an answer as to why the nations wage war.  Is it simply greed & pride or looking to distribute resources that are not enough for all of us? Even in apparently restive places like Florence. The buzz word in this day and age is inclusive growth...the indifference towards one another. But is that alone able to save us from one another?

Carolina de Robertis - Perla

Perla is a difficult story both in the mystic way that it is written - that is so popular in South American novels - and the story line that it seeks to explore. A story that must be told about a brutal dictatorship in Argentina at a different time and place. 

 

Although the story supposedly ends in triumph as the protagonist Perla discovers herself, it is tragic because it unravels the life of Luisa and Hector Correa who were her 'adoptive' parents and had been on the 'wrong side' of the Argentine wars.  Perla initially is protective of Luisa and Hector even when she knows that they are considered the villains. However when she discovers that she too is one of the disappeared, she takes a stand against them. I  was rather distressed by her ultimate reaction, hence for me, the ending is a tragedy.

The story is about those who disappeared - The desaparecidos - and those who ultimately suffer. Either way, everybody is like a pawn on a chess board and everybody suffers in one way or other. On one side of the divide we have the grandmothers, grandfathers, mothers, fathers, wives, husbands, daughters, sons and friends who lost their loved ones. They demand justice and want the desaparecidos back with life. The problem is that what was done cannot be altered or undone. So those who "lost " are asking for the impossible. Others want to bring the issue to closure as their loved ones are "disappeared" without the dignity of a proper burial. This story is not only about Argentina and if we look deeply we will find similarities in life lived in the past or as we live it today. It is the story of Keith Bennett whose mother has died at a ripe age of 78 and unable to grieve properly for him because she does not know where he was buried by his killers. It is also the story about Kenya's Mau Mau veterans requesting delayed justice from the Imperial Government for atrocities committed by His Majesty's Government at a different time and place. It is the story of various Genocides, Post Election Violences, Various Struggles for Independence & Self Determination  and the Holocaust. It is the story of the wives of the Lonmin Platinum miners in South Africa who ask for their wounded and dead. It is the story of the children of slavery, the aborigine children forcibly taken away from their people and parents and those they left behind.  The indegenous peoples of many lands who disappeared through various conquests. It is really the story of our fallen lives for which we are all guilty...held responsible for the sins of fathers.


Intertwined in the book is  a story about feminism - Interestingly, it is the males who commit the atrocities and the females looking out for their men - seeking a solution for crimes against humanity. The Madres de Plaza de Mayo who demand for justice and the women who assist the disappeared children to discover their families.  The 100 women who appear outside the courts in South Africa....'pleading for leniency for their men'.

On the other hand, we have those who simply followed orders. How do we judge, those who simply carried out their duties to the state with special zeal?  How do we judge Scilingo, Hector and their comrades? Is there atonement and forgiveness for their supposed sins?  How do we judge the police who open fire on the striking miners and dispatch them to  their untimely destiny? I feel drawn towards the plight of Luisa and Hector Correa. With hindsight, I think that Perla has "judged" them too harshly when she discovers that she was not their biological child and that she, Perla, is one of the disappeared children.  She leaves without giving Hector, the father who brought her up and loved her, a chance to explain himself...To understand his demons...To explain his position and atone for his sins. To resolve the Argentine conflict, there was immunity for those, whose duty it was to make people disappear.  This however did not resolve the problem for those affected by the disappearances on either side of the divide.  It was simply the easier path... the lesser evil  between so many other poor options and choices.  So Perla is no different from her 'friend' Romina who shunned her when she 'discovered' that Perla's supposed father (Hector) was on the wrong side of the Argentine problem.  I would have been happier if Perla had demonstrated character like Gabriel for whom it did not matter either way.  The sentence that reminds me about the fate of the affected - whichever side of the divide one finds oneself - is ..."Don't talk me about demons, until you have wrestled down your own".  To judge a man or woman- unless you too have walked on the same road that they have trodden, with the same shoes and under the same circumstances and context - is an exercise in futility.

The other compelling issue was the role of the all powerful church that sanctioned the disappearances.  The dilemma the church is facing  is great, being at the forefront of so many social problems like slavery, wars, questionable policies, crimes against humanity, outright theft, fleecing people of hard earned money, child abuses and yet not standing up to be counted.  When Perla's father disappeared, "He had a God and when the dark swallowed his mind, he reeled and broke and soared out to find him, pray to him - Pater noster qui es in caelis"... The problem though is not the Almighty God of mercy and grace but the people who purport to represent him on earth.  It is those that I am tempted to rile against...those who stand by and actively taunt people as they descend into  holes that have no bottoms...and do this in the name of God.  Can we, who are guilty by extension for sins of commission and omission,  honestly find grace, mercy and atonement when we pray,  in whatever tongue that enables us seek penance best?







