Reviews

In Do Not Burn My Bones and Other Stories (hereafter referred to as DNBMB), the writer continues her journey with the short fiction genre that started with Rhythms of Life, Stories of Modern Nigeria (1992) and produced over five collections of shorts. Although not her most prolific, the short story genre holds a pivotal position in Adimora-Ezeigbo’s oeuvre as it avails the writer a wide canvass to tackle topical issues of social relevance and social consciousness in Nigeria and beyond. Written in the thick of the Coronavirus pandemic, the author in its Preface notes that the collection ‘is a visible result of [her] determination to keep writing despite the multiple challenges’ (ix) of surviving Nigeria and the times. Most of the stories in this collection are set in Nigeria against the backdrop of poverty, violence, and insecurity, gender-based violence, inequality, and societal malformation. The few stories that are set in the UK centre on varied migrant experiences.

DNBMB is made up of thirteen stories. The opener sets the tone for the entire collection with a strong female lead Mabel Duru, the Iron Lady. In this human entanglement story, the reader is left with the nagging feeling that whoever crosses the Iron Lady does not live to tell the tale. The title story, ‘Do Not Burn My Bones’ was a real page turner for me. Nneka’s strange visitor from the grave has a wild request. A request that takes Nneka on a mission from London to Nigeria. I was mesmerized by the intrigues and the fantastical. I kept asking what happened next and yearned for more pages of it. But the author teases and I was left wanting more, in a good way. That, for me is an indication of skilful storytelling. The short story genre is a tough genre to conquer because of its brevity and the essential element of surprise. And a lack of surprises tends to dull the excitement and render some stories boring.

In ‘Dilemma of a Senior Citizen’, Mark’s relocation to Nigeria in old age after decades of living in Ireland takes an unexpected turn for the worse when he encounters several setbacks. Eager to live in his village of Umuokpa, Mark’s desire is cancelled when the villagers are attacked and murdered by ‘marauding herdsmen wielding dangerous weapons, especially AK47’ (70). Confronted with the lurking and overt danger that are occasioned by living in Nigeria and the injustice that prevails, Mark decides to return to the United Kingdom. There is a restlessness that provokes a return to the homeland in the immigrant and the complexities that ensue when said homeland is not welcoming are heartbreaking. It is a sad reality when Mark declares ‘I think I am a misfit in this country. I stayed away too long and now I know I don’t belong here’ (71). Beyond criticizing the constant insecurity in Nigeria, Ezeigbo raises crucial questions on the concept of home for the immigrant. In ‘One Frontliner is Enough’, Matilda struggles with her decision to quit her cleaning job in the thick of the pandemic. With an old and ailing mother, Matilda’s decision sounds like a no-brainer but as her family struggles to cope with each day, Matilda wonders if she made the right decision even as she navigates anxiety and uncertainty in a scary time of colossal crisis. In such an uncertain time, the kindness of a stranger uplifts Matilda and her family. It is interesting to read stories of human kindness, women helping women, and of female bonding, especially after the rough few years we have experienced with the pandemic. However, the author is a moralist, and this infiltrates some of the stories rendering them didactic and tedious.

DNBMB is a good read with a few memorable and haunting stories. I found myself returning to the story titled ‘New Skin’ in my search for understanding. I pondered on the rationale for including this story in the collection as it veers from the theme of female empowerment that occasions most of Ezeigbo’s works. The protagonist, Lotanna, is victimized for dating a man who misrepresented himself as a single man. After subjecting Lotanna to severe bodily harm, and emotional and psychological abuse, her assaulter walks away free and continues to threaten her. But it is Lotanna who is shamed, embarrassed, and compelled to grow a new skin (which connotes responsibility) in the story. I find it unnerving that the author chose to blame the victim in this story, and by so doing, she has unwittingly approved and encouraged brute force and aggravated assault over conversations. The story also chooses to turn the other eye or even exonerates the bad behaviour of the male character. This conclusion slaps one in the face as it is thinly veiled. In a story where nothing is said about demanding accountability and responsibility from the barely mentioned male character, it is revolting to punish and victimize the protagonist. We cannot build women up and tear young women down in the same breadth. It is worrisome and daunting that Nigeria remains a vast crime scene and maybe that is the message the author is passing? Do Not Burn My Bones is a slow read and perfect for those who enjoy such buildups.

