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Always Another Country: A Memoir of Exile and Home
In Always Another Country, Sisonke Msimang writes about her exile childhood in Zambia, Kenya and Canada, her college years in the USA, and returning to South Africa in the 1990s. She reflects candidly on present-day South Africa, but this is a book about family, romance and motherhood; of childhood jealousies and adult passions, and what it means to be born into a life scored by history. Her memoir is a chronicle of a coming of age, for both a woman and a young democracy.
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First published October 2, 2017
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About the author
Sisonke Msimang
11 books88 followersSisonke Msimang is a writer and activist who works on race, gender, democracy and politics. She divides her time between Perth and Johannesburg.
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October 12, 2021
Wow! Diese Autobiografie hat mich total vom Hocker gerissen und begeistert, wobei ich gestehen muss, dass ich ob der grandiosen Erzähl- und Sprachfabulierkunst und durch den sensationell gestalteten Plot eine Weile tatsächlich gedacht habe, dass es sich bei diesem Werk um einen teilweise fiktiven Roman handeln müsste.
Irgendwann dämmerte mir natürlich, dass die mit Kosenamen versehenen Figuren auch in der Realität tatsächlich gelebt haben, beziehungsweise leben und das turbulente politische und gesellschaftliche Leben von Sisonke Msimang und ihrer gesamten Familie genauso wie beschrieben stattgefunden hat. Sisonkes Vater war im bewaffneten Flügel des ANC (Afrikanischer Nationalkongress) tätig und dort im Untergrund auf der Flucht als Kämpfer gegen die Apartheid aktiv. Er war gut bekannt mit den Mandelas und befreundet mit Chris Hani, dessen Ermordung Südafrika kurz vor der Abschaffung der Apartheit fast an den Rand eines Bürgerkrieges gebracht hat, hätte Nelson Mandela in seiner Rede nicht eingegriffen und das Volk beschwichtigt.
Die Autobiografie ist aber nicht nur eine Geschichte der politischen und gesellschaftlichen Selbstbestimmung der Schwarzen Afrikas, sondern sie umfasst zudem auch noch die persönliche Entwicklung von Sisonke Msimang, das Ringen um Emanzipation, den Kampf gegen Rassismus und für weibliche Selbstbestimmung vom kleinen Kind im Exil über ihre Ausbildungsjahre in Kanada und Amerika bis zur erwachsenen Frau, die endlich in ihre Heimat nach Südafrika zurückkehren kann. Dabei spart die Autorin weder mit brillanten gesellschaftlichen und politischen Analysen noch mit Kritik und Selbstkritik, wenn sie sich durch ihren kämpferischen Charakter hin und wieder im Eifer des Gefechts verrannt, oder auf die falschen Vorbilder gesetzt hat. Irgendwie kann man in diesem Buch gleichzeitig einem ganzen Land als auch dem Menschen Sisonke beim Kampf um Autonomie zusehen.
Von Beginn an präsentiert sich der Plot spannend, aufwühlend, teilweise grausam und gewalttätig mit genialen Analysen. Die Protagonistin, noch ein kleines Mädchen, zeigt deutlich, wie von Beginn an Geschlechterstereotype und Frauenfeindlichkeit auch von Frauen weitergegeben werden. Eine „Auntie“ aus Deutschland, die im sehr offen geführten Freiheitskämpfer-Haushalt der Msimangs in Sambia zu Besuch ist, wird von den Kids beim Sex erwischt. Sie haben bereits folgendes von den Erwachsenen gelernt: Da sie am Sex Freude gezeigt hat ist sie eine Nutte, sonst natürlich nicht.
Mehr und mehr begeisterte mich diese Geschichte voller Entwurzelung, durch die unzähligen Umzüge von Land zu Land, von Exil zu Exil (Swasiland, Sambia, Kenia, Kanada, USA …), mit vielen Kulturschocks für die Kinder. Der Titel Und immer wieder Aufbrechen ist sehr gut gewählt und zeigt einerseits die Probleme Sisonkes in der Kindheit und Jugend, nie wirklich irgendwo Fuß fassen zu können und keine Heimat zu haben, ist aber andererseits auch ein positives Fanal, immer wieder aufzubrechen und neue Entwicklungen voranzutreiben, sich also nicht auf den Lorbeeren auszuruhen.
Die Eltern von Sisonke und die Freunde, die im Haushalt ein und aus gehen, sind selbstbewusste Afrikaner der Mittelschicht, quasi die im Exil lebenden Freiheitskämpfer der Anti-Kolonial-Generation Südafrikas. Dieses Selbstverständnis gilt aber nicht wirklich für die Frauen, denn traditionelle Geschlechtermuster, Gewalt, Kindesmissbrauch und Vergewaltigung sind noch immer an der Tagesordnung, was auch Sisonke am eigenen Leib zu spüren bekommt, als sie von einem Hausangestellten missbraucht wird. Täglich erleben Frauen den Spagat zwischen Emanzipation und Unterwerfung.
"Die Wortwahl bestimmter schwarzer Männer – die Art wie sie ihre Wut zum Ausdruck bringen – ist ungemein verführerisch. Ich ignoriere die Tatsache, dass ihr Schwarzsein nur wenig Raum für mein Frausein lässt."
Diese geniale Analyse der jungen Sisonke während ihres Studiums bringt die Gesamtsituation von schwarzen Frauen in einem Satz auf den Punkt.
Nach der Schulzeit in Kanada, einem Zwischenstopp in Nairobi und der Trennung von ihrer Familie durch das Studium in den USA (Minnesota) hat sich Sisonke zu einer kämpferischen jungen Frau entwickelt, die gegen die Eltern rebelliert, erneut einen Kulturschock erleidet, erstmals mit dem völlig anders gearteten Rassismus und den üblichen Problemen einer jungen Frau in Amerika konfrontiert ist. All die Probleme muss sie nun völlig auf sich allein gestellt meistern.
"Er redet ohne Punkt und Komma, bis wir den grauen Minivan mit dem Logo des Colleges erreicht haben. Auch während der Fahrt in die Stadt redet er ununterbrochen. Seine schiere Freundlichkeit überwältigt mich. Ich fühle mich wie ein allergieanfälliges Kind, das von einem freundlichen Labrador angesprungen wird."
" … und ich bin nicht sicher, ob ich ihr die Wahrheit sagen kann, dass Amerika so ist wie Kenia, Kenia wie Kanada und Kanada wie Sambia, was bedeutet, es gibt keinen einzigen Ort auf der Welt wo irgendeine von uns sicher ist, weil Amerika – die Heimat der Tapferen und das Land der Freien – mir gerade bewiesen hat, dass auf dich, wenn du ein Mädchen bist, an jeder Ecke Ärger wartet und du nie weißt, wie er aussehen wird."
In Minnesota stürzt Sisonke sich auch in die erste sehr innige Beziehung mit einem Mann, die leider sehr von der toxischen Art ist, denn ihr Freund ist bipolar und total egoistisch.
Nach dem Ende ihrer Studienzeit und dem Ende der unglücklichen Beziehung, hat sie plötzlich die Möglichkeit, in ihre Heimat Südafrika zurückzukehren und ihre Staatenlosigkeit zu beenden. Die Apartheit liegt in den letzten Zügen.
"Der Tag selbst ist sowohl ein Höhepunkt als auch eine Enttäuschung. Einerseits ist da die Freude, der Jubel und die Feierlichkeiten. Andererseits gibt es ein kaum hörbares Geräusch. Es ist die Apartheit, aus der mit einem Zischen die Luft entweicht. Urplötzlich hat die Apartheit ihre gespenstische Kraft verloren. […] Dieser nächtliche Reiter, der uns so lange terrorisiert hat, ist bloßgestellt worden: als kleiner Junge in einem wallenden Laken mit ausgeschnittenen Augenlöchern."
Nach Südafrika zurückgekehrt, ist die Familie Msimang endlich wieder vereint. Sisonke hilft mit, den neuen Staat aufzubauen, indem sie bei NGOs arbeitet. Da verliebt sie sich ausgerechnet unsterblich in einen Arbeitskollegen, einen Weißen, und trennt sich von ihm, weil er weiß ist. Was für eine sensationelle Wendung in ihrem Leben, denn hier schlägt der Rassismus mal von der anderen Seite komplett unvermutet zu. Ihre Familie hilft ihr aber aktiv, diesen Fehler zu revidieren und so heiratet sie Simon, den weißen Australier und führt fortan eine sehr glückliche Beziehung. Nun wird sie als Mutter, gut situierte Mittelklassefrau, Haushaltsvorsteherin und vielbeschäftigte Geschäftsführerin einer NGO selbst zu einer Chefin von Dienstboten der Unterschicht, denen sie misstraut. Als sie vorübergehend nach Yale geht, wird sie durch eigene Managementfehler und durch eine Intrige diskreditiert und muss ihren Job aufgeben.
Sisonke geht aber nicht nur mit sich selbst und ihren Fehlern hart ins Gericht, sie spart auch nicht mit harscher Kritik am neuen südafrikanischen Staat und seinen Vertretern. Nach und nach ist sie vom ANC enttäuscht, und bemerkt, wie die neu gewonnene enorme Machtfülle die ehemaligen Freiheitskämpfer und Helden ihrer Kindheit korrumpiert. Sie kann nicht fassen, wie instinktlos, überheblich und ignorierend falsch die schwarzen Politiker die AIDS-Krise managen und Staat bzw. Bevölkerung an die Wand fahren. Die Armut und die daraus resultierende Gewalt, die die Regierung nicht in den Griff bekommt, ist nicht nur ein politisches Problem, sondern auch ein Umstand, von der die neue Familie Sisonkes permanent persönlich betroffen ist. Sie fühlen sich nicht mehr sicher.
Als ihre Mutter stirbt, verliert Sisonke ihren Anker, ihre eigentliche persönliche Heimat und die Reise geht weiter…
Sprachlich fand ich die Autobiografie großartig, wortgewaltig und bildhaft formuliert wie ein richtiger Roman. Die Figuren sind sehr detailliert und privat beschrieben, sie weisen durch ihre Spitznamen wie Auntie und Uncle kombiniert mit dem jeweiligen Vornamen einerseits ein bisschen den Inkognito-Charakter von fiktiven Figuren auf und andererseits nervt die Autorin nicht mit massivem Namedropping von berühmten Persönlichkeiten. Sie werden dadurch viel begreifbarer, man kann sich intimer mit ihnen auseinandersetzen und sich besser mit ihnen identifizieren.
Leider bin ich in meinem Vorabexemplar über ein paar Orthographiefehler gestolpert, was aber möglicherweise in der Buchmarktversion dann noch lektoriert wurde.
Fazit: Ich bin total hingerissen! Wenn Ihr ein aktuelles, politisches, sehr persönliches und ehrliches Buch über afrikanische Identität und Emanzipation lesen wollt, dann nehmt auf jeden Fall dieses.
Irgendwann dämmerte mir natürlich, dass die mit Kosenamen versehenen Figuren auch in der Realität tatsächlich gelebt haben, beziehungsweise leben und das turbulente politische und gesellschaftliche Leben von Sisonke Msimang und ihrer gesamten Familie genauso wie beschrieben stattgefunden hat. Sisonkes Vater war im bewaffneten Flügel des ANC (Afrikanischer Nationalkongress) tätig und dort im Untergrund auf der Flucht als Kämpfer gegen die Apartheid aktiv. Er war gut bekannt mit den Mandelas und befreundet mit Chris Hani, dessen Ermordung Südafrika kurz vor der Abschaffung der Apartheit fast an den Rand eines Bürgerkrieges gebracht hat, hätte Nelson Mandela in seiner Rede nicht eingegriffen und das Volk beschwichtigt.
