Reviews

The book attempts to correct the historical record, which too often relegates the depiction of women on stage and screen to subservient roles, while challenging male-dominated dramaturgy in a rich tapestry of heroines from across the African continent. Out from the yoke of male annals, Queen Idia and Yaa Asentewaa (West Africa), Mekatilili (East Africa), Queen Nzaigha (Central Africa), Cleopatra (North Africa), Carlota (enslaved in Cuba), Queen Nanny (enslaved in Jamaica), and Nehanda (Southern Africa) are among the heroines that spring forth as ferocious females in the text. Divided into nine sections, the anthology explores a number of perspectives on who gets to tell the story. In 795 pages, 55 essays portray the sweeping role of African women in aspects of precolonial, colonial, and postcolonial societies. The essays rip apart male hegemony as women traverse through patriarchal landscapes designed to ignore their independent social and political arenas. Unfortunately, space does not allow a discussion of 55 essays; therefore, selected papers in each of the nine sections will be highlighted.

Section One (12 essays) focuses on ‘African Women, Power, Politics, and Leadership’. Essays by Umaru Tsaku Hussaini and Issac B. Lar document the importance of revisiting courageous women of the past in literature. Tsaku showcases Veronique Tadjo’s Queen Poko, a retelling of an ancient Akan myth surrounding Abraha Poko, who sacrifices her infant son to save her people and appease the gods of the land. Queen Poko serves as a model for displaying the attributes of a virtuous leader, in this case a woman, who places the collective good of her people before the child she loves more than herself. Issac B. Lar’s essay, ‘The Feminist Quest for Political Leadership and its Realisation in Irene Salami-Agunloye’s More than Dancing’, considers how the playwright, in 2003, broke open the glass ceiling, albeit imaginarily, by creating a protagonist, Professor Nona Odaro, who emerges as the first female president of Nigeria. In crafting female characters that are archetypes of all sections of society, Salami-Agunloye’s drama shows women harmoniously engaging in the political process for the betterment of their nation.

Section Two (6 essays) considers ‘African Warrior Queens’. Rose Sackeyfio explores female leadership in Salami-Agunloye’s historical drama, Idia, The Warrior Queen of Benin. Sackeyfio maintains that the playwright constructs Idia, surrounded by indecisive male leaders, as a fearless warrior who moves into action and triumphantly defends the Benin kingdom in the sixteenth century, as an example of female political agency in a traditional African culture. Ellison Domkap reflects on how Queen Kambasa of Bonny, in More Than Dancing (also by Salami-Agunloye), serves as a model of female leadership to inspire the protagonist, Nona Odaro, as she rises to the top of Nigeria’s political sphere.

Section Three (6 essays) delves into ‘African Women in Myth and Legend’. Elizabeth Idoko champions the altruistic sacrifices of Moremi in ‘The Courageous Woman: A Study of Segun Ajayi’s Moremi, the Courageous Queen’. The play is based on the myth of Princess Moremi, who calls upon the river goddess, Esinminrin, to help her save the Oduduwa people from the frightening Igboboro raiders. The goddess agrees to help her, demanding she sacrifice her only son, Oluorogbo, if successful and, without hesitation, Moremi allows herself to be captured. While living among the Igboboro, she unravels the secret of their invincible war attire, which is nothing more than bamboo and grass, and after escaping back to Ile-Ife reveals the truth to her people. Idoko argues that Moremi stands as a symbol of true bravery during war, as she sped into action to save her people with no thought of the price she would be forced to pay. Victor Anyagu considers metaphysical consciousness as the masculine gods, Ogun and Sango, and the feminine goddess, Oya, emerge from the ancestral realms into a modern play in his critique, ‘The Gods at War: A Feminist Discourse of Akinwumi Isola’s Belly Bellows’. Anyagu discusses the way Isola uses the Yoruba cosmos to drive the dramatic conflict of the play as Ogun and Sango vie for Oya’s affection, and stressed the way this goddess fights oppression and injustice against women in the metaphysical sphere.

Section Four (3 essays) addresses ‘African Women: Martyrdom and Sacrifice’. James Dung provides a dramatic appraisal of sacrifice, martyrdom, and death in Salami-Agunloye’s youth play, The Queen Who Gave Her Life. Dung uses the storyline of Iden, the wife of Oba Ewapke of Benin, who agrees to be buried alive in order to save the throne of her husband, as a symbol to further discuss self-serving traditional institutions and the countless Nigerian female activists, past and present, sacrificing for equity and justice.

Section Five (4 essays) focuses on ‘Violence Against Women’. Isaac Lar focuses on Salami-Agunloye’s The Queen Sisters, a historical drama set in the fifteenth-century Benin Empire. The play explores two young wives of Oba Ewaure, Ubi and her half-sister Ewere. Ubi, denied agency, refuses to take on the docile role of a wife in the harem, which leads to a whirlwind of vicious disruption in the palace, while Ewere is exalted for calm acquiescence to every command of the Oba. When Ubi is banished for ‘bedwetting’ and condemned as evil, the patriarchal social order is restored, which, according to Lar, is the focus of the playwright’s dramatic premise, that the public sphere has far too long been closed to women.

Section Six (7 essays) emphasizes ‘African Women Resisting Colonialism’. Iniobong I. Uko targets the grass roots effort of Opobo women to revolt against repressive colonial taxation policies in her essay, ‘Drama as History: Female Heroism in Effiong Johnson’s drama, Not Without Bones’. Uko examines the way Johnson uses the 1929 women’s uprising in southern-eastern Nigeria as the backdrop for a play, in which the colonial government imposes heavy taxation on the people. Men flee and are imprisoned, leaving women as the sole supporters of their families with little hope until a group of disenfranchised market women, led by the protagonist Ekaiban, march across the land destroying colonial power structures. Although many women are shot and imprisoned, the Opobo men, inspired by the courage of their women, ultimately join the revolt to restore their land. Uko suggests that modern women can also benefit from the collective solidarity of these fearless women to empower their own political and social mobility. Salami-Agunyole offers a fascinating account of the revolt led by an enslaved woman in ‘Challenging the Master, Resisting Slavery: The 1843 “Carlota War”’. Carlota, an enslaved Yoruba woman, led an armed resistance, machete in hand, at the Triumvirato Sugarmill in Matanzas Province, Cuba against the brutal and inhumane conditions on the sugar plantation. For over a year, the fearless insurgents wreaked havoc on the enslavers, until captured by the Spanish, and Carlota suffered martyrdom in 1844, when her body was brutally ripped apart by horses.

