Gender Does Not Entirely Fall Apart

            Traditionally, Chinua Achebe’s novel, Things Fall Apart, is considered feminist in its evident critique of gender issues surrounding the Ibo community in both a pre-colonial and colonial context.  This can be seen through the main character, Okonkwo’s desire to fulfill a hyper masculine role and the repercussions of his empty pursuit of this idealized image of masculinity.  Additionally, Achebe presents female characters that are strong and arguably defiant of the patriarchal system in which they exist.  With this said, a more in-depth study of the novel reveals the limitations of its feminist aim.  While Achebe accurately presents the sexism existent in the Ibo tradition and in many ways conveys a feminist message, the novel problematically reproduces a sexist discourse in its handling, or lack thereof, of the female characters.

            Admittedly, the novel necessarily brings to light the inherent sexism existent in Ibo ideology, particularly evident through the hyper-masculinization of the main character, Okonkwo, and his unquestioning adherence to the discriminatory nature of patriarchal traditions.  In the beginning of the novel, Achebe presents the grounds for Okonkwo’s obsessive desire to embody all things masculine.  Umuofia, the fictional Ibo village where the novel takes place, defines the worth of an individual based on a patriarchal value system.  The ultimate honor and what is expected of all good “men,” is to take a title, work hard to produce crops, and to have and provide for multiple wives and children.  According to these standards, Unoka, Okonkwo’s father, was not a man in the traditional sense.  Not only was Unoka lazy and irresponsible, but perhaps more importantly “when Unoka died he had taken no title at all and he was heavily in debt.  Any wonder then that his son Oknonkwo was ashamed of him” (Achebe 8).  Since Unoka does not fulfill the expectations of his gender specific role, he is looked down upon and referred to as an “agbala” (13).  In fact, “that was how Okonkwo first came to know that agbala was not only another name for a woman, it could also mean a man who had taken no title.  And so Okonkwo was ruled by one passion – to hate everything that his father had loved.  One of those things was gentleness and another was idleness” (13).  In a patriarchal setting such as Umuofia, this feminization of Unoka, typical in Umofian discourse, is meant to demean his accomplishments as a “man” particularly by equating him to the inferior status, “woman.” 

            An amalgamation of Unoka’s deviant masculinity and the sexist discourse present and perpetuated in the traditions of Umuofia, coerces Okonkwo into an obsessive relationship with the masculine image.  Accordingly, Okonkwo constructs his ideal masculine self in opposition to his more “feminine” father and in line with the patriarchal standards of Umuofia.  It is within this framework that “Okonkwo's masculinity becomes a defensive resource and his adherence to a masculine philosophy will thenceforth order his world” (Osei-Nyame 151).  In fact, Okonkwo even becomes one of the leaders of the clan, one of his only aspirations, but is always “dominated by fear, the fear of failure and of weakness” (Achebe 13).  This fear is central to Okonkwo’s construction of masculinity as it dominates his perception of the world and the way he interacts within it.

            In order to resist feminization, in any sense of the term, Okonkwo negatively constructs a hyper masculine identity.  This masculinity to an exponential degree is detrimental to his character, and those who encounter him, as it opposes all things aligned with femininity.  In fact, “Okonkwo never showed any emotion openly, unless it be the emotion of anger.  To show affection was a sign of weakness; the only thing worth demonstrating was strength” (Achebe 28).  As emotion, in patriarchal ideology, is essentially female and as a consequence considered ‘weak’, Okonkwo outwardly projects only ‘strength’ or masculinity. 

            Even in cases where Okonkwo is emotionally disturbed by the traditions of Umuofia, he adheres to this masculinist image that he has constructed for himself.  One such instance can be explored through the murder of his “adopted” son, Ikemefuma.  Although Okonkwo had grown emotionally attached to Ikemefuma, as he had become a son to him, when The Oracle of the Hills and Caves orders the destruction of his “adopted” son, Okonkwo adheres without resistance.  In fact, not only does he fail to question the unfounded custom, but also “dazed with fear, Okonkwo drew his machete and cut him [Ikemefuma].  He was afraid of being weak” (Achebe 61).  This fear of “weakness” and feminization in Okonkwo, propels the unwarranted murder of an innocent boy.  Though Okonkwo is inwardly tormented by his act, perhaps only temporarily, it is more important to him to demonstrate his hyper masculinity than to risk the possibility of being called an “effeminate man” (58).  Although this act in itself is presented as a criticism of Okonkwo’s self propelled hyper masculinization, Achebe emphasizes his critique through Obrieka, Okonkwo’s closest friend in the novel.  Ashamed of Okonkwo, Obrieka declares, “if the Oracle said that my son should be killed I would neither dispute it nor be the one to do it” (67).  According to Kwadwo Osei-Nyame’s “Chinua Achebe Writing Culture: Representations of Gender and Tradition in ‘Things Fall Apart'"

