Latest news with #Theft
Hindustan Times
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- Hindustan Times
Review: Theft by Abdulrazak Gurnah
'We can endure any truth, however destructive, provided it replaces everything, provided it affords as much vitality as the hope for which it substitutes,' writes the Romanian philosopher EM Cioran in his classic The Trouble with Being Born. This quote characterises the Tanzanian-British novelist Abdulrazak Gurnah's latest novel, Theft – his first since winning the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2021. A testament to Gurnah's dedication to telling the stories of 'little people who somehow overcome things', it is divided into three parts. The first offers a slow reveal of characters and historical contexts. Perhaps this is Gurnah's nod to Tolstoy, whose short story Polikushka is invoked in a conversation in this novel. Here, readers learn what led to the marriage of 17-year-old Raya to Bakari Abbas, a divorcee in his forties. Raya was in love with Rafik, who had joined the Umma Party to free Zanzibar, then a British protectorate. But her father disapproved of Rafik, and foreseeing humiliation, gets his daughter married to Abbas. The rationale behind his rushed decision is explored only briefly but it establishes how, besides patriarchy, colonialism and communism too played a role in it. Raya and Abbas' marriage turns out to be a disaster. Powerless, she notes feeling Abbas' 'overbearing flesh upon her unresisting body'. This reflection on bedroom politics crucially underlines how some men believe it is their right to take what they desire. It was not so much Abbas' abusive nature but the 'charming' personality that he projected to others that disturbed Raya and made her wonder if anyone would believe her if she confided in them. With nothing to do, she internalises shame. She eventually summons up the courage to leave Abbas behind and returns to her parents' home with their three-year-old son, Karim. To avoid being her father's 'skivvy', she begins working at a clothing store but, in the process, fails to raise Karim with motherly affection. This loss — or theft? — of sorts, is one of the reasons why Karim turns out to be a careless father. Gurnah writes: 'Karim at times wondered why parents like his, who were neglecting and unloving, bothered to have children… He would do things differently when he became a father, that was certain.' When Raya remarries and moves to her husband Haji Othman's house in Dar es Salaam, Karim finds shelter in the home of his stepbrother Ali and his wife Jalila. Abbas' son from a previous marriage is a proxy father to Karim. These patterns of a newly-wed couple providing shelter to a forlorn man and of men looking for someone to fill the father-shaped void within themselves are repeated in the novel's climatic third part where Karim and his wife Fauzia open their doors for Badar. This circularity is perhaps what interests Gurnah the most, and is reflected in how Theft's principal character Badar Ismail's life pans out. When Badar was first brought to Haji's, he couldn't guess that he was to be their boy servant. While he missed his father, who was not actually his father, he accepts his fate as he finds nothing to complain about at Haji's. Except for Haji's father, Uncle Othman, everyone was nice to him. Juma, the old gardener, is good company and offers wisdom after the daily chores are done. Occasionally, Badar pleasures himself thinking of Raya 'when she had just risen from her afternoon rest and was dressed in a loose thin gown which sat well on her and clung a little to parts of her body as she moved'. READ MORE: Abdulrazak Gurnah: 'Silence can also be vocal' The sociopolitical history of Zanzibar and their own personal histories add layers of complexity to Gurnah's characters and their actions. This is particularly evident in the scene when Haji tries to appear candid by having a conversation full of rather 'touchy' questions with Badar. The latter is aware that Haji possesses the power to influence his future – something which eventually does happen when he is suspected of theft. Gurnah writes, 'Once again Badar found that the direction of his life had changed without any effort on his part.' And that's how Badar finds himself living with Karim and Fauzia before moving to his own space after having worked several months at the Tamarind Hotel, which features in the third part of the novel. The action and the anticipation in this section gives it a distinct energy and narrative tension. The goings-on at the hotel reveal the boundaries — kept and blurred — between people in the hospitality industry and their clients, corruption in the tourism industry, and the nexus between influential politicians and hoteliers like Bwana Sharif in a late-capitalist world. Theft makes readers think about how decisions are made and who eventually benefits from them. In reality, rewards don't distribute themselves but are purely dependent on the power their possible benefactors can wield. This novel is similar to Gurnah's earlier work in that it focuses on the mundane to reflect on a universal condition. It explores interactions between people, and presents the circuitous route that life often takes. Saurabh Sharma is a Delhi-based writer and freelance journalist. They can be found on Instagram/X: @writerly_life.
