Tears of the Desert
Last year, when I was living in Vancouver, I received Tears of the Desert: A Memoir of Survival in Darfur as part of a care package from a friend. I had already read and really loved What is the What?, the story of Valentino Achak Deng, a “Lost Boy” from Sudan – as told by Dave Eggers. But I had mixed feelings about reading Tears of the Desert. On the one hand, I think that the micro-perspective offered by personal narratives can enhance a reader’s understanding of historical events or situations. On the other hand, there is such a proliferation of these types of first-hand accounts nowadays, it’s often difficult to know which books will actually contribute to our understanding and which books are merely part of a business strategy on the part of publishers to take advantage of book-buyers’ interest in personal narrativeTears of the Desert falls under the first category. In the book, Halima Bashir, a doctor from Darfur now living in exile in the UK, tells the story of her life in a rural village in Darfur. Throughout Tears of the Desert, she weaves the memory of the painful effects the conflict had on her life. Halima’s story is also that of a heroic medical professional caught in a conflict driven by forces much beyond her. The book offers a deliberately subjective perspective on the history of violence and strife in Darfur, but avoids falling into overt politicization.
Halima, who was born into a Zaghawa tribe, paints a rich picture of her life in Darfur as a medical doctor. Her evocative storytelling can often cause the reader to lose sight of the overarching narrative: the horrors of war and the havoc it wreaks. The narrative is compelling and so deeply personal that one could be forgiven for reading Tears of the Desert as if it were a work of fiction.
As much as one third of the book is dedicated to detailing her family and her community’s way of life. This allows the reader to establish an almost intimate connection with the members of Halima’s family. We learn about Halima’s strong-willed grandmother and the power struggle she has with Halima’s father. Female leadership and strength are portrayed vividly throughout the book. By interspersing these universal themes and notions with deeply shocking, unfathomable events, Tears of the Desert makes for a particularly emotional read.
We can understand Halima’s devotion to her education and how it sometimes clashes with the values of her deeply traditional family; we can relate to the types of questions she asks herself as she transitions from being a child to a teenager and on to adulthood. When disaster strikes in Halima’s village and in her life, the reader’s attachment to the characters in the book makes her description of her experience with the conflict that much more powerful. As Halima struggles to come to terms with how her seemingly ordinary life was torn apart, the reader is left stunned by the disquieting brutality of events.
Halima Bashir now lives in the UK, and she dedicates a part of the book to her arrival in Europe and the difficulties she faced in getting reunited with her family while maintaining a semblance of dignity. The incredible strength Halima demonstrates is humbling, and makes the reader acutely aware of how invisible injustice often takes place right in our own backyard.
Tears of the Desert can be tough to read at points: Halima’s vivid depiction of her experience with female genital mutilation as a child, for example, is unsettling. Her memory of a vicious attack on an elementary school by a Janjaweed militia, and the unspeakable acts they commit, is downright heartbreaking.
Bashir’s story is both exceptional and ordinary, and that powerful duality makes for a rich, engaging narrative that offers the reader an insightful perspective on the human dimension of the Darfur conflict.
