Book Review: Trevor Noah’s Born A Crime

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Originally posted to Amazon on 14th March 2021:

There’s almost no point reviewing Trevor Noah’s book, as anyone who knows of him or has heard him on the radio will think, ‘Ah. A book by Trevor Noah. Must be good,’ and it doesn’t disappoint. The few hours spent reading it are as therapeutic as having a laugh with an old friend.

It’s funny, engaging, and utterly honest, and even though he tells his story in a completely non-linear way, giving away right at the beginning that his adored mother, Mbuyi, is shot by his alcoholic stepfather, it’s such an absorbing read that he gets away with it.

The title comes from the fact that Trevor was ‘born a crime,’ the result of an illegal union between a Xhosa woman and a white Swiss German, and he describes his early childhood being the only ‘coloured’ child in an extended black family. There was no one who looked like him, and he was given special treatment from everyone except his mother. His grandmother refused to hit him, as she freely did the other children. ‘A black child, you hit them and they stay black. Trevor, when you hit him he turns blue and green and yellow and red. I’ve never seen those colours before.’ His grandfather also treated him as if he were white, even referring to him as ‘Mastah’. ‘In the car, he insisted on driving me as if he were my chauffeur… I never challenged him on it. What was I going to say? “I believe your perception of race is flawed, Grandfather.” No. I was five. I sat in the back.’

The biggest, most sinister character in the book by far is the system of apartheid, the racist medium in which South Africa was immersed, and Trevor writes about its pernicious effects on everyday family life in detail, and yet without bitterness.

Trevor had extraordinary luck being the son of a determinedly unconventional woman who ‘refused to be bound by ridiculous ideas of what black people couldn’t or shouldn’t do.’ ‘My mom… raised me like a white kid – not white culturally, but in the sense of believing that the world was my oyster, that I should speak up for myself, that my ideas and thoughts and decisions mattered. We tell people to follow their dreams, but you can only dream of what you can imagine, and depending on where you come from, your imagination can be quite limited.’

He is matter of fact about everyday violence, his ‘Tom and Jerry’ relationship with his mother, who firmly believed in not sparing the rod, and the constant threat of domestic abuse from men towards women, usually the consequence of men being men and of women not showing sufficient respect. He describes the numerous occasions his mother reported his stepfather, Abel, to the police:

‘Calm down, lady, calm down. Who hit you?’

‘My husband.’

‘Your husband? What did you do? Did you make him angry?’

… and their response to Abel’s pronouncement: ‘Hey guys… You know how it is. You know how women can be. I just got a little angry, that’s all.’

‘It’s okay, man. We know. It happens. Don’t worry.’

Abel was a black man, and therefore sub-human in the eyes of the police, and yet they happily colluded with him in abusing his wife. Black and white united in the face of a common enemy: a woman.

There is a big-heartedness in his depictions of those around him, even of his stepfather. When recounting the events that led to the shooting, he shows compassion for Abel, a gifted mechanic who buys a garage with Mbuyi’s help, not understanding that he had bought a business stuffed to the gills with debt. The whole family made a Herculean effort to rescue the business, but ultimately it was doomed to failure, pushing Abel further and further down the neck of a beer bottle.

For various and complex reasons, not least due to Abel’s jealousy, Trevor lost touch with his natural father for a number of years, but visited him in Cape Town after he’d left home. Determined to get to know him, he bombards him with questions, to which his father responds with obvious annoyance. At the end of the visit, his father says, ‘So.. in the time we’ve spent together, what would you say you’ve learned about your dad?’

            ‘Nothing. All I know is that you’re extremely secretive.’

            ‘You see? You’re getting to know me already.’

Please don’t wait for your next beach holiday to read this total tonic of a book. I finished reading it days ago, and have found myself reaching for it several times to go over various passages again. I borrowed it from a friend, but it’s the kind of book that I know I’ll revisit, so I’d better order my own copy.

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