Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Universit de Montral
taiwo.adetunji.osinubi@umontreal.ca
ABSTRACT
This paper examines the representation of slavery in the fiction of Chinua
Achebe. The author suggests that the complex representation of slavery in
Achebes first three novels offers an insight in how writers of Achebes generation wrote within a period of ideological crisis and multiple competing
orders of social reality; they needed to resist European cultural imperialisms and colonial conquest at the same time that they had to evaluate the
imperialisms, injustices, and, more generally, the shortcomings of African political institutions. The author suggests in this paper that Achebe
responds to these situations of competing pluralizing forces by embedding
African articulations of slavery within rival moral frameworks in his first
three novels: Things Fall Apart, No Longer at Ease, and Arrow of God. Achebe
places slavery in an ongoing process in which the onslaught of colonialism
uncovers and also radically transforms the moral and legal dispensations
in which African slavery was worlded. These novels are thus narratives of
loss and alienation; the afterlives of slavery become an intimate but deeply
perturbing part of postcolonial heritage.
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antislavery and abolitionism could not foresee the future the imperial powers
had for the continent. The future the British planned and the future the returnees
foresaw are best imagined as adversative anticipations of possible worlds. Thus,
the figure of the (formerly enslaved) African returnee, roaming the pages of West
African fiction on slavery, arguably serves as a janus-faced figure. It is a proleptic
figure embodying adversarial anticipated worlds while also domesticating the
violence of colonialism and representing it as the enchantment of modernity. The
question is: How does slavery travel from one theatre of modernity, the circumatlantic world, where it is conjoined to capitalism but anterior to formal (and informal) colonialism, to late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Africa, where
colonialism needed to suppress slavery as it paved the way for a new phase of
capitalist expansion? As prisms through which to focalize narratives about various African and African-derived populations, the coupling of slavery, colonialism,
and modernity functions as a counterfactual connective agent. Slavery is not quite
colonialism, and colonization is not quite slavery. Indeed, since the abolition of
slavery functioned as a moral capital for later colonial incursions into the continent, the abolition and memorializations of slavery are irredeemably conjugated
with the violence of the colonizing moment. As articulations of slaveryi.e., its
injuries and legaciesare taken from one moral order and resettled in another,
those articulations become surface phenomena that can be pressed into the service
of different representational projects. Hence, returning recaptive slavesor even
blacks from the diasporaare regarded as embodiments of the enchantment of
capital on the continent.
Achebe responds to the fraught conundrum of representing slavery with a
paradoxical mode of narration that interrogates how one form of violence suppresses another but both are legitimated and comprehensible within distinct moral
orders. Precisely because slavery in Africa was a clutch of institutionalized practices within distinct moral orders, any narration centered within the same moral
order can only portray those manifestations as unjust when that same order has
been fractured and an alternative space of inspection becomes available. Achebe
situates and juxtaposes moral orders that authorize the events under inquiry.
While the compromised facts of events can be reconstructed to a certain degree,
their painful meanings are refracted through alternativeoften conquering
moral orders. It is the resulting de-teleologization of moral orders that makes it
possible to perceive enslavement, slavery, and subsequent colonial subordination,
but impossible to construct any teleological moral position. Achebe achieves such
a gesture by placing his first novel at the pivotal point between a coherent African
moral order and an impending European order. In Things Fall Apart, in particular,
slavery recedes into the background because the narrative is vested in a moral
world that not only legitimizes slavery, but also rests upon it as constituent part
of a civil order portrayed through the narratives preoccupation with justice, the
law, and the upkeep of a moral worldview. My agenda, in this paper, is to highlight
how Achebe plots the changing meanings of slavery through reflexive narration
that replicates the power constituting force of slavery in Things Fall Apart, Arrow of
God, and No Longer Ease.4 The transformations in the evocations of slavery across
the novels underline the obligation to jettison one single definition of slavery as we
grapple with the ways in which slavery is remembered across different communities. Taken together, the invocations of slavery in Things Fall Apart, Arrow of God,
and No Longer at Ease point to the search for an irretrievable moral center in which
to enunciate the operations of slavery in one specific historical setting. But since
that moral order is irrevocably altered, Achebe places slavery in an ongoing process in which the onslaught of colonialism uncovers and also radically transforms
the moral and legal dispensations in which African slavery was worlded.
