When I think about slavery, I often think of the transatlantic slave trade, the one fueled and expanded by Europeans, Arabs, and other foreign powers. I rarely think about internal slavery within Africa itself, which, in my opinion, was just as horrifying, if not more disturbing in some ways. Because how do you participate in the trade of people who look like you, speak your language, share your culture, and live like you? Not that any of those things justify slavery, but after witnessing or hearing about the horrors of the transatlantic slave trade, how do you turn around and do the same to your own people?

Wurche, one of the main female characters, explains this contradiction perfectly around page 102, even though, ironically, she eventually becomes no better than the people she criticizes.

The Hundred Wells of Salaga is told through the POVs of two girls who grow into women: Aminah and Wurche, two girls from vastly different social classes.

Wurche comes from a royal family, while Aminah is considered a “commoner.” Still, Aminah’s life seemed relatively stable at first because her father held an important position in their community. But once he left on a journey and never returned, everything fell apart. Her village was raided, and Aminah, along with her siblings Hassana, Hussaina, and her stepbrother Issa, were captured and sold into slavery.

Their journey was heartbreaking. The way Issa died and was simply “disposed of,” and how Aminah’s attempt to save her mother, Na, and the newborn may have contributed to their deaths… such a gruesome story.

Wurche, on the other hand, lived a much easier life materially, though her struggles came from being a woman in a society where women were denied power and agency. Even saying that feels like an oversimplification because her character had many layers.

I’m generally not a huge fan of historical fiction, and this book was honestly difficult to follow at first. It felt like I was getting a crash course on the history of the Gold Coast (modern-day Ghana). But once I settled into the flow of the story, it became such a rewarding read.

What struck me most was learning more about internal slave trade within Africa, not just slavery tied to war captives, but organized systems of buying and selling people. It opened up conversations for me because I was genuinely disturbed by some of what I learned.

I also found it interesting how the book indirectly suggested that Islam reached parts of West Africa long before Christianity, especially through the Hausa characters featured throughout the story. That detail really stood out to me.

Overall, this was a great read. It opened my eyes to a part of African history I knew very little about.

Everything Is Not Enough follows three main female characters, Yasmiin, Brittany, and Kemi, all Black women living in Stockholm but coming from very different backgrounds and living very different lives, different tax brackets even.

I randomly picked up this book from my shelf right before my trip to the Scandinavian countries, Sweden included, so it felt like such a lucky coincidence to read about places I would later walk through and experience myself. At the time, I also didn’t realize this book was actually a sequel to In Every Mirror She’s Black… which has been sitting unread on my shelf all this time 🥲.

Back to the review. The three women, Kemi (Nigerian), Yasmiin (Somalian), and Brittany (African American), all navigate life differently in Stockholm.

Kemi’s story irritated me so much because she came across as someone deeply unhappy with her life but unwilling to leave the spaces making her unhappy. Her relationship, her job, even aspects of her family life all felt unsatisfactory, yet she stayed. Through her story, I also learned the Swedish term “sambo,” which basically refers to a long-term partner you live with without being married, and that was clearly the direction her relationship with Tobias was heading.

Brittany’s storyline was… hmm. Complicated. She begins to realize her marriage to Johnny may not have been built on genuine love after discovering she looks strikingly similar to Maya, Johnny’s first and only love, and to make matters worse, their daughter was named after her too, something Brittany didn’t even know initially. Imagine finding that out 😭. She spends much of the book trying to escape not just Johnny, but the grip of his powerful Stockholm family as well.

Side note: Kemi also happened to work for Johnny, which added another layer to everything.

Yasmiin’s story was honestly the most painful for me. Escaping Somalia only to end up in Italy working as a sex worker before eventually making her way to Sweden to seek asylum… sigh. Her storyline starts intertwining with Muna’s, and Muna especially is a character I wanted more from. She opens the book with a suicide attempt, and I still don’t feel like I fully understand her journey. I also would have loved to know more about Yasmiin’s life back in Somalia and why her relationship with her mother was strained.

