Invoking Flora Nwapa
Invoking Flora Nwapa
Invoking Flora Nwapa
Paula Uimonen
By exploring experimental ethnographic writing, the author
combines the genres of creative non-fiction, descriptive ethnog-
raphy and scholarly analysis in an effort to make the text more
accessible to academic as well as non-academic readers. Inspired
Paula Uimonen
by the social change perspective of African womanism and critical
decolonial theory, the book makes a contribution to current ef-
forts to explore a more socially just and environmentally sustain-
able world of many worlds.
Invoking Flora Nwapa
Nigerian women writers, femininity and
spirituality in world literature
Paula Uimonen
Published by
Stockholm University Press
Stockholm University
SE-106 91 Stockholm, Sweden
www.stockholmuniversitypress.se
DOI: https://doi.org/10.16993/bbe
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 Unported
License. To view a copy of this license, visit creativecommons.org/licenses
/by/4.0/ or send a letter to Creative Commons, 444 Castro Street, Suite 900,
Mountain View, California, 94041, USA. This license allows for copying any
part of the work for personal and commercial use, providing author attribution
is clearly stated.
Suggested citation:
Uimonen, P. 2020. Invoking Flora Nwapa: Nigerian women writers, femininity
and spirituality in world literature. Stockholm: Stockholm University Press.
DOI: https://doi.org/10.16993/bbe. License: CC-BY 4.0
Editorial Board
• Maris Gillette, Professor, School of Global Studies, University
of Gothenburg
• Mark Graham, PhD, Professor, Department of Social
Anthropology, Stockholm University, Sweden
• Nina Gren , Chair, PhD, Assistant Professor, Department of
Sociology, Lund University, Sweden
• Gabriella Körling, PhD, Researcher, Department of Social
Anthropology, Stockholm University, Sweden
• Susann Baez Ullberg, Assistant Professor, Department
of Cultural Anthropology and Ethnology, Uppsala University
List of Figures ix
Acknowledgements xi
Bibliography 225
Films 242
List of Figures
This book has taken me on a long journey and I have many people
to thank for guiding and encouraging me along the way, in differ-
ent parts of our world.
In Sweden, I have been greatly inspired by the research programme
Cosmopolitan and Vernacular Dynamics in World Literatures
(2016–2021), coordinated by Stefan Helgesson, in intellectually
stimulating and warmly supportive ways. I am also thankful to all
my colleagues in the programme, especially Chatarina Edfeldt and
Katarina Leppänen who share my interest in gender, Erik Falk
who has done great work with African women writers and Lena
Rydholm whose life trajectory has intertwined with mine in un-
expected ways, as well as Bo Ekelund, Adnan Mahmutovic and
the rest of the Location & Orientation team. I am truly grate-
ful to Helena Wulff for inviting me to be part of this inspiring
research on world literature, thus adding yet another dimension
to our mutual interest in the anthropology of arts and creativity.
As always, I have been able to draw on the insights of my in-
tellectual mentor Ulf Hannerz, this time around for our Nigeria
connection and for lending me his copy of Efuru, first edition,
along with other relevant reading materials from his literary treas-
ures. At the Department of Social Anthropology at Stockholm
University I have also enjoyed stimulating conversations with var-
ious colleagues, especially Gabriella Körling (Mama Adam), as
well as Alireza Behtoui, Elina Ekoluoma, Mark Graham, Anna
Gustafsson, Eva-Maria Hardtmann, Simon Johansson, Jonathan
Krämer, Marie Larsson, Hege Høyer Leivestad, Elin Linder, Anette
Nyqvist, Isabella Strömberg, and Rasmus Rodineliussen. In June
2020, Heidi Moksnes unexpectedly passed on, a dear colleague
and friend, whose professionalism and motherly care for global
development I carry in my heart. Over the last few years, students
at undergraduate and advanced levels have provided construc-
tive feedback on this project, and I appreciate the opportunities
xii Invoking Flora Nwapa
Today we celebrate not only Flora Nwapa the author and Efuru
the book, but we celebrate an occasion larger than the two.
Efuru is not just a novel, and a character in a novel, Efuru stands for
the values of African womanhood […] The creation of the woman
Efuru is immortal, and the message for women defies time.
(Zaynab Alkali, keynote at Efuru@50 in
Maiduguri, 1 December 2016)
1
This study builds on the African Women Writers project, based on
fieldwork in Nigeria and Tanzania. The project is part of the research
4 Invoking Flora Nwapa
exclusions’ in world art studies (Fillitz and van der Grijp 2018, 11).
While recognizing the global dimensions of local art worlds in
global art, Fillitz has emphasized the need to think along the lines
of a ‘global art worlds network’, thus emphasizing ‘a plurality of
interconnected art worlds’ (Fillitz 2018, 101). These efforts to
think beyond Eurocentric hierarchical ordering and global mar-
kets offer valuable pointers towards a more inclusive appraisal of
literature as well.
Returning to world literature, a productive reorientation can be
initiated by adapting a globalectic vision, thus embracing ‘whole-
ness, interconnectedness, equality of potentiality of parts, tension,
and motion’ (Thiong’o 2014, 8). In the quest for a ‘cosmopolitan
construction of world literature as a shared planetary domain’
(Helgesson and Thomsen 2020, 4), it is perhaps worth looking
at the globe from afar: ‘On its surface, there is no one center; any
point is equally a center’ (Thiong’o 2014, 8). Thinking of globali-
ty through postcoloniality, Thiong’o argues that conceptions of
world literature ‘must bring the postcolonial to the center’, in-
sisting that the ‘postcolonial is at the heart of the constitution of
Goethe’s world literature, and even in theory, it indeed constitutes
the nonimperial heart of the modern and postmodern’ (Thiong’o
2014, 55). While I find globalectics good to think with, I also
strive to move beyond postcoloniality, to avoid the risk of reify-
ing the power structures of coloniality. In so doing, I pay atten-
tion to the epistemic disobedience needed for decolonial delinking
(Mignolo 2011). Again, I appreciate the emphasis on diversity and
interconnectedness, in this case ‘viewing the world as an intercon-
nected diversity’, while recognizing that it is a ‘world entangled
through and by the colonial matrix of power’ (Mignolo 2018a,
x–xi). But perhaps the heart of world literature is to be found
outside (post)modernity and (post/neo)coloniality altogether, in
other possible worlds.
This monograph explores literary interconnectedness from the
crossroads of Nigerian women writers (Nnaemeka 1995). It has
been ascertained that ‘African women writers are writing from
the crossroads and, at the same time, writing the crossroads’,
and that ‘[t]o write the crossroads is not to see, speak, and write
this or that; it is to see, speak, and write this and that’ (Nnaemeka
Prologue: Ethnography of Flora Nwapa and Nigerian Women Writers 7
2
While tracing the origins of womanism to Alice Walker’s short story
‘Coming Apart’ (1979), in The Womanist Reader (2006, xx), Phillips
recognizes ‘at least two additional progenitors’, namely Chikwenye
Okonjo Ogunyemi’s African Womanism (1985) and Clenora Hudson-
Weems’s Africana Womanism (1993). Ogunyemi herself notes that she
‘arrived at the term “womanism” independently and was pleasantly
surprised to discover that my notion of its meaning overlaps with Alice
Walker’s’ (Ogunyemi [1985] 2006, 28). Phillips clarifies that ‘womanism
is not feminism’, nor is it black feminism, underlining that ‘[u]nlike femi-
nism, and despite its name, womanism does not emphasize or privilege
gender or sexism; rather it elevates all sites and forms of oppression,
whether they are based on social-address categories like gender, race, or
class, to a level of equal concern and action’ (Phillips 2006, xx–xxi).
10 Invoking Flora Nwapa
3
I use spirituality to go beyond the epistemic challenges of ‘religion’,
which raises all kinds of problematic issues in African cultural contexts,
from the colonial idea that ‘Africans were pagans, a people without re-
ligion’ to the ‘counter discourse’ that their worldview was ‘profoundly
religious’ (Oladipo 2005, 355). Such misrepresentations are often related
to the use of Western concepts, which fail to capture the complexities of
worldviews in African cultures (Imbo 2005, 364). While foregrounding
spirituality, I will also discuss conflicts arising from religious colonialism,
which continue to wreak havoc in local cultures (e.g. Jell-Bahlsen 2008,
2011), a topic that Flora Nwapa addressed in many of her works, most
poignantly in her last novel The Lake Goddess (Nwapa 2017).
Prologue: Ethnography of Flora Nwapa and Nigerian Women Writers 13
4
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YcwFVXK4IZQ, last accessed on
29 June 2020.
16 Invoking Flora Nwapa
5
As I have discussed elsewhere, liminality can be reconceptualized as not
just a state of being neither here nor there but also a state of creolization,
being both here and there (Uimonen 2012). Such reconceptualizations
can be productive when using classical anthropological theory, which
beyond various colonial entanglements has also been constrained by the
dualist ontology and binary oppositions of Western science. For instance,
Turner’s widely used theory on social drama built on his ethnography in
what is now Zambia in the early 1950s, and he has described how his
‘study of social conflict’ unravelled that ‘Beneath all other conflicts in
Ndembu society is the concealed opposition between men and women’
(Turner [1957] 1996, 89). Since this presumed opposition between men
and women flies in the face of African scholars’ insistence on gender
complementarity, it is perhaps indicative of Turner’s own cultural bias.
Meanwhile, although her reflections on fieldwork in Nigeria in the ear-
ly 1950s convey some common prejudices among Western scholars at
the time, in her fictional autobiographical account (published under the
pseudonym Elenore Smith Bowen), Laura Bohannan recalls, ‘I began to
wonder where I could find the oppressed, downtrodden women descri-
bed by the missionaries’ (Smith Bowen [1954] 1964, 34).
18 Invoking Flora Nwapa
6
Efuru@50 is available on YouTube at https://youtu.be/EndOXak9ESQ.
Prologue: Ethnography of Flora Nwapa and Nigerian Women Writers 23
A good journey
It was meant to be
A good journey
7
An exception is the person I refer to as James in Chapter 2, who was not
aware of my taking notes of the many things he said to me, but whose
perspective on life in Nigeria made an impact on me upon arrival.
Prologue: Ethnography of Flora Nwapa and Nigerian Women Writers 27
(Chapter 3), publishing and war stories (Chapter 4), family and
social relations (Chapter 5), and creativity in Flora Nwapa’s liter-
ary oeuvre (Chapter 6). Trained as a digital anthropologist, I also
discuss various aspects of digitalization throughout the book.
Each chapter contains an expose of contemporary women writ-
ers, drawing on interviews conducted during fieldwork and their
published works. While these writers recognize the pioneering
role of Flora Nwapa, their work also draws on other sources of
inspiration and, above all, their own talent and relentless efforts
to tell their stories. Inspired by earlier scholarly efforts to chroni-
cle African women writers in their own voices (e.g. James 1990),
the sections on contemporary women writers are mostly ethno-
graphic, bringing forth the writers’ own stories.
