Genre Fiction
![Keisha Bush - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B084SN39KP.jpg)
No Heaven for Good Boys: A Novel
NEW YORK TIMES EDITORS' CHOICE • Set in Senegal, this modern-day Oliver Twist is a meditation on the power of love and the strength that can emerge when we have no other choice but to survive.
"I loved this book because it is a story about generations of parents and children saving one another with a love so powerful that it transcends distance, time, and reason."-Ann Napolitano, New York Times bestselling author of Dear Edward
Six-year-old Ibrahimah loves snatching pastries from his mother's kitchen, harvesting string beans with his father, and searching for sea glass with his sisters. But when he is approached in his rural village one day by Marabout Ahmed, a seemingly kind stranger and highly regarded teacher, the tides of his life turn forever. Ibrahimah is sent to the capital city of Dakar to join his cousin Étienne in studying the Koran under Marabout Ahmed for a year, but instead of the days of learning that Ibrahimah's parents imagine, the young boys, called Talibé, are forced to beg in the streets in order to line their teacher's pockets.
To make it back home, Étienne and Ibrahimah must help each other survive both the dangers posed by their Marabout, and the darker sides of Dakar: threats of black-market organ traders, rival packs of Talibé, and mounting student protest on the streets.
Drawn from real incidents and transporting readers between rural and urban Senegal, No Heaven for Good Boys is a tale of hope, resilience, and the affirming power of love.
"I loved this book because it is a story about generations of parents and children saving one another with a love so powerful that it transcends distance, time, and reason."-Ann Napolitano, New York Times bestselling author of Dear Edward
Six-year-old Ibrahimah loves snatching pastries from his mother's kitchen, harvesting string beans with his father, and searching for sea glass with his sisters. But when he is approached in his rural village one day by Marabout Ahmed, a seemingly kind stranger and highly regarded teacher, the tides of his life turn forever. Ibrahimah is sent to the capital city of Dakar to join his cousin Étienne in studying the Koran under Marabout Ahmed for a year, but instead of the days of learning that Ibrahimah's parents imagine, the young boys, called Talibé, are forced to beg in the streets in order to line their teacher's pockets.
To make it back home, Étienne and Ibrahimah must help each other survive both the dangers posed by their Marabout, and the darker sides of Dakar: threats of black-market organ traders, rival packs of Talibé, and mounting student protest on the streets.
Drawn from real incidents and transporting readers between rural and urban Senegal, No Heaven for Good Boys is a tale of hope, resilience, and the affirming power of love.
Editorial Reviews
"[An] unflinching and poignant debut."-The New York Times Book Review
"No Heaven for Good Boys is a compelling, devastating novel with unforgettable characters. Keisha Bush doesn't shy away from portraying the shattered lives of the children on Dakar's streets and the injustices that they suffer, but she does so with great compassion and empathy."-Deepa Anappara, author of Djinn Patrol on the Purple Line
"An extraordinary literary debut, as mesmerizing as it is heartbreaking . . . Bush is an amazing storyteller, by turns harrowing and tender, and no matter how difficult the journey, she never lets us lose sight of the two young cousins who are the beating hopeful loving heart of this triumphant must-read novel."-Junot Díaz
"You'll root for Ibrahimah at every heart-wrenching turn as Bush explores his world and the difficult choices his family makes for the sake of honor and tradition."-Melissa Rivero, author of The Affairs of the Falcóns
"A transporting and beautifully written novel, No Heaven for Good Boys is a testament to the power of friendship and the tenacity of the human spirit."-Jasmin Darznik, author of Song of a Captive Bird
"A propulsive and captivating novel . . . The characters are fully realized and empathetically rendered; I was rooting for Ibrahimah and his family from page one. I'm so glad that Bush has told this story."-Mandy Berman, author of The Learning Curve
"A captivating story of modern-day Senegal, beautifully written, wonderfully told."-David Updike, author of Old Girlfriends
"A tale of resilience and survival."-The Millions
"[A] powerful, Dickensian debut novel . . . Bush is a born storyteller, who knows how to speak in the language of the boys she brings to life. They are hungry and they want love-the latter being the word most often used in this devastating, drawn-from-real-even...
