An emotional and thoughtful coming-of-age novel, Home Scar by S.E. Bhamjee

Title: Home Scar

Author: S.E. Bhamjee

Publisher: Modjaji Books

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Home Scar by S. E. Bhamjee is an emotional and thoughtful coming-of-age novel set

against the backdrop of 1960s apartheid-era South Africa and its political uprisings. It follows Asma, a young Indian Muslim girl growing up in a strict Indian township, from her early childhood through her late teens. The story weaves between moments of both trauma and beauty, reflecting the difficult and complex realities of womanhood under apartheid.

The story opens from Asma’s perspective as a very young child, with the prose tenderly

encompassing the innocence and wonder of youth. The purity and simplicity of the language in these first chapters contrasts with the dark content. While Asma recounts normal childhood games, such as playing garden fairies, she also describes the sexual abuse she endured at the hands of her nanny and her “uncle.” Moments of magic and wonder are darkly overshadowed by the sinister and malicious intentions of the adults in her life, leaving readers both haunted and unsettled. The loss of innocence and disillusionment of childhood is deeply felt in lines such as, "I go to the rose bushes. The cupcake is where he left it. It’s covered with ants. I kick the plate over and the cupcake lands in the sand. I pick up my tea sets and throw them into the box of broken toys in the garage. I get into the car and wait for Mummy. Mummy, I think you’re right. There are no fairies, I say as Mummy starts the car," (p. 28).

In the following chapters, readers follow Asma as she grapples with the aftermath of abuse and moves through childhood to young adulthood. Her journey toward self-acceptance begins at 17, when she falls for Gaarith, a young political activist. She hides their blossoming relationship from her parents due to the cultural expectations of her to marry someone of her own race. The two dance through the ecstasies of young love, with Asma sharing her deepest secrets and traumas, and Gaarith responding with unconditional and poetic love. Asma sacrifices her personal aspirations of schooling and a career to marry Gaarith in secret, placing her belief in love above her own freedom.

The teenage fantasy fades quickly when Gaarith becomes elusive and secretive, spending more time on his political escapades than with his wife. Asma’s disappointment in Gaarith’s behavior as a husband is paralleled against her mother’s resentment towards her own unfaithful husband. During an argument, Asma’s mother yells at her daughter, “Fucking get out! Just go to your room! Even now, when I need him, your blerry useless father is nowhere” (p. 126). Lines like Asma’s mother’s, and the following: “This world doesn’t like women. It especially doesn’t like it when women speak up. We have to be shadows. Believe me” (p. 66) highlight the cyclical fate of women trapped between patriarchal expectations and loveless marriages. This is a fate Asma believed she had escaped, only to have locked herself into at a very young age.

Tensions build throughout the following chapters as Gaarith makes it known that in order to

protect Asma, he needs to leave her. Just as she is beginning to come to terms with the thought of losing her marriage, she receives the news that Gaarith has died in a riot. Not long after this, Asma learns she is pregnant and soon miscarries. This sequence of events brings a whole new onslaught of grief and trauma for Asma, who has already suffered immensely up to this point. Bhamjee continues to contrast gorgeous prose with utter heartbreak in lines such as, “Every morning that the azaan of Fajr wakes me from a sleep of perfect blackness, I wish for death even before I open my eyes, before I swing my feet off the bed. But it won’t come. I know this. Death would be a mercy. And I am unworthy of any,” (p. 180).

In the final chapters of the novel, the perspective shifts from first person to second person, and then to third person. This mirrors the out-of-body experience of grief that Asma endures and underscores the shared fate of many young women in this culture and era–women who suffer in silence, unaware that their neighbors and friends are enduring similar loss and heartache. A friend of Asma echoes this sentiment, saying, “Who knew, huh? Everyone, people, your mother, it all looks no normal. So ordinary. But then there’s all these huge secrets,” ( p. 171). Finally, Asma is shown playing in the water with her friends. In this scene, she reclaims some of the innocence she had lost and, though continually reminded of her grief, finds ways to face it with courage. The novel as a whole highlights this resilience in Asma–a strength shared by many women of her culture.

Through her flowing prose, Bhamjee skillfully confronts dark, traumatic realities, transforming

them into moments of beauty. Throughout the novel, she seamlessly interperses the native language with English, immersing the reader in the cultural setting. Heavy undertones of apartheid exist in every scene, showing how colorism and racism profoundly shaped the thoughts and actions of the community. Additional themes of familial and societal pressure, religion, governmental control, social hierarchies, patriarchy, misogyny, sexual trauma, and love all emerge throughout Asma’s story, making it impactful on multiple complex levels.

While heavy and emotional, the story is ultimately one of growing up holding onto faith and hope even in the darkest times.

Review by Britain Powers