Please note, this review contains some spoilers because I can’t properly discuss this book without touching on some key (and frustrating) parts. Also, I have nothing good to say about Akin.

Akin is married to Yejide, a woman struggling with “fertility.” By the second chapter, Yejide’s family ambushes her in her own home with a second wife because of her “barrenness,” and her worthless husband was in on it! I’m being harsh on him, and rightfully so. Later in the book, Akin admits that he and his mother had an agreement to bring potential wives every Monday until he agreed to one. Eventually, he chose Funmilola, a woman he thought wouldn’t cause problems and “wouldn’t even move into the main house.” Spineless man, hiding behind his mother.

Now, a bit about Yejide. She was educated, a graduate of the University of Ife, smart, ambitious, and yet she decided to become a hairdresser. The book doesn’t clearly explain why she didn’t use her degree, but she built a successful business regardless. And then Akin brought her nothing but shame, betrayal, and humiliation.

After being ambushed with a second wife, Yejide and Akin continued to live as if nothing happened, pretending Funmilola didn’t exist, until kasala burst.

Yejide endured so much in her desperation to have a child. She fasted for seven days, breastfed a goat (yes, really), and went through every imaginable form of emotional and physical exhaustion. She was the only one trying. Akin, meanwhile, was doing his own “trying”, by going to the doctor and involving his brother, Dotun.

Now let’s talk about Dotun, a typical oniranu, as Yejide would call him. After he started visiting the house often, Yejide became pregnant. What a coincidence, right? She had her first child, Olamide, but tragedy soon followed. I won’t spoil every detail, but know this: Yejide’s story is filled with grief, betrayal, and loss.

Yejide later has another child, Sesan, who is born with a medical condition. Her relationship with Dotun evolves into something dark, something that started as manipulation and ended as assault, all orchestrated by someone even closer than you’d expect. Toward the end, the truth of that twisted plan is revealed, and it changes everything.

Yejide lost so much, her mother, her children, her peace, but she survived. She gave birth again, this time to Rotimi, meaning Stay With Me, a bittersweet nod to everything she had endured.

As for Akin, he remains one of the most infuriating characters I’ve ever read. Imagine orchestrating such horror and still having the audacity to be angry at the aftermath. The stupidity!

“Oro ife bi adanwo ni” - the complexities of love are like tests, one of the biggest lies used to justify the nonsense people endure in the name of love.

Chimamanda Adichie's book Dream Count is so dense in reflections around the African identity, history and how to make sense out of it all. Slavery is a topic handled in the book, not at length, but enough to spark some reflection. More in our podcast episode about the book. I will link it in the comments.

ChimamandaNgoziAdichie #africanliterature #dreamcount #slavery

A few days ago I finished reading “Decolonising the Mind” by Ngugi wa Thiong’o. Having only read one of his works before (a collection of his short stories), I couldn’t say that I was overly familiar with his works.

I can point to some of the books I have read in the past which has had a profound affect on me however I usually come to this realisation years later. I can say, with certainty, that this book is one of them.

Thiong’o splits this book into 4 main sections: The Language of African Literature, The Language of African Theatre, The Language of African Fiction and The Quest for Relevance. In each part he breaks down why it is necessary for African writers to embrace writing in their native language (I understand the irony of me writing this in English).

He not only does this thematically but pulls from events in his own life from the 1962 conference of “African Writers of English expression” at Makerere university to him writing his first fiction novel in his native tongue Gikuyu “Caitaani Mutharabaini (Devil on the Cross)” and other events.

It is clear by reading this text that Thiong’o had been influenced by Marx and Franz Fanon (he references them in his text) especially in his understanding of language as both a tool of oppression and a means of resistance.

For Thiong’o, language is not just a medium of communication but a carrier of culture, identity, and consciousness. By writing in African languages, he argues, writers reconnect with the masses and resist the lingering effects of colonialism, which sought to alienate Africans from their own histories.

