Halfway through Long Walk to Freedom I considered how hard Winnie Mandela‘s life must have been and how I would like to hear the story from her perspective.
It wasn‘t that long ago where I might not have gave Winnie much thought. But I have worked very hard to break the chains that have been put in place to imprison our curiosity and concern for ALL people‘s stories; work we all need to do. Unfortunately, I haven‘t found a copy of this yet.
so-so3/5
Very well-written autobiography about her childhood spent in Africa (Zimbabwe, Zambia, Malawi). Her sensory descriptions are excellent. However, despite of all that, I wasn't taken by it. I wasn't interested... I guess I would have preferred more in-depth introspection.
pick#FeelinTheLove Day 26: #SisterLove - This shared womanity or sense of girlhood is evident in the tagged book I read for #DecolonizeBookshelves - irrespective of one‘s skin color, to be female is to belong to “the ranks of the wretched.” One of the really great titles I read from the list of “Decolonize Your Bookshelf in 50 Books.” My full review: https://wp.me/pDlzr-opq
What could be better than going with my daughter to listen to my husband play with a jazz singer in a venue selling books? It was in celebration of African American history month. Fun! 😄 My daughter got to chat with the singer about SZA & Lamar, so it was a win for her.
so-so2.5/5 ⭐️
Just a so so for me. There seem to be fewer cases and lots of hints get dropped each book, but then they never get picked up again. I‘m going to take a little break from this series for a bit.
Photo on left is us 11 years ago, though currently his memories of us range between none and occasional haziness. We have essentially started over but in a beautiful way. At his living facility yesterday the activity director brought in fresh flowers/accessories and he made me a valentine bouquet 🩷🌹❤️
I‘m almost finished with book 5 of tagged series and it‘s delightful. Thanks to audiobooks 🎧
#5JoysFriday @DebinHawaii
How late is it?" Con asked.
"Late, late," said the taxi driver. "Listen."
A newsreader was speaking to them. A million things were happening out there in the world: scandals and calamities, old lovers reunited, murders foul, great works of art and business. A lioness was moving through the city, she had been spotted in Strand, in Rondebosch, in Gugulethu.
They were seated at the old kitchen table in Woodstock. He'd taken a taxi that morning straight from the airport and found his mother sitting there, reading. It was a quiet scene, and he was visited by equal desires to wake her from her reverie and to keep it intact. Perhaps just sit quietly beside her, pick a book for himself from the shelf. He was intrigued; she'd never been a big reader.
From the bar one could look down and see the cars speeding home along De Waal Drive, and sometimes even a quagga or two romping alongside the wildebeest on the slopes above the highway There was one below them now, standing very still, its stripy zebra half staring out to sea and its pale rump mooning the drinkers at the bar.
"Bloody quaggas," said Amina. "Get all the good press."
