‘Hurrah and victory for the black folk!’
(Typically naive political slogan Weep Not, Child, page 73)
Weep Not, Child was Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o’s first novel, written in English and published in 1964, the same year as Nigerian author Chinua Achebe’s third novel, Arrow of God. But whereas Achebe wrote about the Igbo people in Nigeria in West Africa, Thiong’o is a native of Kenya in East Africa, which is where all his fictions are set.
I write ‘written in English’ because, after writing three novels in English, Thiong’o came to feel strongly that the African novelist ought to write in his or her own native tongue and so, from the 1970s to the present day, his novels, plays and essays have all been written in his native tongue, Gĩkũyũ.
Via a long writing career, along with his committed political involvement, and his numerous essays, Thiong’o long ago established himself as a major presence in African literature, and has been nominated for the Nobel prize.
Weep Not, Child
It’s a short book, just 136 pages in the Heinemann African Writers’ paperback edition and, I’m afraid to say, after the monumental vision of Achebe’s Africa trilogy, or the stylish grace and lucidity of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s prose, Thiong’o suffers by comparison. His prose feels simple, almost school level, and the insights and ideas expressed by both the third-person narrator and the characters also seem childish in their illiterate simple-mindedness (more detail, below). That said, the very simplicity of the style arguably matches the stark (and highly political) outlines of the story.
Part One. The Waning Light
It’s set in Mahua village not far from Kipanga town. Ngotho is a middle-aged African, not well off, living in a village compound with his two wives, Njeri the eldest and Nyokabi. By Njeri he has three children, Boro, Kori and Kamau. By Nyokabi he has two sons, Mwangi, who died in the recently finished Second World War, and the boy Njoroge.
Boro fought in the white man’s war, and is now withdrawn and drinks too much. Kori works in an African tea shop. Kamua is apprenticed to a carpenter, Nangwa, in the village. The narrative kicks off as it is announced that Njoroge is going to school (Kamahou Intermediate School, p.109), a big achievement to be proud of in their community.
We learn about their neighbours who are each emblematic. The immediate neighbour is a man named Jacobo who owns a lot of land and a big house ‘like a European’s house’ (p.18). His wife is Juliana, a fat jolly woman. They have a daughter, Mwihaki, a little girl who Njoroge likes to play with. She’s in the year above Njorogoe at school and looks after him when he is a vulnerable new boy.
Mr Howlands is the local big white man, who owns most of the good land and a fine house and has lots of black employees and servants. His wife, the Memsahib, is bored, and regularly demands that the black servants be beaten and, periodically, sacked. Howlands is a product of the First World War, uncertain and disillusioned by the peace, who sought an opportunity and a purpose in Africa.
The older black characters, Ngotho and his friends, like meeting up in the barber’s shop in Kipanga. Recurring scenes turn the conversations there into a kind of chorus commenting on the main action.
Like Chinua Achebe, Thiong’o is not shy of depicting his people as they actually were, warts and unacceptable attitudes, customs and behaviour, and all. Njoroge is afraid of his father. Ngotho’s attitude to his wives:
When a woman was angry no amount of beating would pacify her. Ngotho did not beat his wives much. (p.11)
Children are routinely beaten and thrashed, at school or by their parents. Njoroge longs to be a bit older in order ‘to have the freedom to sit with the big circumcised girls and touch them as he saw the young men do.’ (p.22)
This community loves listening to old stories. The father, Ngotho, tells old folk stories, legends of the creation of the world by the Creator Murungu, as well as stories from when he was a boy and was press-ganged along with so many others during the white man’s first war. He explains that the Creator gave them all the land but the white man took the best of it away. In their little area the best land now belongs to the white man Mr Howlands.
As the narrative unfolds the Land Issue develops as the central theme. Ngotho obsessively remembers the words of Mugo wa Kibiro, an old medicine man and prophet who foresaw the arrival of the whites, and that they would seize the ancestral land given them by the Creator, but also that they would, eventually, leave. So:
the white man Mr Howlands thinks he owns the land. He thinks that ‘he alone was responsible for taming this unoccupied wildness’ (p.31)
Ngotho and Africans of his generation remember the folk stories about the Creator giving all the land to his ancestors in perpetuity, and passively wonders when the white man will leave and give it back to its rightful owners
Ngotho’s sons, especially Boro and Kamau, are disgusted that his father and father’s father were weak enough to have the land stolen from them by the white man
Njoroge’s father, Ngotho, loyally, faithfully works for Mr Howlands, turning up day after day, on time, and working the land with impressive fidelity, but in fact exemplifies the mutual misunderstanding about the land. Ngotho does all this not because he respects Mr Howlands, but in order to maintain his contact with land which he is convinced is his, and will one day revert to him and his sons.