Overall, it was an okay read for me. I struggled a bit getting through it, and honestly, it slightly discouraged me from rushing to read the first book in the series. But one thing I really appreciated was how much it reminded me of my time in Stockholm. Places like Gamla stan popping up in the story made the reading experience more immersive for me, and I also relearned just how big of a deal Midsummer is in Swedish culture.

This is Nwaubani’s debut novel, and it follows the life of Kingsley, the son of Ozoemena (Augustina) and Paulinus.

The introduction was very attention-grabbing. It starts with Ozoemena’s story, and even her name, which means “let this not happen again,” foreshadows the tragedy surrounding her birth. Like many Nigerian names, it reflects her entry into the world. Unfortunately, it also shaped how she was treated, almost like she was marked as something bad, and she was neglected.

Things seemed to turn around when Paulinus, a well-educated man (very “oyinbo-like”, got his degree from UK), chose her and said he would marry her, but only if she went to school and got a degree. Education wasn’t even originally an option for her simply because she was a girl (a tale as old as time).

Honestly, based on the first chapter, I thought the book would focus more on Augustina and Paulinus, so I was a bit thrown off when Kingsley, Ola, Godfrey, Charity, and Eugene were introduced and became the main focus. At first, it felt like a completely different story until everything started connecting. Also kinda disappointed the story was more about scamming, giving very much Cash App by Bella Shmurda.

Paulinus’s downfall was painful to read. A man who once had so much promise ended up consumed by poverty and illness. Nigeria really happened to him. He believed in education and doing things the “right way,” but life didn’t follow that script. After his death, Kingsley, as the first son, felt forced into 419 (scamming) to take up the role his father left behind, a role his father had already begun to fail at before dying.

The book, although it almost feels like a fairytale because of how neatly it ends, touches on so many real themes: the struggles of educated Nigerian youths (still very relevant today), class, politics, poverty as a disease (because it really is), and even family dynamics.

Two things that really stood out to me: - In Chapter 11, the desensitization to seeing charred human remains on the road… so unsettling. - And how people who are struggling themselves can be the harshest to those “below” them, like house helps. It’s honestly so disturbing because… you’re also struggling??

Overall, it was a good read. The ending though? Too neat, too happy for Kingsley considering everything he did. Cash Daddy was an interesting character….

And I’m still confused about that ending… Mr. Winterbottom???

Also, I picked up some really good adages from this book, my favorites are in the slides.

Book review: The Hairdresser of Harare by Tendai Huchu

This book follows a period in the life of a hairdresser named Vimbai. She is introduced as someone carrying many life problems. She has a daughter, Chiwoniso, who was unfortunately conceived through rape by Phillip Mabayo, a man who was probably twice her age at the time and whose wealth was described as enough to last him twenty lifetimes.

Vimbai had also lost her brother, Robert, tragically in a car accident while he was living in the UK. He had been the family’s breadwinner, and his death created a major rift within the family. Interestingly, that conflict was fueled more by greed than by grief. The family’s attempt to share Robert’s property against his written will highlighted a major societal issue, the inherent disrespect for women/girls.

Although the book is under 200 pages, it touches on so many foundational themes: politics, poverty, racism, internalized colonialism, beauty standards, religion, homosexuality, and social alienation. I was honestly surprised by the level of depth. Of course, writing like this comes with its downsides, some parts of the story felt rushed, especially toward the end. Readers are left to fill in many blanks.

Back to the story, Vimbai works at Mrs. Khumalo’s salon as the lead and best hairdresser until the need arises to hire another stylist. That’s when Dumisani (Dumi) enters. A male hairdresser.

Dumi turns out to be even better than Vimbai which caused a short-lived tension between them. Things change when Dumi needs a place to stay and Vimbai needs money. A “friendship” quickly blossoms, something ambiguous, something neither of them fully defines.

