Yvonne opens the first chapter of her twenty-four-chapter book, “I Am Not Yvonne Nelson” with a seemingly innocuous sentence; an anecdote to a casual curiosity from a teacher. But make no mistake, that sentence is an announcement of the depth and soul poured into her book. That sentence is a clear indication that her book is anything but a glitzy Ghallywood/Nollywood tell-all. Rather, Yvonne dives into her childhood trauma and does not veer off even until the very end. The book is brutally honest and honestly brutal. Her first sentence might as well have read, “Hold your wigs, I am about to take you on one hell of an emotional rollercoaster and knock your socks off!”
The ensuing soul-searching dives deep into the actor’s ingrained pain, her struggle to find herself; her roots and identity, and how the hand life has dealt her has shaped one of Africa’s finest actors. When she names other stars (Jackie Appiah, Genevieve Nnaji, Sarkodie, Iyanya, and the rest) it is done almost in the middle of the book, and it is to acknowledge their influence in her career and to discuss her failed, and at one time, near fatal romantic relationships.
Yvonne focuses on framing the star we see within the context of parental alienation, an unknown identity, sexism and misogyny, childhood abuse, childhood in a single-parent home, and the painful personal mistakes she’s had to overcome. Her memories of her mother delegating disciplinary duties to her older brother and the intense physical abuse he gleefully meted out to her are upsetting: “I remember on one occasion, he beat me and stopped only when I told him I was menstruating,” she writes. Equally upsetting is her account of her mother not missing a chance to throw in her face how her birth had been a mistake; how she had attempted to abort her when she was a six-month old fetus. Save for the last-minute decision of a doctor not to proceed with the abortion, she would have flushed her out. Survivors of childhood emotional and physical abuse will have a hard time digesting her descriptions of parental and sibling abuse, the black sheep effect and being othered by her immediate family.
Yvonne mostly focuses on and draws an undeniable connection between the lack of parental interest in her needs and dreams and her abysmal performance in school. With brutal candidness, she writes about using music as an escape, so much so that academics became secondary. On top of her lack of motivation, she is sent to Secondary School where she believes she is, rather than receive an education, just required to check off a box. Secondary School: Done. Check. Of her Secondary School experience she writes, “When I realized I was straying too far away from academic excellence, I did not get the needed help and support … The only way I could keep my admission was to accept business accounting. I hated figures and calculation with passion, but I was compelled to pursue that course.” Eventually though, the life lessons from that period; a school she despised, the Saturday entertainment nights she lived for, her consequent failure in SSCE exams, and her gritty resolve to salvage her gloomy future will serve her well and become the “endurance test” that prepares her for the future. With fine brush strokes, Yvonne paints the picture of a painful period of failure and uncertainty, her family’s palpable disappointment and rejection by friends.
Yvonne acknowledges that it is a friend who eventually pushed her in the direction where she found interest and success. She competes for Miss Ghana on a friend’s suggestion but loses the crown to an undergraduate who she believes had more education and exposure, further cementing her resolve to get a university education. A chance encounter after her failed beauty queen attempt would become the vehicle that propels her to stardom; and this was also through the same friend who put her on the path of beauty queendom. The road to stardom however would prove to be anything but a walk in the park. In an industry replete with sexism and misogyny due to its male dominance, she soon finds herself wingless; wings clipped by so called ‘powerful’ men, who needed their egos stroked and their black derrieres kissed. Much like learning to salvage her future after failing her SSSCE exams, she regrew her wings and re-learned how to fly. And then came entitled kings and princes, who believed they had a right to her body by virtue of their deep pockets. And at some point she becomes an activist and toys with the idea of politics.
When Yvonne remembers her first pregnancy and the ensuing abortion, it is with regret and an acceptance of responsibility. And again, she does not spare detail, she pours brutal honesty and emotion into those harrowing moments of her life when young and unprepared to carry and care for another life, the man responsible makes it clear he was not ready to father a child. “How was I going bring another human being into this world to live like me, someone whose father would reject him or her as Mr. Nelson had rejected me… Especially when I was not psychologically or emotionally prepared to be a mother… Having an abortion is one of the most regrettable mistakes in my life.” And this goes without mentioning the physical and emotional trauma that accompanies such a choice.
Yvonne isn’t shy about sharing her unknown paternity. She details painful accounts of mistreatment by the man upon whom she was foisted, who would later turn out not to be her father. And she recalls the mortifying embarrassment she suffers when she contacts a renowned family and introduces herself as their potential sister. She shares account after account of rejection by people who seemingly know more about her parentage than she does, and her mother’s unrelenting resolve not to tell her the truth.
By the time Yvonne gets to the birth of her daughter, you almost want to exhale on her behalf. Indeed, her journey has been paved with pitfalls. But you cannot quite exhale yet because with childbirth comes career interruptions, postpartum depression and a judgmental society. But you exhale anyway, because what beats looking into the eyes of a little human you’ve baked inside you and can love and shape?
The letter of apology she writes to the father who really wasn’t is heartwarming. Her acknowledgement of her love and appreciation for her mother, in-spite of how she’s hurt her is appreciable. And the tearjerker, the letter to her father, will make an ice queen melt.
While “I Am Not Yvonne Nelson” can be reeled-in for some loose ends, and has been embroiled in controversy, Yvonne’s journey overpowers those nitpicks. She tethers her past pain to her present, and tells no congratulatory tale of showbiz rags to riches. She does not lie to herself or to her audience that success heals old wounds. Rather, it is a book committed to showing how deeply emotional abuse, physical abuse, neglect, sexism and an identity crisis can seep into a person’s bones and inundate their lives.
And Yvonne shows she is here and intends to keep going. And she is an embodiment of how to play a poor hand well.
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