Category: Book Reviews (Page 3 of 5)

Book Review and Reflection of We Need New Names by NoViolet Bulawayo

5 May 2025 / Dr Ndiweteko Jennifer Nghishitende

Reading Time: 4 minutes

Cover of the book “We Need New Names” by NoViolet Bulawayo, photographed upright on gravel with pink flowers in the background. — My copy of We Need New Names by NoViolet Bulawayo, captured on a quiet morning in the garden — a vibrant cover for a powerful story.

Genre: Coming of Age, Fiction
Date of Publication: 2013
Get a copy HERE

Introduction

Another literary gem from Zimbabwe. Firstly, I adore the cover of the hard copy I received. We Need New Names by NoViolet Bulawayo is striking from the very start. Chilling themes are revealed early on and continue to unfold throughout the book. The writing is excellent. NoViolet takes readers into a vivid world that feels almost tangible, with its incredible nuances threaded throughout. One may miss hidden meanings if they aren’t looking closely. For instance, in Chapter One, Darling, the protagonist, says:

“We just walk nicely like Budapest is now our country too, like we built it even, eating guavas along the way and spitting the peels all over to make the place dirty.” (p.11)

Here, Daling and her friends indicate that they dream of belonging, of living in good neighbourhoods and good houses. But because they do not in reality, they can do something small to taint the perfection—they can make it dirty, even just a little bit. But it is the intention that matters.

There are also various nuances about countries. For instance, Darling says:

“We just eat a lot of guavas because it’s the only way to kill our hunger, and when it comes to defecating, we get in so much pain it becomes an almost impossible task, like you are trying to give birth to a country.” (p.16)
Or “like he has swallowed a country.” (p. 45)

There are many such lines, alluding to the state of their country and how they experience it—the understanding of a country’s significance. Knowing Zimbabwe’s history, especially in light of colonialism, independence, and the international sanctions imposed on it in the 2000s, explains a lot.

Book Summary

Set in Zimbabwe, this book does not waste any time getting to very serious themes, cleverly couched in what may seem like the everyday. The first chapter already paints an unequal world, where Black Zimbabweans are poor, hungry, and even abused. The first chapter starts with Darling and her friends “hitting Budapest,” and readers discover that one of her friends, Chipo, is pregnant at 11 years old and has stopped talking, alluding to sexual violence and trauma. Thus, early on, we are introduced to the hardships these children face and what they are exposed to.

Darling and her friends walk from their place of residence, which they have named “Paradise”, an informal settlement, to what they call “Budapest”, seemingly a rich and lush suburban area with beautiful houses inhabited by white people. The children aspire to own houses just like these one day. And Darling? She has bigger dreams, she will live in America one day, her America, she calls it.

But Paradise was not always their home; they were displaced there. At this, I thought the book was set in colonial Zimbabwe, but we find later that it seems to be post-independence Zimbabwe. And so, a powerful narration of how we are not living in a post-colonial world, the injustices of colonialism, even though it has legally been abolished, linger.

This brings much clarity to the emphasis on countries woven through the book: what makes a country? Who oppresses, and who are the oppressed? What is a real country? What is the significance of a country? Like the emphasis on countries, “things being real” is another thread flowing through this book. Darling and her friends often emphasise how the things they do or have are for real, games they play, for instance, and much more.

Another interesting theme is the white saviourism that gives but also captures. For instance, NGO personnel frequent Paradise, bringing its inhabitants gifts, taking pictures of them, but do not want to touch them, drawing a clear othering line between the us and them dichotomy. Yet, they take pictures of them at every chance they get. The children are grateful, but the adults are humiliated by the charity. NoViolet weaves this picture-taking conundrum of poor Africans sporadically throughout the book, leaving readers to ponder its meaning.

More themes that Stood Out

Another theme that stood out to me was the character of Darling’s father, the man who abandoned his family in search of better, forgot them, and then returned when on the verge of death. This is as heartbreaking as it is common: men leaving their wives and children behind, never to return, or returning only in precarious conditions. We see a similar fate befall Atini in Sindiwe Magona’s Living, Loving and Lying Awake at Night.

Chapter 10 – “How They Left” is so chilling, it grabs you and tightens your heart in a familiar pain, especially if you are an immigrant who was forced to leave their country. Only a page and a half long, but it weighed so much. NoViolet made a poignant point when she said:

“They will never be the same again. Because you just cannot be the same once you leave behind who and what you are, you just cannot be the same.” (p.146)

Will Darling be one of those who left in droves? Will she finally meet HER America? And if she does? What does she make of it?
Get yourself a copy of this phenomenal book to find out.

Black Joy Shines Through

With all the heavy themes of this book, Black joy still peeks out. It is in the characters that NoViolet has produced, especially the children. In the midst of all that was going on, they found ways to have adventure, entertainment, and to carry on somehow.

Mina Salami, in her book Sensuous Knowledge (review coming soon), explains that Black joy is not an absence of hardship—it is recognising those hardships but also choosing to find moments of joy, creativity, hope, ease, security, and freedom. This same Black joy is woven across the pages of Sindiwe Magona’s earlier-mentioned book, Living, Loving and Lying Awake at Night.

Recommendations

Everyone of age, African or not, should read this book. Even though this is a work of fiction, it is based on the realities of not just many Zimbabweans, but many other people whose countries have encountered such deep trouble that their sons and daughters had to leave in droves, but also of the reality of those who stay.

About the Author

NoViolet Bulawayo is a Zimbabwean author whose writing captures the complexity of migration, identity, and postcolonial struggle with gripping honesty and poetic power. Her debut novel, We Need New Names, was shortlisted for the Booker Prize. She has subsequently written others that I am eager to read and review: Country Country (2020) and Glory (2022).

Book Review and Reflection: Left to Tell by Immaculée Ilibagiza

1 May 2025 / Dr Ndiweteko Jennifer Nghishitende

Reading Time: 3 minutes

Left to Tell by Immaculée Ilibagiza - Book Review on Survivor Narratives and Faith — Cover of Left to Tell by Immaculée Ilibagiza – A memoir of survival, faith, and forgiveness during the Rwandan Genocide.

Book Published: 2006
Buy the Book: HERE

Introduction

I have always had a keen interest in learning about the Rwandan Genocide, stemming from my undergraduate studies in law. The 1994 Rwandan Genocide, where nearly one million Tutsis were slaughtered in just 100 days, is a significant aspect of Rwanda’s history. My dissertation for my LLB honours degree focused on the human rights of women and children during this tragic time.