Section Seven (7 essays) highlights ‘African Women and Postcolonial Struggles’. Nesther Nachafiya Alu highlights the political activist, Gambo Sawaba, in her article, ‘Reconstruction of Heroic Life and History in Irene Salami-Agunloye’s More Than Dancing: A Study of Gambo Sawaba’. Alu contends that including the Nigerian women’s rights activist and politician, Gambo Sawaba, in the play serves as a window to help inspire the way a woman from an impoverished background, with little education, is able to serve her political party and people with a steadfast commitment to justice and equity.

Section Eight (7 essays) concentrates on ‘Restaging African Heroines in Film’. Samuel Igomu and Yaki D. Musa exalt the bravery of Yaa Asantewaa in ‘The Brave and Gallant Women of African History: A Feminist Analysis of Yaa Asantewaa in Hezekiah Lewis’ Short Film, Warrior Queen’. Igomu and Musa applaud the rare inclusion of an African warrior queen as the basis for a film that recreates a historical account of the Asante Queen Mother’s refusal to relinquish the Golden Stool to the colonial government and then commanding the Asante nation army in the 1900 war against the British. Although the Asante were defeated and Yaa Asantewaa exiled to the Seychelles Islands, her unflinching bravery kept the Golden Stool from the British. The authors conclude that film can be a great vehicle to preserve the legacy of African heroines. Salami-Agunloye draws on Roy T. Anderson’s documentary, ‘Queen Nanny Legendary Maroon Chieftainess’, to discuss the ever-present role of armed resistance to enslavement, in the captivating story of the Jamaican Windward Maroons, led by Queen Nanny in the 1730s. The filmmaker, in a synthesis of re-enactments, interviews with maroon descendants, and historians, brings the folklore and oral history surrounding Nanny, who appears as a guerrilla spirit guide in the film, into view. In 1975 Queen Nanny was proclaimed a National Heroine by the Jamaican government. Salami-Agunyole’s next essay, ‘Breaking the Glass Ceiling in Africa: Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, Heroine of Modern Africa’, offers a tribute to the twenty-fourth president of Liberia (2006–2018), the first female president of an African nation. In 2011, Sirleaf received the Nobel Prize for Peace.

Section Nine (2 essays) targets ‘Music in Women’s Historical Drama’. The anthology concludes with Emmanuel Imasekhoevbo Aimiuwu’s essay, which emphasizes the role of music in every aspect of African traditional societies and the integration of music and drama throughout the history of performance. Showcasing Salami-Agunyole’s The Queen Sisters, Aimiuwu demonstrates the way the playwright adeptly employed music and songs in her historical drama in order to spotlight elements of the culturally rich ancient Benin Kingdom.

At times, Retelling History: Restaging African Women in Drama and Film is a thinly veiled celebration of the editor’s work. Of the 55 articles, 11 are composed by the editor, and 14 by academics discussing her work. The text falls short of its premise, as promised by Salami-Agunloye in the Introduction: ‘this book brings together thoughts and knowledge of global intellectuals and scholars’ (xli); when in fact, it focuses almost exclusively on scholars and artists residing in Nigeria, who composed 53 of the articles (two articles are written by African scholars teaching in the United States). Twenty-eight of the articles, which include the 11 written by Salami-Agunloye, are constructed by academics at the University of Jos, where the editor holds tenure. The glaring omission of any discourse on the heroic dramatists, Zulu Sofola, Ama Ata Aidoo, and Osonye Tess Onwueme, arguably the forerunners of African feminist drama, and inclusion of essays on the role of women in the plays of Wole Soyinka and Femi Osofisan (their male contemporaries), is disappointing. Although I champion this pioneering anthology, if an opportunity arises for a second edition, the text will benefit from a professional editor to objectively review the material so that it receives the attention it deserves on the international stage.

The Middle Daughter takes readers into the world of a vulnerable young woman whose downward spiral is a path toward liberation and selfhood. At the centre of the novel is Nani, a sheltered middle daughter whose coming-of-age experience is a tangled web of emotional trauma, loss, family conflict, and physical abuse. The work unfolds the bildungsroman of womanhood that reconfigures the identity of the protagonist amidst the upside-down realities of contemporary Nigerian life.

Skilfully crafted in a mosaic of interlocking themes, the novel unpacks moral decay, patriarchy, religious hypocrisy, generational conflict, and local and global tensions that incite family discord. Unigwe revisits the myth of Hades and Persephone, which is refashioned to suggest the need for renewed family values that bind loved ones and guide them away from dangerous elements in society. The family is the most important and foundational institution in society and in The Middle Daughter almost a character in its own right. As a mirror of society, the five-member family is unbalanced, deteriorating, and fractured from within. The novel is set against the background of Enugu, where most of the events take place, as well as Atlanta, Georgia, in America. The deeply troubled family is a microcosm of Nigeria’s woes that have beset the nation since independence in 1962. The existence of social, economic, and political travail wreaks havoc from centre to periphery in the nation as moral corruption rips a hole in the fabric of society.

The work is divided into three parts that move back and forth in time to form a spatio-temporal nexus narrated from multiple perspectives. The Middle Daughter is thus a polyphonic rendering of a family torn asunder with the middle daughter at the centre. Unigwe’s narrative punctuates pivotal events in the work through the voices of the Chorus, as another infusion of Greek literature. The book opens in the present, in 2014, and swiftly captivates readers through vivid prose in English and Igbo. Like many African writers, Unigwe’ style conveys oral traditions that unfold the neatly paced events that engulf the world of the protagonist.

As a mirror of the Nigerian landscape and the African world, local and global factors fuel the American dreams of success for the women in Nani’s family. In chapters that shift the action from multiple perspectives, Unigwe artfully presents ideas and behaviours that describe cultural hybridity amidst the oddities of American life. The novel sheds light on immigrant experiences as Nigerians learn to navigate and reconstruct their identities within Western spaces.

Nani and her sisters are groomed for professional careers in America that will elevate their status as Nigerians living abroad in the future. Nani’s elder sister makes it to university in America only to die tragically in a car accident. The loss of her sister leaves a deep scar in Nani’s fragile psyche that never heals because of time and distance, generational conflict, and teenage angst. Unigwe illustrates the ways in which American dreams may turn into nightmares that haunt people’s lives at home and abroad. Although foreign spaces present exciting opportunities for success, transnational landscapes may harbour unseen dangers for unwary Nigerian immigrants. Splintered family relations further divide Nani’s family between Enugu and Atlanta as a site of escape to America as the ‘land of the free’.