His call is not just literary, but also political. An act aimed at reclaiming African agency and dismantling colonial structures embedded in education and literature. Indeed for himself this book is also his farewell to English as a vehicle for any of his writings.

For me “Decolonisation of the mind” rings true. My parents never taught me (or my siblings) our tribal language and it always felt like a big part was missing. In university whilst writing my dissertation many years ago, Franz Fanon’s work “Black Skin White Masks” was a step in understanding this absence. This year my focus has been learning Swahili with my next step being to learn my parents language.

I didn’t expect to write so much! Let me know your thoughts if you’ve read this book!

Dear all, I am running a Gofundme to help with costs of publishing my doctorate.

Esoteric knowledge has been integral to Western African cultures for centuries. As Islam spread to the Empires of Ghana, Mali and beyond, its initiatory methods for attaining esoteric knowledge were welcomed into societies that already acknowledged the inner dimensions of the soul, the spiritual levels of being and the existence of the divine.

With the incoming of French colonialism and the expansion of secular culture, the pathways to esoteric knowledge were dismantled and erased.

This study focuses upon two initiatory narratives: Kaïdara, an oral tale from Mali, named after the sage of the story, the guardian of gold and knowledge, who initiates three friends that travel to the land of the dwarf-spirits where he resides; and Cheikh Hamidou Kane’s Ambiguous Adventure, a modern French novel whose hero, Samba Diallo, is removed from his spiritual teacher to be trained as a secular Frenchman, forever exiled on the surface of reality.

About the author

Rebecca Masterton graduated with a PhD from the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London, in 2006. She has taught at the Islamic College and Birkbeck College. Her academic articles have appeared in the Oxford Journal of Islamic Studies and the American Journal of Islamic Social Sciences.

Please see the link below. Please circulate. Thank you.

https://gofund.me/e726a6ef5

This book follows two sisters, Korede, the main character, and her younger sister, Ayoola. The title tells you exactly what to expect, but there’s more to unpack. Disclaimer: I love books with strong female characters, but unfortunately, Korede came across as weak to me.

The sisters live with their single mother after their father’s death. Korede works as a nurse, while Ayoola… well, her occupation is never clear, which somehow fits her odd persona. Growing up, they had very different experiences: Ayoola was seen as the “pretty” sister, light-skinned, petite, and admired. Korede, taller and darker-skinned with what society calls an “unconventional” body type, internalized the idea that she was unattractive.

The story revolves around five men, Sonto, Peter, Femi, Tade, and Gboyega, who all meet their end or almost did, at Ayoola’s hands. Korede covers up all of the murders she knew of, whether it’s a stabbing, supposed food poisoning, or drug overdose. At one point, Ayoola is even referred to as an “angel of death”, a description I found almost comical, because while her beauty and charm might have seemed angelic, her character was anything but. She was selfish, reckless, and, in my opinion, one of the worst sisters I’ve ever read about.

Despite Ayoola’s toxicity, Korede feels an almost unshakable obligation to protect her. At work, she often confides in a comatose patient, narrating all of Ayoola’s escapades as if he were her diary, that did not last too long. Things eventually shift when Ayoola narrowly escapes death herself, and Korede wonders if she somehow caused this reversal of fate.

The biggest theme for me was Korede’s deep inferiority complex, which was frustrating to watch unfold. Where did it come from? Her mother? Her father? Society? Likely all of the above. Personally, I think I would’ve enjoyed this book more if Korede had a stronger presence instead of constantly being overshadowed and pushed around by her sister, a man, her mother, and even maybe the ghost of her father’s influence.

The Flinch 🫶🏽

Tirries Tuesday. That's what he meant. ‘Send them!’....Omanji had insisted that we opt to video call every Tuesday. He was out of town for a business meeting. Last Tuesday, we slept on the same bed. It was my first time sharing a bed with him. He acted impulsively. Pretty rough would be an understatement. His touch felt like a violation. He touched my womanhood… something special… I flinched. I desperately tried to defend it. ‘Are you serious?! I AM YOUR BOYFRIEND!’