"No Heaven for Good Boys is a compelling, devastating novel with unforgettable characters. Keisha Bush doesn't shy away from portraying the shattered lives of the children on Dakar's streets and the injustices that they suffer, but she does so with great compassion and empathy."-Deepa Anappara, author of Djinn Patrol on the Purple Line
"An extraordinary literary debut, as mesmerizing as it is heartbreaking . . . Bush is an amazing storyteller, by turns harrowing and tender, and no matter how difficult the journey, she never lets us lose sight of the two young cousins who are the beating hopeful loving heart of this triumphant must-read novel."-Junot Díaz
"You'll root for Ibrahimah at every heart-wrenching turn as Bush explores his world and the difficult choices his family makes for the sake of honor and tradition."-Melissa Rivero, author of The Affairs of the Falcóns
"A transporting and beautifully written novel, No Heaven for Good Boys is a testament to the power of friendship and the tenacity of the human spirit."-Jasmin Darznik, author of Song of a Captive Bird
"A propulsive and captivating novel . . . The characters are fully realized and empathetically rendered; I was rooting for Ibrahimah and his family from page one. I'm so glad that Bush has told this story."-Mandy Berman, author of The Learning Curve
"A captivating story of modern-day Senegal, beautifully written, wonderfully told."-David Updike, author of Old Girlfriends
"A tale of resilience and survival."-The Millions
"[A] powerful, Dickensian debut novel . . . Bush is a born storyteller, who knows how to speak in the language of the boys she brings to life. They are hungry and they want love-the latter being the word most often used in this devastating, drawn-from-real-even...
Readers Top Reviews
D. SarrFabulous Gal
Truly one of the best stories I've read in a long time. This page turner was beautiful and powerful and moving from start to finish. Ibrahima's journey back home from his life of suffering will have you rooting for him from the start. For those who have visited West Africa, and those who have not, Keisha's way of writing will liven up your imagination. She shares great insights into the lives of the Talibe boys, the magic and mysticism of certain African cultures and the beauty and power of a mother's love and family unity. Highly highly recommended! You won't be disappointed.
Stephen T. Hopkins
My heart ached as I read about the plight of six-year-old Ibrahimah in Keisha Bush’s novel titled, No Heaven for Good Boys. In Senegal there is tradition and honor for a young man to be sent away from home to study the Koran with a teacher called a marabout. A chance encounter in Ibrahimah’s remote village leads Marabout Ahmed to select Ibrahimah to join his older cousin Etienne in Dakar to study the Koran. After arriving in the capital city, Ibrahimah finds little instruction, little food and a life spent begging to enrich Marabout Ahmed. On the streets of the city, the dangers are life threatening as the young boys called Talibé are exposed to danger from many sources. Bush drew upon true events to describe this abusive practice. This story of a fight for survival will be difficult to read, may break your heart, and might bring renewed confidence and hope in the goodwill of most people. Rating: Five-star (I love it)
Alex SilvermanCheryl
This novel is a wrenching and graphic account of the brutality visited upon the Talibe in Dakar, Senegal. These village boys are given to the "holy" marabout by their families with the promise of receiving education and sustenance in the capitol city. But for the most part, they are exploited, sent begging for money and living in unimaginably gruesome conditions, with frequent beatings and a complete lack of care and affection. The portrait of the main character, Ibrahima, age 6 is unforgettable as is his courage and determination to return to his village and family. We see and smell and feel the many diverse neighborhoods in bustling Dakar and are witnesses to political riots and unrest. The three start rating comes from my impatience with the endless repetition of begging and brutality. But the main defect in this novel in my view is the artificiality of the language in the dialogues. Of course, the author is rendering talk that is presumably mostly in Wolof, but who talks like this in any language: "Mankind is not very good at its humanity. It is as if the word itself was created for humans to strive towards, because they so often fail. For centuries, man has raped, pillaged and bullied one another." (p. 142)
La Bu
It’s midnight and I finished the book in two days. I couldn’t put the book down. I fell in love with the characters and the story line. I also learned so much. My daughters are 12 and 14. They will be reading this book. We all have so much to be thankful for. Please reach back and help someone.
Short Excerpt Teaser
I.
