Female Ways of Identity Shaping

Female Ways of Identity Shaping -- the Joys of Motherhood

This ironic and even cryptic title of Buchi Emecheta's book is as far from the substance of her narrative as Africa is from Germany. What the book does convey with passion and realism is that motherhood in this African tale is a struggle -- and potentially a reward -- for those women who battle through adversity the way that Emecheta's character has done. The canvas that Emecheta paints with her talented brushstrokes takes the reader on a journey that, along the way, has serious roadblocks, pitfalls and challenges. It is a fascinating literary narrative, worthy on its own merits and world class in its adherence to descriptive excellence and quality of character development. And moreover, the identities of the characters -- their changes, their adapting to the new world -- provide a powerful and pivotal dynamic to the novel.

Methods and Theory

Embracing the tenets of New Historicism, one does not question the author's motives for presenting the literature as she does. But researching other strategies and models in the quest to fully wrap scholarly arms around the book has validity and is invoked in this paper. Noting and examining the identities of the characters as the dynamics move and change is an investigative method that is effective if used consistently.

Theoretical Approach

Michigan State University professor and author Katherine Fishburn presents an approach to reading and understanding African literature that she believes should help the reader negotiate "a new kind of relationship…between the needs of communities and the rights of individuals" as an "alien text." When that new idea is approached, in this case, African literature (Fishburn, 1995, p. xi), windows of the mind will open rather than close. Historically, Fishburn writes, the cultural domination and "dogmatism" of the West towards Africa cannot be dismissed easily even when readers have the "best intentions" (p. 1). The theory she espouses for readers encountering African literature -- and in particular Emecheta's work -- is that in order to achieve understanding, "whenever we encounter others -- in person or in art or in texts -- we should be willing to suspend our prejudices and open ourselves to them" (Fishburn, p. 2). Her book, Reading Buchi Emecheta: Cross-Cultural Conversations, Fishburn insists that she is "utterly convinced we can never understand African texts on their own terms," however we can view them with "fewer Western presuppositions and prejudices" (p. 13). And indeed, "we must learn to do this -- we no longer really have a choice in the matter" (p. 13).

In other words, prior to reading Emecheta's book, individuals should become "receptive" to the utter freshness and newness of African writing. It will not be possible for a Western reader to suddenly begin thinking the way "our literary ancestors did" and hence, achieve "historical objectivity" that offers readers a chance to follow and understand the text the way it was originally written. Fishburn (p. 3) asserts that believing one can simply suspend his or her own cultural biases is "a naive claim of historicism"; by reading Emecheta, Fishburn explains, she is not just reading about African heritage.

Instead, Fishburn believes that she is allowing "the Thou (Emecheta's text) to interrogate me, even as I interrogate it." The act of reading focuses attention not on "ourselves" but rather on the text in question. Fishburn is suggesting that Westerners must abandon their white, comfortable identities and try to allow the book to come to them, rather than them going to the book. And while according to Fishburn't is not possible for Westerners to understand fully the book by Emecheta, three strategies can be embraced when reading "alien" texts. One, an ethnocentric approach "from the outside" that uses neutral language vis-a-vis "New Criticism"; two, an "indigenous one" that rises up out of the "alien culture itself (and in which we cannot participate"; and three, the one that Fishburn advocates, "a cross-cultural or hybrid reading that speaks a language of perspicuous contrast" (Fishburn, p. 11-12).

Meanwhile, Lisa Friedli-Clapie, professor of French and Italian at the University of Washington in Seattle, has published a worthy article in the journal West Virginia University Philological Papers that should be read by any enterprising student prior to dipping into Emecheta's novel. Friedli-Clapie references several scholars in her opening paragraphs and each one of them offers a warning about reading too much into the story

Yes Emecheta understood while writing the novel that "…most readers of African literature are not equipped with the same historical and cultural experience as the African author" (Friedli-Clapie, 2005). Hence, Friedli-Clapie asserts that rather than speculate about whether by writing the book in English the author intended to educate English-speaking readers in the West about African culture or not, any of those arguments are "overshadowed by themes of river spirit or Mammy Wata worship." Mammy Wata, the "spiritual and psychological personification of water and all its life-sustaining force," is "an underlying cultural value in Nigerian women's literature at large, Friedli-Clapie asserts. Friedli-Clapie describes her theory as based on "Mammy Wata's underlying presence" in literary, spiritual, biological and monetary forms; and Mammy Wata, which is acknowledged and worshiped in many ways in Nigeria, Liberia, the Congo and Cameroon, brings out "women's ingenuity, spiritual practice, and dedication" (Friedli-Clapie).

