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How We Buried Puso
How we buried Puso is a novel which deals with themes characteristic of post-colonial African literature - identity, spirituality, community, and Africanness. It examines the impact of exile on the individual and the community, as well as the related problem of alienation. The themes of colonialism and dispossession are presented through Molefe's, often rather wry, observations. The manner in which the recent history of Lesotho is narrated is a graphic take on the neglect of Empire, and the understated cynicism of the narrator's tone is extremely eloquent.
236 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2007
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November 24, 2024
4,5 ⭐
Moleje, vuelve a su país natal, después de siete años en Europa, donde fue a estudiar con una beca. La inesperada muerte de su hermano Puso, fue la excusa final para un retorno que ya venía rumiando.
Con el trasfondo de los preparativos del funeral, ‘leje (apodo de Moleje) recorre los viejos lugares conocidos, y retoma sin dificultades de adaptación los ritos y las formas específicas de las relaciones locales; logra intercalar un tiempo para retomar algún vínculo con quien fuera su hermana mayor adoptiva, conocer a la viuda inglesa de su hermano, con su dolor, su soledad y sus pequeños hijos a cuestas, y algunos viejos amigos y conocidos, algunos que han quedado separados por el abismo generado por las diferentes experiencias de vida.
En la narración se van intercalando sus días en torno al funeral, y los recuerdos de su infancia en las afueras del pequeño poblado donde se desarrolla, en ese pequeño país (suponemos que es Lesotho, país de origen del autor) y sus eternas desconfianzas con el país limítrofe al nuestro (que no puede ser otro que Sudáfrica), hacia donde partían todos los meses muchos hombres a trabajar en las minas, y de donde llegaban otros huyendo de la violencia del sistema del Apartheid. .
‘leje es un hombre que ha vivido mucho y ya está de vuelta, y ha vuelto con un ánimo sereno, como el de un hombre que ha empezado a comprender el sentido de la vida, del lugar de África en el mundo, y a quien se le va le va revelando su propio lugar en ese mundo; y a medida que pasan los días, crece su esperanza, modesta, realista, y lo hace un hombre feliz.
"En este lugar, el pasado no ha llegado a apoderarse del futuro. Más bien, un nuevo método se ha traducido en una ecuación práctica, con algo ampliamente inclusivo llamado cultura y una historia reminiscente ahora depositada y escondida, aunque un poco incómodamente, en un futuro en construcción. El futuro de este lugar no es Europa con una brillante camisa estampada de África. Ese futuro, como la camisa estampada, toda brillante y hermosa, y probablemente siempre hecha en China, esconde más de lo que revela y es una parodia de la realidad".
La novela no está exenta de episodios dolorosos, y de las evidencias de la pobreza, aunque todo queda impregnado con la serenidad del protagonista.
La descripción de la ceremonia funeraria me pareció una excelente síntesis. Las ancianas con su constancia, el predicador, los humildes amigos de la infancia, y en los trajeados compañeros de trabajo; los niños que se aburren, hamacan las piernas, cantan para sí mismos, curiosean hasta que cruzan la mirada con otro niño, y se ríen, para indignación de sus madres que los ponen en su lugar.
"Un niño no puede entender el significado del duelo. Está muy en los inicios; demasiado lleno de posibilidades, demasiado ilimitado para comprender lo irrevocable. Un niño no tiene el lenguaje o una historia emocional suficiente para comprender los comienzos y los finales".
El autor maneja un amplio vocabulario, y la narrativa está hecha a través de oraciones complejas, lo que por momentos me hizo difícil la lectura con mi limitado manejo del inglés; no descarto haber omitido o incomprendido alguna afirmación, aunque creo que no la esencia.
Sobre el final se brindan algunos indicios sobre la muerte de Puso, aunque dejando abiertas muchas incógnitas.
Un libro maravilloso, y pese a las dificultades que me representó su lectura, presenta en forma magnífica una buena historia y una excelente descripción de una realidad local, que está buscando y forjando una nueva identidad.
Excelente.
Terminado este libro, y después del esfuerzo que me implicó su lectura, doy por concluida esta etapa de mis viajes, muy fructíferos y enriquecedores, y volveré por un tiempo, perezosamente, a mis zonas de confort, particularmente, a la lectura en castellano.