Ibrahimah slumps against the trunk of an ancient baobab tree and sets his red tin can between his feet. The tree's gnarled, flowerless branches twist and bend over a wide, empty road with only a single white line running down its middle. It is late morning and the road is quiet, free of people, traffic, houses, or businesses. Just dry, parched earth stretching as far as the eye can see, with a scattering of baobab trees. Above, the sky is overcast and gray, but the air is warm. While his cousin Étienne and the other boys from the daara debate how to spend the afternoon, Ibrahimah's eyelids hang heavy and his thoughts drift to his mother. The warmth of her touch, the sound of her voice, and the scent of her skin exist now only in memory.
Just as his daydream is about to take full possession of his consciousness, a ball of fire streaks toward him, landing on his knee. His slack muscles spring tight and his almond eyes stretch wide as teacups-the apparition is a tiny red bird cocking its head, as if to get a good look at him. Not knowing whether to shoo the bird away or call for his cousin to witness the spectacle before him, he watches quietly and hopes that it is some kind of fairy, like the one his sisters told him would come for a tooth beneath his pillow.
"Fairy godmother?" Ibrahimah squeaks in Wolof.
The creature shakes its small head.
"You can understand me?"
The bird moves its head up and down.
Ibrahimah's mouth forms a circle and his eyebrows arch.
"Are you here to help me?"
The bird tilts its head back and sings a melody that the boy has heard before. He sees his village, Salloulou, and his mother flipping small pieces of lamb on the grill. His sisters chase one another, pulling the pigtails they can catch, and his father carries a box of vegetables from their farm. The image of home gives way to the small red bird's fleeing tail feathers. Ibrahimah's eyes linger on his knee, where the bird had landed, then he turns toward his cousin, who stands beneath another tree several feet away, out of earshot.
"Étienne! Did you see?" Ibrahimah yells, jumping to his feet.
Étienne turns away from the conversation he is having with Abdoulaye and Fatik, two other boys from their house. "See what?" Étienne shouts back.
"The bird! On my knee! He could understand when I talked."
Ibrahimah races over to explain.
"So do you want to go or not?" Abdoulaye asks.
"Go where?" Ibrahimah asks, his mind still focused on the bird.
"The zoo!" Abdoulaye says, scratching at a patch of eczema on his bald scalp.
"You should have seen the bird on my leg! It talked to me!"
A silver Mercedes Benz passes by, its tires sticky against the newly paved road. Ibrahimah turns his head, but the car is going too fast for him to ever have a chance at begging from its occupants.
"Cousin, the day is passing, and once people get out of school and work, they may not let us in," Étienne says, impatience lurking at the corners of his mouth.
Ibrahimah's eyes drift back toward the empty sky. "You missed it," he mumbles, following behind the three older boys.
Ibrahimah stands below the chipped blue arch that poses as the entrance to the Parc Zoologique in Hann Mariste, on the eastern rim of Dakar. The zoo is a little over an hour away by foot from Marabout Ahmed's house in Ouakam, but the boys rarely abandon their normal route unless they hear of a good opportunity like free food, or a chance to make money. Excursions like this take too much time, and as the Americans like to say, time is money. But with Marabout gone, the hours from sunrise to sunset belong to the boys, and not even Étienne has been to the zoo before in the five years he has lived in Dakar. Ibrahimah's cousin walks up to the window now and strains his neck to speak to the woman sitting on the stool inside the booth.
"Niate for four boys?"
The young woman looks down at Étienne.
"Six cent."
Étienne begins to count out six hundred francs from the coins in his palm, but the young woman slaps her hand on the counter to get his attention.
"No, just go in," she says, pointing to the black gate that spontaneously clicks open. Étienne looks up at her in surprise. She replies with a wink of her eye.
"Give them a tour. The rush won't arrive until later, when school is out," she calls over to a man standing on the other side of the gate, wearing a dark-green park uniform.
The man pulls the gate further open. Excited, Ibrahimah pushes past Abdoulaye and Fatik and bumps into the slim, dark-skinned park ranger. Lush tall trees sit behind the man, and a dirt path. It doesn't look like anything exists inside. Ibrahimah is curious to see what lies...
