Purple Hibiscus: The Continuation and Conclusion to Achebe’s Thesis on Sexism in Ala Igbo
The unexplored connection between Purple Hibiscus and Things Fall Apart, and how in many ways, especially Sexism, Eugene is a literary reincarnation of Okonkwo.
Written by Esohe Iyare.
In the history of Nigerian literature, Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe1, and Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Adichie2 can be considered canon events for how they stand as gateways to usher in a new generation of literature and critical thought. From the 60s, Achebe’s written words led long-continued discussions about how Christianity mingled with politics and other forms of cultural Europeanisation have usurped power from people; but what has been much less discussed is his portrayal of sexism as the downfall of Igbo men. Enter Adichie, in 2003 with Brother Eugene.
Violently passionate and idealistic, Eugene Achike is the literary reincarnation of Okonkwo, son of Unoka. Both are Igbo men who set themselves apart in a culture of achievement. Both have strained relationships with their respective fathers fused with a fear of ‘weaknesses and ‘failure’ which produce a hunger for power and domination. And both are men marked for destruction by these same ideas of weakness and power. The only difference is, while Okonkwo and Eugene bow to sexism in Ala Igbo, only one bows to the specific brand you can cook out of the Bible.
Sexism and power are the reverse sides of a perverse coin. For Okonkwo and Eugene, this coin brings access to a pedestal of masculinity. Therefore, their acts of sexism are expressions of their power struggle, so they can feel ‘like a manʼ.
“His wives, especially the youngest, lived in perpetual fear of his fiery temper and so did his little children. Perhaps down in his heart Okonkwo was not a cruel man. But his whole life was dominated by fear, the fear of failure and weakness…Even now he still remembered how he had suffered when a playmate had told him that his father was agbala. That was how Okonkwo first came to know that agbala was not only another name for a woman, but it could also mean a man who had taken no title.” (pg-11)
“Without looking at the man Okonkwo had said: “This meeting is for men.” The man who had contradicted him had no titles. That was why he had called him a woman. Okonkwo knew how to kill a man’s spirit.” (pg-21)
Okonkwo’s disdain for women and whatever is predicated on woman-like gentleness and restraint (his ultimate sign of weakness), is what eventually leads him to commit suicide. At the moment when he cuts the head off the head messenger to the white man’s court and there is no revolt, he concludes that he is surrounded by ‘women’.
“He knew that Umuofia would not go to war. He knew because they had let the other messengers escape.” (pg-163)
For Eugene, rather than just pure physical strength, masculinity is also about a zealous quest for perfection–no matter how blindly it is pursued. He takes some ‘words’ of the Bible such as “spare the rod and spoil the child” to such an extreme degree while completely ignoring the spirit of kindness which the same book also teaches because only one shows an expression of masculine power. So, much like the proverbial pharisee who praises himself before his God, Eugene sits front row in church listening to his praises being sung by a priest (pg.12) equally as blind as him and patting himself on the back for being an example to all.
“When Papa started the prayer, his voice quavered more than usual. He prayed for the food first, then he asked God to forgive those who had tried to thwart His will, who had put selfish desires first and had not wanted to visit His servant after Mass. Mama’s “Amen!” resounded throughout the room.” (pg.40)
“Swift, heavy thuds on my parents’ hand-carved bedroom door. I imagined the door had gotten stuck and Papa was trying to open it. If I imagined it hard enough, then it would be true…We stood at the landing and watched Papa descend. Mama was slung over his shoulder like the jute sacks of rice…” (pg.41)
Eugene’s righteousness-infused violence kills his unborn child, nearly kills his daughter, maims his wife, and eventually tips the dominos that spell his death.
“Things started to fall apart at home when my brother, Jaja, did not go to communion and Papa flung his heavy missal across the room and broke the figurines on the étagère.” (pg.11)
The figurines are what Beatrice, Eugene’s wife, cleans and polishes every time he hits her. Repetitive action is soothing for people who suffer from trauma-induced mental illnesses like depression. The American Counseling Association recommends knitting or crocheting. Beatrice has figurines instead.
“He has put a knife on the things that held us together and we have fallen apart.” (pg.141)
Beatrice is the ‘thing’ that holds the dysfunctional Achike family together. When Eugene destroys her coping mechanisms and she chooses not to replace them, it is a sign that she has become undone. Whenever things fall apart, the debris is the herald of death. The debris falls on Eugene.
Eugene is the continuation of Okonkwo’s legacy in a society different but still the same. He is the second conclusion to Okonkwo’s story. A sort of allegory akin to “he who lives by the sword, dies by the sword”, but in this case the sword is sexism. Okonkwo kills himself because he cannot stand an Umuofia without ‘men’, and Eugene is murdered because his zeal for control as the ‘man’ over his wife and family turns him into a bible-brandishing demon.
In the real, more incredulous world, whenever things built on sexism threaten or begin to fall apart because of movements like feminism, many men take it upon themselves to ensure that some debris lands violently on women; perhaps, killing them for daring to challenge the established order of power and control, which defines them as fundamentally unequal and beneath (consider Ukeje v Ukeje). There is no shortage of stories of women being murdered for failing to cook. It is never about the food.
Today, many Nigerian women who initiate and lead feminism discourse on platforms like Twitter, for instance, are from Ala Igbo; and they are constantly targeted by men, also Igbo, who do not just insult but threaten them and any hypothetical woman in their (the men) lives who dare to hold similar or equally divergent views.
Consider this tweet3 by an Igbo fellow who identifies himself as Dubem.
Consider the number of likes. Over 2500 people (at press time) agreed that a father has a right to rape his daughter into submission.
Next, consider this other tweet4 by an Igbo man, Nze, warning other Igbo men off the discourse that discourages them from seeking court marriages because it gives women legal protection in the event of death or divorce. Of course, no one would put it exactly like that, only that court marriages were ‘detrimental to men’ in cases of separation; since the protection of women always seems to be contrary to the good of men by such estimations.
Consider the number of likes (at press time). This account has almost 13,000 followers, the former has 15,000. Both accounts are well within the ability to pull Twitter traffic.
The 65 years of Things Fall Apart and 20 years of Purple Hibiscus, seem to join hands to ring the proverbial warning to ears in Ala Igbo (and more) who dare listen: Oburu na nwata ajughi ihe gburu nna ya, ihe gburu nna ya egbuo ya. This means: If a child doesn’t ask what killed his father, what killed his father will kill him.
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Achebe, C. (2008). Things Fall Apart. Pearson Education Limited.
Adichie, C. N. (2004). Purple Hibiscus: A Novel. Kachifo Limited.
@stilldubem. (2019, March 9). Twitter. Retrieved August 21, 2023, from https://twitter.com/stilldubem/status/1693228904880754706?s=46&t=gq4oeLi0kgzgpFhx6e0ohQ
@nzekiev. (2019, March 9). Twitter. Retrieved August 21, 2023, from https://twitter.com/nzekiev/status/1688127804334915584?s=48&t=gq4oeLi0kgzgpFhx6e0ohQ
This is profound! Love it Esohe