To My Children's Children

by Sindiwe Magona

This powerful and widely acclaimed autobiography of Sindiwe Magona's early years in South Africa, announced the arrival of a major new black writer. Here she gives an account of her eventful first 23 years and tells a candid, unself-pitying story of triumph and endurance in the face of hardships relentlessly reinforced by the apartheid system.

Genres: South Africa, Nonfiction, Africa, Memoir, Biography, Read For School, Autobiography

176 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1990

About the author

Sindiwe Magona is a South African writer.

Magona is a native of the former Transkei region. She grew up in Bouvlei near Cape Town, where she worked as a domestic and completed her secondary education by correspondence. Magona later graduated from the University of South Africa and earned her Masters of Science in Organisational Social Work from Columbia University.

She starred as Singisa in the isiXhosa classic drama Ityala Lamawele.

She worked in various capacities for the United Nations for over 20 years, retiring in 2003.

In the 2013 computer-animated adventure comedy film Khumba she was the voice actor for the character Gemsbok Healer.

She is Writer-in-Residence at the University of the Western Cape and has been a visiting Professor working at Georgia State University.

Reviews

[leynes · Rating 4 out of 5]

I have read multiple books by Sindiwe Magona in the past few years and after finishing her novel Mother to Mother, a fictionalised account of the Amy Biehl killing, I got interested in her as a person. Luckily for me, she has published two autobiographies: To My Children's Children, spanning the first 23 years of her life, and Forced to Grow.

What I found fascinating is that To My Children's Children (1990) was Sindiwe Magona's debut as a writer. Born in 1943 in South Africa, it's really refreshing to see that she came to writing later in life and that she started out writing nonfiction (before going on to publish lots of fictional books). In the beginning of her autobiography, she says that her intention for writing her own life's story down is the fact that she wants to conserve it, to keep it, to share it with others. She's afraid that otherwise nothing will be left of her when she is gone.

Child of the Child of My Child,
as ours is an oral tradition I would like you to hear from my own lips what it was like living in the 1940s onwards. What it was like in the times of your great-grandmother, me. However, my people no longer live long lives. Generations no longer set eyes on one another. Therefore, I fear I may not live long enough to do my duty to you, to let you know who you are and whence you are. So, I will keep, for my, my words in this manner.

Sindiwe Magona was born during a time before Great Britain “handed over” the land to the Afrikaner. Her earliest childhood memories are marked by a sense and felling of security love and carefreeness. She talks about how she and the other children in their village felt invincible. Her days were marked my swimming in the river, bathing in the river, fetching water from it, washing her clothes in it, playing in it. Listening to tales told by her elders, solving riddles. Being forced to attend Sunday services at the Church ["If I learned anything in church, it was how certainly I was doomed to burn in hell."] So, all in all, she portrays a pretty "typical" (whatever that means) childhood.

Nonetheless, she reflects that still, from the beginning, even though she didn’t understand it, she knew there was a difference between Black and white people: "We – Them." This dichotomy would continue to shape and influence her childhood, teenage years and early adulthood.

In 1947, after the passing of her grandmother, Sindiwe and her siblings moved to Cape Town (from Gungululu) to live with their parents. She describes how no tears were shed at parting because the children didn’t understand the significance of the event: they did not realise that they might never see their old friends and other family members again. And even later they realised how lucky they got, since only a year later, the Boers came into power and one of their first new laws severely restricted the movement of Africans.

But thus, at age five, Sindiwe began experiencing life away from familiar faces, familiar customs, and the security of the known. In her first week living with her parents, the children were forced to grow, as they experienced their first liquor raids, so white policemen barging into their homes and searching every cupboard, under beds, tables and into nooks. [I found it weird that Native South Africans weren’t allowed to posses liquor by law, since most oppressive regimes count on the seduction of drugs to keep the oppressed low and dependent.]

I guess even in reaching rock bottom, there are different levels of bottom and different hardness of rock.

