Reckoning, at the same time, with the recent history of the devastating and brutal Biafran War, in which Ekong’s people were a minority of a minority caught up in the mutual slaughter of majority tribes, Ekong’s life in New York becomes a saga of unanticipated strife. The great apartment deal wrangled by his editor turns out to be an illegal sublet crawling with bedbugs. The lights of Times Square slide off the hardened veneer of New Yorkers plowing past the tourists. A collective antagonism toward the “other” consumes Ekong’s daily life. Yet in overcoming misunderstandings with his neighbors, Chinese and Latino and African American, and in bonding with his true allies at work and advocating for healing back home, Ekong proves that there is still hope in sharing our stories.
Akpan’s prose melds humor, tenderness, and pain to explore the myriad ways that tribalism’s define life everywhere, from the villages of Nigeria to the villages within New York City. New York, My Village is a triumph of storytelling and a testament to the life-sustaining power of community across borders and across boroughs.
Frank Abumere –
It is not controversial to assert that New York, My Village is more than a work of fiction. Among other things, it traces the trajectory of othering mostly in Nigeria and the United States of America. It reveals why the past and the present converged, and why the future is unlikely to diverge from both the past and the present. Minorities are usually at the receiving end of the atrocities of othering. The Nigerian Civil War and racism in the United States of America prompt us to ask, why are minorities usually at the receiving end of the atrocities of othering or what is it about minorities that make them the targets of othering? To answer the above question satisfactorily, it is helpful to read Uwem Akpan’s book. More importantly, I encourage everyone, whether a White person in North America, South America or Europe, a Fulani in Nigeria or an Igbo in Eastern Nigeria, to be open minded when reading the book.