A few decades of Nigerian life

Four girls grow up in Nigeria and then scatter across the world. In this series of connected short stories, debut author Omolola Ijeoma Ogunyemi traces their lives, with an occasional foray into the life of a relative or related character.

The first story opens in 1897, with a Nigerian woman dying in childbirth. The child Adaoma survives, and at 15 marries Onochie in a huge ceremony with ‘two cows, twenty chickens and seven goats’ slaughtered for the feast. Years pass, but no children appear, and as is common in Nigerian novels, Adaoma sacrifices her happy life and handpicks a second wife for Onochie. As also seems common, the two wives eventually disagree, and Adaoma moves out.

Then comes an unusual twist: Adaoma marries another woman, Fodo, who continues her longterm affair with a man on the side. Both the women are happily heterosexual; sex has nothing to do with this marriage. The goal is for Fodo to have children by her lover, and for Adaoma to bring them up as her own, with her last name and inheritance. This, it seems, is accepted tradition, until the new churches take root in the 1900s and their union is denounced from the pulpit.

The rest of the stories take place in the 1980s and beyond, with only a faint link to the first story. The stories are centered on four girls — Nonso, Solape, Aisha and Remi — who are all from well-off families and therefore attend Federal Government Girls College. Remi starts a school rebellion against poor teaching, but it is Solape who gets picked up by the police, and dies in custody from an asthma attack. This loss colours the decisions of the remaining three girls for the rest of their lives.

Last Stop, Jibowu was the most appealing story to my eyes. It is 2005, and Nonso, now an American married to Dwayne, is visiting Nigeria. Seen through her expat eyes, the descriptions of her minibus ride to Lagos is both an insider’s and outsider’s view, as expected, but is very nicely done.

As the driver eased the minibus onto a narrow street, a voice from the back yelled ‘Praise the Lord!’ A chorus of Allelulias followed. Nonso sighed. She’d left Nigeria a lapsed Anglican and hadn’t been to church since her wedding day. Blatant public prayer hadn’t been a thing seventeen years ago.

Fifteen minutes after they’d joined the expressway, Nonso saw a crude barrier: a few ruined tires and spindly-looking tree branches obstructing the minibus’s path. It was manned by two figures in black uniforms holding automatic rifles. The minibus choir hushed.

(No need for tension: this turns out to be a routine bribe-taking exercise). Nonso is the strongest of the characters, and it is tempting for a reader to think that she most reflects the author.

Reflections from the Hood of a Car is unusual for this collection: it is told from a male perspective, that of Segun (who grows up to eventually marry Remi). In Nigeria, a policeman casually flicks his whip at Segun’s mother, leaving brutal welts on her neck. In the US, as a tall young black man, he is stopped for “always being the wrong person in the right place at the right time'”. It is chilling reading.

Not all the stories are equally good. Czekolada follows Aisha through Poland, soon after she breaks up with her white American boyfriend. She experiences some relatively mild racism :

I wasn’t sure exactly what she was singing, but I did catch the word czekolada several times. Chocolate, chocolate. She was watching me carefully to gauge my reaction, eyes glinting with anticipation. [..] I hated feeling that tension build up inside of me, so I stretched my mouth wide and extended my middle finger to show my full appreciation of her vocal talent.

More importantly, she loses her wallet to an American druggie grifter. The story is capably written, but despite being in the first person, it lacks much insight into Aisha’s mind. It was never clear to me why this experience drove her back into the arms of her distant boyfriend. Loneliness from being a very visible minority in an unknown country, for a brief period?

Although all the girls end up in America, the lure of Nigeria is strong, and the racism in America is stinging. The commentary on American society comes largely in the last story, messengerRNA, a dystopian-future story set in 2050. (The title is a nod to the author’s other life as a bioinformatics researcher). The election of 2016, says the story, came about because of

the dark underside of US history: smallpox on blankets; vast economic power forged from whips, cotton, and the misery of bondage; men selling their half-white children born of rape to other men for profit; the annexation of dusky-hued kingdoms; the Japanese internment camps; glorification of corporate greed over humanity.

It was thus somewhat disconcerting that all the girls become extraordinarily wealthy by the end of the book. Not just rich enough to have travelled widely and have multiple homes in different countries, but rich on a private-jet, helicopter-over-for-dinner scale. And of course, they are all very charitable too, and kind to their Nigerian employees. This had a disappointingly sanitized feel.

Perhaps to add some variation, one of the stories is told from the point of view of a young maid, Blessing, who works for Nonso in Nigeria. This story stands out, since the voice is pidgin.

I like my madam but sometimes she behaves like somebody whose head is not correct. Like yesterday, when we were all inside moto. Sunday, the driver, was taking madam to work at that big bank where she be oga.

[..] The traffic for Ozumba that day, no be joke oh. The traffic slow like tortoise wey eat six bowls of fufu, so we no move far at all.

The three wealthy women become indistinguishable at times, so this foray into the life of a household worker was a welcome change. Blessing is a cheerfully promiscuous woman, and quite distinct in personality and behaviour from the main characters. Whether the pidgin is accurate or overwrought, I cannot say.

A pleasant read, and I look forward to the author’s next book.