However, most of my early research was based on official documents and academic papers. As my interest deepened, I grew a strong desire to learn about people’s lived experiences of the Genocide. Left to Tell by Immaculée Ilibagiza was the first book I encountered in my search for personal narratives from the genocide, and it offered a powerful, unforgettable perspective.

Book Summary

Left to Tell is divided into four full chapters. It begins with Immaculée’s narration of a happy, blossoming childhood. She lived with her loving family, attended school, and dreamed of a successful academic and professional career. She was an intelligent child who consistently achieved excellent grades.

Growing up, Immaculée did not even know which tribe she belonged to; it only became an issue at school when a teacher conducted a tribal roll call, separating Hutus and Tutsis. Interestingly, she noted that it was impossible to distinguish Hutus and Tutsis physically; they spoke the same language and lived side by side.

The genocide started unexpectedly. Tutsis who were exiled attempted to return home, and their efforts were quickly twisted by propaganda into widespread hatred, culminating in mass killings. One of the most disturbing aspects she shares is how neighbours, once peaceful and friendly, turned on the Tutsis they had lived alongside, including her and her family. Friends she played with turned on her, and the adults she grew up looking up to wanted her killed or to kill her. Immaculée was fortunate to be hidden by a village pastor in a tiny en-suite bathroom, along with seven other women, for 91 days. In that cramped space, she found God, prayed constantly, and discovered an inner strength that helped her survive. When she emerged from that bathroom and the genocide came to an end, she learnt about the horrific ways most of her family was killed. All of this would be enough to turn anyone bitter.

However, throughout the memoir, Immaculée refers to those committing violence as “killers” rather than labelling them as “Hutus,” a powerful choice that shows her refusal to generalise, hate, or discriminate against an entire group. She also notes that the Genocide affected both Hutus and Tutsis, and the only way forward is to help others and heal. She believes her faith was what carried her through the darkness, and today she continues to spread love, hope, and forgiveness.

Her memoir is heart-wrenching yet profoundly brave. She embodies resilience, strength, survival, and voice. It leaves readers asking: How does one move on after such a loss? How does one forgive? Yet Immaculée shows that both are possible — choosing love over hate every single time.

Recommendation

If you are interested in survivor narratives, social justice, or the intersection of trauma and spirituality, Left to Tell is a powerful and essential read. It stands as a profound reminder of the human spirit’s capacity to choose love, even when the world seems irredeemable.

About the Author

(Some of the below information is adapted from Immaculée’s official website. Please visit her site for more details on her and her other works.)

Immaculée Ilibagiza, born in Rwanda, was a university student when the 1994 genocide began. Her father sent her to hide at a pastor’s home, where she spent 91 days with seven other women in a tiny bathroom. During that time, she found strength in prayer, taught herself English using a Bible and a dictionary, and coped with immense grief.

After the genocide, having lost most of her family, she chose forgiveness over hatred. In 1998, Immaculée moved to the United States, worked with the United Nations, and published Left to Tell. The memoir became a New York Times bestseller, translated into 17 languages and sold millions of copies worldwide. She has since become a globally recognised speaker on faith, forgiveness, and resilience, receiving numerous awards for her humanitarian work.

If you enjoyed this review, you may also appreciate my review and reflection of Everyday Ubuntu: Living Better Together, the African Way by Nompumelelo Mungi Ngomane.

Book Review and Reflection of My Black Motherhood: Mental Health, Stigma, Racism and the System Sandra Igwe

28 April 2025 / Dr Ndiweteko Jennifer Nghishitende

Reading Time: 3 minutes

Published: 2022

Buy Book HERE

Book cover of “My Black Motherhood: Mental Health, Stigma, Racism and the System” by Sandra Igwe. The illustration features four Black women’s faces against a soft pink background, symbolizing strength, sisterhood, and the multifaceted experience of Black motherhood. — Cover of My Black Motherhood: Mental Health, Stigma, Racism and the System by Sandra Igwe — a powerful exploration of the realities Black mothers face in the UK.

Introduction

This book is not very long, so it is easy to get through—yet it took me a while to finish. I kept reading, pausing, and coming back to it. That’s because it is not an easy read. I am a Black mother living in England at the time of reading. Fortunately for me, I had my daughter outside England. I was lucky enough to have a well-paying job, so I was able to afford giving birth in a private hospital, where I received premium care. Moving to England, I quickly realised that motherhood here was very, very different.

In this book, Sandra takes us through the painful treatment of Black mothers in Britain, telling her own story as well as those of other Black mothers.

Book Summary

The book is divided into seven chapters where Sandra narrates her journey into motherhood, alongside the stories of other Black mothers she connected with through her motherhood group and other spaces. Her aim is to amplify not only her own voice but also the voices of other Black mothers.

Sandra begins the book by reflecting on the idea of motherhood in her life, looking at her mother’s experience and those of other women around her. There were familiar cultural expectations: having children at a certain age, for instance. However, she encountered several difficulties navigating the healthcare system as a Black woman in Britain.

She experienced child loss and traumatic births. She was rejected, ignored, and dismissed by the very people who were supposed to care for her. She also had a rude and unexpected introduction to children’s services. Sandra’s experiences mirrored those of many other Black mothers, women with whom she found community and a safe space to express themselves, offer mutual support, and share knowledge.

Throughout the book, Sandra addresses a number of themes through her own story and those of others: racism not only in healthcare but also in spaces where mothers gather, such as baby groups. She describes racist encounters with midwives and her struggles with mental health, especially the impact of postnatal depression.

A key theme that stands out—perhaps especially toward the end—is the importance of community. Sandra encourages women to lean into their communities if they have them, to accept help when it’s offered, and to ask for it when needed. She reminds us that raising children is not a one-person job. Tapping into our “villages” is important—but she also acknowledges that for some, those villages do not exist, or they are not “villaging.” Be that as it may, she urges mothers to actively seek out support because mothering is hard, and even harder when done alone.

Recommendations

For me, this was a difficult read, but I think every woman should read this book to understand the reality out there. Sandra mentions how some people were shocked when they heard her story and how the system had treated her. But unfortunately, as she shows throughout the book, her story is not unique. Many Black mothers go through similar experiences.

It is important for mothers, especially Black mothers, to know what to expect when expecting in Britain so they can be prepared for anything. And to know that they are not alone. Support is out there, even if it comes through an online community.

About the Author

Sandra Igwe is a maternal health advocate, writer, and founder of The Motherhood Group, a platform that supports Black mothers by amplifying their voices and creating safe, empowering spaces. She is also a public speaker and campaigner, working to raise awareness about the racial disparities in maternal healthcare. Sandra uses her lived experiences to challenge stigma, fight systemic injustice, and push for equity in the care and treatment of Black mothers in the UK.