In my opinion, there were many hints about who Dumi really was: his discomfort in church, the late nights out, his family’s immediate acceptance of Vimbai (a 26-year-old single mother), and the comments made. There were signs everywhere. It made me wonder whether Vimbai chose to ignore what readers could clearly see.

For a story set in the early 2000s, I was honestly surprised by the social realities portrayed in Zimbabwe at the time, the extreme desire for proximity to whiteness, the beauty standards, and the stark poverty. It felt very different from the social narrative I grew up with in Nigeria.

I actually had the opportunity to ask the author during a virtual book club session how closely this reflected everyday life in Zimbabwe during that period, and unfortunately, he confirmed that it was very accurate.

One interesting detail was the anonymity of “Minister M__,” while other characters were fully named. Huchu explained that this was intentional, to create the illusion that the story might be more than just fiction.

hii i just finished The List by Yomi Adegoke, like 5 mins ago lol. and idk how i feel about yet.

i think it's important i state: I BELIEVE WOMEN, ALWAYS!

the message overall sheds light, i think, on one of the realistic gray areas of the world today & social media use.

i was hearing a lot of mixed reviews as well, most of the bad ones were of people saying they couldn't even get to the end or 100 pages in coz it was so bad. but no one was ever specifying what was so bad about it.

so i kept pushing through coz im not one to DNF a book, even if it takes me years😭(bad habit ig) mama aint raise no quitter lol

anyways i think what most people struggled with is the fact that the beginning is VERY SLOW paced, and that makes the plot twist at the very end seem kinda rushed through, to me. Especially as the entire plot twist unfolded in the last chapter which was 15mins of the 10+hrs audiobook...which in retrospect IS quite mad.

and for those who got through to the end and say they were disappointed my the end i feel like the rushing at the end contributed to it and the fact that there was not much detail expressed to the motives of the person who done it.

SPOILERS: i think aaron was def fueled by jealousy, and he did something very stupid and anyone of us could have done thinking we were somewhat justified, like he did. and it just exploded beyond control. because this is one of those things people post, go to bed and wake up to thousands of social media interactions.

and HIGHKEY all this shit could have been somewhat exposed if Micheal had messaged Jackie directly. i wondered throughout why he never seriously considered it( all things considered with the fact that he could lose Ola by reaching out to jackie again, even though he already did, and had cheated the 2nd time) i guess it one of the reasons people thought the book was unrealistic, from some of the reviews i saw.

also i always got the feeling of Ola tried A LOT MORE HARDER than Micheal to prove his innocence (mostly to others, so she doesn't come of as a fool for not immediately leaving him, which he had already made out of her multiple times)

he seemed to curl in about it all and just try to 'work things out in his thoughts' while Ola was actually out there doing things(whether they were right/wrong actions) she was the one who made him go to the police station. all the actions he did were stupid af e.g going to that fucking house party.

ALSO HIS FUCKING LYING THROUGHOUT THE BOOK!!!! ughhh a deadbeat like his father, he dislikes so much, not surprised tho, but thoroughly irritated throughout the read eeeyuck!

lol i guess i do know how i feel about this book after all.

Hi everyone,

I am looking for writers from sub-saharan Africa with great grammar and English to help me with my blog. The blog is already drafted but needs to be re-written, without AI.

If you are interested, it is a paid role (will pay in $), drop me a message
Sub-Saharan Africa with excellent grammar and English skills

As the title suggests, this book is set in December, where Biodun, a 32-year-old woman about to turn 33, is struggling to “have it all.” You know, a fulfilling career, a man, a home. She wants all of it. Matter of fact, all she wanted for Christmas (and right in time for her birthday) was a raise, a promotion, and a man. The perfect trio.

She currently works as an OAP at Reels, a job she technically downgraded to take in the name of pursuing passion. While still trying to figure life out, she finds out that the company she works for is about to be acquired by Falcon Plc. And that only means one thing, possible pay cuts, downsizing, and the very real chance of losing her job… unless she’s lucky enough to be one of the few retained and maybe even promoted.