"Padre nuestro que Estás en los cielos, Perdónanos nuestras deudas..Baba Wetu, Uliye Mbinguni, Utusamehe makosa yetu...Our Father who art in Heaven, Forgive us our trespasses...Notre Père, qui es aux cieux, Pardonne-nous nos offences...Pater noster qui es in caelis, dimitte nobis debita nostra...Wuonwa manie polo, Wenwae gopewa...Jthe witũ wĩ Igũrũ, Na ũtũrekere mathiri maitũ...Papa Wefwe O'uli mwikulu, Okhureshere obuononi bwefwe...Baba wethu osezulwini, Usithethelele izono zethu...Bawo wethu osezulwini, Sixolele amatyala ethu njengokuba

 

Ultimately, the pain we feel is ours alone. People move on...distracted by other things like Argentina hosting the 1978 World Cup.  But there are those for whom the pain - whatever pain - will never go away.  It does not matter that in the big scheme of things, they are few and have to be sacrificed for the greater good. I think of my boss from Argentina and regret that I never really took time to ask him about events at that time. I knew so little about Argentina until I watched the fictionalised Evita Peron personified by Madonna. Every time I think about Argentina, I come back to the song " Don't Cry For Me Argentina....The Truth Is I never left you". I also think about Diego Maradona - the greatest footballer of all time and the beautifully sounding Buenos Aires.

For those who struggle with the demons that plague them, we can only be reminded by the words of Perla to Gabriel  - Please Don't Give Up On Me.

Jhumpa Lahiri - Interpreter of Maladies

This book is amazing. It is nine short stories of different people in different circumstances that are an easy read as short stories should be. The stories leave you unsatiated - begging for more - but without the pleasure of asking the author whether there is a sequel. Perhaps there is more to be told but perhaps that is really the end of the story and there is no more to add.

When I read the book, I had just come from a malady that needed to be 'interpreted'.  I marvelled at times when one is sick and under the weather and one cannot explain to the Doctor just what one feels except that they have some malaise. I wondered how Doctors manage to treat patients who have clear symptoms but for whom the tests reveal nothing.  (No wonder doctors have 'invented' placebos and my people are often known to sigh with desperation that some sinister powers were at play.) After paying hefty consultation fees and lab tests, the Doctor was none the wiser and adviced me to rest and take lots of water. I stared at the doctor incredulously as I expected my sickness  to be intepreted beyond being told the obvious.  I was also drawn to the  short story titled 'Treatment of Bibi Haldar'. Can one have a disease that cannot be interpreted and hence cannot be dealt with?

In Jhumpa's book, the interpreter of maladies has the fanthom task of 'translating' people's maladies into a language the Doctor could understand as the patients and the doctor were on very different language planes.  It must have been difficult for the interpreter as for the patient. The Doctor-Patient relationship has a lot of sanctity and a third party should not really be privy to the secret ailings of the patients.  This reminded me of my dad's Somali patients from Mombasa's old town.  They often came with the neighbours to interpret their maladies.

 

My best story was that of Mrs Sen. I cannot rationally explain why I was drawn to this story most.  The relationship between little Elliot and Mrs Sen.  Mrs Sen drew much comfort in her ward who - though a child - understood her challenges.  Challenges of being in a foreign land...

I loved the 'Third and Final Continent'.  As we are in the race to our respective destinies, I could not but admire the indefatigable 103 year old Mrs Croft. I  was quite touched by sentence burried somewhere in the narrator's thoughts....when my son is discouraged, I tell him that if I can survive on three continents, then there is no obstacle he cannot conquer.

When all is said (read) and done, I enjoyed all the stories. Different Strokes.

Madeleine Albright - Prague Winter

This is a personal story of remembrance and war from the period 1937 to 1948 from the perspective of Madeleine Albright.

Reading the memoir, I was not the wiser as to why the 2nd World War took place and whether indeed things would have been different had different choices been made. Why must the nations wage war? That said, it is a book that I would every person on earth is able to read and perhaps, with hindsight, conclude that some of the positions taken by mankind leave a lot of destruction in their wake and take eons for future generations to unravel.  When all is said and done, I would like to understand the positions taken by Hitler and Stalin. At least, the Russians have tried to sanitise Stalin whereas the Germans are forever scarred by the Hitler question. For intellectual discussion's sake, one would like to objectively understand what the experiment was all about?  Why is it, as indicated by Madeleine that the German sins of Aryanisation received more flak than the Czech revenge after the war even though the actions were the same in many ways.

