An unnamed man returns home to sub-Saharan Africa after 26 years in America. He ponders the unrecognizable country and people through a series of seemingly random and offbeat encounters and conversations.

HANGMAN is the kind of book that hits me with sarcasm and humor so sharp it's like a literary dagger straight to the funny bone. The precision in every line makes me both laugh and wince, especially as someone who is part of the diaspora. It's a gut punch delivered with a smirk.

As our unnamed MC navigates the maze of returning home, Binyam takes us on a rollercoaster of what's new and shiny versus what's deteriorated and crumbling. It's like a hilarious tour through the absurdity of change, or lack thereof. The narrative style is a masterpiece—reading like a string of random conversations and encounters, but the execution is brilliant. Even though HANGMAN is more vibes than plot, the dark humor and sarcasm keep me hooked.

Binyam's exploration of modernization and who's actually reaping the benefits is delivered with a touch of self-doubt, adding layers to the already rich narrative. Through peculiar conversations with taxi drivers and cousins, the author poses the crucial question: how much is really changed, and how much of history is just on a loop?

The ending hits a chord that resonates with anyone who has left their "home." What do we lose in the process, and what can we regain when we return? As someone who's ventured far from my roots, Hangman stirred up a cocktail of complex emotions, making me ponder deeply about my own concept of "home." It's a vibe-heavy exploration that, despite the lack of a straightforward plot, manages to leave a lasting impression.