The chapters are concluded with theoretical discussions that
draw on anthropological, literary and vernacular theory to con-
textualize and explore the central themes of femininity and spirit-
uality in world literature, focusing on Flora Nwapa’s literary
worldmaking. From the outset, the concept of creolized aesthetics
is introduced to capture the cultural complexity of literary
worldmaking in a pluriverse of aesthetic worlds (Chapter 1),
followed by a discussion of womanist worldmaking and
literary ontology, with an emphasis on cosmologies of radical
interdependence and relational ontology (Chapter 2). Dwelling
on the social context of women’s literary production, the concept
literary mothering is introduced to discuss women’s writing ca-
reers (Chapter 3). Focusing on digital mediations in world litera-
ture, the dynamic reconfiguration of books into different material
and digital forms is discussed in relation to digital publishing
(Chapter 4), while Flora Nwapa’s digital afterlife is conceptual-
ized as digital incarnations (Chapter 5). The overriding themes
of femininity and spirituality are discussed in greater depth in
the concluding chapter, drawing on anthropological theories on
art, creativity and worlding, as well as literary theories on world-
making, analysed through African womanism to bring forth the
literary achievements of Flora Nwapa and her divine muse
(Chapter 6).
The epilogue offers complementary insights into Oguta culture,
based on cultural immersion during a revisit to Flora Nwapa’s
28 Invoking Flora Nwapa
the left desk first, then you get a stamp at the next desk, then you
go the right, where you will find your luggage. She was staying
in Nigeria, where her husband worked, but had lived in Kenya
and Uganda beforehand. ‘I would go back to Kenya any day,’
she declared ‘but when I leave Nigeria, I will never return.’ I had
explained that this was my first visit to Nigeria but that I live
half the time in Tanzania. ‘What’s the main difference?’ I asked
her. ‘People here are aggressive,’ she replied, ‘so you have to be as
well.’ I had already read about the assertiveness of Nigerians, so
her comment was no surprise. ‘And you can always pay your way
if you want to go ahead.’ She pointed discreetly at people press-
ing past us in the queue. Eventually we got our passports duly
stamped and could wait for our luggage. The belt marked with
our flight was empty, but another belt, with no sign, carried lug-
gage from our flight. Passengers pressed forward, grabbing their
heavy bags off the belt. ‘You will need to show your luggage tag at
the counter over there,’ the friendly English woman explained to
me, ‘but don’t pay them anything.’ When I passed the customs, the
officer asked for a gift, which I kindly but firmly declined. While
lining up for immigration, I had noticed large posters encouraging
people to report corruption. Land of contrasts and contradictions.
James waited for me with a large hand-drawn sign: Dr Paula
Uimonen. I smiled as I walked up to him. He had already tried
calling me, but my phone was still off, I explained. I asked him
about changing money and he immediately took me down a side
street to some money changers. He haggled with one man, but
decided to go further down the lane to some small stands in the
back. We got the same rate there, 460 naira per dollar. I changed
200 dollars and got a bundle of naira in small denominations
of 500-notes. ‘They are easily dispended,’ James advised me. We
walked back to the airport exit, where the driver showed up in a
beaten-up old van. I chose the back seat so I could marvel at the
view undisturbed.
The roads leading to town were run-down and lined with der-
elict, low buildings. I was taken aback. Lagos looked worse for
wear than Dar es Salaam, yet Nigeria was one of Africa’s richest
countries. It did not make sense. Some of the buildings seemed to
date back a few decades; undoubtedly stylish and modern at the
Cultural Tangles in Lagos 31
was power; most of the time the hotel ran on a generator, which
could only manage the rickety floor fan, not the A/C. The room
had a large bed, wooden bedstands and a wooden desk with
shelves and a chair, as well as an open wooden cupboard with-
out doors. The walls were painted in beige and light brown, with
paint stains along doorframes. A small window with double cur-
tains offered a bit of light, complementing the halogen lamp in
the ceiling, the only light that worked. There were sockets on the
walls, but most of them did not work either. The one socket that
actually functioned was hanging loose on the wall, looking as if
it was going to fall off anytime. A flat-screen TV was mounted
on the wall, offering a choice of six channels, of varying quality
of grainy screens. The bathroom had an elevated shower stand,
the tiles worn down, and a small sink that had seen better days.
Surprisingly, the water pressure was good and I enjoyed a cooling
shower after some rest. There was also a small balcony, overlook-
ing rusty roofs and satellite dishes.
The staff did their best to make up for the lack of amenities
with friendly and forthcoming service. The man who carried my
suitcase happily ran downstairs to get me a bottle of water, and
again to get change for my 500-naira note. The bottle was served
on a large plastic tray, costing no more than 100 naira. After a
while I heard a phone ringing and to my great surprise I discov-
ered an old landline phone on one of the bedstands. It was the
receptionist, who just wanted to make sure that I was ok and
to call if I needed anything. When I later called him about prob-
lems locking the balcony door, he swiftly appeared at the door.
After carefully checking the door, which he admitted did not work
so well, he showed me how to lock it by forcing the handle up.
Improvised maintenance, so common in African cities.
After some time, I got used to the room, and, since it only cost
10,000 naira per night, I could not complain. This was also where
the conference organizers were going to stay. I expected them
in the afternoon, but they only boarded the plane in Abuja around
7 pm. ‘We will be there within 2 hours,’ Wale said optimistically
when he called from the boarding gate in Abuja. The conference
was run on a low budget and I appreciated the effort in finding
sufficient comfort at a low price, in the vicinity of the University
of Lagos (UNILAG). This was certainly not a case of spending
Cultural Tangles in Lagos 33
loads of money on luxury hotels, which was often the case with
development conferences of various sorts, sponsored by interna-
tional donors.
I called Mom and some friends in Sweden and Tanzania on
SkypeOut through my phone and the connection was really good.
Sent messages through WhatsApp and replied to comments on my
Facebook posting. Internet access was cheap and fast in Lagos.
Great progress.
In the afternoon, after a short but heavy rainfall, James took
me to the university campus in the van that had now been fixed
by the driver. The rattling noise was gone and the driver drove at
normal speed. The campus was not far away, although I soon lost
my sense of direction. The arched campus entrance had an ambi-
tiously large sign, along with a billboard declaring the university’s
mission. We drove around various parts, the streets neatly lined by
tall palm trees. The buildings were of various quality, mostly run-
down, but a few were more recent and in better condition. The
Faculty of Creative Arts had fantastic murals and amazing sculp-
tures, while the School of Communication could boast Africa’s
first Pulitzer-winning journalist. Clearly there was considerable
talent at UNILAG.
The following morning we left the hotel just after 8 am, all
scrambling into the van: the national organizing committee of six
people and me. As we were waiting for Wale, I had a chance to
meet the others: Salamatu Sule, a writer I had emailed before ar-
rival; Ikeogu Oke, a poet and publisher; and Uzoma Nwakuche,
the son of Flora Nwapa. The night before I had met Chinyere
Iwuala Obi-Obasi, writer and blogger, and the poet Isaac Attah
Ogezi for a drink at the hotel’s lounge, shortly after their arrival
around 10 pm. They were amused by my kekenapep story, which
Wale had instantly shared. As we were waiting for the team to
assemble, Chinyeri was cracking witty jokes and someone point-
ed out that she also worked as a stand-up comedian. During the
short ride to the campus, there was a lot of joking in the team. We
had breakfast at a simple cafeteria on campus, a small place serv-
ing jollof rice, fufu, meat, fish and spicy sauce. I opted for jollof
rice and fried plantains, following Chinyere’s advice. It was the
first of many breakfasts I got to enjoy, as I learned that Nigerians
prefer what is called morning food.
34 Invoking Flora Nwapa
When Professor Awe stepped down from the podium after a stand-
ing ovation, she was treated like a celebrity. Young women flocked
around her, taking pictures with her, as she slowly made her way
through the auditorium. By then the audience had grown to a few
hundred, mostly students but also many distinguished writers and
intellectuals. The neat rows of white plastic chairs, marked MPH
UNILAG, were occupied by students in school uniforms and par-
ticipants dressed up for the occasion, women in elaborate gowns
and men in suits or batik shirts.
The presence of literary and scholarly dignitaries marked the
cultural significance of the event. From time to time the MC called
out the names of the people on the high table, along with the
names of other distinguished guests in the audience. This social
recognition reaffirmed Flora Nwapa’s elevated social status, em-
bedded in a web of social relations that attested to the continued
social agency of her literary creations.
In the highly reflexive performance of this sacred drama, the
calling of names and prayers served as an important form of
Cultural Tangles in Lagos 37
With the opening lines of Efuru, Flora Nwapa made African and
world literary history, a novel with a female protagonist, narrated
by a female writer. In Efuru, Flora Nwapa depicted women in a
variety of roles and settings, from the virtuous Efuru to the malig-
nant gossiper Omirima, not to mention the female deity Uhamiri
(also spelled Uhammiri), the Woman of the Lake. Yet, as much as
Nwapa’s narrative voice was carried by female characters, women
were portrayed in relation to men. Starting with her elopement
in the opening of the book, Efuru’s relations with her husbands in
two consecutive marriages was a central theme, as was her close
relationship with her father. But the story was told from a wom-
an’s perspective, which was quite revolutionary at the time.
‘When I started writing Efuru, these stories just came to me,
naturally,’ Flora Nwapa recollected in the Norwegian documen-
tary film Forfatterinne idag: Flora Nwapa (Female Writers Today:
Flora Nwapa) (NRK TV 1987, 16:14–16:20).9 Efuru was inspired
by stories that Flora Nwapa had heard from women in her village,
where she had lived until she went to secondary school. In the
8
What Flora Nwapa translated as dowry is commonly described as bride
price, and in her second novel, Idu, the writer used the term ‘bride price’
instead (Nwapa 1970).
9
https://tv.nrk.no/serie/forfatterinne-i-dag/1987/FOLA00000687/avspiller,
last accessed on 29 June 2020.
Cultural Tangles in Lagos 41
10
They were: Mariama Bâ (Senegal), Charlotte Bruner (US), Buchi Emecheta
(Nigeria), Nadine Gordimer (South Africa), Bessie Head (Botswana),
Doris Lessing (UK/Zimbabwe), Martha Mvungi (Tanzania), Rebeka
Njau (Kenya), Flora Nwapa (Nigeria) and Alifa Rifaat (Egypt).
Cultural Tangles in Lagos 43
men. The lead characters are generally well educated and well
travelled; some have been to Europe; all of them originate from
other parts of Nigeria, oftentimes the East, thus capturing internal
migration and urbanization.
In ‘The Loss of Eze’, romantic relationships are explored
through the young sophisticated Amede. At the beginning of the
story, Amede drives to an embassy party, where she meets Tunde,
a gentleman who catches her interest. Amede is still upset about
having lost Eze to another woman, a passionate consuming rela-
tionship that she describes as ‘It was an affair that took everything
out of me’ (Nwapa 1986, 92). Amede’s sophistication is depicted
through her posh house with a steward, her fancy car and her
subtle manners, while her strength as an independent woman un-
derwrites her social polish.