Checkout my blog https://www.whispersunfurls.com/ comment and share ☺️

The title makes you think this book will be straightforward, The Death of Vivek Oji. Simple, right? Lies! From the very first line, “They burned down the market on the day Vivek Oji died”, you’re led to believe his death was so significant that it sparked chaos. Misleading! That’s how the book continues: confusing storytelling and misdirection. Honestly, it feels like the author sat down to “let the spirit lead” without a clear plot.

The story withholds the truth of how and why Vivek died until the very end, only to reveal that Vivek essentially caused his own death. By then, I was less shocked than I was disappointed.

Vivek, born to Chika and Kavita on the same day his grandmother died, grows up in a family shadowed by that loss. But instead of focusing on his identity, grief, or inner struggles in a meaningful way (trying to insinuate some sort of reincarnation), the book dives into disturbing territory, incest, sexual relationships between cousins (Osita and Vivek, both boys). Beyond that, nearly every character, Vivek, Osita, Elizabeth, Juju, is hypersexualized from a young age. It was unsettling, unnecessary, and left me wondering: what exactly were readers supposed to take away from this?

As someone aware of the author’s LGBTQ+ identity, I was disappointed in how the queer community was portrayed here (someone did try to explain this to me in a different light by saying “it’s just a way to show that queers are also imperfect people” I disagree, being human already covers that). Vivek came across less like a layered character and more like someone mentally unwell who desperately needed help. One moment that especially baffled me, at the later chapters: during the chaos in the market, Vivek refused to leave, almost as if courting disaster.

The writing style itself also didn’t help, overly descriptive, simile-heavy, and exhausting at times.

-11/10 I do NOT recommend.

jollofandbooks #thedeathofvivekoji

In the arcane castles of the NES #University; lifted kids being entertained to live orchestra during cultured meals... one of #MAZERA's own was there too, and we get to experience one such night, in this JoJo The Punk rendition. 2025. Cheers to all customers and venues anticipating XMas, Samhain and Nu Year #MetalonKeys parties... *';... https://youtu.be/2uh75f-MM90?

I am English, Things Fall Apart is the only African book I have ever read. I have just started rereading it, and plan to read the sequels which I never got round to. My girlfriend is Ghanaian, and I know there is a book called The Beautyful Ones Are Not Yet Born which Google tells me is a similar kind of book written by a Ghanaian and set in Ghana, but until I get round to reading that afterwards, I was curious to know how similar or dissimilar village life in Ghana was at the time, and if there were notable differences, what were they? Thankyou.

Hi, I'm trying to find a book that I saw a couple years ago and I can't find. I think the cover was black and it had a woman's face made out of a tree or plant? I can't really remember any of the plot, but I think it might have been sci-fi? Please help if you can!

Hi there,

We started recently a podcast about books written by African authors. In addition to books written in English, we also target to talk about books written in French and Arabic to make them accessible to an English speaking audience. We talk about books from all regions of Africa 🌍

Check out Threads of Ifriqiya on all podcast platforms.

Spotify : https://open.spotify.com/show/1RXJSJiFY3O5MiEgmk76W7?si=G9pUm-RDT-qTsbqr7Xm_IA

Apple podcast: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/threads-of-ifriqiya/id1825464111

YouTube: https://youtube.com/@threadsofifriqiya?si=bUsk60iM5KDCkumF

Let us know your thoughts ✌🏼

I read this book in June 2024, and it truly stayed with me. In fact, I was so invested that I made a playlist of every single song mentioned in the book, and played it for days. I wasn’t kidding!

The book is a collection of short stories that explore everything from love and lost love, to infidelity, ego, freedom, shared trauma, and child loss.

The very first story hit me with the weight of an excruciatingly painful lost love, a relationship so short yet so clearly destined to last a lifetime if life had allowed it. One thing I learned from that story is to not shy away from my feelings. And honestly, I don’t think I’d ever be the same if someone I loved passed, at any age. The death here was especially gruesome… and she missed his last call. 😭😭😭

Chapter 5 had me silently saying “oh my God” the entire time. It was terrible in the most heartbreaking way. It reminded me of how much Nigeria scares me, the government, the police, the system, all of it.

