In Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight, Alexandra Fuller remembers her African childhood with candor and sensitivity. Though it is a diary of an unruly life in an often inhospitable place, it is suffused with Fuller’s endearing ability to find laughter, even when there is little to celebrate.... read more
Alexandra Fuller (Bobo) gives an outstanding account of her life as a white person growing up in Africa from 1975 on. Well written and funny this book tells the truth behind the scenes of every day life for both white and black people in Africa as it struggles with war, famine and sickness.
“"This is not a full circle. It's Life carrying on. It's the next breath we all take. It's the choice we make to get on with it."”Alexandra "Bobo" Fuller
This is not a full circle. It’s Life carrying on. It’s the next breath we all take. It’s the choice we make to get on with it.Highlighted by 30 Kindle customers
The land itself, of course, was careless of its name. It still is. You can call it what you like, fight all the wars you want in its name. Change its name altogether if you like. The land is still unblinking under the African sky. It will absorb white man’s blood and the blood of African men, it will absorb blood from slaughtered cattle and the blood from a woman’s birthing with equal thirst. It doesn’t care.Highlighted by 22 Kindle customers
But all the history of this land returns to the ground on which we stand, because all of us (black, white, coloured, Indian, old-timers, newcomers) are fighting for the same thing: tillable, rain-turned-over-fresh, fertile, worm-smelling soil. Land on which to grow tobacco, cattle, cotton, soybeans, sheep, women, children.Highlighted by 18 Kindle customers
In Rhodesia, we are born and then the umbilical cord of each child is sewn straight from the mother onto the ground, where it takes root and grows. Pulling away from the ground causes death by suffocation, starvation. That’s what the people of this land believe. Deprive us of the land and you are depriving us of air, water, food, and sex.Highlighted by 17 Kindle customers
There is only one time of absolute silence. Halfway between the dark of night and the light of morning, all animals and crickets and birds fall into a profound silence as if pressed quiet by the deep quality of the blackest time of night.Highlighted by 16 Kindle customers
The incongruous, lawless, joyful, violent, upside-down, illogical certainty of Africa comes at me like a rolling rainstorm, until I am drenched with relief.Highlighted by 14 Kindle customers
My soul has no home. I am neither African nor English nor am I of the sea.Highlighted by 14 Kindle customers
The other thing I can’t know about Africa until I have left (and heard the sound of other, colder, quieter, more insulated places) is her noise.Highlighted by 13 Kindle customers
After Olivia dies, Mum and Dad’s joyful careless embrace of life is sucked away, like water swirling down a drain. The joy is gone. The love has trickled out.Highlighted by 11 Kindle customers
Zimbabwe, they called the country. From dzimba dza mabwe, “houses of stone.”Highlighted by 10 Kindle customers
Rhodesia 1975
Getting There: Zambia, 1987
Chimurenga: Zambia 1999
Chimurenga: The Beginning
Adrian: Rhodesia, 1968
Coming-Back Babies
Karoi
The Burma Valley
War, 1976
Vanessa
Missionaries: 1975
Olivia: January 1978
Chimurenga: 1979
Violet
Selling, School
Independence
Losing Robandi
Devuli
Matare General
Loo Paper and Coke
Charlie Chilvers, Richard
Nervous Breakdown
Moving On
Malawi
Touching the Ground, The Goat Shed
Mkushi
Balm in the wounds
The Last Christmas
Charlie
Now
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