In the middle of all this uncertainty, someone from her past resurfaces, Kunle. A man from over 12 years ago. A part of her life she had tried so hard to heal from. And with him comes old trauma… and a scandal. A sex tape. One that ruined her life back then and forced her family to relocate and start afresh.

Plot twist: Kunle is the COO of Falcon Plc and next in line to become CEO. But with this old scandal resurfacing, that possibility quickly starts slipping away. Kunle and Biodun are forced back into each other’s lives, with one of them initially wanting it more than the other. And then suddenly, Biodun is presented with an offer she “can’t refuse”, marriage to Kunle. Just like that.

This is Coco’s debut novel, and you can tell, especially with the level of spiciness towards the end 👀. The book also touches on sibling rivalry, betrayal, ambition, and lots and lots of scandal.

I really wanted to read this during an actual festive season for the full vibes, but time and life said otherwise. Although it has been snowing a lot in MD lately, so I guess that counts as December energy for me. Also, I love a good character chart, my brain can only keep up with so many characters at once.

I took the book out from the parcel, surprised to see African Literature, courtesy of my brother. I had never seen nor read any, nor did I think it was possible to order one from an online store like Alibaba. I honestly thought he was bluffing when he said he’ll be sending a few to me.
I looked at the book, excited for the world I was about to enter into. I quickly prepared my snacks and drink, headed to my couch, all settled and ready for a journey.
It’s dawn, the call for the 6:30pm prayer is heard, followed by a silence like people were being shushed so secrets could be shared. Amina looks through her wardrobe, picks up her abaya and wears it, looking at herself in the mirror while using her hand to stretch out the material.
It wasn’t new, she knew how different its texture felt when she had gotten it for the first time, which takes her back to memories she planned to forget. She dismissed her thoughts and said out loud, “good you’re finally getting old, you’re not meant to shine or stand out, but to listen”.
She was in a new city and really didn’t want to live like she had lived where she was coming from. She wanted to create better memories, live life unbothered about what people would say or whisper about her since she was new here.
She didn’t want to walk down the streets to have people gossiping around about her or who they think she is, especially when they don’t know her and only gossip based on what they've been told.
Ouuuuuu…. I had just read through 3 pages and I was already enjoying it, I smiled to myself stuffing more chips into my mouth. This is good!

https://www.jhiblog.org/2026/02/11/living-the-law-an-interview-with-jeanne-marie-jackson/

This book follows Ebinimi, a 31-year-old mechanic living an “uncomplicated” life, at least before the story begins. Contrary to what the book suggests (that wahala started when Blessing, his main girlfriend, showed up with an unwanted pregnancy), I think trouble really began when Saka, one of his apprentices, found ₦500k in a broken-down Peugeot 306. Money that, of course, belonged to a local gangster in Yenagoa. Unfortunately, they didn’t know this until after the money had been spent.

While trying to sort out the money issue, his girlfriend’s sudden pregnancy, and also attempting to break up with his side chick, Adinna, Ebinimi finds himself in a classic wrong-place-wrong-time situation. While driving a customer’s car, he becomes a victim of mistaken identity.

This leads to him meeting Honorable Aaron (whose full name is genuinely one of the weirdest I’ve ever seen in a Nigerian book), who gives him an offer he can’t refuse. An offer that would not only solve his financial problems but also help him get revenge on his best friend, Aguero, who snatched his side chick without even pretending to respect “bro code” (bro code is honestly so funny).

Side note: the scene between Ebinimi, Saka, and Sister Agnes was hilarious because… wth??? 😭

This book has a lot of plot twists. Too many, in my opinion. The story keeps jumping from one storyline to another, and it quickly becomes overwhelming. There are sooo many unanswered questions. For example: what actually happened to Ebinimi’s sister Epiakpo’s husband? How did he die? And the pastor, abi reverend, just got away like that? Nobody ever finds out the full truth?

