The Things That Save Us
inspiration from Binti
I think we all have something that saves us.
I don’t mean religiously–like “resurrection” or “redemption” and all that, at least not yet. I’m talking about the things that save us from ourselves. They might be the gifts and talents we’ve built our lives or careers around, but they might not be. Sometimes the things that save us are simply the stories, songs, hobbies, or routines that remind us our hearts are still beating. And if our heart is still beating, then we’re still here, pushing back against gravity and the weight of a heavy world.
For me, it’s fantasy literature in its various forms: novels, anime, movies, shows, and even graphic novels as of late. Many other things have intrigued or even enthralled me throughout my life, but the realm of dragons, magic, and swords resonates most deeply with my heart.
It’s also the thing that sometimes makes me feel the most lonely. It’s the thing that I’ve let fade to the background or vanish entirely during periods of my life. It’s the thing that still makes me feel different from a lot of people I encounter, especially adults. Like, “nerd-different.” “Weird-different.” It’s the thing that, to this day, despite the proliferation of fantasy and sci-fi throughout popular media over the past quarter of a century, still feels like I’m supposed to “outgrow.”
It’s through this lens that I’d like to introduce you to another favorite character of mine: Binti Ekeopara Zuzu Dambu Kaipka of Namib.
Or, Binti
Spoilers of plot to come. However, nothing can spoil the experience of reading Binti, least of all knowing some broad-brush plot points.
Binti is the creation of author Nnedi Okorafor, who introduces this amazing young person to us in the Hugo and Nebula Award winning novella of the same name. The novella is set in a distant future in which Earth is connected with the rest of the galaxy and its many peoples.
Binti is a 16-year-old who leaves her family, travels through space, and brokers a peace between two planets on the brink of war (all in less than 90 pages!). As soon as she sets off on her journey, however, Binti survives a gruesome attack in which everyone on her ship is killed except her.
Binti relies on a few different things to save herself and others in the aftermath of the attack. One of those things is her greatest talent: mathematics.
Magical Mathematics
Binti comes from a family of mathematicians, and Binti herself is a prodigy. In her own words, she became “a master harmonizer by the age of twelve.” She is so skilled that she is the first of the Himba people (a real people from northern Namibia) to be accepted to Oomza University, “the finest institution of higher learning in the galaxy.” When the story opens, Binti is sneaking away from her family, who disapproves of her leaving.
When Binti experiences threats and ridicule from her community for even considering attending the university, she says, “I couldn’t help but act on [my desire to attend]. The urge was so strong that it was mathematical.” Of all the metaphors Binti could use to explain her deepest desire, she uses the language of equations, the inevitability that comes with mathematical function. She has to leave because [who she is] + [the opportunity she has] = [the decision she makes]. It’s not a problem or a question. Rather, like math in its purest form, it’s a reflection of reality.
Math is not the thing that saves me, but reading is. Writing is. And yet, they are the first things that I leave at the altar of Everyday, Difficult, and Overwhelmed. They are the things I “find time for” in the cracks and corners of my schedule. The things I “sneak in” when I’m not too busy, too anxious, or too tired to do them. They are the things most at risk of being cut in the interest of efficiency and productivity, the things I think of as indulgent at best and selfish at worst.
Math might not be my thing, but I know enough to realize if you mess with one side of an equation, you have to mess with the other. As I reflect on Binti, I can’t help but wonder how often we subtract from one side of our equation expecting to add to the other. How often do we subtract our gifts, talents, and interests thinking the result on the other side will be “more,” “better,” or “greater”?
The Threat of Subtraction
Early in her story, Binti experiences literal subtractions: She leaves her family; she loses her new friends; she even loses a piece of her physical being. At one point in the story, Binti embraces all the loss she experiences. She prepares herself to face death, to balance all the loss on one side of the equation by accepting the loss of her life. Doing so would have brought an end of sorts, but it would not have brought peace.
Instead, Binti responds with addition. She uses her mathematical talent, first to cope with the initial tragedy, then to navigate its aftermath, and, finally, to seek a solution. In this way, she brings harmony to the situation. She brings peace.
You probably haven’t experienced the tragedies Binti experiences in her story, but maybe you’ve experienced loss yourself. Maybe you’ve been looking out at the world over the past few months–or the past year and half, or longer–and tried to feel in your own heart, in some small way, the suffering of others. In the face of loss–our own or others’–we are tempted to think less of ourselves, to make less of ourselves.
There are times when we need to de-center ourselves from a situation, to act with humility, to recognize we are one part of a whole body. But the things that save us are the things that connect us with that body. These things are gifts from the divine and, therefore, some of our most powerful connections to it. They are the conduit between us and wisdom, forgiveness, strength, courage, grace, and love. When we shut ourselves off to them, we cross out an essential part of our equation.
The things that save us connect us
As a character, Binti is exceptional in so many ways. As an American reader, it’s easy to read her story as an individual hero’s journey. But that’s not at all how I read Binti.
Binti is a hero. She does go on a journey. You could probably map her story onto the monomyth cycle pretty easily: She leaves home, ventures into the realm of the unknown, experiences death and rebirth, etcetera, etcetera…
Despite her exceptional gifts, everything about Binti’s story arcs toward connection and relationship. She forges a bond with the Meduse who attack her ship. She brokers peace between the Meduse and Oomza University. And even though the first thing she does in the novella is cut ties with her family, the last thing she does is call home to begin weaving those ties anew. As Binti states early on, she is a master harmonizer. It’s no surprise her talents lead to living in harmony with others and showing them how to do the same.
We exist at a time in which we must consciously fight against forces of division and isolation. We are working harder in order to earn less. We face a growing threat of subtraction that threatens to erode the time and resources available for maintaining our communities, our relationships, and, consequently, our own mental and physical health.
And yet, Cory Booker broke the record for longest speech in the United States Senate speaking out against Trump’s undermining of the American people. Yesterday, hundreds of thousands protested the same in the Hands Off! rallies across the country. People marched partly out of self-interest and largely in the interest of their fellow Americans and people around the world who are suffering because of the president’s orders. We don’t yet know the impact of these variables on the equations, but they feel like additions.
When I read Binti, I feel so in awe, so full of beauty, so inspired, that all I want to do is tell someone about it. All I want to do is write to you.
You have something that saves you, which means you have something that connects you to the divine itself and to so many others, even if those connections haven’t been made yet. In the face of so many subtractions, you have something to add.
A Scriptural Postscript
For those of you reading with a Christian lens, I hope you already see the many ways in which Binti’s story and the lessons we can learn from it reflect the radical love Christ calls us to embody in Scripture. As I wrote this essay, I found myself reflecting on one of the main criticisms levied against Jesus and His disciples throughout the Gospels: They partied too much. They feasted too much. They worked too many miracles.
They partied in the shadow of Empire.
They feasted with a few loaves and fishes.
They miracled when they should have been Sabbathing.
Jesus modeled love and abundance in a time of fear and scarcity. When Jesus calls the first Apostles in Matthew 4: 18-20, He calls out to two fishermen and says, “…I will make you fishers of men.” In other words, “I will take this gift of fishing that you have, and I will amplify it. I will take this skill you use to feed yourselves and your families and show you how to use it to connect with more people than you can fathom, even those who are very, very different from you.”
The Lord wants to do the same with us.
For the Curious:
Last week I had the privilege of contributing to the “Soul Seeing” column at The National Catholic Reporter. I wrote an essay examining Christ’s challenge to be childlike in our faith (I’ll admit, I’m pretty proud of how it turned out). You can read it here: We are creatures of knuckles and knees.
You’re building a vital bridge. Keep on