we can argue that the ideology of culture establishes a ‘structure of feeling’ and the selective tradition of a dominant culture when we trace the modes by which Okonkwo's adherence to certain values and ideals and Umuofia's validation of these values converge to generate the masculine nationalist tradition represented by Things Fall Apart. (152)

This, I believe, is exemplified through the murder of Ikemefuma and the aftermath of the event.  Problematically, the only individual to reprimand Okonkwo for killing Ikemefuma is Obierka, while the rest of Umuofia remains silent.  It is this silence and failure to punish, or even interrogate, this action that establishes Umuofia’s validation of Okonkwo’s hyper masculinity.  Throughout the novel, Achebe critiques this “masculine nationalist tradition” inherent in Ibo ideology through Okonkwo’s construction of a destructive masculinity and his uncritical adherence to the patriarchal customs, no matter the sacrifice for himself and others.

            Arguably, this hyper masculinization and subservience to nationalist ideology is the basis for Okonkwo’s suicide.  Before the colonization of Umuofia, Okonkwo is exiled to his motherland for the accidental murder of another Umuofian.  This banishment only functions to perpetuate Oknonkwo’s desire to attain an ultimate masculine image as “he was determined that his return should be marked by his people.  He would return with a flourish, and regain the seven wasted years” (Achebe 172).  When he cannot attain his goals of reestablishing himself as a leader in the clan, due to changes brought on by colonialism, Okonkwo is distraught.  And though it was “not just a personal grief [as,] he mourned for the clan, which he saw breaking up and falling apart,” he equates the failure of his clan to resist colonial rule to “the warlike men of Umuofia, who had become soft like women” (183). 

            By the end of the novel, colonialism has infiltrated Umuofia to the extent that Okonkwo can no longer establish power through his masculinity.  Though he murders a white man to liberate Umuofia from the colonialist powers, “he knew that Umuofia would not go to war.  He knew because they had let the other messengers escape.  They had broken into tumult instead of action” (205).  In this moment, Okonkwo recognizes the limitations of his own masculinity and the inability of the others to fulfill his hyper masculine ideal.  Instead of trying to resist colonialism in a “non-masculine” way (a way which does not involve exerting physical strength or force), Okonkwo chooses to end his life.  As a consequence of his attachment to a hyper masculine identity and the nationalist traditions which, in his eyes, cannot be reconciled with any colonial traditions, Okonkwo can no longer function in society.  Through his suicide, Achebe conveys that death is the only resolution for Okonkwo, who cannot let go of his idealized construction of masculinity or imagine a life beyond the nationalist traditions of his society, which are also flawed.

            Furthermore, Achebe’s novel can be considered feminist for its portrayal of strong female characters in varying social roles.  One such character is Chielo, the priestess of Agbala.  As a priestess, Chielo is in a high position of power, a role usually reserved for men in patriarchal societies.  Due to her position, Chielo has the potential to disrupt the inequality present in the Ibo community as both men and women must revere her and heed her authority.  Interestingly, even the hyper masculine Okonkwo cannot deny her authority when she calls to take his daughter, Ezinma, to the Oracle of the Hills.  Though he pleads to let Ezinma rest, Chielo screams in response, “Beware of exchanging words with Agbala.  Does a man speak when a god speaks? Beware! [And] she walked through Okonkwo’s hut into the circular compound and went straight toward Ekwefi’s hut” (101).  Her station in Umuofia affords Chielo a significant amount of power and allows her to speak to men in this way.  She disregards his plea and demeans him as the men in Umuofia demean women, when she points out his insignificance in relation to a god.  In her case, the god speaks through her and, therefore, she is closer to god then any of the Umuofian men.  In addition, it is important to note that Achebe constructs Chielo’s character as a “widow with two children” (49).  By depicting Chielo as a woman of power, as well as a widow, Achebe argues that strong women are often independent of men.  Consequently, Chielo is capable of controlling her life, without the influence of traditional “men,” in both her role as a priestess as well as in her role as a “woman.”