In the then Czechoslovakia the story was about Czechs, Slovaks, Bohemians, Slavs, Jews, Poles, Romas, Germans etc who attempted to build a nation state. It reminds me of our very own problem where we talk about Kikuyus, Kambas, Kalenjins, Pokots, Tukanas, Luos, Luhyas, Somalis, Mijikenda and a plethora of other people groups.  My people are now waxing lyrical about those who are marginalised and what it means for their people to be part of that nation state. However, as is so obvious very few people, then as now are full blooded and there are some who have chosen a certain grouping out of choice and convenience.

It is a book that students of politics might be advised to read to understand the futility of some of the positions taken or not taken. Most positions are agreed on - for the interests of the big states. So even now as we ponder the Arab spring - which is the topical issue of our day and age - we must understand that there is always more than meets the eye.

I have never really understood the religious question. This is not for lack of trying. Is it not possible to be Czech and Jew? Later during the Balkan issues I always wondered about the reference to Croats, Serbs and Muslims. Wasn't Muslim a misnomer given that it is a religion and not necessarily a race. Couldn't one be Croat & Muslim or Serb & Muslim? Like Madeleine can one purport to be Jew, Catholic and Episcopal together. As Salim wisely reminded mum and I, "we are all aiming for the same purpose and so there is no good reason to fight". It is not clear whether there will be multiple heavens, the same heaven with different groupings or just one heaven with one grouping. Wouldn't it be better in a family to hedge our bets...just in case.

One must read the book - as one might read a history book in an attempt to understand what exactly happened in Europe during the great war. Of course with the knowledge that all the reasons why can never really be understood in this age.  The sad thing is that people lost families, families were displaced and others lost their lives fighting a war that they never really understood or cared about.  One might be tempted to say that, when all is said and done, the Munich declaration, the Marshal Plan, the Holocaust, The Benes decrees, The cold war, The 1st and 2nd world wars etc were man's way of trying to resolve or avenge a problem in the best way they knew how. However each time there was always someone who felt aggrieved by the consensus that had been taken.

One cannot but be puzzled by the decisions that were taken by different people when push came to shove. There are those who actively betrayed their own, those who collaborated with the enemy, those who fought against an actual or perceived injustice etc. It reminds me of the mau mau insurrection, where it is said that those who collaborated came out winners and those who fought came out as losers. What should we do in trying to understand then how history should shape the decisions we take. Perhaps with hindsight we would not really judge people too harshly unless we walked the paths they walked in the same shoes they wore. 

Last but not least, who is to say which season is better - Winter, Spring, Summer or Autumn.

JMAW - Huu ukulima gani, usiwo umadhubuti?

Wizara ya Ukulima, Watu  twawalilieni
Mbegu zetu zimenyima, kweli sasa kuna nini?
Afisa Afisi Nzima, Saa zote ni kitini
Tembeeni Mashambani, Kenya tupate uzima

Kila siku shambani, Asubuhi na mapema
Mwalima fikirini, Mbona mazao si mema?
Twaomba saidieni, Afisa wa ukulima
Tembeeni mashambani, Kenya tupate uzima

Asubuhi kavaa suti, ati yuenda kazini
Kazi yake ni kuketi, kwani yuandika nini?
Kisha kasoma gazeti, angoja kwenda nyumbani
Huu ukulima gani, usiwo umadhubuti

Mbolea tumenunua, urea na kadhalika
Hatujapata kujua, mbolea navyotumika
Ni heri kama mwajua, kwanini twataabika
Kaeni ndani madukani, taabu tufananua

Raisi katoa wito, Rudini kwenu shambani
Kwani ninyi watoto, 'sojua bora ninini?
Hebu fateni wito, shambani ndipo kazini
Kulima siyo kuzini, Na shamba si penye moto

Huu ukulima gani, usiwo umadhubuti?

Jhumpa Lahiri - The Namesake

Jhumpa's books is interesting in that among other things it explores the way parents name their children. In a way it is unfair that a child is named - any name - without that child deciding which name it thinks is best suitable. More often than not parents name children as one would name inanimate beings based on their own whims.  Whilst reading the book, I wondered whether this whole naming saga needs to be changed and be adapted to what is best. Why should one or two persons - albeit parents - be the ones to decide the best name for a person. Often times children are burdened with names that they find they cannot really bear in later life. Changing that name then becomes a hustle because by the time one is 16 or 18 - the age of consent - one has already used the name of one's identity card, passport, examination documents and a myriad other places that it becomes difficult to alter that identity.  This book is about Gogol, aptly named after Nikolai Gogol - the famous Russian writer.  However they later, for many reasons determine that the name Gogol really does not suit them or that they do not want to have to explain the reasons for the name. Reasons which are really unexplainable. This reminds me of my usual question - what is in a name? If  you name a child "Mandela" would they have to act like Mandela. One might like the names "Judas Osama" but those names carry so much baggage that one would be adviced that they would cause grief to a child so named.

