For Côte d’Ivoire, I read Aya, a graphic novel by Marguerite Abouet (writer) and Clément Oubrerie (illustrator). It was translated from French by Helge Dascher with lettering by Tom Devlin.

Growing up, I never had a comic book phase, but I LOVE graphic novels. Before I talk about Aya, I’d like to list some of my all-time faves:

• Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic by Alison Bechdel (and anything else by Bechdel)
• Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi (a long time ago, in an apartment far far away, I picked this for my book club)
• Blankets by Craig Thompson  
• Asterios Polyp by David Mazzucchelli
• Nimona by N.D. Stevenson
• The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick
• Hyperbole and a Half: Unfortunate Situations, Flawed Coping Mechanisms, Mayhem, and Other Things That Happened by Allie Brosh (I will read anything this woman writes)
• The Prince and the Dressmaker by Jen Wang
• Relish: My Life in the Kitchen by Lucy Knisley (and literally everything else she has ever written)
• Pumpkinheads by Rainbow Rowell (if you want a cozy fall read, get this! I regret giving this book away and might buy myself a new copy for October.)

(Technically, the books above are not all graphic novel. A few are memoirs, but if Goodreads classifies them as graphic novels, who am I to argue?)

I loved Aya as much as any of the books on my list above. It’s the story of the post-adolescent romantic adventures of three women, about age 19, who live in post-colonial Côte d’Ivoire when the country was flourishing (late 1970s). Alicia Grace Chase, PhD wrote Aya’s preface and summarized it much more eloquently than I can:

The amorous hi-jinks narrated in Aya seems so familiar, so nearly suburban in their post-adolescent focus on dance floor flirtations, awkward first dates, and finding just the right dress for a friend’s wedding, that to many western readers it may be difficult to believe that they take place in Africa.

Preface to Aya, by alisia Grace Chase, Phd

So far, the overwhelming majority of the books I have read for Africa deal with heavy, weighty topics like government corruption (Angola, Cameroon, Central African Republic), extreme poverty and famine (Cabo Verde), and genocide (Cameroon, Democratic Republic of the Congo). In my pick for the Comoros, the narrator is lost at sea, clinging to a fuel tank for dear life, with very bleak prospects. In my pick for the Republic of the Congo, the narrator Broken Glass is an alcoholic relating the tragicomic lives of the patrons of a bar.

After all the picks that preceded it, Aya was a breath of fresh air. I’ve been enjoying my African picks for my Read Around the World quest, and it’s important to grapple with these important issues, but Africa is not all genocide and government corruption. It’s also music and dancing and flirting and fighting over boys with your girlfriends. It’s sibling squabbles and teens drinking too much alcohol and making out with the cute guy you met at midnight and choosing schoolwork over sleazy guys because damnit, you want to be a doctor. Africa is so much more than the American media suggests, and Aya expanded my literary experience with Africa in a delightful and enchanting way.

If I had to describe Aya in just a sentence, I’d say it’s Sex in the City: The Côte d’Ivoire edition. If you ever enjoyed the hijinks of Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte, then you’ll adore Aya, Adjoua, and Bintou.

I’ve already ordered Aya’s sequel and I’m impatiently awaiting its arrival.