Having already read Chimamanda Adichie’s Americanah and heard her in person deliver an eloquently moving commencement address (at a graduation ceremony of a relative), I knew what to expect in terms of writing style and caliber. When I realize that this is her first book, I understand that the author didn’t need practice to make perfect and that she is apparently capable of hitting the ground running without needing to pick up speed or lose momentum.
The first 20 odd pages are enough to set the tone, mood and expectation in the story. Brother Eugene – papa – owns a newspaper, makes large donations to the church – has received a human rights award from Amnesty World (“the only time he allowed himself to be featured” in his own newspaper); When Jaja, his son, not only misses communion, but refers to “the host” as the “wafer”, his sister Kambili is shocked and horrified – “wafer was what one of papa’s factories made – chocolate, banana…” So now the reader knows that Papa owns multiple factories and is really truly well-heeled.
We also know that Papa has a temper – he is introduced in the opening line of the book as flinging “his heavy missal across the room” at Jaja, missing him and breaking instead the “figurines on the etagere”. We learn quite how aggressive these temper tantrums are when Kambili reminisces about the significance (to her mother) of the broken figurines. Her mother “polished the figurines each time there were sounds from their room, like something being banged against the door. With a kitchen towel soaked in soapy water, she spent at least a quarter of an hour on each ballet-dancing figurine. The last time – only 2 weeks ago, when her swollen eye was still the black-purple color of an overripe avocado.” Uh-oh!!!
Add to this the fact that Papa says grace at mealtimes for twenty minutes or longer – that his face is bloated with pus-tipped rashes spread across every inch”, and you have an ugly person – both inside and out – that we know we are going to dread and love to hate as the story unfolds.
Fifteen year old Kambili is the narrator in the book – but ironically is almost completely voiceless because of the abuse and cruelty she has suffered as well as witnessed all her life. It is not until she and Jaja go to Aunty Ifeoma’s house (in another town) that Jaja and Kambili come into their own!
Papa’s sister Ifeoma – is a complete contrast to him in every possible way. She is as poor as papa is rich; she allows her three children to voice their opinions and involves them in all matters – political, household finances, religion etc. papa’s children are not only voiceless to the point of being almost mute, they communicate even between themselves only “with their eyes”. Ifeoma loves her father, is a dutiful daughter and her children adore their grandfather Papa Nnukwu and enjoy an affectionate relationship with him; Papa, on the other hand – allows his children brief 15 minute visits, labels his father “a heathen” (as he is not a “Christian”) and his children have no relationship with their grandfather; Ifeoma uses love to bond with her children and Papa uses violence to terrorize his.
At Aunty Ifeoma’s home, Kambili and Jaja learn to breathe easily, get to know their cousins, help with household chores and most importantly – find their voice. Kambili falls in love with Father Amadi – tragically a love that’s destined to be forever unrequited , even though the reader can see that Kambili’s feelings are returned in full measure – we keep hoping that Father Amadi will cast away his priesthood to live the life of an ordinary man – because c’mon – she’s had such a raw deal her whole life!!!!
When they return from Aunty Ifeoma’s home, Jaja dares to be openly rebellious and it appears that Papa recognizes that he will not have a hold on him for long. However, it does not prevent papa from kicking Kambili repeatedly when he discovers that she’s secreted a drawing of her grandfather drawn by her cousin Amaka. The injuries are so severe that Kambili is at death’s door and has to be hospitalized. It is when she’s recovering in the hospital that her mother tells Kambili – “Your father has been by your bedside every night these past three days. He has not slept a wink.”
And Kambili thinks – “It was hard to turn my head, but I did it and looked away.” It is the only time in the story we get a sense of how let-down Kambili feels – both by a mother who cannot protect her and a father whose tyranny all but kills her.
There are so many horrific instances of both physical and mental abuse that oftentimes it’s hard to keep reading. Especially since there’s always a feeling of dread and doom with wondering – “Dear Lord – whatever next?!how is this going to end?” And it does end as violently as we fear – the oppressed (finally) turns on the oppressor – Jaja takes on the blame to protect the real perpetrator and ends up behind bars.
But Papa is no more (“Praise God”); Aunty Ifeoma and her children have moved to America; Mama has the chance at a decent non-abusive relationship with a kind and caring man – the new driver; Jaja is finally getting out of jail; Kambili continues to quietly love Father Amadi who is now in Germany; the purple hibiscus – brought from Aunty Ifeoma’s garden and planted in their own – has taken root and started blooming. And it seems that Life has come a full cycle – “the new rains will come down soon.”