In the section titled ‘Songs in The Time of Covid-19 Pandemic’, Ezeigbo humanizes the anxiety and fear that overwhelmed people during the crisis. The poet persona queries, ‘is this the way they feel who await confirmation/of a life-threatening condition?’ (15). Written during the height of the pandemic when ‘the possibility of death looms large’ (15), it is no wonder that the opening section of the collection centres on the novel virus that left the world shaken. The poet bemoans isolation and the various restrictions that were put in place to combat the deadly virus. The room in which the poet persona is sequestered in ‘forced captivity’ is ‘an enlarged coffin’ (22) as they search for new ways to retain their sanity. Although her lines take us back to a dark time, they are infused with hope and an unwavering human spirit. The poet celebrates the survivors and lauds medical personnel and frontliners: ‘undeterred by the tidal wave of death/ you throw punches of care to stem its surge’ (20). In conclusion, Ezeigbo affirms that the disease is but a visitor, ‘Obiara ije nwe ula, uwa ga-adi / it’s the visitor that owes a debt of departure; / the host prepares for the inevitable event’ (34).

In ‘Echoes of Sexism and Sexual Violence’ Ezeigbo gives voice to sexual violence survivors and criticizes the failure of the society in disbelieving and othering survivors. In the aftermath of such a violation, the poet persona laments, ‘I am a broken calabash / my soul, the aftermath of a tsunami’// Forty years after, still voiceless / my violator stalks the land, free as air’ (37). The poet’s choice of the verb ‘stalks’ in its present tense is loaded with meanings. To stalk the land connotes a brazen and threatening devouring which the author cirticizes. To counter the prevalent culture of disbelief, shame, and silence that encircles rape and its survivors, the poet in the poem ‘#MeToo Movement’ applauds the movement and the impact of speaking up. The author encourages women to break the silence and share their story to heal. The section closes with a worldwide call to women to challenge the rise in Feminicide.

In ‘Migration Songs’, Adimora-Ezeigbo explores the dilemma and travails of the immigrant, a stranger in a strange land. The author points to the abysmal conditions back home that force people to endanger themselves in their search for greener pastures. The author queries if those pastures are greener after all. It is in the section titled ‘Haiku Symphony’ that the poet’s craft flourishes. Written in the traditional 5-7-5 syllables and in three lines, the concerns are diverse, the knowledge encoded is deep, and they almost sound proverbial. It is the culmination of the primary themes of this work. However, I do wonder about its placement towards the end of the collection. In ‘Weep Not for America, Weep for Nigeria’ where the poet writes on police brutality, there is emphasis on police brutality in America with no mention of the incessant police brutality in Nigeria on the youth and the poor. Sweeping sentences such as ‘my country that is on its knees, panting/ like a creature on the throes of death’ (77) however true that is, do not acknowledge the lives lost during the #EndSars peaceful protest that turned into a massacre in Nigeria. The poet earlier on emphasized the power of speaking up with the #MeToo movement that was also started online. So why this obvious silence on a crucial issue? There is an apparent disconnect and missed opportunities for speaking up which plagues the section ‘Songs of Freedom’ that almost leaves the collection tone-deaf.

Broken Bodies, Damaged Souls and Other Poems is an intense and compelling read. The writer’s myriad focus is timely and sure to attract different readers and scholars of African literature. There is ample sophistication in the approachable style used by the writer. The two poems written in pidgin English are perfect as a communal call because pidgin remains the most accessible means of communication for most people in Nigeria. Written against the backdrop of violence and heightened insecurity in Nigeria, the elegies and the lyric poems add a gloomy touch to the collection. But overall, it is a call to action: to end gendered violence, police brutality, sexual assault, and most importantly, silence on issues that matter.

The major objective of Al-Bishak’s book is to establish the origins of writing and scribal or written literature in the world. The book investigates the socio-economic relations of ancient Egypt and other nations in Africa and other continents like Europe and Asia (Eurasia). It seeks to resolve the controversies surrounding the facts, firstly, that Egyptians were originally black prior to the racial modifications that arose from contacts with Europeans, Asians, and other races; and secondly, that the typical black African is bereft of language suitable for conveying intelligent information since he is sub-human and lacks the critical thought abilities and mental aptitude for any intellectual engagement, imaginative tasks, and inventive work.

Egyptians believed that their skill of writing came from their god, Tehuti, and because of that divine origin, they called their writing medu.netjer, which means ‘words of god’. The Greeks called medu-netjer hieroglyphics, meaning ‘sacred carving’ or literally, ‘language of the gods’. Ancient Egypt was reputed to domicile two of the famous Seven Wonders of the ancient World, viz, the Great Pyramid of Gizah and the Lighthouse of Pharos of Alexandria. Located at Saqqara, close to Gizah is the first prominent Egyptian pyramid called ‘Stepped Pyramid’ that housed the oldest Egyptian historical, religious, and literary documents, collectively described as ‘The Pyramid Texts’. Those texts are believed to have been crafted over 4,000 BCE (Before Common Era, the modern historical dating that replaces BC – Before Christ). Also in Egypt was the famous Royal Library of Alexandria, established in the third century BCE, which is reputed as ‘the greatest library in the ancient world’. It provided intellectual materials and services to leading scholars of the ancient world including Aeschylus (525?–456 BCE), Sophocles (496?–406? BCE), Socrates (469–399 BCE), Plato (428?–347 BCE), Aristotle (384–322 BCE), and others. There is direct evidence of the ancient Egyptian written literary influences on the writings of these Greek writers.

