The Shadow Of A Smile

The story: Meet Zuba, a young Biochemistry graduate with dreams of undertaking a PhD (told you Nigerians need 10 characters minimum after their surname). He has a huge “kee-loid” scar on his forhead due to an unfortunate accident eons ago which claimed the lives of his mother and younger brother. He is totally obsessed with this keloid of his, it  acts a conduit through which Zuba expresses his varying levels of stress through various means such as rubbing, stroking, fingering, you-get-the-picture. He also has a penchant for novels featuring other such scarred characters.

His father, Professor Maduekwe sets up a secondary school and welcomes into his employment, the devil and his advocate aka Mrs Egbetuyi and her husband. Professor Maduekwe falls ill and it is left to Zuba to take the reins and make sure daddy’s efforts aren’t in vain. A seemingly trivial series of events cause Zuba to order the dismissal of the fiendish Egbetuyis. They’re having none of it and demand a gargantuan payout if he wants them to leave the premises in peace. The principled Zuba refuses and Mr Ebgetuti swears to see to it that Zuba pays for this transgression. After this, things appear to spiral out of control. Zuba is arrested on trumped  up charges of armed robbery and manhandling of the Egbetuyis and goes from the police cell to a prison. The situation is dire. The conditions that the prisoners are forced to live in are beyond belief. Actually, they aren’t, this is Nigeria after all… Honestly though, I was horrified. Zuba is exonerated in the end and the Egbetuyis get their just deserts.

Rewa’s take on things: This review will be short because I found this novel moderately enjoyable. That I found it enjoyable at all was due to my partiality to African literature. It isn’t that there is something drastically wrong with Ozumba’s writing style, nothing particularly askew with the story etc. I think that for me, I found the protagonist incredibly lacklustre and spineless. Perhaps it would have been more interesting if the story had been focussed on Zuba’s less-privileged cohort, Ike. Oh well.

I believe the novel offered some insight into the judicial system in Nigeria, the despicable state of our prisons and the consequences of bribery and nepotism.

Towards the end, the story became increasingly farcical and I found the ending a bit of an anti-climax. Even though there was a build-up to Zuba’s eventual release, when it did come, I felt sort of deflated. It just seemed too sudden and easy. By the end of the novel, I had just about had it with Zuba’s keloid-stroking and thoughts-about-nothing-but-keloid. The descriptions and characters felt elementary and shallow; Kachi has a remarkable inability to explore more diverse similes and modes of communication. He relies on repetition, repetition, repetition, repetition, repetition, repetition, repetition. Get the picture? Like, enough already *does American cheerleader voice*.

I believe at the heart of Ozumba’s novel was the take-home message of unfailing hope and triumph amidst unrelenting adversity. However, this bride did not make it past my threshold. If anything, having read about Zuba’s horrific experiences as a result of his insistence on holding on tight to the reigns of his high horse, I would be more inclined to let go of the proverbial reins and dabble in a bit of the system’s venality.

Actually, the only thing Ozumba achieved with this novel, was wasting half an hour of my lover’s life  with which he spent traipsing around the streets of London in search of this novel for me (kindle let me down you see). Half an hour that could have been better spent showering me with hugs and kisses *does Kanye shrug*.

While I must admit that this particular review of mine has been slap-dash, this was because I was so uninspired by the shallow characters and dull cadence of story-telling which both substantiate the low rating I have given this book.

Say You’re One Of Them

The story: Akpan’s debut will be a bit difficult to describe as it is a collection of five novellas but I’ll do my best.

Ex-Mas Feast. Its that time of year when Santa finally puts Rudolph, Prancer and crew to good use. Needless to say he bypasses 8-year-old Jigana and his siblings in the most abject of slums in Kenya. So destitute is his family’s condition that his 12-year-old sister, Maisha, who is a v-jay-jay utilise, is considered to have the luck of the draw. After all, she gets to ride in her clients’ Jaguars and other such fancy cars. There is also the baby which the siblings use as a pass-the-parcel prop for begging. Their living conditions are horrendous to say the least. Their most prized possession is a bottle of glue which the children take in turns to sniff in order to stave off their hunger pangs. Maisha decides to leave the hovel in search of a better life and the story ends with her family pleading with her not to leave as she drags her meagre belongings into a taxi.