See more on here WEBSITE

If you enjoyed reading this review and reflection, you might also like our Book Review and Reflection of Zenzele: A Letter for My Daughter by Nozipo Maraire.

Book Review and reflection of: Nephilim Origins: Rise of the Nephilim by Chido Hove

25 April 2025 / Dr Ndiweteko Jennifer Nghishitende

Reading Time: 3 minutes

Book cover of Nephilim Origins: Rise of the Nephilim by Chido Hove, featuring a powerful angelic figure with white wings standing protectively behind a young woman in a glowing landscape with mountains and dramatic light.

Introduction

I often go into books blind — no synopsis, no reviews, no expectations — just vibes. I want my reading experiences to be fresh and unfiltered. Nephilim Origins: Rise of the Nephilim by Chido Hove was one such read. The title was unfamiliar, but the cover hinted at supernatural elements that piqued my curiosity.

Book Summary

Set in a quiet village, the story follows Naamah, a young girl whose life takes an unexpected turn after a visit to the market. There, she meets a mysterious, ethereal man by the stream — tall, beautiful, and utterly enchanting. At the same time, Naamah is promised to another man by her father, a match she doesn’t desire. What unfolds next is nothing short of extraordinary.

Suddenly pregnant, Naamah finds herself pulled into a destiny far beyond her understanding. Freed from one unwanted union, she’s now tied to someone she barely knows — someone not quite of this world. Her story becomes the catalyst for a cosmic unravelling: an angel’s fatal decision to cross the boundary between divine and human sparks a domino effect that threatens the balance of both realms.

The novel draws from the much-debated Nephilim phenomenon — those mysterious beings briefly mentioned in the Bible. With familiar biblical names woven throughout, Chido Hove presents a bold reimagining of ancient scripture, blending mythology, spirituality, and a sprinkle of apocalypse.

Key Themes

The Divine & Human Intersection explores what happens when divine beings overstep their duties and become entangled with humans.
Agency & Destiny: Naamah’s choices (and lack thereof) raise questions about autonomy, obligation, and sacrifice.
Biblical Reinterpretation: Through storytelling, the novel challenges traditional interpretations of the Nephilim and invites readers to consider new spiritual and supernatural possibilities.
Chaos & Order: The shift from pastoral village life to cosmic upheaval highlights the fragility of balance in both personal and divine spheres.

My Reflections

Naamah completely drew me in — she stole my heart early in the book. So I’ll admit, I was frustrated when the story drifted away from her. But the author brings her back before the end, offering closure that feels both necessary and satisfying. Still, her absence for a portion of the book left a gap I found hard to ignore.

The narrative starts out simple and lyrical but becomes more complex as it progresses, especially in the middle and final sections. New characters and interwoven subplots make for a rich but demanding read. My advice? Take it slow. This is not a book to rush through. It’s structured in three parts and 21 chapters, which helps to pace it thoughtfully.

Who Should Read This?

If you’re fascinated by biblical mysteries, supernatural themes, and imaginative storytelling that reimagines sacred texts, this book is for you. It’s especially ideal for readers who enjoy spiritual fiction, theological speculation, and fantasy rooted in ancient narratives.

Final Thoughts

Nephilim Origins: Rise of the Nephilim is the first in a new series, and I’m intrigued to see where Chido Hove takes us next. It’s an ambitious read that doesn’t shy away from the mystical and the mythical. Read it for Naamah. Stay for the divine drama.

About the author – from the end of the Kindle version (p. 141).

Image from her website:

As an author of religious fantasy novels, Chido draws inspiration from biblical characters and the apocrypha to create rich and imaginative worlds. Her stories blend elements of faith, mythology and fantasy to explore themes of courage, redemption and the battle between good and evil.

Chido is also a qualified lawyer who is passionate about green energy development.

Book Review and Reflection of If an Egyptian Cannot Speak English by Noor Naga

21 April 2025 / Dr Ndiweteko Jennifer Nghishitende

Reading Time: 4 minutes

Book cover of "If an Egyptian Cannot Speak English" by Noor Naga, featuring a painted portrait of a young Egyptian with curly hair and expressive eyes holding a shield and sword, with bold yellow and white text on a dark background. — The cover of If an Egyptian Cannot Speak English by Noor Naga presents a richly colored artwork portraying a young Egyptian figure with curly hair, expressive eyes, and full lips, holding historical armour and weaponry. [Image from Amazon.com]

Published: 2022
Accolades: [As listed on Amazon]

Winner of the 2022 Centre for Fiction First Novel Prize
Winner of the 2023 Arab American Book Award for Fiction
Shortlisted for the 2022 Scotiabank Giller Prize
Shortlisted for the 2023 PEN/Jean Stein Book Award
Shortlisted for the 2022 VCU Cabell First Novelist Award

Genre: Fiction (This becomes confusing towards the end, but research confirms it is fiction.)
Buy the book HERE

Country: Egypt

Introduction

If an Egyptian Cannot Speak English is framed around two individuals from vastly different backgrounds meeting and forming a relationship. What a book! The first thing that struck me, and I loved it very early on, was how it was written. The story is narrated by the boy from Shobrakheit and the American girl. It is lyrical and poetic.

Book Summary and reflections

The book is divided into three parts. Every section in Part One begins with a question, such as, “Question: If you’re waiting for the Other Shoe to drop, Have you not dropped it yourself?” Part Two consists of 36 short chapters. Part Three is a discussion about the book and its themes.

The boy is from a village called Shobrakheit, a photographer and former activist during the revolution, now unemployed, addicted to drugs and clearly suffering from some deep-rooted mental health problems. The woman is an American-born Egyptian who returns to Egypt to reconnect with her roots despite her parents’ protests. Her Arabic is infantile, but she is eager to improve it. Because she is different from all the rest, with her American ways, she is othered, labelled an outsider – people do not really believe she is Egyptian. As she navigates Cairo, her sense of belonging and identity are at the core—people continue to ask where she is from, and the boy simply calls her “the American girl.” She, in turn, calls him the boy from Shobrakheit, without using his name.

The boy is essentially homeless. Without any prior agreement, he moves into the girl’s apartment and rapes her on the very first night. The language is subtle, and it is unclear whether the girl acknowledges the act as rape, she never brings it up again. When this unsolicited cohabitation happened, I panicked for her. I held my breath; she was essentially letting a stranger into her home. It felt opportunistic on his end, and it probably was. A means of survival. But it was also uncertain on her end, as she was reluctant to give him a spare key.