Die Autobiografie ist aber nicht nur eine Geschichte der politischen und gesellschaftlichen Selbstbestimmung der Schwarzen Afrikas, sondern sie umfasst zudem auch noch die persönliche Entwicklung von Sisonke Msimang, das Ringen um Emanzipation, den Kampf gegen Rassismus und für weibliche Selbstbestimmung vom kleinen Kind im Exil über ihre Ausbildungsjahre in Kanada und Amerika bis zur erwachsenen Frau, die endlich in ihre Heimat nach Südafrika zurückkehren kann. Dabei spart die Autorin weder mit brillanten gesellschaftlichen und politischen Analysen noch mit Kritik und Selbstkritik, wenn sie sich durch ihren kämpferischen Charakter hin und wieder im Eifer des Gefechts verrannt, oder auf die falschen Vorbilder gesetzt hat. Irgendwie kann man in diesem Buch gleichzeitig einem ganzen Land als auch dem Menschen Sisonke beim Kampf um Autonomie zusehen.
Von Beginn an präsentiert sich der Plot spannend, aufwühlend, teilweise grausam und gewalttätig mit genialen Analysen. Die Protagonistin, noch ein kleines Mädchen, zeigt deutlich, wie von Beginn an Geschlechterstereotype und Frauenfeindlichkeit auch von Frauen weitergegeben werden. Eine „Auntie“ aus Deutschland, die im sehr offen geführten Freiheitskämpfer-Haushalt der Msimangs in Sambia zu Besuch ist, wird von den Kids beim Sex erwischt. Sie haben bereits folgendes von den Erwachsenen gelernt: Da sie am Sex Freude gezeigt hat ist sie eine Nutte, sonst natürlich nicht.
Mehr und mehr begeisterte mich diese Geschichte voller Entwurzelung, durch die unzähligen Umzüge von Land zu Land, von Exil zu Exil (Swasiland, Sambia, Kenia, Kanada, USA …), mit vielen Kulturschocks für die Kinder. Der Titel Und immer wieder Aufbrechen ist sehr gut gewählt und zeigt einerseits die Probleme Sisonkes in der Kindheit und Jugend, nie wirklich irgendwo Fuß fassen zu können und keine Heimat zu haben, ist aber andererseits auch ein positives Fanal, immer wieder aufzubrechen und neue Entwicklungen voranzutreiben, sich also nicht auf den Lorbeeren auszuruhen.
Die Eltern von Sisonke und die Freunde, die im Haushalt ein und aus gehen, sind selbstbewusste Afrikaner der Mittelschicht, quasi die im Exil lebenden Freiheitskämpfer der Anti-Kolonial-Generation Südafrikas. Dieses Selbstverständnis gilt aber nicht wirklich für die Frauen, denn traditionelle Geschlechtermuster, Gewalt, Kindesmissbrauch und Vergewaltigung sind noch immer an der Tagesordnung, was auch Sisonke am eigenen Leib zu spüren bekommt, als sie von einem Hausangestellten missbraucht wird. Täglich erleben Frauen den Spagat zwischen Emanzipation und Unterwerfung.
"Die Wortwahl bestimmter schwarzer Männer – die Art wie sie ihre Wut zum Ausdruck bringen – ist ungemein verführerisch. Ich ignoriere die Tatsache, dass ihr Schwarzsein nur wenig Raum für mein Frausein lässt."
Diese geniale Analyse der jungen Sisonke während ihres Studiums bringt die Gesamtsituation von schwarzen Frauen in einem Satz auf den Punkt.
Nach der Schulzeit in Kanada, einem Zwischenstopp in Nairobi und der Trennung von ihrer Familie durch das Studium in den USA (Minnesota) hat sich Sisonke zu einer kämpferischen jungen Frau entwickelt, die gegen die Eltern rebelliert, erneut einen Kulturschock erleidet, erstmals mit dem völlig anders gearteten Rassismus und den üblichen Problemen einer jungen Frau in Amerika konfrontiert ist. All die Probleme muss sie nun völlig auf sich allein gestellt meistern.
"Er redet ohne Punkt und Komma, bis wir den grauen Minivan mit dem Logo des Colleges erreicht haben. Auch während der Fahrt in die Stadt redet er ununterbrochen. Seine schiere Freundlichkeit überwältigt mich. Ich fühle mich wie ein allergieanfälliges Kind, das von einem freundlichen Labrador angesprungen wird."
" … und ich bin nicht sicher, ob ich ihr die Wahrheit sagen kann, dass Amerika so ist wie Kenia, Kenia wie Kanada und Kanada wie Sambia, was bedeutet, es gibt keinen einzigen Ort auf der Welt wo irgendeine von uns sicher ist, weil Amerika – die Heimat der Tapferen und das Land der Freien – mir gerade bewiesen hat, dass auf dich, wenn du ein Mädchen bist, an jeder Ecke Ärger wartet und du nie weißt, wie er aussehen wird."
In Minnesota stürzt Sisonke sich auch in die erste sehr innige Beziehung mit einem Mann, die leider sehr von der toxischen Art ist, denn ihr Freund ist bipolar und total egoistisch.
Nach dem Ende ihrer Studienzeit und dem Ende der unglücklichen Beziehung, hat sie plötzlich die Möglichkeit, in ihre Heimat Südafrika zurückzukehren und ihre Staatenlosigkeit zu beenden. Die Apartheit liegt in den letzten Zügen.
"Der Tag selbst ist sowohl ein Höhepunkt als auch eine Enttäuschung. Einerseits ist da die Freude, der Jubel und die Feierlichkeiten. Andererseits gibt es ein kaum hörbares Geräusch. Es ist die Apartheit, aus der mit einem Zischen die Luft entweicht. Urplötzlich hat die Apartheit ihre gespenstische Kraft verloren. […] Dieser nächtliche Reiter, der uns so lange terrorisiert hat, ist bloßgestellt worden: als kleiner Junge in einem wallenden Laken mit ausgeschnittenen Augenlöchern."
Nach Südafrika zurückgekehrt, ist die Familie Msimang endlich wieder vereint. Sisonke hilft mit, den neuen Staat aufzubauen, indem sie bei NGOs arbeitet. Da verliebt sie sich ausgerechnet unsterblich in einen Arbeitskollegen, einen Weißen, und trennt sich von ihm, weil er weiß ist. Was für eine sensationelle Wendung in ihrem Leben, denn hier schlägt der Rassismus mal von der anderen Seite komplett unvermutet zu. Ihre Familie hilft ihr aber aktiv, diesen Fehler zu revidieren und so heiratet sie Simon, den weißen Australier und führt fortan eine sehr glückliche Beziehung. Nun wird sie als Mutter, gut situierte Mittelklassefrau, Haushaltsvorsteherin und vielbeschäftigte Geschäftsführerin einer NGO selbst zu einer Chefin von Dienstboten der Unterschicht, denen sie misstraut. Als sie vorübergehend nach Yale geht, wird sie durch eigene Managementfehler und durch eine Intrige diskreditiert und muss ihren Job aufgeben.
Sisonke geht aber nicht nur mit sich selbst und ihren Fehlern hart ins Gericht, sie spart auch nicht mit harscher Kritik am neuen südafrikanischen Staat und seinen Vertretern. Nach und nach ist sie vom ANC enttäuscht, und bemerkt, wie die neu gewonnene enorme Machtfülle die ehemaligen Freiheitskämpfer und Helden ihrer Kindheit korrumpiert. Sie kann nicht fassen, wie instinktlos, überheblich und ignorierend falsch die schwarzen Politiker die AIDS-Krise managen und Staat bzw. Bevölkerung an die Wand fahren. Die Armut und die daraus resultierende Gewalt, die die Regierung nicht in den Griff bekommt, ist nicht nur ein politisches Problem, sondern auch ein Umstand, von der die neue Familie Sisonkes permanent persönlich betroffen ist. Sie fühlen sich nicht mehr sicher.
Als ihre Mutter stirbt, verliert Sisonke ihren Anker, ihre eigentliche persönliche Heimat und die Reise geht weiter…
Sprachlich fand ich die Autobiografie großartig, wortgewaltig und bildhaft formuliert wie ein richtiger Roman. Die Figuren sind sehr detailliert und privat beschrieben, sie weisen durch ihre Spitznamen wie Auntie und Uncle kombiniert mit dem jeweiligen Vornamen einerseits ein bisschen den Inkognito-Charakter von fiktiven Figuren auf und andererseits nervt die Autorin nicht mit massivem Namedropping von berühmten Persönlichkeiten. Sie werden dadurch viel begreifbarer, man kann sich intimer mit ihnen auseinandersetzen und sich besser mit ihnen identifizieren.
Leider bin ich in meinem Vorabexemplar über ein paar Orthographiefehler gestolpert, was aber möglicherweise in der Buchmarktversion dann noch lektoriert wurde.
Fazit: Ich bin total hingerissen! Wenn Ihr ein aktuelles, politisches, sehr persönliches und ehrliches Buch über afrikanische Identität und Emanzipation lesen wollt, dann nehmt auf jeden Fall dieses.
January 26, 2018
"Another country" in this vivid, honest, lyrical and highly personal account, refers to Lusaka, Nairobi, Canada , America, South Africa, Mozambique and Australia. The countries where Sisonke resided. In the beginning as exiles with her parents and two siblings. Alone at tertiary, and eventually with her husband and children.
Msimang shares and muses on racism, politics ,misogyny, privilege, marriage,patriarchy, xenophobia,failure, crime , death, identity , love , sex, mental illness, rape, parenting and other themes.
What resonated the most with me was that, discrimination of various forms is universal. America, Canada and even our neighbouring African countries are not immune to it. The sad and unfortunate collective amnesia when freedom fighters become politicians or the government. More importantly that home and exile need not necessarily be geographical. They could be a state of being or mind.
In the seven days of my reading the book, Msimang successfully transported me to the various countries. Introduced me and made me connect with the various characters. Specifically the neighborhood gossip Mam Tawona, Jason, Gogo Lindi, Mandla , Zeng, Simon , baba , mummy aunt Tutu, uncle Stan , Lakeesha and the others.
A brilliant book that rightfully belongs alongside those of Bessie Head, Meriam Tlali, Matshilo Motsei, Lauretta Ngcobo, Sindiwe Magona, Malebo Sephodi, and Pumla Gqola . In actual fact Msimang relates history and nonfiction as beautifully and lively as the likes of Nomavenda Mathiane in her book Eyes In The Night .
Msimang shares and muses on racism, politics ,misogyny, privilege, marriage,patriarchy, xenophobia,failure, crime , death, identity , love , sex, mental illness, rape, parenting and other themes.
What resonated the most with me was that, discrimination of various forms is universal. America, Canada and even our neighbouring African countries are not immune to it. The sad and unfortunate collective amnesia when freedom fighters become politicians or the government. More importantly that home and exile need not necessarily be geographical. They could be a state of being or mind.
In the seven days of my reading the book, Msimang successfully transported me to the various countries. Introduced me and made me connect with the various characters. Specifically the neighborhood gossip Mam Tawona, Jason, Gogo Lindi, Mandla , Zeng, Simon , baba , mummy aunt Tutu, uncle Stan , Lakeesha and the others.
A brilliant book that rightfully belongs alongside those of Bessie Head, Meriam Tlali, Matshilo Motsei, Lauretta Ngcobo, Sindiwe Magona, Malebo Sephodi, and Pumla Gqola . In actual fact Msimang relates history and nonfiction as beautifully and lively as the likes of Nomavenda Mathiane in her book Eyes In The Night .