Unlike most African novels that chronicle women’s experiences, the father figure in The Middle Daughter represents the moral centre of Nani’s world, and when he dies her spirit is broken. As the middle daughter, Nani is thrown off centre, and her emotional development marks her painful path to selfhood. These traumatic events set the stage for rebellion, confusion, and sadly, vulnerability to predatory and dangerous influences that lurk beyond her sheltered world. She falls prey to an itinerant preacher who is the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing. Propelled by loneliness, naïveté, and youthful daring, Nani makes unwise choices that lead to unfavourable outcomes. Through the experience of sexual assault, entrapment, and her downward spiral into an abusive marriage, Unigwe unfurls the dark underbelly of religious hypocrisy and moral corruption that occurs in the post-independence landscape of Nigeria.

Feminist themes emerge through Nani’s gradual awakening to self-worth and autonomy, although on the surface Nani appears helpless with little or no agency. Readers may be frustrated over the amount of abuse Nani suffers in her marriage because she cannot part with her children. Unigwe examines the psychological trauma of an oppressed woman who eventually recovers the will to survive by fighting back and carefully plotting her escape. Like other feminist writers who empower women characters, Unigwe infuses themes of sisterhood to illustrate the collective power of women to subvert patriarchy and to reclaim their lives. Women characters in Nani’s fractured life protect her as she begins a new chapter in her future at the end of the novel.

Patriarchy looms large in The Middle Daughter, and the only positive male character is the protagonist’s father, who is nurturing and protective of his daughter. Sadly, religious hypocrisy and the fanaticism of Nani’s husband subjugate her through violence and coercion. At one point in the novel, Nani is no longer locked in their home because her husband knows she will never leave. His punitive abuse of Nani is derived from twisted Christian principles that resonate in Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Papa Eugene in Purple Hibiscus (2003) and the religious fervour of Prophet Revelations Bitchington Mborro in NoViolet Bulawayo’s We Need New Names (2013). Appropriately, women characters help to uproot him from Nani’s life, and he ends up locked away from society forever.

Mother-daughter conflict fuels intergenerational ruptures that significantly influence Nani’s estrangement from her family throughout much of the novel. Nani’s mother is also devastated by the untimely death of the family patriarch, although she becomes wealthy by opening a maternity clinic that is actually the site of a ‘baby factory’. Like many contemporary African writers, Unigwe draws attention to prevailing ills in society, and unfortunately, Nigeria has experienced an increase in baby factories and child harvesting as part of the trafficking industry in the global age. Gender norms and the stigma of infertility spark the growth of these unwholesome practices in Nigeria. To evade the police, Nani’s mother and sister flee to America, but Nani refuses to join them because of moral outrage over her mother’s illicit business. Ironically, rejection of the American dream offers Nani the opportunity for personal growth, financial independence, and autonomy as her new identity emerges at the end of the novel. The decision to reject America supports the idea that Nigerians and other Africans can create alternative and viable futures within local settings through their own agency and determination.

Through a gendered perspective, The Middle Daughter expertly unfolds a young woman’s journey to empowerment. Readers follow her obstacle-strewn path to overcome the tragic loss of loved ones, emotional and physical abuse, poverty, and shame. As a writer of feminist literature, Chika Unigwe has woven a powerful tale of a woman’s transformation from victimhood to an independent woman with a promising future. Narrated from multiple perspectives, the novel takes a critical look at Nigeria in the global age to interrogate new issues of postcolonial disjuncture such as religious fanaticism, ill-gotten wealth, and moral corruption. The novel examines the ways in which the loss of loved ones may destroy peoples’ dreams and distort the lives of those left behind. Patriarchy will always be a compelling theme in African literature written by women because gender inequality is a glaring reality in Nigeria and throughout the world in the global age. The Middle Daughter leaves readers wondering whether generational fissures will be healed in ways that restore familial bonds. A subtle message of the work suggests that stronger families may influence societal and national issues that determine social, economic, and political outcomes for Nigerians in the twenty-first century.

Immigrant Voices in Short Stories: Health and Wellbeing of African Immigrants in Transnational and Transformative Encounters and Spaces, edited by Àjàyí Ṣóyinká Ọmófọlábọ̀ and Naana Banyiwa Horne, is a collection of 16 short stories centred on the theme of migration. Two stories each are told by distinguished scholars and accomplished story writers like Akachi Adimora-Ezeigbo, Ada Uzoamaka Azodo, H. Oby Okolocha, and Temi Adeaga, amongst others. The setting of the tales is fairly topical, considering the account of the devastating effect of the coronavirus in some of the stories. More interesting is the depth of the stories, which shows the complexities in the migration narrative. This follows the claim by Fatemeh Pourjafari and Abdolali Vahidpour in ‘Migration Literature: A Theoretical Perspective’ that:

The foci the duo refer to above can be seen in several of the stories in the anthology, and they follow the condition that writers like Samuel Selvon in The Lonely Londoners and Buchi Emecheta in Second Class Citizens have shown in their fictions.

The first story in the anthology opens the readers to the reality of the life of Africans abroad, and the ‘kind’ of issues that lead to their migration. H. Oby Okolocha’s ‘Kunta: The Area Gentleman’ is a story that opens itself to diverse tales of the experiences of Africans abroad and the sort of stereotypes that trail them. The opening sentence sets the tempo for what is to come: ‘Huddled in faded, bulky autumn clothes, Kunta stood still at the T-shaped Liberty junction, his newspaper clutched in his left hand’ (13). This shows the faded personality of migrants, here-in, shifted to the clothes using transfer-epithet. It is significant to note the loneliness that comes with living outside of one’s home, a loneliness that is accompanied by a loss of identity, and this is shown in Kunta’s initial change of his identity from Okotie to Kunta.

‘The Promise of Coro-Covid’ is another story by H. Oby Okolocha. It is a thought-provoking story set during a wedding reception, highlighting the impact of COVID-19 on gatherings and human behaviour. It explores the conflict between safety rules and the desire for normalcy, as well as the complexities of faith, societal expectations, and generational differences. The story encourages reflection on choices during the pandemic.

Akachi Adimora-Ezeigbo’s ‘The Dove’s Revenge’ is a captivating story about Yemisi, who discovers her husband’s unfaithfulness. It’s a tale of relationships, betrayal, and resilience, set in Nigeria and London. Yemisi’s journey is emotionally gripping, and the characters are well-drawn. The story explores love, trust, and deceit, making it a thought-provoking read. It leaves some questions open, making you think about the characters’ choices. Overall, it’s a powerful story about human strength in the face of betrayal and challenges. By contrast, her short story, ‘One Frontliner is Enough’, is a heartwarming story about Matilda, a former frontliner, dealing with the challenges of the COVID-19 pandemic. It explores her fears, caring for her mother, and financial struggles. Matilda’s decision to quit her job reflects the difficult choices essential workers faced. Her unexpected friendship with Bessie shows the power of human connection during tough times. The story touches on social inequality and the resilience of individuals, highlighting unity and strength during the pandemic.