Jhumpa also explores the issues around integration into societies that are faced by many expatriates. Ashoke and Ashima have lived in the USA for most of their adult life but remain strangers. Each time I fill in a form that requires my "permanent" address, I really wonder what it means. Is it possible that one might have no particular abode and that the place they are forced to be their "permanent address" - Calcutta is not really their home as they visit just once every so often and do not even have a house to call their own.  Unfortunately they never really feel at home in the USA which is the place they have raised their family and brought up their kids. As the world becomes global this is one of the issues that is faced by many people.  In the end, one is always an "outsider" where they came from and where they settled.

Another interesting aspect that is explored is the changing of generations. As my kids grow older I am reminded of Sonia and Gogol. The temptation is to inculcate into them the values that I hold dear and more often than not there is alot of friction because as generations change and horizons broaden, so do the values that they decide are best suited for them. What then gives us as parent's the right to bring children up in certain ways so that when they grow they should not depart from them?

Although the book is about a Bengali family in the US of A, the issues that Jhumpa so easily seeks to write about are those that face any family irrespective of creed and race.  She is not judgemental but simply discribes the challenges faced by this very closely knit family.

I am drawn to the Ganguli family - Ashike, Ashima and their children Sonia & Gogol.   I admire their closeness and they reflect for me what many a family go through when they immigrate to new lands and learn new customs.  I like that Sonia challenges the status quo and yet she remains very close to her mother and to the values that her mother holds very dear.  

My view is that this is a book that should be read by many an expatriate family. Were it not for the very many references to sexual matters, I might encourage my own kids to read it and learn for themselves the pitfalls and the successes that await them. Perhaps, I might just!!

Francine Rivers - Redeeming Love

A commentary at the end of the book tells of California's Gold Country in the 1850 which was a time when men sold their souls for a bag of gold and women their bodies for a place to sleep. This, in essence summarises this novel - of a christian genre - which is an analysis of human nature as it was, is and is to come.  As the title reveals, it is also a story of love that redeems from the depths that we might find ourselves. The story line is simple but there are enough 'tributaries' in the story line to necessitate greater discussion and debate.  It is the sort of book, I would entice my friends to read.

The story of Mae is one of hopelessness...of one who crossed the Rubicon from where there was no turning back. She sought but found neither forgiveness nor redemption as her failures were judged unpardonable and her prosecutors unrelenting.  The double jeopardy was that the 'jury' ensured that she paid an extremely high price for the choices she made. 

Mae's daughter, Sarah, trod a path similar to the one trodden by her mother before her. Her options were limited and her only choice was to accept the cards that had been dealt her and play them the best and only way she knew how.  Her saving grace was that she received  a life line - which she avoided at all costs - but her redeemer was unrelenting.  Reading about Sarah, I pondered at length about SLM and what it was that drove her towards the choices that she took and whether we, her family, didn't love her enough but consigned her to a life so unmerciful yet so courageous.

Mingled in this storyline are the characters of an otherwise 'upright' citizenry, who aided and abetted the oldest  trade in the world.  In this day and age, the debate around commercial sex work is that it is a profession like any other and those who tinker in it - either out of choice or circumstance - have unalienable rights.  Lest we conclude that these are stories of another time and place, we might recall that an unmerciful media has recently bombarded us with the foibles and weaknesses of great men (leaders of nations and potential presidents) who have dabbled in this trade.  It is both the hypocrisy of men/women such as these but also the shame of others that draws the reader to further examination.

In between the continuum of many characters, I gleaned lessons that gave me a better understanding of human nature and realised that, in one way or other, there is a little bit of each one of them in me and that ultimately most of us long for redeeming love both in this world and in the world to come.

Tsitsi Dangarembga - Nervous Conditions

What puzzled me about the book is the writer - why this story and for whom was it written? Although set in Rhodesia, at a different time and place, most of it reminds me of Kenya.  I would wager that any African reading the book would find something or other that they could relate to. I reckon one would need to be an African to understand this book & appreciate the story line.