Morabo Morojele nació en Lesotho, un pequeño país africano totalmente inmerso en el territorio de Sudáfrica. Realizó estudios superiores en la London School of Economics y en el Institute of Social Studies de The Hague. Trabaja para organizaciones internacionales para el desarrollo, y es músico de jazz. Esta fue su primera novela, y recientemente ha publicado otra, Three Egg Dilemma.
Moleje, vuelve a su país natal, después de siete años en Europa, donde fue a estudiar con una beca. La inesperada muerte de su hermano Puso, fue la excusa final para un retorno que ya venía rumiando.
Con el trasfondo de los preparativos del funeral, ‘leje (apodo de Moleje) recorre los viejos lugares conocidos, y retoma sin dificultades de adaptación los ritos y las formas específicas de las relaciones locales; logra intercalar un tiempo para retomar algún vínculo con quien fuera su hermana mayor adoptiva, conocer a la viuda inglesa de su hermano, con su dolor, su soledad y sus pequeños hijos a cuestas, y algunos viejos amigos y conocidos, algunos que han quedado separados por el abismo generado por las diferentes experiencias de vida.
En la narración se van intercalando sus días en torno al funeral, y los recuerdos de su infancia en las afueras del pequeño poblado donde se desarrolla, en ese pequeño país (suponemos que es Lesotho, país de origen del autor) y sus eternas desconfianzas con el país limítrofe al nuestro (que no puede ser otro que Sudáfrica), hacia donde partían todos los meses muchos hombres a trabajar en las minas, y de donde llegaban otros huyendo de la violencia del sistema del Apartheid. .
‘leje es un hombre que ha vivido mucho y ya está de vuelta, y ha vuelto con un ánimo sereno, como el de un hombre que ha empezado a comprender el sentido de la vida, del lugar de África en el mundo, y a quien se le va le va revelando su propio lugar en ese mundo; y a medida que pasan los días, crece su esperanza, modesta, realista, y lo hace un hombre feliz.
"En este lugar, el pasado no ha llegado a apoderarse del futuro. Más bien, un nuevo método se ha traducido en una ecuación práctica, con algo ampliamente inclusivo llamado cultura y una historia reminiscente ahora depositada y escondida, aunque un poco incómodamente, en un futuro en construcción. El futuro de este lugar no es Europa con una brillante camisa estampada de África. Ese futuro, como la camisa estampada, toda brillante y hermosa, y probablemente siempre hecha en China, esconde más de lo que revela y es una parodia de la realidad".
La novela no está exenta de episodios dolorosos, y de las evidencias de la pobreza, aunque todo queda impregnado con la serenidad del protagonista.
La descripción de la ceremonia funeraria me pareció una excelente síntesis. Las ancianas con su constancia, el predicador, los humildes amigos de la infancia, y en los trajeados compañeros de trabajo; los niños que se aburren, hamacan las piernas, cantan para sí mismos, curiosean hasta que cruzan la mirada con otro niño, y se ríen, para indignación de sus madres que los ponen en su lugar.
"Un niño no puede entender el significado del duelo. Está muy en los inicios; demasiado lleno de posibilidades, demasiado ilimitado para comprender lo irrevocable. Un niño no tiene el lenguaje o una historia emocional suficiente para comprender los comienzos y los finales".
El autor maneja un amplio vocabulario, y la narrativa está hecha a través de oraciones complejas, lo que por momentos me hizo difícil la lectura con mi limitado manejo del inglés; no descarto haber omitido o incomprendido alguna afirmación, aunque creo que no la esencia.
Sobre el final se brindan algunos indicios sobre la muerte de Puso, aunque dejando abiertas muchas incógnitas.
Un libro maravilloso, y pese a las dificultades que me representó su lectura, presenta en forma magnífica una buena historia y una excelente descripción de una realidad local, que está buscando y forjando una nueva identidad.
Excelente.
Terminado este libro, y después del esfuerzo que me implicó su lectura, doy por concluida esta etapa de mis viajes, muy fructíferos y enriquecedores, y volveré por un tiempo, perezosamente, a mis zonas de confort, particularmente, a la lectura en castellano.
Morabo Morojele nació en Lesotho, un pequeño país africano totalmente inmerso en el territorio de Sudáfrica. Realizó estudios superiores en la London School of Economics y en el Institute of Social Studies de The Hague. Trabaja para organizaciones internacionales para el desarrollo, y es músico de jazz. Esta fue su primera novela, y recientemente ha publicado otra, Three Egg Dilemma.