            Unlike Chielo, Ekwefi is both mother and wife, and it is through these roles that she challenges the patriarchal system that deems her “inferior.”  Although Umuofia affords women little agency because of its elevation of the masculine identity, Ekwefi consistently defies the expectations of the subordination of her sex.  In fact, Ekwefi “did not marry [Okonkwo] then because he was too poor to pay her bride-price.  But a few years later she ran away from her husband and came to live with Okonkwo” (40).  This act of defiance sets up the strength of Ekwefi’s character.  Though the patriarchal system demands that she be faithful to the one who can “pay” enough money to essentially own her, she rejects submission to this oppressive system by choosing her own husband.  Another depiction of Ekwefi’s strength as a character and arguably her defiance of the masculine tradition is evident in her pursuit of Chielo, who takes Enizma hostage to Agbala .  According to Osei-Nyame, “Ekwefi's pursuit of Chielo actually disregards the masculine traditions of the clan, for Chielo is merely the messenger of Agbala, the male deity” (157).  Contrary to Okonkwo, Ekwefi is capable of recognizing and then confronting the masculinist traditions of her society in her refusal to stay at home and await the fate of Enizma.  Her love for her daughter holds more strength then the patriarchal system that attempts to chain her to her subordination.

            In my opinion, the most prominent female character of the text is Enizma, a young girl who, in the beginning of the novel, resists the expected submission of her age and sex.  In fact, Achebe characterizes her in opposition to other Umuofian children.  Enzinma, ‘unlike most children, called her mother by her name” (Achebe 40).  According to patriarchal tradition, it is inappropriate to refer to one’s parents by their first names.  Though she is a child, Enzinma establishes herself on the same level as the adults.  Instead of internalizing a sense of inferiority because of her sex and her youth, Enzinma projects a sense of strength and confidence.  It is also important to note that Enzinma neither fears her father, Okonkwo, nor his hyper masculinity.  As a result, she is consistently questioning Okonkwo and often in these questions reveals to her father and the reader, the limitations of the sex/gender binaries.  This is best articulated when Ezinma asks her father if she can bring his chair to the wrestling match.  While he responds, “no, that is a boy’s job” (44), he cannot help but wish that Ezinma was a boy because unlike his actual son, “she has the right spirit” (63).  Significantly, this calls into question the way in which gender is constructed in Umuofia and problematizes the assignment of roles based on sex/gender categories.  Although Okonkwo does nothing to challenge these categories, neither for himself nor his daughter, the inquiry is a challenge in itself.

            While this may seem sufficient enough to consider this text feminist, the novel functions to perpetuate a sexist ideology, perhaps unintentionally, in its treatment of the female characters. In a patriarchal society, the woman experience is considered subordinate or inferior to the male experience.  And though the male experience is depicted thoroughly in Things Fall Apart, the female experience is only partially developed.  In the beginning of the novel, Achebe establishes strong female characters only to later erase their identity and/or their resilience from the text.  According to Kenneth Harrow’s article, “‘I'm not a (Western) feminist but...’: A Review of Recent Critical Writings on AfricanWomen's LiteratureAuthor(s)”, this trend is seen in much of African literature written by men.  It is Harrow’s belief that sexism is perpetuated in texts due to “the radical failings of the men to come to terms with their patriarchal assumptions, even when, in the most recent period, they consciously attempted to adopt a feminist critique” (172).  It can be argued that although Achebe adopts and in many ways communicates a feminist critique, he fails to overcome his own “patriarchal assumptions” by erasing the identity and experience of the three most prominent female characters from the text.