In their first year in Cape Town, her sister Siziwe died. Magona says she was still too young to grasp the meaning of the event fully, but she remembers that this was the first time she saw her father cry. “And, although I didn't know exactly why, that made me also cry.” There are many moments in this autobiography that most people will be able to relate to, especially since Magona has such a gift with putting her feelings into words.

In To My Children's Children, you won't find much about how she became a writer – which which isn’t all that surprising since she didn’t publish anything until she was 47 – however, we get glimpses into how she was first exposed to literature and how her love for reading and making up stories was fostered in her childhood. Magona describes how a neighbor, who worked for a white family, brought home books such as Great Expectations, Pride and Prejudice and Alice in Wonderland and gave them to Magona’s family. As a child she loved reading these stories and when sometimes the ending pages were missing (because the books were in bad shape), Magona learned to make up her own endings.

As she grew older and went to school, her social consciousness became broader and she became more aware. She recollects how for her people calling the doctor was a last resort: "a frightful nuisance and expensive," how school was a place "where learning stops," and how she and her friend didn't play at being kings and queens, they just played at being white.

Such was the clarity of my vision that, although now, when I think back, I cannot recall anyone ever telling me that whites were better, I know that by the time I reached my teens, that fact was firmly, unshakeably, rooted deep in my mind. Who can wonder. The whole environment screamed: "WHITE IS BEST!"

As a Black child growing up under apartheid, Magona didn't fail to notice that it was white people who were the ones who drove cars, wrote books, owned shops, lived in houses distinct from shacks, always wore clean and good clothes, could buy toys, butter, négligées, sat at table for meals, had meals to sit at table for, had nannies, had leisure time and leisure to pursue.

Magona also recollects that racism and poverty (two hard facts of her life) weren't openly discussed in her family; of her parents she says: "They never saddled us with whatever pain they were undergoing. Somehow, though, their anxiety seeped through their pores and covered us like the scab of a wound, ugly; hiding raw hurt." And here again, Magona shows her amazing craftsmanship at capturing the human condition and putting into words what many of us in our childhoods felt.

I found it very interesting to be able to connect and "relate" to Magona in regards to certain events and feelings of her childhood, but then also having many moments in which all I could think was "WTF?" For instance, she details one horrific incident in her childhood when her parents asked the local witch doctor to perform “incision” on their children, which meant their skin was cut open in various places so that the doctor could rub black powder (to ward off evil) into their flesh.

She also details her way through the school system (which couldn't have been more different than mine due to segregation, physical abuse and overall different structure of the system). She says that in school she learned to separate the “two worlds” she was living in: her world of traditions, rites and ancestor worships, and the world of “civilization” that included schools. Her political criticism is scathing as she calls out the fakeness and hypocrisy of "white charity," whether it be white ministers, teachers, doctors, nurses, politicians, housewives who claim that they are in South Africa to do something for the Natives. Magona calls out this “three-hundred-year-long project” for being a failure and a farce, since all this so-called charity did was oppress the Natives of South Africa.

One instance in which this oppression became more than clear was when her family was forced to move from Retreat to Nyanga West, due to the government’s slum-clearance drive. Magona remembers that afterwards her carefree days were over. That's when she started to know fear and notice how many hardships were coming her way.

In the second half of her autobiography, she tells of how she became a teacher and how this initial success was dampened by her first (unplanned) pregnancy. After her birth she felt like she wasn’t allowed to be happy as she let her family down who had sacrificed so much to put her through the educational system.

In my clear eyes, I had fallen. Fallen far short of what I had dreamt of becoming.

I found these chapters were interesting and important because they showed how much pressure women face(d) and how Magona struggled to fit the role of being a perfect daughter, teacher, wife, mother ...

