H A L F A Y E L L O W S U N

"Our troops have lost all the captured territory in the Midwest and the march to Lagos is over. Nigeria now says this is war, no longer a police action" He shook his head. "We were sabotaged".

"Would you like some cake?" Olanna  asked.

At this point only two things were roaming in my mind.

One.

Does Olanna really not have one bone in that body of hers that represents any kind of compassion to those around her or does she like to pretend that during the Biafran War, everything is just purely cruising by smoothly?

And two

cake? Really?

Half way through this book I was told that I should have read  "Things fall part" by Chinua Achebe. Mmmm, a little late, but after finishing it i'm now contemplating swapping it for one of my others in the book club series.
But as I recollect how fast June has already gone, I'm mid way into my second book for the summer book club. Did I mention that there's still 5 books left? uh huh... I don't know how i'll do it either but it's a challenge, right?

Last year, Lynne and I decided to read a load of books in the summer but we failed so badly, I think if i'm right I only read two books, so already being on my second book in July right now *jiggles head* is actually making me feel kinda badass!!
 Anyway the goal is to read books, with six being ones you choose and your favourite one being sent/given to you by another person. You don't have to do the last bit but it's a little somethinnnng somethinnnng!

Based on a true story, the scenes are ignited by the illustrations that circulated Nigeria during the 1960s of the Biafran war. Ngozi perpetuates you through the journey of the lives of Odenigbo, a mathematician well suited and booted who's infatuated with the beautiful and meek Olanna, who has already unsettled Odenigbo's enthusiastic houseboy, as she continues to change his masters appetite and feelings. Kainene, Olanna's overly confident twin sister, who spends her time gracing the pages of African magazine, Lagos Life and has caught the eye of Richard. The reluctant writer, who has just landed in Nigeria, fresh from Britian ready to embrace everything nigerian. The novel continues to demonstrate each character's thoughts and reactions as extracts from Richard's book are revealed.

Even today, the division between religion and tribes haven't really changed, which is one the of main foundations of the novel. The North of Nigeria is still made up of the muslim Hausas and the South, mainly christian are made up of large tribes like the Yorubas and Igbos. Ever since the Nigerian Independence in 1960, division started to flare up causing frustration between the Hausa's and the Igbo's. By the time it was declared a civil war, the igbo tribe formed together to start their own country, Biafra. However by this time, oil was found and so were many natural resources making Biafra a wealthy opponent. This challenged the large colony of the Hausa tribe (regarded as the new Nigeria), which took down Biafra entirely with the aid of the British.  Ngozi paints various pictures as she enlightens us with different perceptions during this extremely dire time. She captures little moments that make you think, did this really happen?!?

However, it did. It was real and as the civil war gets closer to them, their lives drastically change with Richard, a white British man who claims to be a Biafran and is frequently intimidated by Kainene's extremely muscular army friend, Madu. Ugwu who's fascination of the British culture continues to evoke his experimentation further and both Olanna's and Odenigbo's family disapprove of their relationship.

Then Ugwu felt himself lifted above the trench, helplessly, haplessly. And when he landed, it was the force of his own weight, rather than the pain firing up his whole body, that stunned him into silence.

I've come to realise that Chimamanda Ngozi is an interesting story-teller. I say interesting because in moments of pure engagement and rush of excitement there's always a sort of pause that overwhelms me with either anxiety or hysterics with every page flick. Reading this book got me wound up in every type of emotion that is humanly possible.

Even though Ngozi is at her best when letting you enter your own during the novel by being subdued in angst and surprise, I felt that especially at the end it was rushed. The grip I once held had loosened at the start and much to the disorientation of the yearly intervals throughout the book, the middle almost completely lost me and stopped me reading. Leaving me to unravel myself out of a whirlwind as the depth of each character became more vague.
I must admit though, this book pretty much sparked up a lot of conversation during my journeys to and from London, compelling a few people to express the imagery of what the Biafran War would have looked like.

And although Ngozi was not born during the war, her voice has extruded throughout all the 433 pages. Completely unprepared for what I was to take in, I was left shell shocked with raw feelings that expressed the silent voice in this book. A voice that's beauty somehow surpasses your current feelings and moods. In a way Ngozi is a poet. Lifting you up with each thickness in Kainene's confident silhouette and Richard's fragile interior, whilst Olanna's delicate beauty is interwoven into the attachment that keeps her and Odenigbo in constant heat and fluster. The harsh spoken words that somehow genuinely make you feel connected to Ugwu as he continues to address Odenigbo as "sah" and the angel- like innocence that completely covers all altitudes of Baby. I wish I could express more about the silent voice that woke me up whilst reading this book, but I think it's up to you to capture it too.

I think i'll leave you with an extract of Richard's book also.

And whatever you do, read until the end! Don't give in to the silence in the middle where you are prone to confusion. I learnt that the rhythm of this novel is in sweet correlation with the stress, longitude and desperation of what happened during the civil war. So get lost in it.

The World Was Silent When We Died 

Did you see photos in sixty-eight
Of Children with their hair becoming rust:
Sickly patches nestled on those small heads, 
Then falling off, like rotten leaves on dust? 

Imagine children with arms like toothpicks.
with footballs for bellies and skin stretched thin.
It was kwashiorkor- difficult word,
A word that was not quite ugly enough, a sin. 

You needn't imagine. There were photos
Displayed in gloss-filled pages of your Life.
Did you see? Did gov feel sorry briefly,
Then turn round to hold your lover or wife? 

Their skin had turned the tawny of weak tea
And showed cobwebs of vein and brittle bone:
Naked children laughing, as if the man
Would not  take photos and then leave, alone