It would be simplistic to conclude that the book is feminist.   In my opinion, the book is principally about bad government. The pressure on Nyasha & Chido's father (both as first born and the one fortunate enough to have been educated) is unimaginable. He  has the burden to provide not only for his wife & children, but having prospered, to equally provide for his greater family and village mates. Given the absence of safety nets in many developing nations, the burden falls upon those who have 'made it' to provide for the rest who have not...sometimes to the detriment of one's family, happiness and well being. The safety net is not only about school fees, medical fees and jobs but also ensuring good holidays, providing counselling services and ideas. This burden is enough to make one go crazy. So, even as countries like mine, grapple with ideas on how to tax their citizens more, they must, like the more developed and emerging economies, take over the mantle of availing  the requisite safety nets for all its citizens. As economists advice Ministers of Finance and Economic Planning on how to bring more people into the tax net, they might also be advised to remind those Ministers that good government is not only about taxing already burdened people but also about providing basic services (like schools, hospitals, security, roads and shelter) for their populace.

Nyasha impresses me most .  Her father concludes - rather unfortunately - that she is rebellious because she often calls into question the status quo in her family, traditions, school, religious beliefs and life more generally.  Despite an education in England, Nyasha's father does not have the luxury to entertain a different point of view from the one he was brought up in.  Nyasha believes that the 'fights' she has with her father are healthier than her mother's simple acquiescence of things. Unfortunately, Nyasha eventually suffers from anorexia or some nervous condition which serves as a warning that it is not always helpful to pursue a different line of thought or agenda - to go against the flow - because more often than not, the contrary person loses.  So perhaps we are better served by accepting our lot - whatever it may be.  Amazingly, a white doctor opines about Nyasha's condition, that Africans do not suffer from whatever is ailing her which reminds me of a Sudanese girl suffering from depression in the USA and the Doctor's response was for her to 'snap out of it'. How could she, a Sudanese, have the luxury of being depressed? I guess, Africans do not have the luxury to bear the white man's burdens...we have enough other burdens.

I 'love' Lucia (Tambu's maternal aunt) who "says anything that comes to her head". Although illiterate, unmarried and with the odds stacked up against her, she opines that one must at least try (albeit not always in the conventional sense) in order to lift oneself from the circumstances that one finds oneself in.   She takes up with Takesure, decides that her pregnancy is Tambu's father's - instead of Takesure's - because Tambu's father might be better able to provide for her - even though he is her sister's husband. She has the guts to break with tradition and scolds her sister's family for not providing her with a fair hearing (discussing her situation as she is relagated to the kitchen with the women).  Tambu mentions that Aunt Lucia has managed to keep herself plump despite her tribulations. Only an African can understand the weight (no pun intended) of this sentence. Despite being left unceremoniously at the homestead, she arrives at the mission hospital just in time to ululate her sister 's birth to a son.  She eventually pushes Nyasha's dad to  find her a job (if he does not want her in a sinful & bigamous relationship ) and enrolls for grade 1 at 18 years.  When Tambu's mum gets into a depression it is Aunt Lucia who is called upon to manage the situation and she is able to nurse Tambu's mother out of that depression by force.

Nyasha's mother strikes me as a sad and pathetic character. She hasn't taken advantage of her degrees and exposure in South Africa and England to emancipate herself.  Had she Lucia's character she might have been a happier woman which reminds me that our freedom lies within ourselves.  Her yoke & burden is heavier because her expectations might have previously been higher given her level of education. She muses that she has no earnings even though she is employed since her salary is her husband's, the decisions are her husband's, her family is her husband's and she unfortunately has nothing much to show for herself nor for the education & exposure she has received.  Even her family house at the homestead is unilaterally given to Tambu's parents as a belated wedding present without her consent.  Without her family house, she has no status - until her husband starts building a new one for her. There is no mention of her relatives except the one time she unsuccessfully runs away to her brother before being returned. It is no wonder that people were always wary of educating women if they cannot do anything with the education they receive!!!  In many ways,  her lot is no better or different from Tambu's mum who is illiterate, poor and who unfortunately has to live under the vicissitudes on a culture that seeks to entrap her further.  However when all is said and done, she is a good mother, aunt, in-law and wife.

As for Tambu's mum, one can only feel sorry for her. Married at 15 to a good for nothing husband the result of an unplanned pregnancy which limits the bride price to her parents. She is not one to be admired and brings shame upon her family.   To add insult to injury, the child who causes  her to leave her people for this marriage dies five month's after birth. Her other son,  Nhamo, and apple of her eye, dies when at the mission school. In a culture where sons are wealth, she subsequently only gives birth to daughters. A dangerous scenario because she becomes vulnerable to the fact that her husband may be tempted to marry her sister in order to sire sons.  She thinks someone has bewitched her and falls into a depression.  Thanks to Lucia, she eventually snaps out of it.  Life is unfair but there is always light at the end of tunnel, even for those who do not make any effort to reach that end.  She inherits a house, gives birth to the much needed son and her daughter Tambu gets the scholarship to Sacred Heart school. So her lot isn't too bad after all as, like Hannah in the Book of Samuel, God has heard her cry...even though she did not necessarily cry to him.

