Book Review: Allow Me to Introduce Myself

 

Allow Me to Introduce Myself is it. Whatever it is.

Onyi Nwabineli's book popped up often amongst Africa's best contemporary books, it made sense that I would shelf it in my TBR. But it would be because a friend (Shout out to Afoma Ezeno!) sang its praises that I would finally read it. It did not make much sense till I was a little more than a few pages in. Then, I would carry it on my head and write this review.  

In the novel, we follow a depressed and struggling 25-year-old woman as she fights for her independence from her stepmother’s “mumfluencer” business—an enterprise built almost entirely on her back (and face!). We bonded with the characters and did not know whose side to take till much later after we had seen the extent of the damage. We walked thin treacherous lines navigating family ties and swam the shoddy waters of filialty. We tried not to hate too much because they are, after all, family and tried not to love too much because they still hurt regardless. We also came to the painful realization that while it seems like social media gives us a well hosted platform to be effortlessly ourselves without the need for validation, it also gives loud screeching mics to everyone to validate their stance,—from views to flaws—which ironically still needs to be validated by likes and reshares. At this time of social media influencer industry boom, this book could not have been any more timeous. 

I enjoyed the themes a little too much. They border on pertinent issues that we should be addressing and asked questions that we should be asking. Now, at this age of content creator, it is not uncommon to find parents using their children as content fodder, feeding them consistently to the bottomless algorithm. What happens when this child says no? When is enough enough? Can the family actually let go of this profitable niche that fends for the family?  And because I followed up on it, I read of parents who quit their jobs because the children make just enough money. It is ironic, that this harmless borderless thing would cause a divide between the strongest bond in the world, the one between parent and child. When the parent refuses to let go, does s/he act in his/her stead as a parent or a manager? Will it mean they love the child less? Does it make them selfish? How do they walk this thin line? 

Onyi addressed our concerns better:

These were things Noelle should never feel. Aṅụrị did not want her sister to wake up ten, twenty years from now and second-guess where her parents’ love ended and the love of the life she funded began. Children were not meant to doubt the surety of their parents’ love for them. It should be a forgone conclusion; the foundation upon which everything else in the wretched, wonderful world hinged.

For states like Washington, a bill is in the works for the privacy and earnings of children of influencers. California comes close enough with its Coogan Law for child actors. It mandates that 15% of minors’ earnings be set aside by the employer in a blocked trust but there are no similar protections for child influencers. So it is what is: exploitation. Whether done intentionally or not. With love. Or not. 

 

Asides the controversial nature of the topic, I find them timely because, unlike Africa culture, the Western culture allows parents to avoid any financial obligation towards a child after age 18. In this case, college tuition becomes the child's responsibility. Does a child that fends for the family still have to fend for himself? If the parents do provide, is it kindness or entitlement? Is it fair if they split it? 

Nkem’s heart folded in on itself. You did not bring children into an already broken world to break them further.

Another important theme is how involved men are in the family—or their lack of it. Their ignorance of these little things going around the house. Or if I dare put it loosely, like the author did, their lack of emotional intelligence. I don't believe in gender wars. Because it's just two genders (it's not like we have a lot) and both are intentionally and specifically designed to be as they are (not an excuse for your personal flaws though). They're different but each has a role to play. I hate that a gender is seen as more, like what the other is less. Like providing absolves men of their sins. Here, in this story, we see it doesn't. We see the child’s life falter from this lack. It takes more to grow a child than feeding him.

She wanted her father. There may come a time where you stop needing your parents, but you do not stop wanting them...

Finally and my favorite is the theme of friendship. How central it is to the story. We'll remember how often we would have lost our bearing if we didn't have friends as anchors.  So yes, I like how she put it in the front seat. I like even better how platonic it is. And deep! Because 'Happily ever after' is not just when you're married or have a partner. It is when you belong. You're understood. You've your tribe. You're happy. Recently—and sadly—we've watered it down to romantic love. 

Before even she understood the extent of her brokenness, the breadth and inky depths to it, they had already accepted her. And when someone has loved you before trauma, has loved you through it, that love crystallizes into something toughened yet beautiful and so you count it as the gift it is and do what you can to preserve it.  

I wonder how realistic or feasible it is in our divided world. It's not between two people as is common but three—Three!—including the opposite genders. Yet, it was deep. Damn! And good! 

Good storytellers make you listen. The best makes you want to tell your own stories too. Onyi Nwabineli is that storyteller. The way she describes the feelings. The way it makes us feel. The way it makes me want to tell. She is deep. It was deep. My favourites are the truths hidden between each dialogue:

"Did they look like a family? What did a family even look like? Life had taught Aṅụrị that there was no cookie-cutter definition. Picket fences could be replaced with digitized security gates, but the lives of those who lived behind them were equally messy. That was the problem with facades: the lie was the point but it was also the problem."

"For Aṅụrị the internet was useful and terrifying in equal measure. People unzipping their coats and leaving them on the floor, baring their souls and their flesh and their rudimentary understandings of feminism to all and sundry."

"If there is one thing white people hate more than anything in this world, it is the implication that their racism makes them racist"

"To love the tortured was to become tortured yourself."

"He fancied himself a closed book when in fact he was easily read. It was tiresome...that so many people erected shoddy walls around themselves forgetting they had built windows as well."

"She was, she understood, a hypocrite, but she was also a human and afflicted with the sickness that drove so many other humans to both run from and seek out those things which struck a match against their disgust."

"Knowing that nobody needed just one person, that life was made richer when joy and hope and pain were shared between multiple recipients, did nothing to lessen the burn of being told that a five-year-old girl needed her mother."

In the end, the world is not yet perfect for our depressed-not-so-depressed protagonist. But then, is it ever? We're content to leave her a lot less depressed than we met her. It is difficult to let go since we have grown quite attached to her. We've come to love her, with all her flaws and strengths. But we've pressing problems of our own to get back to and we feel less guilty knowing she is in good hands. We are assured knowing that she will survive. Like we have. 

I wonder where Onyi got her inspiration for this book from. It's so good that I find it difficult to imagine that it is not a personal experience.  Likely not. But she would have experienced it at a close range. Or took so much interest in it that she gorged herself in it to feel so we can feel. How else could it have been this real? Perhaps this is the fate of every fiction writer. To be so porous. To gorge so they can purge. They absorb and pour it out in varying magnitude. Onyi certainly did her part.

Ending it just as I started Onyi Nwabineli is ittt! To walk thin lines without falling is a craft. 

P.S: Afoma Ezeno gives the best book recommendations. She is such a great writer. Check out her writings here.