            Although Achebe establishes Chielo in a position of power, problematically the potential influence of her character never comes to fruition.  While Chielo has the ability to disrupt the masculinist tradition when she takes Enzinma to Agabala, there is no evidence of any actual challenge to the patriarchal system.  If indeed she was indoctrinating Enzinma into the life of a priestess and instilling in her a resistance to the patriarchy, there is no evidence of this in the text.  In fact, once Ezinma is returned home, neither she nor Chielo speaks “a word to anybody” (Achebe 111).   If that is not problematic enough, the incident is completely ignored by all the other characters in the novel and then seems to be completely erased, as it is never again mentioned.  In lieu of this, if we take into consideration that “Chielo is merely the messenger of Agbala, the male deity” (Osei-Nyame 157), then it may be that her resistance to the patriarchal system in which she exists is always limited.  Perhaps then, Chielo is in a position of “power” because she is widowed so that the patriarchy can enforce her submission to masculinity and restrict her deviance to a controllable extent.  And though it can be argued that she is a strong female character regardless of her subservience to the male deity, Achebe erases her identity from the text altogether after this episode, with the exception of a brief mention or two.  Without further development of her character or this potentially disruptive occurrence, Achebe fails to solidify a feminist message through Chielo.

            Ekwefi suffers a similar fate in the novel once the Chielo/Enzimna episode comes to an end.  Although Osei-Nyame asserts that “Ekwefi's defiance of Agbala constitutes an important statement on her challenge of Umuofia's sacrosanct masculine traditions” (158), it is necessary to recognize the limitations of this interpretation.  While Ekwefi admittedly defies the masculinist tradition in her pursuit of Chielo, as is mentioned above, she never actually enters the cave of Agbala.  Instead, Chielo comes out with Ezinma on her back, finding Ekwefi and Okonkwo “at the mouth of the cave” (Achebe 111).  In this sense, Ekwefi only partially challenges the masculinist traditions, as she journeys to the cave only to wait outside, for fear of the consequences of completely disregarding the tradition.  Perhaps this problem would have been remedied if Ekwefi had been critical of the incident and questioned Enzimna as to what had occurred when she returned from the cave.  Instead, Ekwefi continues to go along with status quo, only happy to have her daughter safe at home.  Once Enzimna is home and order is restored, Achebe seems to erase Ekwefi’s character from the text.  Like Chielo, any mention of her afterwards is both minor and insignificant.  With further development, Ekwefi’s potential for subversion could have been fully realized, but instead an ambiguity surrounds her character and this incident.

            Like the other two women in the novel, even the most prominent female character is full of disruptive potential in the beginning, but exists only in moments throughout the remainder of the text.  While Aji and Ellworth argue that “Enzinma loses her prominence partly because the culture that validates her identity is seriously challenged by the introduction of the alien values of Christianity” (173), I would argue that this is not sufficient enough to explain her erasure from the text.  In fact, the culture has never fully validated her identity to begin with because she always exists in an inferior position, due to the imbalanced nature of the patriarchal system.  In addition, the validation of Okonkwo’s identity is challenged by the Christian values introduced by the colonizers, and Achebe does not remove his character from the text.  Problematically, Achebe establishes her strength, only to depict her blindly accepting her role as a Umuofian “woman” in the end to appease her father.  In fact, “Many young men and prosperous middle-aged men of Mbanta came to marry [Eniznma].  But she refused them all, because her father had called her one evening and said to her: ‘There are many good and prosperous people here, but I shall be happy if you marry in Umuofia when we return home’” (Achebe 173).  The motivation for Enzinma to wait for marriage until their return to Umuofia is Okonkwo’s desire to reestablish his hyper masculine identity within his original clan.  And in line with his request, she marries once they return to Umuofia, thereby functioning to further develop and perpetuate Okonkwo’s masculine identity. 

            According to feminist theory and criticism, “to be excluded from a literature that claims to define one’s identity is to experience a peculiar form of powerlessness” (Fetterley 444).  This powerlessness is manifested in Achebe’s erasure of the three prominent female characters, who never reach their full disruptive potential.  Similarly, the woman identified reader may experience a sense of powerless when realizing that the “woman” identity has been established only to be erased.  Though the novel relates feminist sentiments, it ultimately fails to portray a feminist message through its female characters. Perhaps Things Fall Apart is instead “registering the tragedy of sexism through its cost to men” (Fetterley 445), therefore, portraying a subconsciously sexist message.

      Ultimatley, Achebe’s novel Things Fall Apart contains contradictory messages in its relation to the female identity.  While the female characters are portrayed as strong individuals, upon closer reading they seem to challenge the system only to later reinforce it.  Perhaps Achebe simply did not know how to approach the female’s disruption of the patriarchal system while simultaneously portraying the effects of colonialism upon the male identity.  Or perhaps, the simple solution was to erase the “woman” identity from the text when it was no longer needed to establish the male’s.  Although it cannot be denied that Achebe adopts a feminist critique through Okonkwo’s hyper masculinity and respective downfall, there are serious flaws in the novel.  These flaws seem to communicate a sexist perspective, reproducing the erasure of female resistance and identity conducted by the patriarchy for hundreds of years.