Taking the story for what it is, and not what the author may have tried to weave into the narrative, it should be pointed out that in Nigerian culture, the python is a messenger for the Mammy Wata. According to Friedli-Clapie's theory Ona is "overcome after an unsettling seduction" which ultimately results in the birth of her daughter, Nnu Ego, the book's protagonist. That the author describes seduction: the convalescing chief "slid on his belly, like a big black snake, and covered her mouth with his" (Friedli-Clapie). Hence, the link to Mammy Wata, and the magic part of that cultural belief. When Ego is pummeled by the recovering chief's penis she cried out and at that moment the eldest wife of the chief falls ill. When Ego is born nine months later, she has a lump on her head and "the fair skin of the water people."

Identity in the Realistic Novel

Nnu Ego, the protagonist, conceived as noted after her mother's recovering chief-lover rolled over like a "big black snake" has more than one identity as things move along and chance; and the identities come in many colors for many reasons. That is what makes this book both entertaining and poignant. Ego seems a strong, healthy, attractive woman on the one hand. But on the other hand she has been oppressed, she is often in despair, her sanity is challenged often and in the end, tragically she dies. But at the outset it should be noted that in terms of Nnu Ego's identities they are entirely unique to this story and do not necessarily represent the "average" African woman. Indeed there may not be an "average" African woman since there are 47 nations within the African continent, and six island nations offshore that are within the African jurisdiction, bringing the total to 53, each with its unique cultural and ethnic values and traditions.

The beginning of the book is also apparently the ending of her life (although it turns out that she does not die at this turn of events), and through this technique the reader is given a golden opportunity to speculate with great curiosity as to the pain and disturbing events that have gone into Ego's life in Africa. Or perhaps the protagonist has led a productive, positive life and in the moments prior to the opening chapter something went terribly wrong. It is not the purpose of this paper to determine the editorial motivation -- or delve into why Emecheta structured the book or how her own personal life played a role -- but rather to follow the narrative as it leads from one day to the next, from one scene and setting to the next.

Anthropological and cultural realities -- vis-a-vis Nigeria or Africa -- notwithstanding, the story's flow and the characters' identities stand on the legs given by the author. All other considerations, as per New Historicism, are negligible. Critics publish hundreds of volumes of scholarly and investigative work, examining every nuance, every conflict, every dramatic change by important characters -- in terms of what DH Lawrence or F. Scott Fitzgerald meant to convey -- but in New Historicism the substance of the writing is the story, not what Emecheta (in this case) was likely thinking when she finished this chapter or that one.

Ego's identity as the book opens is as a person seemingly owned by another person. In the first paragraph of Chapter 1 ("The Mother") she is running away in 1934. As she hustles out of the room where she has lived, she brushes against the washing that "the white master" has hung on the line. In the dark she did not know what she had just run into so she quickly turned around "like a puppet reaching the end of its string." Emecheta uses metaphors, similes and allusions with appropriate timing and tone in this book, and the image of a puppet certainly brings to mind a person being controlled, manipulated, made to comply instantly with any movement of the controlling hand. In this case Ego seems at the end of her rope -- the puppet has fallen nearly to the floor and is dangling helplessly.

The Emecheta images and metaphors are sometimes obvious, as this one is, but always effective. The reader is clearly aware of Ego's initial identity, and Ego's swift feet of lightness and intensity running in the misty darkness, presents a fluid sensation -- a hoped for escape. She is running towards a new identity and when she hits the gravel road the color is of blood and water and she runs like this will be her duty forever, like someone is following her. The image of anyone running in the dark conjures up the sense of desperation.

The year is 1934; the setting is Lagos that is still colonized by the British Empire, which had not yet fallen into disrepair. Ego's identity as she runs away is also that of a mother, and the reminder is the milk leaking out of her "unsupported breasts." Others witness ego -- the mother of a four-week-old baby -- in the wet darkness who perceive that all "is not well." The understatement is an effective tool in such an emotional scene. Clearly she is determined to eliminate her identity entirely; the words are carefully chosen but it becomes obvious to the reader that this jaunt is pointed to an ending of intentional personal destruction.