August 19, 2021
"Ich schreibe, weil ich Schwarz bin - dieses besondere Wort, das mehr bedeutet als die braune Farbe meiner Haut. Schwarz ist eine solide Masse aus vielen Schattierungen, die alle zusammen in die Zukunft weisen: Es ist ein schwarzes Loch. Schwarz ist eine Formel, die sich selbst Einsteins Brillanz entzog, obwohl es nichts ist, keine greifbare Masse." - Sisonke Msimang, "Und immer wieder aufbrechen"
Sisonke Msimang wurde als Tochter zweier Widerstandskämpfer*innen gegen das Apartheit-Regime geboren - was den Titel des Buches zu ihrem Leben macht: Sie muss immer wieder aufbrechen. Sie wächst in Swasiland, Sambia, Nairobi und Kanada auf, studiert in den USA und kehrt schließlich mit über 20 Jahren endlich in ihre Heimat, das von der Apartheit befreite Südafrika, zurück. Doch wie frei ist Südafrika wirklich? Und was bedeutet eigentlich Heimat?
Die Autorin ist eine unglaublich inspirierende Persönlichkeit, von der ich durch diese Memoiren sehr viel lernen konnte. Als Kind ist sie umgeben von Frauen, die ihr ein Leben entgegen der Konventionen vormachen. Als Jugendliche wird sie sich ihrer Privilegien bewusst - und dieses Bewusstsein vertieft sich immer mehr. Trotz der Vorrechte, die sie genießt, ist ihr Leben von Rassismus und Sexismus geprägt, sie erlebt sexuelle Übergriffe und Gewalt. Was sie daraus macht, ist bemerkenswert: Ihr Buch steckt voller Kraft, Hoffnung, Mut und Ehrlichkeit.
"Und immer wieder aufbrechen" hat mir mal wieder gezeigt, wie wenig ich weiß und wie viel es noch zu lernen gibt. Sisonke Msimang erzählt eindrücklich von ihrem Leben im Exil, davon, ständig auf Reisen zu sein und nie irgendwo wirklich dazuzugehören, von der südafrikanischen Geschichte und ihrem Kampf für Gerechtigkeit und Selbstbestimmung. Ich mochte wirklich alles an diesem Memoire - es ist emotional, besonders, bildend und empowernd. Große Leseempfehlung!
"Ich schreibe für mich selbst, weil Frauen nur selten einen Raum für sich haben, und Schreiben ist Raum. Es nimmt Raum ein, es erschafft Raum, es gibt mir Raum." - Sisonke Msimang, "Und immer wieder aufbrechen"
Sisonke Msimang wurde als Tochter zweier Widerstandskämpfer*innen gegen das Apartheit-Regime geboren - was den Titel des Buches zu ihrem Leben macht: Sie muss immer wieder aufbrechen. Sie wächst in Swasiland, Sambia, Nairobi und Kanada auf, studiert in den USA und kehrt schließlich mit über 20 Jahren endlich in ihre Heimat, das von der Apartheit befreite Südafrika, zurück. Doch wie frei ist Südafrika wirklich? Und was bedeutet eigentlich Heimat?
Die Autorin ist eine unglaublich inspirierende Persönlichkeit, von der ich durch diese Memoiren sehr viel lernen konnte. Als Kind ist sie umgeben von Frauen, die ihr ein Leben entgegen der Konventionen vormachen. Als Jugendliche wird sie sich ihrer Privilegien bewusst - und dieses Bewusstsein vertieft sich immer mehr. Trotz der Vorrechte, die sie genießt, ist ihr Leben von Rassismus und Sexismus geprägt, sie erlebt sexuelle Übergriffe und Gewalt. Was sie daraus macht, ist bemerkenswert: Ihr Buch steckt voller Kraft, Hoffnung, Mut und Ehrlichkeit.
"Und immer wieder aufbrechen" hat mir mal wieder gezeigt, wie wenig ich weiß und wie viel es noch zu lernen gibt. Sisonke Msimang erzählt eindrücklich von ihrem Leben im Exil, davon, ständig auf Reisen zu sein und nie irgendwo wirklich dazuzugehören, von der südafrikanischen Geschichte und ihrem Kampf für Gerechtigkeit und Selbstbestimmung. Ich mochte wirklich alles an diesem Memoire - es ist emotional, besonders, bildend und empowernd. Große Leseempfehlung!
"Ich schreibe für mich selbst, weil Frauen nur selten einen Raum für sich haben, und Schreiben ist Raum. Es nimmt Raum ein, es erschafft Raum, es gibt mir Raum." - Sisonke Msimang, "Und immer wieder aufbrechen"
November 7, 2017
A conversation amongst friends over a VERY LONG LUNCH. Or a weekend away. So much intimacy...
January 4, 2019
I inhaled this book. I couldn't pause, I couldn't put it down. By the end I was in tears, simply because I wasn't ready to let go of this remarkable journey Sisonke had taken me through. It is an exquisite, evocative, compelling memoir of a young South African girl, born in exile, an itinerant coming of age story as her family moved places every few years, her political awakening and her incredibly complex yet intimate relationship with her home, South Africa.
Sisonke Msimang is a phenomenally perceptive writer and she presents her story with such thought provoking clarity that completely transfers to page. Despite growing up in several countries, the way she perceives and considers South Africa as home was eerily synonymous to the way I see India as home. Her relationship with her sisters and her mother, at times, felt like the unwritten pages from my non-existent diary. In the second half of her memoir, Sisonke explores the political disenchantment of her idealistic views of post-Apartheid Africa and the startling reality that snubs back. With deft honesty she writes about her foray into political activism, the repercussions of being vocal with her opinion while balancing pressures of early motherhood and battling postpartum depression.
I know next-to-nothing about the history and politics of South Africa aside from a basic understanding of the horrifying/atrocious Apartheid laws and Nelson Mandela playing a key role in the fight against it and it's eventual abolishment. However, at no point did I feel alienated from the narration. Reading this memoir felt like sitting with an extraordinarily intelligent and wonderful person narrate their life's story to you. It's also one of the most exquisitely written memoirs I have ever had the pleasure to read. I had initially begun to underline quote-worthy sentences and then I realized the futility of what I was trying to do. Every second passage was quote-worthy.
Another aspect I loved was how self aware she is of her position in the context of the experiences she narrates. There are points in her narration of incidents and encounters where she completely acknowledges the privilege that she had in comparison to thousand others in South Africa that didn't have that luxury. There's heartbreak and humour, vulnerability and strength, integrity and an unflinching honesty in her memoir that sets it apart from so many other books I have read. I don't say it lightly when I say this was my best book of 2018. It was the very best and rightfully so.
If there's one book you walk away with from my favourites, let it be this one.
Sisonke Msimang is a phenomenally perceptive writer and she presents her story with such thought provoking clarity that completely transfers to page. Despite growing up in several countries, the way she perceives and considers South Africa as home was eerily synonymous to the way I see India as home. Her relationship with her sisters and her mother, at times, felt like the unwritten pages from my non-existent diary. In the second half of her memoir, Sisonke explores the political disenchantment of her idealistic views of post-Apartheid Africa and the startling reality that snubs back. With deft honesty she writes about her foray into political activism, the repercussions of being vocal with her opinion while balancing pressures of early motherhood and battling postpartum depression.
I know next-to-nothing about the history and politics of South Africa aside from a basic understanding of the horrifying/atrocious Apartheid laws and Nelson Mandela playing a key role in the fight against it and it's eventual abolishment. However, at no point did I feel alienated from the narration. Reading this memoir felt like sitting with an extraordinarily intelligent and wonderful person narrate their life's story to you. It's also one of the most exquisitely written memoirs I have ever had the pleasure to read. I had initially begun to underline quote-worthy sentences and then I realized the futility of what I was trying to do. Every second passage was quote-worthy.
Another aspect I loved was how self aware she is of her position in the context of the experiences she narrates. There are points in her narration of incidents and encounters where she completely acknowledges the privilege that she had in comparison to thousand others in South Africa that didn't have that luxury. There's heartbreak and humour, vulnerability and strength, integrity and an unflinching honesty in her memoir that sets it apart from so many other books I have read. I don't say it lightly when I say this was my best book of 2018. It was the very best and rightfully so.
If there's one book you walk away with from my favourites, let it be this one.
April 4, 2021
(8.5/10)
giving a memoir a rating always feels weird somehow but i really enjoyed this one. wanna write a more cohesive review but for now, highlight that i loved how Msimang explored her own privilege and how it played a huge part in her life; as well as her deeply complex relationship with South Africa. the last chapter, which focuses on her mum, really hit me.
giving a memoir a rating always feels weird somehow but i really enjoyed this one. wanna write a more cohesive review but for now, highlight that i loved how Msimang explored her own privilege and how it played a huge part in her life; as well as her deeply complex relationship with South Africa. the last chapter, which focuses on her mum, really hit me.
March 21, 2018
2017 churned out an array of interesting, relevant delicious South African books which I believe helped us as a community to articulate the ever changing socio-economic and political time we find ourselves in. I had two books on my lengthy reading list and deciding which book to read first was difficult. Msimang Sisonke’s “Always Another Country” and Redi Thlabi’s “Kwezi” promised to be both delicious kisses on my soul, so I decided to read Always Another Country first, suspecting that Kwezi would be the book that needed me to pause and breath in between reading.
Msimang Sisonke is a storyteller of note, reading Always Another country was like witnessing her childhood experiences in the countries her families found themselves whilst in exile. For the longest time, many of us who remained in South Africa fighting the system of Apartheid, often romanticised those in exile, believing almost as if their lives were free from the daily struggles that informed our fight. Her story is an eye opener for me, showing that the racist did not only live in South Africa, but at times lived very much in older democracies such as Canada too. It is a truth we are familiar with, but reading about racism through the eyes of children elsewhere continues to jolt me to the reality of how we continue cycles of damage, prejudice and destruction through the rearing of our children.
Her story is bravely honest as she begins her walk as a woman, reminding me of my earlier challenges with my own daughters, who also were products and children of the struggle, of both parents involved in the fight against Apartheid and dreaming of a better life. Her realisation of her mother as a pivotal person in ‘their family unit’, the struggle to fight injustice, the majestic quiet giant influences she had on Sisonke Msimang and her sisters in her narrative comes very late, but this is of course the narrative of most women. We find understanding of our mothers when we experience life through the eyes as a woman and begin than to ‘see’ our mothers.
South Africa after ’94 offered not only good change for South Africans, it brought new realisations of us as a people, suddenly putting the class issue smack bang into our kitchens and homes. If we regarded ourselves as sincerely the ones fighting for injustice, we could not forget the poor, the ones who worked for the ‘cleva blacks’ and shared our homes, however, as much as we understand this problem, the system is controlled to have a clear line between the HAVES and the HAVE NOTS. For e.g It is true that in South Africa and many countries it may as well be a death sentence to become ill if you are poor, our health systems simply put, is a system that attends to the sick ‘one by one’, with little and at times no resources. Many of us tried or still try to find workable solutions for the class struggle in our daily lives, but it is perhaps naive to believe you, I or any one person could solve this problem by adopting healthy socialist rules and behaviour in our individual spaces. The class struggle is prevalent the world over, and privileged black elite sometimes go into individual interactions and relationships, fully believing at first naïvely, that we are all comrades in the same quest for the same solutions…..Sisonke’s eloquent narration shows how intricate and complicated the relationships become across the CLASS BAR….
The xenophobia story is honest, but I find it is simplified and perhaps I find myself begging for more discussion except for her narrating this South African ‘makwere kwere’ tale from only one viewpoint.