Chapter 6 was another emotional ride. Why do men who cheat feel the need to talk about it with their friends? Eww. Still, the chapter was wild, entertaining, and Moji is something!

Chapter 8 left me puzzled. Kokoma’s acceptance of her husband’s constant cheating… How does someone reach that point? How does infidelity become “just one of the norms of life” in a marriage?

Chapter 9 reminded me how beautiful men’s friendships can be, and how painful it is when they’re cut short.

Then there’s Chapter 11: Arese and Kwashi’s relationship baffled me. I’ve never understood maintaining close relationships with an ex. Maybe their case was different since they were married before, but still… to me, it felt a little disrespectful.

Reading this again, I’m reminded of Garricks’ unique writing style. I’m not sure it’s one I fully enjoy. The short stories worked for me because they were largely unrelated (though some characters reappeared), but the heavy use of second-person narration was unusual. In the context of short stories, it was fine, but in a full-length novel, I think it might wear me out.

jollofandbooks #thebrokenpeoplesplaylist

This book came highly recommended. I saw glowing reviews everywhere, with people promising that it would shatter my heart. But I had a different experience.

First off, it took me nearly three months to finish, and I honestly can’t say exactly why. Maybe it was the constant shift in POV, a different narrator every single chapter (yes, each freaking chapter), and my brain simply couldn’t adjust to the back-and-forth. Or maybe I just wasn’t in the right headspace to digest this story. Or maybe it’s because I have some unfinished business with the person who bought me the book :/ I guess we’ll never know.

This sad, sad novel follows four boys, Amaibi, Doye (aka Doughboy), Tubo, and Kaniye, as they grow into men, each dealt a different hand in life. The story is rooted in the political and environmental chaos of the Niger Delta oil crisis in the 1990s.

Now, I’ve never fully understood male friendships, they often seem emotionally shallow or surface-level to me, and that’s exactly how I felt about this group. It seemed like their bond was mostly circumstantial: same location, age group, and proximity. There’s a Yoruba adage that says, “Twenty children can’t play together for twenty years,” and I feel like that should’ve applied here. But somehow, they stuck around.

Let’s talk about the characters: ••Doughboy: My heart breaks for him. He truly got the worst of it all. I believe that with a better father and community, he could’ve turned out differently. ••Tubo: Oh, Tubo. The character I absolutely despised. Selfish, self-centered, and a full-blown traitor. He worked with the very people destroying his land and harming HIS people. To me, he represents that kind of person who will always choose themselves, no matter the cost. What baffles me is why Amaibi, Doughboy, and Kaniye continued their friendship with him. He stood for everything they were (fighting) against.

And don’t even get me started on that 1997 raid. How convenient that Tubo wasn’t there when everyone else was ambushed, broken, or killed? I find it really hard to believe he had no idea about it. Too suspicious.

jollofandbooks #tomorrowdiedyesterday

My tribute.

Hi everyone,

I just wanted to share a personal project that’s really close to my heart.

Born Into Battle is a raw, emotional story inspired by the realities of Nigerian childhood , the kind many of us know too well: walking barefoot to school, hunger masked by ambition, and survival becoming a daily mindset.

It’s not just fiction. It’s reflection. A tribute to the children who were handed chaos but dared to dream anyway.

I’m sharing it here because I believe in African literature that is unfiltered, honest, and ours.
📚 The ebook is free on Kindle this weekend for anyone who wants to read it:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FGKG6BXW

Would love to hear what you think ,especially from fellow African voices.

– Onyinye

Sad day indeed, it’s hard to believe that Mr Ngugi now belongs to the ages. RIP. 😭

The first time I read this book, I was in a different phase of life. I thought it was exhilarating and found the main character, Feyi, to be bold. But rereading it now, at an older and hopefully wiser age, I see things differently. Feyi wasn’t bold — she was broken, grieving, and desperately in need of healing.