Some of them have vaguely heard of a man named Jomo who came back from the war and calls for their ancestral land to be given back. One of the brothers refers to Jomo as the black Moses, come to lead his people home. (Presumably this refers to Jomo Kenyatta, the great Kenyan nationalist leader.) This chimes with the ways, as he attends school and learns to read, Njoroge develops a deep and simple Christian faith, that God rewards hard work with justice and fairness (p.49).
The thing is, the entire narrative is told in a kind of fog of ignorance and half understanding. The characters are illiterate peasants or barely urban workers. None of them have the education or articulacy to really analyse their situation. Things such as the land issue or the character of this rumoured leader, Jomo, are the stuff of rumour conveyed with great vagueness or naivety. Here’s a typical dialogue between young Njoroge and his older brother Kamau:
‘Do you think it’s true what father says, that all the land belongs to the black people?’
‘Yes. Black people have their land in the country of black people. White men have their land in their own country. It is simple. I think it was God’s plan.’
‘Are there black people in England?’
‘No. England is for white people only.’
‘And they have left their country to come and rob us of what we have?’
‘Yes. They are robbers?’
‘All of them?’
‘Yes.’ (p.43)
It’s not that it’s untrue, it’s just that it’s a very basic, very primitive account, on a par with the extremely simple creation myth which Ngotho tells his family. This makes reading the book frustrating, because all the characters are at such a very low level of education and awareness. Then again, maybe this is the entire point of the novel, to show the slow growth in awareness and political understanding of the main character, from village ignorance to more informed disillusion. But it’s an irritating read.
The menfolk gear up for a general strike, many coming to visit Ngotho to discuss it. They airily assume that all black men will join it because its aim is so noble, to drive the white men out of the land and reclaim their birth-right – that’s how simple and naive they are. Njorege, through whose eyes we see most of the action, doesn’t know what a ‘strike’ is. See what I mean by low level? How can something succeed when most of the characters don’t even know what it is?
Mr Howlands warns his black workers that if any of them join the strike they’ll be sacked on the spot. The Ngotho household is divided because his two wives tell Ngotho he would be mad to join the strike, achieve nothing, and lose his job. The theme of masculinity and patriarchy is evident and generally attached to Ngotho who genuinely doesn’t know what to do for the best.
Five years later New Year. Njoroge’s class assemble for their marks. He is top of the class (which made me reflect on how the schoolchild protagonists of this kind of novel generally are top of their class cf the natural intelligence driving Ugwu in Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s novel Half of a Yellow Sun). Mwihaki passed, too.
But they get home to find both their families in too much of a state to congratulate them. It was the day of the much-vaunted strike. Speakers came from Nairobi to address the locals, including Ngotho’s son, Boro, who has gone into politics. They describe how the white men came, stole their land and forced them to fight in two white men’s wars, from which they returned poorer than ever. Loud cheers.
To everyone’s surprise the police invade the stage and then usher onto it Jacobo, Ngotho’s neighbour, wealthy black man who has thrown in his lot with the whites. Outraged, Ngotho stands and strides toward the stage, and the crowd hesitates enough for the scene to crystallise as Ngotho for the blacks and Jacobo for the whites, before the crowd roars and surges towards the stage. The police reply with tear gas, truncheons and bullets. Two are killed. Ngotho is knocked to the ground and loses consciousness.
In the barber’s shop the old men discuss the riot and say it only goes to show that ‘we black people will never be united. There must always be a traitor in our midst.’ (p.60).
p.61 Ngotho is thrown off his land because it turns out it ‘legally’ belongs to Jacobo, who has now become his arch enemy. The family relocates to land owned by Nganga. It costs a lot to build new huts and Mrs Howlands has, of course, fired Ngotho, so times are very hard. But Kamau’s wages go up and they survive. He and Kori also donate money to continue funding Njoroge’s education.
There ought to be a name for the genre of story which is about the first member of a family to attend school and further education, often thanks to significant funding and sacrifices by his family or community. The same kind of story is told by Chinua Achebe in No Longer At Ease. Later, when he goes on to secondary school, the entire local area raises money for his fees, so proud are they of his achievement (p.105).
Interlude
Two and a half years later Fragments. An angry white administrator looks out over the Kenyan country shortly before returning to Britain, with the self-serving thought: ‘And to think of all we did for them’ (p.62). Some men gossip about the assassination of a black chief who was collaborating with the white administration.