He becomes trapped in her apartment without the key, and she becomes his entire world. He spends the days doing nothing, waiting for her to come home from work. At one point, he describes her as drained after a day’s work, yet he does not help with cooking or cleaning. The girl is jolted out of her American norms and tolerances. Their living arrangement becomes something patriarchal or more abusive than anything else—she is doing everything: earning, paying the bills, and catering to him, taking care of him.

Burdened by addiction and past trauma, the boy is deeply troubled. He begins to take out his frustrations on her. The violence builds slowly. He grows restless and increasingly aggressive, resentful of the fact that she goes out to work and sometimes socialises while he stays at home, afraid to leave as he has no key to return. Eventually, the socialising stops, and he isolates her. He also starts to feel detached from himself, never having considered himself violent. Thankfully, he leaves—but is it really over? The girl’s flat has many balconies, which take on symbolic significance in various ways until the end.

This is as far as the spoilers go. I encourage everyone who hasn’t read the book to grab a copy and discover how the story unfolds for themselves.

Final Reflections and Recommendations

This book is jam-packed with themes. So many themes—identity, belonging, survival, self-discovery, poverty, domestic abuse, delusion. I was wide-eyed when the boy from Shobrakheit refused a job because he believed it was beneath him, despite being homeless, clinging to delusions about his status and worth, instilled by stories his grandmother told him years ago.

Noor Naga delivers a gripping read. The writing is beautiful. Poetic, methodical, and rich. Readers will not want to put this down, especially since it’s short enough to read in just a few sittings. However, I believe this masterpiece deserves a slow read, part by part, to truly let it all sink in. That said, it will be hard to pace yourself because you’ll constantly be afraid for the girl, urging you to read on and find out how it all ends.

About the Author

Noor Naga, author of If an Egyptian Cannot Speak English.

from her website:

Noor Naga is an Alexandrian writer who was born in Philadelphia, raised in Dubai and studied in Toronto. Her work has been published in Granta, LitHub, Poetry, BOMB, The Walrus, The Common, The Offing, and more. In 2017, she won the Bronwen Wallace Award for Poetry, and in 2019, she won both the RBC/PEN Canada New Voices Award and the DISQUIET Fiction Prize. Her verse-novel Washes, Prays was published by McClelland & Stewart in 2020. Set in Toronto, this genre-bending work follows an immigrant woman’s romantic relationship with a married man and her ensuing crisis of faith. It won the Pat Lowther Memorial Award, as well as the Arab American Book Award, and was listed in the Best Canadian Poetry of 2020 by CBC.

If you enjoyed this book review, you might also like our review of Treasure by Oyinkan Braithwaite

Book Review and Reflection of African Love Stories: An Anthology

14 April 2025 / Dr Ndiweteko Jennifer Nghishitende

Reading Time: 5 minutes

African love stories is authored by various African women from various African countries.

Edited by: Ama Ata Aidoo

Published: 2006

Get the book HERE

Cover of the book "African Love Stories: An Anthology" edited by Ama Ata Aidoo, lying on green grass with a yellow dandelion and colourful page markers. Photograph taken by Tungombili Shangadi. — My copy of African Love Stories: An Anthology, edited by Ama Ata Aidoo, was captured on a sunny day. Photograph by Tungombili Shangadi.

African Love Stories: Introduction

In my usual way, I went into this book blindly. I read the title, and I was sold. I love love and was extremely excited to read about African love stories. But Ama Ata Aidoo makes it very clear in the introduction that these are not conventional (the Western love stories we are used to) love stories.

These stories are about love nevertheless—in the various ways it is experienced. Relationships that sometimes had a romantic connection, and others with other aims, like survival. In some of them, the love story is not told.

The point that Aidoo makes is that, firstly, African love stories exist. That people do not always live and live happily ever after. Love stories are certainly never smooth.

She adds:

“The twenty-one tales that make up this edition are some of the most complex love stories any reader may have come across in a long time” (page xi).

I concur.

Book Summary

This book is an anthology containing 21 short stories of African people, spanning across the continent. I counted Sudan, several from Nigeria, Uganda, Ghana, Egypt, South Africa, Zimbabwe, Ivory Coast, and Kenya.

Many of the stories do not detail romantic love, and some narrate the afterlives of relationships. Some do not even detail a love connection but rather allude to one. The stories are about the ordinary realities of everyday life—the complexities of co-existence, navigating race, cultural differences, forbidden love in some cases and survival relationships in others. The stories vary in length – Some of the stories are so short that just as you get into them, they end. This is what I felt with Sarah Ladipo Manyika’s Modupe—an extremely short story about a woman reminiscing in an airport lounge.

However, I found many of them—being African myself—resonated with me. Many times, I felt like I was reading something from my own community. It always fascinates me how similar we all are. For instance, strange white men coming to do business in our villages and cities, and taking a native girl for themselves, like in Tropical Fish by Doreen Baingana.

Extramarital affairs, as explored in various stories. ‘Transition to Glory’ by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie—this one had a sudden and unusual, yet very real, twist to it, which I thoroughly enjoyed. The emotions, the commotion, the calm, and even the audacity in the end were remarkable. Molara Ogundipe’s ‘Give Us That Spade!’ details the remnants of an extramarital affair, and it was hilarious! I loved it. I loved the complexity but also the determination and bravery.

Equally, ‘The Rival’ by Yaba Badoe was a hilarity. The audacity of both the sister and the niece is out of this world—or is it? What was striking for me, though, was how Mr. Mensah tried to love the women in his life the best way he could—gentle but firm and fair. He stood up for his wife but also helped his sister and her children, including the one who thought herself worthy of replacing his wife!

I thought Blessing Musariri’s Counting Down the Hours was quite heartbreaking and had many layers of complexity. I loved it when Namibia, my home country, was mentioned, but it left me heartbroken in its brief yet impactful narration of the different relationships we have—family, lovers, and ourselves—and the hurt and loneliness of abandonment.

Véronique Tadjo’s offering, A Sunny Afternoon, is not an extramarital relationship, but it could have been. It was definitely a romantic love story—albeit one-sided and even delusional, but all the same, hopeful. This one was quite gripping, very intense, and complex. I gasped and gasped and gasped as I read. It can be relatable in so many ways to so many people: intense desire, mistakes, self-inflicted heartbreak, bold moves, misjudgment, abandonment. It was everything, and I loved it.

I was a little sad when the protagonist thought on page 220:

“What a silly thing to have done. Nobody escapes reality. Nobody can escape the truth.”

