Child of Dandelions

I’ve been reviewing a lot of books lately, which tells me I’m not doing my OWN work and let’s face it: this novel won’t write itself.  Yet reading novels does allow me to consider other ways of telling a story, and I usually close the book with my own version of that author’s story blooming in my mind.  Child of Dandelions by Shenaaz Nanji is a bold novel about the tumultuous and violent reign of Idi Amin; the story focuses specifically (and really, exclusively) on the plight of an Indian family who find themselves caught up in the new president’s dream of an all-black Uganda.  Some effort is made to explain the anger and violence directed at Indians (who are seen as predatory foreigners even though many are citizens), but I found myself frustrated by the voices I didn’t hear in this novel.  The In-Between World of Vikram Lall is one of my favorite books, and it takes place in Kenya around the same time; that novel (by another Canadian writer, MG Vassanji) offers a number of perspectives, however, which creates the “in-between” feeling for the reader as well—how does one choose sides in such a complex situation?  How do black and brown people relate to one another when the “white oppressor” is finally gone (though never fully “out of the picture”).  Sabine is the daughter of a wealthy businessman and her grandfather owns a coffee plantation that depends on the labor of African workers.  Zena and Ssekore work on the farm during school holidays, and Sabine sees them only as her friends until 1972; in that year, “Dada” Amin has a dream that leads to an order of expulsion—foreign Indians must leave within 90 days.  The novel opens with a near riot, and Zena stands by her Indian friend when a mob hurls insults at Sabine.  It doesn’t take long, however, for their friendship to dissolve; Sabine won’t apologize for her family’s wealth, and rejects Zena’s accusation that her father is a loan shark who exploits poor Africans.  From the outset, Sabine demonstrates extraordinary courage in the face of horrific, erratic violence yet at times I found myself doubting her maturity.  When her uncle disappears, Sabine hires two private detectives and insists on going with them to a makeshift morgue where torture victims were housed before disposal.  She spits in the face of a black soldier who makes sexual advances, and intervenes to stop the assault of other Indians.  I might have admired her resourcefulness if she had had more opportunities to reflect upon her own class privilege and attendant racism.  Gradually Sabine realizes the Indian community has wronged black Africans, but there aren’t any moments in the book where she admits this to her African friends.  She has a crush on Ssekore, but opts not to meet with him when the slum he lives in upsets her; he has no voice in the book.  When Zena breaks off their friendship, Sabine storms off in a huff and only sees her friend once more at the airport on the day of her family’s departure for Canada.  By that point, Zena has become engaged to Idi Amin (!!!) but that part of the story is never told, which must leave readers wondering why black Ugandans were so committed to a man who came to be called “the butcher of Uganda.”  Having an “author’s note” at the end wasn’t enough for me; I know this history, but I’m guessing most teens don’t, and introducing such volatile events without sufficient historical context is a bit reckless, I think.  The writing is choppy, which is some ways reflects the nervousness of Sabine as the 90-day countdown proceeds.  It’s a daring topic, but not done nearly as well as Chiminanda Ngozi Adichie’s Purple Hibiscus, or Vassanji’s In-Between World.  I’d suggest you read those first.  I learned of this novel by reading Ari’s review at Reading in Color, which you can find here.