I have often wondered why people feel that they have been bewitched when one misfortune or other befalls them (or with the advent of faith based churches, that some cleansing of the home is required).  Tambu's mum feels strongly that Nyasha's mum has bewitched her and is taking her children away from her...First Nhamo - who dies prematurely in his prime and then Tambu.  However, I like the pragmatic summary after the family kamukunji which concludes that everyone seems to have some problem or other. Aunt Gladys' misfortune is having two unwed but pregnant daughters and a wife beating son;  Uncle Thomas'  last child appears  autistic; Tambu's parents' live in perpetual poverty and Nyasha's father, who although rich, has unadjusted children.  In the same vein, people would be much advised to count their blessings and name them one by one.

Reading this book, I could weave similar tales from the stories my mother regales me with each holiday.  Didn't an uncle's wife feel strongly that 'someone' in the home was 'doing her in'?  How could one explain why it was only her branch of the family that did not seem to be doing well.  Another uncle's wife brought a pastor to cleanse her homestead because her children did not seem to be thriving in their jobs. The interesting thing, I might add, is that it is always the women married into the home, who are wont to conclude that something is amiss and someone is to blame. More often than not, the culprit would be the one who appears to be prospering or a co-wife. (I must digress to explain that, in my culture, a co-wife might mean that the women are married to brothers or married to the same husband.) 

I guess the book also seeks to demonstrate that the burden on women is doubly great - irrespective of the level of education, status or wealth.  More often than not women married into many a family have no particular status and their opinion is usually irrelevant despite the advent of religion and education. Recently when commenting on female judges in Kenya, it was concluded that the Judiciary still remains very much a man's world.  No matter how much pundits may wax lyrical about the progress made towards achieving gender parity -  the statistics in boardrooms and politics, even in developed countries -  are skewed to the  boys' clubs.   The context might be different in this day & age, much might have been achieved with technological & educational advancements but it goes without saying that the path to gender equality & parity is still relatively untrodden.

I would conclude that 'Nervous Conditions' is just as relevant today in Kenya as it is in Zimbabwe and for that reason, the book is really a good read.

Colleen McCullough - The Thorn Birds

I first read my father's copy of the Thorn Birds as a teenager and have read it many times since I purchased my own paperback.  With each reading, I collected new insights and recently, having just finished it, I wonder how to compress 591 pages into a single rant.

This time, I read it from a different perspective - with more depth & meaning and focused much on the story of Christianity that intertwines its pages.  The tale read like an old testament story with lots of wisdom to learn from.  Or is it the effect of aging because as we mature we are wont to look at things in a much more different light - with an eye on our mortality - than we did during our idealistic youth. I am certain that were I to read the book five years from now, the things that would strike me most would be different.  When AM saw me holding the book, she said...Oh isn't that the story about the priest and the girl.  I guess for her, the story line that meant the most was...forbidden but enduring love. It is amazing...isn't it that despite all wisdom against the contrary the main women in the book hungered after men that they couldn't hold onto as they were already spoken for?

The Thornbirds weaves a story about families and lineages that must perpetuate themselves or die.  Families that make mistakes and mothers that love some children more than others. The thesis is that parents love their children equally - but differently.  However the antithesis is that it is possible to love one child more than all others.  It does not necessarily mean the other children are hated - it just means that one child is loved more and the child who is loved 'less' senses it.

Like many books written by women, this book has strong women - who survive whatever cards are dealt them. What is also amazing is that this family perpetuates itself through the girl child even though the name comes down the male line - Armstrong, Cleary, O'Neill and Hartheim.

At the story's heart is the love of Meghan Cleary, who can never possess the man she desperately adores,  Father Ralph de Bricassart, who rises from parish priest to the inner circles of the Vatican...but whose passion for Meghan would follow him all the days of his life. I never quite understood how Father Ralph could have intercourse with Meghan and after all that, walk away from her. The call of God was strong...Yet even when he had followed his destiny to the church, he still was jealous that she found respite in another man. 

At this juncture in my life, I mused greatly about the character of God as portrayed in the book:-

      On the one hand we experience a God of forgiveness, in the face of sincere repentance. Ralph     broke all his vows - chastity, obedience and poverty - but was convinced beyond the shadow of a doubt for as long as he lived that God was merciful and he rose to the highest echelons as Cardinal. After all, it is God's kindness that leads us to repentance...knowing that He loves us.  Dane was persuaded that God could forgive us anything...with no strings attached as He understood our frailties.

