Little Bee tells the intertwined stories of a Nigerian undocumented refugee in England named Little Bee, and an upper-class magazine editor living in London named Sarah, who form an unlikely bond with each other as Sarah copes with her husband Andrew’s suicide. As a refugee, Little Bee seeks asylum in England after she sees her family murdered and witnesses the genocidal atrocities of an oil war in Nigeria. Despite Little Bee’s desperate need for shelter and safety, both the United Kingdom’s government and citizens treat her with disdain, skepticism, or outright cruelty. Little Bee’s experience with England’s immigration system and racism highlights the plight of modern global refugees who, though fleeing for their lives, are often demeaned, harassed, or simply ignored instead of treated with compassion.
Little Bee flees Nigeria for her life in the midst of an oil war and fears that if she is deported back to Nigeria, she will be killed—a situation, the novel implies, that is true for many refugees. Little Bee and her sister Nkiruka witness the government-sanctioned slaughter of her family village and many others by mercenaries working for oil companies who want the territory for oil. Little Bee ultimately escapes, stowing away on a boat to England, but not before witnessing mercenaries rape and beat Nkiruka to death. The horrific events that Little Bee flees makes it clear that her hope to immigrate to England is a life-or-death affair and the novel suggests that such is the experience of many refugees seeking asylum.
The Nigerian government wants to keep all testimonies of the oil war suppressed, and Little Bee knows that if she returns to Nigeria she will be immediately arrested and probably murdered by her own government. When Little Bee is about to be arrested by a British policeman who suspects her of being an illegal immigrant, she thinks that if she is deported, “I would be dead, but no one would have fired any bullets.” Once again, the fact that Little Bee’s deportation carries the likely threat of death suggests that refugees often face life-and-death consequences; returning to their home country is not a safe or feasible option. In spite of the horror and danger Little Bee flees, Sarah’s lover Lawrence assumes that the girl simply wanted to live in a wealthier country. He asks, “Is it really death you’re running from? I mean, honestly? A lot of people who come here, they’re after a comfortable life.” Lawrence’s near-sighted misperception of Little Bee demonstrates the manner in which many people born in safe countries do not understand or believe the life-and-death stakes that refugees face.
While Little Bee applies for legal asylum, she is effectively locked in prison for two years and finds the legal immigration system inept and corrupt. Through Little Bee, the novel depicts how refugees often have great difficulty in getting processed for asylum or sticking to the legal route of immigration. When Little Bee arrives in England as a teenage girl trying to file for asylum, she is trapped in Black Hill Immigration Detention Center for two years—during which time she never once sees the sun—an underground immigrant holding center that operates like a prison, with jail cells, barbed wire, and guards. In the detention center, Little Bee and the other migrants are given no support or protection, and are simply stored away until the government decides to deport them. The refugees fleeing violence are treated inhumanly, like prisoners, by the very countries they seek protection in.
When Little Bee is deported back to Nigeria, one of the officers explains to her that England’s immigration system is a for-profit business operated by “Dutch firms” who make money regardless of whether they detain immigrants or deport them. With this, the novel bleakly suggests that many immigration and asylum systems are not committed to helping refugees, but simply making a profit off of others’ circumstances and pain. With all of the corruption involved in the legal immigration system, Little Bee knows that her chances of being accepted as a legal refugee are slim, and she only inadvertently enters the country illegally after a refugee woman from Jamaica has sex with a guard several times to bribe him to illegally release her and several other women. The novel highlights how even though there are plenty of refugees like Little Bee, who want to follow the law and get proper documentation, the immigration system is so slow and corrupt that it pushes desperate people to enter the country illegally, just for the chance to survive.