Her life story reminds me of every ‘feminist’ gathering I’ve attended in SA and in Europe, where almost all gatherings begin with ‘what is a feminist? Who is a feminist? What does a feminist look like?” Many woman who chose to be in traditional marriages have largely been seen as unable or not fitting to bear the baton as a feminist by other feminists…there are many other such definitions and critiques about the definition, suffice to say we exhaust ourselves at times attempting to be the ONES WHO CARRY THE TORCHE, excluding and defining….by so doing sadly we omit women whose own life stories are crucial to the emancipation of women everywhere. It is almost like the ‘intellectual snobbery’ in the world of ‘feminism’. From my personal experience, feminism evolves and becomes as we grow conscience and become as humans. We learn new truths everyday about ourselves in relation to the world, so we cannot at one point define conclusively the meaning of life in one sitting.
Her personal story is a blessed gift to my soul, almost like a healing balm on my wound as she writes about the betrayal of our leaders in their enriching of themselves, looting and stealing. Many are still mourning this truth and reading Sisonke helps to articulate ones feeling about the betrayal, for many of us, this realisation of the fallible ANC leader has been a difficult journey. We held these men up as our ‘saviours’, we hailed their brave and selfless choices as humans, at times searching for ‘reasons’ and explanations, simply to accept that power in the hands of even the most noble humans may corrupt their souls and the collective watch with open mouths at the radical transition of a leader going rogue.
Msimang Sisonke is a storyteller of note, reading Always Another country was like witnessing her childhood experiences in the countries her families found themselves whilst in exile. For the longest time, many of us who remained in South Africa fighting the system of Apartheid, often romanticised those in exile, believing almost as if their lives were free from the daily struggles that informed our fight. Her story is an eye opener for me, showing that the racist did not only live in South Africa, but at times lived very much in older democracies such as Canada too. It is a truth we are familiar with, but reading about racism through the eyes of children elsewhere continues to jolt me to the reality of how we continue cycles of damage, prejudice and destruction through the rearing of our children.
Her story is bravely honest as she begins her walk as a woman, reminding me of my earlier challenges with my own daughters, who also were products and children of the struggle, of both parents involved in the fight against Apartheid and dreaming of a better life. Her realisation of her mother as a pivotal person in ‘their family unit’, the struggle to fight injustice, the majestic quiet giant influences she had on Sisonke Msimang and her sisters in her narrative comes very late, but this is of course the narrative of most women. We find understanding of our mothers when we experience life through the eyes as a woman and begin than to ‘see’ our mothers.
South Africa after ’94 offered not only good change for South Africans, it brought new realisations of us as a people, suddenly putting the class issue smack bang into our kitchens and homes. If we regarded ourselves as sincerely the ones fighting for injustice, we could not forget the poor, the ones who worked for the ‘cleva blacks’ and shared our homes, however, as much as we understand this problem, the system is controlled to have a clear line between the HAVES and the HAVE NOTS. For e.g It is true that in South Africa and many countries it may as well be a death sentence to become ill if you are poor, our health systems simply put, is a system that attends to the sick ‘one by one’, with little and at times no resources. Many of us tried or still try to find workable solutions for the class struggle in our daily lives, but it is perhaps naive to believe you, I or any one person could solve this problem by adopting healthy socialist rules and behaviour in our individual spaces. The class struggle is prevalent the world over, and privileged black elite sometimes go into individual interactions and relationships, fully believing at first naïvely, that we are all comrades in the same quest for the same solutions…..Sisonke’s eloquent narration shows how intricate and complicated the relationships become across the CLASS BAR….
The xenophobia story is honest, but I find it is simplified and perhaps I find myself begging for more discussion except for her narrating this South African ‘makwere kwere’ tale from only one viewpoint.
Her life story reminds me of every ‘feminist’ gathering I’ve attended in SA and in Europe, where almost all gatherings begin with ‘what is a feminist? Who is a feminist? What does a feminist look like?” Many woman who chose to be in traditional marriages have largely been seen as unable or not fitting to bear the baton as a feminist by other feminists…there are many other such definitions and critiques about the definition, suffice to say we exhaust ourselves at times attempting to be the ONES WHO CARRY THE TORCHE, excluding and defining….by so doing sadly we omit women whose own life stories are crucial to the emancipation of women everywhere. It is almost like the ‘intellectual snobbery’ in the world of ‘feminism’. From my personal experience, feminism evolves and becomes as we grow conscience and become as humans. We learn new truths everyday about ourselves in relation to the world, so we cannot at one point define conclusively the meaning of life in one sitting.
Her personal story is a blessed gift to my soul, almost like a healing balm on my wound as she writes about the betrayal of our leaders in their enriching of themselves, looting and stealing. Many are still mourning this truth and reading Sisonke helps to articulate ones feeling about the betrayal, for many of us, this realisation of the fallible ANC leader has been a difficult journey. We held these men up as our ‘saviours’, we hailed their brave and selfless choices as humans, at times searching for ‘reasons’ and explanations, simply to accept that power in the hands of even the most noble humans may corrupt their souls and the collective watch with open mouths at the radical transition of a leader going rogue.
June 3, 2022
Rated 5 stars not because this is a compelling story. It sort of isn't, really.
Also not because the people described are layered, complex or endearing. Yeah, sure they are. I guess.
No, I enjoyed this book because of the quality of the writing. Seriously, the way the author was able to change the tone, immerse you in the narrative and elicit visceral responses is nothing short of powerful.
Oh yeah, what this book is actually about...
Well, its the story of how the author grew up in exile from South Africa because her dad was a freedom fighter. She talks about the experience of being a South African refugee (basically) in Zambia, moving to Canada and her and her family being the only black people in a multiple mile radius, moving to Nairobi as a more affluent pre-teen, going to university in America (enough said) and finally moving back to a post-apartheid South Africa.
This autobiography touches on a lot of themes: blackness, belonging, pan-Africanism, the failure of the ANC, crime in South Africa, family, love, child abuse, motherhood, justice and generally, coming of age and discovering oneself.
It's a lot but it's awesome.
Also not because the people described are layered, complex or endearing. Yeah, sure they are. I guess.
No, I enjoyed this book because of the quality of the writing. Seriously, the way the author was able to change the tone, immerse you in the narrative and elicit visceral responses is nothing short of powerful.
Oh yeah, what this book is actually about...
Well, its the story of how the author grew up in exile from South Africa because her dad was a freedom fighter. She talks about the experience of being a South African refugee (basically) in Zambia, moving to Canada and her and her family being the only black people in a multiple mile radius, moving to Nairobi as a more affluent pre-teen, going to university in America (enough said) and finally moving back to a post-apartheid South Africa.
This autobiography touches on a lot of themes: blackness, belonging, pan-Africanism, the failure of the ANC, crime in South Africa, family, love, child abuse, motherhood, justice and generally, coming of age and discovering oneself.
It's a lot but it's awesome.
January 24, 2019
Sisonke Msimang has had a peripatetic life, living in 'always another country.' The daughter of an exiled African National Congress soldier, she has lived in multiple countries in Africa and North America, and now in Australia. When she was a young woman, the almost unthinkable occurred and apartheid ended in South Africa, enabling her family's return, but it has not ended her wandering, nor the tension that comes from having developed the split gaze of an outsider. Her memoir is thoughtful and interesting: while writing vividly about her own experiences with racism and sexual violence, she also candidly problematizes her own privilege as one of the African middle-class elite (the chapter on moving into a suburban home and assuming the mantle of domestic employer was very thought-provoking). Some of the chapters towards the end of the book were a bit less compelling, but a good read nonetheless.
September 10, 2018
Always Another Country is an accessible and evocative memoir about citizenship, belonging and love. The daughter of a freedom fighter father and an accountant mother, Msimang invites readers along her long journey of relocating across continents as a Apartheid-era South African in exile. I related deeply with the book, with its observations on race, nationality and identity, and what it feels to be unmoored, to search for a place to call one's own, and to (finally?) settle on being anchored to a sentiment of home.
December 8, 2017
There is a quiet anguish between the pages. A love letter to a mother. A poke at nosy neighbours. An epistle to a nation still searching. A caution via an exhaustive personal examination; a tapering of self.
Some weeks ago, I prodded Sisonke Msimang, the activist, thinker, columnist and now author, to send me Always Another Country, her first book, before it hit the shelves. I wanted first dibs.
Ever so courteous and kind, and despite the warnings of her publisher, Sisonke sent me a final draft, but also let me know that she was nervous. Nervous of what? I wondered.
It was only after I started my pilgrimage between the pages of her book that I began to understand, even if only a little, why the contents would cause her some trepidation.
Always Another Country is the story of Msimang, as a child of the revolution, growing up in exile in neighbouring Zambia and Kenya, adulting and rebelling in Canada and the US, and returning, with elation to Mandela’s new country, which after a while, began to crack, slip and slide.
As a deeply personal account of a waiting and a longing for life and freedom enveloped in finally returning home, it is second to none. And Msimang manages to marry the romance of revolutionary politics: A life of voracious music, and lusty drinking, intellectual rap battles over revolving dinner tables of fighters, artists and thinkers who refused to be oppressed with the streaks of loneliness and disconsolation of a war without end.
As Msimang puts it in a text dripping with gingerish one-liners: “In the Lusaka of my childhood it was perfectly plausible that we could go to outer space under our own steam.”
Her memories are vivid, lucid. You can smell the fried kapenta fish in Woodlands, Lusaka, and hear the judgement in the never-ending stream of gossip by neighbours. You can feel Gogo Lindi’s tender, albeit peculiar, affection and Mummy’s steely resolve; what the world might be if all young girls would inherit the fortitude of female elders. The cloud of odorous dust emanating from President Daniel Moi’s motorcade as it whizzes past with pride through Nairobi will dry your lips.
Later, when Msimang moves to Canada as an adolescent and is called an “African monkey”, you live her grief. A little girl being dragged across the ends of the Earth in search of home is clearly not enough. She must also carry a reminder of her humanity wherever she goes.
And still she dances between the pages, moving effortlessly between personal reflection and the prose of history and context. Msimang is self-aware, at once well acquainted with her sensuality, attentive of her mastery over language, ideas and philosophy and still so unsure of her footprint. To the revolution back home, she is both observer and insider, neither irrelevant nor requisite. The wheels will turn anyway.
When I wrote Zuma’s Bastard, almost a decade ago, it was the story of South Africa through the lens of a (rather foolish) brown youngster who enjoyed no umbilical cord to the revolutionary politics of the ANC or the movement against apartheid. I held no allegiance to the ANC, unlike my elders.
Likewise, in 2014, the so-called born frees, with no sense of allegiance to party or politics, were expected to take centre stage during the country’s fifth presidential election. But less than 25% of born frees registered to vote. They, it turned out, had no trust in our hard-earned democracy.
Like me, many born frees had no idea what it meant to grow up in a house where the ANC could well be the difference between life and death, where the universal suffrage was the difference between “us” and “them”.
It is from within this vortex of millennial skulduggery that makes Msimang’s story such an urgent read. It is easy to castigate the ANC (and it deserves it) but what does it mean to disown that which helped emancipate you? How do you invalidate the lyrics of freedom that once brought you solace? And what if the freedom it bequeathed was yours, and only yours. Msimang’s lens is a sobering reflection.
There is too little written about and by the children of revolutionaries whose dreams were deferred by a machinery outside their control. Even less has been written by those prepared to leave it all.
Msimang was born in Zambia, the headquarters of the ANC during apartheid. Hers was a life that drifted, like Palestinians and Kurds do today, between statelessness and the privilege of living "free lives" outside; they are armed to the teeth with the vision of a future of a freedom that must come. They carry a burden of expectation and entitlement that only children of exile can relate to.
But Msimang does not attempt to fawn herself with a bravery of being a child born in exile. She flaunts only the expectation of returning to build home in the vision of her parents’ sacrifice.