      On the other hand, we see the God of retribution - a jealous God - who punishes Fiona and Meghan by taking away the sons that meant the most to them, in the prime of their lives.  Sons they shouldn't have had in the first place. Doesn't the Bible remind us...Do not be deceived, God is not mocked. Whatever a man sows, so shall he reap.

I am certain the author did not plan for the reader to spend too much time analysing God who was inevitable in the book at that time and place...That said, her juxtapositions of God struck me. Were I to choose, I would prefer Ralph and Dane's God - A God who is merciful to us, sinners...who understands that - when all is said & done - we are human afterall...for the bottom line is that, as Fiona muses, the seeds of our ruin are sown even before we are born. We cannot do anything about it really.

In a way, the climax of the book is about hope...about Justine and Rainer.  (Both unloved by those who bore them. Justine was a child of convenience who lived in Dane's shadow whereas Rainer was given up for adoption). I didn't regard them much the previous times that I read the book. The book is indeed about them and it is fitting they are the ones who perpetuate the family line albeit on a different continent. They represent  the stubbornness of love,  love that is patience and true love that endures and transcends all hurdles.  They represent the next generation that is perpetuated despite everything.  In essence, all things eventually work out for good. Isn't that wonderful and amazing?

Abraham Verghese - Cutting for Stone

I first read this book in 2010 having purchased it, as I do many of my books, at an airport - This time it was Gatwick.  My sister's recent musing that my brother, a surgeon, might enjoy this book led me to pick it up again from my bookshelf and pore through its pages as though there was no tomorrow. I am certain something will trigger me to read it again a third time....And even then there will still be some unfinished business that beckons me to reopen the book.

As I flipped through the pages in this book tears rolled, unbidden, down my cheeks.  I could not tell whether it was the book or the state of my emotions. What is it about writers that they are able to scratch the deepest recesses and draw juxtapositions (my most frequently used word) through the fiction that they purport to transcribe?  When I read the book the first time round in 2010 the sole sentence that I bothered to underline was 'indeed to think of life as tragic is a posture of delusion, for life is infinitely worse than tragic'.

The book's title derives from the ancient Greek Hippocratic Oath which includes the phrase: "I will not cut for stone, even for the patients in whom the disease is manifest; I will leave this operation to be performed by practitioners,".  It is a book by a physician and perhaps physicians would be better able to analyse  the book in a way that we mere mortals might not.  Indeed some terms were foreign to me as a laywoman but they demystified - to some extent - the profession.

The saga is broad and takes us through India, Africa and the United States of America. Each part of the story covering a distinct part of a generation very different from the other but with the characters intertwined.  There are so many quotes - medical and otherwise - that I would like to remember for a rainy day.   Except for Genet, I loved most of the characters, even Dr Thomas Stone - the estranged father. My best character is Matron...The Doyen of the mission hospital in Addis.

I am drawn to the family strands throughout the book from Justifus and Hilda Stone in India; their only son Dr Thomas Stone in Ethiopia & Boston; to the twins Marion and Shiva Stone (from Dr Thomas' one night stand with Sister Mary Joseph Praise) in Ethiopia and the linkages between them. I love the twins' adoptive parents, Hema and Ghosh, cast in that role so unexpectedly but who take the challenge in its stride. The unrequited and forbidden love by Sister Mary Joseph Praise for Dr Thomas Stone was nothing but intriguing. I am sure one could spin many a yarn from real life that matches those of the characters because indeed life is not always so linear even when one 'goes to the beginning and goes on until they come to the end'.  From this family saga, I was touched by a comment made by Hema which I hope I shall always remember '...A mother loves her children equally...but sometimes one child needs more help, more attention, to get by in the world.'.  One might wonder whether indeed mothers have the wisdom to make this judgement call and I may be forgiven in perhaps concluding that this call is a burden too great for a mother to decide upon. For in so doing, might she not hurt the other child whom she thinks needs less help? This reminded me of a discussion I often had with my own mother - Did she love me less than she did my more pliant sister or did I need more moulding & discipline? 

Marion refers to a time when he  '... is fearful that he might sink into an abyss and where there is no promise of  return'.  Although this is whilst he is in hospital there are many instances through out the book that remind me of my mother's  reference to the idiom 'crossing the Rubicon'.  Like Caesar's army,  many  actions by the characters are like 'crossing the Rubicon from which there is no return'.  In real life, we make choices and take chances and when we do, we must go forth and live by them without the benefit of a second chance.  Most of the characters (major or peripheral) face many voids...Be it Hilda, Thomas, Sister Mary, Shiva, Genet or even Marion. Voids that destroy them or threaten to draw them into the abyss that is so aptly defined by Marion.