Since she didn't get any teaching jobs after the birth of her son, she was forced to work as a nanny for white families. These chapters were probably my favorite and I would highly recommend her short story collection Living, Loving and Lying Awake at Night, in which she details the life and passions of many different Black maids at the time. In her autobiography, Magona details many of the discussions and interactions that she had with other Black women who worked as maids/ nannies for white families:

I was struck by the wholeness of women who, I knew would be transformed, the minute they opened the gates of the houses where they toiled. From the alert, vivacious, knowledgeable, interesting people they were on these buses, they would change to mute, zombie-like figures who did not dare have an idea, opinion, or independent thought about anything, anything at all.

As always, Magona brilliantly hits the nail in the coffin. These chapters were also probably the strongest when it comes to political and social criticism. She writes that it was the white families she worked for that she inherited resentment. She remembers her time working for a white family that had just newly immigrated to South Africa and that Magona was struck by the fact that "white anyone from anywhere in the world can come to South Africa and be what I could never be. Do what I could never do. Enjoy luxury I could not even dream of." And even though she knew of these injustices since her early childhood, it was only in her young adulthood that she truly started to understand them.

Of all the members of the oppressing class in South Africa, it is, for me, this group that chooses to become my exploiters, my oppressors, the rapists of my pride and violators of my humanhood, that I find hardest to swallow.

Her anger at white immigrants who came to South Africa during the time of apartheid is more than justified and understandable. I found it interesting though because I had never considered how many white people, mainly from European countries, migrated to South Africa at the time, for the exact reason that their status would be elevated there at the detriment of BIPoC. Magona says that the white families she had to work for were instrumental in my belated socialisation regarding color of skin as determinant of social status in South Africa.

The only reason I worked for them and not they for me, was that I was black and they were white. They were less educated than I was even then.

Unassuming and exhibiting no malice towards me, long having accepted the order of things, comfortable and unquestioning, these people are the backbone of Afrikaner power.

This scathing analysis of the power structures in South Africa at the time was truly amazing. Magona spoke nothing but the truth and spitted straight facts. I especially admired her take-down of the "unassuming" white middle class who gleefully stood by as everyone, except for them, lost their rights and were stripped off their humanity. She also didn't fail to call out the role that white women played in this as they could "wield their power over their dark sisters."

And so, her autobiography ends when she is 23 years old, has just divorced her husband (at least in her heart, if not legally, since he is absent and moved to Johannesburg without her), and has to nurture and raise her three children. Claiming this responsibility, she knew that she would never truly be alone.

Magona's life is fascinating and her gift for writing undisputed. I'm definitely going to pick up the her second autobiography, Forced to Grow, in the future, as I cannot wait to learn how Magona came to writing and experienced the end of apartheid.

[Lorraine · Rating 5 out of 5]

Exceptionally written. Made up of words which had my emotions all over the place.

Mama Sindiwe emptied herself. She poured all which she wanted her grandchildren and great-grandchildren to know. About her beginnings. Her dreams as a girl, young lady, mother, wife and grandmother.

The book is made up of 5 short stories each depicting a stage, a journey of Mama Sindiwe's life. All told in a prose so deliciously fluid that the smudges of Xhosa didn't throw me off. Actually, they added to the narrative.

My first encounter with Mama Sindiwe was a few years ago when m book club was reading "Forced To Grow". I gave it 3 stars. I was judgy and in hindsight, realised that I was too quick to jump to baseless conclusions. I found her account whiney and written form a position of weakness. I forgot that it was "herstory" and she was telling it. I do not apologise but I am more understanding of her actions, feelings then.

"To My Children's Children" is short, only 183 pages long. I found that though it was an easy read, no bombastic words, the diction used packed a punch. I found myself reading reflectively. This book, as much as it is Mama Sindiwe's account of her life to future generations, it also forced me to think of how do I want to be remembered. I'd love to live forever, but at some point, I will be gone and what legacy will I leave for my children's children.

Mama Sindiwe barred all. Hid nothing. Exposed herself to me, the reader. I felt every emotion she was feeling. I walked barefoot with her. I drank fresh cow's milk with her. I performed domestic chores with her. I dreamt her dreams. I wanted her wants. Except for Luthando. Sometimes I questioned her decision making process. I celebrated her wins and cried when she hurt.