Chinua Achebe

Works Cited

Achebe, Chinua. Things Fall Apart. New York: Anchor, 1994. Print.

Aji, Aron, and Kirsten L. Ellsworth. “Ezinma: The 'Ogbjanje' Child in Achebe's 'Things Fall Apart'” College Literature 19/20.3 (1992): 170-75. JSTOR. Web. 24 Nov. 2010.

Fetterley, Judith. “The Resisting Reader.” Feminist Literary Theory and Criticism: a Norton Reader. By Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar. New York: W.W. Norton, 2007. 443-47. Print.

Harrow, Kenneth W. ""I'm Not a (Western) Feminist But...": A Review of Recent Critical Writings on African Women's Literature." Research in African Literatures 29.3 (1998):    171-90. JSTOR. Web. 27 Nov. 2010.

Osei-Nyame, Kwadwo. “Chinua Achebe Writing Culture: Representations of Gender and Tradition in ‘Things Fall Apart’.” Research in African Literatures 30.2 (1999): 148-64. Print.

Things Do Not Entirely Fall Apart

The upcoming CSUN Honors Colloquium deals with the theme of boundaries and how they are both defined and/or undefined.  I have chosen to write a paper that deals with the gender issues present in Chinua Achebe's novel, Things Fall Apart.  The proposal for this paper is pasted below.

Things Do Not Entirely Fall Apart

            Traditionally, Chinua Achebe’s novel, Things Fall Apart, is considered feminist in its seemingly evident critique of gender issues surrounding the African community in both a pre-colonial and colonial context.  While Achebe accurately presents the sexism existent in African tradition, ultimately the novel reproduces sexist discourse in its representation, or lack thereof, of its female characters.  The paper I will present at the CSUN Honors Colloquium challenges the accepted notion that Things Fall Apart functions as a feminist critique and works to counter this claim.

            Admittedly, the novel necessarily brings to light the boundaries placed upon women, particularly evident through the hyper-masculinization of the main character, 
Okonkwo, and his unquestioning adherence to the patriarchal traditions of African ideology in its treatment of women.  While this may seem sufficient enough to consider this text feminist, the novel itself ultimately functions to perpetuate a sexist ideology, perhaps unintentionally, by relegating the identity of “woman” to the margins and by placing the male identity front and center.  Not only do the female characters throughout the novel lack development, but they also problematically function as a tool for the advancement of the main male character.  In accordance, once the women can no longer provide assistance in the development of Okonkwo’s character, Achebe erases their identity from the text.  This reproduces sexist discourse as it defines the identity of “woman” in her relation and relevance to the masculine figure, as well as deemphasizes the importance of her own development.  One such example is explored through Okonkwo’s daughter, Ezinma.  Though Ezinma is a defiant young girl who begins to challenge the traditional roles placed upon her by the patriarchal society in which she exists, her character is left undeveloped and eventually ignored altogether by Achebe unless it is in relation to Okonkwo.   It is through this example and many others that my paper argues against the traditional notion that Things Fall Apart is a feminist work and proves the sexist undertones that the novel, as a whole, reproduces.

Foe - A Bit of Confusion and a Bit of Anonymity

The novel, Foe, by J.M. Coetzee reconstructs the story of Robinson Cruso through the eyes of Susan Barton.  The story revolves around this reconstruction and the retelling of the story itself.  The novel seems to bring to light that the retelling of stories (or rather experiences in someone's life) are always a mixture of truth and fiction.  I believe that Foe functions as a challenge to the notion of "reality" as it presents that no one's reality is the same (and this reality is not necessarily real itself but a combination of actual events and fictitious ones).  If I am confusing, it is only because I too have put down this novel only to be left in a state of confusion.

The last chapter  is, in my eyes, unlike any other in the novel.  Not only is it short (while all the others are extremely long), but is also written surrealistically.  Unlike the last chapter, the bulk of the novel is written in a more realistic fashion, though it strays slightly from time to time as the mind of Susan Barton wanders.  Additionally, the point of view shifts from that of Susan Barton to an anonymous narrator.  It is perhaps up to the reader to decide who this narrator is or perhaps to accept this anonymity as the essence of storytelling itself.  It is no longer about the importance of the speaker/author (as their reality recedes into the unknown and even the unknowable), but rather about this new story, this fictional reality.