Fattening For Gabon. This was the most harrowing story of all in my opinion (but we’ll get to that later J). 11 year old Kotchikpa and his 5-year-old sister, Elewa are under the care of their uncle, Fofo Kpee. Their parents have AIDs and are no longer able to care for them. One day their uncle returns home with a shiny new motorbike – the children’ s joy is unbounded! Their uncle  tells them it was a gift from their parents back in the village, both of whom are recovering well. Pinocchio ain’t got nothing on Fofo Kpee. He also tells the children that they have godparents who will be alleviating their poverty-stricken lives and relocating them from Benin to Gabon in a matter of weeks.  True to form, these godparents come to pay them a visit, bringing good tidings and lots of food! From the beginning, you get a strong sense of foreboding which also begins to fester Kotchikpa as the novel progresses. Their uncle forces them to recite lines about their new family, feeds them more food in those pending weeks than they’ve probably ever received in their lifetime and conditions them to get used to sleeping in an airtight room (to prepare them for the passage on the ship). During this transition. Fofo Kpee begins to have a change of heart and realises he can no longer do this. The way Akpan describes his descent into depravity is brilliant! He then tries to run away with the children on the motorbike but he gets caught and beaten to death, literally. The children’s new captors keep them locked in the room whilst waiting for departure date to arrive. Kotchikpa hears a grave being buried for their uncle and realises he’s dead and the next day, manages to get the keys of the padlocked window from his uncle’s jacket. That fateful night, he unlocks the window, awakens his irritating little sister (admit it, she was!) and tries to push her out of the window to her freedom. A blast of air hits her face and she screams, alarming their sentinel outside who rushes in. Kotchikpa is able to make it out of the window in time, leaving us with the poignant final words, “I knew I could not outrun my sister’s screams”.

My Parent’s Bedroom. Based in Rwanda during the times of the civil war between the Hutus and the Tutsis, I imagined this story to be told from the point of view of one of the unfortunate children from the film, “Shooting Dogs”. A young girl of mixed Hutu and Tusti lineage watches her Dad use a machete to crack open her mother’s head because she is a Tutsi – never seen a more severe case of peer pressure in my life! Before the gruesome death, her mother tells her that if anyone asks of her tribal origins, “say you’re one of them”.

Luxurious Hearses. Dear old Naij is where this story is based. On one of the infamous “luxury” buses that cart the local people from state to state acts as a microcosm for Nigeria’s tribal turmoil. A young fundamentalist muslim named Jubril is trying to escape from the north (where his heritage caused his so-called friends to questions his dedication to Islam). He gets on one of these luxury buses where he pretends to be a Christian. This would be an easy feat except that homeboy has a strong Hausa accent and is missing his right hand as a result of a Sharia punishment. Also on the bus, you have a deranged ex-soldier, a pious Igbo chief, a Mother Theresa aspirant, some razz university girls to mention a few. In a nutshell, Jubril accidentally slips his right arm out of his pocket to the enlightenment of his fellow passengers who eject him from the bus and promptly send him on his way to his maker.

What Language Is That. a young Ethiopian, Christian girl is forbidden from speaking to her Muslim best friend. No, seriously.

Rewa’s take on things: People hail Ex-Mas Feast as the best story in the collection but my personal favourite, well not favourite because the content was gruesome, was Fattening For Gabon. I think the reason for this was that in all the stories, we know that the young people are destined for doom, they know it too but only in Fattening For Gabon were these young children given a false sense of hope, only for it to have it dashed. The way in which Akpan describes Kotchikpa’s joy and tears during his first ride on that damned motorbike, his joy at eating the bullet-ridden meat provided by his purported godparents, his eventual realisation of his planned demise is just stellar.

With Luxurious Hearses, I was keen to find out how Akpan would make Jubril’s fate pan out. From the onset, it was obvious to me at least that he’d never make it across, too many odds stacked against him to maintain his disguise. Say You’re One Of Them was just horrendous. I found myself constantly wishing the young girl would escape rape and death but just knowing she would encounter both on the war-torn streets of Rwanda. Best Friend was totally pointless.

In summary, don’t read this book if you live in an airy-fairy world where such things are un-heard of. Read this if you want an eye-opener into the plights of young lives faced with ethnic cleansing, civil, political and religious wars over which they have absolutely no control. Weirdly enough, I find that I’m unable to review this collection of stories as I have been the other novels. I think its because they’re just too true, if that makes sense. I cannot say they are good or bad because these are the children who are involved in the conflicts we read or hear about on the news every day but just dismiss because we don’t know who they are, we don’t know their names, their hopes, fears, dreams. But Akpan brings this to light in a way that is bitterly brilliant.  Heartbreaking, I believe, is an apt review of Say You’re One Of Them.

 Time to move on to something far more light-hearted!

