by Odongo POD
You may have come across a book challenge on Facebook, in which one is invited to share covers of books they’ve read. You may have participated in such a challenge yourself. The general motive of the challenge is to encourage reading culture. I participated in one such challenge, on the invitation of my friend Leonard Wanyama. The following list is what I was able to string together on the go. Before you run through the list, here is the preface I attached to my listing:
I don’t feel I will do much to champion the objective of the challenge by sharing only the cover and title of a book I’ve read. I think a little word on a title may go a long way in eliciting interest in another person to consider reading or rereading the text. And so I’ll proceed by saying something directly or not-so-directly related to a book’s content, as a way of eliciting your interest. It’s also my way of archiving some of my short and quick thoughts on the books. The books are arranged in no particular order except that there has to be the first, fifth and last one. I should try a more informed ordering next time.
1. A Prisoner’s Letter (by Aubrey Kalitera)
This is a small, riveting book about lust, love and life. Inasmuch as it’s the story of incarcerated Davies Maganga, written in the form of a letter to his wife Bliss, the true prison experience is in the life Maganga lives while out of confinement: a life of engrossing obsession. He goes to deathly lengths in pursuit of the desires of his flesh. You may also pick one or two tricks in the guidebook of ‘slay queens’. The first time I read Maganga’s letter, I woke up in Blantyre. Korona should die soon so I can go enjoy some Blantyre bliss. A Prisoner’s Letter is a short, enchanting text. You’ll finish it in a flash. And then dash out to your Bliss, if no Daisy derails you.
2. The Hairdresser of Harare (by Tendai Huchu)
In troubled, failing Zimbabwe, Tendai Huchu weaves a narrative of ambition, competition and tragedy in the daily lives of common citizens. The prose of this novel is so captivating that for a moment you’re bound to forget all this is happening in Mugabeland. It’s also the story of petty, personal rivalries in the hairy world of women fashion. Of friendships, family and love. To the a-bit-too-intolerant souls, I doubt I should say anything about Vimbai’s introductory course in homosexuality. Once you put the book down, please let me know whether you’d choose a tea with Dumi or a whiskey with Vimbai.
3. We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will be Killed with Our Families (by Philip Gourevitch)
You may have heard the argument that if Kenya’s 2007-2008 post-election violence had continued for just two more weeks, we would have sorted out a lot of the ills that still keep us in the league of confused countries. Could we have succeeded in disrupting and dismantling uthamaki ideology? If you think there’s any merit in such argument, please have a read of this text. It’s one chilling account of the savagery of human beings, and the aftermath of that savagery. And it’s only one in a million titles that emerged (and continue to emerge) following the harrowing 1994 genocide in Rwanda. I always wonder why human beings cannot live without hate. Something else about this book: the title. Apart from its length, there’s just something unique about the title.
4. And Then Life Happens (by Auma Obama)
While Auma may have no choice but to benefit from the leverage of the Obama name, this book is a tale of the potholes and possibilities of life. The prose and flow of this book are simply admirable. And yet it’s a translation. If you can read the original German text, I bet you’ll have a more fulfilling experience. Interestingly, it doesn’t feel like translation has hugely intruded into the narrative’s lyricism. And when you’re done, go back and pay close attention to Auma’s short, crisp take on the politics of translation.
5. Americanah (by Chimamanda Adichie)
The famed ‘Achebe literary progeny’ knows her stuff. Whatever Chimamanda puts her pen to is sure to come out sunny. The Nigerian writer knows what and how to do with words. This is one book that has a revealing, memorable beginning that is sure to see you turn the page. If not for Ifemelu’s life in the US of A and the Ifem-Obinze love, the only reason I have gone back to this text three times so far is its summoning first sentence (or is it paragraph?). How I read the humongous novel in under 48 hours in my first go at it is a tale I hope to tell before I leave the stage.