In the last chapter, the characters in the story are found to be dead or near death.  Just as the speaker remains anonymous, ultimately, the characters reflect this same anonymity because in death comes silence.  If silence is what makes someone unknowable (as their reality is never outwardly expressed through language), then death is the ultimate form of anonymity.  Because Susan can no longer express her story, though it was to be manipulated by Foe, it is now picked up by someone else who can never express her reality, but only their versions of it.  This is what is so significant about the character Friday whose reality (the mystery of which haunted Susan endlessly) was continually constructed by others because he was a mute.  In the end, this anonymous character opens Friday's mouth and,

From inside him comes a slow stream, without breath, without interruption.  It flows up through his body and out upon me; it passes through the cabin, through the wreck; washing the cliffs and shores of the island, it runs northward and southward to the ends of the earth.  Soft and cold and unending. (Coetzee 157)

 This ending seems to suggest that though Friday could not speak, there still exists within him a story that exists and is "unending".  And just like everyone else's story (which exists in an in-between state), it can never really be known.

The Catholic Church in 100 Days

A little background first -- I will be writing a response to my viewing of the film 100 Days directed by Nick Hughes. The film exposes the injustice and brutual reality that was the Rwandan genocide. While the film follows a few main characters, as it is a docudrama, it is ultimately through these individuals and the fellow Tutsis murdered along with them (with the exception of Josette and her boyfriend who still must live to experience the aftermath of the genocide) that the audience is able to fully realize the horror of the Rwandian genocide ( an experience that many cannot or choose not to comprehend).

What I found to be one of the most interesting issue explored throughout the movie was the hypocritical role of the Catholic Church. One such representative of the church, the Catholic priest from the West, tried to indoctrinate Rwandans into the catholic faith through his Bible preachings. This same priest is later speaking to a French man and expressing his view of the Africans he is "trying to help". Not only does he refer to Africans as "dogs" but he also expresses his belief that "they are like children" and therefore, "their souls are more open". This priest represents the internalization of a colonized understanding of Africa and the people within it. The priest has internalized this faulty sense of superiority, one that ultimately deems the people of Africa, as inferior to Westerners. In his eyes, his position is to "help" these lower beings in a quest for salvation. But who is it that really needs salvation? It is more scary that he asserts that because they are like children, 'their souls are more open', for that means he ultimately wants to control their ideology rather than encourage them to think and question for themselves. His purpose is not to help them establish their own ideas of religion, but rather to brainwash them into believing the only choice is his way (the only choice is the predominate religion of the West). While some may view his presence in Africa as harmless, I feel that he represents all that is wrong and potentially dangerous about the Catholic Church itself. Ultimately, when the Rwandans are in serious need, he leaves back to the West, having "helped" or "saved" no one.

The Catholic Church is not only represented by a white, Westerner, but also by an African priest as well. Though this priest masquerades under the guise of a helper of the Tutsis and an advocate for preventing genocide, in reality, he perpetuates the murder of thousands of indviduals and his own rapture of young girls by manipulating people's view of him as a priest. It is disgusting that the priest pretends to be helping the Tutsis find refuge in the church, while ultimately knowing (and participating in ) their upcoming deaths. In fact, it was easier to attack and kill a multiplicity of Tutsis that were hiding in the church, then it was to seek and find them individually. The church itself represents the hypocritical nature of this priest that represents it because on the surface it seems as if it is a safe haven, when in reality it is quite the opposite. It is also disturbing that the priest, pretending to save Josette and other women like herself, rapes them instead. Not only is he preying upon their trust in him (as he is a priest) but also their fear of a brutal death. He exploits these young women's bodies and minds with no remorse. Though many would like to argue that this is an unfair representation of the Catholic Church, it would be detrimental to ignore this issue, an issue not isolated to one or two incidents.

What I think is particularly effective about this is that it explores this issue with both a Western priest and an African priest. It exposes the injustices perpetuated and internalized by the representatives of the Catholic Church, in the name of the "greater" good from both standpoints. While the Western white priest internalizes and outwardly expresses his superiority over the Africans, the African priest uses his position in the Church for his own corruption.

