For the Democratic Republic of the Congo, I read How Dare The Sun Rise: Memoirs of a War Child by Sandra Uwiringiyiman with Abigail Pesta. The story begins in a refugee camp in Burundi the night it is attacked by rebels who are brutally murdering the members of minority tribes. The rebels set fire to the refugees’ tents and shoot Sandra’s mother and six-year-old sister. While she’s trying to escape, a rebel points a gun at Sandra’s head–and that’s just the first chapter.

The writing style is conversational, almost like meeting a beloved friend for coffee, and I was sucked right in despite being apprehensive about the subject material. It’s not easy to read about a ten-year-old escaping a burning refugee camp with dead bodies everywhere when your own children are in the next room playing Minecraft, but thanks to Sandra and her co-author Abigail, I did not want to stop reading and inhaled this one in just a few days.

Sandra describes her childhood in the Democratic Republic of the Congo and the harsh realities of living in a war-torn country. Her family belongs to a minority tribe, the Banyamulenge, who were first driven out of Rwanda and then had to flee the DRC. After the massacre at the refugee camp in Burundi, Sandra’s family, along with the other survivors, are invited to immigrate to the United States. Sandra’s family is resettled in Rochester, New York where Sandra begins middle school knowing barely any English. (In other words, they layered trauma upon trauma.)

Despite such a dark beginning, How Dare the Sun Rise is ultimately a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and our ability to overcome traumatic experiences. In high school, Sandra became an activist and a voice for her people and all refugees. Along with several of her siblings, she now runs the Jimbere Fund, a nonprofit that works to empower female entrepreneurs who live in the Congo. I was so moved by Sandra’s story, I donated $100 to the Jimbere Fund as soon as I finished her memoir, and as my social audience builds, I hope I can inspire more people to donate to causes inspired by my Read Around the World quest.

There were so many parts of Sandra’s story that made me cry or sent shivers down my spine, but this one quote keeps echoing in my mind:

[A]s I watched the people in the church cry, I had a realization: They cared. I had assumed that people in America did not care. But in that instant, I realized they did. They just didn’t know our story. They didn’t know what life was like in a refugee camp, or how it felt to endure a massacre. In America, we live in a world where Kim Kardashian dominates the news, not massacres in Africa.

how dare the sun rise, by sandra uwiringiyimana with abigail pesta, pg. 189.

Sandra is right. People care about people, but the news is a business focused on making money, so the media will always feature the content that brings in viewers. I personally could not listen to stories about massacres all day, every day, but I believe that bearing witness to other peoples’ stories of grief, anguish, and trauma makes me a better person and enriches my life. Sometimes we need the distraction of some Kardashian drama, but our hearts are also vast enough to bear witness to the atrocities of the world and as we bear witness, we change ourselves, and as we change ourselves, we change humanity.

This is definitely a book I plan to give to my children when they are a little older. Anyone who takes the time to read this memoir will want to donate to the Jimbere Fund so Sandra’s family can continue their important work.

If you are interested in reading this book, or any others from my Read Around the World quest, you can check out my Amazon shop. I receive a tiny percentage of any books purchased through the shop at no extra cost to you.

For Comoros, I read A Girl Called Eel by Ali Zamir and translated from French to English by Aneesa Abbas Higgins. It was the winner of the Prix Senghor 2016 and the English PEN Translates Award Prize, and both awards are well-deserved. I absolutely loved this book.

Eel is a seventeen-year-old young woman who is adrift at sea and waiting to die, and to pass the time, she is telling the story of how she ended up in her predicament. The entire story is told in a single sentence, giving it a sense of manic urgency. This 217 page sentence is spoken by Eel, a snarky and irreverent Comorian who reminded me of Holden Caulfield from The Catcher in the Rye.

It has been DECADES since I read The Catcher in the Rye, but as I read A Girl Called Eel, I kept thinking how this is the first coming-of-age novel I have ever read that matches Catcher’s energy and vibe. As much as I adored Holden as a high schooler, Eel is an even more compelling narrator. She has a relatable snarkiness that most high schoolers would appreciate, and she covers issues ranging from typical high school drama to a woman’s place on the island of the Comorian island of Anjouan.

I kept debating whether this book is appropriate for a high school literature class as it deals with some dark issues like abortion and domestic violence, but I suspect I’ll be encouraging my daughter to read A Girl Called Eel in a few years when she starts high school. It’s a great way to spark some important conversations about the challenges of coming-of-age no matter where you live in the world.

As a final note, aside from being the best coming-of-age story that I’ve ever read, this book also beautifully described life on the Comorian island of Anjouan. I was so intrigued by the author’s descriptions that I watched this YouTube video that toured the Medina of an island in the Comoros, and it was exactly as I had been imagining it in my mind’s eye.

For Colombia, I read One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez, and it was exactly the book I needed to read this past week. A few days before I started, I learned that my Aunt Berta only has about two weeks to live. She has stage 4 pancreatic cancer, so we knew she was dying, but we didn’t think it would be this fast. It has actually now been two weeks and a day since that prediction, and Berta is alive and having more good days than bad–but still, I’ve had so many feelings. Gabo helped me navigate the past two weeks, giving me space for all my feelings and a distraction when I needed an escape from reality.

Needless to say, I absolutely loved One Hundred Years of Solitude.

But at first, I wasn’t too impressed. I read something by Márquez when I was in high school–maybe One Hundred Years of Solitude? maybe Love in the Time of Cholera? maybe both?–and I recalled loving his writing, but for the first couple hundred pages, I thought the book was overhyped. A lot of folks on social media told me this was their absolute favorite book of all time, so perhaps my experience with the book was ruined by high expectations.

That all changed around the halfway mark.

There wasn’t a specific passage or sentence or chapter that converted me from thinking “this book is solid” to “this book is an absolute masterpiece.” It was more about me surrendering to Marquez. If you’ve read One Hundred Years of Solitude, you probably remember that a lot of characters have similar names. The novel follows a hundred years of the Buendía family, starting with the marriage of two cousins, and the names José, Arcadio, Aureliano, Remedios, and Ursula get repeated again and again amongst the generations. My copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude includes a family tree, but I was still confused trying to keep all the characters straight. When I realized that was the point, and surrendered to the confusion, my heart opened up and embraced the book.

I believe like so many works of great literature, this book will mean different things to different readers, and it will also mean different things to the same reader at different points in her life. One Hundred Years of Solitude is now an esteemed member of my Pantheon of Comfort Reading, a trusted friend that I can call upon when I need a literary hug. For this reading, I felt breathless at the vast expanse of life and humanity and the inevitable ups and downs in any life, town, or family. A lot of people on social media warned me that this book was sad and devastating, but for me, it was also joyful and uplifting. (But also, this is why we don’t marry our cousins!!!)

I realize I haven’t told you much about this book, but I don’t need to write a book report. This is my blog, and there are already thousands of articles and blog posts out there dissecting and summarizing One Hundred Years of Solitude. Today, I just want to marvel at how this book is so universal, bridging together readers around the world, and yet so deeply intimately personal, meaning different things to each of us.

p.s. If you want to buy the One Hundred Years of Solitude, its listed in my Amazon storefront. I receive a tiny commission at no extra cost to you!