The book ends where "Forced To Grow" begins. For a full account, I'd suggest that you read both.

Well done, Mama. My life pales in comparison to yours. I celebrate your resilience and persistence. I celebrate your never-give-up-attitude and your optimistic outlook.

#AsIWaitForItToBePrescribed

[Claire · Rating 4 out of 5]

“Until the lioness can tell its own story the story of the hunt will always glorify the hunter.” African Proverb

This first of two autobiographies by South African author Sindiwe Magona, was initially published in 1990, and the second volume in 1997.

A Lioness Shares Her Story
Frustrated like many, at seeing her country and people portrayed as backward and uncivilised by colonisers, she decided to rectify the balance, a literary scholar, sharing her life and experience first hand, an important and insightful narrative for a wider audience, dedicated to her own children and grandchildren, and perhaps especially for girls, on their path to womanhood.

In a conversation with anthropologist and activist Elaine Salo, Magona said:

I experienced incredible anger about others writing about us, I asked myself, ‘How dare they write about you?’ I told myself that shouldn’t stop me from writing about myself … There is value in those like me writing about our experiences, who did not study apartheid but lived it.

It is authentic experiences like this, that offer a richness in understanding other cultures from the inside, reading the personal experience of one women in her struggle to raise and support her children, understanding how her childhood and upbringing shaped and supported her, enabling her to cope when other societal support structures let her down.

Review
The slim autobiography shares stories from her childhood up to the age of 23, all of it taking place in South Africa. In her early years, as was customary among amaXhosa people, she lived with her grandparents. It was often the case while parents were trying to earn a living in starting a new life, that the extended family and home community was the safest, most caring environment for young children to be. There was always someone to look after children, they had food, shelter, company and they thrived.

As she explains, looking back it may have been poverty, but that wasn’t something they were aware of; they belonged, were loved and felt secure. There was no awareness of the link between the colour of one’s skin and a difference in lifestyle, until much later, their paths never crossed, outsiders had no impact on their very young lives.

In such a people-world, filled with a real, immediate, and tangible sense of belongingness, did I spend the earliest years of my life. I was not only wanted, I was loved. I was cherished.
The adults in my world, no doubt, had their cares and their sorrows. But childhood, by its very nature, is a magic-filled world, egocentric, wonderfully carefree, and innocent. Mine was all these things and more.

Generations of Storytellers
Not only did they learn and grow from being socialised in these large families, they listened to stories, passed down the generations. There was always one or two in the family, renowned for their storytelling ability, masters in this art and the children revelled in those evenings when they became the audience to them.

Central to the stories in which people featured, was the bond of love with the concomitants: duty, obedience, responsibility, honour, and orderliness; always orderliness. Like the seasons of the year, life was depicted full of cause and effect, predictability and order; connectedness and oneness.

In this warm, human environment she spent her first five years, immersed in a group where her place was defined, accepted, giving her all she required and more.

Far from the distant world where white people lived and ruled, busy formulating policies that would soon impact them all, policies that invited in certain immigrants, offering them privileged rights, while denying them of the local black population, restricting their ability to move from one area to another, fracturing families, keeping them in poverty.

Everything changed when her mother left to join her father due to illness, to be near medical support and soon after, her grandmother died, requiring them all to leave and join their parents.

A New Era, Fractured Families and Apartheid
It would be fortuitous timing as a year later, in 1948, the Boers came into power and laws were formulated restricting the movement of Africans. Had her grandmother died later, they may not have legally been able to rejoin them.

The move to live with their parents introduced them to a less harmonious world, one where police raids occurred and crime existed. Within the law or outside the law, there was reason to be more careful and fearful. The importance of attaining an education was the focus, to rise above.