Ultimately, the problem that can no longer be ignored (an issue exposed throughout the film in its relation to the Rwandan genocide) is the Catholic Church itself.

An Introduction Is Never Too Late

Hey everyone!


Just in case you've stumbled upon my blog, perhaps because your mind also wanders, let me give you a little background on myself and the purpose of this blog.  My name is Crissy and I am a student at California State University Northridge.  As you can already tell, if you have read any of the below entries, this blog's focus is African Literature and Film.  If you're knowledgable on the subject, feel free to post what you'd like.  If you're not, you can always respond to one of my entries and give me your perspective.

I'll leave you with a link to a video of a song performed by one of my favorite artists: Bob Dylan "The Times Are a Changin"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ncCyL_g28I

In Retrospect, 'Everything Counts'

The goal of this particular blog post is to retell a story from Ama Ata Aidoo's collection of short stories, No Sweetness Here from the perspective of one of the characters. While the story I chose, "Everything Counts" allows the reader to understand the perspective of the main female character, it is written in third person. I will attempt to rewrite the story in her perspective and in this way develop her character's arc from the acceptance of what she use to consider minute changes to the realization that it all counts in the end.

In Retrospect, 'Everything Counts'

I don't understand why my friends always ridicule me about my wig. I don't have the time to waste on my own hair, and has nothing to do with my revolutionary feelings. I always tell them of the importance of revolution and think it a waste of my time and theirs to focus on such small details. If we want change, arguing about these things will only deter us.

The other day, I was talking with the boys at school. I still could not understand how my wearing a wig could have anything to do with the revolution. One told me "Because it means that we have no confidence in ourselves". Though I understood what he meant, I told them exactly how I felt. I said, "Listen, my brothers, if we honestly tackled the problems facing us, we wouldn't have time to worry about such trifles as wigs" (2) and that's exactly what they are, trifles. I will continue to wear my wig as I please, it simply does not mean enough to count in the scheme of things. Africa has too many serious problems that need attention; focusing on a wig is just an easy way out.

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I recently got married to Fifi and could not bear to do it here in Africa. I've just come home to find that everything has changed and I'm not sure what to do. It seems as if there has been some sort of crisis! All the women I knew who had black skin have light skin. And those WIGS! They're everywhere. My mind is spinning and I don't know where to begin. Maybe I can actually promote some kind of change as I begin my job as a lecturer. Yeah, that will be a good avenue to get people thinking and I can tell them what is what. Not only will I tell them that their roles will be crucial in nation building, but I will also reiterate their responsibility to take action.
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What a nightmare! It's hard to imagine that this is really true. The other day as I was lecturing, I could not overcome this pestering jealousy. These young girls were all so beautiful. It wasn't until later that I realized they were all wearing wigs! Not one of them had their natural hair, except me, an outcast. Not only were they all wearing wigs, but they were the biggest ones I've seen so far! It made me so uncomfortable that I did not know what to do. Luckily, I did not faint though I could feel my mind slipping from me. I could only think about what those boys always use to tell me....

Thinking things could only get better from there, I continued my lectures with a faulty optimism. As the weeks went on though, things only got worse. The world as I had known it seemed to flip on its head. Even my relatives, those that were dear to my heart, kept asking such things as "What car are you bringing home, Sissie?" and "oh, we hope you brought a refrigerator. Because you simply cannot find one here these days" (6). How could I tell them that it is the cars, refrigerators, the wigs, and the seemingly small imitations of white men and women that is ruining us, our people, our country, our identities?

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I think because Fifi has been gone, I've become obsessed with this ideal of beauty, or rather, what it has become now. I decided to go to a beauty pageant and though I instinctively knew what was to come, I did not realize how thoroughly disgusting it would be. The girls were not even beautiful and all the contestants wore wigs except one. This one girl free of a wig was the lighest skinned and had perfectly flowing hair (she was a mulatto). Of course, she was the winner!

I rushed home feeling that at any moment all my anger and pain would burst out of me. Tears were uncontrollably rushing down my face. I could not keep anything down and vomited out all my frustration and all my realized fears. I could have been there for days.

I only wish that I had listened to those boys all those years ago. It was foolish of me to dismiss them. In retrospect, I realize now that every little thing counts!