Ada Uzoamaka Azodo’s ‘Mother Ruminates on Natural Existence’ is a poignant and complex narrative that delves into the life of an aging mother, interweaving real-life experiences with dream sequences. The story revolves around Mother’s struggles with aging, health issues, and difficult decisions, highlighting her significant friendship with Leticia. This story is distinctive in its experimental blend of storytelling, contemplation, and societal commentary, which can be challenging for some readers. The dream sequences and scientific details may require multiple readings for full comprehension. Ultimately, it is a thought-provoking tale that prompts reflection on life, family, and the passage of time, evoking a mix of emotions and contemplation.

‘Under the Oak Trees’, on the other hand, is a charming story about three friends navigating the challenges of the COVID-19 pandemic. The narrative blends philosophy, folklore, and humor, offering insightful reflections on the global crisis. The engaging storytelling style and the friends’ discussions make the characters relatable. The story covers various pandemic-related topics, including fears and conversations about treatments and vaccines. Overall, it conveys a message of hope and the strength of friendship during tough times.

Another central story in the collection is the narrative of Pede Hollist’s ‘Mami Wata’, which interrogates the issues of cultural conflicts in ‘what-is-what’ at home and the changes abroad in the life of a migrant. While Hollist’s story is greatly satiric in projecting the way male migrants think, she does it with a narrative pattern that rather investigates the subconscious desire of the African in the face of a changing society that differs from the world they knew back home. In essence, it’s an emotionally deep narrative that sheds light on cultural and family challenges.

Her ‘Renaissance Spillover’ is a story that delves into the complexities of human relationships and the impact of societal changes on individuals. Set in Sierra Leone, the narrative follows the lives of ordinary people as they navigate the challenges of post-war reconstruction and cultural transformation. Hollist’s storytelling is richly layered, beautifully capturing the nuances of human emotions and the interplay of tradition and modernity. The characters are vividly portrayed, with their struggles and triumphs resonating with readers. ‘Renaissance Spillover’ is a powerful exploration of identity, resilience, and the enduring nature of the human spirit.

Tomi Adeaga’s ‘Resilience’ is an inspiring and heartwarming story about Mamie, a determined woman who got an education despite societal norms. It highlights the power of determination and the enduring value of education. The story reveals Mamie’s challenges and successes, offering insights into cultural changes and the evolving role of women during her time. Tomi Adeaga skillfully tells Mamie’s journey, underlining the importance of education for those facing obstacles. Whether you’re looking for personal empowerment, a historical account of cultural shifts, or a touching tale of unwavering commitment to learning, ‘Resilience’ is a compelling read that delivers on all fronts. ‘Spreading Our Wings with Zoom’ is another enchanting story by Tomi Adeaga that explores the Global African Women Association’s annual conferences. It talks about how these gatherings affect women from different backgrounds, celebrating the accomplishments of African women and discussing the challenges they face.

Ọmófọlábọ̀ Àjàyí Ṣóyinká’s ‘The Repairman’ is a story that blends suspense, humour, and cultural insights. It’s about a surprising visit from a repairman who turns out to be quite intriguing. It explores how people from different cultures perceive each other, especially during a pandemic. The story touches on themes like feeling alone, missing the past, and wanting to connect with others. Her ‘Peace Has Come, Peace Is Here’ is a powerful and emotionally charged story that follows Abimi, a humanitarian worker, and Mide, a young girl who has suffered greatly due to conflict. The narrative explores themes of resilience, trauma, and healing in the face of adversity. It sheds light on the experiences of child soldiers and war victims, revealing the profound impact of conflict on their lives. This stirring and heart-wrenching story offers a unique perspective on the human toll of war and the search for peace and recovery in its aftermath.

M’bha Kamara’s short story is about Kekura, a young Sierra Leonean facing personal struggles and civil war. The story explores themes of love, tradition, and the clash between old and new ways of thinking. It takes unexpected turns, raising questions about masculinity and societal norms. The narrative captures life’s complexities in the face of adversity and prompts readers to reflect on personal choices and family dynamics. Overall, it offers a unique perspective on life in Sierra Leone during a turbulent period and the universal struggles of the human experience. It’s a captivating and thought-provoking read that explores personal desires and societal expectations.

Kamara’s ‘Never Enough’, on the other hand, is about Ishmael, an African immigrant in the US facing challenges supporting his family, especially his father in Sierra Leone, who constantly needs money. It delves into the struggle of meeting family obligations and cultural expectations. The story follows Ishmael’s life, from his past to his marriage and the difficulties of sending money home amid Sierra Leone’s civil war. It highlights the pressures immigrants feel to support their families back home and the sacrifices they make. The emotional ending reveals how endless demands can impact an individual. Overall, ‘Never Enough’ is a moving exploration of family dynamics and cultural identity, making it an exciting read.

Naana Banyiwa Horne’s ‘When Life Comes Knocking’ is a touching story about the strong friendship between Esi and Hathor. They face many challenges together, especially when Hathor gets sick. The story shows how they support each other through tough times and celebrate each other’s successes. The characters appear real, but the story could be a bit shorter. In the end, it’s a moving story about friendship and strength, giving us a close look at these two amazing women. The last story in the collection, also by Horne, ‘Just Another Sweltering Day in the Tropics’, is a great story about students at St. Jude Catholic Preparatory School in Accra, Ghana. It tells us about the lives of five best friends, Gyasiwaa, Efua, Amua, Abba, and Tawia. The story is full of life, and it shows readers the students’ interests and school activities. It also makes us laugh with the Writers’ Club activities. The story is easy to read and keeps readers interested. It’s a lovely story that reminds us of the fun of being a child, having good friends, and trying to get better.

The anthology paints the objective reality of migration and what people face. The stories are well delivered and still project factual issues. As A. Walton Litz notes in the introductory section to The Scribner Quarto of Modern Literature, ‘part of the power of the short story has been its ability to assimilate many characteristics of the novel while maintaining a certain purity of form’ (2). The stories in this anthology exhibit this virtue and more.

Part II captures Queen Ena Sunu’s childhood days and the contribution of her environment in shaping her mindset and launching her into her campaign against gender inequality and the slave trade. This part then connects the careers of Pedro de Barbosa, a slave dealer, and Queen Ena Sunu, an advocate of human freedom, and examines how they strategize to achieve their different goals.