The year I left primary school was the year that education became racially segregated. Hitherto, white pupils, African pupils coloured pupils, and Indian pupils could, theoretically, attend the same school. After 1955, the law forbade that practice. There would be different Departments of Education for the different race groups

Her years of education were dependent on her attitude, some years she did well, others she lapsed, eventually her focus concentrated on becoming a teacher, though in her initial attempts to secure a position, she would initially be thwarted. Her real life lessons were only just beginning.

Lessons from the Real World

Father began hinting at what might at the root of my problem: I had omitted to offer the Secretary of the School Board “something” and people were telling him it would be donkey’s years before I would get a post if we did not oil this gentleman’s palm.

Though she had done well in her classes, they were inadequate and wholly misleading as to how to prepare to teach children from poor homes, without textbooks, without exercise books, without materials. Trained to teach children from homes where there was a father and a mother, most of her pupils came from women-headed homes. And those women stayed in at their places of employment: busy being smiling servants minding white babies.

Not having books is one of the misdemeanors punishable by corporal punishment. The beatings and probably the sheer embarrassment that must surely accompany the daily proclamation of one’s poverty, prompted a lot of the pupils to pilfer. The very young do not always understand that poverty is supposed to ennobling…

The first class she would teach would have 72 pupils and had all been well, they should have been aged 11 or 12. All was not well however, the children ranged in age from 9 to 19 and the variation in skills just as wide.

Due to her principled stance, that first job would take a while in coming. Unemployed, but desperate to work, she accepted a job at the local fisheries.

Eventually she is offered a teaching job, experiencing the few joys and many disappointments inherent in an unfair, overstretched, oppressive system.

All along, I had known the agony for which some were destined. Such is the design of the government. And such is the abetting by even those of us who regard ourselves as oppressed. Which we are. But we are also called upon to help in that oppression and unwittingly become instruments of it.

A Woman’s Lot
And then comes the intersection of youth with a newly developing career and as a woman, the added risk of pregnancy. Magona’s challenges are only just beginning and her teaching jobs will become continuously thwarted by how society expects women to behave. The arrival of her own children will force her from her role and into domestic service herself, and really open her eyes to how the other live.

What I had not known was that their perception of people like us did not quite coincide with our perception of who we were and what we were about.

More than anything, however, being a domestic servant did more to me than it did for me. It introduced me to the fundamentals of racism.

The different families she would work for, each provide key insights that broaden her understanding and perception of the other groups living within the country and how the system aimed to maintain and strengthen the situation in favour of white people.

As this volume comes to an end, Magona's situation seems dire, however, she delivers some of the most inspiring passages of the book, in the low place she has arrived at, she suddenly sees all that she is grateful for, all that she has, even the abandonment of a husband who had never supported them, she recognises as a freedom and a significant contribution to her own growth.

It is a wonderful and frank autobiography and introduction to an inspiring woman. I’m looking forward to the sequel, Forced to Grow, the same title as the last chapter in this volume, in which she shares how determination and resourcefulness lead her through and out of those challenges we end with here.

Sindiwe Magona
Magona was born in 1943 in the small town of Gungululu near Mthatha, in what was then known as the homeland of Transkei, in the Eastern Cape of South Africa.

She was born five years before colonial Britain handed over power to the Afrikaners. Apartheid was officially introduced in 1948 and with it a series of oppressive and racist laws such as separate living areas and the Bantu education system. It was within this context that Magona grew up.

She is an accomplished poet, dramatist, storyteller, actress and motivational speaker. She spent two decades working for the UN in New York retiring in 2003. Her previously published works include thirty children’s books (in all eleven South African languages), two autobiographies, short story collections and novels.

My writing, on the whole, is my response to current social ills, injustice, misrepresentation, deception – the whole catastrophe that is the human existence. Sindiwe Magona

[Liralen · Rating 4 out of 5]

Magona grew up in South Africa -- mostly in Cape Town -- in the 50s and 60s, when it was ruled by apartheid. Still, she had a happy childhood; her parents were uneducated but determined that their children would have opportunities.

