Skip to main content

Book Review: DAUGHTERS WHO WALK THIS PATH








Two sisters grow up with their parents and friends in 1980s Ibadan. A major event happens, causing a tear in the fabric of the close-knit family. One daughter, Morayo, changes, growing up to be the opposite of what they were both raised to be, putting her at odds with her family members. Yet, she finds solace in an older female family member, who becomes a mentor and guardian, Aunt Morenike, whose encouragement and mentorship early in Morayo’s life would later help her to come to terms with her lot, and let go of fear.

Daughters Who Walk This Path is didactic, seeking to educate, to enlighten its reader on societal issues that need more attention. First is the stigma that comes with having albinism. Morayo’s sister, Eniayo, from the day that she is born, becomes a subject of gossip and superstition, even from her own family members. Her lack of pigmentation is seen as ‘bad luck’, and she is subjected to taunting and jeering from her peers throughout childhood. Another issue is Negligent Parenting. Bros T had been displaying tendencies of being rebellious and selfish since he was very young, yet, his mother always took his side, forgetting the importance of discipline in raising a good child. Morayo’s parents refused to give her sex education at the right time, and decided to ignore the fact that she was undergoing puberty, under the popular belief that ‘if you talk to them about it, they will become curious and want to experiment’. The book also explores other themes like Coming-of-Age, Family, Love, Abuse, Politics/Corruption and Superstition.

Morayo’s family is the picture of the average Nigerian modern family. Events in the story are so relatable and understandable to the extent of eliciting a tear or two at different points in the story-this is what makes it such an interesting and engaging read. An example is when Morayo has her first period, and her mother says to her, “You must not let any boy at school touch you. If they do, you will get pregnant.” 

The story comes dangerously close to becoming a cliché- person is hurt by an older person early in life, becomes an adult and exacts revenge on the other, or the other protracts a terminal illness and dies, paying for past sins. However the author inserts a plot twist at the end, yet, not without a happy ending. 

Kilanko writes with feeling-in a way that suggests that Morayo’s story is close to home, a real life story with made-up elements thrown in. She gives the impression of being a mother hen, her major characters, her chicks, and the story, her family. I look forward to reading other/more works by the author

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Introducing My Friend to Pomegranates

It was twenty-nine degrees Celsius  one night in the middle of August. My big fan,  the only reason why I’d been able to avoid buying an AC throughout that unbearably hot summer,   was blasting at its second-to-highest  setting.    I was sprawled  on my bed, watching Trevor Noah videos and ignoring my cramps, as well as my prior plans of going to bed at least a couple of hours before midnight that night. My friend, Grace knocked on the door. “Come in!” I answered. She opened the door slightly, holding a up a small pomegranate. ‘How do you eat this?’ We had gone grocery shopping together the previous weekend, and I'd spotted some pomegranates and picked up a few. ‘You have to try this!’, I'd excitedly told Grace, who had never had pomegranates before. I had only started eating them several months ago myself, and I had found them a more than suitable dietary companion in the cold winter months. I stood up and went to the door. ‘I’ll help you cut it.’ I took the fruit and we walke

A Chin-Chin Expedition

In the second week of December 2022, I started to crave chin-chin.   Like any other craving, I waited for it to pass. By the third week the craving was so strong that I considered making them myself.  It was quite odd, as chin-chin was never my favourite snack growing up. Give me overripe plantain chips- soft, dark, and spicy. I decided to go hunting for the snack one day during my lunch break from my remote job. The easy way would have been to drive to the African stores I was familiar with and purchase a jar of chin chin (which I was guaranteed to find) but I’d   just moved to a different quadrant of the city and I didn’t want to spend a huge portion of my work break time driving a long distance to search for, of all things, chin chin. After perusing Google maps, I found a couple of nearby african food stores to check. Hunching my shoulders against the bitter cold, I got into my preheated Hyundai and drove 4 minutes to one store, singing along with Sinatra as he crooned,   ‘Love-ly,

Thank You for the Music: My ABBA Story

I must have been about eight years old the first time I heard ABBA. I remember the CD case cover, the black background of the graphic paper behind the plastic, the letters ABBA and Gold written in gold-ish color, so that one ‘B’ was turned the opposite way, resting its spine against the other B’s. I remember two small custom-made bedside wooden chests with single drawers in my parents' room, packed with CDs- ABBA, Michael Jackson, Celine Dion, Lucky Dube, Bob Marley, Westlife, Backstreet Boys and many others. There were movies too- Titanic, My Best Friend's Wedding, Prince of Egypt, The Lion King, Coming to America- some of the best of the eighties and nineties. Growing up, my father had music playing on a loop almost every evening, and certainly every weekend. Most of the tracks were classics, old school funk and RnB, lots of reggae. His room was, a sacred shrine of sorts to music- the lights would be off, but we heard the beats from anywhere in the house- boom ka, boom boom k