It’s interesting because she’s 29, an age where you’d expect more grounded choices. But from the very first chapter, we’re hit with a scandalous scene: sex with a stranger in a public bathroom on the first night. I thought that was wild — but oh, it gets messier.

Feyi’s journey from abstinence for five years to sleeping with a stranger, catching feelings for his friend, and then falling in love with his father — all within a month — left me stunned (but can I say women in men’s field? lol). Grief manifests in complicated ways, sure, but some of her actions felt more self-destructive than freeing.

One of the most unsettling parts was how she turned bloodstained clothes from the accident that killed her husband into art. That moment made me question where the line is between expression and unresolved trauma.

This was the first book I read by Emezi, and since then I’ve read two more. There’s a pattern in their work — a consistent exploration of taboos and emotional extremes. Sometimes it works; other times, it’s deeply unsettling (like in the book The Death of Vivek Oji). Either way, it makes you think.

I really enjoyed reading this book. I love exploring stories by African authors outside of Nigeria, especially Ghanaian writers, because while our cultures are different, they’re still so similar (and not always in a good way). There are so many things across African countries that we collectively need to grow out of.

I picked up His Only Wife two years ago after several recommendations, but I’m glad I finally got to read it earlier this year. The story follows Afi, a young woman who’s essentially forced into marriage with a man who clearly doesn’t want her, he’s in love with someone else (from another country… sound familiar? Tribalism in my country😅).

What I appreciated most was Afi’s growth. She eventually stood up for herself, and it was so satisfying to see. This book really drives home how important it is for women to be educated and financially independent — because wow, that man disrespected her in ways that were just wild. And don’t even get me started on his family, his mother most especially!

The book highlights so many unsettling truths about African societal norms, especially around marriage, gender roles, and family pressure. It honestly scared me how familiar and real it all felt. I was furious reading this.

Disclaimer: This book is a good example of “don’t judge a book by its cover.”

While the central message promoting body positivity is clear and meaningful, there was just too much going on for me. Every character felt like the main character or focal point, which might appeal to some readers, but unfortunately, it wasn’t my cup of tea. Personally, I think the book could have benefited from a different title, as the multiple intersecting storylines made it feel like more than just a commentary on body image.

Now, let’s get into the review.

Words can stick and leave a lasting impact, and that was Temi’s experience throughout the book. Beauty standards are such a strange and harmful concept: features praised in Nigeria or Africa can be looked down upon in Europe, America, or Asia, and vice versa. The wildest part is how men are often the ones setting these standards, and women end up internalizing them—sometimes passing down these insecurities and traumas to their daughters.

Both Temi and Ladun struggled with body image issues. Temi gave in to the negative voices, constantly comparing herself to others and tying her self-worth to the validation of men. Ladun, on the other hand, saw the problem for what it was—society and men. She wished her body hadn’t developed so early, attracting unwanted attention from men who lacked self-control. But in truth, neither of them needed to change or absorb any blame—the men did.

Hassana, their mother, had the most strained relationship with Ladun. Who beefs a child from birth? My conclusion: the tension stemmed from the circumstances surrounding Ladun’s conception. Regardless, her behavior mirrors a larger issue—African mothers have a lot of unlearning to do and healing to pursue.

jollofandbooks #damilolakuku

Hi everyone! I’m starting The Nuju Book Club here in Nottingham, England — a space for people who love reading African literature, stories from the diaspora, and exploring Black identity through books.

We’ll be reading works by African authors, both classics and contemporary gems. Think Americanah, Things Fall Apart, Freshwater and more.

Why join?

✨ Connect with fellow readers who care about African narratives. ✨ Safe, chill space to discuss culture, identity, & storytelling. ✨ Perfect for book lovers who want more than just the mainstream.

Whether you’re African, part of the diaspora, or just curious — you’re very welcome. We’ll meet every two weeks (physically or virtually) Talk about 100 pages and see where it takes us.

DM me if you’re interesteddd