What I didn't expect: Magona is funny. She tells her story lightly, not treading too heavily on the times when things were rough, not afraid to poke fun at anyone -- or at herself, both as a child and as an adult. She's biting, too, when it comes to apartheid, and to the laws meant to keep black Africans down.

The book covers only her early life -- up until she was in her early twenties -- and I'd love to know more about how she ended up in the U.S. and writing the way she does. But I suppose that's why she wrote Forced to Grow...

Anyway, I'll let the book speak for itself; I folded down a ton of corners as I read:

There was never any question of taking any of the rag dolls to Cape Town with me. Even I knew it would have been ridiculous to take a rag doll to the big big faraway town where there were many many people who were white just like the white people of the shop; where there were tens and tens and tens of motor cars, maybe hundreds, on tar-covered roads; where everyone went by bus or train even if they were going half the distance we traveled on foot going to church every Sunday. Where there were no mud huts but brick and cement and stone houses, their windows made of glass not wood. And the roofs were made not of dull-colored grass but shiny metal; zinc roofs. Where everyone ate meat every day and did not have to wait until there was a feast or one of the cattle was dying or dead before they could have meat. What fool would take a rag doll to such a place? (16)

Except for the thundering of my own heart, not a word had passed between us during the presence of the police. Not a word was spoken after they had left. Knowledge I would hide, for years even from myself, became mine that night: Father's eyes also could house fear. (18)

It is here, too, I learned to read my first word -- VASELINE! (21)

We did not question why it was that the beneficent were invariably white, the beneficiaries invariably black. We had no way of knowing about the broader issues that had given birth to the organization itself, let alone understand its mission, to say nothing of the inadequacy and limitedness of its undertaking. How were we to know that many of these kind ladies were the wives and daughters of the men who paid our fathers peanuts; fed their dogs T-bone steaks; and ensured our poverty by voting in a government whose avowed task was making certain we would stay servants, serf-like and docile? We were children.[...] We did not even know we were poor. (23)

Perhaps children in other lands played at being kings and queens; we just played at being white. (37)

Mama often regaled us with stories of her youth. Pioneers, I learnt from her, seldom had an easy time. She and a friend had been the subject of much malice in the village when it became known they were "fallen maidens." The demonic deed? They were the first to wear bloomers!
To the village community, where virgins proudly displayed firm breasts, with beaded apron decorously worn over the public area, hiding one's body was a sign of shame. What could these two young girls have done to have to buy something and have to wear it every day? (44)

In severing the education of the African child from that of the white child, the powers that be had announced, in Parliament, that the aim was to ensure that the black child would be protected from frustration; she would not be put through an education that would make her believe she was being prepared to graze the greener pastures. The education that would be given to the African child, the Honorable Dr. Verwoerd had enlightened us, would fit her for her station in life, service to her master, the white man, woman, child, and, in permissible ways, the white economy. Service, not participation, never mind access, would be the operative, the key word. (82)

Christopher and Ian, aged eight and six, respectively, were children with all that entails. They were no saints, to be sure. But, on the other hand, neither were they devilish brats. And, what is more important, as we say in the African townships, they were being brought up. Most white children in South Africa simply grow up. There is no pruning, no tending, weeding or nurturing. They pick up, as the years roll relentlessly on, whatever prevailing societal attitudes, whims and mannerisms might be in the offing. (110)

Later, I was to learn of the white South African woman's anguish upon becoming a working mother. Mine was not the choice of being a working mother or a not-working mother. No, I could choose between being a working mother or having no children left. Whose mother would I have been had my children died from starvation? (133)

[Nancy · Rating 4 out of 5]

Just as the description states, this memoir was told in an "unself-pitying" voice. That's what I liked most about it. I kept wondering what the cover meant...why was this woman carrying five animal heads on top of her head? Turns out it was yet another example of how this smart, educated, hard-working woman dealt with everything that life threw in her direction. She wrote this memoir so that her children, and her children's children, would know her story.

I learned a lot and I'm glad I read it.