So after six months of losing Eze I said to hell with him. To hell
with all I held dear, I must live my own life the way I wanted it. Eze
or no Eze, I must live my life fully and usefully. That week, I got
an invitation from one of the embassies. I was on their list. That
meant that any time there was a party or something I was invited
to it. One of them had even told me once when an invitation for
me came late, and I was not at the party, that I did not need to wait
to receive invitations. When I heard of anything, I should jump
into my car and come. It was kind and well meaning, I knew, but
how many people would do that without embarrassment of a sort?
(Nwapa 1986, 93)
At the party, Amede chats politely with her boss, sipping gin and
tonic, lamenting the overbearing manners of Mr Bright, a brazen
urbanite, while being intrigued by the neat appearance and gen-
tle wittiness of Tendu. Unlike Mr Bright, Tendu is knowledgeable
about the country beyond Lagos.
A writer many years ago said that writing is about seeing, entering
into another person’s community and getting to understand them.
And when I teach writing to small groups, I say one of the things
about entering another person’s community is, if you meet people
who are walking backwards, and you’ve never been to their cul-
ture, their community and seen that that’s the way they walk and
they are nice people, they walk backwards anyway, you never un-
derstand it. You are likely to begin to either be abusive or rude to
people who are walking backwards, because we’re not from that
culture. So, until you understand another person’s community, you
can’t really understand the people completely, can you?
And to make community and the world and humanity a better
place, to avoid the wars in Syria, we need to enter each other’s
communities. We need to understand Nigeria better than the in-
ternational media is trying to portray, and they portrayed us in
such a bad light that people don’t even want to come here. If I
can achieve making two persons come to Nigeria, to see how rich
and beautiful my culture is, if I can tell stories of my childhood,
if I can tell stories of violence against women, if I can tell stories
on rape, if I can tell stories to make another person understand
that rape is not acceptable in whatever form, if I can tell a sto-
ry that gives somebody else pleasure, then I think I would have
achieved my aim in writing. Keeping two columns, writing about
lifestyle and fashion and fabric and motives in Business Day, and
54 Invoking Flora Nwapa
writing about books [in The Sunday Trust], means that I’m getting
people to read. I get text every time: ‘Can I find this book, where?’
Then I have made my own contribution to national development,
I want to believe, beyond which I hope my writing gives pleasure,
above everything else.
we ‘perform a world into being’ and how we ‘may even speak the
world into occurring’ (Hastrup 2007, 198–9). In terms of world-
making, we can see that ‘[i]magination and agency are two sides
of the same coin’, since it is only through imagination that we can
grasp a social whole, be it the world, society or community, and
act upon it in a meaningful way (Hastrup 2007, 202).
Literature provides a privileged venue for worldmaking, since
it fixes the ontological flux through entextualization, thus offering
a more stable form of collaborative improvisation (Barber 2007).
Noting that the word text originates in the Latin texere, which
means to weave, to join together, Barber argues that text has to
do with ‘weaving or fabricating with words’ (Barber 2016, 1). She
looks at texts as social facts as well as commentaries on social
facts, emphasizing the reflexive dimension of text in relation to
social reality (Barber 2016, 4).
If we rethink world literature in terms of a pluriverse of a esthetic
worlds, we can open up new ways of capturing the existential
value of literary worldmaking. Following Thiong’o, in order to
‘release the worldliness’ in literature, we should ‘read literature,
any literature, through a globalectic vision’ (Thiong’o 2014, 60).
Globalectics demands openness to different ways of worldmaking,
without hierarchical ordering, as poetically expressed by Thiong’o:
‘It is to read a text with the eyes of the world; it is to see the
world with the eyes of the text’ (2014, 60). The lens of creolized
aesthetics can hopefully help us read the texts of Nigerian women
writers with the eyes of the pluriverse and see the world of many
worlds with the eyes of their texts.
2. Feminist Controversies in Maiduguri
‘NGOs are taking over this place,’ Razinat lamented in the bus.
‘They are occupying most hotel rooms and hiking up prices, es-
pecially rentals, distorting our economy.’ It turned out that the
campus guesthouse did not have enough rooms for us, despite
her advance booking. Local administrators had simply taken over
some rooms for guests for an event in town. But it was the NGOs
that upset Razinat. Tope and I were driven to a nearby hotel that
would have rooms, but after a while it turned out that all rooms
were full. ‘See, it is the NGOs, they just take over everything,’
Razinat said as we sat in the reception, watching some young
Westerners check in. There was a summit dealing with the situ-
ation in the region, I was told, thus many guests. The situation
reminded me of Phnom Penh, Cambodia, in 1994, when I was
doing fieldwork for my master’s thesis on social memory among
Khmer peasants, documenting how they remembered the Pol Pot
regime. At the time, Phnom Penh was a destitute city, with a large
presence of NGOs, running various pet projects to ‘help’ rebuild
post-conflict Cambodia. The contrast between NGOs and the lo-
cal population was marked, in socio-economic and not to men-
tion cultural terms. NGO workers enjoyed the comfort of villas,
their everyday contacts with locals often limited to their house
maids, drivers and office staff.
‘My colleagues got worried when they learned that a for-
eigner was going to stay on campus, one of those people who
wear shorts and run around all over the place,’ Razinat had
confessed in the bus. She was quite relieved when I showed up
in a loose ankle-length black skirt, a long-sleeved blouse and
my hair neatly tied back, well within the parameters of socially
acceptable attire.
The insurgency in northern Nigeria had been going on for
seven years. In Western media Boko Haram was featured as
violent terrorists who captured women for forced marriages. But
I realized that I knew very little about the conflict, its root causes
and the impact it had on people living in this area, a remote part
of Nigeria that was so far away from the rest of the country, let
alone its distance from Western metropolises. The media narrative
sounded a bit too simple, too much of a single story, to borrow
Adichie’s words.
Feminist Controversies in Maiduguri 63
I hope this message meets you well. Thank you for your mail. I read
through with peaked interest because you could not be coming at
a better time and place. You will meet with not just my humble
self but with Prof Zaynab Alkali, the foremost female writer from
the North. Looking forward to seeing you next week. Welcome to
Nigeria and indeed, Maiduguri.
Over the next few days, we exchanged several emails and Razinat’s
friendly tone made me feel ever so welcome. As I waited for my
visa at the Nigerian Embassy in Stockholm, I googled her name
and found an impressive record of scholarly and literary publica-
tions. Before my departure, she kindly advised me: ‘Please, come
with summer wears as the temperature may be a little warm for
you even though, in actual fact, it is cooling down for us. Do take
care of yourself and safe journey.’ When we finally met in per-
son at the airport in Maiduguri, we hugged each other warmly.
Razinat was visibly excited about our arrival and as the chair of
the local organizing committee she attended to every detail.
At the time of my visit, UNIMAID had never been attacked,
something that our hosts emphasized with great pride. They made
jokes about Boko Haram in the bus, undoubtedly to make us
feel at ease, creating a distance between our being there and the
media images we carried with us. A few of us wanted to visit
a camp for internally displaced people, but we were told that it
would require authorization from higher up. Our security was of
utmost concern. In addition, the faculty discouraged the camps
from becoming some kind of tourist trap. One of the writers ar-
ranged a visit to a camp after the event, since she was researching
for a book.
In January 2017, UNIMAID was attacked by Boko Haram
for the first time, followed by several attacks by suicide bombers,
some of them female. Seeing that boko haram means ‘Western
education is a sin’ in Hausa, it was perhaps not surprising that the
university was targeted. UNIMAID’s location on the outskirts of
town, not far from the Sambisa Forest that has provided a sanc-
tuary for Boko Haram, and the size of the campus made security
quite porous.
Feminist Controversies in Maiduguri 65
The author advocates and seeks for the African Woman the im-
portance of being guided right, of complementary in relationships,
not only in marriage but in the family unit. What Nwapa seeks es-
pecially for the educated woman is what Efuru embodies: respect
honour, decorum and dignity, attributes that modernity seeks to
erode in today’s women. (Alkali 2016, 11–12)
11
The name for the bag should not be confused with Selasie’s debut novel
Ghana Must Go (Selasie 2013).
Feminist Controversies in Maiduguri 71
many so-called critics hide under the cover of feminism and all they
seem to be doing is classifying every work written by a woman as
feminist work. It is really getting out of hand. I think that there are
other parts to the lives of women (even in African Literature) other
than woman fighting to get free of man’s holds.12
12
‘The Challenges of Being a Writer – Razinat (Interview)’, published on 7
March 2009 in New Nigerian newspaper, posted online on 2 June 2009,
http://everythinliterature.blogspot.com/2009/06/challenges-of-being
-writer-razinat.html, last accessed on 29 June 2020.
74 Invoking Flora Nwapa
Nnaemeka has noted that, while Nwapa has been criticized for
her ‘inconsistency’ on feminism, ‘what is inconsistent is the lo-
cation (physical and ideological) from where she is hounded for
an answer’ (Nnaemeka 1995, 84). Nwapa refused to be labelled
as a feminist when the term was used in ways that differed from
her culturally situated perspective, but ‘[i]f the way we frame
feminism corresponds to “what she knows,” she would definitely
claim feminism.’
Flora Nwapa’s ambivalence about feminism and identification
with womanism can be appreciated in relation to her situated-
ness as an African woman writer. In an interview in 1985, Flora
Nwapa was asked if she was concerned about the fate of the
black woman and responded affirmatively, underlining that
‘the black woman, whether she is in Africa, North America or the
Caribbean. She faces many problems. I think the crux of these
problems is economic’ (Flora Nwapa, cited in James 1990, 112).
While she thought that the notion of being a black woman was
not a ‘double ill-fate’ in America and Europe, she found that ‘in
Nigeria that statement is relevant’, since women were oppressed
at home and at work: ‘Your husband oppresses you, your em-
ployer oppresses you and then your society piles upon you dou-
ble, if not treble suffering’ (Nwapa, cited in James 1990, 114).
While reflecting on her professional situation as an African writer
in terms of ‘the reality of being an under-dog’, she noted that, ‘[s]
piritually, it does not affect my work, but physically the question
of getting the tools that I need to my work affects me.’ While
clarifying that the ‘problems we face in Nigeria are not unique
to us, they are problems of nation-building’, she also appreciated
the challenges of underdevelopment in more than material terms:
‘Development is not merely in the physical structures, it is mental’
(Nwapa, cited in James 1990, 113). Reflecting on the develop-
ment of her own civilization, she underlined how ‘In certain areas
it was developed’, as exemplified by kingships in Yoruba culture
and parts of Igboland, yet colonialism created a serious rupture:
‘It is the problem of the “Oyinbo” [Western civilization] that has
overwhelmed us’ (Nwapa, cited in James 1990, 113). Noting
that she was a ‘very strong woman’, when James asked where
she derived her strength from, Flora Nwapa responded, ‘Maybe
76 Invoking Flora Nwapa
from God who gave me the physical strength and the opportuni-
ties that I have had’, as well as ‘From my stars, for making me a
Capricorn’, while also acknowledging her parents, who brought
her up ‘in the best traditions’ (Nwapa, cited in James 1990, 116).
