Somadina by Akwaeke Emezi

a review & reaction

Rating: 5/5 | Genre: YA, Afrofantasy, Spirit Realms, Emotional Rollercoaster

I took a trip to my local Austin Public Library and borrowed Somadina by Akwaeke Emezi. And, to be completely honest, I placed a hold for this particular novel back in January so I could ensure that I was the first person who’d have the privilege of borrowing this text once APL acquired it. I’m happy to report that I succeeded in earning the title of first-to-borrow-this-copy-of-this-book.

‘This is how you try to connect with your dormant gifts,’ she said. 
‘By being with yourself. A dibia cannot reach into you and pull your gifts out.      
                                           Only you can reach you.'
                                                                                                                             (Ch. 10)

Let’s be clear: Somadina isn’t just a novel. It’s a whole ass rite of passage dressed in Emezi’s signature lyrical prose and gift for world-building that feels like breathing in incense at dusk. You know that vibe…smoky, sacred, and slightly dangerous.

From the very first page, Emezi drops us into a world that feels unfamiliar, but instantly intimate. There’s no slow build-up, no 10-page prologue explaining the rules of this realm. Nah. You’re just there. In it. Floating between spirit worlds, family wounds, and a whole village ready to exile a child for simply being born.

What stood out most to me was the weight of it all. The heaviness of being “othered.” Somadina didn’t ask to be different. She didn’t apply for the “abomination” role. It was handed to her like an unwanted inheritance. And what does she do with it? She carries it. Not gracefully, not quietly, but with the shaky, sacred power of someone learning to stand anyway.

You will always have a family. (Ch. 14)

That line? It hit me like a hug and a slap at the same time.

In one of the most tender moments of the book, Somadina’s big sister, Nkadi, reminds her of a truth many of us don’t learn until the damage is done: blood isn’t always thicker. Love can live outside of your household. Outside of genetics. Especially when the people who should protect you are the same ones who curse your name.

I was mad. I won’t lie. I was heated. Emezi had me out here ready to fight a fictional mother. Ready to run hands with a village elder. Because how do you look at your own child and see only shame? How do you watch your children cling to each other for survival and still choose silence?

But then there’s Somadina. Ever-evolving. She’s not your typical "strong female character" trope. She’s not a girlboss. She’s a spirit-wielding, truth-seeking, deeply emotional teen who learns to stand tall even when the ground beneath her keeps shifting. She’s stubborn. She’s scared. And she’s so resilient.

Jayaike and I had never been abominations. We had done and survived unimaginable things. (Epilogue)

Somadina is for all of us who’ve been called too much or not enough or unnatural. It’s for the ones who didn’t fit the mold, the gender box, the skin tone, the expectations. For the folks walking through a world that can’t decide if it wants to gawk at you or erase you.

The themes of cultural rejection reminded me of Akata Witch, especially the ways people with albinism or spiritual gifts are demonized. But here, Emezi turns that fear into power. She gives us a girl who doesn’t just survive. She transforms.

Read this if:

• You feel like the weird kid in your family.

• You’re in the middle of a spiritual awakening and/or emotional unraveling.

• You’re trying to find your voice in a world that prefers you quiet.

• You identify as a queer baddie, a neurodivergent babe, or a spiritual girl with crystals in your pockets.

• Honestly? If you need to be reminded, you’re not alone.

Final Thoughts:

Somadina is heavy, yes. But it’s also healing. It’s not about fixing trauma. It’s about recognizing who you are in spite of it. It’s about the power found in the quiet places. It’s a story that doesn’t just ask you to witness. It asks you to remember.

And you will. Long after the last page.

CW: death of a child, murder, war, kidnapping, torture, abandonment, body horror, bullying, domestic abuse

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