The Citizen
4 days ago
- The Citizen
Stock theft crisis: Police struggle to return livestock to owners
The death of impounded animals due to ill health further complicates the process and reduces the number of livestock that can be returned to their owners, South African police are grappling with a mounting livestock crisis, with 328 animals unclaimed by their owners in the 2024-25 financial year alone — a dramatic increase from just two animals three years ago. The figures were recently revealed by Police Minister Senzo Mchunu in response to parliamentary questions. The crisis has escalated sharply over the past three years, with 82 livestock going unclaimed in 2023-24 compared to only two in 2022-23. Currently, police facilities and private pounds across the country are housing 723 animals, with the majority—652 livestock—kept in private facilities while 71 remain in public pounds. Rural safety strategy launched to combat stock theft Mchunu outlined government's comprehensive approach to addressing the problem when responding to questions from EFF MP Mothusi Kenneth Montwedi. 'Rural safety, including stock theft prevention, is a priority for the South African Police Service (Saps), and as part of this commitment, the multi-year Rural Safety Strategy was developed and approved in 2020,' Mchunu stated. The strategy aims to enhance safety and security in rural areas while ensuring food security through an integrated policing approach. Mchunu emphasised the collaborative nature of the initiative, explaining that it 'encourages collaboration with various stakeholders, including government departments, such as the Departments of Agriculture, Rural Development and Land Reform, and Cooperative Governance and Traditional Affairs.' The police service has established multiple coordinating mechanisms to address the issue, including Rural Safety Priority Committees, which function as subcommittees of the Joint Operations and Intelligence Structures at national, provincial, district, and station levels. According to Mchunu, a National Stock Theft Forum was also created in partnership with the Red Meat Producers' Organisation to serve as a collaborative platform for addressing stock theft. ALSO READ: Two Lesotho shepherds killed in violent stock theft incident in Free State Specialised units and training programmes deployed To strengthen investigative capabilities, the Saps has established 93 Stock Theft and Endangered Species Units throughout all nine provinces. Mchunu said specialised units are mandated to investigate all stock theft and endangered species-related cases. 'The ST&ESUs are resourced in terms of their physical and human resource needs. During the past three financial years, a total of 263 investigators were trained in the Stock Theft Investigators' Learning Programme,' Mchunu stated. The police service also developed a Stock Theft Prevention and Investigation Guideline in 2023-24 and conducted capacity-building sessions across all provinces, districts, and rural police stations to create awareness about prevention measures and investigation contributions. ALSO READ: Baanksy, the sheep who learnt to paint from Pigcasso, still missing [VIDEO] Provincial distribution reveals uneven impact The current livestock holdings reveal significant provincial variations in the crisis. North West province houses the largest number of animals in private pounds, with 349 livestock, while Eastern Cape has 211 animals in private facilities and 14 in public pounds. Limpopo, Mpumalanga, Northern Cape, and Western Cape also maintain both public and private pound facilities, while Free State and KwaZulu-Natal report no livestock currently in custody. The unclaimed animals for 2024-25 are concentrated primarily in the Eastern Cape with 225 livestock, the North West with 66 animals, and the Western Cape with 24. Several provinces, including Free State, Gauteng, KwaZulu-Natal, and Mpumalanga, reported no unclaimed livestock for the current financial year. ALSO READ: Stock theft crisis deepens along SA borders with over 1 200 cattle cases reported in the last year Key challenges hampering return efforts Mchunu identified several critical obstacles preventing the successful return of livestock to their owners. The primary challenge stems from community non-compliance with the Animal Identification Act of 2002. 'Failure by communities to comply with section 7 of the Animal Identification Act, 2002 (Act No. 6 of 2002), which requires all livestock, e.g. cattle, sheep, goats, etc., to be marked,' represents a significant barrier to identifying rightful owners. Financial constraints also impede reunification efforts, particularly in cases where animals were impounded as strays and owners cannot afford the associated pound fees required for release. Additionally, the death of impounded animals due to ill health further complicates the process and reduces the number of livestock available for return. ALSO READ: Six nabbed for stock theft worth over R6m in Eastern Cape Disposal procedures and legal framework The management and disposal of seized or impounded livestock follows strict protocols outlined in the Saps National Instruction 8 of 2017 regarding Property and Exhibit Management. Mchunu