[The following piece is written from the perspective of Ekwefi, Okonkwo’s wife who, after a series of miscarriages, is sent to her mother’s home village to give birth, as many believe that it will help avoid another miscarriage. The scene is recounted between pages 77 and 78 of Things Fall Apart. ]
On my Day of Return, I wake long before the sun rises, my eyes opening as though prodded by an invisible hand, hollowness stretching from my collarbones to still-distended stomach. My mother’s kinsmen looked at my swollen belly and offered assurances; they praised Ani, earth goddess, and used many echoing words: finally, womanhood, blessing. They told me that my abdomen swells with triumphant fluids from the birth of my last child, but they cannot feel the specters of children as they make their homes inside my womb. I have carried something twisted with me to my mother’s land and will carry it home again.As the morning lifts darkness from the village, I feel myself rise off my mat and watch my feet slide into my sandals, notice the fire starting as my fingers light the kindling, observe my hands fastening the knot on my wrapper. My son wakes, shifting in his corner, and arms that look like my own reach down to pick him up. I watch my limbs move, see them perform the mechanisms of morning, and feel only a dull ache spreading in my stomach.
When I begin to walk, leaving the village dusty and dry as I found it, a delegation of my mother’s brothers accompany me. Okonkwo will receive many gifts: in addition to palm wine, they bring honor, delivered through a satisfactory wife and child. As we move along the path, my son’s cries rise from the swaddle I hold limply against my chest. We pass the tree split by Agbala’s lightning and I remember the feeling of rocks cutting into the soles of my feet and fire lighting up my chest as I left my first husband and ran to Okonkwo. I catch a glimpse of the dry riverbed and think I see Okonkwo and I sitting with our feet in the water, both young and full of life. We emerge from the trees, and I face the village and recall the evacuated bodies of my children and the slow sting of saltwater dripping down my cheeks into the desert floor beneath them.
When Okonkwo greets us, he embraces my mother’s kinsmen and suggests that the men retire to his obi to exchange gifts and stories. He leaves without looking at his son, still rustling at my breast. When he turns, a throng of village women huddle around the baby: they marvel at the glow of his skin and the roundness of his cheeks, but their hushed voices are reminiscent of the years they spent whispering about my poisoned womb.
I do not feel anything until they begin to sing. Familiar melodies wash over me, crashing down upon my shoulders. When the truth wraps itself around me, warming my skin and straightening my spine, I know my son will not live, and the burden of wondering falls from my shoulders. I step away from the crowd, return to my dusty hut, and sleep soundly. When I wake, slowly, the sun is high in the sky.
Bibliography
Image #1: A sculpture of Ani (also known as Ala,) the Igbo goddess of fertility. http://www.africaresource.com/rasta/sesostris-the-great-the-egyptian-hercules/ani-the-mother-of-the-igbos-the-many-manifestations-of-ishtar/
Image #2: An Igbo woman carries twins. In Ibgo villages, villagers often expelled twins, thinking them evil, and left them in the forest to die. http://www.bookdrum.com/books/things-fall-apart/9780385474542/bookmarks-151-175.html?bookId=1657,
Image #3: A woman wears jigida, which are strands of decorative beads traditionally worn by Igbo women as symbols of femininity. https://www.etsy.com/listing/93675492/jigida-traditional-african-waist-beads,
Image #4: A painting by Twin Seven Seven, a famous Nigerian painter. The painting depicts spirits of Abiku, children who die before adolescence, being healed. http://www.dailyartfixx.com/2012/07/25/twins-seven-seven-painting/
Image #5: A drawing of a spirit leaving the body of an okbanje, a child who dies then repeatedly revisits his mother, is reborn, then dies again.
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This story offers a creative portrayal of Ekwefi’s detachedness from the real world, -- “I feel myself rise off my mat and watch my feet slide into my sandals, notice the fire starting as my fingers light the kindling, observe my hands fastening the knot on my wrapper.” -- as her monotonous actions seem to be brought unto her. Many aspects of this story, including the one mentioned above, convey Ekwefi’s lack of control.
ReplyDeleteI like how you describe Ekwefi's arms as looking like her own to show that she was not in control of herself. I also liked how you vocalized Ekwefi knowing that her son is going to die. I also like how your pictures related to your story. They effectively added to some of your descriptions.
ReplyDeleteI believe the most powerful part of this narrative was the way in which the author used the past experiences of Ekwefi to shape the tone of the story. Between her familiarity with the experience of losing a child, her haunting visions of a younger, lovestruck self, and her certainty that her baby will not survive, this piece feels straight out of the mind of a fully developed and understood character.
ReplyDeleteI really liked what you did. The book briefly talks about Ekwefi and her miscarriages and I really liked how you expanded on that and and more thoroughly described her feelings and actions. I liked it because you really captured a screenshot of Ekwefi's life and her struggles, of something that has happened to her time after time.
ReplyDelete“They tell me that my abdomen swells with triumphant fluids from the birth of my last child, but they cannot feel the specters of children as they make their homes inside my womb.”
ReplyDelete“whispering about my poisoned womb. “
“I know my son will not live, and the burden of wondering falls from my shoulders.”
Harper shows the painful and dejecting nature of Ekwefi as she gives birth to a young boy. She cannot shake the haunting memories of her past miscarriages, and cannot bring herself to celebrate the birth of a son whom she knows will not live. Harper’s story shows the way that the Umuofian people receive Ekwefi, and how they act towards a woman with a “poisoned womb.” Because motherhood was the main accomplishment and carrier in African society, Harper shows how hard it is for a woman who feels she has failed. Towards the end of the story, Ekwefi has accepted her fate, and this brings her saddened peace.
I enjoyed the wording of this passage and your ability to resemble the style of writing that Achebe used in Things Fall Apart. The line, “I watch my limbs move, see them perform the mechanisms of morning, and feel only a dull ache spreading in my stomach,” expresses her feeling of separateness from her mind and body only moving to her “muscle memory” from daily routine of a mother.
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteOops I copied and pasted the wrong one.... Here is the right one!
DeleteI really enjoy that you included an introduction because it helps the reader understand whom you are writing about and gives more details about what part of the novel the story was written about so if someone wanted to read those pages for another perspective, they can. The pictures are a highlight of the story because they need absolutely no introduction. They tie perfectly to the story, although when you did talk about the picture we could tell you did your research and knew exactly about each picture.
DeleteHarper does a really good job of creating a feeling of motherhood. This made me realise that being a mother in Igbo society is very difficult and taxing, bot emotionally, and physically.
ReplyDelete“they marvel at the glow of his skin and the roundness of his cheeks, but their hushed voices are reminiscent of the years they spent whispering about my poisoned womb.”
ReplyDeleteI believe this quotation really represents how Ekwefi has been feeling for years of miscarriages. How she felt as if she, herself had a poisoned womb blaming herself for all the miscarriages. This quote also represents how she still feels almost attacked from the many times before when the women of the village gossiped of her “poisoned womb” even when she finally had her son.