After Little Bee is illegally released into England—against her will, since she wanted to enter legally—British citizens treat her with suspicion, racism, and generally dehumanizing behavior, suggesting that along with the government’s inhumane treatment of refugees, refugees also suffer from the ill treatment of native citizens. Little Bee faces constant skepticism that she is somehow a criminal: Lawrence thinks she must have done something to be locked away in the detention center and infers that Africans are less civilized than Europeans, cab drivers won’t pick Little Bee up and refer to refugees as “scum,” tabloid headlines in the newspaper warn of invading immigrants eating all of England’s swans, all of which demonstrate and propagate a nativist, anti-immigrant sentiment among the general population, who have no sympathy for the dangers refugees face. Even citizens who privately give aid to refugees like Sarah or Mr. Ayres, a farmer who lets Little Bee and three other illegal refugee women hide in his barn, face criminal and financial penalties if they are caught, suggesting that the government discourages compassionate and sympathetic people from giving aid to refugees either.
Little Bee’s depiction of the plight facing refugees suggest that refugees are merely ordinary people fleeing for their lives, faced additionally with unjust immigration systems, racism, and skepticism from the people they are asking to shelter them.
The Refugee Experience ThemeTracker
The Refugee Experience Quotes in Little Bee
How I would love to be a British pound. A pound is free to travel to safety, and we are free to watch it go. This is the human triumph. This is called, globalization.
Once a week, I sat on the foam mattress of my bed and I painted my toenails. I found the little bottle of varnish at the bottom of a charity box. It still had the price ticket on it. If I ever discover the person who gave it then I will tell them, for the cost of one British pound and ninety-nine pence, they saved my life. Because this is what I did in that place, to remind myself I was alive underneath everything: under my steel toe caps I wore bright red nail varnish.
I felt that if I took one step forward, the earth itself would rise up and reject me. There was nothing natural about me now. I stood there in my heavy boots with my breasts strapped down, neither a woman nor a girl, a creature who had forgotten her language and learned yours, whose past had crumbled to dust.
That summer—the summer my husband died—we all had identities we were loath to let go of. My son had his Batman costume, I still used my husband’s surname, and Little Bee, though she was relatively safe with us, still clung to the name she had taken in a time of terror. We were exiles from reality that summer. We were refuges from ourselves.
I stowed away in a great steel boat, but the horror stowed away inside me. When I left my homeland I thought I had escaped—but out on the open sea, I started to have nightmares. I was naïve to suppose I had left my country with nothing.
“Yu nivver notice dey interview rooms didn’t have no windows? Me swear to yu, dat man’s ooman mus kept her legs cross for da last ten years, de way he took me up on me offer. An it wasn’t jus on de one day, mind. It took de man four interviews fore he was certain me papers was in order.”
How calm my eyes were, since that day on the beach in Africa. When there has been a loss so fundamental I suppose that to lose just one more thing—a finger, perhaps, or a husband—is of absolutely no consequence at all.
So, I realized—life had finally broken through. How silly it looked now, my careful set of defenses against nature: my brazen magazine, my handsome husband, my Maginot line of motherhood and affairs. The world, the real world, had found a way through. It had sat down on my sofa and it would not be denied any longer.
“I just think this is not our affair and so…”
“Ah,” the killer said. “Not your affair.”
He turned to the other hunters and spread his arms.
“Not his affair, him say. Him say, this is black-man business. Ha ha ha ha! […] First time I hear white man say my business not his business. You got our gold. You got our oil. What is wrong with our girls?”
Then I listened to my sister’s bones being broken one by one. That is how my sister died. […] When the men and the dogs were finished with my sister, the only parts of her that they threw into the sea were the parts that could not be eaten.
“Is it really death that you’re running from? I mean, honestly? A lot of the people who come here, they’re after a comfortable life.”
“If they deport me to Nigeria, I will be arrested. If they find out who I am, and what I have seen, then the politicians will find a way to have me killed.”
“Save [Little Bee] and there’s a whole world of them behind her. A whole swarm of Little Bees, coming here to feed.”
“Or to pollinate.”
“Inside, you know, I am only a village girl. I would like to be a village girl again and do the things that village girls do. I would like to laugh and smile at the boys. I would like to do foolish things when the moon is full. And most of all, you know, I would like to use my real name.”