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the sense of how things should be, how they should go, as well as a shared ability
to recognize infractions against common practice. These understandings could
be anchored in some notion of a moral or metaphysical order and they become
the largely unstructured and inarticulate understanding of our whole situation,
within which particular features of our world show up for us in the sense they
have. It can never be adequately expressed in the form of explicit doctrines because
of its unlimited and indefinite nature (2425). Most important is the material
effect of these understandings:
[Social] imaginaries ... have a constitutive function, that of making possible
the practices that they make sense of and thus enable. In this sense, their falsity
cannot be total; some people are engaging in a form of democratic self-rule, even
if not everyone, as our comfortable self-legitimations imagine. Like all forms of
human imagination, the social imaginary can be full of self-serving fiction and
suppression, but it is an essential constituent of the real. It cannot be reduced
to an insubstantial dream. (Taylor 183)
a persons services but [also] his entire person (Miers and Kopytoff 7). Suzanne
Miers and Igor Kopytoff use the term transactions as applied to formal transfers of rights-in-persons to capture a range of relations that include kinship and
marriage. Although these transfers are quite complex and different, they all rest
upon the transfer of rights towards or over a person and his or her descendants
from one group to another within a slavery-to kinship-continuum. While variants
of such concepts appear in most societies, its extraordinary levels of refinement
in Africa suggest that categories as property or salability may not be useful
in entirely extricating slavery from kinship in African societies, in which
rights in wives, children, and kin-group members are usually acquired through
transactions involving material transfers and in which kin groups own and may
dispose of their blood members in ways that Westerners concern appropriate to
property (Miers and Kopytoff 11). Indeed, these rights and transactions are so
intricately embedded within the traditional organization of societies that they
comprehend phenomena for which many societies would not use slavery (12).
Addressing slavery as practiced in Igboland up to the nineteenth century, Victor
Uchendu identifies similar conventions under the rubric of the commodity rights
purchased in a person. He defines slavery as a continuum of status disabilities
that varied with the number of commodity rights purchased in a person (123).
The crucial issue then is that slavery in African literatures cannot be fully apprehended by paying attention to representations of slaves alone. Slavery, as Miers
and Kopytoff stress, must be examined in the contexts of African institutions and
practices and not simply in opposition to freedom. Slavery covers a variety of
dimensions of social mobility that may occur in an individuals lifetime or across
generations of his or her descendants. Slaves may occupy positions of the harshest liminality, be intimate members of a kin-group, or even hold high office and
exercise great influence. To represent slavery, in other words, is to situate it as it is
experienced within its meaning sustaining world with all the nuances that attend
to the legal precisions related to the social thickness of slave life. That thickness
appears even in the eloquent silence on slavery in Achebes fiction.
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Thus, while the relationship between the Abam and Abame is not explicit in Things
Fall Apart, that inconclusive nature could be read as part of Achebes use of ironic
allusionsthe historical function of the Abam warriors is revisited explicitly in
Arrow of God (15; 133; 160; 203). The historical antecedent for the Abame narrative
was probably the murder of D. F. Stewart and the punitive Bende-Onitsha Expedition (Wren 15). The punitive expedition is part of a British colonial tradition of
collective punishment against the Aro who were involved in slave trading. Historians have, of course, pointed out that these punitive expeditions were much
more about colonial conquest: abolition also functioned as legitimation of colonial
conquest. The people of Umuofia, however, do not register the Abam as slave
raiders but as refugees fleeing the destruction of their homeland. The historical
past is resettled within a different ethical framework.
This narrative of Abame underlines the crucial linkage between slavery and
sovereignty in Achebes fiction. By dispossessing the Abam of their right to selfdetermination, colonial terror transposes the previous meanings of the Abam.
