“I am not sorry my brother died.”
That’s how the story begins. One sentence — sharp, unsettling, unforgettable.
Tambu, a young girl growing up in rural Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), dreams of an education like her older brother’s. But her parents laugh at her. “Can you cook books and feed them to your husband?” her mother asks. “Stay in the kitchen, where you belong.”
But Tambu isn’t discouraged. She’s determined. When no one will pay for her schooling, she finds a way to grow vegetables and sell them herself. Then, fate intervenes: a tragedy gives her the opportunity she’s been craving. She’s invited to live with her wealthy uncle, Babamukuru, in town — a man who values education and discipline. And just like that, Tambu’s life begins to change.
But becoming educated also means becoming aware — of injustices, of internal contradictions, of everything she’s leaving behind. And that awakening comes at a cost.
Identity Crisis: Who Am I Becoming?
Living with Babamukuru means access to a better school, but it also creates a deep divide inside Tambu. When she returns home for the holidays, everything feels… unfamiliar. Her parents’ home. The conversations. The expectations. She doesn’t belong there anymore.
But she doesn’t quite belong at school either.
Her English improves. Her Shona slips. She forgets parts of her language, her customs, her home. She longs for the pristine world of the White Catholic girls’ school, even though she knows the white nuns don’t see her as an equal.
She is caught between worlds. And the question starts to grow louder: Who am I becoming?
But also: What exactly am I trying to hold on to? A culture that silences women? That tells them they’re less than?
Tambu doesn’t want that. But she does want to belong somewhere. And the cost of that desire is steep.
Gender Roles: Knowing Your Place
In Tambu’s world, men provide. Women serve.
Men make decisions. Women obey.
And education? It’s for boys.
Tambu reflects, “The needs and sensibilities of the women in my family were not considered a priority, or even legitimate.” Her mother, worn down by years of silence, struggles to decide anything for herself: “Since for most of her life, my mother’s mind, belonging first to her father and then to her husband, had not been hers to make up, she was finding it difficult to come to a decision.”
This book doesn’t just mention patriarchy — it dissects it. Quietly. Relentlessly.
Coming from a patriarchal culture myself, I felt this deep in my bones. The anger. The grief. The familiar ache of being told you are “less than” — simply for being born a girl.
And the unspoken question that echoes: What is it about women’s education that makes some men so afraid?
The Firstborn’s Burden
Babamukuru — Tambu’s uncle — is the eldest son. And with that comes both power and pressure.
Educated in both Rhodesia and the UK, he returns home as the school headmaster, bearing the weight of the entire extended family. He provides. He pays school fees. He finds jobs for cousins. He opens his home to Tambu.
But his support comes with strings. Obedience. Gratitude. Silence.
And while the novel critiques his authoritarianism, it also reveals the impossible expectations placed on the firstborn son. In many African families, the firstborn — especially if he’s male — is expected to lift everyone up. Parents pour resources into him, hoping he’ll care for the rest.
But what happens to his needs? His individuality? His freedom?
Is it any wonder that responsibility turns into control?
Masculinity and the Making of a Man
Tambu’s older brother, Nhamo, is cruel to his sisters. He orders them around, belittles them, expects them to serve him. He’s a child, but already rehearsing manhood as he’s seen it modeled.
This is what happens when patriarchy is passed down like tradition: boys learn superiority before they understand compassion. Girls learn to obey before they even question it.
And it matters.
Children don’t become kind or cruel in a vacuum. They copy what they see — and unless we’re intentional about what we model, we repeat the same cycles, generation after generation.
Nyasha: The One Who Saw Everything
If Tambu is the heart of this book, Nyasha is its conscience.
Babamukuru’s daughter, Nyasha has lived in both England and Zimbabwe. She sees the contradictions in both cultures. She questions everything — especially her father’s authority.
She’s bold. She’s brilliant. And she’s breaking.
Nyasha tries to warn Tambu not to accept education at face value. She urges her to look deeper. To see the cost. To notice what’s being lost.
But it’s hard to listen when you’re still climbing — when success is just within reach.
Nyasha’s ending is one of the most painful parts of the novel. And yet, her presence lingers long after the last page. She is the one who dared to ask too many questions. Who paid for her clarity with suffering.
A Five-Star Awakening
Nervous Conditions is my first five-star read of 2025 — and for good reason.
It’s not a book that screams. It hums quietly. It unsettles gently. And then it doesn’t leave you.
I hear there’s a sequel, where Tambu finally attends the White Catholic school. I can’t wait to follow her there — to see what more she learns, and what more she questions.
Because the most dangerous education is the one that changes how you see the world — and how you see yourself.
Let’s Talk About It
Have you ever felt torn between two versions of yourself — the one shaped by your roots, and the one shaped by who you’re becoming?