June 14, 2010

• "Joys of Motherhood" and Jazz

  When I first came upon this title, I thought this book was about how wonderful motherhood is; upon finishing the novel, I understood its irony.

  This book starts off with a young and naive Nigerian girl who idealizes motherhood - she believes that her sole purpose and function in life is to become a good wife and mother.  After conceiving 9 children, reality settles in as she desperately tries to raise her huge family on a meager income.  She gives up her friends because she has little time for them - she spends all her time looking after her children.  She gives up her possessions by selling her most precious beads and lapas (traditional African clothing) to feed her family. And she pretty much gives up her life; illegally selling goods on the street and endangering her life. 

  Towards the end, she realizes that a mother's role is one of servitude, of sacrifice: "Her love and duty for her children were like her chain of slavery." 

  "She had been brought up to believe that children made a woman.  She had had children, nine in all, and luckily seven were alive, much more than many women of that period could boast of.  Still, how was she to know that by the time her children grew up the values of her country, her people and her tribe would have changed so drastically, to the extent where a woman with many children could face a lonely old age, and maybe a miserable death all alone, just like a barren woman?" (219).

  And she begins to feel regret, wondering: "God, when will you create a woman who will be fulfilled in herself, a full human being, not anybody's appendage?" she prayed desperately.  "After all, I was born alone, and I shall die alone.  What have I gained from all this? Yes, I have many children, but what do I have to feed them on? On my life. I have to work myself to the bone to look after them, I have to give them my all.  And if I am lucky enough to die in peace, I even have to give them my soul.  They will worship my dead spirit to provide for them: it will be hailed as a good spirit so long as there are plenty of yams and children in the family, but if anything should go wrong, if a young wife does not conceive or there is a famine, my dead spirit will be blamed. When will I be free?"

  But even in her confusion she knew the answer: "Never, not even in death.  I am a prisoner of my own flesh and blood" (186-187).

  By the time her children grow up, society has changed so much that the children are encouraged to lead a life of their own.  They disobey their mother, ignore her traditions, and ultimately, leave her to die alone.

  "She used to go to the sandy square called Otinkpu, near where she lived, and tell people there that her son was in "Emelika", and that she had another one also in the land of white men - she could never manage the name Canada.  After such wandering on one night, Nnu Ego lay down by the roadside, thinking that she had arrived home.  She died quietly there, with no child to hold her hand, and no friend to talk to her.  She had never really made many friends, so busy had she been building up her joys as a mother" (224).

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Sadly enough, parts of this novel remind me of my grandmother. My grandmother sought to be the best wife, mother, and grandmother that she could be; but even though we all tried to visit her as much as we could (my uncle and I flew / drove down almost every weekend to see her), she ended up spending her last minutes on earth alone, in the middle of the night.

  ---

  While reading, I've been watching "Jazz" by Ken Burns in the background. It's an amazing, 10-part, 19-hour, introduction to the history of Jazz, and absolutely perfect for a Jazz neophyte like me.

  To be honest, I was never much of a Jazz fan,  but watching this series made me appreciate and understand some of the the stories behind the music. Most importantly, it stirred my curiosity; I spent many hours googling various artists and youtubing a variety of different songs.

  • 2:23 am
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