Reflecting on her own everyday experiences, Flora Nwapa pin-
pointed how oppression of women can be traced to the domestic
setting of family life:
Chinwe had done the right thing. Her generation was doing
better than her mother’s own. Her generation was telling the men,
that there are different ways of living one’s life fully and fruitfully.
They are saying that women have options. Their lives cannot be
ruined because of a bad marriage. They have a choice, a choice to
set up a business of their own, a choice to marry and have children,
a choice to marry or divorce their husbands. Marriage is NOT the
only way. (Nwapa 1992, 118–19)
13
Many years later, Adichie made a similar point in We Should All Be
Feminists: ‘And this is how to start: we must raise our daughters diffe-
rently. We must also raise our sons differently’ (Adichie 2014, 25).
78 Invoking Flora Nwapa
feel about it?] I don’t feel good about it. At first I couldn’t take
it. But I thought to myself, I said ‘I have a son, I have a daughter.
If I go, these children are going to suffer. They would not have
my motherly care.’ [Why not?] Because I would have to leave the
home, and the children would stay with their father. Let’s not talk
about taking the man to court, your husband to court. I don’t
think any woman has done that with success. One thing, if you say
you are taking your husband to court, because he committed big-
amy, Nigerian society will laugh at you. They’ll say ‘Who is going
to be the judge, who is going to be your lawyer, who hasn’t also
committed bigamy?’
Polygamy is a theme that Razinat has dealt with in her novel The
Travails of a First Wife (2015). In the novel, we can follow
the ordeals of Zarah, who finds that her husband of many years
suddenly marries not only one but two more wives. Far from be-
ing an equilibrious polygamous household, the relations between
82 Invoking Flora Nwapa
If Ibrahim wanted to carry hot charcoal on his head, who was she
to advise him against it? He was the man so let him play manhood.
She was going to be a character in the theatricals that was about
to unfold in the house, why should she shy away from playing
her own roles? She felt a little ashamed that she wasted her tears
on the matter when he had told her of the planned marriage. She,
however, reassured herself that the news of one’s husband intend-
ing to take a wife was capable of upsetting any woman but when
one woman turned two, she saw no need to worry herself further,
it had become a joke and she was ready for it to unravel before her
eyes. (Mohammed 2015, 58–9)
The woman writer, you know, the woman is the mother of the
whole universe and there can be no successful society without
responsible women taking their rightful positions [we shift our
chairs into a shadier place since the sun is hitting us]. So, if women
delve into creative writing, certainly you know that they are going
to be writing about issues that affects other women, mostly. And
now, if women are given this opportunity or they seize this kind of
opportunity to elevate themselves in society, certainly they can be
mind-changers, they can change attitudes of other women towards
public employment, or self-empowerment. And, if that happens,
certainly then, they can bring development into their societies.
In Nigeria, Flora Nwapa, for instance, you know she really
opened her own publishing company, because of the frustration
that I’m sure she had from publishing houses. So with a publish-
ing house like that she was interested in developing young talents
Feminist Controversies in Maiduguri 83
Nwapa ‘reinvents the Uhamiri myth and claims the female dei-
ty for womanhood’; in other words, ‘Nwapa modifies the myth
to suit her purpose of empowering women and uplifting them’
(Ezeigbo 1998a, 54–5).
A concrete example of how Nwapa diverted from local be-
liefs and practices is the ways in which she fictionalized the Lake
Goddess to problematize motherhood. As you may recall, Razinat
Mohammed discussed Uhamiri in Nwapa’s Efuru in terms of fe-
male oppression, due to her denial of motherhood for her wor-
shippers (Mohammed 2016). By contrast, Ogunyemi has dis-
cussed Efuru’s worship of the Goddess in terms of how ‘Uhamiri,
as the mother dwelling within, frees Efuru from sexism and co-
lonialism’, and that the ‘most important message’ of the novel
is that ‘motherhood is not limited to the biological but extends
to the social where it better serves woman, gender/politics, and
community/nation’ (Ogunyemi 1996, 156). While both analyses
are interesting, Nwapa’s portrayal of the barrenness of Uhamiri
and her worshippers was completely fictitious. In actual practice,
Uhamiri does not deny women children; quite the opposite, she
is ‘recognized as the mother water goddess’ and known as ‘our
mother’ in Oguta, valued as ‘the one to whom we owe our lives on
earth’ (Jell-Bahlsen 2008, 37). Since she was fully aware of local
beliefs and practices, it should become clear that ‘Flora Nwapa’s
statements on the “childlessness” of Oguta’s Lake Goddess are
one example of the author’s insider’s critique of her own people’s
obsession with female fecundity’ (Jell-Bahlsen 2016, 7).
In terms of cultural context, we should keep in mind that Nwapa’s
depictions of the Lake Goddess in her aesthetic w orldmaking was
far from controversial, given the religious conflicts in her own
community. As you may recall, Ogunyemi listed religious funda-
mentalism as one of the sites of oppression that African wom-
en struggle with (Ogunyemi 1996, 114). In Oguta, Christianity
has wreaked havoc with local belief systems, as detailed in Jell-
Bahlsen’s ethnography, and ‘[f]emale leadership, both secular and
sacred’, is ‘still being assaulted by religious colonialism’ (Jell-
Bahlsen 2008, 25). Over the years, this onslaught has if anything
gotten worse, as fanatic ‘church people’ have destroyed shrines
and sculptures for water deities, while overzealous Christians
Feminist Controversies in Maiduguri 93
14
In his study of traditional Igbo political systems, Nzimiro describes
Akpatakuma as a male cult, which had the main function of giving
strength to all Oguta people during war and protect the fighters against
bullets and machete wounds (Nzimiro 1972, 139).
94 Invoking Flora Nwapa
There were some white people swimming. Some of them were fish-
ing in their noisy boats. Nwosu and the fisherman stared at them
for a long time, shook their heads, and paddled on.
‘Are they not a queer lot? To come all the way to swim and
fish here.’
‘They are strange people. They come every time to fish, but they
catch nothing.’
‘How can they catch anything when they do not observe the rules
of the woman of the lake. And look at their boats, how can they
catch anything in such noisy boats. Fish swim away from them,
and besides they disturb the woman of the lake with their boats.’
‘It is a wonder she does not capsize their offensive boats and
drown them all,’ said the fisherman in annoyance.
‘You forget, my friend, that our woman of the lake is the kindest
of women, kinder to strangers than to her own people. She is very
understanding. She knows that the white people are strangers to
our land, that’s why she is lenient with them. We, her people, dare
not be so disrespectful.’
Why do the white women wear tight dresses for swimming? Why
don’t they use wrappas as our women do? They have no shame;
they do not know that they are naked.’
‘You are right. But what beats me is their idleness. How can
they leave the comfort of their homes in the big towns and come
to swim all day in the lake?’
The two men paddled on. They reached the shrine of the wom-
an of the lake.
‘We have returned, the great woman of the lake; the most beau-
tiful of women; the kindest of women; your children have returned
safely.’ Having thus paid their respects, they moved on. (Nwapa
2016, 202)
the feminine cut. In the end I picked three dresses, for the total
cost of 32,000 naira. I was still unsure of the exchange rate, but
figured they cost around US$70. I did not have enough cash with
me, but the designer agreed that Salamatu could transfer money
to her as soon as I had changed some dollars.
On 6 December the conference took place at the University of
Abuja, which turned out to be quite far away. The campus was
enormous and it took us a while to find the English Department.
The departments were scattered around campus, with few signs
to lead the way. ‘How on earth do students move between build-
ings?’ I thought to myself. Well, some of them simply walked by
the roadside, I soon noticed.
The event was reasonably well attended, with some 100–150
people, mostly students, who had been encouraged to attend in
the last minute. Several dignitaries gave welcoming and opening
remarks, including Leslye Obiora, former minister of mines and
professor of law at Arizona State University, as well as cousin to
Flora Nwapa’s children. Obiora underlined the celebration of cre-
ativity in her eloquent remarks. The conference tone was academ-
ic, with lots of paper presentations by established scholars. The
quality was remarkably high and many presenters used critical
feminist theories in their analysis of Efuru and Flora Nwapa. I
was particularly impressed by young male scholars using feminist
theory, a progressive move in male-dominated academia.
After the conference I went to the Nigerian Television Authority
(NTA), for my first ever television interview. An NTA represent-
ative had approached me during the children’s carnival a few
days earlier, asking for an interview for their morning show. They
had also scheduled TV interviews with Flora Nwapa’s children.
Salamatu accompanied me to the NTA, which helped me feel a bit
less nervous, since she knew the place and many of the staff. We
were greeted by the programme host and she led us to the studio.
The studio had a sitting area by the wall, with a small sofa and
armchair around a low table. Two large film cameras mounted
on tripods were positioned a few metres away. The host asked
me to sit on the sofa while they prepared the microphone, which
she asked me to slip under my dress. The sound check took a
while – someone had to find batteries – but eventually we were
100 Invoking Flora Nwapa
set to go. While waiting, the host asked me a few questions, which
she used in the interview. She had googled me and found some
data that she used as a basis: research topics, publications, argu-
ments I had made.
During the interview, I answered as clearly as I could. She
slipped in some lifestyle questions (my house in Tanzania that I
had just told her about; some words in Swahili), my favourite
Nigerian food (jollof rice), what I did to relax (walks in nature;
she quickly moved on, seemingly unimpressed). She also asked me
about Efuru@50 and what I thought of the event. At last she asked
if I was a bookworm, which took me aback. I simply responded
that I loved books since books allow you to travel. She concluded
by noting that, unlike what one would expect from an academic
(someone who sits inside reading books), I came across as quite
extroverted. I realized that our worlds were quite far apart. The
whole thing was over in just half an hour, to my relief. Salamatu
assured me it had gone very well and showed all the pictures she
had taken. I posted one on Facebook, feeling rather excited about
this ‘first’ TV interview ever.
On our way back to the hotel, we stopped at a corner and
Salamatu bought some local delicacies: suya (barbecued meat)
and masa (rice cake). We ate it straight from the newspaper it
was wrapped in, using our fingers. It was absolutely delicious.
The beef had been marinated and gently barbecued, cut into small
pieces covered by succulent spices. It was a popular snack, and I
could see why: one of the best barbecued meats I had ever tasted.
I was thoroughly enjoying Nigerian food culture and I could see
why eating was a recurring topic in conversations. Considerable
care went into the selection of food during meals, since there was
always great variety. Pepper (chilli) was commonly used to add
flavour. Food was served in large portions and I rarely managed
to finish a plate. Not that eating a lot was in any way badly seen:
quite the contrary. As one man announced during a meal, ‘It is
good when the woman eats a lot; it shows that her husband has
strong capacity.’
