Translated from the French by Jordan Stump
My first review for #DiverseDecember is The Barefoot Woman by Scholastique Mukasonga it is the story of the author’s mother, Stefania; a Tutsi woman – telling the story of how she raised her children and protected her family during the Rwandan genocide. It is a poignant gentle memoir.
There are times when a book comes in our way, and we think I cannot read that now – it will be too hard, too harrowing, too sad etc. I admit that was something like my reaction when I first received The Barefoot Woman with my Asymptote book subscription (which I have let lapse but may go back to). There is clearly a privilege in being able to choose to look away – while not overwhelming ourselves with things we are not in the right place for. So, I am very glad I held on to this – and I need not have feared the story would overwhelm me either – because it does not. It is very clear – poignantly so – early on what happened to the author’s mother and other members of her family: –
“Mama, I wasn’t there to cover your body, and all I have left is words – words in a language you didn’t understand – to do as you asked. And I’m all alone with my feeble words, and on the pages of my notebook, over and over, my sentences weave a shroud for your missing body.”
Yet the majority of the book – does not concern itself with violence and horror – although we know they are not far away. Instead this is a story of memory, of love – bringing back to life a woman who did all she possibly could to keep her family safe. This story is a testament of a mother’s love and determination – a very personal memorial to a woman whose story stands for so many others, who despite everything, through this book cannot be erased from history.
Stefania’s family – like so many other Tutsi families spent several years living in exile – in villages away from the majority Hutu population. For the author and her siblings as they grew up, this place was more of a home than it ever could be for their mother who felt her displacement intensely. Mukasonga recalls the constant fear they all lived with, of the soldiers who might suddenly come through the door – and her mother’s ingenious ways of creating escape routes and hiding places for her children.
“But we had to be ready for anything: sometimes the soldiers were too quick even for my mother’s sharp ear. And so, for those times when we wouldn’t be able to reach the brush, she left armloads of wild grass in the middle of the field, mounds just big enough for her three little girls to slip into when the alarm was sounded. She kept a mental catalogue of what she thought would be the safest hiding places in the bush. She discovered the deep burrows dug by the anteaters. She was convinced we could slither into them, and so with Antoine’s help she widened the tunnels and camouflaged the entrances under piles of grasses and branches.”
However, this is also – and mainly – a book about a way of life, a childhood. It is the story of the sorghum harvest, the ceremony involved in the planting, harvesting, and eating of sorghum – the hope for rain at just the right time. Mukasonga recalls in some detail the rites and traditions of a Rwandan village – which knowing so little about Rwanda (aside from the news headlines) I found particularly fascinating. It is a warm, affectionate portrait of a village in exile – where the village ‘doctor’ a former nurse only has two medicines he can prescribe – cough syrup and aspirin – but Stefania created her own botanical pharmacy with which to treat her children and others. Marriages are arranged for local women and the author’s brother – in which Stefania plays her part. Rwandan ideas of beauty are fixed and hard to live up to – but how does a young woman know what she might look like to others living in a village with no mirrors?
“If you wanted to be elegant and refined, you had only to follow Mama’s advice and example: imitate the village ladies’ lazy, swaying walk (with every step they took they seemed to be standing in place), let a slightly vacant gaze drift over the people around you, and above all, when someone speaks to you, always keep your eyes lowered…”
This novella sized memoir published by Archipelago books is a beautifully lyrical tribute, revealing and personal telling an important story from recent history. Scholastique Mukasonga has written another memoir and a novel both published in English which also portray childhood and schooling in Rwanda in the years before the genocide of the Tutsi people. I am keen to read them both.
Your opening paragraph gave me pause for thought. It’s easy to turn to comfort reading when times are tough but it sounds as if you were rewarded with an enlightening and rather beautiful read. Adding this one to my list.
I have found it all too easy to turn to comfort reading this year – and frequently have. However, I am glad I broadened my horizons with this one.
This sounds quite compelling. I shall have to keep an eye out for it. Brilliant review Ali.
I found it really very compelling and beautifully told. Glad you like the sound of it.