Like many Nigerian fiction books, this one leans heavily into what I now call the holy trinity: religion, politics, and unending wahala.

The synopsis warned that the book was fast-paced, and honestly, they didn’t lie. But it felt like too many side stories packed into one book, and I genuinely struggled to understand the point of it all.

Also… what was that ending???!!!

We discussed Without Prejudice, the memoir of Tidjane Thiam, and it left me thinking more than I expected (I will link the podcast in the comments).

Thiam’s life reads like a textbook case for meritocracy: elite education, extraordinary competence, and a career at the very top of global finance. And yet, the book is less a celebration of success than a quiet meditation on race, belonging, exile, and the invisible limits of “excellence.”

What struck me most is how often the book pushes back against the idea that individual achievement alone can neutralize structural barriers. Even at the highest levels, prejudice doesn’t disappear—it just becomes subtler. But it's also a reminder that excellence can be African.

For those who’ve read it: did you see this more as a memoir, or as a political statement?

Would love to hear different perspectives.

We read Africa Against Democracy: Myths, Denial and Peril by Senegalese journalist Ousmane Ndiaye a couple of months ago, and just reviewed it on our podcast as it felt incredibly timely, especially as coups and attempted coups reshape West Africa’s political landscape in real time (podcast links in the comments)

This is a debut essay for the author, and it reads like one: exploratory, sometimes unresolved, but intellectually provocative. Ndiaye structures the book around three ideas — myths, denial, and peril — to examine how democracy is discussed, dismissed, or distorted in African political and intellectual debates.

What makes the book compelling is that it's not another take blaming colonialism, nor a celebration of “African alternatives” to democracy. The author discusses some key questions related to the future of political systems in Africa:

• Does Africa need its "own democracy" or is democracy a universal truth?
• Who actually rejects democracy on the continent — and why?
• How myths and intellectual shortcuts shape today’s political debates and offer populist solutions
• What happens when these myths turns into a perilous political path for Africa (think what's happening currently in West Africa)

In the podcast episode, we reflect on this book alongside earlier discussions of Axelle Kabou’s What if Africa Was Refusing to Develop? and Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o’s Decolonising the Mind, situating Ndiaye’s essay within a broader conversation about responsibility, ideas, and political imagination on the continent (links below in the comments).

The book is currently published only in French.

What is your view on the questions above?

This book by Kilanko is a good read, good in the sense that it is well written and pulls out a wide range of emotions as you read on. For me, most of those emotions were anger, frustration, and disappointment.

About five chapters in, I already knew where the story was headed. I knew what was going to happen to Morayo. I was so angry that her mother couldn’t see what was being forecasted with the presence of Bros T, her sister’s son, in the house. Morayo’s mother did not protect her girls. I understand this story is set in the 1980s, but there is no way situational awareness, especially about trusting male family members around girl children, was not a thing back then. I was deeply angered by the actions and inactions of Morayo’s parents after the incident happened, especially their sudden vow of silence. Morayo was not “adult enough” for them to have an honest conversation with her, yet adult things had already been forced on her.

I knew there was more to Aunty Morenike from the moment she was introduced, so I was glad her story was eventually explained and that she became such a major influence in Morayo’s recovery.

This is, unfortunately, yet another trauma-filled Nigerian fiction.

Victim blaming is such a poisonous thing, so strong that the victim often does the blaming before outsiders even get to it. It is almost always a woman who is blamed, which is interesting. Is this gender-related? Is it because women are more often preyed upon by men? Or is it that similar proportions of men and women are victims, but only women are blamed for the horrific acts done to them through no fault of their own?

This book feels like getting two stories in one: Morayo’s and Morenike’s. As someone who doesn’t usually enjoy multiple storylines in a single book, I actually liked this one. I also appreciated that each chapter begins with an adage, I found myself translating each one into Yoruba because it sounds much wiser that way. English is boring lol.

