Sameer Gudhate presents the Book Review of I Am Nujood, Age 10 and Divorced by Nujood Ali

Sometimes a book finds you—not the other way around. I remember picking up I Am Nujood, Age 10 and Divorced during a quiet evening, thinking I’d flip through a few pages before bed. What I didn’t know was that this slim memoir, written by a girl not even out of primary school, would leave me sleepless and wide-eyed, grappling with questions no ten-year-old should ever have to answer.

This is the real-life story of Nujood Ali, a Yemeni girl whose childhood was stolen when she was married off to a man three times her age. Her story first shook the world in 2008, and with the help of journalist Delphine Minoui, she tells it in her own words—simply, bravely, and without flinching.

At its core, this book isn’t just about a child bride escaping an abusive marriage—though that alone would make it powerful enough. It’s about the voice of a girl rising from beneath layers of silence, fear, and tradition. Nujood recounts how she escaped her marital home, walked alone into a courthouse, and demanded a divorce—a word no one expected from someone her age. Her act of defiance wasn’t just personal—it was cultural, historical, and deeply symbolic.

What makes this memoir stand apart is that it isn’t just a tale of horror; it’s one of hope. It's not just a tragedy; it’s a turning point—for Nujood and for countless girls who saw a spark of possibility in her courage.

There’s nothing flowery or over-polished here. The beauty of this book lies in its rawness. Nujood speaks like a ten-year-old would—direct, honest, and painfully sincere. Delphine Minoui does a beautiful job of shaping the narrative without ever stealing Nujood’s voice. It feels like you're sitting beside her as she whispers her story, one page at a time.

This straightforward tone doesn’t make it any less impactful—if anything, it cuts deeper. Because the horrors aren’t hidden behind metaphors. They’re just... there. Unapologetic. Unmasked.

Nujood isn’t painted as a victim. She’s painted as a girl who wanted to go to school, read books, and play—just like any child. That’s what makes her story universal. You don’t need to be from Yemen to understand her longing. You just need to be human.

Through her lens, we also meet others—her silent mother, her domineering father, the judge with a gentle voice. Each character exists in shades, not stereotypes, making the social dynamics feel real and relatable.

The book is fast-paced, almost breathless at times. It moves like a heartbeat—quickening when she escapes, slowing down in courtrooms, pausing to reflect on rivers and dreams. The short chapters are perfect for digesting the emotional weight, giving space to reflect before diving into the next blow.

This book speaks volumes without shouting. Child marriage, poverty, patriarchal control, legal apathy—all of it is layered into Nujood’s journey. But the theme that screams the loudest is resilience. Saying “No” becomes revolutionary in a world that only expects girls to say “Yes.”

There’s also a strong undercurrent of education—how simply being in a classroom instead of a kitchen can change a life. It reminded me how often we take school for granted.

There were moments in this book that broke me. Her wedding night. Her silent suffering. Her dreams of water that started calm but turned into storms. But there were also moments that lifted me—her nervous steps into court, her laughter at the end, her dreams of becoming a lawyer.

I smiled through tears when she said, “I will never get married again. Ever! Machi! Machtich!” That line? It stayed with me.

The biggest strength of this memoir is its unfiltered honesty. It doesn’t try to inspire you—it just is inspiring. Nujood’s clarity, the book’s pacing, the vividness of Yemeni life—all of it pulls you in and doesn’t let go.

If I had to nitpick, I’d say some cultural references might feel unfamiliar without background knowledge. But even that didn’t take away from the emotional core. The story is strong enough to transcend borders.

This book made me pause. As a parent. As a reader. As a human. It made me think of my daughter, of the safety we take for granted. It reminded me of the importance of listening—truly listening—to voices that don’t often make it to bookshelves.

I Am Nujood, Age 10 and Divorced is not just a memoir—it’s a movement. A ten-year-old changed the law by daring to say no. If that doesn’t move you, I don’t know what will.

Read it for Nujood. Read it for the millions of girls like her. Read it so you never forget what bravery looks like when it wears a school uniform instead of a cape.

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