Although I did not read the book reviewed so admirably, this post really took me places in my personal and ongoing identity formation. Who am I? Am I home? Yes I am, but why doesn’t it feel like it? Being a Zimbabwean who was birthed in the United States, foundations of education layed down in Nairobi and essense of self learnt and discovered in the streets of Abidjan – it is a struggle. Something about this I just got.
Every now and then one comes across a story that belongs in you, that should have come from you, that tells it exactly how you have been meaning to tell it, but you can’t because well, you are the story. La Salle de Départshortlisted for this year’s Caine Prize was stolen from inside my soul. I should sue the author, Zimbabwean Melissa Tandiwe Myambo for doing this to me. This is one of the finest stories I have ever read. It features vivid soaring searing imagery with profound insights, yet tender, sensitive, touching. Still, Virginia Woolf’s gentle but insistent spirit comes bleeding through, holding the hands of her brown sisters. I salute you, Myambo.
What is this pretty story about? A young man (Ibou) ends up in America thanks to the generosity of the extended family. On a visit back home (Senegal), he balks at taking responsibility for the…
View original post 1,724 more words