A popular adage has it that ‘The same boiling water that softens the potato hardens the egg. It’s not the circumstances; it’s what you are made of.’ Pedro de Barbosa’s experience of slavery and racial discrimination make him categorize humans into two groups: the oppressor and the oppressed. In order to escape being oppressed, he must strive to join the league of the oppressors at all costs. His observations of the Catholic Church’s endorsement of racial discrimination and hypocrisy through its involvement in the slave trade erode Pedro’s regard for the church and any form of moral considerations in his search for freedom and power. Therefore, to attain the position of a senhor, he blends together blackmailing, double-dealing, murder, physical strength, diplomacy, spying, and intelligence to earn the political and economic power that qualify him to become a slave dealer. Through his activities and those of other slave dealers, the text reveals the tensions, intrigue, and power-play that go into the gaining and entrenchment of political power.

While Pedro de Barbosa’s fight for independence and freedom is self-centred, Queen Ena Sunu’s outlook is selfless. She observes that a majority of the important decisions in her life and in the lives of other women are made by the men in their lives, and interrogates this unequal treatment of women. As the wife of King Gesa, she is offered as a kola to her husband’s guest, Prince Dozan, from another kingdom. ‘You must regard yourself as lucky the king chose you to share the Dahomey people’s property with the Quidah Kingdom’ (195). ‘So that was who she was! A piece of property, Queen Ena Sunu thought. Hers was a body they hauled away without her approval, as her father had done’ (195). She equally frowns at the law forbidding female soldiers from marrying or having sexual partners, while their male counterparts enjoy the pleasure of intimacy and family friendship and bonding. She dismantles this unfair treatment with the assistance of the female military leadership. In addition, through her alliance with the female military soldiers and her adult sons, she works to abolish slavery in her kingdom and in the surrounding kingdoms. It is her fight for the eradication of slavery that births her encounter with Pedro de Barbosa and the ultimate abolishment of slavery and the slave trade in her kingdom and in the surrounding kingdoms.

The text is relevant in today’s world for numerous reasons. One, it suggests that interactions between the oppressive economic and political structures of societies and humans can lead to rebellions and many forms of violence that impede society’s growth. Pedro’s choice of perpetuating slavery and oppression arises out of the lack of better options at the initial stage. Two, the text observes that the road to independence and freedom is knotty and requires decisions and actions that lack moral considerations. Pedro’s strategies and those of Queen Ena Sunu are the same. However, the difference lies in the end of one: enslavement, and the other: freedom and the abolition of slave trade.

Three, the text continues the conversations on gender inequality and racial discrimination, which consolidate difference at various levels and contribute massively to the tensions and war between various peoples, ethnic groups, and several nations to date. Finally, it draws attention to the challenge of modern day slavery in the world and how human beings still subtly consolidate structures that inflict physical and psychological pain on their fellow beings, regardless of the colossal evolution and development of human societies and various societies’ claim of civilization. The novel is a must-read for all because of the diverse concerns that it raises, which will certainly resonate with people of all ages and cultures.

SeedTIME is a compilation of selections of Anyidoho’s poems from five of his collections: Ancestral Logic & Caribbean Blues, Earth Child, A Harvest of Our Dreams, Elegy for the Revolution and Brain Surgery. The volume offers the reader a one-stop opportunity to savour the selected poems from fresh perspectives and to relive the experiences and ideas that inspired their composition. What makes the reissue of these selections important is that the human memory is short, predisposed to induced or selective amnesia. Most Ghanaians, and followers of Ghana’s political history, have taken for granted the country’s present constitutional order and the musical chair dance of political actors since 1992. But, before the current ‘calm’, there was the ‘storm’ – the so-called ‘revolutionary years’. A Harvest of Our Dreams and Elegy for the Revolution bring back those turbulent years, complete with the haunting, sarcastic and parodic images and metaphors that capture the period and jolt us into a new state of consciousness. ‘Radio Revolution’, a poem from Elegy for the Revolution (from the ‘Soul in Birthwaters’ sequence), unwinds the clock back to those days when our sleep would be stampeded and truncated by a brief serenade of martial music on Radio Ghana, followed by the roar of a military voice announcing the overthrow of a sitting government, military or civilian: ‘Again this dawn our Radio/broke off the vital end of sleep… Revolution!… Devolution!… Resolution!’ The same can be said of Ancestral Logic & Caribbean Blues, a collection that chronicles the multiple dimensions of the trans-Atlantic Slave Trade, the African Diaspora and its eternal and spiritual connections with continental Africa, and the celebration of Africa’s survival spirit across history. In ‘Havana Soul’, the poet is overwhelmed by the sights and sounds that ignite his sense of African history in Cuba, a Caribbean island which Fidel Castro once described as ‘part of Africa’:

As one engages with the selected poems from one segment to another – from Ancestral Logic to Brain Surgery – the old Anyidoho the poet we know re-emerges with renewed vigour speaking to us, in even stronger cadences, through the same poetic mediums that have established him firmly on the world stage. In the same vein, the same old poems, like ‘Agbenoxevi’, ‘Awoyo’, ‘Fertility Game’, ‘Earth Child’, ‘A Harvest of Our Dreams’, ‘Brain Surgery’, ‘Elegy for the Revolution’, ‘Mythmaker’, ‘SeedTime’, ‘Desert Storm’ (a commentary on the US invasion of Iraq in 1992, and which also helps us to draw parallels between that event and today’s Russia-Ukraine war) and ‘Do not give too much of your love to me’ and ‘They Hunt the Night’ (which have been West African Examinations Council (WAEC) selected poems for secondary schools for a number of years), and others, take on fresh urgency and provoke in the reader the same sensibilities that have drawn us to the poet and his works over the years.

SeedTIME also opens our eyes to certain issues that have characterized our appreciation of writers and their works in mainstream society and institutions, particularly condescending attitudes to the creative and performing arts. In his author’s note, Anyidoho recalls how, against formidable hurdles, he had to combine producing creative works with the high demands of his core occupation as a scholar, researcher and lecturer to earn upward mobility in academia. He laments the ‘kind of devious academic bias against creative excellence in such disciplines as poetry, music, dance, and drama’, which he contends ‘is still a cherished tradition in our institutions of “higher learning”’. However, the redeeming grace in all this is that:

These emphatic and defiant statements by the poet undergird the putting together of his many poems in English, Ewe and those in translation in other world languages, which, thankfully, have been condensed into SeedTIME.

From all indications, SeedTIME is designed to be part of a series. This is only the first volume. We cannot wait for the sequels. Although the poet has acknowledged publishers he has worked with over the years, I must add that the contribution of the publishers of SeedTIME, DAkpabli and Associates, to this volume of Anyidoho’s poems cannot be overstated. The poems are cast in reader-friendly font size and style and attractively typeset on off-white paper. The book cover, featuring a seed sprouting from rich brown earth against a green background, reminds us of Chinua Achebe’s Morning Yet on Creation Day – that, it is only ‘seed time’ yet.