It is a hard balance, isn’t it, between comfort reading and reading those necessary, fierce, sad and angry books. I found, as you said, this one quite lyrical and affectionate, rather than gruelling, which just goes to show that we sometimes fear the worst and turn away, as you say.
Yes, this is more affectionate and lyrical than perhaps I had expected. So glad I held on to it.
I would have been like you at first, Ali, and you’re quite right – we have the privilege to turn away from books which share difficult experiences where the protagonists did not. I’m probably guilty of sticking to my comfort zone at times and this book just shows that you shouldn’t. Great review and the book sounds beautifully written.
I think most stick mainly to our comfort zones when reading, after all reading is supposed to be mainly a pleasure. However, this was a pleasurable read for many reasons.
Thanks for your review. I just picked up three of her books, this one included. I am looking forward to reading them as Rwanda has a special place in my heart.
Ooh lovely, I really hope you enjoy them. I am certainly keen to read the others.
Hi Jolene. Have you read Little Country by Gäel Faye? It’s in this same vein. I wrote more below.
A beautiful write-up for a beautifully lyrical book. And thank you for the timely reminder that some of us have the often unrecognized privilege of looking away while so many don’t.
Thank you, I think that you are right about that privilege being often unrecognised. I certainly seen it as being something I should acknowledge until relatively recently. Something I need to remind myself about from time to time.
Like you I put this to one side when it came through from the Asymptote subscription but i was so glad when I did get around to it. I really enjoyed learning about the way of life and the traditions that the families tried so hard to cling to despite very difficult circumstances
Oh yes the portrayal of traditions and village life was so fascinating.
I’m one of those people that appreciates tough subjects and this sounds very good to me. I’m glad you took time to read it and share your thoughts. Your description reminds me of Petit Pays, by Gaël Faye. His book is not exactly a memoir but closely based on his life growing up in Burundi with a Rwandan mother and French father. I highly recommend. It too does not emphasize the gruesome realities of war. It’s in part a look at an ideal childhood, akin to something like Tom Sawyer. It won the Prix Goncourt pour lycéens, France’s highest literary prize for young adult fiction. It’s short and also available in English if you’re interested.
Thank you for that recommendation it sounds fascinating.
I second this recommendation. Little Country is an excellent book. (And now a good film too)
The Prix Goncourt des Lycéens is not a prize for YA fiction. It’s the Goncourt prize where the jury is composed of high school students, that’s all.
Thank you, I shall add it to my list.
So often we say that reading is supposed to be a pleasure,but, is it? I say it too, but whenever I’ve picked up a book that is *solely* for pleasure I’ve been disappointed because there’s not enough of a story to it or the characters aren’t realistic enough or it’s too formulaic (even though a little predictability is sometimes enjoyable). Maybe the best books are like the best experiences, in that they contain a variety of elements. After all, even a truly pleasurable experience has the down-side of having to end/being over. This one is on my TBR and I know the library has her other books too: I’m looking forward to it even more now. Will it inspire you to renew your subscription do you think?
Ha well actually I have just re-subscribed today, having been thinking about it for a few days. The books I got last time (still have a couple tbr) were fascinating and very diverse.
Found it!!!! Thank you. We are going to have a brilliant 2021 year of reading. Thanks for all the great introductions.
No problem, glad you found it.
This does sound different from what one would fear, and how good to show the strong traditions and village life as a counterpoint to the brutality and horror. It is indeed a privilege to be able to turn away from things we can’t bear to read, but sometimes pushing ourselves to have a look does reap dividends, as here.
Yes, I am so glad I kept it, and now I have signed up for another year of the Asymptote book club.
Since I’ve read Little Country by Gaël Faye, I’m curious about this one.
And yes, what a luxury we have to decide to shield ourselves from unpleasant books. But we owe to their writers who put themselves out there to share their experience and traumas to support them by reading them. Even if we want to bury ourselves in comfort books.
These books “put the church back in the middle of the village”, as we say in French. They remind us that this lockdown, if we are safe, still employed and without loved ones at risk, is nothing to complain about.
Absolutely, you are so right. I hadn’t heard that French phrase before. It’s a good one.