A Book Like a Song — Suzan Mutesi’s Unapologetic Voice

It began softly — like the hum of a distant melody.

The Immigrant That Found Her Unapologetic Voice landed in my hands not with thunder, but with the quiet promise of something real. Suzan Mutesi. Multi-talented, radiant, determined. I didn’t know what to expect. But I opened the book — and I listened.

The rhythm was uneven at first. There were passages about God, about Christianity — and, I’ll be honest, those didn’t quite sing to me. But then, like a hook that keeps playing in your head, the truth in her story took hold.

This isn’t just a memoir. It’s a song of survival. A ballad about a girl torn from family, stitched into the fabric of a patriarchal world, arriving in Australia carrying more than just luggage — carrying history, sorrow, courage.

And joy. So much joy.

It’s a story about things we don’t often say out loud — about racism, about broken homes, about love we never learned how to recognise. About the ache of missing pieces and the hope that maybe, just maybe, we can build something beautiful anyway.

I found myself scribbling in the margins with a pencil, my own little chorus: “So true.”

Then: “Deep and true.”

My private way of harmonising with her truth.

Page 12 asked the question I now keep with me like a refrain:

“How is your heart?”

I asked Suzan that when I met her. I think I’ll ask everyone from now on.

There are sentences that shimmer in this book. Lines that float above the page like verses in a love song to grit, courage and resilience.

“Never give anyone power over you by letting them fill your heart with resentment.”

“The scars we’ve carried since childhood can either propel us forward or hold us back.”

“Speak your mind and change your story.”

She writes about Uganda — a place I’ve never been — and suddenly, I can see it.

Sunday lunches, where meat was a luxury.

Dolls made from banana fibre, dressed in scraps of fabric — the early sketches of a future fashion artist.

Suzan is 38. Just 38. And yet her voice — both in this book and in the world — is timeless.

She was born on June 21st — la Fête de la Musique in France. The first day of summer.

Of course she was. She is summer. She is music. She is sunshine.

There’s something so human about this book — not polished to perfection, but alive, pulsing, breathing. It asks:

Why war when we could sing in the rain?

It tells us:

Don’t bury your talent. Sow it. Scatter it. You never know what will grow.

It’s not just a memoir. It’s a hymn to self-belief.

A guide to personal management.

A gentle lecture on love, failure, friendship — the kind that stays, the kind that leaves, and the kind that becomes family.

Reading this book felt like hearing someone sing directly to your own unspoken past. And in Suzan’s voice — on the page, in real life — I heard something that made me want to keep going.

A story with music in it.

A story I won’t forget.

— Olivier Vojetta