From a synoptic presentation, it is easy to gloss over the significance of the play, especially in the context of Nigeria’s twisted matrix and chequered historicity. However, an X-ray of the style, themes, subtext, and symbolism arouses curiosity with the discourse of the consequences of war and post-war violence. In terms of style, the play is written from the African total theatre form parading a rich display of indigenous songs, dance, nuances and play-within-a-play. In a sense his style is similar to that of Esiaba Irobi, winner of the 2010 NNLG Prize for Drama. In fact, the style of The Truce resonates with Irobi’s plays such as Hangmen also Die, Nwokedi, and even Cemetery Road, In addition, the form of tragedy in The Truce is underpinned not necessarily by the mere fact that the play ends on a tragic note; rather, the tragedy is deepened by the messianic intimations, the anguish and the sense of loss and pain that the tragic hero Alozie evinces.

One of the themes in the play includes scars of war: The impact of war always manifests in one way or another. In the play the scars of war/postwar are evident through Alozie’s limp and emotional thorns. The Truce also represents a fleeting respite from conflict, highlighting the fragile nature of peace. Ironically, as Alozie puts it, ‘…The foot injury was sustained when it was said the war has ended’ (p.19). Loss and grief is another theme in the play. Alozie’s mourning for his wife, Ekemma, and later, the loss of George, reflects the profound grief that can shape a person’s life. Alozie’s simile description of his affinity with George indicates the extent of his grief: ‘Maybe you are right about cultists. But you are wrong in this case. I knew the young man, George, well enough. He was like a son to me. He just took to me one of those mysterious experiences you can’t for your life find sufficient explanation for.’ (p.47). And about his wife, he laments that ‘… I returned home with the burden that my wife was dead. Ekemma was dead…’ (p.19).

The theme of betrayal stands out as key in the play, especially in the manner in which it instigates the subplot. Betrayal is ubiquitous and has dominated human society and relationships from prehistorical times to the present. Alozie’s friend Arugo’s betrayal and subsequent guilt underscore the complexities of human relationships and the bleak potential for redemption. Arugo’s weak explanation only adds salt to the injury: ‘Her death was completely an accident. I couldn’t possibly raise a hand against a woman I could have given my life for…’ (p.97).

Another theme worth mentioning is symbolism. Here two elements stand out: the shoe and the sun. In the case of the shoe, the meaning stems from how Alozie describes it: ‘The human feet are the pedestal of human dignity and cannot be trifled with. You are either born to this art or you find your true calling… our feet are sovereign by their willingness to bear the burden meant for the fore limbs’ (p.25). Alozie also attaches some sort of messianic powers to the shoe when he compares the washing of his clients’ feet to that of Jesus washing his disciples feet in the Bible – ‘if I can’t intervene in the matters of the soul, at least I can strive to tend to soles. Beside, I like to feel the contours of the feet I make shoes for in order to anticipate the pinch the foot feels – and eliminate it’ (p.31). In addition, the shoe could also symbolise Abia state in Nigeria, which is known for making shoes, popularly called ‘Aba shoes’. But even more poignant is the idea, as suggested in the blurb by Dan Izevbaye, that these images could well be a reference to soldiers and the Nigerian civil war.

The other element of symbolism is the sun. Here it could be a symbol of Biafra in the south-eastern part of Nigeria, since Biafra’s logo is the image of a rising sun. In the play, Eke, who wants to learn the ritual incantation of shoe making, asks Alozie to teach him because he remembered Toronto, for whom Alozie made a football boot with the symbol of the sun on it: ‘those who know about such things say you made his boots when the sun shone brightest and tidies it up under the full moon… But the same symbol has been seen on the pair of shoes Honourable Kaduru wore on the day he won the election into the senate. It is equally on the pair of shoes pastor Kamalu wears during his monthly anointing service.’ (pp. 34–35). The sun is said to have mighty powers that brings victory to whoever has it on their shoes.

At the level of subtext, the meaning of the play is multidimensional. Although the playwright has advised that there is no need to pay attention to his notes, it is worthy to observe here that an author’s note points to his/her authorial ideology, which, as Terry Eagleton argues, can sometimes go against the general and or regional ideology of the state. Diala alludes to the civil war or ‘genocide’. As he puts it: ‘The Truce could be easily set in any human society where the survivors of a holocaust are compelled to relive daily the injustices that culminated in the initial genocidal war.’ This is a clear reference to the Nigerian civil war, which has been described by many as genocide. Coming out in 2023, the meaning of the play cannot be lost on anyone who is aware of the siege on South East Nigeria before, during and even after the 2023 general elections, especially the ‘Operation Python Dance’, which prompted the attacks by some regiments of Nigerian soldiers on the compound of Nnamdi Kalu, the acclaimed leader of ‘Independent People of Biafra’ (IPOB) So, in the end, the play begs the question: what and whose truce is the playwright after? Is it that of the South East zone, Igbos or Nigeria?

As for the significance of the play in this perspective, there are few gaps that stare one in the face, and they are worth mentioning. First is the mere fact that the play is lacking in ethnic diversity. All the characters in the play are Igbos. Is the playwright saying that only Igbos live in South East Nigeria? Second is the fact that women play an insignificant role in the play. Is the playwright implying that women are not relevant in the scheme of events in South East Nigeria? Third is the death of Ekemma, which raises a lot of questions that are never resolved. However, The Truce is a brilliant text, blunt, clear and compelling; it captures the challenges of South East Nigeria in turbulent historical moments with lingering issues.

Evidently, the life trajectory for both Zona and Yuwa has gone against their expectations as well as the expectations of their families. Yuwa is resented by her mother-in-law, Iro, because Yuwa is attempting to make ‘the blood of… [Robosa’s] ancestors to clot in his veins’ (21). That’s a metaphor for Yuwa’s attempt at terminating the lineage due to childlessness. Incidentally, Robosa has never subjected himself to any medical examination through all the years that Yuwa has not got pregnant. As Sede, Robosa’s sister, indicts both Robosa and their mother, Iro, for their resentful and callous treatment of Yuwa and is also the subject of their ire. Both mother and son throw out Yuwa’s possessions from her marital home, and she inevitably leaves in shame.

Unfortunately for Yuwa, the time of her marital cataclysm is when her brother and family are also dealing with Zona’s pregnancy debacle. The most harrowing aspect of the discovery of Zona’s pregnancy is her disappearance. Apparently, from the family doctor’s office, where her pregnant is confirmed, she goes to inform Nosa, and he abducts her, taking her to the baby factory in the thick forest. All the intensive efforts set up by Zona’s parents with law enforcement agencies to find her are not yielding results as quickly as desired. Zona is among many other young pregnant girls who were abducted and brought to the forest. Her first attempt to escape fails, but the second attempt, along with Ede, another pregnant girl, succeeds. Incidentally, Zona goes into labour while navigating the forest for an exit, and Ede assists her to deliver the baby. Zona loses consciousness due to the stress of childbirth and trekking the long distance in tortuous terrains, and Nosa intercepts them, collects the baby, and returns to the baby factory location in the forest. However, the forest is quickly invaded by the police, who recover Zona’s baby from Nosa. While chasing after Nosa, he begins to shoot at the policemen, and in a gun duel between the two parties, Nosa is shot dead. The police are able to convey Zona to the hospital for urgent medical attention.