The Lawless by Sefi Atta painted such a bleak picture of loss, poverty, and a government failing its people. The love story—if one can even call it that—was not the main feature, but the author builds several layers that one must peel like an onion. The theme of survival is very much at the centre, but as much of life is, it intertwines with others.

Interracial relationships are narrated in Something Old, Something New by Leila Aboulela, and Marriage and Other Impediments by Tomi Adeaga. There are definite love stories here, but they are not the focus. The focus is elsewhere—overcoming various impediments: culture, religion, race, parental expectations, and much more.

Mildred Kiconco Barya’s Scars of Earth, set in Uganda, was very short but striking. I was reading it expecting something else to have happened—only for the ending to reveal another. This story does not even narrate the love story itself, but leaves it up to our imagination to figure out how much that love story meant to the protagonist.

Sindiwe Magona’s Modi’s Bride tugged at my heartstrings. I could vividly imagine Modi—a strong, determined man who knew exactly who he wanted and would not settle for just anything or anyone. I was surprised that marriage in their culture could come by way of abduction—I thought that was interesting. This story had all the makings of the romantic love stories we consume in Western literature and media: a warrior, a beautiful woman, a tragedy, and a rescue.

Monica Arac de Nyeko’s Jambula Tree was interesting—different from all the rest so far in a particular way, but also like the others in its complexity. It interweaves several stories in one, with snippets across generations—refreshing in that way.

Helen Oyeyemi’s The Telltale Heart was very poetic and lyrical. It might need a few re-reads to grasp—at least, I needed to revisit it to understand some of its deep-rooted meanings.

Nawal El Saadawi’s The Veil was very short, approximately four pages. It was something of a love story, but again, there is a lot to reflect on there—on the relationships we have with ourselves and the way we navigate our relationships with others. Something the protagonist said on page 210 stayed with me:

“A violent desire to find out can sometimes be more compelling than the desire for love and can, at times, draw me into loveless contact simply to satisfy that curiosity.”

Chika Unigwe’s Possessing the Secret of Joy is the penultimate story, and it started off with a very familiar but very bleak beginning. The pressures of parents to marry well—marry rich to lift the family out of poverty. That is a type of pressure that is unimaginable. It has the effect of stripping one of their autonomy, their hold on their own lives.

But what is one to do when one has to think about more than themselves? When the worst has happened to them, and their mother did the best she could to keep them alive? My heart bled for Uju, but it fluttered warmly for her in the end, when Unigwe defined the secret of joy Uju possessed!

Wangui wa Goro’s Deep Sea Fishing was so romantic and touching. I kept thinking the whole time—reciprocity. It was a remarkable way to end the book.

Final Reflections and Recommendations

I did as Ama Ata Aidoo advised in the beginning—took each story in its individuality, savoured it, and sat in it to truly appreciate each and every one. This is what I did; I read one story at a time and let the characters and the storylines sink in.

By nature, I do not gravitate towards short stories, as I tend to have more questions in the end, longing to find out more, knowing no more will come. But these stories, varying in length and tenacity, were holistic nonetheless. They are stories that cover broad themes that encapsulate our varied lived experiences. Although fictional, they resonate in many degrees.

I would recommend it for all adults. Not for those looking for typical romantic stories—even though some of the stories contain this theme—but for those looking for relatable, real stories of how love manifests in our lives in various degrees.

And to cement Aidoo’s advice: read them slowly to take them in.

If you enjoyed this, you might also like our review of Dream Count by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie.

Book Review and Reflection of I Am Not Your Slave: A Memoir by Tupa Tjipombo with Chris Lockhart

11 April 2025 / Dr Ndiweteko Jennifer Nghishitende

Reading Time: 4 minutes

Book Details

Genre: Biography

Year: 2020

Buy Book HERE

Book cover of 'I Am Not Your Slave: A Memoir' by Tupa Tjipombo and Chris Lockhart featuring a black-and-white close-up portrait of a Black woman's face partially obscured by her open hand. — I Am Not Your Slave: A Memoir by Tupa Tjipombo and Chris Lockhart – a powerful story of resilience, identity, and reclaiming freedom from modern slavery.

Introduction

“After a while, a person can get used to almost anything.” — Chapter 9

Imagine living a joyful life among your people, surrounded by family and familiarity—only to be suddenly plunged into a world of captivity.

This is what happened to Tupa. She was violently uprooted from her home in Opuwo, Namibia, and trafficked into Angola. From there, she found herself trapped in a cycle of exploitation, moving through various countries across Africa and eventually to the Middle East.

Tupa’s story is one of survival. She endured witchcraft, sexual exploitation, and years of domestic servitude. Her memoir is both heartbreaking and necessary—an eye-opening account of modern slavery that demands to be read.

Book Summary

The book is divided into 13 chapters.

Chapter One begins with Tupa’s dramatic escape from her captors while being driven into Angola. She then trails off into memories of her childhood—growing up in a Himba village, living a traditional life with her family—until she was eventually ousted to Opuwo.

In Chapter Two, she narrates her life in Opuwo and introduces a key figure: Angel, a young Omuwambo man with business contacts in Angola. She reflects on how the Ovawambo people were generally distrusted by her tribe.

Chapters Three and Four delve into the devastation caused by a drought, which forced her family to consider selling their animals. The family travelled into Angola to do so, and Tupa was asked to accompany them. That’s when things began to unravel: missing boys, disappearing cows, and a deadlock over negotiating prices. Amid the chaos, Tupa was sold—her fate sealed through a ritual involving witchcraft.

I have read about trafficking and juju through research conducted in West Africa. However, it was quite sobering to read a similar experience told by a Namibian survivor of human trafficking. Tupa describes this ritual in tremendous, haunting detail—sending a shiver down one’s spine.

Chapters 5–8: Survival and Recapture

In Chapters 5, 6, and 7, Tupa narrates how she lived in a camp where other enslaved people were kept by military men. She had been removed from her original captors and placed under the control of a general who oversaw the camp. On the advice of another girl, who framed it as a means of survival, Tupa was married off to this general.

However, her temporary refuge did not last. Tupa was eventually recaptured by her original captors and placed on the road again, forced to travel long hours in squalid, dehumanising conditions. It becomes clear that someone specifically requested Tupa.

After a life-threatening boat ride across the ocean, she was brought to Dubai.

In Chapter 8, we learn that her trafficking was not random—she was part of a specific order. Someone had asked for a Himba girl or woman. Once in Dubai, Tupa became a domestic servant under the kafala system, a sponsorship system often criticised for enabling exploitation and modern-day slavery. Through this experience, she came to understand where she—and other African people—were ranked in the racial hierarchy of that society.