Insofar as Abame circulates in Achebes fictional world as a form of originary
encounter with the terror of European modernity, the effacement of its historical connection to slavery creates a form of counterfactual interface, in which the
meanings of slavery are always doubled, between a changing African world and
the impending colonial modernity in Achebes fiction. In Things Fall Apart, the
silence on Abames possible connection with slavery demonstrates ironically the
way colonial violence upstages the violence of slave raids. Because the people of
Abame arrive in Umuofia as refugees and become objects of empathy, their past
deeds recede into a suppressed moral order. In fact, the empathy of Umuofia for
the Abam underscores the fact that Umuofia, itself, is in all likelihood, a slave raiding terror to other communities. In No Longer at Ease, Achebe revisits the silence
on slavery in Umuofia through a series of explicit analogies between the warlike
natures of Abame and Umuofia (No Longer 8; 186). Indeed, the similarities between
warlike peoples of Umuofia and Abame emerge specifically in the latter novel:
The people of Umuofia are very proud of its past when it was the terror of their
neighbors, before the white men came and leveled everybody down (No Longer
5). But the narrative of Things Fall Apart already reveals the deep kinship relations
between Abame and Umuofia:
Abame has been wiped out, said Obierika. It is a strange and terrible story. If I
had not seen the few survivors with my own eyes and heard their story with my
own ears, I would not have believed. ... Most of them were sons of our land whose
mothers had been buried with us. But there were some too who came because they had
friends in our town, and others who could think of nowhere else open to escape.
And so they fled into Umuofia with a woeful story.
...
But I am greatly afraid. We have heard stories about white men who made
the powerful guns and the strong drinks and took slaves away across the seas,
but no one thought the stories were true.
There is no story that is not true, said Uchendu. The world has no end,
and what is good among one people is an abomination with others. We have
albinos among us. Do you not think that they came to our clan by mistake, that
they have strayed from their way to a land where everybody is like them?
(13841; emphasis added)
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And so [Mr. Brown] built a school and a little hospital in Umuofia. He went from
family to family begging people to send their children to his school. But at first
they only sent their slaves or sometimes their lazy children. (181; emphasis added)
All evocations demonstrate the interdigitation of slavery and kinship. The first
two passages delineate Ikemefunas indeterminate status in relation to Okonkwo
and the community. Whereas Okonkwo allows him to behave like a son, once
Okonkwo is in company of other eldersin the second passageit becomes
unclear who considers Ikemefuna a son or a slave when they emerge into public
life. The third passage again reveals another association between children and
slaves in the villages value regulating system. Here the emphasis on lazy suggests the value of progeny lies in their contribution to the family fortunes. Thus,
sending lazy children and slaves to the white mans school underscores their
interchangeability.
Of course, the enslaved do not experience their expendability or the contingency attending their lives with the communitys emotional distance. The narrator
describes Ikemefunas experience of deracination and introduction into a state of
suspension in detail. The description of Ikemefunas feelings is nothing less than
the life world of an enslaved child inhabiting an undefined statusOkonkwo
replicates similar feelings in exile, but he never quite grasps Ikemefunas sentiments. The way Achebe plots Ikemefunas inability to comprehend the events
leading to his uprooting and his painful acclimatization in Okonkwos household
is contrasted to the indifference of the larger community that seemed to forget all
about him as soon as they had taken the decision (28). Ikemefuna oscillates in an
embryonic status between kinship and cult slave. As John Oriji explains, as one of
the oldest forms of slavery in Igboland, cult slavery is very much imbricated with
religious and political power. The meanings of slavery thus emerge in what Oriji
calls the sacerdotal realm of political and religious power (122). While this combination of religious and political power is most pertinent to the fate of Ikemefuna,
it is also pertinent to the larger fate of Umuofia in terms of the desacralization of
its world through the destruction of its political sanctity.
The fate of Ikemefuna can be understood as one instance of transfer of the
rights-in-person as compensation for the homicide committed by a man from
Mbaino. Such practices, as Miers and Kopytoff point out, were part of legal dispensation in some African communities (13). Following the transfer of rights-inperson, the transferred will remain in a status of marginality until the acquiring
group determines what is to be done with him. That person may be handed over
to a caregiver until such a time. Thus, the acquired becomes a kind of non-person
in legal status. As James Vaughn explains with specific reference to the Margi,
societies had detailed processes of incorporating their slaves into the desired form
of integration. Vaughn describes this finely balanced contradictory mechanism
of marginality and integration the limbic institution (100). This institution of
formalized marginality helped maintain social boundaries that may otherwise
be lost. The vacillating relationship between Okonkwo and Ikemefuna outlines
the distinctions between the latters marginality-in-kinship and marginalityto-society. Although an acquired person will first be marginal within his host
kin group as well as his host society, the marginality-in-kinship may change as
the acquired is absorbed into a kin-group. His change in kinship marginality
may, however, not necessarily affect the marginality-to-society since this latter
marginality served to consolidate and preserve a generalized social identity of
slave. Miers and Kopytoff explain the movement of an acquired person moved
through the limbic institution as a process of slave social mobility that included
the dimensions of formal [legal] status, informal affect, and the dimension of
worldly achievement and success. The differences in these forms of slave mobility are crucial in Things Fall Apart: The status mobility of an acquired person
delineates the process of informal incorporation into the receiving group. Such
a person could, for example, become someones slave and come into a specific formalized relationship with corresponding rights and privileges. This formalized
relationship may change over time for the individual or his descendants with the
recognition of additional rights and privilegessuch as the prohibition of resale.