[Jay Shelat · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is an incredible story of an incredible woman. I've had the honor of meeting Dr. Magona, and it is evident that the experiences she tells in this memoir shape who she is today. This book is incredibly powerful in its story of one woman's struggle to support her family (and often times herself) in South Africa. This has ignited a passion for biographies and memoirs. One can become a better person from reading another's story. To My Children's Children is highly recommended!

[Marilyn · Rating 3 out of 5]

Guess I have read too many books about South AFrica and apartheid. Yes it was awful, but she made several bad choices that she seems to take no responxibiliby for. At least it was short.

[LIFEfluency Library · Rating 5 out of 5]

"To My Children's Children" by Sindiwe Magona is a poignant and powerful memoir that delves into the author's personal journey, spanning generations and continents. Magona eloquently navigates through her life experiences, offering profound insights into the complexities of family, identity, and social justice.

Through vivid storytelling, Magona paints a vivid picture of her upbringing in South Africa during the apartheid era, providing readers with a glimpse into the harsh realities of racial segregation and systemic oppression. Her narrative is deeply reflective, offering a candid examination of the challenges she faced as a Black woman navigating through a society rife with prejudice and discrimination.

One of the most striking aspects of "To My Children's Children" is Magona's resilience and unwavering commitment to social change. Despite facing numerous obstacles, she emerges as a voice of courage and defiance, advocating for justice and equality in the face of adversity. Her dedication to empowering future generations serves as a powerful testament to the enduring strength of the human spirit.

Moreover, Magona's prose is both lyrical and evocative, drawing readers into her world with its rich imagery and emotional depth. Her writing style is imbued with authenticity and compassion, making "To My Children's Children" a captivating and immersive read from start to finish.

"To My Children's Children" is a valuable read to parents and young adults as a historical resource that provides a firsthand account of life in South Africa during the apartheid era. Additionally, Magona's memoir explores themes of family, identity, and heritage, making it particularly relevant for parents who want to impart lessons about resilience, cultural heritage, and social justice to their children. Young adults, meanwhile, can relate to Magona's journey of self-discovery and identity formation as they navigate their own paths toward adulthood.

Overall, "To My Children's Children" is a masterful memoir that resonates on multiple levels. It is a testament to the power of storytelling as a tool for healing and transformation, as well as a tribute to the enduring legacy of those who have fought for justice and equality. Magona's memoir is a must-read for anyone interested in the human experience and the pursuit of social change.

[Snazy · Rating 5 out of 5]

"I came to see I was not just alone; I was free. Free of him. Free to be."

"Know this too, child of the child of my child... you are not alone."

I blindly picked this book up expecting to read about sweet African childhood stories- I intentionally decided to go in without a clue and that didnt prepare me for the rollercoaster that this book was.

Dr Magona is a beautiful writer. This book was well written, with careful care and consideration to the language used (very rich if I may say) and the descriptive images that just kept me turning the pages.

I read this memoir and half the time I couldn't believe that Apartheid was something our grandmothers had to witness. To be a black South African in the 1960s, such as Sindiwe, was the same is roaming around a prison yet you are 'free'.

The themes of women emancipation are highlighted in the book through Sindiwes personal experience of being too dependent on a male. After being suddenly left by him, she realized it was high time she worked for her own money, leading her to sell sheep head.

It taught me to know that I'm not alone. Every single experience is there to grow you. It taught me that your trajectory may look clear today, but unexpected things can happen and your life can change. But above all, the authors consistent humbleness and calm poise through all the stages of her life have given me lessons on how to treat life-calmly.

[Greta · Rating 5 out of 5]

Wow! Sindiwe Magona writes an amazing memoir worthy of Christmas story of the year for me. She is the first South Africa woman writer I can say, "I love" wholeheartedly and without reserve. Life before and during Apartheid for her was difficult beyond imagination and yet she survived, pursued a teaching education, raised her three children and several younger siblings. Eventually she sees she has never been doing the work all alone, as many helping hands, smiling faces, generous souls kept her and her kin alive.