Chapters 9–11: The Jackal, Exploitation, and the Darkest Depths

Chapter 9 details Tupa’s life as a domestic servant in Dubai. By now, she has become deeply aware of the many forms of trafficking, including organ harvesting.

In Chapters 10 and 11, Tupa’s duties grow heavier and more disturbing. She finally meets “The Jackal,” the man who “stretched his hand across Africa” and snatched her up—the man who ordered a Himba girl… and received his delivery.

Tupa is subjected to debilitating sexual exploitation. She is treated like a rag doll for sex, especially reserved for The Jackal. Her suffering doesn’t end there — she is also forced to become part of a “girls on show” setup, where women are paraded for the entertainment of international men, including those working in institutions as high as the United Nations.

And yet — since this is Tupa’s retelling — we know she somehow escaped. But how?

With the wealth and influence of those who held her captive, the vast distance between Dubai and her home in Opuwo, Namibia, and the fact that she was left with absolutely nothing…

How did Tupa manage to escape and return home?

Grab your copy to find out. Chapters 12 and 13 give these reflections as well as her journey towards healing.

Recommendation

This book is a difficult read — even for me, someone who has extensively researched human trafficking. It is not for everyone and can be deeply traumatising.

If you are squeamish, some parts of the book will be especially hard to get through. Chapter 4, in particular, is incredibly difficult to digest.

That said, it is an important and necessary read. Tupa’s story forces us to confront the brutal realities that survivors of human trafficking live through—stories that are too often silenced or ignored.

It was also a pleasure to review this book as I grow my Namibian collection, adding to The Purple Violet of Oshaantu by Neshani Andreas.

Book Review and Reflection of Zenzele: A Letter for My Daughter by Nozipo Maraire

7 April 2025 / Dr Ndiweteko Jennifer Nghishitende

Reading Time: 6 minutes

Book Review and Reflection of Zenzele

Date of Publication: 1996
Genre: Fiction
Buy the book HERE

Cover of Zenzele: A Letter for My Daughter by Nozipo Maraire held in hand outdoors, with vibrant green grass in the background, symbolizing growth, heritage, and reflection. Photo by Tungombili Shangadi. — Cover of *Zenzele: A Letter for My Daughter* by Nozipo Maraire held in hand outdoors, with vibrant green grass in the background, symbolizing growth, heritage, and reflection. Photo by Tungombili Shangadi.

Introduction

Zenzele: A Letter for My Daughter, in my opinion, should be ranked as an African literary classic and should be part of the curricula in schools in Africa and around the world. This is the book I wish I had read before moving to England, and it’s the book I wish everyone would read before moving to the West. For this reason, I decided on an extensive Book Review and Reflection of Zenzele as reflected below.

The first thing that came to my mind while reading is Maraire’s beautiful storytelling talent—so lyrical, so gripping. The book is a lovely fictional letter that a Zimbabwean mother wrote to her beautiful, adventurous daughter Zenzele, who was about to leave the nest and take on the world, starting with her studies in America.

Book Summary

In the introductory pages, Zenzele’s mother describes her daughter with such adoration and love. She often compares her young self to her daughter—the simple life she lived compared to the hearty, full, yet yearning one her daughter now lives. It’s amazing to see this upward generational move. I am a mother, and I see the same thing with my daughter. My friends who are mothers say the same.

Chapter 2 was striking. I do not know what I expected, but after reading Chapter 2, it wasn’t this. But I was tremendously and pleasantly surprised that it was this. In this chapter, Maraire emphasizes the importance of keeping our culture and identity alive. She reflects on the distortion that Western ideals bring, and the unfortunate alignment some of us make with Western ways of living and being—living in cities and abandoning where we come from in the wake of all this.

In this chapter, she addresses Zenzele’s hatred of going to their village, Chakowa, for holidays. Zenzele did not understand why her parents were subjecting her to that, while her peers enjoyed lavish holidays elsewhere. Zenzele’s mother then sets out to educate her daughter about the village by telling her about her own upbringing—a beautiful narration of the simple life in the village. The lush nature and the freedom that came with living in the open. Very subtly, but indeed powerfully, she connects the ravages of colonialism to the destruction of thriving livelihoods in the country, together with the inevitable struggle for liberation.

I found it interesting how she and her sister made sense of colonialism at a young age—the differences they noticed between the natives and the colonialists. For instance, she noted: “Early on, I noticed the difference between us and them,” (page 23) when referring to the differences in presentation that poverty and abundance drew between the whites and Blacks. Her younger sister Linda was more political, even without realising it—problematising things like basic freedoms of going wherever they wanted.

This chapter resonated strongly with my upbringing. I was fortunate to be born one year before Namibia’s independence. Still, I have learned all about the apartheid regime and the ensuing struggle for Namibia’s liberation from aunts and uncles who lived it. But what struck me the most was how Zenzele’s mother’s village life was similar to mine. It brings me back to the stark similarities I always note between life in Zimbabwe and Namibia—the culture, traditions, beliefs, etc.

I noted these by reading other Zimbabwean authors and books such as We Need New Names by NoViolet Bulawayo and Nervous Conditions by Tsitsi Dangarembga.

Chapter 3

Chapter 3 begins by reminding Zenzele of her struggles with understanding their culture and its challenges. Not only was this chapter dedicated to unpacking those struggles, but it also touched on the difficulty of finding a partner because “almost everyone is related.” Mai Zenzele explained to her that: “The extended family is your community, your own emotional, financial, and cultural safety net. It is Africa’s most powerful resource.” (page 31)

This is so profound because often we forget our connections through Ubuntu. We are all connected in some way, we are one. This chapter blew me away. It explored culture through Zenzele’s challenges with cultural practices such as lobola, and broader themes like women’s identity and their place in society—who defines that, and why. Zenzele asked her mother a beautiful question: “Mama, what do you think it means to be an African woman?” (page 39). And her mother beautifully answered—a response so layered, so precious, that I will keep it for myself and recite it whenever I can – see pages 39-41. This chapter left me awestruck in a phenomenal way.

Chapter 4

Chapter 4 broke my heart and had me weeping like a baby. She tells the heartbreaking tale of a cousin who went to London and lost his identity. Once the beacon of hope for his family, Mukoma Byron left and re-emerged years later, utterly lost and changed, breaking many of his family’s and villagers’ hearts. They had pooled together the little they had, wielding Ubuntu to send him off—their salvation to Britain. But Britain broke him and turned him into an unrecognisable caricature through and through. This chapter shows what being Black in Europe—or the West in general—can do to a person.

