Grief, forgiveness, and family— these are the words that remain with me upon completing francesca ekwuyasi’s 2020 debut novel, Butter Honey Pig Bread. In this novel, ekwuyasi tells the story of a family that is fractured following several life-altering events, and their interwoven paths to seek reconciliation and harmony (both within themselves and with each other) once again. The story — which spans several countries and continents— follows Kambirinachi and her twin daughters, Taiye and Kehinde over the course of their lives. Kambirinachi believes she was born an Obanje, or a child with a malevolent spirit that plagues its family with misfortune by dying in childhood — a circumstance which in particular caused misery to her mother. Now a mother herself and a widow, she is constantly placed between two worlds, that of the living and of the dead. Her kin calls her home, and yet she remains in mortal form living for her children and experiencing everything that comes with the human condition. Her twin daughters, once inseparable and deeply intertwined, have not spoken in over a decade.  They must find a way back to each other if either is to feel a sense of wholeness again. The estranged three reunite at their home in Lagos, where old wounds can no longer be repressed and healing is the catalyst to a new life. 

This story is masterfully told and woven together so thoughtfully, that it both challenges and comforts its reader. ekwuyasi’s way with words and penmanship offer a clear point of view as her prose is confident, assured, and inviting. From its inception the reader is immediately engulfed into the world of Butter Honey Pig Bread. The characters are vivid and alive. Not only do you feel for them, but there is a sense of familiarity and oneness with them.  We all have an Auntie Funke, Bobby, or Timi in our lives — or we know someone similar. These are the people who love us, hurt us, and aid in our wellbeing, just as these characters do in the novel.

Each time Taiye enters the kitchen to prepare a meal, whether slicing onions, peeling plantain, or stirring a pot of stew, there is a nearly visceral reaction to reading the words on the page. The descriptions are highly detailed, colourful, and quite frankly mouth-watering. Food is a major theme within the text, as could be assumed from its title. Food brings the family together and is an unspoken language; a gesture of love that is universal and completely understood. It says sorry when the words aren’t sufficient and ‘I want to make amends’ when ego and pride won’t allow. It is a tool and a vehicle to nurture the grief, and (try) to make it go away. Food is inextricably tied to the themes of forgiveness and family. 

Familial love is not the only form of love explored within these pages. ekwuyasi also leaves plenty of room to dive into the complex and often nuanced world of romantic relationships. Queerness, body politics, shame, and hedonism are all explored within this text. As we are invited into the inner worlds of each character, there we learn more about their often complicated relationship with love. We see how grief shows up in  the most inconvenient and yet timely fashion, nudging our characters to take an honest look at themselves and examine ways in which the past and trauma continue to inform and dictate how they accept or refuse to accept love. These are questions and realities that Kambirinachi, Taiye and Kehinde all must face, further emphasising the shared bonds between the three and the parallels that tend to exist in both mother/daughter and sibling relationships. 

ekwuyasi has written a brilliant novel — one which can resonate with large audiences because it is a story all too familiar. When grief threatens to tear a family apart, there is a powerful and unspoken kinship which stands the test of time, space, and location. In Butter Honey Pig Bread, we are reminded of this truth.

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