To prove that the continent of Africa was wholly inhabited by blacks, and Egyptians were originally blacks, Al-Bishak deploys the studies of early scientists of different races and their scholastic records to argue that Africa is the ‘cradle of mankind’. From the British natural scientist, Charles Darwin (1808–1882), through the British-Kenyan paleoanthropologist, Louis Leakey (1903–1972), to the famous Senegalese Egyptologist, Cheikh Anta Diop (29 December 1923 – 7 February 1986) established that the first human being originated as a black man, specifically in the Eastern and Southern sub-regions of Africa where there are clear evidences of the oldest human vestiges in the world.

Generally, historical accounts indicate that Africa was a ‘Dark Continent’, and Africans acquired literacy – the skills of writing and reading – from their contacts with Arab Muslims and Christian missionaries. Africans are often conceived as savage creatures whose humanity is questionable because it does not reflect the familiar traits and skin colour of the foreign invaders. These are the misconceptions and fallacious perspectives that Al-Bishak’s book has invalidated and rectified by focusing on Egypt as a prototype African nation.

Due to the significance of Egypt to the configuration of the global scripting culture and inventive structures, diverse races were both curious and envious of those features because they called into question the country’s reputation as the world leading literary culture. In consequence, Egypt became a site to be explored and possibly overcome, controlled, and stripped of those noble legacies. This rationale explains the reality of Egyptian invasion by foreigners in a complex sequence, which accounted for the convoluted composition of the populace, and the peculiar identification of the people.

The Asians first invaded Egypt in 1730 BCE and also in 1640 BCE (the seventeenth and sixteenth centuries respectively). Then the Persians, led by Cambyses II, ruled Egypt from 530 to 522 BCE. Cambyses II was the son of Cyrus the Great, who founded the Persian Empire. By 525 BCE, he made Egypt a part of the Persian Empire. Another Persian, Darius I ruled over Egypt from 522 to 548 BCE, and was succeeded by his sons, Darius II (423–404 BCE) and Darius III (336–330 BCE). Thirdly, the Greeks took over Egypt from the Persians after a series of wars, and Alexander the Great ruled in Egypt from 336–323 BCE. The original name of Khemett was changed to Egypt under the Greeks. The Romans, under Augustus Caeser, fought and took over Egypt from the Greeks in 27 BCE. In 639 BCE, the Arabs led by General Amr ibn-al-Asr, overcame the Romans and took over Egypt, and expanded it to be considered as a part of Arabia in Southwest Asia. From 1517 (sixteenth century BCE), the Turks invaded Egypt, and took over from the Arabs.

In 1798 CE, the French, led by General Napoleon Bonaparte took over Egypt, and introduced significant innovations, which upset British mercantile interests and instigated wars, and the French rule was terminated in 1801. At that point, there was a vacuum in the Egyptian power structure, and an obvious state of flux in the determination of the control apparatus. The British army regulated Egyptian affairs, and the British increasingly found Egypt a viable outlet for its gainful ventures, and made it a British colony in spite of the presence of the French and some other races in various systems of the Egyptian daily activities. British control spanned through World War I between 1914 and 1918. There were serious Egyptian nationalist agitations especially between 1919 and 1922, which earned Egypt total independence in 1922 from Britain under monarch, Ahmed Faud (born 26 March 1868, and died 28 April 1936).

Over the period that Egypt was under the rulership of Eurasians (Europeans and Asian nations), the indigenous writings and arts were truncated, while the foreign writing models and art forms flourished. That accounts for the emergence of the erroneous and misleading notion that African literacy came from Eurasia. Al-Bishak asserts that it is colonial mentality to claim that Africa had neither civilization nor credible language prior to its contact with Eurasia. African literary traditions were abolished as the Eurasians arrived and entrenched their education, religion and other values among the African peoples.

The above is an explanation of the contacts of Egypt and Eurasian cultures, which engendered the diversity and multiculturalism that are characteristic of Egypt till the present time. The multiple invasion and colonization of Egypt were replicated all over the African continent from the sixteenth to the twentieth centuries through military conquests, exploration of new lands, enslavement, and occupation through contentious accords with African leaders.