We hear that Jomo has been arrested and a state of emergency is declared (p.63). This latter references dates events to October 1952, when the British authorities declared a State of Emergency after the Mau Mau murdered a loyal Kikuyu chief.
Njoroge continues to hear important things, central issues to the politics of independence, but his child’s point of view makes them frustratingly dim and naive.
Njoroge had heard about the colour-bar from his brothers in Nairobi. He did know what it was really. But he knew that the strike had failed because of the colour-bar. Black people had no land because of colour-bar and they could not eat in hotels because of colour-bar. Colour-bar was everywhere… (p.64)
Part 2. Darkness Falls
Two years later Njoroge has left primary school and been going to secondary school for two years (p.68). For his loyalty to the whites, Jacobo has been made a chief. The whites have banded together to protect themselves against the Freedom Boys of the Forest. Mr Howlands has been appointed District Commissioner.
Njoroge gets home to find the family assembled. Boro has come to tell them that Kori was arrested with a number of other agitators. As he’s describing it Kori comes staggering in, having jumped out of the police lorry carrying him and other prisoners. Boro regularly argues with his father. Ngotho refuses to take the Mau Mau oath from his own son. (This is the first mention of Mau Mau, p.71)
p.72 The men of the family discuss the Mau Mau. They all hope Jomo Kenyatta will win his court case and freedom. But he doesn’t.
Ngotho is upset because he has lost the vital connection with his ancestral land and wonders what kind of man that leaves him. He put all his hopes in Jomo. ‘For him Jomo stood for custom and tradition purified by the grace of learning and much travel’ (p.74).
What the text lacks in psychological depth or sophistication, it makes up for in the straightforward simplicity of its agit-prop rhetoric. As they discuss how Jomo lost his court case to be released from prison, Ngotho’s wife, Nyokabi, speaks out:
‘It seems all clear as daylight. The white man makes a law or a rule. Through that rule or law or what you may call it, he takes away the land and then imposes many laws on the people concerning that land and many other things, all without people agreeing first as in the old days of the tribe. Now a man rises and opposes that law which made right the taking away of land. Now that man is taken by the same people who made the laws against which the man is fighting. He is tried under those alien rules….’ (p.75)
Boro says the white people win because they stick together while the black people are divided.
p.76 Cut to Mr Howlands, now District Officer Howlands, in his office. Showing how embittered he is that his wife has left him to become a missionary. All he has left is the land which he has worked so hard to develop i.e. he’s not going to give it up without a fight.
Describes the malicious pleasure he takes in promoting Jacobo and setting one black man against another. Divide and rule. Jacobo comes in for order. He thinks Howlands likes him, respects his loyalty. But Howlands thinks he is a ‘savage’. I found the characterisation of Howlands thin and naive. He doesn’t sound or think like a British colonial administrator. He has the same simple, naive thoughts as the African characters i.e. I’m afraid, Thiong’o.
Jacobo feeds Howlands false information that Ngotho is a Mau Mau leader. Howlands gives Jacobo carte blanche to arrest Ngotho and his family for anything he can.
p.80 As a result Njeri and Kori are arrested for breaking curfew. Ngotho is abused by Boro for sitting by and doing nothing about the arrest. He becomes a shell. He looks none of his family in the eye. Young people no longer congregate in his compound to hear him tell the old stories.
p.82 Njoroge’s school receives a letter saying that if it doesn’t close down immediately, the headmaster and all the pupils will be beheaded. The kind of message sent out by the Viet Cong, by the FLN in Algeria, by umpteen jihadi groups across the Middle East – all collaborators with the oppressive colonialist authorities will suffer the ultimate penalty. Always the same logic to terrorise the entire population into submission.
p.84 The climate of fear created by the Mau Mau. Njoroge is preparing for the exam for entrance to secondary school. (Hang on, if that happens at age 11, as in the UK, and nine and a half years have been mentioned as passing since the opening scenes…well, no way was Njoroge one and a half when the narrative opened. I admit I don’t understand the timeline.
Njoroge laments that his infant friend Mwihaki’s father (Jacobo) a) became a leading figure in the white man’s homeguard and b) was attacked (no details).
p.87 Njoroge walks into town to see Kamau who tells him half a dozen local men were abducted and found dead in the forest, including the barber who hosted so many convivial evenings, and Nganga who kindly gave Ngotho permission to build a new compound on his land. The whites say it was the Mau Mau but the blacks say it was the whites who then blamed the Mau Mau.
Walking home Njoroge bumps into Mwihaki. He still holds a torch for her. She has grown, is an adolescent with budding breasts. Njoroge himself is tall, appears older than he is. They nervously make a date for the following Sunday.