In intergenerational terms, the individuals descendants could be recognized as
free and become fully-fledged members of the acquisitor clan. But the actual formal status of an acquired may not necessarily encapsulate his everyday situation.
Hence, the categories of affective mobility, affective marginality, affective
incorporation and wordly success mobility become necessary implements to
assess the slaves lived life in opposition to his legal standing:
[A slaves] affective mobility leads to a reduction in his affective marginality and to
his greater affective incorporation. This change is in the sphere of emotion and
sentiment rather than formal and legal codes. It has to do with the esteem and
affection in which he is held and the way he is treated. An acquired outsider, for
example, may be warmly accepted by his acquisitor lineage and come to be held
in high regard, yet his formal rights may remain entirely unchanged. He may,
for example, still be legally liable to be resold [or even killed like Ikemefuna],
even though his masters would never consider doing it. ... His worldly success
mobility means changes toward a better style of life, more political influence,
and even more control over greater wealth, all which reduce the marginality of
his everyday existence and indicate success in the business of things. Needless
to say, this may occur with or without any change in either his formal status or
his affective incorporation. (1920)
In such a situation of great variance over the meanings and everyday manifestations of slavery, writers could either pen ethnographic fiction that would explain
all contextual differences or suppress ethnographic contextualization, as is the
case in Things Fall Apart.
Whereas the enslavement of Ikemefuna eludes Okonkwo, he comes close
to grasping the loss of sovereignty as a form of enslavement through the repeated
propinquity of slavery and Abame. The function of this proximity has its most
striking effect on Okonkwo during his exile:
Kotma of the ash buttocks,
He is fit to be a slave.
The white man has no sense,
He is fit to be a slave. (175)
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This is in effect the second mention of Abame in proximity to slavery in the novel.
The first allusion occurs in the episode in which Obierika discusses the destruction
of Abame (13741). The manner in which this reference to slavery occurs in the
context of what is essentially a cautionary tale highlights the function of cautionary tales in Achebes fiction: they are for all intents and purposes reflexive narratives that test or attest to a characters level of consciousness or lack thereof. Events
similar to those in Abame overcome Umuofia, but Umuofians heed the lesson
and refrain from attacking the white man. The dialogue about slaves in the New
World and the contingent nature of abominations circumscribes the instability of
the locus of power and, as a consequence, the shifting patterns of signification on
slavery. But the way this reference to transatlantic slavery is coupled to Obierikas
great fear evokes correlations with Ikemefunas own fear immediately after being
introduced into Okonkwos household (28). Indirectly, then, the narrative raises
a subterranean exploration of the elusive conjugations between slavery, colonialism, and sovereignty. Obierikas fear foreshadows the manners in which the
community will go through a symbolic process of conversion similar to Ikemefunas.
The coupling of slavery and sovereignty in Things Fall Apart is, thus, part
of a carefully wrought plan. Umuofia, as Gikandi suggests, has a clear pattern
of zones of inclusion and exclusion that is suddenly subverted by colonization
(4849). Consequently, as much as the first five references to slavery touch upon the
changing nature of political power and self-ownership, the last reference rightly
concerns the emergence of new identities for cult slaves in the fold of Christianity.
The conversation between Mr. Kiaga and new converts of Umuofia is not simply a
tussle over the meanings of osu but a demonstration of the violence of translation:
These outcasts, or osu, seeing that the new religion welcomed twins and
such abominations thought that it was possible that they would also be received.
And so one Sunday two of them went into the church. ... The whole church
raised a protest and was about to drive these people out, when Mr. Kiaga
stopped them and began to explain.