Ibrahimah slumps against the trunk of an ancient baobab tree and sets his red tin can between his feet. The tree's gnarled, flowerless branches twist and bend over a wide, empty road with only a single white line running down its middle. It is late morning and the road is quiet, free of people, traffic, houses, or businesses. Just dry, parched earth stretching as far as the eye can see, with a scattering of baobab trees. Above, the sky is overcast and gray, but the air is warm. While his cousin Étienne and the other boys from the daara debate how to spend the afternoon, Ibrahimah's eyelids hang heavy and his thoughts drift to his mother. The warmth of her touch, the sound of her voice, and the scent of her skin exist now only in memory.
Just as his daydream is about to take full possession of his consciousness, a ball of fire streaks toward him, landing on his knee. His slack muscles spring tight and his almond eyes stretch wide as teacups-the apparition is a tiny red bird cocking its head, as if to get a good look at him. Not knowing whether to shoo the bird away or call for his cousin to witness the spectacle before him, he watches quietly and hopes that it is some kind of fairy, like the one his sisters told him would come for a tooth beneath his pillow.
"Fairy godmother?" Ibrahimah squeaks in Wolof.
The creature shakes its small head.
"You can understand me?"
The bird moves its head up and down.
Ibrahimah's mouth forms a circle and his eyebrows arch.
"Are you here to help me?"
The bird tilts its head back and sings a melody that the boy has heard before. He sees his village, Salloulou, and his mother flipping small pieces of lamb on the grill. His sisters chase one another, pulling the pigtails they can catch, and his father carries a box of vegetables from their farm. The image of home gives way to the small red bird's fleeing tail feathers. Ibrahimah's eyes linger on his knee, where the bird had landed, then he turns toward his cousin, who stands beneath another tree several feet away, out of earshot.
"Étienne! Did you see?" Ibrahimah yells, jumping to his feet.
Étienne turns away from the conversation he is having with Abdoulaye and Fatik, two other boys from their house. "See what?" Étienne shouts back.
"The bird! On my knee! He could understand when I talked."
Ibrahimah races over to explain.
"So do you want to go or not?" Abdoulaye asks.
"Go where?" Ibrahimah asks, his mind still focused on the bird.
"The zoo!" Abdoulaye says, scratching at a patch of eczema on his bald scalp.
"You should have seen the bird on my leg! It talked to me!"
A silver Mercedes Benz passes by, its tires sticky against the newly paved road. Ibrahimah turns his head, but the car is going too fast for him to ever have a chance at begging from its occupants.
"Cousin, the day is passing, and once people get out of school and work, they may not let us in," Étienne says, impatience lurking at the corners of his mouth.
Ibrahimah's eyes drift back toward the empty sky. "You missed it," he mumbles, following behind the three older boys.
Ibrahimah stands below the chipped blue arch that poses as the entrance to the Parc Zoologique in Hann Mariste, on the eastern rim of Dakar. The zoo is a little over an hour away by foot from Marabout Ahmed's house in Ouakam, but the boys rarely abandon their normal route unless they hear of a good opportunity like free food, or a chance to make money. Excursions like this take too much time, and as the Americans like to say, time is money. But with Marabout gone, the hours from sunrise to sunset belong to the boys, and not even Étienne has been to the zoo before in the five years he has lived in Dakar. Ibrahimah's cousin walks up to the window now and strains his neck to speak to the woman sitting on the stool inside the booth.
"Niate for four boys?"
The young woman looks down at Étienne.
"Six cent."
Étienne begins to count out six hundred francs from the coins in his palm, but the young woman slaps her hand on the counter to get his attention.
"No, just go in," she says, pointing to the black gate that spontaneously clicks open. Étienne looks up at her in surprise. She replies with a wink of her eye.
"Give them a tour. The rush won't arrive until later, when school is out," she calls over to a man standing on the other side of the gate, wearing a dark-green park uniform.
The man pulls the gate further open. Excited, Ibrahimah pushes past Abdoulaye and Fatik and bumps into the slim, dark-skinned park ranger. Lush tall trees sit behind the man, and a dirt path. It doesn't look like anything exists inside. Ibrahimah is curious to see what lies...