Celebrating Children in Abuja 101
Flora Nwapa also engaged her own children when writing chil-
dren’s books. I asked Ejine, Nwapa’s first-born child, about her
experiences of children’s literature when growing up. She re-
sponded as follows by email on 28 July 2017:
Paula: Did your mother involve you in the writing of her chil-
dren’s books?
Ejine: Yes she did. I had the opportunity to read everything she
wrote before it was published. The stories usually came
out of things my brother Uzoma and Sister Amede experi-
enced growing up. I would read and give her my opinion.
Sometimes she would edit based on what I said and other
times she would explain why she had written it that way
and would leave it.
Paula: Which was your favourite among her children’s books?
Ejine: Journey to Space.
‘The children love the books at first sight, but the parents are not
going to buy it because it is not a prescribed school text.’ Unable
to recover the costly investment, writers tend to simply ‘hawk’
their books, or give them away as gifts.
Similarly to many other women writers, Lizi is very much
involved in activities to promote reading and writing, especial-
ly among children and youth. She was active in the Reading
Association of Nigeria (RAN); she is a member of the Association
of Nigerian Authors (ANA) and a trustee of the Abuja Literary
Society. Through her workplace, the National Council for Art
and Culture, Lizi has been able to establish an active children’s
programme, and she insists that their awards include books by
Nigerian authors, to encourage children to read. They have also
initiated essay writing competitions to groom children’s writing
abilities and talents.
arried young and her three children are now grown-ups, in their
m
early twenties and thirties. Vicky’s now-late spouse was a retired
lawyer and banker. Vicky speaks three languages: her mother
tongue, Tiv, as well as Hausa and English. She was born in Gboko,
Benue State, but her family moved to Jos when she was an infant.
Her parents were civil servants and could afford to send her to
Catholic private schools.
Vicky grew up reading children’s books by British writers, since
the Catholic mission school had British and Irish literature, and in
secondary school she was exposed to literature and story books
by British, Irish and American writers. She reflected, ‘I knew more
about Britain than I knew about Nigeria, because I read all of
Charles Dickens’s works.’ The first time she went to London, she
felt like she had been there all her life: ‘everything was just so
familiar’.
One of the reasons Vicky decided to study African literature
was because she only got to read Nigerian books once she got to
university. As she discovered Nigerian literature, she went out of
her way to look for them and she read them ‘comparatively’, not-
ing differences in cultural contexts. The absence of ‘Nigerianness’
or ‘Africanness’ in American and British literature became palpa-
ble and she did not expect that ‘young people’ around her would
‘find themselves in those works’. She was encouraged ‘to read
more of our own writers’. In her search for African literature, she
also found women writers, who were quite invisible in the univer-
sity syllabus, yet who inspired her own storytelling. Vicky’s search
for literature that spoke to her own experiences is comparable
with the literary scholar Safoura Salami-Boukari, who teaches
African literature in the United States. In her textbook on African
literature, she reflects how, as ‘a women reader’, reading canoni-
cal novels like Things Fall Apart left her ‘thirsty for information
about women’s experiences’ (Salami-Boukari 2012, 7). Similarly
to Safoura, Vicky made research on women writers a priority in
her own professional career.
Like many other women writers, Vicky started writing early,
as of secondary school. She wrote for a local newspaper, not as
a ‘wordsmith’ but as a ‘reporter’, earning some money through
her writing while at the university. Her articles focused on gender
Celebrating Children in Abuja 119
about, I want to write, but I don’t know how to go about it,’ she
reflected, ‘so all the time you are advising and encouraging and
trying to inspire people by what you say and what you write.’
Similarly to Lizi and other Nigerian female writers, Vicky
thus follows the social ethics of art for society’s sake, using
her creative talent to address pertinent social issues, while building
creative talent in young people. Despite a hectic working sched-
ule, Vicky makes time to share her talent with others, encourag-
ing young people to express themselves through literature. Her
reflections on the role of women writers capture this ethics, their
role being ‘educative, informative, inspirational and encouraging’,
serving as role models for young girls in particular.
15
See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Association_of_Nigerian_Authors, last
accessed on 29 June 2020.
126 Invoking Flora Nwapa
deserted dining room. Having eaten Nigerian food for the last
few days, I ordered a club sandwich. It took almost an hour for
the kitchen to prepare it, so I used the time to write some notes.
The following morning we prepared the car as usual, packing
the open back of the pickup with books and event bags. For safety,
all materials had been removed from the car and kept in the hotel
room overnight. It was an arduous routine, but spirits were high.
When we travelled, our suitcases were also stored at the back of
the pickup. Both Ejine and Amede had large heavy suitcases, filled
with different gowns, a new one for each event. Amede wore her
own design every day and so did Ejine. Amédé, as her design was
known, combined the latest in international fashion with fabrics
of locally made hand-dyed chiffon, beautiful creations that flat-
tered the figure. Both women wore high heels, but, when trav-
elling to the venues, they wore flat shoes in the car, which they
changed upon arrival. Looking good is clearly a highly valued
aspect of Nigerian femininity, far more important than comfort.
16
http://akachiezeigbo.org, last accessed on 29 June 2020.
138 Invoking Flora Nwapa
Ezeigbo cast both as role models, thus affirming the values of fem-
ininity. In terms of spirituality, by highlighting Efuru as an ardent
worshipper of Uhamiri, Ezeigbo centred the spiritual framing of
the event on the female deity that also served as Flora Nwapa’s
muse. Ezeigbo’s authority as a renowned Igbo scholar validated
the expansion of Flora Nwapa’s fame, articulating the central-
ity of femininity and spirituality from a historical and cultural
perspective. Welcomed as a mother, Ezeigbo herself embodied the
value placed on motherhood in this cultural context.
An Igbo women’s organization then gave a posthumous
First Daughter Award to Flora Nwapa, a ritual that evoked
the ‘mothering/daughtering ideology’ of African womanism
(Ogunyemi 1996, 102). Flora Nwapa’s daughter Ejine received the
award on her late mother’s behalf in an elaborate ceremony. Ten
women entered the stage, all dressed in red gowns, with the em-
blems UMUADA IGBO NIGERIA printed in yellow on their skirts
and tops and the same printed fabric wrapped on their heads. The
spokeswoman of the First Daughters (Umuada) of Enugu State
recounted Flora Nwapa’s many achievements, reading from sheets
of paper in her hand, the microphone in the other hand. The other
women were standing in a line behind her, listening attentively, one
of them taking pictures with her mobile phone. Ejine was called
to the stage and, while seated on a chair, she was given the award
and a placard, as well as a red beaded banner hung around her
neck, with the words NWADA IGBO GARA UZO OMA in yel-
low. Visibly touched, Ejine used carefully selected words and ex-
pressions in Igbo to thank the women’s society for the award, the
audience responding with loud cheers and applause. The award,
Nwada Igbo Gara Uzo Oma, was later translated to me by Ejine as
a First Daughter of Igbo Land Who Travelled on a Good Journey, a
lifetime award that immortalized Flora Nwapa’s achievements as
an Igbo woman, now elevated to First Daughter, thus anchoring
her fame in Igbo women’s cultural context.
The programme continued with poetry recitals, dramatizations
and a student quiz. Many of the poems were written for the occa-
sion, tributes to Flora Nwapa and Efuru, with titles like Virtuous
Woman and The Inner Strength of a Strong Woman. Elaborate
costumes and props were used in a dramatization of Efuru, thus
140 Invoking Flora Nwapa
it was cruel? What was the cause of death?’ Ezeigbo has suggested
that the death of the pregnant women who is about to deliver her
baby ‘symbolizes the demise of the new nation, Biafra, which is
destined not to survive’ (1998b, 494, fn 9). Ogunyemi makes a
similar analysis, postulating that the death alludes to ‘the waste
of Nigeria’s human and material potential, especially the death of
the newborn nation, Biafra, an extension or replica of Nigeria’
(Ogunyemi 1995, 8). But this scene of death, where the dying
mother calls out to her own mother, who has already joined the
ancestors, while lamenting the absence of her husband, can also
be interpreted as ‘the people’s spiritual death’ and, as the story
unfolds, ‘a new beginning’ (Ogunyemi 1996, 168).
Indicative of her womanist worldmaking, Nwapa’s women
characters are not mere victims; some also assist with the war
effort, even propagating the war. Through the woman politician,
Madam Agafa, the reader is introduced to the lies and propagan-
da of warmongering women. At a meeting in the school hall, Kate
notes the presence of some ‘old politicians’, asserting, ‘I did not like
them. To my way of thinking they caused the war. And they were
now in the forefront again directing the war. The women espe-
cially were very active, more active than the men in fact’ (Nwapa
1986, 7). Nwapa mentions some of the tasks these women
carried out: making uniforms for the soldiers, cooking for them,
giving expensive presents to the officers, and organizing women
to pray for Biafra every Wednesday. ‘In return for these services,’
Kate notes cynically, ‘they were rewarded with special war reports
exclusive to them and them alone.’
Meanwhile, as the war tears apart the community, Nwapa fo-
cuses on the family, especially mothers, thus asserting ‘woman’s
role in society as central and maternal, not in the narrow sense
but in a universal role to ensure order’ (Ogunyemi 1996, 167).
Suspicion abounds and any utterance of scepticism is met with ac-
cusations of treason, sometimes even punished with death. When
she discusses the sound of shelling with her mother, suggesting
that the Nigerian troops are near, her mother warns her to be
careful with what she says: ‘You are not the most sensible person
in Ugwuta today’ (Nwapa 1986, 26). Kate realizes that even her
mother has been affected by the propaganda, which leaves
Post-War Publishing in Enugu 145
I sat down near the road. People were passing. Children were cry-
ing: Women were crying: ‘Uhamiri, why have you treated us this
way? The Woman of the Lake, the thunderer, the hairy woman.
The most beautiful woman in the world. The ageless woman. Why,
why have you done this to your children? Did we not sacrifice
146 Invoking Flora Nwapa
to you? Did we not keep holy your holy day? Did we not worship
you with our whole heart? Why have you brought this death on
us?’ (Nwapa 1986, 56)
As Kate and her husband return to Oguta, they stand gazing at the
lake, the only undisturbed place in a desolate environment m
arked
by the battle of war, surrounded by burned houses, emptied barns,
bullet holes and mass graves. All this destruction after a battle
that only lasted 10 hours. Yet the novel ends by showing that the
life-giving powers of the Goddess of the Lake are greater than
the destructive power of war (Nwapa 1986, 84):
Nwapa ends her war story with the restoration of the social world,
paying due homage to its guardian spiritual power in her closing
words (Nwapa 1986, 83):
We turned our back to the Lake, and made for home. On our way
home we met women, middle aged women in white. There was a
little boy who dragged an unwilling white ram behind them. They
were Uhamiri worshippers. They were going to the shrine of the
Great Spirit to sacrifice to her for delivering them from the furies
of the Vandals.