A woman who just had a baby and yet has a thin waist gives rise to the sense that she did not allow herself to become burdened down with a lot of extra weight during the pregnancy. Her hair is a fright, her outfit shabby and an "unearthly…wildness" in those eye add to the sense of panic. She seems to be on her way to take her own life. The image of her running into a blind man is ironic given her emotion of blind rage that drives her forward. It was a pitiful collision indeed. The blind beggar believes he is being attacked and he swings his stick wildly at whoever might be near enough to steal from him.

Both Ego and the blind beggar are helplessly lashing out in their own way. Identities are co-mingled at this moment. The image is poignant and terrible at the same time. But the beggar will still be on the road in a short time eking out a miserable existence, while Ego will be on a very different journey. Why does Ego believe her chi is female? The source of that belief is cultural; the emotion that pushes the belief to fruition is personal. The stage is set. The house lights so to speak are dimming and the curtain is parting. The audience is ready to explore the history of a life full of events leading up to a moment of such audacious passion that a woman is willing to leave a child behind as she disappears into the deep waters.

Nwokocha Agbadi is presented as having achieved power not through great and noble deeds but because of his physical size; but no indication is given that he bullied his way into his authority position, rather it was a cultural model he was on a path to properly. He showed the intelligence that was key to maintaining his power. Using charm, arrogance, and even tenderness, he thrived. His identity as a power broker, unchallenged lover and breeder of many women quickly gave way to the characteristics of a near-dead man after the elephant brought him down to earth with that thrust of a tusk.

The identity of the mighty elephant has been changed dramatically, and this is an important moment in the man-versus-nature theme albeit it is hard to visualize four "hefty" slaves pulling a full-grown bull elephant. The mind's eye searches for a picture with more than four men perspiring and making grunting sounds just to move the elephant a foot or two. That said, nonetheless there they are, in a bizarre procession right behind the seeming pallbearers carrying Agbadi. Wrapped in an otuogwu cloth and carried in a bamboo crate, if this wasn't the end it was something very close to that. Agbadi's favorite female companion, Ona, had based her identity and sense of self-worth, a reader presumes, on her relationship with Agbadi. As Ona is witnessing the procession -- and fearing for the worst -- she is also experiencing the radical shift of her individuality.

For a few moments Ona's community status is raised well beyond the fact that she is Agbadi's favorite and on a near par with the medicine man. She was not well liked by the community and yet by the fact of the shaman allowing her to touch the dying Agbadi she is possessor of great prestige. While the vigil over the village chief continued into several days readers learn about the cultural rituals of Lagos. Agbadi was ruthless and he had a sharp tongue when he wanted to lay down the law; it was as sharp as a "circumcision blade" (p. 15). Readers know that powerful pride is part of the culture in this village -- to wit, Agbadi's tongue may have been acerbic but Ona would rather someone jerk her tongue from her mouth than admit to Agbadi how much she loves him. The values of Lagos and in particular of this community emerge through the narrative -- and a reader digests those values, rituals and rites as historical facts, without questioning the author's intent vis-a-vis the New Historicism.

Sarcasm is used effectively as literary tool at this moment in the narrative (p. 16); the chief whose identity as a power broker is reduced to the image of a dying man is suddenly resurrected. Agbadi regains consciousness because of the unbearably horrific pain Agbadi experiences while the splints were being adjusted. The shock was enough to bring out the old pushiness and arrogance in this man whose broken, bleeding body hovered near death for days. By chuckling "wickedly" and showing a "sardonic smile" (p. 16) it is clear Agbadi is on the mend so the two lovers can dive back into their normal competitive tete-a-tete, which, in their case, is more thunder than lightning. Ona threatens to throw the medicine at him; readers know the extraordinary self-control Ona possesses because when eyes are burning with "hot tears" and yet no water is emitted from the eye socket that tells a story without need for embellishment.

Ona just can't leave him, but on the other hand she certainly doesn't want him to know she suffers and she can't abide the idea that he would be happy witnessing her tears. This is a strange kind of love -- but again, no judgment made as to the validity or the cultural accuracy or the author's intend. It is what it appears to be. "I need a heartless woman like you," Agbadi says, his freshly oozing blood having been mopped up by this woman with a heart of stone. The identity switch in this scene is very interesting, as the all-powerful chief lies helpless and bleeding and one of his many women feels her power has shifted and is far more potent than before. The tide has gone out on Agbadi's uncontested authority and the tide is coming in for Ona a this juncture of the book. The exchange between the two lovers would be out of character in nearly any other scene of similar tone; it brings the culture into focus that sharp, stinging verbal attacks would be considered appropriate given the crippling image of one party and the loyalty of the other.

