It is hard to review a book that packs so much that every page – if not every paragraph – has its own story to tell. Each story is as interesting as the previous one – at times stark – at times harsh – bleak – hilarious – terrifying – a page-turner right down to its last nail-biting finish.
Born during Apartheid – Trevor is “mixed” – born to a black woman and a white man. Officially Trevor’s Swiss father isn’t even on his birth certificate. And because Trevor was “born a crime” (“Any European male who has illicit carnal intercourse with a native female…shall be guilty of an offence and liable on conviction to imprisonment for a period not exceeding five years”), his mom could not openly acknowledge him or be seen with him. As a child, his mother would make Trevor walk with another woman who looked like him, while his mother herself walked behind them like she was the maid. “I’ve got dozens of pictures of me walking with this woman who looks like me but who isn’t my mother. And the black woman standing behind us who looks like she’s photobombing the picture, that’s my mom.”
The love and strong bond between Trevor and his single-parent maverick mom is evident in every anecdote – every incident – sometimes touching, often amusing and always heart-warming. She is his teacher, parent, mentor, guide, disciplinarian – his team-mate and constant companion. Trevor’s narrative makes the reader feel that everything is an adventure – the witchcraft, the slums, having no one to play with, asking a girl out, the violence, too poor to eat anything but spiny caterpillars for a whole month, the outhouse toilets (so full of flies that one day when it’s pouring rain, a 5 year old Trevor decides to do his business indoors “like a puppy” – the ensuing furor when his “business” is discovered and the entire neighborhood gathers to pray to banish the demon/s that have bewitched them is a story that can never have been made up).
Through it all, there is never a single moment in the entire book that Trevor pauses for any self-pity. Not when he has to live secretly in a black neighborhood but never be seen because of the color of his skin – not when his mother is “whooping his ass” – not when he is the only boy without a valentine – not when he has no money for college – not when he loses touch with his biological father by the time he is ten – not when his step-father starts getting dangerously violent and physically abusive. The tone is more one of an objective narrator than any self-absorbed plea for sympathy. He tells his story just as he remembers it – with an aim to share his childhood, his relationships with family and friends and most of all an intimate look at South Africa from deep within its dark and seamy bowels. As if his story isn’t gripping enough in itself, his writing style cleverly draws the reader in with a teaser and sets the tempo for some page-turning heart-pounding edge-of-the-seat suspense – “I was nine years old when my mother threw me out of a moving car.” And then you flip pages rapidly – fingers crossed for Trevor – until you get to the actual narrative.
As an Indian, there is so much to relate to in this book. South Africa has tribes – we have our Adivasis; South Africa has pockets of extreme poverty – we have slums that have become a tourist attraction; Black vs. White – we have those who use Fair and Lovely and those who have no need for it; Apartheid from 1948 to 1994 – we can trace our (very much) alive and thriving caste system back to Vedic times. We have everything you have South Africa – only worse! And now living in America – in the world of George Floyd – where Blacks are still protesting the discrimination and oppression from Whites – well over a hundred and fifty years after slavery has been officially abolished – it is sadly evident that people are the same the world over. I am reminded of one of the famous quotes from the movie PK – “Kaun Hindu, kaun Musalman … thappa kidhar hai dikha … ye farak bhagwan nahi tum log banaya hai” (who is Hindu who is a Muslim – where is the stamp on a person that indicates this – this difference was not created by God – it is one created by you people)
Ever since 2016 and an election gone horribly wrong in the US, I have turned to the late-night comedy shows for both edification and comic relief. I have been watching Trevor Noah for the last couple of years and enjoyed his shows tremendously. Now that I have read his book and hung upon his every word from childhood until the Trevor of today, I have tremendous respect and admiration for him. To be able to infuse comedy into a (mostly) horrifying background and surrounding is a skill and a talent to be sure – but most of all it’s about approach and attitude. A remarkable story, where in spite of every odd stacked against him, Trevor has emerged shining bright – a lotus in a mucky swamp.