In the free indirect discourse that follows the last sentence, an authorial voice
explains the meanings of osu as living practice in a whole paragraph. Mr. Kiaga
reduces all those nuances into the word slave. Whereas the osu and the domestic
slaves gradually find new identities that allow new spaces of affirmation, the
complex issue of lost narratives in the Ikemefuna episode, focalized through
Ikemefunas own lack of an interpretative paradigm for events that befall him as
well as the unrecorded narrative of the girl that accompanied him, underscores
Achebes attention to the consequences of setting a stable normative center through
which to focalize an African historical experience of which slavery is part. More
important, the operations of the osu system as part of a legal dispensation are
seemingly confined to a so-called traditional world while the deities to which the
osu are dedicated are without their legal underpinning in the modern world. The
paragraph of free indirect discourse explaining the worlding of the osu functions
as a counterpoint to the district commissioners paragraph on Okonkwo. While
the former expands a word into a paragraph, the other compresses a life into a
paragraph. The inverse proportion of amplification versus simplification hints at
the thresholds at which African conceptions become modified as they enter the
colonial dispensation.
VOLUME 40 NUMBER 4
the spectral afterlives of slavery and colonial modernity in Africa, I read it as the
threshold and sign of the interpenetrations of the bifurcated systems and their
respective uptakes of African dispensations displaced into spaces of alterity. Certain aspects of social life do not move easily across the threshold and it is at such
moments of gridlock that the traditional demonstrates its effective hold through
the sudden appearance of its individual uptakes. Especially since the extreme
physical violations that index the rights-in-person just about disappears, slavery
operates as a vestigial remain that Anthony Appiah has described as a stigma
marking the hidden afterlives of African slaveries (254). Achebe demonstrates
artfully the operative force of this vestigial remains by creating parallelAfrican
and colonialremains in Arrow of God and especially in No Longer at Ease. In a
sense, the logic of sacrifice that inheres in Things Fall Apart runs through the latter
novels; however, its sacral and undisputed nature in the former is already being
corrupted in Arrow of God and in No Longer at Ease, it simply operates as unnamable
force that nevertheless possesses effective materiality.
Olakunle George extends Mamdanis notion of a bifurcated Africa to reveal
the pattern of never-ending translation in Arrow of God. He suggests key scenes
dramatize the complexities of conversion and translation, both understood as
motions of historical becoming (349). The conversation on slavery in the two
novels subsists in this larger process of what George calls conversion. Of course,
as demonstrated powerfully in the conversation on the osu between Mr. Kiaga
and his converts, translation is never complete or successful but generates the
surface meaning or the truth events needed by competing communities while
relocating other competing meanings into the sphere. What George calls tensions
and epiphanies are thus markers of the thresholds of uptake. As he points out,
the bifurcation of the African nation-state into dual epistemic orders creates an
educated elite and teeming millions incorporated into state structures through
tribal identity. This bifurcation is also fluid since the elite also participate within
the traditional or switch codes in the continuum between the traditional and the
modernlearning English, French, or Portuguese does not mean Africans forget
African languages or the various creoles that structure living linguistic practice.
Rather, this bifurcation hardens and dissolves according to the lawor the constituting powersof the object in translation. In fact, the ascendancy of one over
the other, tradition over the modern, creates the epiphanies in question.
This concept of a tussle over thresholds of impossible translation appears
in Arrow of Godand even more so in No Longer at Easeas the juxtapositions of
slavery and the logic of sacrifice. At the end of Things Fall Apart, the African world
has lost jurisprudence over political power, leaving only the religious power of
the sacerdotal realm. Arrow of God charts the erosion of that religious power and
No Longer at Ease charts how the sacerdotal operates within the remains of kinship
rules. Hence, in Arrow of God, the recurrent intimations of slavery appear in relation to the transformationsor translationsof sacrifice, the necessary legitimization of such transformations, as well as its explicit reference to the private sphere
of kinship as the realm that confers the powers of transformation. This reflexive
iteration of sacrifice gains its constituting (and indeed constitutional) power in the
narrative from what can be described as the originary human sacrifice at the
formation of the community in a now mythical past:
Slavery thus gains its salience through its unspoken association with subservience
and its opposition to sovereignty. The villagers essentially found a new community grounded in a fear of enslavement by the Abam. Ulu, then, becomes a form
of ikengathe life-constituting force of the community and its link to ancestors
that protects against the Abam. Readers may remember that the great medicine
created by Umuaro consisted, in part, of a human being from the community. As
Ezeulu explains, times of emergence may need urgent measures such as human
sacrifice (133). While it may be absent as a force in public life, slavery operates as
the occulted counterpoint to sovereignty and self-ownership. In other words, the
opposition to slavery operates as the foundational logic of the communitys political system. The infractions against a persons ownership of the self are thus not
simply rare, but their appearances also crystallize the unspoken law of Umuaro.
It is against this fundamental narrative of community creation that all references
to slavery and sovereignty gain meaning.
A number of distinctive features about the references to slavery bear mention. Unlike in Things Fall Apart, where slaves are members of the community,
slavery appears as a relic in Arrow of God or is simply silenced. Hence, it appears
in proverbs and warnings that refer to the terror of an ancient time anterior to
the constitution of the community (15; 26; 27; 108; 160). The single reference to the
practice of enslavement in Umuaro refers to the abolishment of the institution by
the father of the present Chief Priest (133). The constant reiteration of the absence
of slaves also emerges in a reference to its manifestation in the public. The two
passages reveal the differences between slavery in Umuofia and in Umuaro. The
first passage from Arrow of God revisits a similar passage in Things Fall Apart:
The meeting [of elders and ndichie] began as fowls went to roost and continued
into the night. Had it been a day meeting children who had brought their fathers
stools would have been playing on the outskirts of the market place, waiting
for the end of the meeting to carry the stools home again. But no father took his
child to a night meeting. Those who lived near the market place carried their
stools themselves; the others carried goatskins rolled up under the arm. (Arrow
14142; emphasis added)
In view of the repeated association between stools, slaves and children in Things
Fall Apart (46), the elaborate attention to the children and stools at the political
meeting in Umuaro hints at the possible presence of slaves in that community. But
VOLUME 40 NUMBER 4
if slavery does not operate visibly in Umuaro, the foundational logic that is constituted through the human sacrifice against slavery surfaces repeatedly as a series
of allusions to the connections between the contingency of self-ownership and the
contingency of sovereignty. Hence, the numerous references to slavery emerge in
contexts in which the power or limits of self-ownership need to be determined.
Invariably, such contexts are intrinsically linked to sacrifice which functions as
the ultimate means of assuring self-ownership or life (15758).
In his reading of Arrow of God, Mark Mathuray details elaborately the worldconstituting function of the repetitions of sacrifice in Achebes reflexive novel.
Turning to Emile Benvenistes use of the ambiguous character of homo sacer as
both polluted and divine, he reveals that the figureembodied in the person
of Ezeuluis essential to what Gikandi describes in the context of Umuofia as
the zones of exclusion and inclusion crucial to social order. In Arrow of God, the
polarities of exclusion and inclusion are invested in the sacred person of Ezeulu
who functions as mythical hero and sacrificial victim. The sacred is thus not only
intimately connected to divine power for citizens of Umuaro, but it is also the
symbol of sovereignty. Read thus, the political tussle between Nwaka and Ezeulu
symbolize contrapuntal mappings of the impending reconstitution of the sacerdotal realm. Both the European administration and Umuaro are asserting forms of
rights-in-person over Ezeulu. This point emerges, for example, in the opposition
between Ezeulus reference to his possible death as human sacrifice at the burial
of Winterbottom and the command by the leaders of Umuaro that he eat death
(167; 208). Nwaka, the priest of Idemili, sums up the issue as a constitutional battle
to ensure the separation of political and religious power:
We have no quarrel with Ulu. He is still our protector, even though we no longer
fear Abam warriors at night. But I will not see with these eyes of mine his priest
making himself lord over us. My father told me many things, but he did not tell
me that Ezeulu was king in Umuaro. (Arrow 27)
Nwaka in essence explains the necessity for change; the demise of the threat of
slave-raiders augurs a new world in which Ulu is of less use. Ezeulu apprehends
the possibility that Ulu might be abandoned much clearer in his dream (160). Since
this essentially takes place at the end of the narrative, the new world augured by
the decline of Ezeulu and the relegation of Ulu is the conversion to the sacrifice
of Christ (230). Yet the conversion to Christian sacrifice doubles as a veiled interface between Umuaro and the European world. On one hand, it hints at the new
disjuncture between the colonial law and the sacred that promises a disenchantment of modernity. On the other hand, that impending modernity appears in
counterpoint to earlier forms of contact between Europe and Africa through the
self-styling of Africans converted into new beings in the novel: Moses Unachukwu and John Nwokida (47; 16970). If Moses plots his encounter with Europeans
