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We Meant Well: A Novel
Longlisted for the 2023 Scotiabank Giller Prize September 2023 selection for Great Group Reads by the Women’s National Book Association “Unsparing and compassionate … A novel of harrowing eloquence, We Meant Well explores compelling cultural contrasts and the ambiguity of charitable outreach.” ― Foreword Reviews A propulsive debut that grapples with timely questions about what it means to be charitable, who deserves what, and who gets the power to decide It’s the middle of the night in Los Angeles when Maya, a married mother of one, receives the phone call. Her colleague Marc has been accused of assaulting a local girl in Likanni, where they operate a charitable orphanage. Can she get on the next flight? When Maya arrives, protesters surround the compound. The accuser is Lele, her former protégé and the chief’s daughter. There are no witnesses, no proof of any crime. What happened that night? And what will happen to the orphanage if this becomes a scandal? Caught between Marc and Lele, the charity and the villagers, her marriage and new temptations, and between worlds, Maya lives the secret contradictions of the aid there to serve the most deprived, but ultimately there to govern. As Maya feels the pleasures, freedoms, and humanity of life in Likanni, she recognizes that her American life is inextricably woven into this violent reality ― and that dishonesty in one place affects the realities in another.
272 pages, Paperback
First published April 11, 2023
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July 9, 2023
A novel that tackles important issues though also felt really frustrating to read at the same time. To start off with the positive, I think Erum Shazia Hasan addresses important issues related to colonialism, white saviorism, and people’s complicity in those forces even when they are not white. Our protagonist Maya, is a south Asian woman whose colleague, Marc, a white man, is accused of sexually assaulting a local girl in the fictional village of Likanni in an unnamed African nation. I think We Meant Well is a unique story in that it covers the issue of foreign “aid,” and I do think Maya grew in the right direction by the end of the book.
However, I have to say Maya was such a frustrating character to read. She has so much unaddressed internalized racism and complicity in white supremacy, it’s painful to witness. For example, one way she copes with the trauma of witnessing brutal human suffering in Likanni is to marry a rich white man in the United States who literally is a gross “liberal” type who thinks philanthropy is the answer to addressing global poverty, YIKES??? Maya does grow by the end of the novel, thank goodness, though idk, I know I’ve never done foreign aid work so I can’t speak to that experience, but it felt really annoying that basically Maya is in her late 30’s and she’s just now realizing that maybe siding with whiteness and viewing people living in Africa through a paternalistic lens isn’t the right way to go?? Like why didn’t she address any of these issues before she decided to go work in Africa?? I think people who are more sympathetic to her struggle in this area may enjoy this book more because I was just waiting for Maya to improve. Unlike her, the people in this fictional village don’t have the privilege to waddle in self-guilt and self-flagellation.
Anyway, I thought this book was okay overall and while I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it, if you’re really into the synopsis maybe check it out. I do think the novels Caucasia by Danzy Senna and The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett do a better job of showing characters struggling and reckoning with their proximity to whiteness. I know these novels differ from We Meant Well in that they focus on Black Americans as opposed to a South Asian woman doing aid work in Africa, though I thought I’d include them so that people may have books to turn to if they’re searching for something to read.
However, I have to say Maya was such a frustrating character to read. She has so much unaddressed internalized racism and complicity in white supremacy, it’s painful to witness. For example, one way she copes with the trauma of witnessing brutal human suffering in Likanni is to marry a rich white man in the United States who literally is a gross “liberal” type who thinks philanthropy is the answer to addressing global poverty, YIKES??? Maya does grow by the end of the novel, thank goodness, though idk, I know I’ve never done foreign aid work so I can’t speak to that experience, but it felt really annoying that basically Maya is in her late 30’s and she’s just now realizing that maybe siding with whiteness and viewing people living in Africa through a paternalistic lens isn’t the right way to go?? Like why didn’t she address any of these issues before she decided to go work in Africa?? I think people who are more sympathetic to her struggle in this area may enjoy this book more because I was just waiting for Maya to improve. Unlike her, the people in this fictional village don’t have the privilege to waddle in self-guilt and self-flagellation.
Anyway, I thought this book was okay overall and while I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it, if you’re really into the synopsis maybe check it out. I do think the novels Caucasia by Danzy Senna and The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett do a better job of showing characters struggling and reckoning with their proximity to whiteness. I know these novels differ from We Meant Well in that they focus on Black Americans as opposed to a South Asian woman doing aid work in Africa, though I thought I’d include them so that people may have books to turn to if they’re searching for something to read.
April 24, 2023
Hasan’s début novel begins with promise and intelligence. It focuses on Maya, a woman who works for a Geneva-based NGO dedicated to running orphanages in Africa. As the book opens, she has been directed to travel to the (fictional) village of Likanni in an unnamed African nation to deal with a scandal. Marc, a colleague with whom Maya worked for a decade, has been accused of the rape of twenty-year-old Lele, a local girl who assisted with administrative duties at the Likanni site. Maya was the one who allowed the child to shadow her on the job some years before. Now, in response to Lele’s sexual assault, violence looms. Enraged locals have gathered for days outside the charity’s office in the repurposed dormitory of a former Catholic monastery. All staff but Marc and his supervisor, Chantal, both French nationals, have been sent home.
Since Maya forged such strong bonds with the people of Likanni during her years there, she’s considered the ideal official to calm the volatile situation. Ostensibly, her job is to investigate the allegations and report to headquarters, but the real expectation is that the charity’s brand be preserved so that valuable donors aren’t lost. As far as Maya is concerned, this is her last undertaking on behalf of the NGO. She’s had enough of the work and is convinced that the West is largely responsible for the very problems it purports to be addressing. She wearily observes that if humanitarian workers are in the field long enough, they can no longer feel at home anywhere. The superficiality and materialism of the West are intolerable, while remaining in war-torn, famine-prone regions becomes untenable. Once idealistic do-gooders have witnessed so much cruelty, violence, and suffering they become blank, incapable of feeling much of anything at all.
Since Maya took on an administrative role in the organization five years earlier, she has typically travelled to Africa only a couple of times a year to perform oversight. Even that has become too much. She now has a young daughter, and her marriage to an older, wealthy, high-powered lawyer is on the rocks. She’s well aware that her husband is having an affair and that when she’s away he brings his paramour to their high-end L.A. home. Another interesting detail about the main character is that she herself was an orphan, adopted from Bangladesh by solidly middle-class, white Californian parents. She has no connection with or feeling for the South Asian country she was born in, no familiarity with its culture, but is frequently asked by Americans where she’s from and notices that people are puzzled by her lack of an accent. In Africa, though, Maya is never taken for anything other than a “First Worlder.”
I was initially very impressed by this novel. It’s full of sharp—and sometimes scathing—insights and observations about humanitarian work and those who are drawn to it. The early part of Maya’s investigation into the Likanni scandal is handled well and convincingly by the author. Maya comes across as ethical, principled, and determined to handle the matter fairly. She knows both parties, Marc and Lele, and in fact credits the former with having saved her life during a traumatic period in Likanni. However, the novel takes a real nosedive just past the halfway point. What seemed to be a serious and realistic work of fiction addressing a compelling and topical matter turns into a melodramatic thriller, largely because of the author’s clumsy introduction of an unconvincing local character. Credibility is sacrificed to a twisty plot. Maya goes rogue, behaving like an unhinged teenager.
My overall impression is that Hasan wasn’t clear about the sort of book she wanted to write. Hopefully, with her next effort she’ll know.
Since Maya forged such strong bonds with the people of Likanni during her years there, she’s considered the ideal official to calm the volatile situation. Ostensibly, her job is to investigate the allegations and report to headquarters, but the real expectation is that the charity’s brand be preserved so that valuable donors aren’t lost. As far as Maya is concerned, this is her last undertaking on behalf of the NGO. She’s had enough of the work and is convinced that the West is largely responsible for the very problems it purports to be addressing. She wearily observes that if humanitarian workers are in the field long enough, they can no longer feel at home anywhere. The superficiality and materialism of the West are intolerable, while remaining in war-torn, famine-prone regions becomes untenable. Once idealistic do-gooders have witnessed so much cruelty, violence, and suffering they become blank, incapable of feeling much of anything at all.
Since Maya took on an administrative role in the organization five years earlier, she has typically travelled to Africa only a couple of times a year to perform oversight. Even that has become too much. She now has a young daughter, and her marriage to an older, wealthy, high-powered lawyer is on the rocks. She’s well aware that her husband is having an affair and that when she’s away he brings his paramour to their high-end L.A. home. Another interesting detail about the main character is that she herself was an orphan, adopted from Bangladesh by solidly middle-class, white Californian parents. She has no connection with or feeling for the South Asian country she was born in, no familiarity with its culture, but is frequently asked by Americans where she’s from and notices that people are puzzled by her lack of an accent. In Africa, though, Maya is never taken for anything other than a “First Worlder.”
I was initially very impressed by this novel. It’s full of sharp—and sometimes scathing—insights and observations about humanitarian work and those who are drawn to it. The early part of Maya’s investigation into the Likanni scandal is handled well and convincingly by the author. Maya comes across as ethical, principled, and determined to handle the matter fairly. She knows both parties, Marc and Lele, and in fact credits the former with having saved her life during a traumatic period in Likanni. However, the novel takes a real nosedive just past the halfway point. What seemed to be a serious and realistic work of fiction addressing a compelling and topical matter turns into a melodramatic thriller, largely because of the author’s clumsy introduction of an unconvincing local character. Credibility is sacrificed to a twisty plot. Maya goes rogue, behaving like an unhinged teenager.
My overall impression is that Hasan wasn’t clear about the sort of book she wanted to write. Hopefully, with her next effort she’ll know.
October 12, 2023
We Meant Well was a superbly-written debut that kept me on the edge of my seat much of the time. It also made me occasionally puzzled, thanks to the main character, Maya, who was quite an enigma!
She’d recently taken a supervisory role with the NGO she’d worked with for many years. At work, she was a very capable, well-respected professional who’d been given the name “Bigabosse” by the village locals. Yet her personal life was a mess! Her husband had been having an affair for years, yet she ignored the signs that were right there in front of her! Her marriage was hanging by a thread and she’d never really connected with her 4-year-old.
Within the NGO, her reputation was such that she was the one they called when they found themselves in a crisis. And she managed the crisis well. Until she didn’t. By that, I mean she’d frequently say or do something so uncharacteristic as to leave me aghast! One minute she’d be thinking about the importance of managing the relationship with the community—being careful to consider the people and their culture—and the next She kept stepping outside her character and it was almost dizzying! She’d be discussing the details of the investigation with her subordinates, So…🤔!
Despite that, I found myself really engrossed in the story, and I would have given it 5 stars… except that it left so many questions unanswered—some of them very important! To avoid spoilers, I’ll say nothing more, but those who read the book will know exactly what I mean. I was astounded at how abruptly the book ended! Readers were just left hanging! So much was left up in the air that I was certain the author must have a sequel in the works! Of course, that’s doubtful.😕 All in all, though, it was a very captivating story with an unsatisfying end.
4 “Please-don’t-leave-us-guessing” stars.⭐⭐⭐⭐
She’d recently taken a supervisory role with the NGO she’d worked with for many years. At work, she was a very capable, well-respected professional who’d been given the name “Bigabosse” by the village locals. Yet her personal life was a mess! Her husband had been having an affair for years, yet she ignored the signs that were right there in front of her! Her marriage was hanging by a thread and she’d never really connected with her 4-year-old.
Within the NGO, her reputation was such that she was the one they called when they found themselves in a crisis. And she managed the crisis well. Until she didn’t. By that, I mean she’d frequently say or do something so uncharacteristic as to leave me aghast! One minute she’d be thinking about the importance of managing the relationship with the community—being careful to consider the people and their culture—and the next She kept stepping outside her character and it was almost dizzying! She’d be discussing the details of the investigation with her subordinates, So…🤔!
Despite that, I found myself really engrossed in the story, and I would have given it 5 stars… except that it left so many questions unanswered—some of them very important! To avoid spoilers, I’ll say nothing more, but those who read the book will know exactly what I mean. I was astounded at how abruptly the book ended! Readers were just left hanging! So much was left up in the air that I was certain the author must have a sequel in the works! Of course, that’s doubtful.😕 All in all, though, it was a very captivating story with an unsatisfying end.
4 “Please-don’t-leave-us-guessing” stars.⭐⭐⭐⭐
December 5, 2022
I absolutely devoured this book, like a car crash of cringe that I simply couldn't stop looking at. Hasan has managed to capture the tension of being a foreigner in a developing country, ostensibly to "help," but quickly realizing that the systems in place mean you will never be able to make any sort of actual change.
I was overwhelmed with the different perspectives Hasan was able to incorporate, probably because she has done this work for years and has seen these people in real life. The man on a mission who becomes embittered towards locals, the French woman who hugs children but never goes to visit her colleague in the village after she was raped, the American aid worker who is Brown and therefore enjoys the privilege she finds in a Black culture as an American aid worker, the couple who become citizens of the developing country and truly try to make small changes that minimize harm and encourage others to do the same.
The thing that struck me the most is how the protagonist, Maya, walks the line between reliable and unreliable. I believed her, I trusted her perspective, and felt she was usually trying to do the right thing, but never once did Maya consider helping people in her own community in the U.S., never once had Maya considered that local doctors might be just as capable, if not more, than "the [foreign] good ones," never once had Maya considered minimizing harm at home, feeling she would be called a "social justice warrior."
I have never been an aid worker but I am an avid traveler, and I really felt the tensions at play in this book as realistic depictions. The world is broken, colonialism remains but in different packages and with more friendly advertising, and none of us know how to fix it. All we can do is try to see each other as fellow humans, work with those in our community and not just those worlds away, and try our very best to make daily choices that don't contribute to suffering or exploitation. Easy, right? Maybe not, but Hasan made all of this tension feel natural, and I'll be thinking about this one for a very long time.
I was overwhelmed with the different perspectives Hasan was able to incorporate, probably because she has done this work for years and has seen these people in real life. The man on a mission who becomes embittered towards locals, the French woman who hugs children but never goes to visit her colleague in the village after she was raped, the American aid worker who is Brown and therefore enjoys the privilege she finds in a Black culture as an American aid worker, the couple who become citizens of the developing country and truly try to make small changes that minimize harm and encourage others to do the same.
The thing that struck me the most is how the protagonist, Maya, walks the line between reliable and unreliable. I believed her, I trusted her perspective, and felt she was usually trying to do the right thing, but never once did Maya consider helping people in her own community in the U.S., never once had Maya considered that local doctors might be just as capable, if not more, than "the [foreign] good ones," never once had Maya considered minimizing harm at home, feeling she would be called a "social justice warrior."
I have never been an aid worker but I am an avid traveler, and I really felt the tensions at play in this book as realistic depictions. The world is broken, colonialism remains but in different packages and with more friendly advertising, and none of us know how to fix it. All we can do is try to see each other as fellow humans, work with those in our community and not just those worlds away, and try our very best to make daily choices that don't contribute to suffering or exploitation. Easy, right? Maybe not, but Hasan made all of this tension feel natural, and I'll be thinking about this one for a very long time.
July 18, 2023
3.5*
This was such an interesting book and I think it’s difficult to rate. We Meant Well it’s a messy read. It’s messy and uncomfortable because it feels very real and we get little answers - but do we want them?
The book follows an NGO worker with a failing marriage, Maya. Her private life is dull and sinking and her NGO is in trouble, her colleague Marc has been accused of sexually assaulting a local girl in Likanni, Lele, where they operate a charitable orphanage. Now she’s sent back to deal with it - not for the good of the community and certainly not for the good of Lele, but to deal with it so the NGO survives and they don’t lose any donors.
It’s a story about social justice, white saviors, colonialism, and how the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Humanitarian aid is rarely altruistic and people who work in this line of work, in certain countries, get used to a certain types of contexts - hunger, disease, poverty. This book really chewed down on how being in this line of work breaks you once, but after a few years, a starving kid is as interesting as a boiled potato. Maya wasn’t necessarily like this, but it was interesting to see how she wouldn’t care about the starving kids unless she knew them, and I guess that’s human and understandable (and probably realistic, I can’t imagine being in her shoes), but it was frustrating to read.
Reaching the end of the book was just infuriating and frustrating. Erum Shazia Hasan deals with the topic in a brilliant matter, she points fingers at the NGO for how they deal with this and she questions the intentions of the alleged victim to lie about what has happened. It raises questions about who has power and control over things, and how those who are ‘helped’ can also misuse what they are given. Again, I think this book makes a very good job of explaining that humanitarian aid and this type of NGO are good and do a lot of good, but altruism is just a word, not something that can be used to make (or get) money.
Thank you NetGalley and ECW Press for the ARC. I got the copy for free, this didn't impact my review.
This was such an interesting book and I think it’s difficult to rate. We Meant Well it’s a messy read. It’s messy and uncomfortable because it feels very real and we get little answers - but do we want them?
The book follows an NGO worker with a failing marriage, Maya. Her private life is dull and sinking and her NGO is in trouble, her colleague Marc has been accused of sexually assaulting a local girl in Likanni, Lele, where they operate a charitable orphanage. Now she’s sent back to deal with it - not for the good of the community and certainly not for the good of Lele, but to deal with it so the NGO survives and they don’t lose any donors.
It’s a story about social justice, white saviors, colonialism, and how the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Humanitarian aid is rarely altruistic and people who work in this line of work, in certain countries, get used to a certain types of contexts - hunger, disease, poverty. This book really chewed down on how being in this line of work breaks you once, but after a few years, a starving kid is as interesting as a boiled potato. Maya wasn’t necessarily like this, but it was interesting to see how she wouldn’t care about the starving kids unless she knew them, and I guess that’s human and understandable (and probably realistic, I can’t imagine being in her shoes), but it was frustrating to read.
Reaching the end of the book was just infuriating and frustrating. Erum Shazia Hasan deals with the topic in a brilliant matter, she points fingers at the NGO for how they deal with this and she questions the intentions of the alleged victim to lie about what has happened. It raises questions about who has power and control over things, and how those who are ‘helped’ can also misuse what they are given. Again, I think this book makes a very good job of explaining that humanitarian aid and this type of NGO are good and do a lot of good, but altruism is just a word, not something that can be used to make (or get) money.
Thank you NetGalley and ECW Press for the ARC. I got the copy for free, this didn't impact my review.
September 21, 2023
Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, x a million. WOW. This book packs such a punch, and has so many layers to it. I probably shouldn’t be writing this without having processed everything I read, but here we are.
This book questions a lot of intentions behind actions, expertly has you push and pull between right VS wrong, and that dangerous grey colour in between. Who do we believe? Why should we believe them? HOW can we believe them, when other past actions in similar situations have proven to be something else? WILD. This book will definitely leave a lot to digest afterwards. These characters are all unlikeable in their own way, but they also feel so real.
This is an important book that everyone must read.
This book questions a lot of intentions behind actions, expertly has you push and pull between right VS wrong, and that dangerous grey colour in between. Who do we believe? Why should we believe them? HOW can we believe them, when other past actions in similar situations have proven to be something else? WILD. This book will definitely leave a lot to digest afterwards. These characters are all unlikeable in their own way, but they also feel so real.
This is an important book that everyone must read.
December 15, 2022
We’re all Maya at some point. Unreliable narrator, because all humans are, and how she shook her confidence and her ability to actually help people.
November 15, 2023
Maya has been called back from Los Angeles to the (fictional) African country of Likanni by the (unnamed) charitable non-governmental organization (NGO) she has worked with in the past, which runs an orphanage. One of her former colleagues has been accused of sexual assault. Maya has always had a good relationship with the local community and is asked to defuse and address the situation, while keeping the Swiss parent organization informed.
The story is written in first person present tense from Maya’s perspective. We spend a lot of time in her head, as she obtains information about the assault and deals with marital issues back home. The narrative tackles important topics about foreign aid work, such as paternalism, outside companies’ interventions, and the legacy of colonialism, and the reader views the issues through the characters’ behaviors and the reactions of the local community.
This is an unusual topic for a novel, and the first three-quarters are riveting. Unfortunately, the ending is extremely disappointing. Maya starts behaving in unethical and seemingly random ways, which I did not expect from her characterization up to that point. For me, these arbitrary actions undermine the messages in the rest of the book. I initially thought this was going to be at least a four-star read, but by the end I could barely give it three.
The story is written in first person present tense from Maya’s perspective. We spend a lot of time in her head, as she obtains information about the assault and deals with marital issues back home. The narrative tackles important topics about foreign aid work, such as paternalism, outside companies’ interventions, and the legacy of colonialism, and the reader views the issues through the characters’ behaviors and the reactions of the local community.
This is an unusual topic for a novel, and the first three-quarters are riveting. Unfortunately, the ending is extremely disappointing. Maya starts behaving in unethical and seemingly random ways, which I did not expect from her characterization up to that point. For me, these arbitrary actions undermine the messages in the rest of the book. I initially thought this was going to be at least a four-star read, but by the end I could barely give it three.
July 28, 2023
For a book about the complexities of being an aid worker, there was a lot more talk about her cheating husband and little development on her and her organization’s efforts. The ending was very rushed and gave little resolution. I had really high hopes but it was disappointing :(
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
August 1, 2023
Amazing debut, I was sucked into this book. It builds up well but then ends VERY abruptly, which was jarring and disappointing, but didn’t ruin it. A couple of Maya’s choices later in the book felt surprisingly reckless, but I guess that is true to life- that smart, practical people do things you wouldn’t expect when their personal lives are crumbling or when they are consumed by stress. The result at the end really makes the title resonate.
I love when fiction exposes me to worlds and lifestyles I am unfamiliar with, particularly when authors use their personal experiences to inform the story. This touched so many interesting topics- the cognitive dissonance of well intentioned first worlders involved in NGOs trying to help the suffering of the third world returning to the frivolity and banality of the their real lives, the sense of complicity in a system that perpetuates the status quo rather than fostering real progress, the frustrating dehumanizing limitations of bureaucracy, white saviorism, virtue signaling, how the echoes of colonialism continue to wreak havoc, and so much more but I can’t begin to capture it.
“The need for these charities would disappear if people simply paid their taxes.” Maya’s commentary on the futility of a high end charitable fashion event, the cost of the event, the swag bags, and how all of that could have just been donated directly if they actually cared about the cause, reminded me of the the medical mission trip I went on in med school- a much more humble endeavor, but even then I became uncomfortable with the cost and general futility of it, how I knew a lot more good would have been accomplished if the money for our flights and accommodations had instead been donated directly to the local hospital, public health organizations, or charities. I had never done something that was supposedly for the sake of “doing good” that ultimately felt so self serving, and rather than feeling helpful I felt redundant and vaguely ashamed. That said, while it was not new to me personally, there is value to Americans (especially young people) seeing real poverty in other nations, to gain some perspective.
Overall I really enjoyed this book, and look forward to reading more from this author.
Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for the ARC.
I love when fiction exposes me to worlds and lifestyles I am unfamiliar with, particularly when authors use their personal experiences to inform the story. This touched so many interesting topics- the cognitive dissonance of well intentioned first worlders involved in NGOs trying to help the suffering of the third world returning to the frivolity and banality of the their real lives, the sense of complicity in a system that perpetuates the status quo rather than fostering real progress, the frustrating dehumanizing limitations of bureaucracy, white saviorism, virtue signaling, how the echoes of colonialism continue to wreak havoc, and so much more but I can’t begin to capture it.
“The need for these charities would disappear if people simply paid their taxes.” Maya’s commentary on the futility of a high end charitable fashion event, the cost of the event, the swag bags, and how all of that could have just been donated directly if they actually cared about the cause, reminded me of the the medical mission trip I went on in med school- a much more humble endeavor, but even then I became uncomfortable with the cost and general futility of it, how I knew a lot more good would have been accomplished if the money for our flights and accommodations had instead been donated directly to the local hospital, public health organizations, or charities. I had never done something that was supposedly for the sake of “doing good” that ultimately felt so self serving, and rather than feeling helpful I felt redundant and vaguely ashamed. That said, while it was not new to me personally, there is value to Americans (especially young people) seeing real poverty in other nations, to gain some perspective.
Overall I really enjoyed this book, and look forward to reading more from this author.
Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for the ARC.
December 31, 2022
Engaging, well written and well paced. I read this in two sittings. It's a thought-provoking, emotional story that digs deep into many questions surrounding western influence and involvement in other countries and cultures. Maya, the protagonist, is dispatched from LA to Likanni to investigate a rape allegation by the daughter of the local chief, who also happens to work for the charity that Maya represents. The allegation concerns another colleague, known and trusted by Maya, but Maya's own personal circumstances also muddy the waters.
Thank you to NetGalley and ECW Press for the chance to read an ARC. We Meant Well is published in the UK on 11 April 2023.
Thank you to NetGalley and ECW Press for the chance to read an ARC. We Meant Well is published in the UK on 11 April 2023.
January 3, 2025
Wow. What a thought-provoking, tense and important book that raises critical questions about the west’s involvement in the global south, and also plays with the very real and uncomfortable inner and external conflicts that exist in humanitarian and foreign aid work.
The ending was very abrupt and chaotic. And you’re left completely unsatisfied with the ending - which is so damn real, it’s uncomfortable. A messy ending that very much mirrors a very messy reality.
The ending was very abrupt and chaotic. And you’re left completely unsatisfied with the ending - which is so damn real, it’s uncomfortable. A messy ending that very much mirrors a very messy reality.
October 9, 2023
We Meant Well is quite the debut written with a propulsive energy that keeps things moving along and full of dialogue discussing some of the intricacies of relations to communities these organizations are mandated to help, yet get lost in their own colonial bureaucracy. This book has a bunch of topics to process including an intense look at NGOs, colonialism, interoffice relations and
victim and rape culture.
"I started this career wanting to heal the world of its ills. I've since learned that when you make a career out of helping the starved, you somehow become part of what is starving them."
"Wouldn't it be freeing to be so historically untethered, to not be defensive of the past? To accuse, even the ones we love."
"Everything here is part of everything elsewhere. We can close our eyes, switch the channel, get on a plane, but we are still part of it, making it happen in some way. There's no escaping it."
"You ask how you we get through things, this is how. We consider every single decision, every act. That way we know every footprint we leave is honest. And if it's not, we acknowledge and apologize. We try to fix it."
"I felt nauseous, wanting to scream that the need for this charity would disappear if these people simply paid their taxes."
"They have broken mores, young girls, injuring communities at their deepest, for it's the mothers and sisters who march these parts forward, who take people from day to night and to day again. It's the women who make poverty palpable, make it a game for their children to survive. They tell stories, yell and laugh, provide breastmilk, plan marriages, organize funerals, and cook, keeping the adrenaline gushing, the blood running in the young ones, so that they have something to live for. When the women break, entire strands of culture, tradition, and love wither."
"You know I think you're a gem. But you can't be impartial, it's impossible."
"The door closes behind me. It's like this place has a second life at night. Like the earth is breathing out, exhaling its sighs, its whimpers of pain, its aches from the broiling day. The crickets, the fireflies, a multitude of other forms of existence make their songs. I sit on the front steps and light my cigarette, relishing the sound of flame igniting paper. I don't even like smoking. I like sitting for a moment, inhaling, hearing paper burn. A pause, the cigarette, an hourglass."
"You have to live your politics, otherwise you are bullshit."
"We foreigners always get the seat. Is it because we're weaker or because years of subservience have trained the locals to put us on a pedestal, even when they are angry?"
victim and rape culture.
"I started this career wanting to heal the world of its ills. I've since learned that when you make a career out of helping the starved, you somehow become part of what is starving them."
"Wouldn't it be freeing to be so historically untethered, to not be defensive of the past? To accuse, even the ones we love."
"Everything here is part of everything elsewhere. We can close our eyes, switch the channel, get on a plane, but we are still part of it, making it happen in some way. There's no escaping it."
"You ask how you we get through things, this is how. We consider every single decision, every act. That way we know every footprint we leave is honest. And if it's not, we acknowledge and apologize. We try to fix it."
"I felt nauseous, wanting to scream that the need for this charity would disappear if these people simply paid their taxes."
"They have broken mores, young girls, injuring communities at their deepest, for it's the mothers and sisters who march these parts forward, who take people from day to night and to day again. It's the women who make poverty palpable, make it a game for their children to survive. They tell stories, yell and laugh, provide breastmilk, plan marriages, organize funerals, and cook, keeping the adrenaline gushing, the blood running in the young ones, so that they have something to live for. When the women break, entire strands of culture, tradition, and love wither."
"You know I think you're a gem. But you can't be impartial, it's impossible."
"The door closes behind me. It's like this place has a second life at night. Like the earth is breathing out, exhaling its sighs, its whimpers of pain, its aches from the broiling day. The crickets, the fireflies, a multitude of other forms of existence make their songs. I sit on the front steps and light my cigarette, relishing the sound of flame igniting paper. I don't even like smoking. I like sitting for a moment, inhaling, hearing paper burn. A pause, the cigarette, an hourglass."
"You have to live your politics, otherwise you are bullshit."
"We foreigners always get the seat. Is it because we're weaker or because years of subservience have trained the locals to put us on a pedestal, even when they are angry?"
April 10, 2023
How nice it must be to believe so deeply in your mistakes.
Maya worked in international development for more than a decade, running an orphanage that serves the fictional African village of Likanni. For the past few years, she's retreated from the field, getting married and having a child of her own, overseeing operations from the United States. But when her colleague Marc is accused of raping Lele, a village girl who's employed by Maya's company, Maya's ties to the locals, who affectionately call her 'Bigabosse', mean that she has to fly over to handle the situation. Unsurprisingly, Maya encounters a knotted ethical tangle. Did Marc rape Lele? If the accusation becomes public, will bringing justice to this community mean destroying the work they are doing with orphans and destitute children? And what kind of justice does Lele herself want?
We Meant Well, Erum Shazia Hasan's debut novel, is a compulsive read. Maya always stands on uneasy ground, feeling that she belongs nowhere - as a brown woman who was adopted from Bangladesh by an American family and is seen as white by the Likanni villagers, as a privileged Westerner who feels disconnected from her fellow aid workers. Hasan digs into the contradictions that Maya and her colleagues live, suggesting that even being able to ponder these kinds of questions is a luxury. As Maya observes, living in a war zone means that people 'constantly readjust their compasses to the lesser evils of the day... some situations demanding more bad of them than good, for survival. Then they return to themselves, their goodness.' In this kind of situation, personal moral purity is not possible, just as it is impossible for the aid workers, even though they pretend that it is.
I wished, though, that the secondary cast had been presented with greater complexity. Other than Maya herself, the characters in this novel tend to be positioned to espouse a particular world-view; long discussions leave us in no doubt of where they stand. In particular, I felt that making Maya's husband Steven quite so obtuse and wealthy was a mistake; we can all condemn Steven easily, and this means the reader feels rather too comfortable. These choices also make We Meant Well pretty predictable, except for its ending: I guessed all the rest of the plot developments long before. The ending, too, is left a little too loose. There were some plot threads that absolutely did not need to be tied up but there were others that did: in particular, I felt Lele was reduced to a plot device at the end, and deserved more of a conclusion to her story. Finally, while I understand why Hasan doesn't use a real village I would like to hear her rationale for not naming the country; my worry is that this plays into the stereotype of reducing Africa to a miserable mass. But perhaps this is exactly the mindset she's trying to convey?
We Meant Well reminded me strongly of Nikita Lalwani's The Village, which also focuses on a brown Western woman working with white colleagues in an impoverished rural village, although in India, rather than Africa; but I think Lalwani's book is more subtle, vivid and challenging. Nevertheless, this is a compelling debut.
I received a free proof copy of this novel from the publisher for review.
Maya worked in international development for more than a decade, running an orphanage that serves the fictional African village of Likanni. For the past few years, she's retreated from the field, getting married and having a child of her own, overseeing operations from the United States. But when her colleague Marc is accused of raping Lele, a village girl who's employed by Maya's company, Maya's ties to the locals, who affectionately call her 'Bigabosse', mean that she has to fly over to handle the situation. Unsurprisingly, Maya encounters a knotted ethical tangle. Did Marc rape Lele? If the accusation becomes public, will bringing justice to this community mean destroying the work they are doing with orphans and destitute children? And what kind of justice does Lele herself want?
We Meant Well, Erum Shazia Hasan's debut novel, is a compulsive read. Maya always stands on uneasy ground, feeling that she belongs nowhere - as a brown woman who was adopted from Bangladesh by an American family and is seen as white by the Likanni villagers, as a privileged Westerner who feels disconnected from her fellow aid workers. Hasan digs into the contradictions that Maya and her colleagues live, suggesting that even being able to ponder these kinds of questions is a luxury. As Maya observes, living in a war zone means that people 'constantly readjust their compasses to the lesser evils of the day... some situations demanding more bad of them than good, for survival. Then they return to themselves, their goodness.' In this kind of situation, personal moral purity is not possible, just as it is impossible for the aid workers, even though they pretend that it is.
I wished, though, that the secondary cast had been presented with greater complexity. Other than Maya herself, the characters in this novel tend to be positioned to espouse a particular world-view; long discussions leave us in no doubt of where they stand. In particular, I felt that making Maya's husband Steven quite so obtuse and wealthy was a mistake; we can all condemn Steven easily, and this means the reader feels rather too comfortable. These choices also make We Meant Well pretty predictable, except for its ending: I guessed all the rest of the plot developments long before. The ending, too, is left a little too loose. There were some plot threads that absolutely did not need to be tied up but there were others that did: in particular, I felt Lele was reduced to a plot device at the end, and deserved more of a conclusion to her story. Finally, while I understand why Hasan doesn't use a real village I would like to hear her rationale for not naming the country; my worry is that this plays into the stereotype of reducing Africa to a miserable mass. But perhaps this is exactly the mindset she's trying to convey?
We Meant Well reminded me strongly of Nikita Lalwani's The Village, which also focuses on a brown Western woman working with white colleagues in an impoverished rural village, although in India, rather than Africa; but I think Lalwani's book is more subtle, vivid and challenging. Nevertheless, this is a compelling debut.
I received a free proof copy of this novel from the publisher for review.
July 11, 2023
I received this book from the publisher, ECW press, in exchange for a fair review, and let me tell you, this book is powerful and poignant and unputdownable.
A harrowing and immersive novel about culture and harm, We Meant Well is a forthright examination of not only the aftermath of colonialism but what it means to try and help when help is not wanted.
There are mentions of sexualized violence in this novel, but, though a subject I try to avoid, in this context it’s handled in a way that is respectful to survivors. While it is part of the “plot” it’s not included for shock value purposes or to characterize a character. It’s something that, unfortunately, does happen in the world, and, thus, is an important topic that was handled in a way that was not intended to be titillating like those true crime stories.
This, also, is not a novel you pick up for a light read. I knew what I was getting into, and while distressing, the novel isn’t disturbing (in the sense of graphic). If you are interested in it but wary of the content - while I found it sad and frustrating, I wasn’t triggered by it. If that helps.
The most interesting thing about the novel is how it handles the black vs white race issue - as that is where a lot of the issues in the novel stem from - by making the main character of Bangladesh descent who was adopted as a child into the USA by white parents. This way, she is, in a sense, removed from colonialist history of the fictional (once French-occupied) country of Likanni. This allows her to exist as almost a bridge between the two peoples but also stand apart.
In the same way, she is also standing between two worlds. She loves her work but also yearns for her “normal” life back in the US. The story is as much about her life (working as an aid worker in her twenties, wanting to settle down and then settling for a cheating rich man, and then wanting to get back to the aid work, but then, when she’s there, exhausted (emotionally) by it). She doesn’t feel like she fits anywhere, and has doubts and fears like anyone. In this sense, she feels very real. She makes mistakes, feels awkward, and can’t stop dwelling, but she also is forthright, extremely competent at her job, and yearns to help.
On top of the main storyline - a young girl who worked for the aid charity was sexually assaulted and claims it was a man whom Maya worked with for years; the story being did he do it? - there are also tangents about corporations displacing villages for mining, what life is like for travelling aid workers, especially women, and the unfixable concept of how to support colonized peoples without impressing other, in this case, Western values or ideals on how they should live. It also calls out the difference between travel to “safe” places versus the areas where people actually live.
I very much enjoyed the prose and writing style of the novel. It’s both very direct and descriptive while wandering into backstories and inner thoughts. It’s not stream-of-consciousness, but it has some elements of that in how the story is rooted in memories and introspection as much as what was happening in the moment and dialogue. At times elegiac and at times to the point, it’s a mesmerizing story that doesn’t require a poli-sci degree to understand.
If you want a novel that addresses doubt, saviorism, colonist repercussions, how the upper management of charities are often removed from the people they are trying to help, sorrow, and the complexity of trying to help but not knowing how, you should really check this novel out. It’s fantastic.
A harrowing and immersive novel about culture and harm, We Meant Well is a forthright examination of not only the aftermath of colonialism but what it means to try and help when help is not wanted.