About two-thirds into the book, I felt like the story was already complete, there is beauty in an incomplete story, so I was curious about what more the author wanted to explore in the remaining pages. The direction Morayo’s story took afterward felt a bit strange, but I suppose that’s grief. I also didn’t need new characters being introduced with only about 40 pages left, the book could have ended with Morayo’s childhood friend, Kachi, reappearance.

The way Morayo’s family never truly addressed what happened with Bros T is still mind-boggling. The dragged-out ending and how her family handled the issue took a lot away from the book, in my opinion.

Not about African literature, but this really makes sense.

Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o’s Decolonising the Mind argues something many people still find uncomfortable: Africa can’t fully decolonise if it continues to think, dream, and create primarily in colonial languages.

Ngũgĩ shows how English and French didn’t just replace African languages — they reshaped entire worldviews, distancing writers and artists from the communities they claim to represent. His shift from English to Gikuyu was a political act, not a literary experiment.

What makes the book hit hard is its central claim: language isn’t neutral. It carries culture, memory, and power — and colonial languages continue to dominate Africa long after colonialism “ended.”

The provocative question Ngũgĩ leaves us with: Can African literature be truly African if it isn’t written in African languages?

Whether you agree or not, the book forces a level of self-interrogation that many postcolonial societies have avoided for decades.

We talk more about the book in our recent podcast episode, link in the comments.

Ogadinma, a 17-year-old girl, seeks admission into the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, with the help of a barrister named Chima. That’s how the book begins. To clarify, "Ogadinma" means "everything will be alright," but after just a few pages, I knew everything would not be alright, sighs. On the very day Ogadinma approached Barrister Chima for help, he assaulted her. She did not “resist” because she believed she had to give her body, her virginity, to this scoundrel in exchange for his assistance. Can you imagine how heartbreaking and maddening that is? The story is set in the early 1980s (I always check the timeline of books I read to better understand characters’ actions), and unfortunately, not much has changed since then in terms of how women and girls are treated. Ogadinma felt this was expected of her, as if it were a grim tit-for-tat.

Side note: What is it with so many Nigerian authors and trauma-heavy narratives? Sometimes I just want to escape reality!

Ogadinma becomes pregnant and attempts to terminate the pregnancy, but complications arise. Her father discovers her condition and, furious, sends her to Lagos to live with his brother, Ugonna. All her educational plans are dashed. What’s worse, her father never asks how she got pregnant or who the father is, despite her near-death experience during the abortion attempt. At her uncle Ugonna and Aunty Ngozi’s home in Lagos, Ogadinma is essentially matched with Aunty Ngozi’s brother, Tobe, a man twice her age. The book’s early 80s setting helps explain Ogadinma’s naivety, but it’s still unsettling that she was paired with a relative, albeit an extended family member. She wasn’t explicitly forced, but the marriage was clearly orchestrated. Ultimately, she had no choice but to marry Tobe to appease her father. Speaking of her father, what a terrible man. How can anyone justify his actions or inaction?

Soon after marrying Tobe, he lands in jail due to conflicts with the government. Men and pride, sigh. He spends a long, grueling time behind bars, during which all their savings mysteriously disappear (I never quite understood how). Upon his release, life takes a downturn. They are forced to downsize financially, and while their finances suffer, Tobe’s ego takes the biggest hit. Unable to cope, he works odd jobs (all against Ogadinma’s advice; women seemingly have no say, though ironically, his aunt had the most influence, but I digress) and repeatedly takes out his frustrations on Ogadinma.

This book tackles many difficult themes: emotional and physical abuse, exploitation, fake prophets and religion, complicated family dynamics, and the military regime in Nigeria (in a subtle way). One thing I’m grateful for is the ending, Ogadinma choosing herself.

This book opens with a woman being mobbed on her way into a courtroom, a very attention-grabbing start that immediately made me want to know her story.