Listen to "Everything Counts" by Depeche Mode :
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1t-gK-9EIq4

Power to the Women!

            Ever since they left Thies, the women had not stopped singing.  As soon as one group              allowed the refrain to die, another picked it up, and new verses were born at the hazard of chance or inspiration, one word leading to another and each finding, in its turn, its rhythm and its place.  No one was very sure any longer where the song began, or if it had an ending.  It rolled out over its own length, like the movement of a serpent.  It was as long as a life. –192 Semben Ousmane  God’s Bits of Wood

            Throughout God’s Bits of Wood, the position of women shifts from the acceptance of their traditionally oppressive roles and culminates into a unified battle against this oppression, which this passage depicts.  Though their battle is not for the struggle of women alone, their activism in the face of oppression unites and unifies their strengths, which the men on either side of the fight (the Europeans and the Africans) can no longer deny.

            Contextually, the placement of this passage is significant and can be found as the women are marching for days and nights without end to Dakar in an effort to fight alongside the strikers for the equal rights that the Europeans have unfairly denied them.  It is in the face of hardship, hunger, thirst, and exhaustion that the women “had not stopped singing”.

            The nature of the singing is symbolic of a fight for change and the fight for the recognition of the humanity that has long been denied to their people.  Though the women were often thought to lack strength enough to fight for themselves, their continued singing while facing these hardships challenges these restrictive and oppressive boundaries.  The singing not only presents their strength, but also represents the faith they have in each other as a unified front,  that with “one word leading to another and each finding, in its turn, its rhythm and its place,” the fight for equality would never die, only be “picked up” by another.  It is the song itself, representative of their activism, that Ousmane describes to be as “long as a life” that will ultimately live to challenge and disassemble the patriarchal system imposed upon them by the Europeans (which they are outwardly fighting) as well as the systems of oppression that exist within their own culture.

            Though there are moments in the novel where the singing is subdued or even stops, it is always picked up again.  In fact, the novel ends with Maimouna, the blind woman, singing.  Ousmane ends the novel in this way to present the fundamental changes that have taken place.  By the end, not only have the woman challenged the patriarchal system and redefined their roles, but will also continue to do so perhaps with “new verses” and new songs to sing.

Notice that it's a woman on the cover >> 

Objective Point of View in Sia

                While viewing the film Sia: The Dream of the Python, it is essential to recognize the objective point of view of the camera and how it affects both the narrative and its respective audience.  Through this technique the narrative is able to portray the story of Sia, which revolves around the event of a woman being chosen to be sacrificed to the Python-god, in a detached manner.  This removed approach structures the narrative in such a way that allows the audience to have a personal response to each scene without attaching them to any one character.  In a Short Guide to Writing about Film, Timothy Corrigan explains that this technique does not confine the audience “to any one person’s perspective”, but rather allows them to experience the narrative from a more objective standpoint (49). 

            The first scene of the film reinforces this idea as it presents the audience as the spectators, not participators, in a story that is being retold.  In the opening scene the camera, almost voyeuristically so, approaches a group of cloaked men who seem to be participating in some kind of ritualistic gathering.  One man in particular begins speaking of a legend that has “the privilege of being ageless”. Not only does this scene establish that the narrative itself is literally a story (a technique that furthers detachment), but it also introduces the camera’s role as an objective lens through which the audience will view it.

            Though the title of the movie is the same as the name of the woman that is chosen to be sacrificed, the objective point of view throughout the film suggests that the conflicts that each individual faces as a result of this decision are just as, if not more, important than the struggle of Sia alone.  In fact, the majority of the film does not follow Sia, but rather follows the peripheral characters that are affected by the priests’ demand that Sia is to be the sacrifice.  For instance, Walkane, the head of the tyrant king’s army must choose between upholding the “good” of the state or the happiness of his family.  The objective point of view allows the audience to experience both his acts of evil and of good without attaching them to his personal perspective.  After illuminating an issue Walkane must face, the camera may then focus on the tyrant king, the mother and father of Sia, etc., with the same result.

            Ultimately, the camera presents a detached narrative, allowing the viewer to understand the story on a broader, rather than intimate, level (this is not to say that there are no intimate moments in the film). Without being aligned by the camera to the point of view of a particular character, the audience must decipher for themselves how to respond to the internal and external conflicts that each of these individuals must face within the confines of a corrupted society.