She is also mindful that the fight against injustice wails beyond large calls for a societal shift.
It is, however, in the latter half of Always Another Country that her honesty takes an audacious and provoking, even uncomfortable turn.
Msimang returns from exile, after Madiba is released, to take up home in a Johannesburg suburb. She marries a white man and becomes part of a system that she once loathed. Apartheid was over, but a different South Africa had not yet been born.
“The house makes me complicit. Suddenly I own shares in South Africa Inc, and my participation makes me anxious it places us firmly in the heart of whiteness.”
Despite her better self, she becomes a white liberal madam, who spoils “the help” with “kindness”. She attempts to compensate and fails. She finds herself trapped in an endless circle of trauma: suburban crime and xenophobic violence. The massacre at Marikana tests her resolve and faith for a country she is desperate to call home.
There is no shortage of literature about post-apartheid South Africa and the dystopia to come. The How Long Will South Africa Survive, The Looming Crisis, When Zuma Goes and We Have Now Begun Our Descent are little more than different slogans for well-trodden discussions.
I wish to inform you then that Always Another Country is not one of those books. You always get the sense that unlike the rest, Msimang has something to lose from the words crafted on the pages. There is nothing dispassionate nor clinical about her analysis of state, family, community or self. There is a quiet anguish between the pages. It is personal. And it must be read.
Some weeks ago, I prodded Sisonke Msimang, the activist, thinker, columnist and now author, to send me Always Another Country, her first book, before it hit the shelves. I wanted first dibs.
Ever so courteous and kind, and despite the warnings of her publisher, Sisonke sent me a final draft, but also let me know that she was nervous. Nervous of what? I wondered.
It was only after I started my pilgrimage between the pages of her book that I began to understand, even if only a little, why the contents would cause her some trepidation.
Always Another Country is the story of Msimang, as a child of the revolution, growing up in exile in neighbouring Zambia and Kenya, adulting and rebelling in Canada and the US, and returning, with elation to Mandela’s new country, which after a while, began to crack, slip and slide.
As a deeply personal account of a waiting and a longing for life and freedom enveloped in finally returning home, it is second to none. And Msimang manages to marry the romance of revolutionary politics: A life of voracious music, and lusty drinking, intellectual rap battles over revolving dinner tables of fighters, artists and thinkers who refused to be oppressed with the streaks of loneliness and disconsolation of a war without end.
As Msimang puts it in a text dripping with gingerish one-liners: “In the Lusaka of my childhood it was perfectly plausible that we could go to outer space under our own steam.”
Her memories are vivid, lucid. You can smell the fried kapenta fish in Woodlands, Lusaka, and hear the judgement in the never-ending stream of gossip by neighbours. You can feel Gogo Lindi’s tender, albeit peculiar, affection and Mummy’s steely resolve; what the world might be if all young girls would inherit the fortitude of female elders. The cloud of odorous dust emanating from President Daniel Moi’s motorcade as it whizzes past with pride through Nairobi will dry your lips.
Later, when Msimang moves to Canada as an adolescent and is called an “African monkey”, you live her grief. A little girl being dragged across the ends of the Earth in search of home is clearly not enough. She must also carry a reminder of her humanity wherever she goes.
And still she dances between the pages, moving effortlessly between personal reflection and the prose of history and context. Msimang is self-aware, at once well acquainted with her sensuality, attentive of her mastery over language, ideas and philosophy and still so unsure of her footprint. To the revolution back home, she is both observer and insider, neither irrelevant nor requisite. The wheels will turn anyway.
When I wrote Zuma’s Bastard, almost a decade ago, it was the story of South Africa through the lens of a (rather foolish) brown youngster who enjoyed no umbilical cord to the revolutionary politics of the ANC or the movement against apartheid. I held no allegiance to the ANC, unlike my elders.
Likewise, in 2014, the so-called born frees, with no sense of allegiance to party or politics, were expected to take centre stage during the country’s fifth presidential election. But less than 25% of born frees registered to vote. They, it turned out, had no trust in our hard-earned democracy.
Like me, many born frees had no idea what it meant to grow up in a house where the ANC could well be the difference between life and death, where the universal suffrage was the difference between “us” and “them”.
It is from within this vortex of millennial skulduggery that makes Msimang’s story such an urgent read. It is easy to castigate the ANC (and it deserves it) but what does it mean to disown that which helped emancipate you? How do you invalidate the lyrics of freedom that once brought you solace? And what if the freedom it bequeathed was yours, and only yours. Msimang’s lens is a sobering reflection.
There is too little written about and by the children of revolutionaries whose dreams were deferred by a machinery outside their control. Even less has been written by those prepared to leave it all.
Msimang was born in Zambia, the headquarters of the ANC during apartheid. Hers was a life that drifted, like Palestinians and Kurds do today, between statelessness and the privilege of living "free lives" outside; they are armed to the teeth with the vision of a future of a freedom that must come. They carry a burden of expectation and entitlement that only children of exile can relate to.
But Msimang does not attempt to fawn herself with a bravery of being a child born in exile. She flaunts only the expectation of returning to build home in the vision of her parents’ sacrifice.
She is also mindful that the fight against injustice wails beyond large calls for a societal shift.
It is, however, in the latter half of Always Another Country that her honesty takes an audacious and provoking, even uncomfortable turn.
Msimang returns from exile, after Madiba is released, to take up home in a Johannesburg suburb. She marries a white man and becomes part of a system that she once loathed. Apartheid was over, but a different South Africa had not yet been born.
“The house makes me complicit. Suddenly I own shares in South Africa Inc, and my participation makes me anxious it places us firmly in the heart of whiteness.”
Despite her better self, she becomes a white liberal madam, who spoils “the help” with “kindness”. She attempts to compensate and fails. She finds herself trapped in an endless circle of trauma: suburban crime and xenophobic violence. The massacre at Marikana tests her resolve and faith for a country she is desperate to call home.
There is no shortage of literature about post-apartheid South Africa and the dystopia to come. The How Long Will South Africa Survive, The Looming Crisis, When Zuma Goes and We Have Now Begun Our Descent are little more than different slogans for well-trodden discussions.
I wish to inform you then that Always Another Country is not one of those books. You always get the sense that unlike the rest, Msimang has something to lose from the words crafted on the pages. There is nothing dispassionate nor clinical about her analysis of state, family, community or self. There is a quiet anguish between the pages. It is personal. And it must be read.
December 23, 2017
This memoir is well-written but it is mostly from a black feminist point of view and the author misses chances to transcend racism to include those marginalized in society. At times I would think, that happens to all people regardless of race. She does hit that higher level in some parts that are more introspective and ambiguous, such as when she dates a bipolar man and shows the complexity of their relationship, but there isn't enough depth in the pages to hold my interest. I'll forget this tale in the long run. She's a good writer so I know I'll look for her next books and give 'em a go.
December 15, 2017
Beautifully crafted.
February 12, 2019
Nuanced, intelligent, and unexpectedly moving. I was in tears at the end.
Read
August 17, 2018‘Few of us have felt the grinding force of history as consciously or as constantly as Sisonke Msimang. Her story is a timely insight into a life in which the gap between the great world and the private realm is vanishingly narrow and it bears hard lessons about how fragile our hopes and dreams can be.'
Tim Winton
‘Msimang pours herself into these pages with a voice that is molten steel; her radiant warmth and humour sit alongside her fearlessness in naming and refusing injustice. Msimang is a masterful memoirist, a gifted writer, and she comes bearing a message that is as urgent and timely as it is eternal.’
Sarah Krasnostein
‘Msimang is a talented and passionate writer, one possessed of an acerbic intelligence…This memoir is also full of warmth and humour.’
Saturday Paper
‘[An] eloquent memoir of home, belonging and race politics.’
Big Issue
‘It is not possible to do this book justice in so few words...Always Another Country is eloquent and powerful. Msimang’s explication of what it means to be from – but not of – a place is profoundly moving. Msimang deserves to be widely read and fans of Roxane Gay and Maxine Beneba Clarke, in particular, will not be disappointed.’
Readings
‘It is rare to hear from such a voice as Sisonke’s—powerful, accomplished, unabashed and brave. This is a gripping and important memoir that is also self-aware and funny, revealing the depths of a country we’ve mostly only seen through a colonial perspective.’
Alice Pung
‘An excellent blend of both the personal and political…a bold memoir…a tale that will sustain itself for generations.’
Books & Publishing
‘Brutally and uncompromisingly honest, Sisonke’s beautifully crafted storytelling enriches the already extraordinary pool of young African women writers of our time.’
Graça Machel, Minister for Education and Culture of Mozambique
‘A brave and intimate journey. Msimang delivers a deep call for fierce courage in the face of hypocrisy and compassion when faced with our shared humanity.’
Yewande Omotoso, author of The Woman Next Door
‘Sisonke Msimang kindles a new fire in our store of memoir, a fire that will warm and singe and sear for a long, long while.’
Njabulo S. Ndebele, author The Cry of Winnie Mandela
Tim Winton
‘Msimang pours herself into these pages with a voice that is molten steel; her radiant warmth and humour sit alongside her fearlessness in naming and refusing injustice. Msimang is a masterful memoirist, a gifted writer, and she comes bearing a message that is as urgent and timely as it is eternal.’
Sarah Krasnostein
‘Msimang is a talented and passionate writer, one possessed of an acerbic intelligence…This memoir is also full of warmth and humour.’
Saturday Paper
‘[An] eloquent memoir of home, belonging and race politics.’
Big Issue
‘It is not possible to do this book justice in so few words...Always Another Country is eloquent and powerful. Msimang’s explication of what it means to be from – but not of – a place is profoundly moving. Msimang deserves to be widely read and fans of Roxane Gay and Maxine Beneba Clarke, in particular, will not be disappointed.’
Readings
‘It is rare to hear from such a voice as Sisonke’s—powerful, accomplished, unabashed and brave. This is a gripping and important memoir that is also self-aware and funny, revealing the depths of a country we’ve mostly only seen through a colonial perspective.’
Alice Pung
‘An excellent blend of both the personal and political…a bold memoir…a tale that will sustain itself for generations.’
Books & Publishing
‘Brutally and uncompromisingly honest, Sisonke’s beautifully crafted storytelling enriches the already extraordinary pool of young African women writers of our time.’
Graça Machel, Minister for Education and Culture of Mozambique
‘A brave and intimate journey. Msimang delivers a deep call for fierce courage in the face of hypocrisy and compassion when faced with our shared humanity.’
Yewande Omotoso, author of The Woman Next Door
‘Sisonke Msimang kindles a new fire in our store of memoir, a fire that will warm and singe and sear for a long, long while.’
Njabulo S. Ndebele, author The Cry of Winnie Mandela
April 23, 2019
I gave it 2.5 stars. I must admit that I was reluctant to get into this book because as curious as I am about lives that are different from mine and wanting to know how it was growing up in exile, I was also a bit hmmmpf. John Kani has a play called Nothing But the Truth which addresses the tensions between those who stayed in South Africa during apartheid and those who were in exile and seeing how certain lives turned out made me bitter (feelings I'm allowed to embrace and feel, I'm tired of the narrative that poor people shouldn't be bitter at how things are right now). Anyway, here are some notes I wrote while reading this memoir :
- not in present tense. Skirts between past and present tense. Jumbling of active and passive voice.
- hate it when author reflects in a chapter. Show the reader how you felt rather than tell them.
- she writes like a wise old woman and there's nothing with that but I'm not looking for that
- has interesting subject/content. Again, I feel enamored with interesting topics and life but the execution is meh. Also leaves me wondering have I reached a certain level of women empowerment that I no longer want to read about because I've been reading about these stories.