Chapter 5

In this chapter, Zenzele’s father recounts his time as a student in New York, where he participated in the advancement of African knowledge, Black Power, and resistance movements of that era. He is given much-needed encouragement and understanding about the importance of fighting for the dignity, image, identity, truth, and story of Africa—by Africans. Nozipo finishes the chapter with a powerful quote that Zenzele’s father often uses: “The scramble for Africa may be over, but the struggle for her history, her art, her literature, and her children rages on unabated” (page 79).

Chapter 6

In this chapter, she tells Zenzele about what it means to be Black in the Western world, specifically being Black in Europe. She recounts her travels with Zenzele’s father over the years and the treatment they received simply because they were Black. Her father said something very poignant that resonates deeply with me—and with any other Black person navigating the Western world: “As far as that lady was concerned, you are Black, and that means you are neither short, tall, funny, dull, fat, thin, pretty [wink], or ugly. To her color-blinded mind’s eye, your three dimensions are Black-by-Black-by-Black” (page 84).

This chapter offers a lot of advice and education on how racism manifests, how we ought to understand it, and—most importantly—how we must not start questioning or doubting ourselves because of it. Ultimately, those who are racist do not see us for who we are.

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven was a wonderful lesson on Pan-Africanism and on extending grace and understanding to Africans all over the world, especially those who are direct descendants of enslaved Africans in the Americas. It is also, in many ways, a beautiful tribute to those who dedicated their lives to the struggle for liberation across Africa.

Chapter 8

In Chapter 8, she narrates the story of her first love—the goodness she felt, and the defiance she showed regarding her parents’ acceptance of him. It’s a beautiful narration of a love that made one tremble, shake, and giggle at nothing. A beautiful story that, unfortunately, ended tragically. She also shares how she eventually met Zenzele’s father.

Chapter 9

Chapter 9 was a beautiful dedication to the women who fought for the liberation of Zimbabwe. This chapter reflects that these women were everyday women who did extraordinary things and took extraordinary risks—using wit and heart. I think it was an important lesson for Zenzele, who was already wearing her politics and feminism with pride.

Chapter 10

Chapter 10 was another profound one. In this chapter, Zenzele’s mother prompts her to think deeply about self-determination, fighting for freedom, and being autonomous, asking pertinent questions like: “Is that all there is?” (page 177). She shares powerful examples, including her cousin Rudo’s experience, her sister Linda’s freedom-fighting spirit, and her husband’s unwavering determination for the emancipation of the people.

Chapter 11

Chapter 11 reflected on their relationship with religion, stressing the importance of representation—seeing the image of Jesus, his disciples, angels, and so forth in ways that reflect who they are. The chapter raises important questions about identity, faith, and how visual imagery in religion shapes our sense of belonging.

Chapter 12

In Chapter 12, she reveals that she is ailing and begins reflecting on death, wondering whether we get to see our deceased loved ones again, or if we go anywhere at all when we die. The author signs off with a beautiful and powerful message [in the Kindle edition]:

“Be the change
Honor the Ancestors
Find joy
Go well,”

About the Author

Dr. J. Nozipo Maraire describes herself on LinkedIn as follows:

A full-time practising neurosurgeon, she has initiated neurosurgery programs in several institutions in Delaware, Ohio, and Oregon. She has travelled, been educated, and lived in many countries, including Jamaica, the United States, Canada, and Wales. She was selected to attend Atlantic College in Wales. She received her undergraduate degree from Harvard University and then attended the Columbia University College of Physicians and Surgeons in New York City. She completed her neurosurgery training at Yale School of Medicine. She was awarded a Clinical Fellowship Award by the Congress of Neurological Surgeons, which she used to work with Dr. Fred Epstein in paediatric neurosurgery in New York City.

She is also a public speaker who has been invited to lecture at colleges and universities across the world. Dr. Maraire has spoken to numerous book clubs and civic organisations, and has served on many literary panels—including as an invited guest of the Gotenburg Literary Festival. She has served on the board of directors of several organisations, including The Rotary Foundation, the Ross Ragland Theater, and the South North Development Institute.

Zenzele is the only novel Dr. Maraire has written. It was selected as a New York Times Notable Book of the Year in 1996 and became a Boston Globe bestseller. The novel has been published and translated into more than 14 languages.

Book Review: Onyeka and the Secret Superhero by Tọlá Okogwu

2 April 2025 / Dr Ndiweteko Jennifer Nghishitende

Reading Time: 2 minutes

Young reader Tungombili Shangadi holding Onyeka and the Secret Superhero by Tọlá Okogwu for African Queens’ Ink guest review — Onyeka and the Secret Superhero by Tọlá Okogwu

Genre: Fiction
Published: 2024
Recommended Age: Under 11

BUY BOOK HERE

Guest Reviewer: Tungombili Shangadi
This is our first guest review on African Queens’ Ink — and it’s a special one. Written by my daughter, Tungombili Shangadi, this review captures the imagination, curiosity, and honesty of a young reader discovering the magic of Black girl superheroes in Onyeka and the Secret Superhero by Tọlá Okogwu. We hope you enjoy it as much as we did!

Book Review

This story is a type of story for little children, as it is about a group of three or four twelve-year-old superheroes on a mission to save a small remote village from a flood because a dam had been broken in the cause of a storm.

The vulnerable villagers (since the past visitors have been exploiting the villagers’ kindness) did not believe a word the superheroes said. So the Obasi (who had happened to be a Solari) said, “I do not believe you.” But to counteract the Obasi’s words, the group said they were trying to protect the villagers. But the Obasi said, “No, that is what the people before you said when they tried to exploit our kindness!”

Conclusion:
After all this information, I would only recommend for children under 11 years old. I hope you enjoyed this book review. Hopefully children will find this review helpful and hopefully you will read this book if you enjoy superhero stories.

Peace out 🙂

Read our other book reviews and reflections HERE

Book Review and Reflection of Dream Count by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

31 March 2025 / Dr Ndiweteko Jennifer Nghishitende

Reading Time: 5 minutes

Published: 2025
Genre: Fiction
[Buy the Book Here]

Book cover of Dream Count by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, featuring a stylised flame and teardrop design. The book is longlisted for the 2025 Women’s Prize for Fiction. — The stunning cover of Dream Count by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie — a rich, emotionally layered novel about the lives of four women, longlisted for the 2025 Women’s Prize for Fiction.

Book Review & Reflection

Introduction

What is Dream Count by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie about? The title Dream Count doesn’t give much away—I found myself trying to guess what the book might be about, but it remained a mystery until the very end when the meaning of “dream count” is finally mentioned.

