Someone Knows My Name

As Aminata starts her journey inland, she contemplates her desire to return to her village, and it is clear that her experiences have changed her. She wonders if she can adjust to village life and culture after a lifetime of independence and realizes she doesn’t know what she will do in Bayo. Her fixation on Bayo was more a fantasy of a destination that she wishes to return to rather than an actual place where she could build a life for herself. When Aminata’s dream of returning home is snatched away from her, she doesn’t despair. Instead, she realizes that she would die for freedom but can live without Bayo—“I would sooner swallow poison than live twenty more years as the property of another man” (442). She finally comes to terms with her changed identity and is able to let go of the 11-year-old Aminata she clung to for so long. She then dedicates her life to fighting slavery, believing that preventing others from suffering as she did is more important than returning to a home that isn’t hers any longer. Her dream of becoming a djeli comes true twice—the villagers love to hear about the toubabu and about her life, and their reactions match those she used to imagine in her fantasies of returning to her homeland. May’s school also becomes a platform for her storytelling when she becomes the grand djeli.

Throughout the story names are important symbols that represent identity. When a young Aminata is aboard the slave ship, the men below deck call out their names and villages, hoping to be known and remembered. Similarly, the villagers love hearing the names of the people in Aminata’s stories and are overjoyed to hear familiar ones, as it helps them feel connected to the stories. In every instance, the acknowledgement of names represents a preservation of identity and humanity that slavery threatens to erase.

In the final chapter, the singular significance of Aminata’s report to the parliamentary committee in possibly abolishing the slave trade is outshined in the news by an exhibition of preserved African wildlife. In another instance of the white man’s fantasy, even the wording of these articles demonstrates the fixation on the savage African. The newspaper describes Aminata as a woman fresh from Africa who has survived slavery, whereas the exhibition is “a spectacular showing of the frightful, lush, colorful barbarity of the animal kingdom in darkest Africa” (457). The state of the king and queen of England provides another source of dramatic irony, wherein the “man who presided over the greatest slaving nation in the world” (464) has lost his senses, while the queen shows the African facial characteristics of a broad nose, full lips, and rich skin. The monarchs are not much different than the slaves themselves, as many Africans lose their sanity through the experiences of slavery and have facial characteristics similar to the queen’s.

The novel ends with Aminata in her bed. She is reunited with her daughter, has finished telling her story, and is done with migrations. She reflects on the places she has lived and wishes to draw a map to track her migrations. Aminata’s map will not have elephants for want of towns, but it will have pictures of what each point of arrival and embarkation means to her: paintings of guineas made from Africa’s gold mines, a woman balancing fruit on her head, a woman with medicine pouches, and a child reading.