The ridicule and insults between the two are standard for this culture in this novel, readers come to realize; Agbadi cannot "lower himself to thank you" (p. 17), says his close friend Idayi. In the subsequent scenes Agbadi is obviously back close to good health because he breaks down her resistance to his hurtful sexual aggression. This is a love-hate identity play in many ways, and irony is never far behind. As Agbadi orgasms into Ona with violent thrusts, Ona screams out but when Agbadi's friend hears the cries he wonders not about Ona but about Agbadi. It's a man's world in Lagos and the characters never let the reader forget that. Ona loves Agbadi's style of laughter but she loathes it too. Agbadi's satisfaction isn't through the fact of his climax; it is achieved because people in the courtyard now know that he hurt Ona "on purpose" (p. 21).

Character Constellation

The sarcastic language that Ona uses to try and stand up to Agbadi only seems to be effective when he is less healthy than normal. The identity of each when they are apart is quite different than the identity of them as a couple. Indeed, these blasts of what seems to be vitriol between characters does not represent the construction of the universal African Woman, according to author Salome C. Nnoromele. Simply put, The Joys of Motherhood is the story of a woman "who makes devastating choices and sacrifices her health and selfhood in the pursuit of failed traditions." Those decisions are capsulated in the idea of motherhood. Ato, who questions such drastic measures because of the loss of a child, foiled Ego's suicide attempt. Out of six pregnancies she was left with just two children, Ato points out, and yet she did not try to be the source of her own demise.

Aside from cultural expectations that the reader may have, Nnoromele explains, the book is simply a well-written, character-themed exploration "of what went wrong with Nnu Ego" (Nnoromele, 2002). The novel gives a wide-angle picture of two worlds that Ego is part of; one, the old world, which is reflected in the village of Ibuza; that world is one in which men "romanced their wives, women supported their families through farming" and family bonds were powerful and emotional. There was ample financial support in that old world, Nnoromele goes on to explain.

As to the new world in Lagos, it has become "bewildering and tiring" and those problems are reflected in the turns and twists and the unpleasantness of Ego's life. In that new Lagos world family support is non-existent, there is no land to be worked for crops (or owned), and women have to "enter the world of trade to find money" (Nnoromele). But don't blame Lagos entirely, Nnoromele continues, because the inability of Ego to cope with the new world has more to do with Ego than the conflict between the two worlds. Since Ego was actually sent to Lagos to find a sense of peace, and she had support there, but it was clear to the community that Ego was weak and had just one purpose: "Wanting one thing at a time and wanting it badly" (Emecheta, p. 36). That "one thing" of course was to be a mother. The only road to happiness, in Ego's view, was to get pregnant and have babies, and fulfill the more traditional role of motherhood.

On page 34 Ego runs off to her "chi" and complains that she can't have her own children. As mentioned earlier in the paper, Ego's chi is her Mammy Wata; "Why are you so wicked to me?" Ego demanded to know. "All she wanted was a child to cuddle and to love. Allowing [the borrowed baby] to suckle as much as it wanted relived her agony, and when they were both satisfied, he would nestle against her and rest" (Emecheta, p. 34).

Her father and his best friend often comment on what they view as Ego's "misplaced sense of values," Nnoromele writes. In order to survive in this new world Ego must somehow learn the values of "foresight, self-reliance, creativity, and flexibility"; in order to make the necessary survival adjustments she must pass these tests, but unfortunately "she fails all of them as she clings to failed institutions and beliefs" (Nnoromele). She also clings to a baby that is not hers, and her husband beats her for that. On page 35, Ego's father Agbadi doesn't blame Ego's husband for beating her but Agbadi takes Ego to his house where the women in the community "nursed her mentally back to normal. They made her feel" that albeit she did not have a child of her own, her father's house was "bursting with babies" and she could regard them as her own (Emecheta, p. 35).

Interestingly in the novel it is the older women, Ego's mother Ona, for example, that make more intelligent choices regarding life and happiness, even though they were brought up in a heavily patriarchal society. The older women have the self-realization to understand that life is a lot more than just following traditions "and doing what is expected of one" (Nnoromele). (As an aside, it is worth noting that Ona's identity certainly is radically different as she matures than it was when she was younger and frisky and standing up to Agbadi. She is still outspoken and a leader, but in a more balanced way.)

