Written as a letter to her dearest friend Aissatou (who is confusingly addressed as ‘sister’), Ramatoulaye’s letter is a cry of anguish. She faced her husband’s rejection and then his death as the country experienced the passage from colony to modern nation. Written as a semi-autobiographical account, its protagonist Ramatoulaye is a woman who came of age during the period of late colonialism, married a Senegalese nationalist and gave birth to twelve children as their country passed into independence. There is an Introduction too, by Kenneth Harrow of Michigan, who tells me that this is one of the first novels by a Senegalese woman in French and that it became a foundational text for Francophone women writers. This classic of Senegalese literature is a perfect ‘handbag’ book because it’s a slim 96 pages, one of which is a glossary. Finishing off another half-started book, this time it is a ‘handbag’ book that’s been stashed away for months - a gentle reminder that in this most remarkable year I have got out of the habit of needing a book to read while waiting for trains, health professionals, hairdressers and friends in coffee shops.
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