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A review by axmed
Vagabonds! by Eloghosa Osunde
emotional
informative
reflective
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? N/A
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
5.0
"They, too, understood.
They’d made this world intentionally in their image, hadn’t they? But now that they’d been left to face it alone, it felt too much like hell. How hadn’t they noticed"
"They saw each other so far past the pain that, no matter how hard their families tried to unsee them, they could never be invisible again."
"People put their foot down all the time without first checking if someone is there."
"She was looking at a mother who would choose her over the world without blinking. Without ceremony or need for praise. Wasn’t this what it meant to be blessed? To be loved and seen and accepted?
“Mummy,” Gold said, still stabilizing.
“I’m here, Gold. Your mummy is here. Touch me. No be me be dis? I’m here. Where I dey go? No be only you I get? I’m here. Trust me.”
“Mummy,” Gold said, her eyes sinking in tears, but back.
Her mother laughed, seeing the thank-you Gold was too tired to say with her mouth. “Abeg,” she said. No ceremony. No need for praise. “Abeg abeg. Don’t mind these hypocrites. Dem no fit.”
Gold chuckled, remembering the true thing F. told her another time: In a place where people threw their kids away all the time just for existing, a parent who loved you because you were you could sometimes look and feel like God. “But remember,” F. had said, “that even when their love feels divine, they’re not God. They’re your parent. It’s okay if you still don’t know what that means. I don’t either, because I mean, you know how my story goes. We don’t have many examples. But what is life for, if not figuring it out, abi?”
"I wonder if any of them are thinking what I always wanted to say: You can’t be the poverty capital of the world and be a megacity all at once. If 80 percent of your body is suffering/withering/dying, then you are killing your whole self."
A few rows away, Idris was trying to text May: Bitch, I’m bored out of my mind abeg. People dey here dey catch Holy Ghost and me I’m here thinking of jollof rice. God safe us.
You fool, May replied. Aren’t you in church? Or are you just there to mark register?
I mean, if pastor can be right in God’s eyes after all he’s done, then who am I not to come and chop New Year blessings? If him be pastor, me suppose be Angel Gabriel. In fact call me Gabriel from now, he typed, but the signal had died.
They’d made this world intentionally in their image, hadn’t they? But now that they’d been left to face it alone, it felt too much like hell. How hadn’t they noticed"
"They saw each other so far past the pain that, no matter how hard their families tried to unsee them, they could never be invisible again."
"People put their foot down all the time without first checking if someone is there."
"She was looking at a mother who would choose her over the world without blinking. Without ceremony or need for praise. Wasn’t this what it meant to be blessed? To be loved and seen and accepted?
“Mummy,” Gold said, still stabilizing.
“I’m here, Gold. Your mummy is here. Touch me. No be me be dis? I’m here. Where I dey go? No be only you I get? I’m here. Trust me.”
“Mummy,” Gold said, her eyes sinking in tears, but back.
Her mother laughed, seeing the thank-you Gold was too tired to say with her mouth. “Abeg,” she said. No ceremony. No need for praise. “Abeg abeg. Don’t mind these hypocrites. Dem no fit.”
Gold chuckled, remembering the true thing F. told her another time: In a place where people threw their kids away all the time just for existing, a parent who loved you because you were you could sometimes look and feel like God. “But remember,” F. had said, “that even when their love feels divine, they’re not God. They’re your parent. It’s okay if you still don’t know what that means. I don’t either, because I mean, you know how my story goes. We don’t have many examples. But what is life for, if not figuring it out, abi?”
"I wonder if any of them are thinking what I always wanted to say: You can’t be the poverty capital of the world and be a megacity all at once. If 80 percent of your body is suffering/withering/dying, then you are killing your whole self."
A few rows away, Idris was trying to text May: Bitch, I’m bored out of my mind abeg. People dey here dey catch Holy Ghost and me I’m here thinking of jollof rice. God safe us.
You fool, May replied. Aren’t you in church? Or are you just there to mark register?
I mean, if pastor can be right in God’s eyes after all he’s done, then who am I not to come and chop New Year blessings? If him be pastor, me suppose be Angel Gabriel. In fact call me Gabriel from now, he typed, but the signal had died.