In society and in many novels the young woman is generally the aggressive one, but in The Joys of Motherhood it is the mother, Ona, whose identity is aggressive and emotionally strong, Nnoromele goes on. Ego is not strong at all; her identity as this point in the novel is wishy-washy at best; she is petulant, she pouts and she is incorrigible when it comes to living and interacting with the other women in the community.

And there is certainly a question as to Ego's sanity based on her obsession to have children and achieve motherhood. "It is necessary to question the sanity of a woman who speaks to a child, a mere infant, in the manner Nnu Ego does," Nnoromele explains. The baby is of course powerless to do what Ego asks him to do -- "send some of his friends from the other world" (Emecheta) -- in fact she is the only person who has the power to dig Ego out of this morass she is in. And Nnoromele mentions an important point: while no one advocates spousal abuse, when Ego's husband hit her, he wasn't doing it because she was feeding and taking care of him; he was aggressive towards her "for trying to appropriate what does not belong to her." His act was based on his rejection of Ego's attempt to cross the line in terms of human relationships.

The deeper one delves into the novel the more Ego's identity seems to slip into the darkness of mental confusion -- or perhaps a neurosis of some kind.

To wit, attempting to steal a child is not acceptable, and the selfishness that Ego has shown in this regard is later in the book brought up again, this time by her second husband Knaife. She is "nothing but a spoilt, selfish woman" (Emecheta, p. 49) her husband asserts. But when Ego is given a new start in life she still falls back on her selfishness and her old ways. She is married to that new man, Nnaife -- an arranged marriage -- who does not realize that she doesn't approve of him (and his fat stomach) and in private she fights back tears of frustration (Emecheta, p. 43). He is not handsome, and in her frustration Ego believes that "he had never seen a woman before." Ego did not want to have sex that first night but "she bore it" and she fantasized that the man having sex with her was Amatokwu, "her first sweetheart of a husband." The point of this section of the paper is that notwithstanding her revulsion at her new husband, the women in the village helped her as much as they could but once again "as in every area of her life, she ultimately fails," Nnoromele asserts.

She even attacks the new husband albeit he is the one who can bring her the baby she so urgently wants to have. "If you had dared come to my father's compound to ask for me," Ego told her husband, her brothers would have thrown him out. Soon though he notices that she does seem to be pregnant; "those breasts, didn't they look rather large?"

"What else does a woman want" her husband demands on page 49. He promises to give her the child she wants and yet she stares at him with "hatred" in her eyes. The sanity of this character is in serious doubt in many passages of the book, as Nnoromele had mentioned. Her identity is now becoming one of a crazed woman who is angry, who can't have babies, who is uncomfortable in her marriage and who lives in the past.

As often as Ego criticizes her new husband, and calls him less than a man because he washes women's underwear, she doesn't fully realize that the men in this town have given up some of their cultural values in order to make money working for white men. Cordelia, the wife of Ubani (p. 50), tries to explain that to ego. If Ego wanted a husband who had the time or the inclination to ask his wife if she wants rice or corn pap with honey, she should "forget it," Cordelia explains. "Men here are too busy being white men's servants to be men…their manhood had been taken away from them" and the "shame of it" is they don't understand that they have indeed lost their manhood (Emecheta, p. 50). The men are all slaves to the white men, Cordelia goes on, and if their masters beat them, they come home and beat their women. The identity of the males in this village is that of quasi-slaves who need money so they work for someone they do not trust or respect. But money is money, and this is the new world without the agricultural base of the old world, so one must ply whatever uncomfortable trade that there may be out there.

"The only difference is that they are given some pay for their work" Cordelia says cryptically, but of course the women at home get nothing but the hard work and an occasional beating from the men. Again this is the cultural reality of a community in Lagos and not an editorial statement by the author as to life in Africa in the 1930s.

When Ego's new brother-in-law overhears her talking in her sleep, he awakens her and tries to comfort her. The madness issue is raised her again by the author as the brother-in-law says he will come and visit you again "when you are really mad"; in fairness, the point is that women do talk in this culture and behave like less-than-sane people when their babies are too little to "make sense of any noises" (Emecheta, p. 46). To her brother-in-law's pronouncement, Ego replies that if she does go mad, she wants to take him, not her husband, back to her father because taking her husband (who is ugly and fat) would be disgraceful.