December 6, 2024
Morabo Morojele’s How We Buried Puso is a story of homecoming – of the familiar and the unfamiliar, the easy and the uneasy - when an immigrant returns home. Molefe, in whose voice the book is narrated, returns from Europe to his home country Lesotho, to bury his brother Puso. As he reinserts himself in his land, amongst old friends Twice and Abuti Jefti, de facto sister Thembi, and now deceased brother Puso’s family; Molefe relives his life journey, contemplates the distance from his roots he experienced in Europe, and fleetingly considers what his future back in his country would look like.
The characters in How We Buried Puso - especially Twice, Thembi and to a lesser extent Miriam - are fresh and unlike any I’ve encountered before (I’ve encountered Abuti Jeftis in real life, but not in fiction yet). Because of this, the characters will probably stay with me for a while. It was also interesting (but not surprising) to see how much of Lesothian life, as experienced by Molefe, is shaped by the “country neighboring ours”.
I didn’t enjoy the writing much though – Molefe’s voice felt distant, dry, indifferent. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that the writer relegates Molefe to be an undeveloped character, a mere vehicle to tell the stories of his actually interesting characters, a rather hollow spectator in the lives of these people. A different choice might have resulted in a more interesting book.
The book also has some recurring imagery (including a rather long chapter) of a hillside community with warriors and villagers, “swallowing the sun” and “returning the sun” and Molefe amongst these people as a witness. Whatever the author was conveying with these images, I just didn’t get – my guess is that the author was going for some allegory on the Basotho and colonialism, unfortunately I just couldn’t fathom what this was because he obscured it rather too well.
Reading context: Reading the world choice for Lesotho
Read as: Original work in English
Book format: Physical book, borrowed from the Stanford libraries
The characters in How We Buried Puso - especially Twice, Thembi and to a lesser extent Miriam - are fresh and unlike any I’ve encountered before (I’ve encountered Abuti Jeftis in real life, but not in fiction yet). Because of this, the characters will probably stay with me for a while. It was also interesting (but not surprising) to see how much of Lesothian life, as experienced by Molefe, is shaped by the “country neighboring ours”.
I didn’t enjoy the writing much though – Molefe’s voice felt distant, dry, indifferent. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that the writer relegates Molefe to be an undeveloped character, a mere vehicle to tell the stories of his actually interesting characters, a rather hollow spectator in the lives of these people. A different choice might have resulted in a more interesting book.
The book also has some recurring imagery (including a rather long chapter) of a hillside community with warriors and villagers, “swallowing the sun” and “returning the sun” and Molefe amongst these people as a witness. Whatever the author was conveying with these images, I just didn’t get – my guess is that the author was going for some allegory on the Basotho and colonialism, unfortunately I just couldn’t fathom what this was because he obscured it rather too well.
Reading context: Reading the world choice for Lesotho
Read as: Original work in English
Book format: Physical book, borrowed from the Stanford libraries
January 8, 2009
(Spirited into Lesotho by Morabo Morojele.)
Dear Morabo,
Cry Freedom, Steve Biko, Kevin Cline, Denzel Washington, Drakensberg, casinos, Maseru (or was it Mbabane?), and a picture postcard of a horseman wearing a colourful straw hat that looked like the roof of a small rondavel – that was the sum total of my knowledge of Lesotho before I read your book, which seemed out of synch with the witty rogue I met in Cape Town. I was expecting “Four Weddings and a Funeral” at high altitude, but I got a poignant, melodic tale of unremitting grief and hardship that meandered irrevocably to the death of Puso.
I'm not even going to attempt to shout it louder than Zakes Mda on the cover: “This is a deeply thought novel, rich in images and poetic descriptions. Oh, what a turn of phrase!”
Or the blurb: “…a lyrical account of veiled truths and panoramic splendour where the true nature of change is revealed in a detailed narrative collage that saturates the senses.”
Yours is the kind of writing that makes me feel like a clay-clogged boer at a jazz gig – I dig the vibe and rhythm, but my feet remain firmly planted in the soil. And so, in deference to your linguistic improvisation skills, I shall let your book sing for itself, by selecting five riffs from five random pages.
