This is an odd book by
an obviously odd guy. It is a memoir, apparently stoked up quite a bit, of a
childhood and adolescence in Africa, mostly in Kenya. Bennun is a British
humorist along the lines of America’s Bill Bryson (A Walk in the Woods). Hence he makes
mountains out of molehills, but he does so rather successfully.
After an initial
disregard for the foolishness described, the haphazardly connected series of
anecdotes becomes slightly more interesting. Bennunn grew up in Nairobi, went
to a series of British schools there, and was often out on safari. The saving
grace of the memoir is that Bennun himself is the butt of most of his stories.
According to him he was nerdish, insensitive, blunt, and always in trouble.
In the book he ridicules
his family, especially his brother and father, as well as lots of wazungu, who are typically
British and/or ignorant about Africa. He refrains from derogatory commentary
about Kenyans in general, but does not hesitate to flag the foibles of specific
individuals. The stories recounted are not mean-spirited, but many play on the
reader’s ignorance about Kenya. Thus a recitation of a camping safari gone awry
or a breakdown far from a garage, for example, resonates more strongly than it
would if the event happened in northern Scotland.
Those who knew Kenya,
especially in the seventies and eighties, will recognize the setting—the parks,
towns, roads, and neighborhoods, if not some of the stereotypes skewered. That
makes the book a bit more interesting, yet in the end I was not satisfied. Certainly
there are some amusing parts. But, if you want to read a bit about Kenya, you
might enjoy it.
