Book Review: Only Big Bum Bum Matters Tomorrow by Damilare Kuku

Only Big Bum Bum Matters Tomorrow was one of my most anticipated reads, mainly because of its quirky title. With everything going on in the world, a good laugh now and then feels much needed. Plus, considering Damilare Kuku’s previous book, Nearly All the Men in Lagos Are Mad, was the funniest and most talked-about book of 2021, I had high expectations. But i was wrong. Painfully wrong!! This turned out to be one of the saddest books i’ve read this year. It’s a perfect example of why you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, or even its title. 

You might be wondering why. This book masterfully blends humor with heavy themes like generational trauma, depression, self-loathing, bullying, rape, emotional trauma, and violence. It manages to trivialize issues that deeply impact mental health. In my view, Kuku captured the misplaced priorities in African society, where we laugh and make light of important matters. Everything, from the title to the cover, is a facade. People are so much deeper than we realize, and until we understand the weight of these issues, we will never truly connect with others or ourselves on a deeper level. That’s my biggest takeaway from this book. I can’t even call its playful treatment of these serious issues a flaw, because that would be hypocritical. Through the characters, you’ll see your own demons reflected. It’s impossible to point fingers at any one character for the unfortunate events in this family. The trauma has been passed down for generations, and unless one generation heals, the cycle of pain will never end. That’s the heart of the story: a string of traumatic events tied together by love and marriage. 

One very interesting and complex character in this book is Hassana. I’m not able to fully understand her, but it’s clear she was deeply traumatized. However, she was genuinely loved by her husband, Titó. Their relationship was really admirable but that didn’t free her from her baggage. Instead, she transferred it to her children. Hassana was so damaged that she grew jealous of her daughter’s relationship with Titó. The dynamic between Hassana and her daughter, Ládùn, is unsettling. How do you not speak to your child for three years, and when you do, project your insecurities and bitterness onto her, pushing her further away and damaging her relationship with the only stable person in her life; her father? You’ll agree with me on how deeply saddening her story is once you’ve read the book.

Preferential treatment among kids, siblings, or anyone close to you? Avoid it like the plague. And fair-weather friends? Stay far away from them too. This book starts with the innocence of childhood and slowly transitions to judgment, abuse, and the painful journey of becoming a stranger to oneself. It highlights bullying both at home and in school. Talking down to people, making snide remarks, and mocking others' appearances are treated far too lightly in society. Bullying, especially in schools, the very foundation of a child’s character is overlooked. And hiring pedophiles as teachers? By that point, I was ready to scream. 

Now, i hope you can understand my frustration and how sickened I was by the carefree way the book dealt with these serious events. It’s sad, but it’s also the reality we live in. So, give Damilare Kuku her flowers, she did a brilliant job at frustrating me and likely many other readers who recognized these truths.

What i did love about the book was the narrative style. I seem to have a preference for first-person narration, though the author skillfully used other styles as well. However, the story felt scattered at times. It sometimes resembled a play or movie script, and there were moments I wished I could linger in a scene, really immerse myself, but the author would quickly move on to something else. 

I also really loved how the book infused tradition, especially that of the Yorubas. It was beautiful to read, and I learned a lot. I even tried pronouncing the names better and picked up some Yoruba adages along the way. The book also briefly highlighted the significance of Yoruba names, showing how deeply meaningful they are. One of my favorite parts was when the writer acknowledged how the Yoruba people “accidentally” add the letter h to their words, but it’s not a flaw at all. One of the best moment for me was when the author mentioned that Yoruba people are loud, have so many words, and are great writers. I loved how proud Kuku is of her culture. I also appreciated how inclusive the book was of other faiths. The writer perfectly spelled out some Islamic terms, which made me smile, even though there were some myths and practices that didn’t necessarily align with Islam. Still, the inclusiveness was beautiful to see.

Reading the book made me feel like I’d actually been to Lagos and Ile Ife. It was impressive how Kuku managed to bring those places to life for readers. The detailed descriptions of locations, especially for someone like me who’s never been to the South west, were something i really appreciated. The portrayal of Obafemi Awolowo University, particularly the hostels and specific parts of the school, was spot-on. It made it easy to immerse myself in the story. I also liked how the names were brief and easy to remember, which made the reading experience even better.

I also had a lot of questions. How does a young girl with the support of her parents who are obviously well to do, go from visiting her boyfriend in the UK to becoming a prostitute? That transition doesn’t make sense to me. It's hard to imagine how parents who can afford to hire a famous musician like Yínkà Ayéfẹlé for a lavish party could have another child in Lagos struggling just to fend for herself, to the point where she ends up befriending a thief. Is the parents’ style of parenting to blame? They gave their children freedom and a voice, something they likely didn’t have growing up. Did they fail by not using a more traditional African approach to parenting? They gave their children freedom probably because they wanted better for their children and hoped to raise them to be independent. Yet, despite that, the children still ended up traumatized. So, who’s really to blame, and what is the most appropriate parenting style? Even with their parenting style, there was still a big disconnect in their relationship with their children. The parents had a perfect relationship, largely thanks to Titó. But that bond didn’t extend to the children. Titó, their father, did a good job to a large extent, but he still didn’t realize that his daughters were being verbally, emotionally, and sexually abused on a daily basis. That part of the book was utterly sickening. Like I said earlier, this isn’t the lighthearted book you might have expected. It reveals long-standing trauma. 

I may have mentioned this earlier, but another thing you’ll notice from the book is the need for a present, healed, emotionally intelligent and attentive mother. You know the saying about a woman making a home? It’s true! In my view, Hassana destroyed her daughters’ lives. She needed to heal and stop viewing things only from the surface. She had to juggle both roles; being a mother and a wife. While she played the role of a lover to her husband perfectly, she failed as a mother. Perhaps she relied too much on her husband to provide the love and satisfaction she couldn't give herself. Now that he's gone and she's left with children who are completely messed up, I can't help but wonder how they’ll navigate life from here. The truth is, parents, despite being adults, are also navigating life for the first time. They’re learning from their own mistakes and experiences, and they don’t have all the answers. One thing you take away from the book is the need to cut them some slack. Parents are trying, but they’re not perfect, and like everyone else, they’re figuring things out along the way.

There was a point in the book about Big Mummy that threw me off. I was excited, thinking there was a twist, but then I realized it wasn’t a mystery at all. There is a twist in the book, but you won’t discover it until later, and by then, I was a bit bored. The story is turbulent, sure, but I think it would’ve been more engaging if it was more mysterious. In my opinion, Aunty Jummai’s life is the most pitiable. Her story is one of failed love. She lost everything and now doesn’t even know who she is. It’s just tragic. Her relationship with her sister and mother is just unfortunate. From her story, you might start questioning whether true love really exists. She and the other characters in the book grapple with Témì's decision to augment her buttocks. Through their experiences, they come to realize that you ultimately have only yourself, and you should do things for yourself rather than to please others or to look good in their eyes. Although they can't impose their views on young Témì, they allow her to make her own mistakes, just as they have. Experience, after all, is the best teacher. It’s a tragic reflection on the journey of self-discovery and the harsh lessons it brings.

Although the book explored the stories of most characters, it didn’t reveal much about Titó. He was portrayed as almost too perfect, and I find it hard to believe such people exist. It feels like there’s some hidden level of violence required to achieve that much peace, especially given that he lost his mother in a fire after the people meant to look after her abandoned her. I wish the book had provided more insight into his story, as it did with other characters. 

All in all, Only Big Bum Bum Matters Tomorrow is an amazing book. It highlights how we, especially in African societies, often trivialize mental and emotional health, disrupting the lives of those we come into contact with. It’s a vicious cycle, and it doesn’t stop there. I highly recommend this book to young readers and parents. There’s something in it for everyone and plenty to learn. If there’s one thing to take from this book, it’s this: stop being unkind to people. The hurt you inflict stays with them and changes them forever.