6. Living in the End Times (by Zlavoj Zizek)
Following the outbreak of Covid-19, the internet has been drowned in predictions that we could be living on borrowed time. The religious will not tire to remind us that these are the times prophesied in the holy scriptures and that we should mend our ways with our maker in readiness for our journey home. Well, Zizek’s book in not really in the fashion of such religious sermons. Living in the End Times is an engaging read about the precarious times we live in. It shouldn’t be contestable that the end of the world will be engineered by the human race. A date with Zizek is a better way of spending your curfew time.
7. Shades of Benga: The Story of Popular Music in Kenya (by Tabu Osusa & Bill Odidi)
For those who revel in carrying naked books in their hands as they roam the city – whether for status broadcasting or intimidation prayers – this is your prize. This isn’t your normal A5, B5, or A4 book. It’s a book that will certainly lend you an ‘academic tilt’ as you stroll on River Road. Walk around with this title and you’ll have entered the competition for the most read city dweller. Winners are set to be announced during korona’s burial. Have I said anything useful about Shades of Benga? I don’t think I should, for this is more than what one may call the Benga Bible. And as they claim, music is the soul of life. Maisha bila muziki ni mateso.
8. Kenya@50: Trends, Identities and the Politics of Belonging (by Joyce Nyairo)
It’s not uncommon to come across a lamentation that over half a century since independence, Kenya should not still be doing this or that, or that the country should manage its affairs in a way that would leave the coloniser red with envy. Yet time and again the government seems to fall over itself in confirming that Kenya is yet to be truly independent. Joyce Nyairo’s book is a playful account of how Kenyans have evolved in their culture, politics and identity imaginations. The style is refreshing. The prose is playful. Nyairo reminds us of why and how the small, mundane things we do in life matter, not only in our daily lives but also in the quest to craft the Kenyan nation. Kenya@50 is a text on life as an act of performance and not of mere existence.
9. Dreams in a Time of War: A Childhood Memoir (by Ngugi wa Thiong’o)
If for nothing else, the first instalment of Ngugi’s memoirs opens in a densely poetic, almost romantic, fashion. And for that very nothing else, I choose to reproduce the lyrical two-sentence first paragraph:
Years later when I read T. S. Eliot’s line that April was the cruelest month, I would recall what happened to me one April day in 1954, in chilly Limuru, the prime estate of what, in 1902, another Eliot, Sir Charles Eliot, then governor of colonial Kenya, had set aside as White Highlands. The day came back to me, the now of it, vividly.
What a way to begin. Read then decide for yourself whether – unlike Weep Not, Child – it’s possible to savour Dreams in a Time of War without a weep. To better quench your thirst, a reading of Dreams should be followed immediately by a sampling of In the House of the Interpreter and Birth of a Dream Weaver. Let me dream on. Any validator?
10. Killing Kennedy: The End of Camelot (by Bill O’Reilly & Martin Dugard)
I’m inclined to include this book here because of the stale drama taking place in the Jubilee Party and, by extension, the government. Apart from chronicling the events and circumstances leading to the assassination of the 35th President of the United States, Killing Kennedy tells of the tribulations Lyndon Johnson went through as second in command after JFK. On some occasions, LBJ would hang about the White House corridors in the hope that JFK might bump into his VP and assign him some duty. In their scheme of things, the Kennedys were more than sure that Lyndon was done, and they no longer had any business with him. And then Lee Harvey Oswald happened. The diary style in which Killing Kennedy is rendered gives the book a gripping hold on the reader. The events are happening now, right in your face. For the ‘I would rather watch a movie than read a book’ class, I gather that the book was made into a film. You may check it out.
11. Blackass (by A. Igoni Barrett)
I was supposed to share 10 books. Ordinarily, this book should have been among the first on my list. (And it was.) But I couldn’t gather the best words to say anything about Blackass. If you’re like the Israelites, who asked Moses how a set of 10 rules carved on a stone was going to help them in their journey to the promised land, here is your 11th title. I hope it fills you with a bright mood for nonstop reading.
Odongo is a consultant editor and practising writer.
Have your say in the comments section, or write to editor@nairobibookshelf.com.
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