“A river gently gurgled its way across the length of the valley until in the far distance, it disappeared into the dark blue fog of mountains crouched against the horizon.” (p. 41)
“The air is dense at this time. It sits like a blanket over the village. Things pass through it. Animate things like bats and night birds, and when the wind is very strong, dust and debris and bits of paper and leaves. And things also that we do not have names for.” (p. 80)
“An adult’s face in grief is a slack, dumb, hanging muscle. Or it is grimacing and grinding at the teeth as if against a cold buffeting wind or against a light that shouts and bounces off the surface of things. A child’s face on the other hand, does not know the shape of grief.” (p. 113)
“No ancestors there, but haunting all the moments between every sound, between every shade of refracted light, here in this tent. Implicated in each and every of Thembi’s words that were floated across the air to me like wishing.” (p. 162)
“Then make a song for it of words no one would understand, then fainter and fainter into the years, the words blurred by the language of men, the clamour of living, to the point of forgetting. Until it comes to you, suddenly and always and only at the point of your undoing.” (p. 229)
(Morabo Morojele's book How We Buried Puso was published by Jacana Media in 2006.)
Dear Morabo,
Cry Freedom, Steve Biko, Kevin Cline, Denzel Washington, Drakensberg, casinos, Maseru (or was it Mbabane?), and a picture postcard of a horseman wearing a colourful straw hat that looked like the roof of a small rondavel – that was the sum total of my knowledge of Lesotho before I read your book, which seemed out of synch with the witty rogue I met in Cape Town. I was expecting “Four Weddings and a Funeral” at high altitude, but I got a poignant, melodic tale of unremitting grief and hardship that meandered irrevocably to the death of Puso.
I'm not even going to attempt to shout it louder than Zakes Mda on the cover: “This is a deeply thought novel, rich in images and poetic descriptions. Oh, what a turn of phrase!”
Or the blurb: “…a lyrical account of veiled truths and panoramic splendour where the true nature of change is revealed in a detailed narrative collage that saturates the senses.”
Yours is the kind of writing that makes me feel like a clay-clogged boer at a jazz gig – I dig the vibe and rhythm, but my feet remain firmly planted in the soil. And so, in deference to your linguistic improvisation skills, I shall let your book sing for itself, by selecting five riffs from five random pages.
“A river gently gurgled its way across the length of the valley until in the far distance, it disappeared into the dark blue fog of mountains crouched against the horizon.” (p. 41)
“The air is dense at this time. It sits like a blanket over the village. Things pass through it. Animate things like bats and night birds, and when the wind is very strong, dust and debris and bits of paper and leaves. And things also that we do not have names for.” (p. 80)
“An adult’s face in grief is a slack, dumb, hanging muscle. Or it is grimacing and grinding at the teeth as if against a cold buffeting wind or against a light that shouts and bounces off the surface of things. A child’s face on the other hand, does not know the shape of grief.” (p. 113)
“No ancestors there, but haunting all the moments between every sound, between every shade of refracted light, here in this tent. Implicated in each and every of Thembi’s words that were floated across the air to me like wishing.” (p. 162)
“Then make a song for it of words no one would understand, then fainter and fainter into the years, the words blurred by the language of men, the clamour of living, to the point of forgetting. Until it comes to you, suddenly and always and only at the point of your undoing.” (p. 229)
(Morabo Morojele's book How We Buried Puso was published by Jacana Media in 2006.)
March 12, 2025
This book felt like home. The descriptions of (Maseru) were visceral the evocative and I could picture specific locations despite a different timing (identifiable by certain key historical events) and a staunch refusal to name either his country or the "country neighboring ours." I think the reading experience must be very different if either you A) know nothing about Southern Africa or B) lived through apartheid and have stronger and more specific associations. And really it's a book about a specific time and specific place, even with the refusal to identify either aspect.
Parts of the story were unclear in terms of whether it's dream or reality or now or future or past and there was nothing linear about the narration for all that the entire book only took a few days and yet encompassed pieces of an entire life. I did appreciate that it's a book somewhat about migration, but about the returning home and not about the experience of traveling, and yet the challenges of both.
Parts of the story were unclear in terms of whether it's dream or reality or now or future or past and there was nothing linear about the narration for all that the entire book only took a few days and yet encompassed pieces of an entire life. I did appreciate that it's a book somewhat about migration, but about the returning home and not about the experience of traveling, and yet the challenges of both.
June 26, 2021
Global Read 137: Lesotho
An interesting take on the genre of returning home after many years away. I liked that Thembi and Twice were not like characters I've met before. But the book, especially the last third was disjointed.
