If you’ve been around for sometime, you know that I’ve been reading Nervous Conditions by Tsitsi Dangarembga for longer then I’ve even had this blog. I first started reading it in early 2023, just after moving back from Zimbabwe to the UK. Since then, a lot has transpired, and I’ve found that as the plot has unravelled, I have evolved. I was about to study Engineering; now, I’m in the field of Social Science, and this shift has changed how I approach and engage with literature. As I’ve read through Nervous Conditions over the past 2 years, my interpretation has evolved, too.
The extent of this issue is more serious than you might think. I have two paperback editions of Nervous Conditions (one my own, one belonging to my Mbuya), I’ve also borrowed one from my local library, purchased a digital copy and an audio book. So access was never an issue. I’ve had no excuse really, but if I could give you one it probably would be the sheer weight of the contents and themes in the book itself.
Although set in 1960s Zimbabwe, the book holds up a mirror to its today’s society, offering a reflection that may seem both familiar and yet unrecognisably altered. Reading it has made me question everything—where I’m from, the people around me, the things I do. There have been many moments when I’ll read a single paragraph, and it will leave my head spinning. Nervous Conditions has blurred the lines between fiction and fact in a way that no other book has ever done for me. Taking my time with this book was necessary, but I will definitely pick up the pace when it comes to reading in the future.
There are many themes in this book: femininity, masculinity, class, literacy, sexuality, and more. I’ve thought about them as I’ve read, but the ending makes one theme stand out louder than the rest— freedom. The presence, or absence, of freedom is the unifying thread for all the character in Nervous Conditions. Set against the backdrop of 1960s Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), the book explores a time when when the struggle for freedom was not just a political battle, but a deeply personal one. Fast forward to today, nearly 45 years into “independence”, with approximately 83%* of Zimbabwe’s population born free, I find myself questioning what “freedom” really means. In my own experience, I’m not entirely convinced we’ve reached it, but I also recognise that freedom is a multi-layered concept—one that demands nuance and deep reflection.
Freedom, liberation, and independence affect the characters in Nervous Conditions in ways that reveal the complexity of life under colonialism and the psychological toll it takes on individuals. Each character’s journey serves as a window into what it means to be free (or not) in a world that tries to define, and thus confine you.
*according to ZIMSTAT, 2022
Freedom
Nervous Conditions, is told through the eyes of Tambudzai, whose freedom is tied to the pursuit of education and self-realisation. She feels constrained by the traditional gender roles and the expectations of her family, especially her father, who believes women should not be educated or strive for more than marriage and domestic life. Tambu’s decision to pursue education, and eventually leave her rural home for the mission school, represents her desire for freedom—a freedom to be her own person and to escape the limitations imposed on her because of her gender and class.
However, as Tambu experiences more freedom (like attending school), she realises that it doesn’t come without its own limitations. She feels a sense of alienation, both from her village and her family, and is often torn between the Western values she is exposed to at school and the traditional values of her rural upbringing. Her freedom, in this sense, is a double-edged sword: it allows her to escape, but it also creates new tensions and sacrifices.
Lucia, Tambu’s aunt, is a different example of freedom. Lucia should technically be referred to as Mainini or Ma’(insert name of child), but she isn’t, stripping her from her maternal potential. Lucia is outspoken, rebellious, and sexually liberated in a way that defies social expectations. She is free in her actions, unapologetic in her choices, and is not confined by the same societal rules that restrict the women in Nervous Conditions. However, Lucia’s freedom is more about personal autonomy and defiance of colonial and patriarchal structures. While Tambu’s freedom is more intellectual and academic, Lucia’s is rooted in a rejection of the roles imposed upon her as a woman in a colonial and traditional African society. Lucia represents a kind of radical freedom that resists both colonial and patriarchal control.
Liberation
On the flip side, Ma’Shingayi (Tambu’s mother) and Maiguru’s (Tambu’s aunt by marriage) names are never revealed in the book. I’m not surprised. Although worlds apart, in terms of their circumstances and worldviews, the absence of their names in the narrative highlights their erasure and subjugation within the further frameworks of liberation. By withholding their names, Dangarembga emphasises how their identities are often overshadowed by their roles as mothers and wives. Although all the characters in Nervous Conditions experience tension between traditional African values and the oppressive forces of colonialism, and their names are obscured by the very systems that confine them to their societal roles. Thus, no room is left for autonomy and individuality.
