From a bar in Nairobi, where “the potheads, struggling artists and wannabe professors drink and pontificate into the night”, to rural Uganda, where our narrator meets her grandmother for the first time as an adult – “Her pink and white gingham dress was bright against the earthy walls of the house, her head bowed above an uderu piled high with groundnuts.”

From a Lutheran Church, where the pastor chants “Kwa Jina La Yesu, Toka! Toka! Toka! At his enraptured congregation, to the banks of the Nile, where a president’s illegitimate son banished from his father’s palace and thinking of the horror the future holds, looks out over “the trees that still protruded from the river – the last remaining proof that there were once islands in that part of the Nile, before the water ate them up, before the dam construction started.”

From a bus en route from Kampala to Mombasa, where our narrator, after the death of her brother, sees the road ahead as a lonely black line” that leads “nowhere”, to a classroom, where a young girl fresh off a plane from Australia and struggling through her first day at new school, is learning about “Muntu and Sera, who were the first humans on earth, and about Gipiir and Labongo.”

These stories are just a few of the worlds that Moonscapes allow the reader a glimpse of, a glimpse into. Together, they form a web of experience that tells us about sex and death, love and birth, marriage and family.


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