Although not my forte, I am somewhat amazed about the historical (political) backdrop of Ethiopia - from Emperor Menelik, Emperor Haile Selassie, Colonel Haile Meriem Mengistu and the start of the Ethiopian Eritrean conflict. Every time I bump into an Ethiopian or Eritrean, I will always think of Marion and Shiva Stone.  An Eritrean taxi driver to Gatwick airport once educated me on his view of the struggle between Eritrea & Ethiopia. I ended up giving him a huge tip for all Eritrean troubles!

Ultimately, there is too much untimely pain, tragedy, suffering and death in the book. Indeed the book starts with a verse 'And because I love this life, I know I shall love death as well...'  I guess death is inevitable but it would seem that the author quite enjoyed to dispense of his characters before they had experienced the fullness of life.

Miriam Toews - A Complicated Kindness

Coincidentally, I have re-read this book during the same time that we have been studying 1st Corinthians.  At the bible study class, I raised the difficulty of the first chapters of 1 Corinthians on the Apostle Paul's advice to shun the believer who indulges in sin. The standards that the Apostle Paul exhorts are extremely high and perhaps misapplied if taken too literally and without grace...I would much prefer Jesus' words...Let he who has not sinned cast the first stone. Not necessarily condoning the sin but loving the weaker brother who perchance is not able to make it. I do not see much love in 'shunning'. This shunning business is indeed the central theme that is the subject of this book.  Another theme is the hypocrisy of those who sometimes are vocal with executing the shunning.

The story is told in through the eyes of Naomi Nickel about the demise of her family...as lived in the first sixteen years of her life. Her family made up of her parents Gertrude & Raymond Nickel and her sister Natasha & herself falls apart.  Naomi narrates the experiences through her own eyes, lest someone changes her understanding of events as they really happened...including, she realises that her mother has an affair with her teacher - an error of judgement because she does not even love him. The book is not linear and it goes back and forth as though remembering things as one would normally when recounting an experience.  There are a lot of gaps because as a child you aren't told everything and you need to piece the events for yourself to make sense of them.

Although the book is about the claustrophobic environment that the Nickels struggled in and the difficult choices that they had to make or choices that were made for them, I could not help juxtaposing it with the life that we now live in.  Sometimes our lives fall apart right before our eyes and there is nothing we can do to stop the melt down.   In the work place, in our families, in our clans, in our different associations...the pressure to conform is great and woe upon the one who does not conform...but even those who conform do not really thrive. So it is kind of like being between a rock and a hard place. Either way you lose.

Of course the kindness is complicated because there is the expectation that shunning would lead the non conformist to reconsider and return to the straight and narrow. (I digress by mentioning that I was recently encouraged by a quote I came across: 'an opinion is not a crime'. It is my belief that in order for societies to thrive its members must be left free to have opinions and that expecting everybody to conform to a certain pattern or way of thinking is often self destructing.)  Reading the book, I could not help wondering whether it is easier, as we tread upon this complicated world, to take the easier way and conform; pretend to conform or to go off on a tangent.  Being a non-comformist oftentimes disturbs the subtle order but might be beneficial in the long run...although not always, because it leaves a lot of hurt in its wake...like it did in Naomi's (and Raymond's life). Afterall Socrates paid for his life for 'propagating the art of fallacious discourse' and disturbing the peace.  Even a recent retrial, through a present & modern day enactment, did not lead to a unanimous acquital but more a hung jury. Had Galileo paid attention to the moral of Socrates story he might not have been charged with 'vehement suspision of heresy' by propagating that the sun stood firm and that the earth and other planets rotated around it...and lost his freedom and honour.

The book led me to thinking about semantics. Is a retreat a workshop or are they two different things? Reminds me of the famous saying that 'a rose by any other name is still a rose'.

I googled the author and wondered whether in effect, 'A complicated kindness' mirrors her own experiences given that she is a Mennonite. I also wondered about her religious order's  comments on the book...would it lead her to being shunned and excommunicated? Or would they reflect on the impact that they have on its followers.  I have never met a Mennonite but had the occasion to meet some Amish around the time I bought and first read the book.

I was drawn to the Nickel family and identified with their struggles. I would have wished that the book had happier memories and a happier ending and that the events weren't so tragic. 

At least Raymond leaves Naomi a verse from Isaiah - For you shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace: the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you with singing, and all the trees in the field shall clap their hands. After all, we need some hope in life that things will be better.