On page 74 Ato urges Ego to wipe that "lost look" from her face. Should she continue to have that grievous expression on her face then everyone will look at her with doubt as to her stability, Ato asserts. Making matters worse for Ego, she loses her first child and tries to commit suicide, but fails, as she does at just about everything she tries.

Teresa Derrickson teaches post-colonial literature at Gonzaga University, and she has published an article (Class, Culture, and the Colonial Context: The status of Women in Buchi Emecheta's The Joys of Motherhood) that investigates the question of how colonialism has impinged upon the lives of Ibo women. This of course is not a scholar questioning how Emecheta arrived at the tone, plot, conflicts and characters in her novel, but rather it is a scholar legitimately examining the tensions between the "institutions of traditional Ibo society and the institutions of western Europe" (Derrickson). Those institutions are the "old world" (how things were before the English came with their oppressive controlling power structure) and the "new world" how it is now, in 1934, with full-blown colonialism.

The oppressive cultural practices in Ibo villages brought hardships to women, but Derrickson insists that those hardships are based more on the "historical moment of political and economic transition," a moment in history during which the British culture brought its own "values and priorities" to "clash destructively with the values and priorities of indigenous Africa." This question and this dynamic would not be relevant to the novel if it were not based on the real world of Africa in the 1930s.

In fact the identities of the Ibo women have been forcibly altered by the economic value system that was imported into Nigeria, Derrickson insists. The new economic system that Ona and Ego and the other women now live under -- "unlike their native system" -- totally fails to give them any reward or validation for their efforts. Derrickson explains that the pleasures associated with motherhood in good times -- that women like Ego anticipate with great joy -- are "ultimately negated by the difficult economic conditions" of the new urban environment the British have forced on the Ibo people.

It wasn't just the women in the Ibo community who had their identities and their lifestyles changed; it was everyone. An example of the roughness of the "new world" is found on page 57 of the book. Nwakusor is carrying a load of iron, and the drivers of the "white man's company" busses are always trying to make more money (in the new economy) so they went lickety-split from stop to stop. "The quicker the owners of these mini-buses went, the more money they would collect, for clerks and messengers working on the island preferred to go by them" (Emecheta, p. 57). It was all part of the new economy, the British corporations that hired Africans had changed everything. Emecheta does not spend a lot of narrative in a protestation sense, or in complaint-ridden sections of the book. But it is clear that when Nwakusor narrowly escaped death at the hand of the driver of a mini-bus, this was not how life used to be in Nigeria.

"If you don't know what to say," the driver "thundered," at lease take your ancient bundle of old iron off the road. I still want to make use of my life" (Emecheta, p. 57). Nwakusor was "too shocked to protest" so he picked up his old bike (which had been twisted by the impact but was still workable) and apologized. The driver was not accustomed to people being polite, "in fact one of the tools of their trade was their ability to reduce anybody to tears with pointed tongue" (Emecheta, p. 58). That passage is of course a microcosm of the larger issue with the new world and the new economy. The author uses incidents like these to establish literarily the tension that Derrickson was alluding two since colonialism had come to Lagos.

The identity of the "shouting" bus driver could be seen as a metaphor for the new British economy in that he used "uncouth language" and "shook an angry fist in the air." One can easily picture that scene in the mind's eye and knowing what bus drivers look like, identify the man instantly. And shortly after Nwakusor narrowly escaped death he crosses the road and there is Nnu Ego, "unbelievable though it was" trying to jump off a bridge into the river. She was stunned when Nwakusor called out her name, and stopped her attempt at suicide. He grabbed her and they fell to the ground. "What are you trying to do to your husband, your father, your people and your son who is only a few weeks old?" he asked her.

This chaotic scene with its tensions -- and the dead baby in the village -- cannot all be blamed on the British, but meantime Derrickson takes her point to another level vis-a-vis the pressure of the new economy on the old ways and the natives of Lagos. As the book progresses, Ego spends her "entire life," Derrickson points out, "alternately birthing children and working day in and day out as a cigarette peddler." That helps her fight against the hunger and poverty that are all around her in her household. But when her sons -- she finally has the babies she so passionately wanted for years -- grow up and leave before she is 40 years old, it breaks her heart and she is left to die on a country road with no one paying any attention. Prior to Derrickson painting a picture of Lagos prior to the arrival of the British (which helps put the novel into perspective in terms of the characters and their identities), she references a quote from midway in the novel in which Ego stops and contemplates the various troubles and injustices in her life: