As an Asian who now lives in Canada, Vassanji paints a multi-faceted portrait of Tanzania, the country where he grew up. He rejects the simplistic dichotomies of black and white, rich North Americans and poor Africans. He tells the story of Asians in East Africa and visits out of the way places in the interior of Tanzania. I learned so much from this book, but I never felt I was being lectured - it was a conversation with a knowledgeable friend. ( )

"Vassanji has always been fascinated by what he calls “in-between” lives. “It’s not just what I write,” he says, “it’s what I am.” It’s the modern condition—“you could be from Newfoundland and now live in Toronto,” as Vassanji does. But Africa is a special case, he adds, partly because the in-between-ness of Asian Africans like him stretches over three continents, and partly “because I feel very strongly the world doesn’t hear enough from Africans. We talk about horrible conditions there and we give aid, but we don’t allow Africans at the cultural table.” That’s why Vassanji returned there for his new book, to craft an insider account of Africa’s rich and complex reality."*

vassanji's memoir is so thoughtful and his writing is lovely. i enjoyed very much, the way this book presents in several ways: it's a personal exploration for the author, as he thinks about his place in the world, and his feelings as someone who is 'in-between'. the book also serves as a bit of a travel diary, and a good history lesson. vassanji ties these functions together very well and the book, his story, is very compelling.

i had the good fortune to once meet this author. as i felt about this book - thoughtful and lovely - so is the man. he seems very kind, and was very soft-spoken, almost embarrassed with the positive attention he was receiving. (i was at a very small event held in his honour, just before the launch of [book:The Magic of Saida|13131108]. there were, maybe, 30 people present.) so it was a bit of an added bonus that, while i read and home was kariakoo, i could hear versant's voice in my head.

vassanji contemplates some heavy themes in this book: the place (and history) of asian and indian people within africa; the history of slavery; the political instabilities and corruptions; western aid; the portraits of africa so often created and shown on western media. i loved reading his thoughts on all of these subjects. and i appreciated the value of his experiences - they help create a much richer and more nuanced portrait of eastern africa. the book actually feels like required reading to me, so i am sure i will be recommending it a lot.

there are also some lighter moments in the book, and my favourite part involved vassanji being invited to address a graduating class of students in 'art & sciences'. he was asked if he could speak about careers, and told his presence would be a great honour. vassanji shows up, quite nervous about his speech, and discovers he is to address a group of 4yo children, who are graduating from an early-childhood program. clearly a few details were omitted from the invitation. but these people - the children, parents, teachers, were "... from my tribe, so to speak...The ties were emotional." vassanji was happy to be in attendance, and optimistic contemplating the children's futures.

* quote from maclean's magazine. you can read brief excerpt of the book on their site: http://www.macleans.ca/culture/books/bound-by-east-africas-call/ ( )

A version of this review first appeared on my blog (http://www.reluctantm.com/?p=2325).

Another publisher-says-no-quotes-from-the-book-please review.

I remember when I learned that there had been Indian immigration to East Africa. I can remember it precisely because I had gone to a book fair with my mother, held at the Nepean Sportsplex on the Saturday of (Canadian) Thanksgiving in 2000. I was working at Royal & SunAlliance Insurance Company of Canada in Toronto and had taken the Greyhound home for the weekend. So we went to this book fair of all new books my mother and I and I don't know why this book fair existed, a publisher clearing stuff out or a bookstore going out of business, but at the book sale I bought two books, The Underpainter (which I still haven't read) and The Book of Secrets by M.G. Vassanji, a book by an author I'd never heard of before.

(Actually, at that book sale, I might have also bought a book of Dylan Thomas poetry. I'm not really sure where that book came from but it sits on my shelf, also unread.)

After the book sale, we went home, and I ignored most of my family and stayed in my childhood room reading The Book of Secrets, and I learned that there were Indians who had moved to East Africa, blowing my mind that there was migration to somewhere other than North America and Europe. (My mind was later blown again upon learning of Indian migration to the West Indies. Man, I had a very Eurocentric history regarding human migration taught to me in school.)

So all this talk about memories because And Home Was Kariakoo is all about memory, Vassanji's memories of growing up an Asian in Dar es Salaam and his National Service, memories of bus trips back to his hometown of Nairobi, memories of leaving and coming back and leaving again. Then there are the historical memories, Burton and Livingstone and Stanley, and, of course, the observation that these are all single stories, erasing black and Indian Africans who schlepped the bags and organized and financed the trips and acted as guides and translators. Memories of WWI and the fights between Germany and England over Tanganyika. Memories of the Zanzibar Revolution and its aftermath. Memories of a group of ethnic Indians in Africa (paraphrasing Vassanji because the book asks me very nicely not to quote from it, much nicer than some other books have) that weren't black enough to be black but weren't white enough to be white either.

There's a travelogue woven throughout the memories and history. Vassanji travels around Tanzania by bus and car and airplane, up into Kenya to visit Nairobi. Back down again. Dates aren't given and the stories of Vassanji's travels seem to be from numerous trips he made from Canada back to East Africa. This lack of dating can be confusing as companions and friends tend to appear and vanish without much explanation and, at first, it put me off. From Vassanji's fiction, I'd thought his book would have a narrative structure; it doesn't, but the style grows on you. It takes awhile though and for the first 150 pages I was very much reading in short bursts and then putting the book down, but the last two hundred, I got into the rhythm, history mixed with memory mixed with travelogue mixed with opinion and read more-or-less straight through. I appreciate, as always, science PhDs that have moved into literary writing, even moreso when they write books in which they warn that correlation does not imply causation. Then I want to cheer.

I love how Vassanji notes the current single story about Africa (poverty, war, sickness, failure) erases any others. People are still getting married. People are still having parties. People are still playing games. People are still dancing and having fun and celebrating. And Home was Kariakoo is the refutation of the single story of East Africa, there is more than you know about Africa, more than can be fixed with BandAid or aggressive Chinese investment or soft or realpolitik diplomacy. There is. East Africa is. Gaam in Dar es Salaam where Vassanji grew up is. Changing but is and Vassanji is one who is bearing witness to that.

As for the actual, physical book, I had an ARC that was pretty much as basic as it could be (i.e. actually with notes like Insert glossary here.), so my next few issues are likely addressed in an actual, publish-ready version, but the photographs interspersed in the text aren't labeled, often making it difficult to determine what in the text the picture corresponds to. The book would also benefit from an index, but I'm also all for indexes in every book, fiction, non-fiction, graphic novel. It will help all of us whose memories are going. But, in this book in particular, it would have helped me to keep some of Vassanji's friends and travel companions straight (for example, I got Walter and Joseph confused at one point). There are also a few spots where almost identical phrasing is used. That could probably be edited up somehow.

Best part: I've already mentioned it: correlation does not imply causation.

Who Might Like This: I think my father-in-law might like this. The travelogue and the history. I have never read Paul Theroux, and I can't say Vassanji seems overly positive of Theroux in And Home Was Kariakoo, but neither is he completely dismissive of him, so perhaps people who like Paul Theroux would also appreciate this book. And, of course, people who are interested in literary East Africa because Vassanji, once you get past the spurts at the beginning, will pull you along through the tales.

And Home Was Kariakoo by M.G. Vassanji went on sale October 7, 2014.

I received a copy free from the publisher via a goodreads giveaway in exchange for an honest review. ( )