There are mentions of sexualized violence in this novel, but, though a subject I try to avoid, in this context it’s handled in a way that is respectful to survivors. While it is part of the “plot” it’s not included for shock value purposes or to characterize a character. It’s something that, unfortunately, does happen in the world, and, thus, is an important topic that was handled in a way that was not intended to be titillating like those true crime stories.
This, also, is not a novel you pick up for a light read. I knew what I was getting into, and while distressing, the novel isn’t disturbing (in the sense of graphic). If you are interested in it but wary of the content - while I found it sad and frustrating, I wasn’t triggered by it. If that helps.
The most interesting thing about the novel is how it handles the black vs white race issue - as that is where a lot of the issues in the novel stem from - by making the main character of Bangladesh descent who was adopted as a child into the USA by white parents. This way, she is, in a sense, removed from colonialist history of the fictional (once French-occupied) country of Likanni. This allows her to exist as almost a bridge between the two peoples but also stand apart.
In the same way, she is also standing between two worlds. She loves her work but also yearns for her “normal” life back in the US. The story is as much about her life (working as an aid worker in her twenties, wanting to settle down and then settling for a cheating rich man, and then wanting to get back to the aid work, but then, when she’s there, exhausted (emotionally) by it). She doesn’t feel like she fits anywhere, and has doubts and fears like anyone. In this sense, she feels very real. She makes mistakes, feels awkward, and can’t stop dwelling, but she also is forthright, extremely competent at her job, and yearns to help.
On top of the main storyline - a young girl who worked for the aid charity was sexually assaulted and claims it was a man whom Maya worked with for years; the story being did he do it? - there are also tangents about corporations displacing villages for mining, what life is like for travelling aid workers, especially women, and the unfixable concept of how to support colonized peoples without impressing other, in this case, Western values or ideals on how they should live. It also calls out the difference between travel to “safe” places versus the areas where people actually live.
I very much enjoyed the prose and writing style of the novel. It’s both very direct and descriptive while wandering into backstories and inner thoughts. It’s not stream-of-consciousness, but it has some elements of that in how the story is rooted in memories and introspection as much as what was happening in the moment and dialogue. At times elegiac and at times to the point, it’s a mesmerizing story that doesn’t require a poli-sci degree to understand.
If you want a novel that addresses doubt, saviorism, colonist repercussions, how the upper management of charities are often removed from the people they are trying to help, sorrow, and the complexity of trying to help but not knowing how, you should really check this novel out. It’s fantastic.
February 23, 2023
This book tackles heavy topics related to humanitarian work and the excess in the first world. The story was compelling and I enjoyed the descriptive language. The ending felt unfinished. I understand that it was meant to be an open ending, but it felt too sudden.
April 6, 2023
Erum Shazia Hasan is a Canadian author living in Toronto, and this is her debut novel. She draws on her experience working in the international non-profit sector. We Meant Well is a raw and honest look, from a Western lens, at the moral quandaries that this type of work entails. US-based senior administrator Maya is called to visit the rural village of Likanni in an unnamed war-torn country. One of their white male staff has been accused of a crime against a local Black woman, and Maya has to manage the fallout.
This well-written story is a minefield of ethical issues. Maya takes us on this journey away from our comfortable lives to an area of the world where people lack food and personal security, though are rich in community and family bonds. The novel explores issues of race and privilege. Power dynamics are exquisitely apparent, both overt and subtle.
Each decision a charity or an individual makes has intended and unintended consequences. Aid organizations have to decide who they can help and who they cannot. Corporate interests also play a role: A mining company starts an operation, and brings local jobs but displaces thousands, and horrific suffering results. With regard to Maya's current mission in Likanni, what she choses to do truly matters. If she seeks justice for the aggrieved woman and her family, the charitable work could be jeopardized, and the hundreds of orphan children they care for will be abandoned.
Hasan also delves into the contradictions within people. Aid workers want to help, yet want the comforts of the first world. Maya cares about the people she helps, but can opt out anytime by heading home. There’s an inability to feel at home in either world: always a rich foreigner in Likanni, and always guilty with each excess in the West.
Half way through, I was curious about where Hasan was going to take us. Can well off countries and people help without harming? It’s tempting to throw one’s hands up in despair. I don’t think that’s Hasan’s message. Rather, help is needed, but the current system is flawed and needs to be rethought. Any charitable work in developing nations will need to involve those being helped for it to be meaningful.
The ending seemed abrupt: There was no pat answer, no nicely penned concluding paragraph. Things continued to be a mess, which mirrors real life. A complex ending to a complex situation. It was an excellent novel to get me thinking about an issue I knew little about, and I think this would be an interesting book club selection.
Thanks to Netgalley and ECW Press for an ARC of this book in exchange for my unbiased review.
This well-written story is a minefield of ethical issues. Maya takes us on this journey away from our comfortable lives to an area of the world where people lack food and personal security, though are rich in community and family bonds. The novel explores issues of race and privilege. Power dynamics are exquisitely apparent, both overt and subtle.
Each decision a charity or an individual makes has intended and unintended consequences. Aid organizations have to decide who they can help and who they cannot. Corporate interests also play a role: A mining company starts an operation, and brings local jobs but displaces thousands, and horrific suffering results. With regard to Maya's current mission in Likanni, what she choses to do truly matters. If she seeks justice for the aggrieved woman and her family, the charitable work could be jeopardized, and the hundreds of orphan children they care for will be abandoned.
Hasan also delves into the contradictions within people. Aid workers want to help, yet want the comforts of the first world. Maya cares about the people she helps, but can opt out anytime by heading home. There’s an inability to feel at home in either world: always a rich foreigner in Likanni, and always guilty with each excess in the West.
Half way through, I was curious about where Hasan was going to take us. Can well off countries and people help without harming? It’s tempting to throw one’s hands up in despair. I don’t think that’s Hasan’s message. Rather, help is needed, but the current system is flawed and needs to be rethought. Any charitable work in developing nations will need to involve those being helped for it to be meaningful.
The ending seemed abrupt: There was no pat answer, no nicely penned concluding paragraph. Things continued to be a mess, which mirrors real life. A complex ending to a complex situation. It was an excellent novel to get me thinking about an issue I knew little about, and I think this would be an interesting book club selection.
Thanks to Netgalley and ECW Press for an ARC of this book in exchange for my unbiased review.
December 23, 2023
Everyone has basic, commonsense talents. Most are too lazy to make use of them. It takes effort to help others, and it is not enjoyable. p160
Too lazy, or too exhausted by the conditions in which the struggle for survival is set?
Burned out by over a decade as an aid-worker in a remote African village, tending to everyday emergencies, Maya was seduced by the safety and comfort of marriage to a rich white American man, with whom she has had a child. For years now, she only makes the trip back to the region a few times a year in a supervisory capacity. Lately, however she has realized how much more comfortable she is in her role as Bigaboss in her African life. As Maya, she is beginning to realize how much of her American life is an illusion.
Maybe we just have to accept that we don't belong anywhere and that's our place. p129
This time Maya has been summoned back to mediate a crises. Her first tasks are to restore calm and find out what really happened. Who and what to believe and who to betray by that choice?
In war zones, you cannot know. Freedom fighters can turn violent. Law enforcers can be despotic. Foreign democratic militaries can pillage. And people in the middle, they constantly readjust their compasses to the lesser evils of the day. p149
This a complex and gripping exploration of power dynamics in world aid organizations, calling into question not only the motivations of such efforts but also the impact on both helper and those needing help. To whom is loyalty required?
