“I ask you right here please to agree with me that a scar is never ugly. That is what the scar wants us to think. But you and I, we must make an agreement to defy them, we must see all scars as beauty. Okay? This will be our secret. Because take it from me, a scare does not form on the dying. A scar means I survived…. Sad words are just another beauty, a sad story means, the storyteller is alive.”

This is just one of the ways Little Bee pulls you into her story, into her life making you a part of it. I love hearing about and reading the immigrant story, it’s fascinating I pay attention to the details; if I listen ever so closely I learn a lot about the places and the people and observe how the media does not even scratch the surface of world events

The book starts with Little Bee saying “Most days I wish I was a British pound coin instead of an African girl. – A Pound coin can go wherever it thinks it will be safest.”

Little Bee is an African teenage girl who finds herself in an immigration detention center somewhere near London, UK. Her world before was a little village, her family, friends and cassava fields, then “the men came” After which she had a chance encounter with a young British couple on a beach, a couple who should have stayed behind their resort’s walls instead they ventured out on their own.

On the beach where the couple first meets Little Bee they are confronted with a choice, “the men” said/asks -

“First time I hear white man say my business not his business. You got our gold you got our oil, what is wrong with our girls?”

Little Bee the novel is very well crafted it vividly captures two worlds colliding and the voice of the characters are so authentic that half way through, not being familiar with the author, I thought Chris Cleave is a Nigerian then Google corrected me.

With this Book (Little Bee) I am reminded of a true story, a “beauty” as I agreed with Little Bee to call sad stories, told to me almost eight years ago by a man I met on the train. Originally from the Niger Delta region of Nigeria, he moved to the capital where he completed his studies and was climbing the corporate ladder. Uncle J is what my sister and I call him now, said he visited his family back in his village often and on one of his visits “the men came” he made it out and with the help of UNHCR he was resettled in North America from a refugee camp in a neighbouring West African country.

By writing the book Chris Cleave has given a voice to thousands of Uncle J’s and their villages along the Niger Delta.

Posted: June 10th, 2010 under Journeying through life.
Comments: 1

My keys chimed while I looked for the right key to open the door but before I could find it the door swings open and my brother Paul pull’s me into the apartment slamming the door behind me “where have you been Sis” “don’t you know the world is at war” I studied his expression trying to determine if he was serious - he points towards the T.V. where he had been watching breaking news of the US lead invasion of Iraq this was in March 2003. He sits remote in hand asking “do you want to watch the news with me – I hope the innocent can find safety”

Thirty one years ago today on June 4th as little kids Paul and I found ourselves in the middle of Burma Camp, Ghana’s main military base, in a middle of a coup d’état. Military personnel with guns interrogating people and barking at us children, unfortunate enough to be in school uniforms that identify us as army brats question of who our parents are and where we lived.

Men in Pinzgauers indiscriminately firing ammunitions, my older brother Paul who was still a kid in single digit age himself lead us to safety, he instructed me to make myself as small and as low to the ground as I can and to cover my head with my book bag, we crawled sometimes through gutters.

I remember Paul whispering to me “it’s OK to cry sister but please do not make a sound – please do not make a sound” Sometimes I can still hear his voice in my head “it’s OK to cry sister but please do not make a sound – please do not make a sound”

Many years has gone by but every June 4th I remember the day vividly like it just happened and I whisper to myself It is OK to remember…………..

Posted: June 4th, 2010 under Journeying through life.
Comments: 3