Her mother tongue is Igala, and she also speaks English and
Hausa. When we first met, Salamatu was not yet married, but, by
the time we met again in July 2018, she was engaged.
Salamatu has read ‘a little of everything’, from the Hausa
translation of Arabian Nights to Orwell’s Animal Farm, as well
as African classics. Nowadays she reads contemporary African
writers, as well as classics and poetry from other parts of the
world. Salamatu has been greatly inspired by Zaynab Alkali. She
appreciates the way Alkali writes, in a simple and straightforward
manner, just like Flora Nwapa. Salamatu started to scribble at a
very tender age, mostly for herself. Friends who read her writ-
ings found them very good and encouraged her. Salamatu writes
poetry, to express her feelings and thoughts, without offending an-
yone. She also writes children’s stories and has tried writing short
stories, although she did not have enough patience. Salamatu also
writes reviews and articles. Some of her poems have been pub-
lished on social media and in newspapers, but at the time we met
she had not yet published a full compilation. In the future, she
would like to explore all genres, to see where she fits in. She writes
in English but tries to bring in elements of her mother tongue
Igala in her poetry.
The distribution of her works through social media (blogs) and
print media (newspapers) laid the foundations for Salamatu’s lit-
erary agency. In 2015, the Embassy of Germany invited her for
the annual book fair in Frankfurt, an exciting experience that she
wrote about in a blog, comparing the book fair to a ‘big book’.17
She was surprised that they knew of her, but they had found her
online. Having spent considerable time and effort on reviews of
new releases, and often marking editorial mistakes in manuscripts
she read, Salamatu decided to quit her job at an NGO to de-
vote her time to literature. Editing manuscripts, writing reviews,
organizing readings and promoting new literary works through
online and print media were tasks that she was already familiar
with and loved to do. So she turned herself into a literary agent.
One of the reasons Salamatu wants to promote literature is
the common perception among aspiring writers that, unless you
17
https://www.blueprint.ng/my-blast-moments-at-the-2015-frankfurt-
book-fair-sule, last accessed on 29 July 2020.
152 Invoking Flora Nwapa
drumming on her late father’s drum, the king recovered from his
illness. Oma was recognized as Drummer Queen. The story ends
with the words: ‘The young drummer queen grew up to become a
very beautiful woman. Spectators would travel to watch her drum
on invitation during important occasions from one kingdom to
another, spreading her pleasant rhythm’ (Sule 2017, 43).
18
https://www.worldreader.org, last accessed on 29 June 2020.
158 Invoking Flora Nwapa
20
Corruption in Nigeria is dealt with in great detail in Smith’s monograph
A Culture of Corruption (2007).
Culture and Relationality in Owerri 163
they were sitting together at the high table. This was my last day
with Amede, as she returned to Lagos with her husband. Ejine and
Uzoma still had a trip to make.
Little did I know that the highlight of my journey was just
around the corner: Oguta. In that sense, Owerri was just a prelude
to an even deeper cultural encounter as I got a chance to briefly
immerse myself in the hometown of Flora Nwapa and experience
the lake of the Goddess. But, as we concluded the Owerri event
with a very late lunch at a posh restaurant, all I felt was relief that
the Efuru@50 event had come to a successful completion.
think he was Flora Nwapa’s child, since they had the same sur-
name, a misconception that he readily played along with. After
all, she was the first female commissioner in East Central State,
so his status was augmented by affiliation to the honourable
Flora Nwapa. When he eventually married the daughter of Flora
Nwapa’s younger brother, he had to set the records straight, since
people thought he was marrying his sister. His remarks met with
laughter from the audience. Ernest then proceeded with a eulogy
to Flora Nwapa:
Nwapa’s children had advised him to wait for a year before pro-
ceeding with publication. ‘I was trying to follow the footsteps of
my sister in writing, but her book is for literature; mine is for
politics,’ he remarked and the audience laughed.
Chief Nwapa shared some of Flora’s family history, recogniz-
ing the ‘products’ of her marriages: the children. He mentioned
Flora’s relationship with Gogo Nzeribe, noting, ‘they have a
product and that product is here, Ejine Nzeribe.’ The audience
applauded. ‘Then the war broke out, and when it broke out it
was a problem.’ Chief Nwapa sent a telegram to his sister, urging
her to ‘Proceed to the east; the situation is critical in this country.’
At the time she was assistant registrar at University of Lagos. ‘So
Flora came down, drove down to Oguta, and said “what am I
to do?” I did not know what to tell her, but she told me that one
young man wanted to marry her.’ The man was Gogo Nwakuche
and Flora married him. ‘Let me tell you. I am proud to be with
Flora’s son by Gogo Nwakuche; he is here [turns to Uzoma sit-
ting by his side].’ The audience applauded and he added excitedly,
‘and Flora’s daughter by Gogo Nwakuche, she is here,’ as his eyes
searched the room for Amede.
He then remarked that the future was unpredictable to man;
only God could predict the future, adding ‘If we knew, there
would be no war, I can assure you.’ He mentioned the unpredict-
ability of Trump’s victory in the last US election and Brexit as
points of comparison. ‘So, none of us can predict the future and
that is why I am particularly happy that I am able to take part
in this ceremony.’ He concluded by profusely thanking everyone
for the ‘recognition’ of his late sister. ‘I love everybody here. Again,
to give honour to my sister, I appreciate it. God will bless all of
you and God will bless all of us. And most of us here will live up
to next year to give glory to God and to hope that this country
will be a better place. Thank you!’ The musician blew the horn
and the chief was warmly applauded as he returned the micro
phone to the MC. The titled elders stood up and, after greeting
each other with their swords, they left the room.
Through God’s blessings, Chief Nwapa ascertained the cultur-
al framing of spirituality, while grounding Flora Nwapa’s fame
in her family. The religious dimension of Efuru@50 was again
Culture and Relationality in Owerri 169
Thank you very much for seeing the Nwapa family to the end of
the celebration of Efuru@50 2016. For us it is a great joy that we
have ended the celebration in Alvan Ikoku College of Education.
And I say that on behalf of my family with all pride, for the simple
reason that sometime in 1977/78, Flora Nwapa came to this same
institution as a visiting lecturer in the Department of English for
one year to teach. So it is befitting that we are here today. We would
like to thank the Dean of the Faculty, we would like to thank the
provost of the school, we would like to thank the head of depart-
ment, we would like to thank our Igbo chairman, we would like to
thank all the speakers, all the students, all the performers, all the
entertainers, for being here with us today. As I’ve said in the past,
it started from Lagos, through Maiduguri, to Abuja, to Enugu and
now Owerri. And we are delighted that indeed Flora Nwapa’s leg-
acy lives on. Thank you very much! God bless you as you go back
to your different destinations. Thank you!
Flora Nwapa’s sister, Mrs Bee Emeni, who had arrived in the
afternoon, was asked to say a prayer, thus reasserting the femi-
nine and spiritual framing of Efuru@50. She stood up, holding
the microphone in her right hand, and, after clearing her throat,
she prayed:
In Jesus’ name, Father, we thank you for this time. We say thank you
for keeping us here, for bringing us here. Now we are preparing to
172 Invoking Flora Nwapa
of everyday social life (Hallam and Ingold 2007, 7). This social
analysis seems to resonate with what Flora Nwapa herself stated:
‘I’m an ordinary woman who is writing about what she knows’
(Flora Nwapa, cited in Umeh 1995, 27).
A closer look at dedications in Flora Nwapa’s published works
is instructive of the social relations surrounding her literary pro-
duction, especially the centrality of family, friends and colleagues.
Her first novel, Efuru (1966), was dedicated to her uncle: ‘To the
memory of A.C. Nwapa’, and her second novel, Idu (1970), paid
tribute to her parents: ‘For Papa and Mama.’ Her children’s book
Mammywater (1979) was ‘Dedicated to my Children: Amede,
Uzoma & Ejine’. The collection of short stories Wives at War
(1980) expresses her gratitude: ‘For my husband Gogo, whose
generosity made the establishment of Tana Press Limited possible.’
Cassava Song & Rice Song (1986), Flora Nwapa’s only poetry
collection, was published ‘To the memory of Ma Ukebia’, her ma-
ternal grandmother. These family relations were clearly important
to Flora Nwapa, as recognized throughout her literary career. But
friendship and professional relations were also significant, linked
to different people and places in her academic and administrative
career. This Is Lagos (1971) was ‘For Clara & A.Y’, while her two
plays Conversations (1993) and The First Lady (1993) were dedi-
cated to ‘For Zaynab, Kujara, Anthonia and others who made my
stay in the University of Maiduguri a most memorable one’ and
‘For Ajie & Azumdialo’, respectively.21
Interestingly enough, two books were dedicated to women,
thus conveying her womanist perspective. The novel Women Are
Different ([1992] 1986) was dedicated to women in general, ‘For
women…who are different’ and the novel One Is Enough ([1992]
1986) to women around the world: ‘For all women of the world,
I repeat an Hausa proverb: A woman who holds her husband as
21
Chief A.Y. Eke and his wife Clara were Flora Nwapa’s long-time friends.
A.Y. was her boss as the chief registrar at the University of Lagos; Zaynab
Alkali and others were lecturers at the University of Maiduguri, where
Flora served as a creative writing lecturer; and Ajie Upkabi Asika and
his wife Chinyere Asika were Flora Nwapa’s long-time friends. Ajie was
the administrator of East Central State (1970–75), while Flora served as
a commissioner in his cabinet. Source: Uzoma Nwakuche, pers. comm.,
13–14 May 2020.
Culture and Relationality in Owerri 175
22
http://dangerouswomenproject.org/2016/04/21/flora-nwapa,
last accessed on 29 June 2020.
23
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c7nbS4et_dU, last accessed on 29
June 2020.
24
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EndOXak9ESQ, last accessed on 29
June 2020.
25
https://www.google.com/doodles/flora-nwapas-86th-birthday, last acces-
sed on 18 May 2020
26
https://www.dw.com/en/flora-nwapa-mother-of-modern-african
-literature/a-53197517?fbclid=IwAR3EOGDaNrb5iXYfc1SAfaU
_UnXy0pDnFKRftzB5zCCx4Ch6OjYmN8rPqMk, last accessed on 18
May 2020.
180 Invoking Flora Nwapa
27
https://www.dw.com/en/the-mother-of-modern-african-literature
/av-53197359, last accessed on 18 May 2020.
28
https://www.facebook.com/floranwapa, last accessed on 18 May 2020.
Culture and Relationality in Owerri 181
29
https://nationalwire.com.ng/dr-cecelia-kato-prominent-uniabuja-lecturer
-dies-59, last accessed on 29 June 2020.
Culture and Relationality in Owerri 185
cover: ‘So fortunate to have met you, Paula. Remain blessed. The
Author, [signature].’
Born in Kagoro, Kaduna State, Cecilia Kato was ethnically
Kagoro, Christian by faith. She explained that Kagoro was indig-
enously known as Gorok, but Hausa colonization renamed them
Kagoro. In addition to her mother tongue, Gorok, she also spoke
English and Hausa. Cecilia married young and had ‘a good line
up’ of four children and eight grandchildren when we met. Her
late husband, who passed away in 2014, was a senior accountant.
Her parents were farmers of grain, cattle and honey. Cecilia went
to public school, a type of school called Native Authority, for
children whose parents could not afford missionary school, with
Hausa and English as medium of instruction. In 1994, Cecilia got
an MA in African poetry from the University of Calabar. When
we met she was in the process of completing her PhD on African
poetry at the University of Abuja. Cecilia had taken a step back
from her PhD to support her children’s schooling and mentioned
proudly that her son was now a university lecturer.
Cecilia Kato was a poet and writer. She wrote mostly in English,
poetry and some short stories; she had no stamina for novels, she
explained. She wrote ‘as a woman’ and her content was ‘problem-
atic’, she reflected. In her collection Victims of Love (Kato 1999),
she wrote about women as victims of ‘I love you’:
It is not any man in the street that will slap you or maltreat you;
any man that makes you angry was first of all invited by you. So
all of us are victims of ‘I love you’ and by telling somebody ‘I love
you,’ it is like you have surrendered your self to the person […]
and they take advantage of the fact that once a woman says ‘I love
you’ she gives everything for that ‘I love you’ and the man takes
it and wraps it up around him and does whatever he wants to do
with it, because you first of all told him ‘I love you.’
Cecilia laughed a bit to take the edge off her words, adding, ‘This
is also my attempt at expressing. A lot of these poems are very,
very personal. There is no poem here that I cannot trace to a
particular situation’ – she lowered her voice – ‘because I went
through a turbulent marriage.’ She made sure to add: ‘I appreciate
my husband. When I talk about these things it is not in dishonour
of him in any way, not at all. We were all very young.’ She was
186 Invoking Flora Nwapa
Burukutu Song
30
https://www.amazon.com/Other-Peoples-Children-Stories-Collection
/dp/1496997093, last accessed on 29 June 2020.
188 Invoking Flora Nwapa
BKT men
BKT women
BKT literate
BKT illiterate
Taking the school
Off man that has schooled
Making Professors of men without letters
Displaying their folly
That others may see
BKT ruler
BKT ruled
Lets drink they say
To forget our problems
Drink and drink
The problems are waiting
31
The story of how Ogbuide sunk the gunboat is well known among
members of the Oguta community; it is also well documented in anthro-
pological accounts and featured in Flora Nwapa’s Never Again (e.g.
Jell-Bahlsen 1998; Nwapa [1975] 1986).
Sacred Waters in Oguta 193
32
On 14 April 2020, during the COVID-19 pandemic, Dr. Alban shared
‘Hello Sverige’ on YouTube. It became an instant hit, with over 340,000
views within four days of release. ‘Dr. Alban – Hello Sverige’ is a new
version of Dr. Alban’s song ‘10 små moppepojkar’ (1990). This song was
made with regard to the current coronavirus pandemic. https://www
.youtube.com/watch?v=vE-dIBOl3iQ, last accessed on 18 May 2020.
Sacred Waters in Oguta 195
and water societies that attracted many followers with their gaiety
and prestige, led by respected priests and priestesses, as shown
in the documentary film Mammy Water (Jell-Bahlsen 1990).
Although many people in Oguta ‘ascribe[d] Nwapa’s profession-
al success to their Lake Goddess’, Flora Nwapa had ‘refused the
priestess’s 1990 request to perform a major sacrifice of a cow to
Ogbuide/Uhammiri, because of her Christian background, up-
bringing, and social standing’, as Nwapa told Jell-Bahlsen during
a visit to New York in 1991 (Jell-Bahlsen 1998, 653, fn 5). But,
through her literary worldmaking, Nwapa told a more deviant
story.
After the opening lines, ‘Mgbada was the first son of his fa-
ther who was a medicine man and a diviner. Tradition demanded
that he would inherit his father’s skills,’ the story of The Lake
Goddess unfolds slowly (Nwapa 2017, 14). As we get acquainted
with Mgbada, we learn that he was baptized Joseph and went to
church and school like others in his age grade, but he continued
to worship the ancestors. When he was 23 years old he married
Maria, who he called Akpe. His mother made arrangements with
the girl’s mother, her namesake Mama Theresa, a devout Catholic
just like her daughter. The couple was married through a tradi-
tional and a church wedding. Mgbada combined his teaching job
with his work as a medicine man and diviner, skills that were
appreciated in his community. Ten months after the wedding, the
couple was ‘blessed with a bouncing baby boy’ (Nwapa 2017,
46). Akpe had two more children. Then Ona arrived, a seemingly
normal girl, but diviners had told Mgbada that the girl would
be different: ‘Your child will be a strange child’ (Nwapa 2017,
64). The pregnancy lasted for 11 months and, when the baby was
born, ‘she seemed displeased with everything around her’, as if she
did not want to enter the world, and her eyes were ‘not the eyes of
a baby born moments ago’ (Nwapa 2017, 67). The father named
her Ona: precious jewel.
Ona grew up different from other children, always drawn
to the lake. Before she was two years old she could swim out
into the deep and her siblings called her a fish. When her mother
warned her about swimming too far, to be careful of the Woman
of the Lake, the spirit named Ogbuide or Uhamiri, Ona declared,
198 Invoking Flora Nwapa
‘I want to live with her’ (Nwapa 2017, 72). As she grew up, Ona
behaved even more strangely, sometimes disappearing, and talk-
ing about meeting with Ogbuide, conveying her messages. The
mother sent Ona to a Catholic convent to force the ‘child of
the devil’ to repent, but ‘Ona hated the convent from the first day’
(Nwapa 2017, 82). She resisted everything she was taught and
did not eat much. After 18 months the father brought her home.
She was sent to school, but spent most of her time fishing, which she
excelled at.
To everyone’s surprise, Ona got married to Mr Sylvester, a well-
to-do trader from another town, thus a ‘foreigner’. Ona was a
young, beautiful woman who tried to please her husband, while
the family kept quiet about her strangeness. The marriage pro-
gressed well and Ona gave her husband ‘three children in nearly
five and a half years. That was a record,’ but she was baffled by all
the fuss people made about the children: ‘she did not care one way
or the other’ and wondered ‘[d]id she not possess the instincts of
a mother?’ (Nwapa 2017, 157).
Over time it became clear that Ona had been called by Ogbuide
and she moved back to her father’s compound, where she built
three huts for herself. Her daily routines were dictated by Ogbuide
and she worked very hard, devoting her life to serving the Lake
Goddess and, through her powers, the community at large.
From the outset, religious clashes between traditional beliefs
and modern Christianity are brought to the fore, but, as expressed
through Ona’s destiny and the insights of her father, the author
takes a stand in defence of local culture. Christian fanaticism is
portrayed in all its folly, through characters like the ‘mean, hard
and evil’ Madam Margaret at the convent, who prays six times a
day and washes a statue of the Virgin Mary at the church every
Saturday, praising Jesus Christ. ‘The ritual amused Ona greatly’
and she ‘wondered why Madam Margaret omitted the name of
Maria, the mother of Jesus’, pondering whether it was ‘a kind
of discrimination’ (Nwapa 2017, 89). By contrast, Ona’s father,
the diviner, maintains both Christian and traditional beliefs, ‘I
handle the two religions well. To me, none clashes with the other’
(Nwapa 2017, 138).
Ogbuide is valorized as the mother of the Oguta community, a
female deity whose spiritual presence is known to all, yet who can
Sacred Waters in Oguta 199
only be seen by a select few. When the father consults the diviners
after Ona has sighted Ogbuide, he explains to the family, ‘There is
nothing we can do,’ adding ‘We cannot fight against Our Mother.’
They ask: ‘Our Mother? Uhamiri? Ogbuide?’ adding ‘Eze nwanyi?
Eze miri?’ ‘She answers to these names,’ Mgbaba responds. ‘She is
one and the same spirit’ (Nwapa 2017, 153).
Ogbuide is described as a kind spirit, whose priestesses are not
allowed to do any harm. When praising her, Ogbuide is called
mother of all mothers, queen mother, good mother, protector of
women and the Lake People. Although reluctant about losing his
wife to the goddess, even her husband recognizes that Ona’s call-
ing is a ‘gift’, not a sign of ‘madness’ (Nwapa 2017, 170), as the
father explains to him that Ona cannot refuse her call, since ‘re-
fusal means disability or death’, while acceptance means ‘security,
power, and peace’ (Nwapa 2017, 191).
The Lake Goddess is visualized in all her splendour through
the eyes of Ona, when she enters the underwater abode of the
Woman of the Lake, who first appears as a tall shadow (Nwapa
2017, 167):
As it approached, it took another form. It was no longer a shadow
but a woman. Yes, a woman. She was naked except for the hundreds
of strings of coral beads around her waist. She had two strings of
coral beads on both wrists, and hundreds around her neck. Down
to her navel, water was dripping from her wet hair, yet she was
not wet. She held a gold staff of office in her right hand. […]
Then she said, ‘It has taken you a very long time to come.’ She
smiled and touched my right shoulder with her staff. ‘Welcome to
my abode,’ she said. She continued, ‘I have waited for a long time
for you to be my priestess. I have chosen you. I want you but I
don’t want to force you nor hurry you. Don’t wait too long. Give
this message to the man who lives with you: Tell him you belong
to me.
33
WhatsApp chat with Uzoma Nwakuche, 10 December 2017.
Sacred Waters in Oguta 201
may take more artistic liberties than permissible for a social scien-
tist or an ethnographer. (Jell-Bahlsen 2016, 7)
any given or present world, any world that we have received and
that has been historically changed and that we self-consciously
seek to transform through human activity, is driven by a force that
we cannot anticipate but that enables the constitution of reality
and any progressive transformation of the present world by hu-
man action. (Cheah 2008, 35)
You know, Ogbuide doesn’t choose the person who will serve her.
It is destiny. […]
When I got married and was dancing oriri [traditional ritual
dance], a man from Ogbaru came to our place and said, ‘Call
your father.’ My father came out and he said to my father, ‘This
daughter of yours that is dancing oriri is a big native doctor. She
is Mammy Water.’ My father doubted him. After dancing oriri, I
started having children. I kept on having children, until 1978 and
it happened, I fell ill. I was in the hospital for three months. I was
told it was compulsory that I must serve the lake. That was how
we journeyed fully into this. So we started doing the rituals and
all the rituals. When we finished the rituals, I started serving the
lake, but was going to the market. In the early eighties, Ogbuide
stopped me from going to the market altogether. It was automatic.
There was no contemplation. The day it came to me that I must
stop going to the market; I stopped abruptly. We started doing
the work on the worship of the lake. Ask Oguta people, they will
tell you. No one is as powerful as I am in Oguta. […] There is no
day I don’t go to Ogbuide. Even on Orie day, I go. The rule is that
any day I go there, she accepts me; so I go every day, no matter
what. Even when the lake doesn’t accept anyone, I fetch water for
people who can’t go to the lake. (Akuzor Anozia in Nwelue 2016,
1:02–1:06)
The journey from the spirit world to our world is long and trying.