With the importation of the printing technology from the West, the Roman and Arabic alphabets became widespread in Egypt, and the indigenous modes of writing gave way to the Eurasian languages of English, French, Arabic, and Portuguese. But Al-Bishak’s research stresses that it was inappropriate for the Asians that ruled over Egypt to attempt to excise Egypt from Africa to the Middle East simply because they regarded Egyptians as white, not black Arabs. The Eurasians extended this argument to imply that Egyptians, not being fully black in complexion as the typical black Africans, are culturally not part of Africa but Eurasia. And accordingly, their scribal literature is the product of the white not black people. But the major contradiction is that Egypt is located in North Africa, which is neither Europe nor Asia.

Generally, Al-Bishak’s Black Papyrus, Global Origins of Writing and Written Literature Traced to Black Africa is an invaluable resource because it has succeeded in disproving with incontrovertible evidential facts that modern African scribal literature is an extension of the European scribal literature since it is currently written in European languages. Al-Bishak describes much of the culture, languages as well as physical characteristics of contemporary Egyptians as reflections of the outcome of intercourse among Roman, Libyan, Persian, Greek, French, Turkish soldiers, and the black women over the centuries. The racial mix that characterizes modern Egypt cannot, therefore, change the reality of the black African origins of the Egyptians.

The significance of Al-Bishak’s treatise derives in the deconstruction of the fons et origo of the art of writing, as well as the rewriting of the dysfunctional and controversial narrative of the Africanness of Egyptians. These aim at reorienting modern scholars and researchers, especially as the Egyptian literary activities were not included in the early studies of the history of literature, perhaps because the writings of ancient Egypt were inaccessible until the nineteenth century when they were translated into European languages.

In spite of the above laudable contributions of Al-Bishak’s book to scholarship and its prospects among contemporary and future scholars and researchers, the production of the book is fairly user-hostile because of the very small font size as well as the compact line spacing. Those combine to make the book a difficult read. However, Al-Bishak’s Black Papyrus, Global Origins of Writing and Written Literature Traced to Black Africa is highly recommended to contemporary scholars and researchers for a reconceptualization of the genesis of the art of writing and the place of Egypt in the global narrative on scribal literatures.

In describing the play, the director notes that Ajon! ‘is a dramatic history of Queen Ajon’ (v) that ‘attempts to reconstruct the fragmented Republican, individualist pattern of settlement of the Kirri nation into a unified nation’ (v). In the play, it is Ajon’s guile, persistence and determination that results in a unified Kirri kingdom under one king in the lower Niger valley of Kogi State. With many facts unknown or lost in history, the playwright combines Kirri mythology, songs, and lore with his creative impetus to actualize what he terms ‘a fictionalization of history’ (vi). What Obafemi achieves is the immortalization of a daring and powerful woman in a literary piece that is both seamless and evocative. However, some may wonder, where does history end, and where does the fictive mode begin in this intriguing work?

The dramatic style of Ajon! is sophisticated and elevated. The use of proverbs, riddles, idioms, songs, chants, and the inclusion of the Yoruba language complements the work. The lines are poetic and befittingly regal. The spectacle of the performers, dancers, and singers conveys the celebration, rituals, and worldview of the community. The chants are coated with deeper meanings, which aids the dramatic tone and amplifies the orality of the work. The musical accompaniments, with sounds of and from the environment, elevate the reading experience. The ‘morning streamside banters of damsels of Ajon’s age grade who balance their Oru (pots) on their heads to as many Kirri springs and rivulets as possible’ (3) of the opening scene welcomes the reader into the community and sets the stage for the tension that ensues.

The author utilizes a linear plot structure to unpack the hero’s journey and the conflicts she contends with as she prepares to undergo the quest. One such conflict is the exacting sacrifice her quest asks of her. Irrespective of this, Ajon is resolute in her pursuit of a united Kirri land even if she must give up motherhood to achieve it. Her sacrifice is both noteworthy and puzzling because it is neatly tied up with destiny and the will of the gods. Throughout the work, the character is hailed as ‘the model of beauty’, a ‘queen’ (13), whose ‘path is cut by Olodumare’, and a ‘woman of mission’ (18). Upon embracing her mission, Ajon clarifies that, ‘rallying the Kirri people to salvation / is the mission of [her] marriage’ (19). As a hero touched by the divine, the burden of fulfilling said mission is only multiplied by the personal toll the mission takes on her womanhood. Ajon is represented as a character who is given the illusion of choice by the gods. What Obafemi achieves beyond etching Queen Ajon’s name in stone is to emphasize the contributions of women (from precolonial times) to societal growth.

Embedded with chants and chorus in Yoruba language, the author offers an appendix of songs in Yoruba with English translations which will guide a non-speaker of the indigenous language. Olu Obafemi circumvents patriarchal norms and rules in this work by offering an alternative way to envision king-making, kingship, and nation building. Scholars of Yoruba and Kirri literatures, oral literatures, indigenous historical fictions, African literatures in indigenous languages, and indigenous drama will benefit from this work.