- to be fair, I'd read a few of Msimang's work before reading the memoir. Case of good writer outside book and book is average.
- Gogo Lindi's chapter is short and just meh. Feels pointless.
- because she writes in the past tense it is hard to reconcile with her privilege.
- when she writes about Jason, there's so much honesty there. Feel connected to the book. How her friends become shadows in this relationship.
- in 'why i write' she talks about how people troll the idea of her and not her ideas and i fall into this.
- unnecessarily long and needed more editing, more cuts.
- reckoning with her privilege myth that we fall under that there isn't a middle class in SA. I acknowledge the fallacy of a middle class but there's people like Msimang who are able to do things most wouldn't even dream about.
- she attempts to talk about her privilege but she's so immersed in it. Buying a holiday home (side eye).
The cover (the pink one with the girl on a bike) is pretty.
- not in present tense. Skirts between past and present tense. Jumbling of active and passive voice.
- hate it when author reflects in a chapter. Show the reader how you felt rather than tell them.
- she writes like a wise old woman and there's nothing with that but I'm not looking for that
- has interesting subject/content. Again, I feel enamored with interesting topics and life but the execution is meh. Also leaves me wondering have I reached a certain level of women empowerment that I no longer want to read about because I've been reading about these stories.
- to be fair, I'd read a few of Msimang's work before reading the memoir. Case of good writer outside book and book is average.
- Gogo Lindi's chapter is short and just meh. Feels pointless.
- because she writes in the past tense it is hard to reconcile with her privilege.
- when she writes about Jason, there's so much honesty there. Feel connected to the book. How her friends become shadows in this relationship.
- in 'why i write' she talks about how people troll the idea of her and not her ideas and i fall into this.
- unnecessarily long and needed more editing, more cuts.
- reckoning with her privilege myth that we fall under that there isn't a middle class in SA. I acknowledge the fallacy of a middle class but there's people like Msimang who are able to do things most wouldn't even dream about.
- she attempts to talk about her privilege but she's so immersed in it. Buying a holiday home (side eye).
The cover (the pink one with the girl on a bike) is pretty.
October 10, 2018
This book is a triumph.
December 21, 2019
What an intimately brilliant book. I loved Sisonke’s honesty.
February 4, 2018
Njabulo S Ndebele says: "Sisonke Msimanga comes along and kindles a new fire on our store of memoir, transforming it into art."
I agree.
Most of the things she reflects on are still so relevant and prevalent in this day and age. An honest reminder that there's really nothing new under the sun. All themes are that of everyone, but her experiences are hers alone. I also appreciate how with everything thing she criticizes, she is still able to point back at herself and criticize herself in the "same" scenario.
The title of the book is a literate experience of her.
Born in Zambia, from A South African father and a Swazi mother. She is the eldest of three. Her parents- more so the father-are freedom fighters who fled South Africa during the apartheid era. Unlike other "struggle kids" she and her siblings are much more privileged. They move from Zambia, to Kenya and then from Kenya to Canada, then back to Kenya again. Throughout their moving, they're still loved and afforded the best education, security and "freedom" compared to that of their peers back in South Africa. However, all this moving still doesn't guarantee her a sense of belonging, constantly feeling like an outcast and reminded of her differences. She writes about her family, I love them! And I salute how they all remained strong and together against all odds.
Sisonke also writes about her time studying in America. Meeting Jason, who really annoyed me. I was happy she left him. Then Her moving back to South Africa a while after her studies and the dreadful Jason. How she meets Simon her husband and then later having children. Her short stint back in America, writing for the Daily Maverick and finding her voice through writing.
She writes about Xenophobia, a topic so close to my heart. How South Africa still struggles with this and how it seems to be a struggle not even our politicians are willing to help end. There's more, but you'll have to read it.
She has written in way that is easy-to-read, yet she has also written in a way that is not just dull but full of life. She goes beyond plain writing, she colours it with life. I am in awe of her writing technique and style.
There were minor mistakes, a missing word there and then, nothing major. Also, I would have appreciated that the different sections of the book were indicated at the top of each page. Sometimes I often forgot which section I was reading.
I agree.
Most of the things she reflects on are still so relevant and prevalent in this day and age. An honest reminder that there's really nothing new under the sun. All themes are that of everyone, but her experiences are hers alone. I also appreciate how with everything thing she criticizes, she is still able to point back at herself and criticize herself in the "same" scenario.
The title of the book is a literate experience of her.
Born in Zambia, from A South African father and a Swazi mother. She is the eldest of three. Her parents- more so the father-are freedom fighters who fled South Africa during the apartheid era. Unlike other "struggle kids" she and her siblings are much more privileged. They move from Zambia, to Kenya and then from Kenya to Canada, then back to Kenya again. Throughout their moving, they're still loved and afforded the best education, security and "freedom" compared to that of their peers back in South Africa. However, all this moving still doesn't guarantee her a sense of belonging, constantly feeling like an outcast and reminded of her differences. She writes about her family, I love them! And I salute how they all remained strong and together against all odds.
Sisonke also writes about her time studying in America. Meeting Jason, who really annoyed me. I was happy she left him. Then Her moving back to South Africa a while after her studies and the dreadful Jason. How she meets Simon her husband and then later having children. Her short stint back in America, writing for the Daily Maverick and finding her voice through writing.
She writes about Xenophobia, a topic so close to my heart. How South Africa still struggles with this and how it seems to be a struggle not even our politicians are willing to help end. There's more, but you'll have to read it.
She has written in way that is easy-to-read, yet she has also written in a way that is not just dull but full of life. She goes beyond plain writing, she colours it with life. I am in awe of her writing technique and style.
There were minor mistakes, a missing word there and then, nothing major. Also, I would have appreciated that the different sections of the book were indicated at the top of each page. Sometimes I often forgot which section I was reading.
August 16, 2022
Memoirs by African women are becoming my favorite things
Every year I find one (or two) that ends up on my favorites list, Always Another Country is one of those unforgettable memoirs I won’t stop recommending.
There are so many quotable moments in this memoir, after the first few pages I knew I was captured and there was no way I was putting this book down! Sisonke’s writing is so enthralling, poetic, tender and intimate, I was absolutely absorbed in all the vivid and detailed memories from her childhood and adulthood. She has lived a full and intriguing life, it’s remarkable how much detail she remembers. While reading, I often mused: how can one person remember all this detail even while living so many different countries?
The first time I had to wrap my mind around the fact that someone could be exiled by their own country was when I watched Mariam Makeba’s documentary, Mama Africa (go watch it!). The concept of exile was so unimaginably painful for me, I was probably 19 at the time but the thought of not being able to return to my own country brought me to tears. I remembered this as I read the memoir- both are South African but the big difference is that Sisonke grew up in exile. Her father was a freedom fighter who was being hunted by the Apartheid government and sought refuge in Zambia, Kenya, Canada and eventually Kenya again before returning home.
Sisonke’s return to SA brought with it a lot of questions, introspection and self-awareness about her South African-ness and of belonging as someone who grew up in exile and of her own privilege based on her class, parentage and connections. Though she grew up around revolutionaries, with their philosophies and struggles, she never lived under apartheid, being away offered her family opportunities they wouldn’t have had in SA. I admire how honest she is in these moments, probing her own politics and feminism allowing it to be as wide and layered as it needs to be. And as she chose to leave the home she always dreamed of, she had to reckon with SA itself and her disappointment in how (not so) far it has really come in its healing process.
One thing I love about reading memoirs is how much of myself I can also see in other people and how much I can relate to their humanity & imperfections. There’s so much more to say about this but there’s only so much space!
Every year I find one (or two) that ends up on my favorites list, Always Another Country is one of those unforgettable memoirs I won’t stop recommending.
There are so many quotable moments in this memoir, after the first few pages I knew I was captured and there was no way I was putting this book down! Sisonke’s writing is so enthralling, poetic, tender and intimate, I was absolutely absorbed in all the vivid and detailed memories from her childhood and adulthood. She has lived a full and intriguing life, it’s remarkable how much detail she remembers. While reading, I often mused: how can one person remember all this detail even while living so many different countries?
The first time I had to wrap my mind around the fact that someone could be exiled by their own country was when I watched Mariam Makeba’s documentary, Mama Africa (go watch it!). The concept of exile was so unimaginably painful for me, I was probably 19 at the time but the thought of not being able to return to my own country brought me to tears. I remembered this as I read the memoir- both are South African but the big difference is that Sisonke grew up in exile. Her father was a freedom fighter who was being hunted by the Apartheid government and sought refuge in Zambia, Kenya, Canada and eventually Kenya again before returning home.
Sisonke’s return to SA brought with it a lot of questions, introspection and self-awareness about her South African-ness and of belonging as someone who grew up in exile and of her own privilege based on her class, parentage and connections. Though she grew up around revolutionaries, with their philosophies and struggles, she never lived under apartheid, being away offered her family opportunities they wouldn’t have had in SA. I admire how honest she is in these moments, probing her own politics and feminism allowing it to be as wide and layered as it needs to be. And as she chose to leave the home she always dreamed of, she had to reckon with SA itself and her disappointment in how (not so) far it has really come in its healing process.
One thing I love about reading memoirs is how much of myself I can also see in other people and how much I can relate to their humanity & imperfections. There’s so much more to say about this but there’s only so much space!
June 15, 2021
"Home will always be another country."
Unflinching in its honesty yet told with so much poise and grace, Sisonke Msimang's Always Another Country is part memoir, part coming of age story, part political portrait, and all heart.
Split into 27 chapters, Msimang chronicles her life from being a child born in exile in Zambia to moving to Kenya, then to Canada and eventually pursuing her studies in America and, as an adult, settling in South Africa.
"I am not being brave - only honest. What happened to me was a bad thing, for sure, but worse happens every day to people who are in no position to recover. I tell it to show that it is awful and also that it isn't the end of the world."
Unafraid to shine a spotlight on her own shortcomings and mistakes, and some devastating lows of her life - like being molested as a young girl, being in an abusive relationship and losing a parent - there are so many layers to this memoir.
Msimang's writing is absolutely beautiful, with gem upon gem littered throughout the book's pages - I'm bound to come back to it again and again.
"... I am not sure I can tell her the truth which is that America is just like Kenya which is just like Canada which is just like Zambia which means there is nowhere in the world any of us can go to be safe..."
Ultimately, Always Another Country - despite all its heavy and tough and real, despite the heartbreaking reality of being black and a woman and South African, despite it all - left me feeling the way all good books do. Like I just made a friend for life.
Unflinching in its honesty yet told with so much poise and grace, Sisonke Msimang's Always Another Country is part memoir, part coming of age story, part political portrait, and all heart.
Split into 27 chapters, Msimang chronicles her life from being a child born in exile in Zambia to moving to Kenya, then to Canada and eventually pursuing her studies in America and, as an adult, settling in South Africa.
"I am not being brave - only honest. What happened to me was a bad thing, for sure, but worse happens every day to people who are in no position to recover. I tell it to show that it is awful and also that it isn't the end of the world."
Unafraid to shine a spotlight on her own shortcomings and mistakes, and some devastating lows of her life - like being molested as a young girl, being in an abusive relationship and losing a parent - there are so many layers to this memoir.
Msimang's writing is absolutely beautiful, with gem upon gem littered throughout the book's pages - I'm bound to come back to it again and again.
"... I am not sure I can tell her the truth which is that America is just like Kenya which is just like Canada which is just like Zambia which means there is nowhere in the world any of us can go to be safe..."
Ultimately, Always Another Country - despite all its heavy and tough and real, despite the heartbreaking reality of being black and a woman and South African, despite it all - left me feeling the way all good books do. Like I just made a friend for life.