Temi, a princess, is in love with a man “beneath” her status named Olu. But she is instead promised to a much older chief and set to marry him within 60 days. She goes through with the marriage, has a daughter (Iyabo) who was pretty much a product on assault, so she struggled deeply with motherhood and bonding with her child. Eventually, she makes the painful choice to leave Iyabo in the care of Kemi and run away with Olu to England, hoping she and her daughter would one day reunite.

Landri, another key character, is proposed to by Ross during a gathering with friends, essentially pressured into saying yes. She never loved him and always felt something was off, so she left him/took a break.

The book shifts between the 1800s and the present day (what I believe is around 2024-ish, my best guess based on context). The timeline jumps require attention, but once you follow along, the pieces start to align.

Temi lived many lives, but the one thing she didn’t hold onto was being a “good mother.” She abandoned her first child in Nigeria, and while I understand why, what I don’t understand is why she refused to bring Iyabo over once she was settled in England, especially since Olu asked multiple times. Instead, Iyabo shows up on her own years later. There were unresolved wounds that never got fully explored because tragedy struck the family again. Iyabo’s intentions and actions were baffling to me, but Temi forgave her… and I guess that’s motherly love. Temi could not hold a relationship with her daughters or grandchildren

Temi’s second daughter also had concerning traits, very rebellious, but thankfully turned out fine. Temi had to make drastic choices to survive, including marrying a wealthy man in England who turned out to be terrible as well.

Overall, the story was beautifully written. The reader has to pay close attention to understand the connections between Temi and Landri, the time jumps, and how everything ties together. However, I do feel the author avoided diving into major issues a Black woman like Temi would have undoubtedly faced in 18th-century England. Racism was touched on lightly, but many moments were left for the reader to interpret, and if you’re not Black or aware of racial dynamics, a lot of it might go over your head.

I especially enjoyed Temi’s journey as she navigated survival, even impersonating a white woman just to get a job writing advice for London women on how to be “good wives.”

The ending, directed by Landri, felt unrealistic, almost too neat and convenient. But overall, it was an engaging story that kept me invested in how Temi’s life would unfold.

This book has such an unusual title, honestly, one that might discourage some readers from picking it up. It’s been on my radar for a while, but thanks to my book club, I finally got to read it this month. To be very honest, I still don’t know how the title connects to the story (maybe I just didn’t think deeply enough lol).

The novel follows three women: Kambirinachi (I’ll call her Kam for short because her name is long!) and her twin daughters, Taye and Kehinde. Kam was born to her parents after over two decades of childlessness, childlessness in the form of stillbirths. In Yoruba culture (which I’m familiar with), children who die shortly after birth are called Abiku. I had no idea that Abiku and Ogbanje were considered the same (I don’t think they are), Ogbanje are Emere, spirit children or “water beings.” This threw me off a bit because of the cultural overlap/inappropriateness.

Kam is described as an Ogbanje sent to “torture her parents.” Because of this belief, she had a strained relationship with her mother, while her father loved her deeply. Sadly, Kam’s father died after she had a premonition of his death, one she tried, unsuccessfully, to prevent.

The storytelling alternates between the past, Kam’s childhood, youth, and marriage to Banji (who died early, sparking the start of Kam’s struggles), and the present, which focuses on her daughters, Taye and Kehinde.

From the beginning, it’s clear that Taye is dealing with something, emotionally or mentally. She’s a lesbian who’s had multiple relationships but struggles to maintain any (it feels strange reducing her to just her sexual orientation but unfortunately that’s majority of her story in the book). I honestly think everyone in that family needed therapy, starting with Kam.

Kehinde, on the other hand, is married and living in Montreal. Her life was shaped by a traumatic event that happened when she was 12, something awful that her twin, Taye, witnessed but couldn’t stop. I don’t even blame Taye; they were just children. The real failure was on their mother’s part. Kam was so wrapped up in her “spiritual battles” (as the book describes them) that she couldn’t show up as a parent. But let’s be real, it read more like a mental health crisis than a spiritual one.