noted that the procedures are 'outlined in detail in the Saps' National Instruction 8 of 2017: Property and Exhibit Management,' specifically referencing paragraphs 18 and 19 covering livestock management and disposal of exhibits in police custody. The minister indicated that detailed information about these procedures could be provided to parliamentary members upon request, suggesting the complexity and comprehensive nature of the protocols governing livestock handling. Cross-border cooperation and technology integration The police service has extended its anti-stock theft efforts beyond national borders through participation in Southern African Regional Police Chiefs Cooperation Organisation forums in border provinces and Southern African Development Community initiatives to address cross-border crime and stock theft. Technology plays an increasingly important role in the strategy, with existing Operational Command Centres at national, provincial and district levels linked to private security industry capabilities through the Eyes and Ears Project. Stock Theft Information Centres contribute to effective information flow and prevention efforts, particularly at the station level. NOW READ: Steenhuisen pushes 'zero tolerance' for cattle attacks
The Herald Scotland
09-06-2025
- Entertainment
- The Herald Scotland
Beware white women: a Dickensian masterpiece of modern Africa
Or I could simply say that when I got within 50 pages of the end of Theft by Abdulrazak Gurnah I panicked that it would all soon be over and I'd have to say goodbye to its world and its characters, some of whom I'd come to love, some of whom I despised. All the learning would come to end, the lessons I'd been taught about the food and fashions of east Africa, the history of Zanzibar, the culture of people far removed from me through distance but exactly the same as me, my friends and my family in their shames and ambitions, failings and braveries. This is the first book Gurnah has written since he won the Nobel Prize. Be in no doubt, his talents remain undimmed. If anything this is his most affecting book, in terms of its emotional heft, and his most important given its ruthless dissection of colonialism and the hangover which remains for both Africans and Europeans. Theft is intensely political, but its politics are almost invisible. It isn't hectoring. You aren't being lectured. You aren't even aware that history is being laid on the anatomy table. Theft by Abdulrazak Gurnah (Image: Bloomsbury) This is a book about family and friendships. Yet its message reaches right to the poisoned root of the relationship between Africa today and the Europe which exploited the continent for two centuries. This is a book you want to stand up and applaud when you finish. The comparison with Dickens is apt. Like Dickens, Gurnah's lead character is the classic 'orphaned boy'. Badar has no mother and father. He's raised by distant relatives who care little for him, then farmed out to another family as a servant. I must tread carefully, for fear of ruining the plot, but we're in David Copperfield territory here, Oliver Twist, Nicholas Nickleby. It feels somehow wrong to equate Gurnah with Dickens. To do so is almost the kind of inward-gazing colonial act he takes his scalpel to, but the comparisons are too strong to avoid. Theft, like any Dickens novel, is driven relentlessly forward by character. You cannot resist the company of his creations. The story is addictive and page-turning. Again like Dickens. This blend of character and story is so heady it hides the very powerful, very political points the writer makes. Again like Dickens. Though Gurnah has a subtlety Dickens lacks. Read more Midway through, Badar is falsely accused of theft. Initially, it seems this gives us the book's title. However, as the novel closes, we learn that the theft Gurnah is exploring isn't one of property or money. To understand the theft Gurnah is really investigating, we must turn to the white characters - specifically, and uncomfortably, white women. It's the action of white women who explain the metaphor of theft. Again, I'll say no more, lest I ruin a moment in the book, which for white readers is deeply troubling but horribly and shamefully recognisable. After all, who are history's great thieves if not our colonial ancestors who stole the very land from under the feet of the peoples they invaded and ruled? Are we more like them even today than we care to acknowledge? Do we still have the thief's mind? Like Dickens, Gurnah expertly dissects broken families. There's no family here not carrying some secret, some shame, some guilt. Children are abandoned, raised by relatives, shipped off. Parents disappear, sleep around, hurt their kids. There's one scene of physical violence when a character we began by loving but come to loath harms their own baby in the most ghastly way. It's a moment of shocking horror in a novel that's otherwise tender, even when dealing with the pain of poverty and humiliation. In essence, Theft tells the story of young and impoverished Badar, taken under the wing of the slightly older and much wealthier Karim. The pair set out to make their way in 1990s Tanzania as it juggles modernity and tradition: a nation trying to maintain its dignity amid the interference of western charity workers who use Africa to burnish their own fake sense of virtue. They're nothing but modern missionaries, dressing the colonial mindset in the clothes of progressive liberalism. Much more harm is done than good, and those harms crowbar their way into the lives of Badar and Karim. While Badar and Karim are the twin poles the book revolves around, the supporting cast is dominated by strong women characters, from Karim's feckless and selfish mother, to the modern but diffident Fauzia. This isn't a book which simply turns white characters into monsters, though. Indeed, white characters cause harm through thoughtlessness, self-absorption and carelessness. Black characters can be just as unpleasant: vengeful, cruel, petty, intolerant. Damage is inherited. Damaged parents create broken children, and it takes great courage to overcome this inheritance. The same is true of countries. How do they recover from the damage of colonialism? Do they inherit the sins of the coloniser? What matters to Gurnah is the simple contents of a human soul. It's irrelevant if you're rich or poor, had good parents or bad, come from a country of colonisers or the colonised. It's the heart inside you which shapes your humanity. Badar wonders to himself if white people come to Africa as they 'feel entitled to please themselves because in the end it was they who mattered'. The same is true of men in their behaviour towards women in this book, and parents towards their children. Damaged people hurt others as they believe they are all that matters. In their pain, they cannot see the lives of others. What Gurnah does is paint a picture of how empathy is the escape mechanism. If we can find that key within us we can save ourselves from the horror of history and the pain of family. In the end, if we're to be human, empathy is all we've got.
The Hindu
08-05-2025
- Entertainment
- The Hindu
Review of Theft by Abdulrazak Gurnah
Nobel laureate Abdulrazak Gurnah's latest novel Theft is beguiling in its construction of a fictional universe where lives are upended or redeemed by the cruelty and kindness that the characters encounter. Their own actions do play a critical role but causality is not straightforward here; there are secrets and silences, revealed only when the novelist deems the timing to be ripe enough for drama and heartbreak. Gurnah shows yet again why he is a master storyteller. Set in Zanzibar and Dar es Salaam, the novel revolves around the trio of Karim, Badar and Fauzia as they transition from teenage to early adulthood in the 1990s. What they have in common is a love of books and thirst for knowledge. Their circumstances, however, are vastly different. Karim, whose world is shattered after his parents' divorce, is nurtured by his half-brother Ali, sister-in-law Jalila, and his mother Raya's second husband, Haji. Badar, a 'servant', knows little about his biological parents. He has survived thanks to the generosity of adults who raised him but they too have run out of resources, so he is now employed in the house of Haji's father, Uncle Othman. This is where Karim and Badar meet. Surprise elements Through their intersecting lives, Gurnah explores the human heart's wonderful capacity to embrace people beyond the call of duty or obligation. It is moving to witness the genuine pride that Ali takes in Karim's academic accomplishments despite their murky family history. It seems that since Karim can never fully repay the kindness that Ali, Jalila and Haji extend to him, he pays it forward to Badar. When Badar is wrongly accused of a theft, it is Karim who stands by him, welcomes him into his house, and also helps him get a secure job. Gurnah's genius as a storyteller lies in surprising readers. While Karim is being put on a pedestal, it is difficult to imagine his impending downfall later in the novel. Badar feels indebted for everything that Karim has done for him, so he does not mind the latter's patronising tone. However, some lines cannot be crossed. Karim's bitter outburst at the end of the novel is startling because it challenges almost everything that one is led to believe about the kind of person he is and what he values. Fauzia's role in the narrative is closely connected to how this transformation plays out, but she is more than just a device to move the plot forward. Gurnah presents her as a woman of profound strength; one who is aware of her intellectual gifts but feels low on self-esteem because of a childhood illness that she fears she might pass on to her child with Karim. The novelist's depiction of their courtship is tender and breezy, so the complications in their marriage come across as alarming. Social realities Gurnah is not opposed to giving a love story its happy end, but he is in no hurry. Badar has feelings for Fauzia but he cannot dream of betraying Karim's trust. Karim, however, is drawn to a woman named Jerry, who he meets at Badar's workplace. Read the novel, the first after Gurnah's Nobel win in 2021, to find out how it ends. It is a journey worth undertaking because the author makes one feel deeply for his characters and root for their happiness. In a patriarchal culture that treats women as dispensable, he celebrates their ambition, sisterhood, and resilience. That said, he does not idealise women characters or overlook their flaws and vulnerabilities. In addition to the plot and characterisation, what stays with the reader is Gurnah's worldbuilding that looks effortless but is highly sophisticated. It displays his subtle observations about social hierarchies, the rural-urban divide, and the lure of capitalism in a part of the world that he grew up in but had to leave when he arrived in England as a refugee. The reviewer is a journalist, educator and literary critic. Theft Abdulrazak Gurnah Bloomsbury ₹699
Hindustan Times
26-04-2025
- General
- Hindustan Times
Abdulrazak Gurnah: 'Silence can also be vocal'
No, it doesn't feel like a new life. It has obviously made a big difference in how much time I have to write or to do whatever other things I might wish to do. For me, the most important thing about the Nobel award was the recognition. Everybody knows about it — even people who don't read. But for a writer, it is something very definite. That is to say, your writing is okay. The prize is given once a year and even for just one year, to be told something like that is very reassuring. In addition, there is, of course, the interest that it generates in readers. They want to know about the work, the person. The translations follow. People want to meet you, you get invited, travel, etc. For a writer, you can't wish for something better than to have your work transmitted in this way. But it does take time. It does take time. Your works are full of silences pregnant with meaning. Silences come in different forms and as a consequence or as a response to different kinds of pressures. For powerless people, I think silence is more or less the last resort to retain their dignity. If you know you do not have the power, as it were, to reply or to refuse, then in a sense, silence is all that's possible. To say, okay, you can do what you like because you have the power to do it, but I'm not going to defer to you, then silence is also a means of holding on to the dignity of the self. Silence is also a disagreement. It could be something somebody says to you and you don't want to get into an argument, so you keep quiet. It's also a means of offering a response. Silence can also be, in this sense, vocal. It's saying, I don't agree. And there is something disconcerting, particularly against the bullies and groups, about silence. [For example, they get confused.] Why aren't you angry? Why aren't you showing some sign? So, it can be a way of demonstrating that power isn't all-powerful; power can be resisted. Children do it all the time. They tell you, no, I'm not happy with what you're doing by doing nothing, saying nothing. Critical Perspectives on Abdulrazak Gurnah by Tina Steiner and Maria Olaussen (2013) notes that your 'fiction asks the reader to consider stories as provisional accounts that cannot claim closure or complete knowledge even when narrators tell their own stories'. This sits well with your latest, Theft, where, despite operating with limited knowledge, the characters narrate their lives as if they know everything. This is a very old technique. Sometimes you imagine that you're watching a play. The figures in the play don't know something that the previous scene has already told the audience. So the audience knows much more than the people actually on the stage doing their business. Dramatic irony, that is. The same kind of technique really works in fiction. You have some information. Of course, there is more because a practised reader will probably start speculating things. And then that's part of the interest of both reading and writing. It's not a contest, but it's part of the pleasure of it. And then if something unexpected happens, you say, I didn't see that coming. So, all of these are ways in which the tension of the story in fiction works. Otherwise, you're just going to have a kind of like a synopsis. This is what it's about. This is what happens. But this way [with dramatic irony] you engage with the movement of the events and you engage with the people themselves — the characters, the figures, because they too are discovering as you are discovering. And so, I think it's part of the pleasure of reading. I wanted to touch on that aspect because, as you said, seasoned readers can sense what is to come. For example, when Karim, in the beginning, says that he won't become a typical father figure, you know to expect something later. Seeing what they anticipate come true, do readers gain pleasure, is the ego massaged, or are they disappointed by 'predictability?' It's part of the pleasure of reading. It's not ego. It's like when you say, I knew it was going to be like that. You don't want that to be too obvious, though. Because if the signals are too strong, there's no 'God, I know what you're going to do.' You know, this very famous comment that Chekhov is said to have made — if a gun appears in Act One of a play, then you know, it's going to be used. So there's going to be a death somewhere a little further on. Depending on whether you're a practised reader or otherwise, you see something more, possibly or possibly not. Except for Fauzia, one can sense absentee father figures in this book. Was it something you were purposely trying to do given that there's also a peppering of Oedipal signals throughout the book? Well, it's really the two boys — Karim and Badar. One does not know his parents, his mother or his father, his actual parents, that is, although he's brought up by people. Whereas the other one is, in a sense, brought up by his grandmother and then by his stepbrother, finds a mother again. And so, although the father is absent, there is a network of support. There are varieties of ways in which these children, as they grow up, are orphaned or, in the case of Fauzia, not orphaned. And I think it's not unlikely that you might find a real difference between people's experiences of parents and domestic support. But my idea was to have somebody who is indeed powerless and who does not have that network of support still has to make his way in life in some way, and how does he do that? Where does he find the resources to do that? Somebody like Karim is going to be all right because he does have a network. Somebody like Fauzia will also have that, but here's somebody who doesn't (Badar). So, I put those three together to see what they deal with, what life has dealt to them, and how they cope with what life has dealt to them. Leaving, which is one of the themes of the novel, is seldom a voluntary movement. Several factors influence this decision. Were you trying to say something about the nature of power and its effect on others? To a certain extent, this is true for most of us as we go through, particularly at a certain age, when you're not in control or you have control to some extent, but not entirely. In the case of Badar, of course, he says, once again, his life has changed without any decision on his part, which is exactly to demonstrate just how powerless he is. He has no control. He cannot make decisions. Decisions are made for him. Well, at least not at that stage. Of course, later, he is able to make decisions. So, it's not just about leaving. It's also about other people being able to make decisions, like where will you go and what you will do. And he is not the one who's doing so. Even Karim is somebody who says, come to Zanzibar with me and I will help you. So, it's still other people directing his life at this stage. A few reviews note that you're critiquing the growth of the tourism industry in Zanzibar in Theft. Was it intentional or do you think it was where the story could naturally go given Badar's background? Tourism is a complex thing for a small country. For a prosperous country, tourism is something completely different from tourism for a small country like Zanzibar. For example, maybe for India, it's a different situation. But for a small country, it can have a terrific, transforming impact. Of course, in some respects its impact is positive. It brings work; possibly a certain kind of calmness because the government has to behave itself. It can't go around being too authoritarian. Otherwise, the tourists won't come. The pavements get fixed. The water is available, etc. These are the positives. But the other side of it is that it also brings a kind of corruption of the customary social practices of a place. Something new comes, something very powerful — lots of money, different ways of living, different ideas about what constitutes propriety and so on. And it corrupts those who should know better. Those who should be making decisions now take money to enable certain things that they should say no to. For example, no, it's not in our interest to allow you to make that a private beach; no, it's not in our interest to allow you to knock down this part of town in order to build a hotel, and so on. But they take a commission and say, yeah, OK, do it. I'm saying this is exacerbated and made worse in a small place, whereas in a bigger place, it can be absorbed in other ways. You can overcharge them, etc. It becomes something dominant and dominating and to some extent corrupting in a small place. Unfortunately, if a country is too dependent on tourism, then the resistance is also diminished. You have no choice but to accept whatever it is that the foreign money is demanding should be there. Readers are sort of teased to discover a theft in your novel which also has several narrative arcs that signal theft. Was that why the novel's title is Theft? Of course. When I started, the central idea for me was the accusation of theft and the injustice of that. And again, as I've said, how does somebody like Badar without support, without family, without education, without anything really, a servant, how does he cope with such an accusation, which is unjust, but leads to his expulsion? But, as you said, there are different kinds of thefts — stolen childhood or the [Tamarind] hotel, which is a building stolen from an Indian family. Or, later, an accusation that's made against Karim. So, there are also sorts of theft — beyond the theft of life but also of thefts of a physical nature, there are thefts of a global state. So, it seemed like a good title to me for the book. Saurabh Sharma is a Delhi-based writer and freelance journalist. They can be found on Instagram/X: @writerly_life.