At first, I thought Chimamanda was narrating her own story—especially as the opening pages explore a writer struggling to write. It felt intimate, reflective, and personal, almost like creative non-fiction. But as I read on, I was drawn into a rich narrative that traces the intertwined lives of four women. The diversity among these women is remarkable, and their stories are told with such tenderness and depth that I couldn’t help but be drawn into their world.

Their friendships, shared struggles, and experiences with love and heartbreak are endearing and relatable. Chimamanda’s storytelling shines from the very first page—her voice is unmistakable, and her command of character and detail is masterful. It’s no surprise that Dream Count quickly became a number-one bestseller and was longlisted for the Women’s Prize for Fiction as soon as the book was released.

Reading this novel felt like reading four books in one. Although the women’s lives are intimately connected, each has her own distinct voice and journey. Yet Chimamanda makes sure those links between them are always present, so the transitions never feel jarring. Instead, the novel flows like a beautiful symphony of voices—each part essential to the whole.

Book Summary

I have never felt such an urgent need to shake a book character out of a relationship as I did with Chiamaka (Chia)—whose story frames both the beginning and end of the book. Chiamaka stressed me tremendously as I read her story, but somehow, I also understood her. I wanted to shake her, pausing in disbelief at everything she was putting up with in that delusional, abusive relationship with Darnel. Chia is everything—she is a good person: kind, empathetic, rich, and beautiful. But Chimamanda was so real for this. So many women have had a Darnel in their lives at one point—I know I certainly did. That’s why I wanted to reach into the book and shake Chia out of that relationship.

Then I was so excited when she met Chuka. I thought, oh, thank goodness! What a man. But unfortunately, as life often goes, he just wasn’t the man for her. I was in utter shock—here was a good, well-intentioned, well-matched man, and yet… I understood her. Chiamaka’s journey with men is such an unfortunate familiarity.

Zikora was a pleasant surprise. At first, I thought it was just a coincidence that the character shared a name with Chimamanda’s 2020 short story Zikora—but as I continued reading, I was delighted to discover that it was indeed the same Zikora, just given a fuller, more layered narrative. I was convinced that Chimamanda would give us a more rounded ending to Zikora’s story. I hoped Kwame would return—if not for Zikora, then at least for their child. But Chimamanda left us hanging once again. Still, there’s room for expansion. Maybe this is her plan?

Then again, I’ve been waiting for a follow-up to Half of a Yellow Sun to find out what happened to the protagonist’s sister—and I’m still recovering from that. So maybe this is just it?

Part 3 belonged to Kadiatou, who was first introduced in Chiamaka’s story as her house girl. Her story begins in childhood, in her beloved village, where she experiences the untimely death of her father. Kadiatou grew up alongside Binda, her carefree sister who dreamed of better conditions through education. Kadiatou, however, couldn’t relate. She was happy in her village—and I really liked this about her. She loved her home, her country. Not everyone leaps at the chance to leave their homeland, and Kadiatou didn’t feel the need to. She was content with her simple life.

But as life went on, it did what it always does—scattering Kadiatou’s path with loss, heartbreak, and the inevitable moving-on that humans must navigate. When her childhood love, Amadou, suddenly reappears and takes her to America, I had a sinking feeling—especially when he explained how they were going to get there. Despite all that life throws at her—loss, violation, love—Kadiatou remains resilient, gentle, and full of love. Her story (at least part of it) is based on a real one, which makes it all the more moving.

Part 4 of the book is Omelogor’s story. What an interesting woman. All the women in this book are compelling and unique, but Omelogor has a particular kind of strength and individuality that stands out. Still living in Nigeria with a high-flying job, Omelogor, now 47, is plagued by the usual questions about marriage and children. In fact, her family—especially one particular aunt—is now trying to coax her into adopting a child.

But Omelogor doesn’t live in the shadow of other people’s expectations. She lives life on her own terms and has never been obsessed with the idea of marriage—an ideal that is often forced upon women in her culture. So much so that, for some, getting married (even if it ends in divorce) is seen as a kind of emancipation from the constant nagging of their communities.

Omelogor, however, is unbothered – or so she thought, as she did start questioning this. She shares her wealth and life generously with those she loves and uplifts women in her community in a Robin Hood kind of way. She’s absolutely striking. When I first read Kadiatou’s description of her, I wasn’t quite sure how to feel about her. But reading her own story shed so much more light—Omelogor is awesome.

The final parts of the book return to Chiamaka.

Reading about Chiamaka through the eyes of Zikora, Kadiatou, and Omelogor, she appears to be the glue that holds everyone together—the bright, cheerful one who spreads love wherever she goes. But reading her own story reveals how unsure she is of herself, how she bends and twists to fit the expectations of the men in her life. This made me feel somewhat sad for her. It’s clear that she still has a lot of work to do, especially in how she loves herself.

What I Loved

Honestly, everything—to be fair. But I’m still not at peace with Zikora’s story. I need to know what happened. Even if it’s just to hear that Kwame never returned, I want some closure.
I love how Chimamanda always portrays powerful women in different ways—through career success, emotional strength, and resilience. All four women in this book embody that power. Three are high-flying, wealthy Nigerian women, and one is a Guinean woman—strong in her faith and culture, a devoted wife and mother who, against all odds, makes a life for herself in America.

Concluding Remarks

I loved this book so much that I instantly started listening to it again as soon as I finished. What an incredible piece of work—though not surprisingly so. I’ve always loved Chimamanda’s writing, and this book is yet another testament to her brilliance. I highly recommend it to everyone.

About the Author

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie is a renowned Nigerian writer and feminist known for her powerful storytelling on themes of identity, gender, race, and migration. Dream Count is Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s much-anticipated 2025 novel, marking her return to fiction with a powerful, intimate, and layered narrative. Her notable works include Purple Hibiscus, Half of a Yellow Sun, Americanah, and We Should All Be Feminists, based on her widely influential TED Talk. I have loved reading all these books, and I have equally loved: The Thing Around Your Neck; Dear Ijeawele, or a Feminist Manifesto in Fifteen Suggestions and Notes on Grief.

She strongly advocates for African narratives, rejecting the “single story” of the continent, and has received numerous accolades, including the MacArthur “Genius” Grant and honorary degrees from top universities. Her work has shaped contemporary discussions on feminism, race, and postcolonialism, making her one of our time’s most influential literary voices. Chimamanda is one of my favourite authors; I have read all her works. She was instrumental in my feminist journey.