You have to live your politics, otherwise you are bullshit. p118
Too lazy, or too exhausted by the conditions in which the struggle for survival is set?
Burned out by over a decade as an aid-worker in a remote African village, tending to everyday emergencies, Maya was seduced by the safety and comfort of marriage to a rich white American man, with whom she has had a child. For years now, she only makes the trip back to the region a few times a year in a supervisory capacity. Lately, however she has realized how much more comfortable she is in her role as Bigaboss in her African life. As Maya, she is beginning to realize how much of her American life is an illusion.
Maybe we just have to accept that we don't belong anywhere and that's our place. p129
This time Maya has been summoned back to mediate a crises. Her first tasks are to restore calm and find out what really happened. Who and what to believe and who to betray by that choice?
In war zones, you cannot know. Freedom fighters can turn violent. Law enforcers can be despotic. Foreign democratic militaries can pillage. And people in the middle, they constantly readjust their compasses to the lesser evils of the day. p149
This a complex and gripping exploration of power dynamics in world aid organizations, calling into question not only the motivations of such efforts but also the impact on both helper and those needing help. To whom is loyalty required?
You have to live your politics, otherwise you are bullshit. p118
August 5, 2023
This was an interesting story. I was very intrigued as to how the premise would be handled, and I wasn't disappointed (until the end).
I've been listening to the audiobook in my car on the way to work every day/evening, which worked really well with this book. It's the type you can dip in and out of easily. The narrator was VERRRY good. I would definitely listen to something else read by her.
The sexual assault and everything around it wasn't focused on as much as I thought it would be, which is weird to say. The story was driven very much by the protagonist, Maya, who has a lot of unresolved issues (still unresolved by the end). She grows as time goes on, which I really liked to see because she was very much acting as a saviour type to begin with, with loads of internalised ideals and racism. There were loads of loose threads that I would've been interested to see tied up, but I suppose that never really happens in real life anyway.
The ending was very disappointing. It felt rushed (the characters were literally rushing), and it didn't feel satisfying. There wasn't any closure, so I felt as though it was all a bit anticlimactic. I cared about Lele and wanted to see what became of her, for example.
I received this audiobook on NetGalley in exchange for an honest review
I've been listening to the audiobook in my car on the way to work every day/evening, which worked really well with this book. It's the type you can dip in and out of easily. The narrator was VERRRY good. I would definitely listen to something else read by her.
The sexual assault and everything around it wasn't focused on as much as I thought it would be, which is weird to say. The story was driven very much by the protagonist, Maya, who has a lot of unresolved issues (still unresolved by the end). She grows as time goes on, which I really liked to see because she was very much acting as a saviour type to begin with, with loads of internalised ideals and racism. There were loads of loose threads that I would've been interested to see tied up, but I suppose that never really happens in real life anyway.
The ending was very disappointing. It felt rushed (the characters were literally rushing), and it didn't feel satisfying. There wasn't any closure, so I felt as though it was all a bit anticlimactic. I cared about Lele and wanted to see what became of her, for example.
I received this audiobook on NetGalley in exchange for an honest review
August 11, 2023
A very interesting story which was keep me wondering what’s the main character going to do and how she was going to handle the whole situation with her colleague, Mark. One of those books which keeps you on the toes but in the same time it opens your eyes about people which are volunteering in Africa.
Not last, I would like to thank NetGalley, the publisher and the author for an ARC in exchange of my honest review.
Not last, I would like to thank NetGalley, the publisher and the author for an ARC in exchange of my honest review.
January 29, 2024
a good book that merges personal narratives with larger themes about charity in underdeveloped countries, aid efforts, societal/cultural factors, race,"savior" complexes, etc.
4/5, would recommend
4/5, would recommend
September 16, 2023
This was a vicious takedown of the non -for-profit sector and white paternalism. At times a bit too expository but still a very compelling narrative.
September 13, 2022
*** Thank you to NetGalley and ECW Press for an early release copy of We Meant Well in exchange for an honest review of the book. ***
"I have since learned that when you make a career out of helping the starved, you somehow become what is starving them"
We Meant Well is narrated by, Maya, a woman who is part of a team that operates a charitable orphanage in Likanni. Maya works remotely, leading a cushy life in California, when she is called into Likanni in response to a rape allegation that has been made against a member of the charitable orphanage team. At the heart of the narrative, We Meant Well is grappling with the question of whether foreign aid groups do as much good as they do harm. Interestingly, the book's author, Erum Shazia Hasan, is a Sustainable Development Consultant for various UN agencies, giving the book a unique and valuable perspective.
As a reader, I've never read a book like this. The pacing was slow at first, with many of the storylines contributing to a tension that crescendos in the final chapters (in this way, it reminded me a bit of the television show, White Lotus). Conversations do a lot of work in the book, and the dialogue is often a back-and-forth that serves as a vehicle for a conversation about different controversial topics. These include the role of charities working in foreign countries, the morality and/or motivations of dedicating one’s life to aid work, women’s freedom in religious clothing customs (e.g. burqas, abayas), and staying "motivated" to continue aid work despite endless suffering.
Maya is not always a likable narrator, but in light of the title and the question that the story contends with, the way that she is writen works perfectly for the story. Maya slowly reveals her motives for becoming involved and they are markedly less than genuine: "I wanted those stories. I wanted to do something meaningful.”, she states, in response to another aid worker telling a story of a boy arriving at a clinic looking for medical attention for his sick brother. This narration straddled the boundary between a criticism disguised as a caricature of the type of workers and their mentality when conducting "foreign aid" work and Maya's own self-awareness at the irony she was often inhabiting. This tension is perhaps better illustrated by another quote later, when Maya says about the capital, "The capital had gyms, it had clubs, it had writers festivals, along with light genocide”. Throughout, Maya is keenly aware of her privilege as a "foreigner". However, her own self-awareness does not absolve her of her complicity; and she appears blind to how she is engaging in her very own "feel good myth" by participating in the work at all.
In sum, I thought We Meant Well was an interesting, at times (intentionally) cringey, and a unique conversation about many topics: what "aid" work really means, our responsibility (to ourselves, the communities we inhabit, our friends, our jobs, the truth), privilege, and above all else, the role that outside charities play when conducting work in developing countries. We Meant Well made me think more than most other books I've read recently and, largely through dialogue, engages a lot of really important conversations that deserve more breathing room in conversations about the grey area that charitable groups sometimes occupy.
"I have since learned that when you make a career out of helping the starved, you somehow become what is starving them"
We Meant Well is narrated by, Maya, a woman who is part of a team that operates a charitable orphanage in Likanni. Maya works remotely, leading a cushy life in California, when she is called into Likanni in response to a rape allegation that has been made against a member of the charitable orphanage team. At the heart of the narrative, We Meant Well is grappling with the question of whether foreign aid groups do as much good as they do harm. Interestingly, the book's author, Erum Shazia Hasan, is a Sustainable Development Consultant for various UN agencies, giving the book a unique and valuable perspective.
As a reader, I've never read a book like this. The pacing was slow at first, with many of the storylines contributing to a tension that crescendos in the final chapters (in this way, it reminded me a bit of the television show, White Lotus). Conversations do a lot of work in the book, and the dialogue is often a back-and-forth that serves as a vehicle for a conversation about different controversial topics. These include the role of charities working in foreign countries, the morality and/or motivations of dedicating one’s life to aid work, women’s freedom in religious clothing customs (e.g. burqas, abayas), and staying "motivated" to continue aid work despite endless suffering.