Ma’Shingayi embodies the theme of liberation in the novel. While she may not be as overtly rebellious as Lucia or as educated as Tambu, her struggle is one of liberation from the oppressive colonial and gendered systems. She represents the many African women who are subjected to both colonial and patriarchal rule. Ma’Shingayi is more tied to traditional values and the land, and although she does not have the same educational opportunities as her children, she recognises the importance of certain forms of resistance—especially against the colonial systems that limit her community. For Ma’Shingayi, liberation is not about adopting Western values or escaping to a better life in a colonial institution. Rather, it is about maintaining her sense of dignity and cultural identity in a system designed to oppress her. She is not looking to “escape” her world in the rural village but rather to carve out a space for herself within it, resisting the internalised colonial oppression that subjugates her people.
Maiguru, Tambu’s aunt by marriage, is also an interesting figure of liberation, though in a more complex way. Maiguru is educated, middle-class, and married to Babamukuru. She is a product of the colonial education system, and yet, she feels deeply constrained by both her husband’s authority and the traditional roles expected of her as a woman. She is intellectually liberated in many ways but emotionally repressed, and her life represents the tensions between colonial modernity and African traditions. Maiguru’s sense of liberation is complicated by her internalised colonialism; she has been granted access to certain freedoms (like education), but at the cost of her autonomy within her own home. In a sense, she’s liberated in some ways but bound in others—her liberation is incomplete, as it is constrained by the same patriarchal forces that control her husband and society at large.
Independence
The theme of independence plays out more explicitly with Babamukuru and Nyasha, each representing different facets of this concept within the colonial context.
Babamukuru is the embodiment of independence in the sense of economic success and alignment with colonial power structures. He has achieved a certain status within the colonial system, becoming educated and prosperous, which gives him an apparent sense of independence from the poverty and marginalisation that others in his community face. He is the head of the family, and his success has earned him respect both in his family and the larger colonial society. However, Babamukuru’s independence is not truly free from colonial constraints—it is built on the acceptance and perpetuation of colonial values. His material success comes at the cost of submitting to the oppressive system that subjugates others, including his family. Thus, Babamukuru’s “independence” is a hollow one, built on his cooperation with the colonial order rather than a true break from it.
Nyasha, on the other hand, represents a more radical form of independence. She is well-educated, articulate, and deeply aware of the contradictions and limitations imposed by colonialism and patriarchy. Unlike Babamukuru, Nyasha does not simply accept her position within the colonial structure. She resists, but her resistance is not outwardly rebellious in a conventional sense. It is more internal and psychological—she struggles with the tension between her education, the Western values she has adopted, and the traditional expectations of her family and peers. Her mental breakdown towards the end of the novel symbolises the deep cost of trying to achieve independence in a system that denies her agency and authentic selfhood.
Nyasha’s struggle for independence is an exploration of the psychological toll of colonialism, where the desire to break free from the oppressive structures ends up in self-destruction because the external world cannot accommodate her liberation. While Babamukuru’s independence is material and outwardly successful, Nyasha’s is intellectual and emotional, and ultimately more tragic because it is incompatible with the world she inhabits.
Through these characters, Dangarembga illustrates the complexities and contradictions of these concepts in the colonial context, showing that true freedom, liberation, and independence are not simple or one-dimensional in the face of colonial and patriarchal oppression.
Nervous Conditions serves as a powerful exploration of freedom, liberation, and independence, not just in the context of colonialism but as themes that continue to resonate in today’s world. Through the struggles of its characters, Tsitsi Dangarembga challenges us to rethink the very nature of these concepts. The paths to freedom for Tambudzai, Lucia, Ma’Shingayi, Maiguru, Babamukuru, and Nyasha reveal that true liberation cannot be reduced to a single narrative—whether it be intellectual, emotional, personal, or political. The journey towards freedom is complex and multifaceted, shaped by historical, social, and gendered forces that continue to evolve in post-colonial societies.
The question of what it means to be truly free remains as urgent as ever. Is freedom a personal journey, or is it bound to the collective? Can liberation be achieved in fragmented, still-colonised spaces, or is it only possible when we redefine power, autonomy, and self-determination on a national and even continental level? The struggle for freedom is ongoing, as there are many systems of inequality around the world. But the beauty of Nervous Conditions lies in its suggestion that, even in the face of insurmountable challenges, the pursuit of true liberation is worth the struggle. It urges us to question, redefine, and actively shape what freedom, liberation, and independence mean—not just in our personal lives but in our collective histories and futures. We may not have all the answers yet, but the journey of reckoning with these concepts is one we all must continue, with both caution and hope.
I cannot wait to dive into the next two books in this series, The Book of Not and This Mournable Body, and I hope you’re as excited as I am to see where Tambudzai’s journey takes us. Tsitsi Dangarembga’s work is a masterclass in exploring the deep, often painful complexities of identity. If you’ve read Nervous Conditions or any of Dangarembga’s works, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Feel free to share your suggestions too!
Next I’ll be reading Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zara Neale Hurston (in a timely manner). Happy reading, and I’ll see you in the next post!