December 24, 2018
There are many topics and themes which are covered in this memoir, including the experience of statelessness, but fundamentally it is the story of a woman and her country, a love letter to South Africa as both symbol and state, community and country, triumph and tragedy. Msimang's relationship to South Africa, and her sense of place in it, motors the book forward and provides the deepest emotional engagement.
Msimang wasn't born in South Africa, and she doesn't live there now. Her parents were ANC cadre, affiliated with the more Marxist wing, and she was raised in exile, moving frequently as her father worked to establish a career after years of partisan work and as the family attempted to secure reliable citizenship. She moved from the ANC-exile-stronghold of Zambia under President Kaunda, where fighters like her parents were welcomed as state-sponsored refugees, but not always as revered by the population; through to urban Kenya at a time of boom and commercial expansion, through startlingly to suburban Canada and a world of bikes, sleepovers and mean girls, before going back to Kenya. Through all this time, South Africa remains home, in her dreams, her stories, her family culture. The politics of South Africa dominate this family's lives, as they did in many ways the politics of Africa.
Msimang is interested in who she is, and it is her relationship with South Africa which drives the narrative, not the country as a distinct entity. This includes her analysis of the expectations that were put on her by her parents and their peers, her journey into black nationalism, her absorption with a doomed romance in the US which pulls her away from family and home, her internal struggle with dating a white man, her attempts to live as a middle-class women in a deeply unequal society, and to develop as an NGO leader. The impact of her parents is undeniable on Msimang, but she is a fierce fighter, a builder and an advocate entirely in her own right, and it is where the emphasis lies. This is distinct from a number of "my parents were revolutionaries" memoirs.
It is a strange thing to read a memoir of someone almost your own age (an experience I first had at 14 with Drew Barrymore's precocious going sober memoir, and which is now more common than I like - we are not that old!). I was born in the same year as Msimang, in a situation, country, and culture which could scarcely have been more different. Yet, a sense of nostalgia pervades my reading of the book, especially around the struggle against apartheid, which loomed large in the Australian landscape. By the age of 16, when Msimang first visits South Africa's soil following Mandela's release, I was following apartheid and the resistance to it pretty closely.
By the time we both were 19, and Msimang was developing her politics in the USA, I was spending the occasional night at the demountable ANC embassy in Canberra, across the road from the ridiculously large and white official South African Embassy. These are activities I had almost forgotten about, soon I would be subsumed into campus activism around local concerns, but aspects came back in searing flashes as the memoir unfolded what it was like to be at the center of this struggle, to be in dying apartheid. Reading Msimang's response to the 1993 assassination of Chris Hani was visceral - bringing back the scale of the tragedy, and the loss of radical leadership. A parting blow to the ANC, designed, arguably successfully, to cripple the organisation and hence the country. As a 40-something, I wonder now looking back about the amount of hope balanced on one man, and how fragile it must all have been. As a white woman who started trying to understand Black Nationalism through the writings of Steve Biko , then moved to an orthodox Marxist multiracial analysis, then back towards an appreciation of Black Nationalism (and the validity of what I can't understand), Msimang's journey - particularly identifying Black Nationalism as a liberating ideology as a black woman studying in the US, raised in a different analysis - engaged me deeply.
More powerfully, the memoir forced me to consider what happened to a story I treated as done when the vote happened when the lovely folk in the demountable moved into the big white building with a new flag outside the front, and Nkosi Sikel' iAfrica as the national anthem. Msimang writes of the experience of watching the president stumble on the worst health crisis in a century and to coming to the conclusion that the problems were more than one man. The process of losing the rosy glow around the ANC. To feel invested and committed in this society - which ceases to be home - and to accept its flaws, and the limitations of the ideologies you grew up believing would just fix it, is powerful stuff and Msimang covers it with grace.
At this point, it is probably worth pointing out that the memoir is also very funny. Msimang has an eye for the hilarious anecdote, and a self-deprecating tone - especially when dealing with relative privilege - which leavens the topics. She also brings warmth and passion to the stories of South Africans, acknowledging ambiguity and when conflict can result from a myriad of valid responses. The book is stronger on emotional intelligence and self-analysis than political analysis. The book is a pleasure to read, even as I wanted more of Msimang writing about her work and ideas, and in the end, it felt as if there should be more to come. Or maybe that is just me denying anyone my age, no matter how accomplished, could be ready for a complete memoir!
Msimang wasn't born in South Africa, and she doesn't live there now. Her parents were ANC cadre, affiliated with the more Marxist wing, and she was raised in exile, moving frequently as her father worked to establish a career after years of partisan work and as the family attempted to secure reliable citizenship. She moved from the ANC-exile-stronghold of Zambia under President Kaunda, where fighters like her parents were welcomed as state-sponsored refugees, but not always as revered by the population; through to urban Kenya at a time of boom and commercial expansion, through startlingly to suburban Canada and a world of bikes, sleepovers and mean girls, before going back to Kenya. Through all this time, South Africa remains home, in her dreams, her stories, her family culture. The politics of South Africa dominate this family's lives, as they did in many ways the politics of Africa.
Msimang is interested in who she is, and it is her relationship with South Africa which drives the narrative, not the country as a distinct entity. This includes her analysis of the expectations that were put on her by her parents and their peers, her journey into black nationalism, her absorption with a doomed romance in the US which pulls her away from family and home, her internal struggle with dating a white man, her attempts to live as a middle-class women in a deeply unequal society, and to develop as an NGO leader. The impact of her parents is undeniable on Msimang, but she is a fierce fighter, a builder and an advocate entirely in her own right, and it is where the emphasis lies. This is distinct from a number of "my parents were revolutionaries" memoirs.
It is a strange thing to read a memoir of someone almost your own age (an experience I first had at 14 with Drew Barrymore's precocious going sober memoir, and which is now more common than I like - we are not that old!). I was born in the same year as Msimang, in a situation, country, and culture which could scarcely have been more different. Yet, a sense of nostalgia pervades my reading of the book, especially around the struggle against apartheid, which loomed large in the Australian landscape. By the age of 16, when Msimang first visits South Africa's soil following Mandela's release, I was following apartheid and the resistance to it pretty closely.
By the time we both were 19, and Msimang was developing her politics in the USA, I was spending the occasional night at the demountable ANC embassy in Canberra, across the road from the ridiculously large and white official South African Embassy. These are activities I had almost forgotten about, soon I would be subsumed into campus activism around local concerns, but aspects came back in searing flashes as the memoir unfolded what it was like to be at the center of this struggle, to be in dying apartheid. Reading Msimang's response to the 1993 assassination of Chris Hani was visceral - bringing back the scale of the tragedy, and the loss of radical leadership. A parting blow to the ANC, designed, arguably successfully, to cripple the organisation and hence the country. As a 40-something, I wonder now looking back about the amount of hope balanced on one man, and how fragile it must all have been. As a white woman who started trying to understand Black Nationalism through the writings of Steve Biko , then moved to an orthodox Marxist multiracial analysis, then back towards an appreciation of Black Nationalism (and the validity of what I can't understand), Msimang's journey - particularly identifying Black Nationalism as a liberating ideology as a black woman studying in the US, raised in a different analysis - engaged me deeply.
More powerfully, the memoir forced me to consider what happened to a story I treated as done when the vote happened when the lovely folk in the demountable moved into the big white building with a new flag outside the front, and Nkosi Sikel' iAfrica as the national anthem. Msimang writes of the experience of watching the president stumble on the worst health crisis in a century and to coming to the conclusion that the problems were more than one man. The process of losing the rosy glow around the ANC. To feel invested and committed in this society - which ceases to be home - and to accept its flaws, and the limitations of the ideologies you grew up believing would just fix it, is powerful stuff and Msimang covers it with grace.
At this point, it is probably worth pointing out that the memoir is also very funny. Msimang has an eye for the hilarious anecdote, and a self-deprecating tone - especially when dealing with relative privilege - which leavens the topics. She also brings warmth and passion to the stories of South Africans, acknowledging ambiguity and when conflict can result from a myriad of valid responses. The book is stronger on emotional intelligence and self-analysis than political analysis. The book is a pleasure to read, even as I wanted more of Msimang writing about her work and ideas, and in the end, it felt as if there should be more to come. Or maybe that is just me denying anyone my age, no matter how accomplished, could be ready for a complete memoir!
January 4, 2019
This lovely memoir details the coming of age journey of Sisonke as she navigates her life as a child impacted by Apartheid and her political beliefs thereafter. She gracefully and intimately connects her audience to the challenges and triumphs she’s faced through love, relationships, politics, privilege and identity. She offers a fresh perspective on South African history from the 1990s to today.
April 10, 2018
Quite a personal account of growing up away from "home" and conformation that home can be anywhere really. She tells her story in a tongue in cheek way but if you read between the lines you will pick hints of sadness here and there.
November 25, 2017
This book touched me deeply. Sisonke Msimang speaks and writes so wonderfully, with such verve and wit and pace and depth, she draws me in and keeps me at my learning edge - smiling and crying at the same time. In many ways her odyssey is a bigger version of my own. To read her story is to touch, feel and taste the outward journey of living and loving across many continents. The inward journey - navigating an inner landscape of passion, politics and self awareness - is just as big, complex, vividly alive and tangible.
I love the way she captures the spirit of black and proud and powerful growing up in Zambia amongst the wonderful cadres dedicated to liberating our land. It feels like the blessing of rain bringing new life to parched and colonised earth. And I love the way she takes on racism wherever she finds it from Canada and the USA to South Africa - sharing both her courage and her pain. She is perhaps gentler as she explores the gender dimension of relationships - the abuses and the possibilities.
Where she particularly points the way forward for me is in the later parts of the book, where she explores the way ANC leadership has gotten "drunk on pride." There is something crucial here for our world. We have to attack inequality and conscious and unconscious bias, and everyone who is or has been downtrodden needs pride and confidence to dismantle both external and internalised oppression. Yet there is something about going beyond the narrative of oppression, something about going beyond pride to service, that calls forth every human being.
I was surprised how fully she buys into the view that life in suburban Johannesburg is unbearably dangerous. Is it just because I am inured to the risks, the inequities and iniquities? Or is it because I have lived more than 90% of my life in southern Africa and not been drawn into the seductive relative safety of the first world? From here, it seems as if the first world's inequities and iniquities can more easily be held at arm's length, but that doesn't make the world a safer place.
I love the way she captures the spirit of black and proud and powerful growing up in Zambia amongst the wonderful cadres dedicated to liberating our land. It feels like the blessing of rain bringing new life to parched and colonised earth. And I love the way she takes on racism wherever she finds it from Canada and the USA to South Africa - sharing both her courage and her pain. She is perhaps gentler as she explores the gender dimension of relationships - the abuses and the possibilities.
Where she particularly points the way forward for me is in the later parts of the book, where she explores the way ANC leadership has gotten "drunk on pride." There is something crucial here for our world. We have to attack inequality and conscious and unconscious bias, and everyone who is or has been downtrodden needs pride and confidence to dismantle both external and internalised oppression. Yet there is something about going beyond the narrative of oppression, something about going beyond pride to service, that calls forth every human being.
I was surprised how fully she buys into the view that life in suburban Johannesburg is unbearably dangerous. Is it just because I am inured to the risks, the inequities and iniquities? Or is it because I have lived more than 90% of my life in southern Africa and not been drawn into the seductive relative safety of the first world? From here, it seems as if the first world's inequities and iniquities can more easily be held at arm's length, but that doesn't make the world a safer place.
July 14, 2021
Das Cover gefällt mir ganz gut, es ist wahrscheinlich der Stil, der derzeitig gefragt ist. Allerdings muss ich negative Kritik am Titel ausüben. Ich mag es einfach nicht so gerne, wenn Titel inhaltlich geändert werden.
