Small Country by Gael Faye

It's 1992. Gabriel is ten years old. He lives in Bujumbura, Burundi with his French father, his Rwandan mother, and his little sister, Ana. He goes to school in the morning and roams the neighborhood with his friends in the afternoon stealing mangoes to sell. He swims in the river and takes trips to Lake Kivu with his family. And he has no idea that his idyllic childhood is about to end. First with his parents' separation. Then when his friends get caught up in the growing tensions between the Hutus and the Tutsis. But everything really falls apart when the Rwandan genocide begins, and the violence from it starts to spill over into Burundi, too.

"The earth had moved imperceptibly beneath our feet. It did so every day in this country, in this corner of the world. We were living on the axis of the Great Rift, at the precise spot where Africa fractures. The people of this region mirrored the land. Beneath the calm appearance, behind the facade of smiles and optimistic speeches, dark underground forces were continuously at work, fomenting violence and destruction that returned for successive periods like bad winds: 1965, 1972, 1988. A glowering uninvited ghost showing up at regular intervals to remind us that peace is merely a brief interlude between two wars. We didn't know it yet, but the hour of the inferno had come, and the night was about to unleash its cackle of hyenas and wild dogs."

At its heart, Small Country is a coming-of-age story set against the backdrop of genocide and war. Gabriel's loss of innocence is especially touching when he confronts his friends about their growing hatred for the Hutus and tells them he doesn't want to have to pick a side, or go to war. He just wants life to go back to the way it was. But deep down he knows that can never happen. This story is so poignant and touching. I loved the poetry of Faye's writing, and his vibrant portrayal of life in Africa. Gabriel's voice is so clear and authentic--I loved him, too. At only 183 pages, Small Country is a small novel that packs quite a punch. And I'm so glad that I read it.

Happy Reading!

A bookish journey to Egypt...

Chronicle of a Last Summer by Yasmine El Rashidi is the coming of age story of a young girl growing up in Cairo, Egypt, and also that of her family. Told over the course of three pivotal summers, it is also the story of Egypt's recent political turmoil and of this girl's and her family's struggle to survive all these changes. I found it to be a compelling story of love and loss--full of memories of the past and idealistic hopes for the future--and an unflinching look at the very real cost of freedom. El Rashidi's prose is spare, but so effective. I couldn't put this book down. It's a fascinating novel, and I learned a lot about life in Cairo and how Egypt's many revolutions have affected its citizens. It's a place I've always wanted to visit, and after reading this book, I almost feel like I have. Here are a few snippets to give you a taste of El Rashidi's writing:

"Grandmama said that to have a sip of the Nile is like drinking ancient magic. If you make a wish it comes true."

"The police would come sometimes and take things. They took the cart of the peanut seller on our street. They took the kiosk by the school that sold chocolates and Cleopatra cigarettes by the one. They took the man who worked for Uncle Mohsen. They also took the boy who cleaned cars at the garage next door. In the cartoon Abla Fatiha they told us that if we were naughty they would take us too." 

"Over lunch Dido says the only way our lives will change is if we demand it. People like our cousin in America are the reason we're in stagnation. Leaving is the greatest evil. Then silence."

"I think of Uncle, warning Dido and me that in life we have to assess things and always take a position. I wonder if my position is too often ambiguous...I think a lot about what it means to be a witness, the responsibility of it. I wonder about my writing, if fiction is a political statement or simply no position. Is the silence of objectivity and being an observer, witness, the same as complicity? This question occupies me...(Uncle) would tell me that to be a witness to history is a burden for the chosen."

Happy Reading!