I Do Not Come To You By Chance

The story: Kingsley, the opara, first-born son, struggles to provide for his beloved family. Their circumstances took a turn for the worse when his ailing father’s income began to dwindle and health failures saw him in hospital (conditions here may beggar belief but are reflective of the conditions that some endure in Nigeria). Their family’s fundamental beliefs have always been education, education, education (Nigerian’s love nothing more than a minimum of 9 letters after one’s name, you might as well go and play in traffic if you have a B.Sc. or drink a vat of rentokill if you have a B.A.). So dear Kingsley, owner of a brilliant Chemical Engineer mind (has to be medicine, law or engineering – nothing else will do!) but with no connections in the corrupt Nigerian job market is at a loss.

Inability to pay for their father’s medical bills leads Kingsley  into his notorious uncle, Boniface aka Cash Daddy’s snare. Cash Daddy is a CHARACTER. A silver-tongued rogue cum mastermind, a tyrant who barks out orders whilst taking a crap, possessor of astounding wisdom, incredible charm and unabashed naked exhibitionism. As Kingsley puts it, “He could probably even talk a spider into weaving silk socks for him.”

As Kingsley falls grudgingly under his Cash Daddy’s juju (upgrading his wardrobe in the process), he discovers his own innate flair for the art of deceit and his moral compass begins to rust. He plunges deeper into the intricate world of the Nigerian e-mail scam. The detailed exposition of the unbelievable methods used to string along Western suckers is fascinating and HILARIOUS. Honestly, who would take seriously, an email from “Wazobia” or “Osondi Owendi”? Pure class.

As the scams increase in incredulity and audacity, the novel begins to accomplish something more than simply poking fun at the lust and rapacity that make a small but lucrative fraction of Westerners susceptible to such scams.

 The characters don’t see their actions as immoral or wrong, such entrepreneurial endeavours are justified, afterall the same Westerners pillaged their land in innumerable ways. Also, these embezzled currencies are put to good use; what with funding orphanages, building schools and ensuring v-jay-jay utlisers are give their money’s worth.

Kingsley’s mother’s pious nagging and the unfortunate poisoning of Cash Daddy by his competitors sees Kingley changing his perspective and career choice. Taking the late Cash Daddy’s advice, he sets up his own telecommunications enterprise and Bob’s your uncle and Fanny’s your aunt.

Rewa’s take on things: This is easily one of my most memorable reads of the year. Where do I begin – it was hilarious, uncomplicated, enjoyable, well-written, full of Naija colloquialisms and the list goes on and on. And on. Its a like reading a Nollywood film if you can imagine such, while some things appear utterly unbelievable, this is Nigeria my friend and such occurences are commonplace!!!!

Maybe I’m biased but the local champion in me could so easily visualise the akara-seller, hear the sounds of the argumentative molue conductors and feel the conditioned air at Chocolat Royal.

The characters were incredible – quintessential Nigerians. Boniface aka Cash Daddy (imagine a Rick Ross lookalike but probably fatter and uglier) was the icing on the cake. He was the epitome of a avaricious, entrepreneurial, benevolent Nigerian.

Kingsley (What a fantastic choice of name – it doesn’t get more Igbo than that!) held his own as the morally upright nephew with the terrible dress sense. That is, a dress sense that doesn’t involve “yellow crocodile skin shoes with purple, red, blue stripes across the front”. The monikers that Nwaubani doles out to her characters are just pure class; Cash Daddy, Protocol Officer, World Bank and Pound Sterling – the-only currency-with-a-surname (Oh Yeah!!!). The source of Cash Daddy’s mass wealth, the fraudulent emails which so many of us dismiss by hitting the delete button are also wonderfully detailed in the novel. They are full of everyday naija spiel; the flattery, the charm, the deceit and even the subliminal insults.  

It was unfortunate that Cash Daddy met his demise in the end. Whilst he was a blatantly corrupt manners with no sense of etiquette whatsoever, he always ensured that his people were always well taken care of. He would have probably made a better governor than majority of the goons currently in power.

To be honest, I wasn’t reading this novel to highlight points for discussion around the corruption of a blessed-but-don’t-know-it Nation, the plight the developing world suffered in the hands of the West or any of that deep and intelligent stuff. I read this for the sheer entertainment and reminiscence of Nigeria that I wasn’t able to derive from the likes of Secret Lives Of Baba Segi’s Wives.

Nwaubani did an excellent job with her first novel and I thoroughly look forward to her next offering. You go girl *flexes neck and clicks finger in diva style*!