During Yuwa’s absence, Robosa has had the opportunity to undergo medical examinations and has realized that he is responsible for his and Yuwa’s childlessness. Yet, his mother, Iro, continues to heap all the blame for her son’s childless marriage on the wife, Yuwa.

Essentially, as Zona is revived and is reunited with her baby, who was recovered from Nosa, in a very emotionally fraught scenario, she hands over the baby to her aunt, Yuwa, and her husband ‘to have and to keep’ (74). The irony here is that Zona has a baby that she does not need, while her aunt, who desperately needs one, has none. Zona’s parents are reunited with Zona, and Yuwa’s husband and mother-in-law reunite with Yuwa, and all ends well.

It is interesting that Irene Agunloye recreates the themes of childlessness and procreation, while also introducing the contemporary menace of child trafficking, teenage pregnancies, illegitimate deals, etc. that have been plaguing the Nigerian socio-cultural space. The story of Disposable Womb is a prototype of the story of Nigeria. Nosa is a notoriously randy guy who deliberately gets young girls pregnant to initiate them into the baby factory to bear the babies to be sold off for high sums. He and his cohorts that get the girls pregnant, then abduct and keep them in seclusion and under strict control, are emblematic of the two major categories of youths in Nigeria: first, those who acquire a reasonable education but cannot find any employment and consequently turn to criminality as an act of revolt against the Nigerian system; second, those that are compelled into the business as a survival strategy and a modus vivendi.

Prominently, this play expounds on the motif of parallel plots as the stories of Zona and Yuwa run together. One of them records a major loss that leads up to the enormous gain of the other: because of Zona’s untimely pregnancy, she loses the treasured opportunity of going abroad to study medicine. After the police rescue her from her abductors, and she regains consciousness in the hospital, she hands over her baby to Aunty Yuwa. This is significant because, though she has the possibility of continuing her studies, her aunt Yuwa does not have the prospect of getting pregnant when she is reconciled with Robosa, her husband. The concept of parallel plots as handled by Ogunloye in Disposable Womb is creatively applied to show the travails of the two female characters, Zona and Yuwa, whose misfortunes are intertwined until the dénouement where their issues are carefully resolved.

Ogunloye meticulously deploys Pidgin English and slang expressions, which provide local colour to the play. The expressions used are consistent with the characters in the play. Odeh, Idah’s family driver as well as Ivie, the widow in the play who owns the baby factory, speak Pidgin English, implying that while the former has had a limited education, the latter is a guileful woman who can do anything to get rich, and stay rich.

The 28 constituent sections of the play are described as Movements, and none depends on or is a sequel to the other. The Movements relate different aspects of the actions from Idah’s house, to Robosa’s house, to Dr Tosa’s clinic, to Nosa’s house, to Ivie’s house, to the forest and the baby factory, to the hospital, and others. Importantly, Movement 1 comprises a detailed scene description of the theme of childlessness, or the elusive desire for and pursuit of procreation, thereby introducing the reader to the major concern of the play. It describes a scene in the forest where a newborn baby is wrapped in an old, threadbare covering; the baby is crying, and a man, a woman, and a nineteen-year-old girl from different ends of the forest emerge with outstretched hands to snatch the baby, all in vain. This Movement offers a graphic portrayal of the thrust of the actions in the play: the desire to pursue an elusive item, but none of the pursuers succeeds because of a specific personal flaw: Zona cannot leave for her studies abroad because of the unwanted pregnancy, and then her abduction; Robosa cannot get his wife, Yuwa, pregnant because of his infertility; and Yuwa cannot get pregnant because Robosa, her husband is infertile. The playwright resolves these complexities through Zona’s gift of her baby to Yuwa and her husband. This is a unique method of resolving the convolution in the play.

The play has a Glossary in which the playwright lists all the Pidgin English and slang expressions, onomatopoeic expressions, mother-tongue expressions, etc., and scrupulously explains their meanings and contexts of usage. She interprets waka waka as a ‘perambulator’; ode as ‘fool’; abi as ‘is that not so?’; iye as ‘mother’, and ya tota! as ‘go and sit down!’, etc.

Finally, Disposable Womb is an essential read because of the currency of its themes and the style used by the playwright. In a subtle way, this play indicts the African culture that regards childlessness as a sin and an offence by the woman. The reversal in the play is typified by the fact that Robosa takes full blame for the childlessness of his marriage to Yuwa. It is important to note the symbolism in the title Disposable Womb. The content, being the baby, of the womb of each of the young pregnant girls is usually disposed of, and the young mother misses the benefits that should accrue to her from the discomfort of pregnancy, the truncation of her education, as in Zona’s case, as well as the pains of pregnancy and childbirth, etc. That the babies the girls deliver are taken by Nosa and his associates for sale, demonstrates the girls’ losses and the futility of all their efforts. Herein lies the signification of disposable womb.

The poems in this section of Diana-Abasi’s Becoming Undone reflect intense pains – physical, psychological, emotional, and spiritual. The imagery of ‘staccato’ coheres with gunshots, which truncate education and interrupt learning, and cause children to be orphaned, and hundreds of school girls to be kidnapped; others are raped, and unwanted pregnancies become a plague among the people, babies are born with Boko Haram gene. For the lead poem to be titled ‘The Staccato was no Gunshot’, Diana-Abasi makes a subtle distinction between the gunshots of fireworks, which are for aesthetics, creativity and entertainment, on one side, and those that are for destruction, on the other side. This dissimilarity sets the tone for the appreciation of the poems in this collection.

The poems also refer to the #End SARS movement, which was a decentralized concept that arose in 2020 when Nigerian youths protested the indiscriminate shootings/killings, assaults and harassments by personnel of SARS (Special Anti-Robbery Squad), a detachment of the Nigeria Police. The protests sought an end to police brutality and extrajudicial killings that were (and still are) prevalent in Nigeria. The gunshot motif is perceived in the poems from the activities of members of atrocious Boko Haram, the personnel of Nigeria Police, as well as the pain, trauma, and hopelessness that are outcomes of the staccato. These are encapsulated in the poems, typified by the one titled, ‘Pain Fingers my Inside’. The personification aptly captures the reality where pain has assumed control of the persona’s viscera, and that spells doom. That is actually what Nigeria represents.