Sometimes the unborn children get tired on the way and prefer not
to go further. Your child should have been the first one. She was
not sure whether she wanted to be born to you or not. She kept
waiting, going forward and backward. This time she can no longer
go back. She has a purpose in this world. She cannot postpone her
coming any longer. Make it easy for her.
Flora Nwapa,
Thank you for your stories.
Mbona!
Epilogue: Revisiting Oguta and
Thanking Ogbuide
back we will explain things and we can also visit the shrine on
the lake.’
When we returned to the others, the Priestess called for some
kai kai. A boy filled up a glass bottle, and she placed shot glasses
from the shrine near Uzoma to pour. He took one shot and refilled
the glass. I took a careful sip; the palm wine liquor was sweet
to the taste.
The Priestess and her daughter escorted us to our car parked on
the street outside. We agreed that I would come back during the
coming week for interviews. Having met the Priestess and seen her
shrine, and being welcomed with kola and kai kai, I knew I was
entering cultural depth, well beyond my comfort zone.
The next day was sunny, the first rain-free day since I arrived, and
the lake looked splendid so Uzoma and I decided to take a boat
trip. As we waited for the drivers to settle their loud quarrel on
who was going to take us on a boat, I watched another boat be-
ing loaded with a motorbike, a goat and several passengers with
bags full of goods. Having already agreed with one of the drivers,
someone Uzoma had used before, we helped settle the competitive
dispute by slowly walking away. It did not take many steps before
we were called back. We stepped into the boat, its front pulled on
to the concrete landing, and the driver jumped on board, expertly
balancing on the rail to the back of the boat. He filled the engine
with some fuel he had bought in a large plastic container, pushed
the boat into water with a long oar, and directed it onto the lake.
We travelled fast, the trees along the lakeshore sweeping by.
As we approached the confluence of Oguta lake and Urashi
river, the blue water of the lake met the brown water of the river.
The spectacular confluence is a well-known watermark in Oguta,
a place where the waters meet but never mix, flowing alongside
one another.
We continued down the Urashi river, as spectacular as I remem-
bered it from my first visit. The lushness of the riverside was as-
tounding, a beautiful statement of the power of nature. The earth
was a deep reddish brown, the water a murky shade of the same
colour. The pristine river bore no signs of human activity, save for
Epilogue: Revisiting Oguta and Thanking Ogbuide 219
220 Invoking Flora Nwapa
The Priestess lived in the older part of town, a village not far
from the lake, her simple house indicating a lack of material
wealth, yet her spiritual power was unmistakable. We visited her in
the afternoon after the boat ride. The Priestess greeted me warmly
as her daughter. She offered us some kai kai and kola. I played
with Joy’s children for a while, entertaining them with video clips
from Tanzania on my phone. ‘How many children do you have?’ I
asked Joy, ‘Only five,’ she replied. ‘Only five!?’ I e xclaimed. ‘Many
women here have a dozen,’ she explained laughingly. I was re-
minded of the centrality of motherhood in Oguta culture.
I went to see the Priestess again the following day, this time
with some books: Flora Nwapa’s The Lake Goddess, Sabine
Jell-Bahlsen’s Mammy Water in Igbo Culture, and my own man-
uscript Invoking Flora Nwapa. I used the books to explain how
I came to Nigeria for Efuru@50, how Nwapa’s stories about
Ogbuide caught my attention, and how easily my work had
flowed, as if Flora Nwapa’s spirit had called me. The Priestess
listened attentively, Joy translating to make sure her mother un-
derstood. They both smiled. I explained that I did not really have
a list of questions for her but hoped she could tell me what she
thought I needed to know.
The Priestess offered me a beer, a Hero. ‘You know everything!’
I exclaimed at the sight of my favourite brand, ‘No, I am not God,’
she humbly replied. She then asked if I would like to taste some
smoked ram and her daughter brought a plate with a large chunk
of blackened meat that she cut up in small pieces, explaining how
she prepared it, slowly over a fire, with spices. The meat was chewy
and tasty. ‘Do you like chicken with pepper sauce?’ she asked, and
brought a plate of pieces of succulent chicken in a red sauce. I
asked if I could use my left hand for the beer, as my right hand was
wet with sauce. ‘Yes; since you are eating, my mother will allow it,’
she responded. At the Ogbuagu initiation I had been reprimanded
for drinking with my left hand, which only those with titles were
allowed to do. The Priestess then told me her story.
‘Before I was born, diviners told my father that I came from
the water and he should make sacrifices for me once I was born,
or I would leave,’ the Priestess narrated in heavily accented
English. ‘But my father forgot to make the sacrifices. When I was
Epilogue: Revisiting Oguta and Thanking Ogbuide 221
one month old I became sick. He consulted the diviners and they
reminded him of the sacrifice required since I came from water.
As soon as it was performed I became well again.’ Her story re-
minded me of Ona in The Lake Goddess, who was destined to
be a priestess before she was born. ‘I married young at the age
of sixteen,’ she proceeded. ‘I had seven children. But, when I was
pregnant with my eighth child, I got sick with heavy bleedings,
and finally a doctor had to take it out by caesarean’ – she lifted
her shirt to show me the long scar across her belly – ‘but the baby
did not survive. After that I started collecting these things, slowly.’
She swept her hand across the many items in the shrine. ‘I used a
lot of money to get them. It was in 1983 that I began my service,’
she recollected. I looked at Joy and calculated: it was 35 years
ago. ‘More than fourteen water spirits are here: Ogbuide from
the lake, Urashi from the river, the lake co-wife Oshimiri from the
river Niger, the High Sea from Port Harcourt, the Bar Beach from
the ocean in Lagos.’ She listed a few more. ‘I can call upon them
and they will appear to me.’
‘If you have a clean heart, the lake will be good to you.’ She
held her hand over her chest. Joy clarified that people with bad
intentions, greedy and malicious people, were not welcomed by
the lake. But people with a clean heart were treated well. ‘I can
see when a person approaches my house what they are like and I
can even turn them away,’ the Priestess clarified. ‘So many people
come to me, asking for different things, children, wealth, what has
happened and what will happen to them: all such things I can see.’
She pointed to a plate filled with items she used for divination,
adding, ‘People also make sacrifices to thank the lake: fowl, rams
and even cows.’
‘Back in those days many people came to me, nowadays
they come at night’ the Priestess reflected. ‘They show off their
Christianity, saying they don’t believe in oracles, but when it
really matters, they know where to turn and they come to me,
in the dark of the night.’ I was reminded of how Flora Nwapa
exposed Christian fanatics in The Lake Goddess, using Ona’s
father, a community-serving dibia, to voice a more balanced
approach, accepting traditional as well as Christian beliefs. ‘They
are h
ypocritical with their Christianity,’ Joy inflicted, ‘but people
222 Invoking Flora Nwapa
have seen now that the god of the white people has not brought
them what they expected.’ ‘People are now coming back to the old
ways,’ the Priestess reflected.
Sitting on a low wooden bench in her shrine, the Priestess
comfortably leaning against an armchair, I listened intently. Her
narrative summarized so many aspects of what I had learned
about Ogbuide and Oguta culture through Flora Nwapa’s novels,
from Efuru to The Lake Goddess, as well as Sabine Jell-Bahlsen’s
detailed ethnography. Just like Flora Nwapa, the Priestess used
many names for the deity: Ogbuide, Mammywater, water spirit,
the lake. And, to the Priestess, Ogbuide was but one of many wa-
ter spirits, one divinity in a complex spiritual universe of ancestral
spirits and other celestial beings interwoven with social life.
woman who lived like a normal Oguta woman yet whose accom-
plishments were interwoven into the town’s historical narrative.
‘No one has come close to doing what she did for us,’ a man
reflected. ‘She was a hero!’ Joy exclaimed. The day Flora Nwapa
was buried, people wept in heartfelt sorrow. Thousands of people
filled the streets, following Oguta’s famous daughter to her last
earthly resting place.
Led by the Priestess dressed up in red and white for the sacred
occasion, our visit to the lake shrine became a joyful family out-
ing on a late afternoon. We were accompanied by her daughter
Joy, three grandchildren and a young nephew. Joy had bought
some things at the local market: a large white rooster and a brown
chicken, soft drinks, a beer and food stuff. The Priestess added
some items from her shrine. By the time we left the house, the
large basket was packed to the brim. We took motorcycle taxis to
the ferry landing. It must have been quite a sight: a white woman
and two girls on an okada, the smaller one in front of the driver,
the other one squeezed between us, accompanied by the ceremo-
niously dressed Priestess and her daughter. We took a motorized
boat across the lake. As we approached a loaded canoe, the driver
slowed down so as not to create waves that could capsize it, Joy
explained, clarifying lakeside manners.
We made our way slowly, passing the confluence, then turning
onto Urashi river, where we entered a small grove. Another boat
was already there, fastened to a tree with a rope. We scrambled
barefoot out of our boat, helping each other keep balance as we
carefully trod the small path leading to the shrine. The shrine was
barely visible and if you did not know where it was you would
not spot it when passing on the river. The shrine was a simple
wooden structure with a tinned roof over a concrete platform
with moulded seating areas. Strips of red and white cloth hung
from the roof and the area facing the river was covered with heaps
of sacrificial items. A dozen young men were in the shrine, a few
‑of them performing rites.
The Priestess sat down near the offerings, placing me next to
her on the concrete seating. She took out various items from the
224 Invoking Flora Nwapa
Films
Jell-Bahlsen, Sabine. (1990) 2009. Mammy Water. In Search of the
Water Spirits in Nigeria. Documentary Education Resources,
https://vimeo.com/ondemand/mammywater.
NRK TV. 1987. Forfatterinne i dag: Flora Nwapa, https://tv.nrk.no
/serie/forfatterinne-i-dag/1987/FOLA00000687/avspiller.
Nwelue, Onyeka. 2016. The House of Nwapa, https://www.youtube
.com/watch?v=c7nbS4et_dU.
Uimonen. Paula. 2017. Efuru@50, https://www.youtube.com
/watch?v=EndOXak9ESQ.
Invoking Flora Nwapa
Flora Nwapa’s Efuru (1966) was the first internationally published
novel in English by a female African writer. Although Flora Nwapa
Invoking Flora Nwapa
has been recognized as the Mother of modern African literature,
she is not sufficiently acknowledged in world literary canons or
Paula Uimonen
By exploring experimental ethnographic writing, the author
combines the genres of creative non-fiction, descriptive ethnog-
raphy and scholarly analysis in an effort to make the text more
accessible to academic as well as non-academic readers. Inspired
Paula Uimonen
by the social change perspective of African womanism and critical
decolonial theory, the book makes a contribution to current ef-
forts to explore a more socially just and environmentally sustain-
able world of many worlds.