Anthills Of The Savannah

The story: I won’t dwell too much on trying to explain the story to you my fellow readers for two reasons. One, I hope that you have already read this wonderful book and two, it is far too difficult to summarise a story as thought-provoking and multi-faceted as this one in a few paragraphs. It is far too all-encompassing. In a nutshell, it follows four main characters, His Excellency, Sam, who rules the fictional country of Kangan (an allegory for Nigeria I believe). Chris Oriko, the Commisioner of Information, Beatrice Okoh, Secretary of Finance and Chris’s girlfriend and Ikem Osodi, editor of the National Gazette newspaper. Elewa, another noteworthy character is Ikem’s pidgin English-speaking, fiery girlfriend. Chris, Ikem and Sam were former classmates.

Sam has Ikem “fatally wounded”, these words specifically used to misdirect the masses, when Ikem is arrested in his home for supposedly engaging in a coup. Prior to this, Chris and Ikem seemed to be on the path to reviving their strained friendship though a communal fear and dislike for Sam. After learning of Ikem’s “fatal wound”, Chris goes into hiding and the faeces hits the fan.

Some of the mastery of Anthills Of The Savannah so powerful is the way in which Achebe oscillates between first person narratives of Ikem (a few hard-hitting poems thrown in here and there), Chris and Beatrice and switches to third person for the denouement. In this way, we are aware of the maelstrom into which the characters have been thrown but we still aren’t ready for the volcanic eruption that is the state of affairs in Kangan.

 Rewa’s take on things: In keeping with Things Fall Apart and No Longer At Ease, Achebe runs the aftermath of colonialism and ever prevailing political corruption. Of the three novel, Anthills Of The Savannah, although very powerful and masterfully written, has been my least favourite. I don’t know why. Achebe’s prose is as intelligent, succinct and commendable as ever but I found it so difficult to engage with the story or the characters. This could have something to do with the fact that I was down with a cold and trying to liberate my nasal passages and concentrate at the same time!

Chris I found to be sanctimonious, Ikem who seemed to suffer from chronic weltschmerz, His Excellency a general weakling who sought to make scape-goats out of those that he deemed a threat to his illusionary authority. As for Beatrice, I couldn’t identify with her as a woman, Desdemona complex and all. Elewa was probably my favourite, I loved reading her pidgin English. I found her brave, amenable and unpretentious.

From the beginning, Achebe sets the tone for what the novel will be about. He reflects on the state of affairs in Kangan through Chris’s words, “…looking back on the last two years it should be possible to point to a decisive event and say: it was at such and such a point that everything went wrong and the rules were suspended. But I have not found such a moment or such a cause…”. The rest of the novel sets about on a journey which shows the reader that there is no one cause for the plight of Kangan but rather, as the old axiom goes, one things leads to another. We see that a confluence of interwoven and seemingly inconsequential events trigger off a ticking time bomb. Ikem uses the magazine as  a vehicle through which his own voice and opinion can be heard but he is ousted, set up and silenced. Chris’s demise soon follows suit whilst he is on the run, although his own death was avoidable.

What is interesting about the progression of the novel is that as the men fall, the women emerge and commandeer the ruins the men have left behind. Elewa gives birth to the late Ikem’s baby girl. Elewa’s elderly uncle is  late to the naming ceremony and so against the grain of deeply entrenched customary traditions, the women name the child and a typically male name at that. I read two things into this. Firstly, that the elders were late and unable to perform their duty suggested to me that Achebe was alluding to the fact that in order for change to become manifest, fresh blood, untainted by fossil ideologies and corruption. The second thing was the position of women in society, this was touched upon in the novel in a dialogue between Ikem and Beatrice.

Achebe wants you to see that Nigerians, Africans in general, accepted the subjugation from the colonialists all too readily, that they did not put up a fight. And now, they still allow this to continue, under dictators and such parodists. They are complicit in their own shame. Anthills Of The Savannah tells you that African society needs to be integrated, with women as important as men, and equality amongst all classes.  

Irrespective of my feelings towards the characters, I am in awe of Achebe. I found myself highlighting so many paragraphs in my kindle to return to just so I could re-capture the sheer brilliance of his writing. I would read some passages and think to myself, how does one sit and write such? He is one gifted man and anyone who studies English literature needs to read every single one of this man’s novels. Unlike the much hailed Salman Rushdie, Achebe makes no pretences (some people will probably want to lynch me for berating Rushdie but hey, my opinion). His writing is simple, adroit and so elegant. That Booker Prize was well deserved indeed.