The main protagonist of Claire Hajaj’s The Water Thief is Nick, an architect in London who breaks out of a comfortable relationship with his fiancée, their customised stationery, dinners over “braised chicken and Chablis” and “aspirational house hunting” to “do something meaningful” before he “settles down”.
So he sets out on a sabbatical to help build a hospital at an unnamed African village at the edge of the Sahara. We learn that Nick had a troubled relationship with his Jewish father who always put his work as a doctor before his family, while the tragic loss of his best friend weighs heavily on Nick’s mind.
Throughout his journey, the conflicts and tragedies of his past continue to follow him, and acquire new shapes.
Once he settles into the village, Nick finds himself attracted to his host’s enigmatic wife. When a deadly drought descends on the village, he decides his moment has come to make a real difference, but local politics, radicalisation and corruption stand in his way.
Claire Hajaj conveys all this and more in her very vivid writing style. Here’s a taste: “A woman brushed past him on the narrow pavement, shoulders swelling from a tight jungle-green dress, matching fabric crowning her temples, arms opened wide like a carnivorous flower. She squealed as she reached into the melée of expectant faces and trundling baggage, pulling someone into a strong embrace — a mother perhaps, or a sister.”
Perhaps the book’s principal strength lies in its implied questioning of the many well-off, male westerners who look for meaning by working in developing countries but whose actions end up having unintended consequences. Another strength is Hajaj’s ability to capture the many, sometimes opposing, aspects of people’s identity.
This is Hajaj’s second novel, following Ishmael’s Oranges, which was shortlisted for many awards. She is the daughter of a Jewish British mother and Palestinian father.
In an interview with the Sunday Times, Hajaj said: “My parents tried so hard. But it’s the fate of peacemakers in this conflict to be labelled traitors. They lived under constant scrutiny — and it turned inwards. My liberal mother began lighting Shabbat candles in secret to defy the hatred around her. And my secular, clever father changed, too. Suddenly it was not enough that we sympathise with the Palestinian cause. We had to hate the Israelis, too.”
In her fiction, Claire Hajaj offers a rather more hopeful vision of how people from different worlds can find common ground.
Marina Gerner is a freelance reviewer