[Meredith · Rating 3 out of 5]

Extremely powerful. I really enjoyed seeing a memoir from this period, from this part of the world. I read this for a post-British-colonial class. I never would have picked it up, and for this subject, I'm glad this was on the reading list. It's horrific lawful segregation ever happened... it's especially awful that South African society is still influenced by it, even with the system 'dismantled'... I'm not a scholar on this subject, but I'd love to understand it more. This memoir really opened my eyes to a part of humanity I never knew existed.

[Cebisa Luzipho · Rating 4 out of 5]

I had the honor of meeting and having my book signed by Sindiwe Magona. What a lovely woman and this book cemented my love for her work.

I’d definitely recommend this to someone who needs reassuring and is going through a tough time. Our stories are never done and Sindiwe tells her story beautifully.

[Karen Cockerill · Rating 4 out of 5]

Shew! This was not an easy book to read as it highlights ones privilege. I don’t remember ever having to go to bed hungry or cold. This story helps me to understand or maybe ‘see’ things from a different perspective. I do I hope that I learn to have more compassion moving forward .

[Nela · Rating 5 out of 5]

Read it upon returning from a trip to South Africa and loved it! Will move on to Forced to Grow. True - no self-pity, no blame, no bitterness. Just life, as it is/was.

[Sikhanyiso]

I love the book

[Richard · Rating 5 out of 5]

Nice memoir by the author, I really felt her pain and admired the sacrifices she made for her family.

[marisa :) · Rating 4 out of 5]

For class - absolutely stunning prose

[Laurie · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book is about the early years of the author’s life. She is a woman from South Africa who grew up during apartheid. I really enjoyed this book- I also loved her novel, Mother to Mother. She writes incredibly well, I love her analogies, metaphors, etc. She has such a powerful voice. I especially appreciated the way it ended- that despite so many trials and hardships, she was able to recognize the blessings she’d received and acknowledged the good people in her community who looked out for her and her family.

[Kelsey Demers · Rating 3 out of 5]

An interesting look into the life of a South African girl and her family/community life as she grows up during Apartheid. While the book is well written start to finish with humorous reflections on her childhood and teenage years, it is her final section and subsequent climax of the story where I feel Magona showed her true talent as a writer, giving a passionate and captivating reflection on her darkest days.

Overall, a very decent autobiography. Recommended for anyone interested in South African/Xhosa culture or life under Apartheid.

[Tiah]

I greatly enjoyed this. The writing smoothed out and grew as the story moved along. By the final chapters I was reading the writing style that I've come to love in such works as 'Push-Push.' Perhaps it is due to the difficulty of trying to cram an entire childhood into half a book? Piercing insights into both herself, others and societal behaviour.

[LeAnne · Rating 3 out of 5]

This memoir of growing up Xhosa in apartheid South Africa is very revealing. Magona describes a blissfully ignorant childhood later disillusioned by inter-race relationships. As a white woman currently living in Johannesburg, it forces me to take a second look at all my relationships.

[iluvteaching · Rating 4 out of 5]

this was one of the books mike had to read for his race and racism class. he thought i would like it and i did. this is a different point of view about south africa. i thought it was interesting, uplifting, and surprisingly very funny.

[Suzanne · Rating 5 out of 5]

An amazing look in Xhosa culture! I read this at the end of studying the language for a semester and I wish I had read it at the beginning, it was so informative and interesting.
Magona has a way of writing that keeps you reading until you are done, and then you want more.

[Charly · Rating 3 out of 5]

From the series 'Africa South New Writing' Sindiwe Magona's semi-autobiographical debut novel recounts her early life lived under apartheid as a single Black mother. A life of laboured poverty, strife & injustice with only hope sustaining her. A candid, touching read.

[Mills College Library]

305.48896 M211 1990

[Mary · Rating 3 out of 5]

http://maryokekereviews.blogspot.com....