Still Living, Still Reading
a review of Like a Mule Bringing Ice Cream to the Sun by Sarah Ladipo Manyika
I’ve always been drawn to stories about older characters, people who have lived, loved, lost, and yet continue to search for more. There is something comforting about reading from the perspective of someone with years of experience. Maybe it’s my desire to peek into a future that feels distant yet inevitable, or perhaps it’s the way such stories slow down time, reminding me that life isn’t always linear. When I found Like a Mule Bringing Ice Cream to the Sun, I immediately sensed that Morayo Da Silva, the seventy-five-year-old Nigerian woman at the heart of the story, would be one of those characters. A retired English professor, an avid traveler, a lover of books and fast cars, Morayo felt like someone I wanted to know.
Morayo’s love for literature is more than just a hobby, it is an extension of who she is. She doesn’t simply read books—she collects them, arranges them, and attaches meaning to them.
"I no longer organize my books alphabetically, or arrange them by colour of spine, which was what I used to do. Now the books are arranged according to which characters I believe ought to be talking to each other.”
As a book lover, this approach resonated with me deeply. I’ve often found myself debating how best to organize my own books, and I smiled when I read Morayo’s method. Organizing books is an intimate practice of book lovers, and Morayo performs it with the familiarity of someone who has spent her life surrounded by words.
But what struck me most about Morayo’s relationship with books was how they weren’t just a thing of nostalgia for her. Even at seventy-five, she still reads, still discovers new stories, and still allows herself to be moved by them. This was important to me because so often, older characters in fiction are portrayed as people whose best years are behind them, whose engagement with the world has faded. But Morayo? She’s very much alive.
But as much as Morayo embraces the vibrancy of life, Like a Mule Bringing Ice Cream to the Sun is also about the realities of aging and independence. Despite being in her seventies, Morayo is fiercely independent, still driving herself around San Francisco, still dressing in bright colors, and still entertaining the idea of romance. She refuses to be confined by society’s expectations of old age, which often suggest a quiet, subdued life.
However, even her fierce independence can’t shield her from the challenges that come with aging. When she suffers a minor accident and faces the possibility of losing her independence, the novel becomes more vulnerable. This moment of reflection made me think of my own mother, the way she sometimes struggles to ask for help and clings to the routines that make her feel in control. It reminded me that growing old isn’t just about the body slowing down; it is about living in a world that often tries to push you to the sidelines.
"Madness, I think to myself. It's madness here, madness. Madness. Old age is a massacre. No place for sissies. No place for love songs. No place for dreaming."
Despite her vibrancy, Morayo also experiences loneliness. Her friends have moved far away, and though her “shelf friends” offer her comfort, they cannot replace the companionship of those who once shared her life.
“And yet all these friends were so far away. They weren’t friends with whom I could share my daily life. And as for my shelf friends, as much as I loved them, they weren’t real friends either.”
This passage, where Morayo reflects on the physical and emotional distance from her once-close friends, resonated deeply with me. Aging often means losing touch with those who once filled our lives with warmth. The friends who are physically close can never replace those who have been part of our daily lives, the ones who understand us in ways others can’t. Morayo’s loneliness is palpable, but her refusal to let it consume her is what gives the novel its strength. She may not have people to share the little moments with, but she continues to live fully in spite of that absence.
Another thing I loved about Manyika’s storytelling is how it shows different perspectives. Morayo’s narrative isn’t the only one we hear. Instead, the novel brings in the voices of caretakers, friends, and acquaintances, each offering their own view of Morayo’s life. We meet Antonio, the poet, whom Morayo desired more than her husband, Dawud, a charming Palestinian shopkeeper, Reggie, a retired lecturer now caring for his wife, who has Parkinson's disease and is in the same home as Morayo, Touissant, the care-home stand-in chef, and Sunshine, an amazing friend of Morayo who also struggles with her identity. This technique reflects the way we exist in the world, not as isolated beings, but as people whose lives intersect with others. The different ways people see Morayo show how our existence is complex, shaped not only by our own eyes but by the eyes of others around us.
However, while the novel’s emotional core is undeniable, there are moments when the narrative feels too smooth, almost unrealistically smooth. Morayo encounters few of the harsh realities that many older individuals face—financial worries, the small indignities of old age, or the struggle of aging alone in a city. The people she meets are almost too conveniently kind and understanding. While this idealized portrayal doesn’t diminish the story’s emotional depth, it does leave out some of the harder truths about aging.
Despite these oversights, Like a Mule Bringing Ice Cream to the Sun remains an experience, not just a story. It asks us to reflect on our own lives: What do we hold onto as we age? How do we define independence? And how do we make peace with the inevitable changes that come with time? For Morayo, books are her anchors, her treasures, and her legacy.
“But who knows, when the earth finally decides that it’s tired of fidgeting and needs a proper stretch, I might be the one walking downstairs; if that’s the case, then the only survivors will be my books—hundreds of them—to keep each other company.”
I wonder what my legacy will be when I die.
Reading this novel felt like sitting with an old friend, and listening to them tell their story. It reminded me that life doesn’t stop being beautiful, or full of possibility just because one has reached a certain age. Morayo, with all her vibrancy, felt like a quiet rebellion against the idea that old age is just a waiting room for the inevitable.
After turning the last page, I found myself reflecting on the kind of old woman I hope to be someday—one who still reads, still laughs, and still finds joy in the little things of daily life. And maybe one who arranges her books with as much care as Morayo, making sure that the characters on her shelves get along just fine.
After Notes:
Here are some essays/articles you should read this week:
Be the Leading Lady of Your Own Life by Treasure Okure
On agency and reclaiming your power
Why You Should Read by Pelumi A. Jegede
These are words from an avid reader who recorded 15 “Have-read” ticks on ReadEra in January, 2025
The Secrets of Suspense by Kathryn Schulz
On suspense in literature and life
The People You Love Will Change You by Ore Eni-Ibukun
On the terms of friendship and community
Read This if You Hate Yourself by Ore Eni-Ibukun
On why self-loathing is not a honest outcome of self-awareness
“I'm Too Lazy and Mediocre to Deserve the Life I Want!” by Ask Polly
Cultivate faith in exactly who you are - hesitation, doubt, self-hatred and all.
Why You Should Tell Your Story by Treasure Okure
For the people pregnant with stories they are hesitant to tell.
Why Childhood Reading Matters by Sam Leith
Books are the platform on which everything else is built
I Want to be Great, or Nothing by Faith Zapata
On trying to be kinder to myself when I fall short
Postcards on Brokenness by Odinakachi Nwonu
Of hope and broken things
Books: I'm rereading Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. The first time I read this book was in primary school when it was one of the recommended texts for my brother's WAEC exam. I remember being drawn in by the title. I'm revisiting old favorites because of the news of a new release from Chimamanda, and Purple Hibiscus is my first pick.
Music: This month, I've been listening to Ire Toluhi's songs on repeat. I recently discovered flowerovlove, and I think I like her music. Listening to her feels like watching a coming-of-age movie and vibing to the soundtrack.
Love always,
Agnes.