Literary Safari

Read an interview with author Shenaaz Nanji here. 

In 1972, military ruler General Idi Amin gave all 80,000 Asian Indians living in the Uganda 90 days to pack up and leave the country. As the BBC reported on August 7, 1972, “Asians, who are the backbone of the Ugandan economy, have been living in the country for more than a century. But resentment against them has been building up within Uganda‘s black majority. General Amin has called the Asians “bloodsuckers” and accused them of milking the economy of its wealth.”

In her first young adult novel Child of Dandelions (Front Street, 2008), Canadian author Shenaaz Nanji sheds much needed light on the upheaval of Asian Indians in Uganda. The protagonist of Child of Dandelions is fifteen year old Sabine, a girl whose comfortable life is torn asunder on August 6, 1972, the day that Idi Amin issues his expulsion order for all Indians in Uganda. Shaken by the protests she encounters while window shopping in Little India, Sabine turns to her parents for protection as the 90 day countdown begins.

Her mother is eager to leave Uganda, but Sabine’s father, a wealthy Ismaeli businessman and landowner, is determined to stay:

“Nonsense!” Papa laughed his conch-shell laugh, and her little brother echoed it. … “We are even more Ugandan than the ethnic Africans. Not only were we born here, but we chose to be Ugandan citizens when other Indians remained British…

Sabine agrees with her father. Her family is different after all. She is not like the other Indians. Her best friend Zena is African. They’ve grown up together like “twin beans of one coffee flower” and Zena is just like her sister, even if others don’t see it that way.

Narmin …Nasrin … Sabine’s hands clenched at the names of her classmates. They were prissy prunes. She’d had a big fight with them after they called Zena goli. Mixing her African and Indian friends was like mixing oil with water.

As the 90 day countdown continues, however, the growing chants of “Muhindi, nenda nyumbani! Indian, go home” drown out Sabine’s optimism. Amidst reports of violent attacks against Indian families, the mysterious disappearance of her favorite uncle, and strained relations between her and Zena (whose uncle is a general and crony of Idi Amin), Sabine’s bubble bursts and she is forced to reexamine her understandings of race and class.

The book’s title comes from a powerful scene halfway through the novel when Zena tells Sabine that she can no longer associate with her because of Dada Amin’s orders.

Sabine folded her arms to steady herself. “You’ve joined them?”

“Them? Them are us. Your people have clogged up our land as the British bwanas did before. Your people, your family included, are doing magendo.”

 

“Uncle and Papa help out of kindness.”

 

“We don’t want kindness.” Zena gave a short, dry laugh. ‘You took our land and made us look after it. Now we want it back.”

Sabine stared at Zena. But Bapa had cleared that land and cleared it to grow coffee.

 

“We have to clear our land. The weeds must be uprooted. What can I do? You are the child of dandelions.”

 

Sabine reeled as if struck by lightning. How dare Zena accuse her of being a weed?

Though Sabine is furious at Zena’s rejection, she slowly starts to see discrepancies in how Indians treat the native Ugandans. For example, she realizes that though she’s known her driver Mzee (a term of respect for all elderly gentlemen) all her life, she has never touched him before or known anything about him.

She and her family were no different from the standoffish mzungus and other Indians who distanced themselves from their African employees. Mzee had worked for Bapa at his farm for many years before he moved to the city to get an easier job and became their driver. …

 

“Mzee, what’s your name?” She looked up at him. His eyes lifted in surprise, and she saw that they were gentle and crinkled like Bapa’s.

“Mzee Kabugo,” he said shyly, returning his gaze downward.

In Sabine, author Nanji—who grew up in Mombasa and often visited her family in Uganda throughout her childhood—sensitively creates a gutsy and emotional character, a young woman who thinks and acts quickly to protect her family and loved ones. Though the scenario where Sabine’s hires two private detectives to solve the case of her missing uncle seems far fetched—would a young girl in 1972 Uganda really be able to work with two James Bond types?—it does add humor to the narrative and is easily forgiven in light of the novel’s nuanced examination of the complex dynamics of race and class as they manifested themselves in 1970s Uganda.

To date, there are very few fictional works that examine the personal, social, and political turmoil caused within the Indian community by Amin’s orders, so right off the bat, Child of Dandelions is a welcome work. There are 150,000 Ugandan exodees living in North America today, and their history deserves a telling. That it is gracefully executed and emotionally evocative makes it a book worth owning and sharing both with adults and young adults alike.

Pair Child of Dandelions with the following young adult novels for an engaging unit which examines genocide and/or human rights in the context of friendship and coming of age:

• Friedrich, by Hans Peter Richter, the story of the friendship between a Jewish and German boy during the Holocaust.
• Home of the Brave, by Katherine Applegate (a novel in verse) about a Sudanese refugee in Minnesota.