Maya is not always a likable narrator, but in light of the title and the question that the story contends with, the way that she is writen works perfectly for the story. Maya slowly reveals her motives for becoming involved and they are markedly less than genuine: "I wanted those stories. I wanted to do something meaningful.”, she states, in response to another aid worker telling a story of a boy arriving at a clinic looking for medical attention for his sick brother. This narration straddled the boundary between a criticism disguised as a caricature of the type of workers and their mentality when conducting "foreign aid" work and Maya's own self-awareness at the irony she was often inhabiting. This tension is perhaps better illustrated by another quote later, when Maya says about the capital, "The capital had gyms, it had clubs, it had writers festivals, along with light genocide”. Throughout, Maya is keenly aware of her privilege as a "foreigner". However, her own self-awareness does not absolve her of her complicity; and she appears blind to how she is engaging in her very own "feel good myth" by participating in the work at all.
In sum, I thought We Meant Well was an interesting, at times (intentionally) cringey, and a unique conversation about many topics: what "aid" work really means, our responsibility (to ourselves, the communities we inhabit, our friends, our jobs, the truth), privilege, and above all else, the role that outside charities play when conducting work in developing countries. We Meant Well made me think more than most other books I've read recently and, largely through dialogue, engages a lot of really important conversations that deserve more breathing room in conversations about the grey area that charitable groups sometimes occupy.
May 30, 2023
I ran through this book so quickly - I’ve never read anything like it. It almost feels like a mash up of different books belonging to different genres. The author does so much at once - Likanni feels all too familiar and the author tackles serious themes like the effects of colonialism, white saviour complex, sexual violence in developing countries, adoption, infidelity, colorism - I could literally go on and on. There are a million different sub plots within the main one and it all feels very culturally aware and well-researched, like a documentary. At the same time, the tone remains sensual and the ending is so chaotic, it emulates that of a YA thriller. The author does a good job making the reader uncomfortable, as we’re forced to look inwardly and resonate with the narrator - who is both reliable and completely unhinged at the same time ??
September 30, 2022
I’m thrilled to be one of the first to review We Meant Well. It’s a terrific book…easily one of my top 5 favorites for the year. It’s beautifully written, with well-drawn characters, and I raced through it to discover its conclusion. What a conclusion it was, too. I was left stunned and delighted.
Maya is a dedicated humanitarian who has overseen an orphanage for years in a very small village in Africa called Likanni. She has retired to her home in California when she gets a call in the middle of the night that a colleague of hers back in Likanni has been accused of rape by a young Likanni girl, Lele, who has worked with the orphanage for years as a protégé of Maya’s. When Maya returns to the village, she finds the locals protesting at the orphanage. Lele accuses Marc of rape, but Marc maintains his innocence. Maya faces the difficult task of sorting out what happened, all while dealing with problems within her own family and a forbidden attraction.
This book worked for me on many levels – the location, the people (both humanitarian and local) and the fallout from the rape accusation. All added to create a suspenseful, wonderfully told story. Highly recommended.
Thanks to NetGalley and ECW Press for providing an e-ARC in exchange for my honest opinion
Maya is a dedicated humanitarian who has overseen an orphanage for years in a very small village in Africa called Likanni. She has retired to her home in California when she gets a call in the middle of the night that a colleague of hers back in Likanni has been accused of rape by a young Likanni girl, Lele, who has worked with the orphanage for years as a protégé of Maya’s. When Maya returns to the village, she finds the locals protesting at the orphanage. Lele accuses Marc of rape, but Marc maintains his innocence. Maya faces the difficult task of sorting out what happened, all while dealing with problems within her own family and a forbidden attraction.
This book worked for me on many levels – the location, the people (both humanitarian and local) and the fallout from the rape accusation. All added to create a suspenseful, wonderfully told story. Highly recommended.
Thanks to NetGalley and ECW Press for providing an e-ARC in exchange for my honest opinion
August 11, 2023
Strongly recommended.
Maya flies “back” to the rural village she spent her 20’s as a wide eyed world changer. Now an executive at the charity, her return is to intervene in a personnel crisis. Themes of power — wealth, authority, autonomy, and race - are woven thru this complicated story.
NetGalley ARC
Maya flies “back” to the rural village she spent her 20’s as a wide eyed world changer. Now an executive at the charity, her return is to intervene in a personnel crisis. Themes of power — wealth, authority, autonomy, and race - are woven thru this complicated story.
NetGalley ARC
November 21, 2022
"One gets used to anything"
"how complicated our helping becomes. How very particular and measured"
For me, these two quotes sum up this incredible novel so well and succinctly. This story focuses on an aid worker, Maya, who is caught between the community she has created with the local people in the fictional Lakanni and the white helper who has been accused of a disturbing act of violence.
Hasan bridges these two worlds- the similarities and differences so beautifully. This novel is heart breaking, angering, and really puts needed strain on the idea of white saviourism.
Thank you to netgalley and the publishers for the e-arc.
"how complicated our helping becomes. How very particular and measured"
For me, these two quotes sum up this incredible novel so well and succinctly. This story focuses on an aid worker, Maya, who is caught between the community she has created with the local people in the fictional Lakanni and the white helper who has been accused of a disturbing act of violence.
Hasan bridges these two worlds- the similarities and differences so beautifully. This novel is heart breaking, angering, and really puts needed strain on the idea of white saviourism.
Thank you to netgalley and the publishers for the e-arc.
November 6, 2023
This was a very captivating story that I devoured, but the abrupt ending didn’t do it justice! I think it spoke really well towards the limitations of charity, particularly larger scale NGOs that are burdened by bureaucracy and can ultimately become out of touch with the people they claim to be helping. I think the conversations between Maya and the other workers and locals were pretty illuminating and even got me thinking through some of my biases. I appreciated Maya’s efforts towards what seemed like an impossible situation spiralling out of control. I didn’t expect things to be resolved per se but I couldn’t believe the story ended quite the way it did.
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January 26, 2024I don’t know what to say about this one. It’s very well-written and the topic is very interesting & engaging. Did I enjoy reading this? Kinda? Sorta? I was curious but I was just racing to the finish to figure out what happens and then I got to the ending and I was only left with more questions. Also this may be dumb as hell and I missed something but couldn’t they just do a DNA test? Are r-kits not a thing her organization could’ve provided? Everything was a damn mess and the reader doesn’t get any concrete answers so I am left hanging. Also someone was accused of rape and they just leave the man unscathed, unsupervised, and fully employed, without doing any real investigation—Just operating on vibes and hoping he doesn’t harm anyone in the chance that he was in fact guilty. Idk—weird one for me.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
August 10, 2023
This one throws you right in, and it had me hooked from the start. It felt SO REAL - I had to look several times to be 100% sure this was not, in fact, an exceptionally done memoir at the start. It's the kind of book where everyone has dimensions, there's no right or wrong, and everyone is just doing the very best that they can with the information they have.
And as it progressed, I’m so very happy to say that it did not lose its intrigue or momentum. DAMN - that was a GREAT book with STELLAR narration.
The dedications at the end were especially endearing to the author. I can’t wait to see what more comes from this beautiful mind. You don't need to read the synopsis, just jump it. You'll enjoy the ride.
Thank you NetGalley and ECW Press Audio for sending this book for review consideration. All opinions are my own.
And as it progressed, I’m so very happy to say that it did not lose its intrigue or momentum. DAMN - that was a GREAT book with STELLAR narration.
The dedications at the end were especially endearing to the author. I can’t wait to see what more comes from this beautiful mind. You don't need to read the synopsis, just jump it. You'll enjoy the ride.
Thank you NetGalley and ECW Press Audio for sending this book for review consideration. All opinions are my own.
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