Book Review: A Bit of Difference by Sefi Atta

I read about this book in a Newspaper and the way in which it was described drew me in. I recall, it was said to be a book about exploring the differences in culture between the Nigerian protagonist and those she comes into contact with within her Western environment. I bought the book with an expectation of something Americanh-ish. I think part of my problem is that I have been spoilt by Chimananda, and now expect all African writers to sound like her.

Well, Atta does not sound anything like Adichie, and that in and of itself is not a criticism of Atta. I’ll start with some positives.  I like that the main character’s name is not introduced until she is addressed by another character and we learn her name is Deola. Up until that point she is only referred to as “she”.

Deola is in her late 30s, single. This information is provided to the reader, but other aspects of her character, who she really is, remained somewhat of a mystery. She works for an international charity in London, but visits “home” which is Lagos for her late father’s memorial. Some of her thoughts and dilemmas seem more typically associated with an adolescent. I can understand this is some way, because in some West African culture, a woman has not truly become a woman until she is married with children. Yet I found it hard to connect her thoughts and feeling to that of a woman of her age and stage in life. Deola clearly has dissatisfaction with her life in London, but the reason for this is not made entirely clear.

What is clear is Deola’s love hate relationship with religion, and Christianity in particular. Now this touched a nerve with me because of the sweeping generalisations made about the Faith. Again though, I have understanding as to why “African Christianity” is criticised because I know from experience how distorted it is from the Christianity of the bible. Religion is certainly a theme in this novel, but I was not expecting it to be tackled in a way that could be seen scornful and disrespectful.

In terms of some of the other themes explored, I found myself asking at one point, is this a book about HIV and Aids? A bit like the MTV series “Shuga” based in Nigeria, (where almost every character either had HIV, or was about to catch it), was the thinking that, seeing as this is going to have a mostly African audience, I’d better do my best to educate them about the importance of being tested for HIV, seeing as most Africans are dying of Aids?

Perhaps not the biggest let down, another thing I found disappointing was that I could in no way relate to Deola and her privileged background. I had waited to find a novel that was based between Nigeria and London, and having finally found it, I couldn’t connect with Deola as I shared very few of her experiences. I did not go to an expensive fee paying boarding school and I do not have any friends who were educated at Harrow, for a start.

Fatally, the book included too many scenes that did not move the story forward, and an ending that leaves the reader hanging. Not hanging from a cliff as such, as that would suggest an exciting ending. More like hanging from a set of monkey bars.  I kept returning to the blurb to remind myself of what the story was supposed to be about. A love story? Deola’s love interest, hotel owner Wale, does not feature enough for it to be described as a love story.

With no lucid understanding of where the story is going, what is driving the main character, and what message the writer is trying to give, a Bit of Difference, was a bit of a flop for me.

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Cursed Culture? A View from the Second Generation Nigerian

This is the first in what I hope to be a series of posts about African culture. Of course I know that culture differs from country to country within the continent, but there are common themes that I have identified through my meetings and experiences with various people.

My attempt to analyse and critique what I perceive to be typical Nigerian, and in particular, Igbo customs and traditions, will be done through my Second Generation Nigerian (SGN) eyes. I anticipate I may be prone to bias, as I have dual cultures and therefore part of me – and I have to say, a larger part of me – does not relate to certain Nigerian/Igbo customs. I describe myself as SGN because my parents were born and raised in Nigeria, but they chose to settle and have children in Britain. In my opinion you do not have to have been born in Britain to be an SGN, but you would have spent the majority of your life living here, including during your formative years. Similarly, if you were born in Britain (you can also read America here, or any other Western country), but grew up in Nigeria, you probably will not identify as an SGN.

The SGN experience will of course differ from person to person. In sharing my personal experiences, I do not purport that they are shared by all SGNs but I feel there may be some commonalities. I’ll come to language first. If I had a pound for every First Generation Nigerian (FGN) that, with a face twisted with disgust, spat out the words “you don’t speak Igbo?” I would be a very rich woman. The moment created thereafter is always painful, awkward, and embarrassing for me, yet I don’t judge the speaker too harshly. After all, the heart of any people is their language. It is what unites them. It is often how they can seek each other out in a crowd. However where does that leave the SGN who was not taught the language by their parents? As an outsider, a foreigner, and a fraud. Notice how the SGN is the one castigated, even though it is the PARENT of the SGN that has failed in their duty to pass on the vital element of belonging. I am tempted to say so much more on this point alone, but I may save it for another post dedicated to the (decline of the) Igbo language.