Sisonke Msimang ist eine Frau, die im Exil geboren und die aufgrund vieler Umzüge (in verschiedene Länder) international geprägt wurde. Sie wurde in Swasiland geboren und lebte in Sambia, Kenia, Kanada, USA, Südafrika und Mosambik. Derzeitig lebt die Autorin in Australien. Aufgrund dieses internationalen Aufwachsens interessierte ich mich sehr für ihr Buch. Es gab auch sehr spannende Einblicke in die teils so unterschiedlichen Länder und Kulturen.
Die Themen, die die Schriftstellerin behandelt und aufarbeitet sind zwar durch Vielfalt gekennzeichnet, werden jedoch manchmal etwas zu einseitig behandelt. Beispiele für die Themen sind: Rassismus, Fremdenfeindlichkeit, Vergewaltigung, toxische Beziehungen, Nachstellung und Gewalt, aber es geht auch um Identitätsbildung, Offenheit, Integration, Liebe, Ehe und Mutterschaft. Wie man schon erahnen kann, ist es schwierig alle Themen in ihrer Komplexität ausführlich behandeln zu können.
Msimang hat einen sehr direkten Schreibstil und berichtet offenbar schonungslos ehrlich und mitunter äußerst reflektiert. Aber man muss auch eingestehen, dass sie in gewissen Lebensabschnitten radikal war, radikal gedacht bzw. radikal gehandelt hat. Jedoch tragen alle Erfahrungen und Einstellungen zur Identitätsbildung bei und es zeigt sich auch, dass man, wenn man die Scheuklappen entfernt, eine offenere Beziehung zu Menschen führen kann, zu denen man sich vorher keinerlei Kontakt vorstellen konnte.
Manchmal gab es ruppige Übergänge, vorwiegend in den ersten Kapiteln. Hier hätte ich mir einige Sätze mehr zu Ereignissen oder Beweggründen gewünscht.
Zudem schreibt die Autorin natürlich aus ihrer Sicht, wie sie Wendepunkte und Ereignisse erlebte und wie sie darauf regierte. Daher ist es für mich als Leserin bei einigen Themen ein bisschen zu einseitig gewesen, wie ich oben bereits angedeutet habe.
Dennoch ist das Kritik auf hohem Niveau, denn ich habe das Buch sehr gerne gelesen. Die Autorin offenbarte ehrliche Einblicke in ihre persönliche Gedankenwelt und in ihr Leben, was ich sehr schätze. Ich empfehle dieses Buch allen LeserInnen, die sich mit den oben erwähnten Themen auseinandersetzen möchten.
Ich danke dem Haymon Verlag für die Bereitstellung eines Rezensionsexemplars in Form eines eBooks!
Sisonke Msimang ist eine Frau, die im Exil geboren und die aufgrund vieler Umzüge (in verschiedene Länder) international geprägt wurde. Sie wurde in Swasiland geboren und lebte in Sambia, Kenia, Kanada, USA, Südafrika und Mosambik. Derzeitig lebt die Autorin in Australien. Aufgrund dieses internationalen Aufwachsens interessierte ich mich sehr für ihr Buch. Es gab auch sehr spannende Einblicke in die teils so unterschiedlichen Länder und Kulturen.
Die Themen, die die Schriftstellerin behandelt und aufarbeitet sind zwar durch Vielfalt gekennzeichnet, werden jedoch manchmal etwas zu einseitig behandelt. Beispiele für die Themen sind: Rassismus, Fremdenfeindlichkeit, Vergewaltigung, toxische Beziehungen, Nachstellung und Gewalt, aber es geht auch um Identitätsbildung, Offenheit, Integration, Liebe, Ehe und Mutterschaft. Wie man schon erahnen kann, ist es schwierig alle Themen in ihrer Komplexität ausführlich behandeln zu können.
Msimang hat einen sehr direkten Schreibstil und berichtet offenbar schonungslos ehrlich und mitunter äußerst reflektiert. Aber man muss auch eingestehen, dass sie in gewissen Lebensabschnitten radikal war, radikal gedacht bzw. radikal gehandelt hat. Jedoch tragen alle Erfahrungen und Einstellungen zur Identitätsbildung bei und es zeigt sich auch, dass man, wenn man die Scheuklappen entfernt, eine offenere Beziehung zu Menschen führen kann, zu denen man sich vorher keinerlei Kontakt vorstellen konnte.
Manchmal gab es ruppige Übergänge, vorwiegend in den ersten Kapiteln. Hier hätte ich mir einige Sätze mehr zu Ereignissen oder Beweggründen gewünscht.
Zudem schreibt die Autorin natürlich aus ihrer Sicht, wie sie Wendepunkte und Ereignisse erlebte und wie sie darauf regierte. Daher ist es für mich als Leserin bei einigen Themen ein bisschen zu einseitig gewesen, wie ich oben bereits angedeutet habe.
Dennoch ist das Kritik auf hohem Niveau, denn ich habe das Buch sehr gerne gelesen. Die Autorin offenbarte ehrliche Einblicke in ihre persönliche Gedankenwelt und in ihr Leben, was ich sehr schätze. Ich empfehle dieses Buch allen LeserInnen, die sich mit den oben erwähnten Themen auseinandersetzen möchten.
Ich danke dem Haymon Verlag für die Bereitstellung eines Rezensionsexemplars in Form eines eBooks!
August 9, 2020
In her debut novel, a memoir which is , by definition, personal, brutally and uncompromisingly honest, Sisonke writes a candidly intimate tale of a journey toward self-identity. In the chapter titled "Why i write" she explains :"I write because Simphiwe Dana sings and because Brenda Fassie is dead!
She engages with recurring issues: racism, feminism, patriarchy, crime, death, xenophobia, marriage, sex and class; but this is also a story of a young girl’s childhood, coming of age, and family; of politics, democracy, fighting for ideals, and seeing idols fall. Above all, it is a story of a search for and construction of belonging.
Spending her childhood calling different countries "home" every few years, “My parents were freedom fighters so they cast our journeys around the world as part of a necessary sacrifice. Our suffering was noble.”
Sisonke tells a tale of being a little girl being dragged across the ends of the earth in search of home was clearly not enough, she must also carry a reminder of her humanity wherever she goes.
"And then, one day, in the middle of everything that was becoming mundane and ordinary, on a day just like the ones that had come before it, I was called an African monkey."
you live get her grief.
with a dash of vulnerability and baring her joys, her fears, her anger and frustrations, in a world of constant 'othering' she addresses her own inconsistencies as well as those she criticises.
The country is already ours, and we know it. We are young and freedom is in front of us and heartache and pain are yesterday's heroes._Sisonke Msimang
Absolutely brilliant
She engages with recurring issues: racism, feminism, patriarchy, crime, death, xenophobia, marriage, sex and class; but this is also a story of a young girl’s childhood, coming of age, and family; of politics, democracy, fighting for ideals, and seeing idols fall. Above all, it is a story of a search for and construction of belonging.
Spending her childhood calling different countries "home" every few years, “My parents were freedom fighters so they cast our journeys around the world as part of a necessary sacrifice. Our suffering was noble.”
Sisonke tells a tale of being a little girl being dragged across the ends of the earth in search of home was clearly not enough, she must also carry a reminder of her humanity wherever she goes.
"And then, one day, in the middle of everything that was becoming mundane and ordinary, on a day just like the ones that had come before it, I was called an African monkey."
you live get her grief.
with a dash of vulnerability and baring her joys, her fears, her anger and frustrations, in a world of constant 'othering' she addresses her own inconsistencies as well as those she criticises.
The country is already ours, and we know it. We are young and freedom is in front of us and heartache and pain are yesterday's heroes._Sisonke Msimang
Absolutely brilliant
May 14, 2019
[3,5/5 stars]
ALWAYS ANOTHER COUNTRY is an honest memoir of Sisonke Msimang. Through evocative and fluid writing, we follow her remarkable journey as she moves to several countries, always struggling to start over and find her identity and, at the same time, trying to adapt to the new reality in each phase of her life. Msimang pours out her feelings - I could feel her bitterness, insecurities and helplessness against the utter inequality and racism that she experienced, when simultaneously I was inspired by her fighting spirit in an attempt to make some change.
This book also explores themes like love, family, friendship, privilege, xenophobia; focusing on South African politics (apartheid) and culture. I already knew some aspects of this topic however this memoir allowed me to learn more and have a deeper view of an African girl's life.
While I enjoyed the most part of this memoir, I was quite uninterested in her uncertain thoughts/feelings in her complex love relationship.
Overall, this is an inspiring and thought-provoking coming of age debut that I recommend.
[I received a complimentary copy from the World Editions in exchange for an honest review]
ALWAYS ANOTHER COUNTRY is an honest memoir of Sisonke Msimang. Through evocative and fluid writing, we follow her remarkable journey as she moves to several countries, always struggling to start over and find her identity and, at the same time, trying to adapt to the new reality in each phase of her life. Msimang pours out her feelings - I could feel her bitterness, insecurities and helplessness against the utter inequality and racism that she experienced, when simultaneously I was inspired by her fighting spirit in an attempt to make some change.
This book also explores themes like love, family, friendship, privilege, xenophobia; focusing on South African politics (apartheid) and culture. I already knew some aspects of this topic however this memoir allowed me to learn more and have a deeper view of an African girl's life.
While I enjoyed the most part of this memoir, I was quite uninterested in her uncertain thoughts/feelings in her complex love relationship.
Overall, this is an inspiring and thought-provoking coming of age debut that I recommend.
[I received a complimentary copy from the World Editions in exchange for an honest review]
January 17, 2024
It was interesting to follow the protagonist‘s path of life from childhood and adolescence in exile to adulthood back in South Africa. Never before was I able to listen to a black, female voice from that region so it definitely expanded my horizon (leads to other books welcome).
From a literature style point of view, however, I wasn’t overly impressed. It seems to me that the author was experimenting with different styles of writing throughout the book, hence lacked consistency and rigor here and there. For example, the last part of the chapter “Why I write “ is super random and out of style compared to the rest of the book. I also found it quite hard to make it through the first half of the book, as the narrative was mostly purely descriptive, and I occasionally caught myself yawning. That changed in the second half, when the author suddenly introduced cliff hangers at the end of chapters and built suspension throughout her story.
Overall still a decent read about coming off age, identity struggles, South Africa, and race.
From a literature style point of view, however, I wasn’t overly impressed. It seems to me that the author was experimenting with different styles of writing throughout the book, hence lacked consistency and rigor here and there. For example, the last part of the chapter “Why I write “ is super random and out of style compared to the rest of the book. I also found it quite hard to make it through the first half of the book, as the narrative was mostly purely descriptive, and I occasionally caught myself yawning. That changed in the second half, when the author suddenly introduced cliff hangers at the end of chapters and built suspension throughout her story.
Overall still a decent read about coming off age, identity struggles, South Africa, and race.
August 18, 2023
Essa leitura foi uma agradavel surpresa. Uma memoir sobre a infancia na Africa do Sul, a vida como refugiado na America do Norte e todas as cicatrizes deixadas pelo racismo e o apartheid. E importante olhar para essas cicatrizes. E um lembrete de que a democracia e um exercicio constante, um movimento constante sem ponto de chegada. Sisonke fala muito do pai, da presenca do pai pela ausencia dele. Desde o comeco da leitura me identifiquei com a mae de Sisonke sempre ali nos bastidores, cuidando de tres criancas, nutrindo, provendo, fazendo o papel de gravidade, sem o qual nada fica nos eixos, nada seria como conhecemos.
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