in Onitsha as a sojourn in Egypt, what is evoked is the context of Jewish enslavement in and deliverance from Egypt. Beyond the blatant biblical allusion in Johns
name, his narrative testifies to the benefits of European commerce. Submerged
between these two narratives of trade, Christianity, and deliverance from slavery
is the suppressed history embodied by the conspicuously silent West Indian missionary, Blackett, who impresses Oduchethe son Ezeulu sacrifices to the white
manbecause it was said that this black man had more knowledge than white
men (46). Ultimately, then, the originary flight from slave-raids and Umuaros
human sacrifice to ward off enslavement finds their counterpoint in the missing
narrative of the West Indian missionary. The horror that occurs between the African flight from slave raids and the diasporic return from Atlantic slavery appears
as the enchantment that refuses complete domestication. Achebes portrayal of the
counterfactualas supposed to simply contrapuntalrelations to slavery do not
simply mark the heteronomous nature of memories of slavery. It also indicates the
different temporalities and discrete uptakes of slavery across the diaspora.
VOLUME 40 NUMBER 4
beyond the abolition of slavery. Thus, the significance of the juxtaposition of the
narratives of the bribe and the osu is that the former finds an uptakein the sense
of the law capturing and transforming Obis lifewhile the other disappears in
the narrative, although the life of an unborn child is destroyed. In other words,
the law of the colonial state codifies and operates upon a moral order distinct from
the vestigial moral order in which tradition operates.
The particular relationship of the abortion as a death in a reflexive chain of
iterations emerges in the way the trial in all but name within the family inflects a crucial
scene between Okonkwos son and grandson, Obi and Nwoye, with sacrifice:
When they brought me word that he had hanged himself I told them that those
who live by the sword must perish by the sword. ... Mr. Braddeley thought I
spoke the white mans messenger whom my father had killed. He did not know
I spoke about Ikemefuna, with whom I grew up in my mothers hut until the
day came when my father killed him with his own hands. ...
Obi knew the sad story of Ikemefuna who was given to Umuofia by her
neighbors in appeasement. Obis father and Ikemefuna became inseparable. But
one day the Oracle of the Hills and Caves decreed that the boy should be killed.
Obis grandfather loved the boy. But when the moment came it was his matchet
that cut him down. (15758)
There are several uptakes in these passages and the contrast between them
underlines the function of repetition as a device of extrapolation. In the first paragraph, as Nwoye and Mr. Braddeley place themselves in different moral orders
through their affiliation with different victims, they demonstrate their affective
relationships to violent events.
Achebe emphasizes the private nature of Nwoyes grief through the rehearsal
of Obis received memory of the event; Nwoyes pain never becomes as palpable
to his son who receives the narrative second-hand. As much as Nwoye recounts
his pain at Ikemefunas death in order to underline the stress of his conversion to
Christianity, he now uses his suffering during conversion to underline his adherence to an element of Igbo tradition that causes Obi great pain. The latter cannot
marry Clara, the mother of his unborn child, because she is osu:
We are Christians, [Nwoye] said. But that is no reason to marry an osu.
The Bible says that in Christ there are no bond or free.
My son, said Okonkwo, I understand what you say. But this thing is deeper
than you think.
What is this thing? Our fathers in their darkness and ignorance called an innocent man osu, a thing given to idols, and thereafter he became an outcast, and his
children, and his childrens children forever. But have we not seen the light of
the Gospel? Obi used the very words that his father might have used in talking
to his heathen kinsmen. (151)
These are not just words that the father might have used; the conversation rehearses
almost verbatim the conversation on the same subject in Things Fall Apart. However,
the realm of kinship now harbors a material power that even Obi perceives in a
heathen song offered by a woman who had been married into the village after
he had gone to England:
VOLUME 40 NUMBER 4
achievement that a host of Nigerian writers writing in the wake of the return to
democratic rule in 1999 invariably make allusions to Achebes fictional worlds as
they investigate the new values of human life and labor within the twenty-firstcentury cultures of commerce, law, and governance called globalization.7
NOTES
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