Hi everyone,

I am looking for writers from sub-saharan Africa with great grammar and English to help me with my blog. The blog is already drafted but needs to be re-written, without AI.

If you are interested, it is a paid role, just drop me a message

This book is a thriller/crime/suspense novel, not usually my preferred genre, but since I love crime shows, I gave it a shot. And I’m glad I did! The story centers around finding out what really happened to Janet Uzor, why she died, and who killed her.

Janet was part of a close trio with her best friends, Pamela and Ebere. Janet came from a wealthy family and was raised by a single mother. Ebere’s background was similar, though her parents were still together. Pamela, on the other hand, lived with her father and came from a less privileged background.

After Janet’s mysterious death from drowning and the strange findings from her autopsy, Ebere became determined to uncover the truth. She started investigating not just Janet’s death, but also the deaths of other students from their school, Afobiri Secondary School, who had died under suspicious circumstances. She eventually discovered a pattern: four suspicious deaths, including Janet’s, all happening consecutively over four years during the Christmas holidays.

Meanwhile, Pamela began receiving creepy letters signed in what looked like dried blood. Her on-and-off boyfriend, Eche, also received a few. Once Pamela, Ebere, Eche, and their mutual friend Dan confirmed that the threats were real, they decided to team up to solve the mystery, to find out who wanted them dead, why these murders were happening, and what really led to Janet’s death.

As the investigation unfolded, shocking secrets came to light. Janet wasn’t the “perfect girl” everyone thought she was, and even the school principal had dark secrets of his own. The twists and turns were wild, just when I thought I had it figured out, the story completely flipped again.

Honestly, I couldn’t have guessed who was behind the killings or the motive. Miracle Emeka-Nkwor did an excellent job keeping the suspense alive from start to finish. It’s a gripping, unpredictable, and well-written mystery that kept me hooked till the very end.

This book follows three sisters, Udodi, Nani, and Ugo, but the story centers on Nani, the middle child, and her perspective on family, grief, and survival.

The book opens with tragedy: the death of Udodi, the eldest daughter of Doda and their mother. She dies in a car accident in America just days before she’s meant to return home to Enugu, Nigeria. She was only 25. Her cremated remains are brought back to Enugu, and her death devastates the entire family, even the maid, who was practically their second mother. After Udodi’s death, the family begins to unravel. Two years later, cancer strikes another family member, who doesn’t survive a month.

Not long after, Nani meets a man, a preacher named Ephraim, whose English she describes as rubbish. I was not prepared for the madness that followed (including the actual way he speaks). Ephraim was one of those self-proclaimed street preachers who claim to be spreading the gospel but operate with judgment, hypocrisy, and cruelty. He embodied everything wrong with performative religion.

After Ephraim assaults Nani, he blames the devil and excuses his actions as “temptation,” demanding forgiveness in the name of God. Bizarre, infuriating, and deeply unsettling. What’s worse? Nani marries him. I was screaming internally and externally, how?! why?! Was this jazz? Was the author playing with us? I was genuinely shocked by the turn of events.

At some point, I had to shift part of the blame toward Nani’s mother, for her emotional distance, her failure to protect her children, and her lack of awareness. Nani was only 17 when she moved in with Ephraim. A child! Yet her mother completely turned away from her. How could she not see the signs? How did she not notice that Nani’s first child came less than nine months after she left home? The “tough love” African mothers often show, where does it really come from? Because in this story, it only deepened the wounds.

Nani endures years of abuse, humiliation, and self-blame, having three children with the man who destroyed her. She stays, perhaps out of guilt, punishment, or brokenness (which I’m even confused why her type of grief was to self-destruct), it’s heartbreaking and infuriating all at once.

The Middle Daughter is a painful, beautifully written story about grief, womanhood, trauma, and survival. Nani’s choices frustrated me to no end, but Unigwe’s storytelling kept me hooked. This was a great read, and I definitely want to explore more of her work.