I am struggling to find the words to describe my experience of reading this book: it wasn't simple. On the one hand, at its core, it's a man's quest for identity, present and historical, personal and ethnic, and for redemption - and that's something that most of us can relate to, to a greater or lesser extent. On the other hand, it's an glimpse of life in Africa, the raw reality as opposed to the writer's expectations of it and how, perhaps, most of us "Westerners" imagine it. Which, to me - as someone who feels a deep if slightly inexplicable affinity with Africa and the abuse its people have suffered at the hands of the white European race that I'm often ashamed to be part of - was fascinating. But on another level, this book is a very honest and profoundly personal account of one man's experience of all this, and this is the part that challenged me. Because, as much as I enjoyed the story and the writing itself - there is no doubt that E.L. Cyrs is an accomplished storyteller, and there's not a word out of place - I didn't always like the author, the way he portrayed himself. I think I caught myself "judging" him almost as much as I empathised with him. There were times when I felt myself getting very irritated; times when - caught up in the reality of life in Senegal for which he was ill-prepared - I wanted to scream at him, "what did you expect?" And I found that quite challenging but also, paradoxically, very rewarding. Because the power of this book is precisely its honesty. E.L. Cyrs didn't set out to make himself look good, but to tell his story, and he doesn't hide from himself or the reader. And that, in the end, has the effect of creating a bond that feels much more real than the easy, superficial way we relate to a straightforward "likeable" character. This isn't a character, it's a real man, and he shares his story fully aware that he'll be judged. And I, for one, like him for it all the more. And I like his book. Which, incidentally, I read in a single evening. I recommend you read it too.