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.
Reading Time: 4minutesThe 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Reading Time: 3minutesCover of Purple Hibiscus, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s award-winning debut novel exploring family, faith, silence, and resistance in postcolonial Nigeria.
First Published in 2003 Available formats: Audible (included in membership), paperback, hardback, Kindle Unlimited Buy book HERE
Book Review and Reflection
Purple Hibiscus is not based on actual events, but reading it gives the impression that it could be. In this debut novel, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie delivers a profoundly intersectional and complex story of family life, domestic abuse, religion, self-discovery, and the consequences of political unrest and failing governments.
Spanning 17 chapters, the story follows Kambili, a 15-year-old girl raised by a wealthy, abusive, religious fundamentalist father. Kambili lives with her older brother, Jaja, her resigned mother, and her domineering father, whom she calls Papa. Kambili struggles to find her voice and sense of self in the shadow of Papa, who rules their home with an iron fist. He sets rigid schedules for the family, demanding academic excellence and strict adherence to Christianity. Even minor deviations are punished with violence.
Throughout the book, Kambili’s internal conflict revolves around self-discovery and asserting her voice. She is caught in a cycle of pleasing her father, constantly second-guessing herself, and yearning for approval. Her home is devoid of happiness; laughter is a foreign concept, and fear looms continuously.
Papa, educated by missionaries, has abandoned his Igbo heritage. He estranges himself from his father, Papa-Nnukwu, for refusing to convert to Catholicism, condemning him as a pagan. This estrangement prevents Kambili and Jaja from forming a meaningful relationship with their grandfather. Despite his oppressive behaviour, Papa is highly respected in his community and revered for his business successes and philanthropic contributions.
In contrast, Papa’s sister, Aunty Ifeoma, is vibrant, strong, intelligent, and kind. Although she shares a similar educational background, she embraces her roots and provides a stark contrast to her brother. Living in Nsukka, where she works as a lecturer at the University of Nigeria, Aunty Ifeoma invites Kambili and Jaja into her home. Despite financial struggles, a delayed salary, and scarcity of essentials like fuel and food, her home exudes warmth and resilience.
Aunty Ifeoma introduces laughter, freedom, and a new perspective to Kambili and Jaja’s lives. Her influence inspires a spirit of resistance in them and exposes them to the possibility of a life beyond Papa’s control. She saves them in many ways, giving them the strength to envision a different future.
Kambili’s world changes dramatically when an unexpected event shatters her nuclear family, bringing immense sacrifice and a newfound sense of freedom. The transformation of her mother, initially passive, into an unexpected heroine or villain, depending on how one looks at it, reflects themes of battered woman syndrome and personal liberation.
While Purple Hibiscus is a compelling read, as is characteristic of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s works, the ending felt rushed. Chapters 16 and 17 bring the narrative to an abrupt halt, leaving many questions unanswered. A book of this depth could have benefited from a more thorough conclusion. Additionally, Papa’s character would have been richer, with more background details about his time with the missionaries and the experiences that shaped him.
Unfortunately, the Audible narration also let the audiobook down. The narrator struggled with pronunciation, and her accent lacked the authenticity needed to bring the story to life, detracting from the overall experience. Due to this, I struggled to get into the book right away, and thus, it took me longer to finish it.
That said, I would still wholeheartedly recommend this incredible book, but I suggest opting for the physical copy rather than the audiobook to appreciate the depth and beauty of the story fully.
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.
Reading Time: 3minutesCover of Rootless, the 2023 debut novel by British-Ghanaian author Krystle Zara Appiah. A moving story of migration, motherhood, and mental health.
The debut novel of Krystle Zara Appiah, a British-Ghanaian author Buy Book HERE Narrated by: Diana Yekinni and Clifford Samuel Other formats available: Kindle, Hardcover, and Paperback Book published: 2023
The book begins with a Ghanaian proverb: “Marriage is like a groundnut. You have to crack it to see what’s inside.” This proverb sets the tone for a story as intricate and layered as Efe’s life, weaving together themes of migration, young love, parental expectations, mental health, marriage, loss, abandonment, the complexities of motherhood, and the importance of support systems.
The narrative follows Efe’s journey chronologically, spanning 19 years before a pivotal event in her life. A young Ghanaian girl, Efe, moves to London with her sister to live with their aunt. The book delves into her experiences at a London high school, her university years, and beyond. Through Efe’s eyes, we witness the challenges of migrating to England at a young age and her quest to find belonging. Efe faces significant challenges at university but eventually finds stability in her career. She reconnects with her childhood love and navigates the unexpected challenges of motherhood, which she had never anticipated nor desired.
The author skillfully balances the complexities of Efe’s mental health struggles with the strength of her family support system. The writing is nuanced and deeply empathetic, portraying the multifaceted realities of motherhood. It highlights that motherhood is not every woman’s desire and explores how it can profoundly transform a woman’s life. Despite cultural and religious pressures, Efe exercises her agency, making tough decisions to safeguard her mental health and preserve her identity.
As a mother, I deeply resonated with Efe’s struggles with the idea and experience of motherhood. The book’s exploration of choice—whether regarding physical and mental health or financial and community resources—is profoundly significant. The narrative emphasises the importance of having options, including the ability to return to one’s country of origin when needed. This theme is integral to the broader experience of life in the diaspora.
Efe’s husband, Sam, is another compelling character. His pure heart and gentle soul shine through the story, making the tragic twist of fate that impacts him and his daughter all the more heart-wrenching.
The book employs a unique narrative structure, counting down to a significant event—17 years before, two months before, and so on. The reveal of this event is both shocking and heartbreaking. The final chapters left me in tears, utterly unprepared for the emotional weight of the ending. This is a testament to the author’s incredible storytelling, filled with moments of surprise that keep readers engaged and deeply moved.
I highly recommend this book to anyone. It provides a profound exploration of life’s challenges and the agency women can exercise, particularly in the context of motherhood. It touches on essential themes of identity, migration, family, and resilience.
Finally, the narrators did an exceptional job. Their voices brought the story to life, adding depth and emotion to a powerful tale.
Krystle Zara Appiah is a British-Ghanaian writer, editor, and screenwriter, born and raised in London. She holds a degree in literature and creative writing from the University of Kent. In 2020, she was selected for the London Library’s Emerging Writers Programme. Appiah’s debut novel, Rootless, has received critical acclaim for its exploration of complex themes such as migration, motherhood, and identity. In addition to her writing, she works as a children’s books editor and serves as the Head of Children’s and YA at The Novelry.
