A jolly good ride with Bankole

There are warnings that cannot and must not be ignored, daring fate is an invitation to chaos, and not cutting our coat according to our cloth is foolish in a flippant world that many take too seriously

Climb in, buckle up, and adjust your mirrors because Olufunke Grace Bankole’s ‘The Edge of Water’ is no ordinary drive. It is a smooth, soulful cruise through winding emotional roads, sunlit stretches of cultural memory, and a few hairpin turns of fate that will leave you breathless.

With Hurricane Katrina looming in the rearview mirror, this novel revs its engine with an unforgettable blend of Yoruba mysticism, Nigerian and American realities, and the relentless force of destiny.

Let us begin our journey with Amina, a woman parked at a crossroads, both literally and metaphorically. She is hunkered down in the eerie quiet of a powerless New Orleans dome, haunted not just by the storm around her, but by the whirlwind of her past in Ibadan, the remarkable city that sits pretty in the bowel of Nigeria.

Like a rear-facing camera capturing every shadow, Bankole uses this moment of stillness to reflect on the long and winding road that brought Amina here, from Ibadan to New Orleans, from girlhood to womanhood.

As you cruise through, you see that you are in a vehicle full of compelling passengers: Esther, the mother who writes letters weighted with regrets and longings; Oyin, the half-sister wrapped in layers of resilience and betrayal; Laila, the granddaughter in search of self; and men like Sani and Niyi, who drive more damage than direction. And there is George the liar, whose appearance gives the impression of a saint, but his disappearance without trace reveals that he is a wolf in sheep’s clothing; he is a proof that every great ride has its trickster hitchhiker.

On the ride we find out that though Esther’s true love is Joseph, but fate takes a cruel turn: she ends up with Sani, a man who rapes her and is then compelled by his parents to marry her as restitution. The marriage eventually crumbles, but not before Sani fathers a child, Oyin, with Esther’s best friend.

After Oyin’s mother dies, she moves in with Sani, only to be driven out by his new wife. She eventually finds refuge with Esther and Amina in their Ibadan apartment where Amina discovers, to her heartbreak, that Niyi, the man she has fallen for, has also been romantically involved with her mother.

As the ride continues and in a moment of soul-searching, Amina concludes that Nigeria is too small to contain her dreams. America, with its promise of possibility, beckons. She applies for the visa lottery and wins. Sani attempts to sabotage her relocation, but with Esther’s help, she prevails. Unbeknownst to Amina, Esther is silently carrying a troubling prophecy from the Iyanifa: that Amina’s destiny is bound to her motherland, and that it is Oyin, not Amina, who should journey to the so-called God’s own country.

The ride occasionally departs from the strict historical details of Hurricane Katrina, treating them with a degree of narrative looseness. This allows the ride to focus more intimately on the hurricane’s impact on Amina, and on the choices she and her family made before, during, and after the storm. In doing so, Bankole does not diminish the magnitude of the disaster or its profound effect on people’s lives; rather, she deepens our understanding of its emotional and personal toll.

At the wheel of this entire joyful ride, though, is the enigmatic Iyanifa, priestess, seer, and narrative GPS. Her voice, calm and commanding, guides the reader through moments of confusion with the assurance of a driver who knows the terrain. Her insight is like the taste of slightly-burnt jollof rice in the air: Unmistakable, nostalgic, and deeply satisfying. You’ll want to slow down just to savour her every word.

On this ride, Bankole doesn’t just keep us going, she keeps us guessing. The narrative plays a fine game of hide and seek, with a narrator who withholds just enough to make you lean forward, hungry for more. It is that perfect blend of mystery and momentum that makes this drive a true literary joyride.

At times, the route veers into heartbreak. Esther’s letters, especially towards the end, are the dashboard warnings you wish you’d heeded earlier. They are beautifully written, yet heavy with a mother’s sorrow and a daughter’s missed signals. You feel the sting of dreams deferred, of choices that boxed characters into cul-de-sacs they never meant to enter. They bear a mother’s regrets and induce the desire to turn back the hands of time, hands so stubborn no one has ever been able to turn back.

But this is no tragic trudge. ‘The Edge of Water’ is a luxury vehicle with handcrafted details: culture stitched into the upholstery, spiritual reflections in the rearview, and music made from memory playing on the radio. Bankole’s choice to loosen the grip of historical accuracy around Katrina allows her to focus instead on the emotional wreckage and quiet triumphs that come with survival.

And just when you think you’ve reached your destination, Laila, Amina’s daughter, appears on the horizon, raising new questions about identity, belonging, and what it means to inherit both dreams and displacements. It’s a poignant reminder that every ride echoes into the next generation.

You’ll enjoy the ride when it gets to the point where Joseph and Esther meet again, and the love that refuses to live the air after that.

Despite the chaotic Hurricane Katrina looming in the background, the ride is not distorted and helps to explore the delicate interplay between fate and agency and the intersections of Nigerian, African, Christian and Yoruba cultures.

Bankole’s message hums beneath the engine: heed the warnings, respect the map, and never mistake destiny for a detour. This novel reminds us that when you dare fate without checking your mirrors, chaos is just around the bend. And still, there’s beauty in the journey so long as we pay attention.

Bankole has delivered a vehicle of rare design, layered, luminous, and full of literary horsepower. ‘The Edge of Water’ isn’t just a book, it’s a ride you’ll want to take again.

You are likely to enjoy Iyanifa’s perspective, which provide the missing links in Esther’s and Amina’s narratives. This comes out as so ingenious and it gives the novel a feel so literary and creative. Reading Iyanifa’s parts gives the heavenly joy associated with eating the slightly-burnt part of Jollof rice.

My final take: There are warnings that cannot and must not be ignored, daring fate is an invitation to chaos, and not cutting our coat according to our cloth is foolish in a flippant world that many take too seriously.

Let’s end this ride with these Iyanifa’s words: “Blessings take the time they take—destiny does not hurry.” Permit me to add a jara, also from Iyanifa: “Children do not belong to their parents, but come through them to fulfill their own destinies, dreams to which parents are not privy.”