The second section, titled A Necessary Word, comprises 12 poems that portray hope. It is interesting to note the shift of focus from the trauma that the poems in the first section of the collection generated to the spirit of expectancy and optimism. Significantly, many of the poems in this section treat the female question. The lead poem, ‘Calabash’ is a symbol of African/Nigerian womanhood. It has undertones of female violation, sexual assault, and destructive female stereotypes. Within the context of hopefulness, the poet refers to credible and identifiable female legends as a way of motivating contemporary girls/women to aspire to make positive impact on their societies. They female legends include Moremi, Amina of Zazau, Margaret Ekpo, Funmilayo Ransom Kuti and Dora Akunyili. She also urges contemporary female Nigerians to strive to be self-sustaining, and surmount the limitations of traditions and patriarchy. The poems also address the theme of procreation, and highlight the central relevance of childbearing in African cosmology. The poem ‘That Bottle of Water’ is about a mother’s interactions with her newly married daughter. It reveals the values that the mother wishes to inculcate in the daughter as the latter goes into marriage. The place of women in the family and society is given prominence in this section, and Diana-Abasi demonstrates her perception of the contemporary African/Nigerian women, their roles, the societal expectations, the common female stereotypes and how the women can get to transcend them, etc.

The third section, titled Love Amidst the Staccato comprises 25 poems, which treat natural circumstances vis-à-vis Nigerian peculiarities. The issues addressed in the poems deploy symbols to make the point about the uncertainties in life, the failure of Nigerian infrastructure, the culture of wastage, the value and disvalue of human life, the essence of contentment, sincere love and affection, reunion, companionship, the evil of betrayal, the inevitability of the natural cycle of sleep-and-wake, as well as the unreliability of human nature. Other concerns that the poems address are fraud and poor leadership in Nigeria.

Specifically, in ‘Answers that will not be Swallowed’, the poet reflects with scorn on the 2018 scandalous incident of a sales clerk in the office of the tertiary institutions’ admission agency in Nigeria, the Joint Admissions and Matriculation Board (JAMB), Benue State, who told auditors that a snake swallowed up 36 million naira (₦36,000,000) that was missing from the agency’s coffers! In ‘Ephemeral star’, the speaker derides the agency that provides public power in Nigeria called the Power Holding Company of Nigeria (PHCN). Comparing PHCN with a star that is described as ephemeral, the speaker notes that even the star with its ephemeral nature, is far more reliable than PHCN. This is a clear pointer to the ineptitude of the service providers, the insensitivity of the government, as well as the disappointment and hopelessness of the people.

The last section of the collection, titled In Memoriam, is composed of nine poems. As the title indicates, the poems are in honour of deceased persons who must have been of significance to the poet. She celebrates the lives of persons who were special to her. There are two poems in honour of Pius Adesanmi, viz., ‘When an Iroko falls’, (which she describes as ‘…in lieu of a wreath’ for him), and ‘You lived’. ‘Metaphor woman’ aims to celebrate Nike Adesuyi-Ojeikere; ‘Our conversation has been silenced’ immortalizes Austyn Njoku; and there are a few anonymous ones, including ‘Upon encountering a mob’, which captures the murder that results from a mob attack, a scenario of lynching that takes place because of misplaced identification, with no verification of the subject that is accused. Essentially, for the renowned personalities that the poet highlights – Pius Adesanmi, Austyn Njoku, and Nike Adesuyi-Ojeikere – it may be relevant to briefly introduce them. Adesanmi was a cerebral Nigerian-Canadian scholar, who died on 10 March2019, aboard an Ethiopian Airlines flight 302 that crashed after take-off from Addis Ababa heading to Nairobi. Adesuyi-Ojeikere was a Nigerian poet. She died in 2016. And Austyn Njoku (Augustine Njoku Obi) was a Nigerian Professor of Virology and former President of the Nigerian Academy of Science. Born in 1930, Professor Njoku was renowned for developing a cholera vaccine that was endorsed in 1971 by the World Health Organization as efficacious. He died in 2003.

In spite of all the above, it is pertinent to highlight some improprieties in the book. The initial pages – from the Dedication through Acknowledgements to Contents – should bear Roman numerals rather than having no pagination. There should also be a glossary to explain non-English words and terminologies. Generally, non-English words and terminologies, like ‘Nwa m nọ Amerịka’ should be in italics. There are several concepts that are typically Nigerian in the poems, and require some background information for non-Nigerians to fully comprehend the import of the message in each of the poems. Those include the reference to #EndSARS, Odi emergency, 36 million, Boko Haram, the snake’s loot, etc. in ‘Answers that will not be swallowed’ on page 10; Chibok (girls and kidnapping) in ‘Full frontal’ on page 27, and ‘SM withdrawal’ on page 72; the stigmas on Yoruba and Igbo people of Nigeria in ‘Love wears many faces’ on pages 30 and 31; ‘Beef boycott’ on page 36; Oloibiri and Ogoni on page 47 in ‘We did not inherit her’; PHCN in ‘Ephemeral star’ on page 80; local spices – adusa, uyayak, ntung and the local fish Inagha (should all be in italics) in ‘In the absence of Inagha’ on page 110; Pius Adesanmi in ‘When an Iroko falls’ on page 115; as well as ojuju in ‘Farewell’ on page 118.

In conclusion, in spite of the deep sense of loss in the poems in In Memoriam, and the annihilation and ruination that are constituting motifs in The Staccato Verses, A Necessary Word, and Love Amidst the Staccato, Iquo DianaAbasi’s Coming Undone expounds values of intrinsic hope. The poet portrays hope as an integral aspect of the negative and largely irremediable experiences of the Nigerian masses, who have been reduced to pauperization especially due to sequential defective leadership, and a proliferation of reprobate and unscrupulous politicians. There is a dominance of familiarity of context and setting in the poems, and these make contributions to meaning, and subsequently, on nation-building. Recognizing the multiplicity of ethnic groups, languages, religious inclinations, etc. in Nigeria, DianaAbasi expresses the exegesis of the didactic significance of the issues in the poems, and their implications for national unity, reconciliation, and social cohesion. In the contextual delineation of landscape, concepts and personalities, the poet is audacious to deploy real names of persons and locations, as she makes references to actual events as they occurred in different locations and times in Nigeria.

In many of the poems, the poet subtly laments the ironic reality of Nigeria that is enormously blessed by Providence with natural resources, but which have not been harnessed for the benefit of the masses. She indicates that this is why the bane of Nigeria’s economic recession, inflation, insecurity, and weak and deficient infrastructure is successive warped government. Here in lies the essence of the title of the collection, Coming Undone as Stitches Tighten.