An interesting take on the genre of returning home after many years away. I liked that Thembi and Twice were not like characters I've met before. But the book, especially the last third was disjointed.
August 11, 2024
HOW We Buried Puso by Morabo Morojele
If a book makes you stop reading midway so you can talk to yourself as though you are on a stage and giving out a review then you know it’s good, now imagine on top of that it makes you read sentences twice or three times because though there are just ordinary words they seem to have a deeper meaning and on top of that it makes you search the Author because you want to see this face that carries the mind that came up with such a gem. That is how, How We Buried Puso Made me feel.
How We Buried Puso covers the Life of Molefe who comes back to his home country after staying abroad for 7 years. He comes back to his brother’s funeral to discover that though things have changed in a way they have stayed the same. He does not talk about how his life abroad was not all roses and sweet songs. Somehow there was no place for him abroad and now he is back in a familiar environment with familiar faces and people somehow, he cannot find his space but he knows this is home. How We Buried Puso keeps moving events from Puso’s funeral proceedings to the past when it was just Molefe, Puso, Thembi, Koko, Twice and Abuti Jefti to Molefe’s dreams where he meets people and places he does not know.
This book was rich in vivid descriptions, it also had a very great play of words and beautiful poetics. I give it a 5 out of 5 because even though I would have hoped for a better ending and more details into what killed Puso this book made me feel like I was on a high like I was diving deeper and deeper into these words that paint vivid images and this thing I cannot pinpoint, it’s soft like jazz, magical, calming, poetic, it’s an experience. I am looking forward to reading this book again because it was magical and maybe just maybe I will be able to break down this feeling and the emotions that this type of writing evokes. Also, it would be a great book for an academic project, character development, poetics, the symbolisms. And I don’t know if this is a spoiler but I love how after trying so hard to fit in, living under his brother’s shadow, being told how he knows nothing, trying so hard to earn approval from Thembi, respect from his brother, Molefe just falls into a state of complete surrender, where he is willing to live life one day at a time. It's a 5 out of 5.
If a book makes you stop reading midway so you can talk to yourself as though you are on a stage and giving out a review then you know it’s good, now imagine on top of that it makes you read sentences twice or three times because though there are just ordinary words they seem to have a deeper meaning and on top of that it makes you search the Author because you want to see this face that carries the mind that came up with such a gem. That is how, How We Buried Puso Made me feel.
How We Buried Puso covers the Life of Molefe who comes back to his home country after staying abroad for 7 years. He comes back to his brother’s funeral to discover that though things have changed in a way they have stayed the same. He does not talk about how his life abroad was not all roses and sweet songs. Somehow there was no place for him abroad and now he is back in a familiar environment with familiar faces and people somehow, he cannot find his space but he knows this is home. How We Buried Puso keeps moving events from Puso’s funeral proceedings to the past when it was just Molefe, Puso, Thembi, Koko, Twice and Abuti Jefti to Molefe’s dreams where he meets people and places he does not know.
This book was rich in vivid descriptions, it also had a very great play of words and beautiful poetics. I give it a 5 out of 5 because even though I would have hoped for a better ending and more details into what killed Puso this book made me feel like I was on a high like I was diving deeper and deeper into these words that paint vivid images and this thing I cannot pinpoint, it’s soft like jazz, magical, calming, poetic, it’s an experience. I am looking forward to reading this book again because it was magical and maybe just maybe I will be able to break down this feeling and the emotions that this type of writing evokes. Also, it would be a great book for an academic project, character development, poetics, the symbolisms. And I don’t know if this is a spoiler but I love how after trying so hard to fit in, living under his brother’s shadow, being told how he knows nothing, trying so hard to earn approval from Thembi, respect from his brother, Molefe just falls into a state of complete surrender, where he is willing to live life one day at a time. It's a 5 out of 5.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
July 24, 2012
Morabo Morojele provides and physically taxing book. His descriptions are not easy on the reader and now that I write this, I find his demands are similar to that of Nadine Gordimer.
This link leads to my review of the book on my blog.
http://freduagyeman.blogspot.com/2009...
Thanks
This link leads to my review of the book on my blog.
http://freduagyeman.blogspot.com/2009...
Thanks
October 26, 2013
Morabo is a great writer. I really enjoyed this book and so wish that he could publish more books and contribute to South Africa and Africa's literary works. Great read
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