On a separate note, what happens when Nigerian culture clashes with the other culture experienced by the SGN in the land of their habitation? I am speaking of when the FGN feels that things should be done in a certain Nigerian way,  as though Nigerian culture is superior to all else. The SGN may have experienced something different, and might have a different view on things, but the FGN, (usually the parent) will rarely question whether the Nigerian way actually is the best way. For example, my experience of the Igbo culture is that parents see themselves as demigods who are to be obeyed by their children in all things no questions asked. This continues even when said children are actually grown adults. From a British perspective, parents guide their children as best they can, but when they are adult, they acknowledge that they can no longer tell them what to do. In my opinion, on this particular point, what is typically British, is a better way. But an SGO expressing a desire to do things another way, can lead to a lot of friction and uproar.

Another problem an SGN is likely to face is, where do they belong? For an SGO that has known a Western environment for all of, or most of their life, living in Nigeria is not an option. This is simply lost on a lot of FGNs. When I am on holiday in Nigeria I’m often asked by my relatives “when are you coming back home (to Nigeria)?” This question presupposes two things: 1) that I left Nigeria, when I actually I did not start out there, and 2) that Nigeria is my home. If Nigeria is just a foreign place to the SGN, why is it expected that they will decide to live there, especially when all they’ve known is a life of relative comforts. It also begs the question, why do the parents of the SGN invest in so much land in Nigeria, under the assumption that their SGN offspring will want to leave everything that they are accustomed to go and inhabit the land, in order to ensure it remains in the family?

It is so tempted to go on and on at this point as I find these topics very interesting, and would like to see more discussion about them. However I will stop here, and leave certain other topics for other posts. It will be revealing to see how many traditions and customs survive into the Third Generation, and whether the dominant Nigerian culture will finally begin to adapt and synchronize.

Where Are The Black Owned Businesses?

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“I remember when there used to be two black owned shops here next door to each other” my mother said from the passenger seat as we were driving through Deptford High Street one afternoon. This sentence preceded a very strange sounding tale of rivalry and revenge. It was prompted by our passing a row of shops, all of which were now owned by Asians.

The tale went something like this: Once upon a time there were two shops selling African groceries, sat side by side on Deptford High Street. One was owned by Mrs A, the other was owned by Mr B. Mrs A’s shop started to do very well. Soon it became obvious that Mrs A’s shop was far more popular than Mr B’s. Then one day Mrs A became very ill. Within a few days she died in hospital. Mr B had been jealous that her shop was doing much better than his and so he had poisoned her! Mrs A’s children were left devastated at their loss, and soon the shop closed. In the meantime, word began to spread that Mr B was responsible for Mrs A’s death. People began to boycott his shop, resulting in its steady decline. Then Mrs A’s son seeking revenge, one day went and dowsed Mr B’s shop with petrol and set it alight. He succeeded in burning to a cinder Mr B’s shop, but he also got badly burned in the process, and scarred for life. Both shops were never to see black owners again. The end.

I had some questions about this story. How did people know Mrs A had been poisoned, and that Mr B was responsible? According to my mother, there was no confirmation, but people “just knew”. After all, these things happened in Nigeria, and so it followed that these things could happen in Britain amongst Nigerians. But whether or not the details of the story are true or not, it is a story that perhaps identifies some of the key reasons why we do not see more black owned businesses. Maybe if black people worked together more, instead of against each other, like the Jews do for example, then the tide would start to turn.

I am always puzzled by the fact that shops selling African and Caribbean food, and African and Caribbean hair and beauty products seem to all be owned by Asians. These shops stock products that African and Caribbean people will always flock to buy. They are cash cows. Has no black person cottoned on to this fact? I doubt that is the case. One theory is that Asians have ring fenced the hair and beauty industry, and force out black owners, either by their economic position of power, or by other means. For example I think of another tale that I have been told, this time about a black hair and beauty store in Peckham, owned by a Nigerian woman. Allegedly, Asian shop owners of the neighbouring shops had their eye on hers. They were constantly in touch with the Local Authority to find ways to have her shop shut down. Eventually they succeeded, and swiftly took over the shop.

With the knowledge that black people are to a large degree frozen out of the market dealing with products specifically tailored to many cultures found within the black race, I can’t put the blame entirely on black people for not owning more businesses. There are probably other factors to take into account as well, such as legacies, and connections that immigrants, or children of immigrants may not have to the same degree as those who come from a long line of descendants settled in the UK. However, I would like to see more black people in enterprise, because I often meet black people with ideas that could work. Those of us who are of the second generation, let’s leave behind the tendency of our parents to distrust one’s neighbour, or for one-upmanship for the purposes of showing off to others within our community. I feel other racial groups are respected more, because of their power, which is fed by their wealth. I believe those of African descent need to undo the damage caused by the “divide and rule” tactics of colonialism, and rise to their full potential of generating wealth and pioneering new ideas.