They meet at the church where the preacher (who was once one of Njoroge’s infant school teachers) laments the tragedy, the bloodshed and fear, which have come over the land of the Gikuyu. He implies that the end of days is at hand.
Njoroge and Mwihaki walk back to her house i.e. the house of Jacobo. He isn’t there. He is always away on business but when he does return everyone is terrified of his power and anger. Unexpectedly Jacobo arrives with three bodyguards but, equally unexpectedly, he doesn’t abuse or threaten Njoroge, instead praises him for continuing school and says he will be one of those who rebuild the country.
Njoroge and Mwihaki go up a hill, look out over the plain, and worry that the end actually is at hand. They are both genuine Christians and wonder how Jesus could countenance the destruction of the world and all the people in it. They both struggle to express their emotions (and so does Thiong’o). In a burst she says she wants to live with him and be friends forever. But Njoroge is starting to see himself as a kind of saviour figure, sent to comfort and liberate the land from its white oppressor.
p.97 Cut back to Howlands who is portrayed as a pantomime villain, chortling at how easy it is to set black against black. What does he care if entire villages in the jungle are wiped out, mwah haha, the Sheriff of Nottingham played by Alan Rickman, he might as well be twirling the ends of his black moustache.
Enter Jacobo, the Sheriff’s dim sidekick. Somehow neither of them have managed to arrest Ngotho yet, despite Howlands allegedly having spent years scheming to defeat his enemy. Bit of a pathetic enemy, and pretty useless schemes.
Jacobo shows Howlands the most recent anonymous letter he’s received threatening death if he doesn’t leave off helping the white man.
Some months later Njoroge is heading a Christian procession to a nearby village, chatting to a fellow devotee, with a group of Christian woman walking behind them singing hymns. All of a sudden they are stopped by a white officer and realised they are surrounded by soldiers. The officer lets the women go then makes the boys and the men squat while he examines their papers. The black soldiers beat some of the black Christians.
Their preacher, Isaka, is separated from them because he has no papers. The others are told to be on their way but haven’t gone far before they hear two screams then machine gun fire.
p.102 Cut to Boro and his lieutenant hiding in the bush and discussing their next steps. It was Boro et al that the white man’s patrol was out hunting. We are given a very simplistic account of Boro’s motives, namely Revenge. Boro doesn’t care about the other’s fine talk about freedom. Killing the white man and his lackeys is his aim.
‘Freedom is meaningless unless it can bring back a brother I lost [in the white man’s war]. Because it can’t do that, the only thing left to me is to fight, to kill and to rejoice at any who falls under my sword. But enough. Chief Jacobo must die.’ (p.103)
In the fairy tale simplicity of this I suddenly heard the note of Victorian melodrama at its cheesiest. ‘Chief Jacobo must die!’
p.104 Njoroge graduates from junior school, the only boy in his area to do so. Many people in the area contribute to his school fees. He now has a full-blown messiah complex.
Njoroge now had a new feeling of pride and power for at last his way seemed clear. The land needed him and God had given him an opening so clear that he might come back and save his family and the whole country. (p.105)
Njoroge meets up with Mwihaki, as he keeps doing. It’s one year after the last time they walked up the hill. Now she criticises him for always talking about tomorrow and going on about the people. Njoroge replies with guff about Jesus and faith and hope and freedom and this completely reassures Mwihaki. I’ve no idea what age they’re meant to be, 11, 12, 13? It’s a childishly simple-minded conversation but without the charm.
p.108 So Njoroge starts attending the famous Siriana secondary school, a boarding school. It’s the first time he’s been taught by white teachers and he is surprised by how warm and supportive they are, surprised how boys from the other tribes of Kenya all get along.
One day a football team from a European school come for a game. To his surprise Njoroge gets talking to one of the boy supporters who is none other than Stephen, son of angry bitter Mr Howlands. Turns out the two boys share the same experience of being stared at and made uneasy by boys of the other race. They are both uneasy in this country covered in black stormclouds.
p.112 Mwihaki writes from back in Kipanga, where her father (Jacobo) lives in fear of attack. Every day bodies are found in the forest. She walked past some black people being beaten by police and begging for mercy. It’s a nightmare.
p.114 It’s the third term at the school. Njoroge really loves it, especially likes English lessons (of course), is awed by the way the white missionary teachers work alongside their black colleagues and black children with no colour consciousness at all. It is a sort of utopia.
With no warning Njoroge is called to the headmaster’s study and handed over to two policemen who drive him to a homeguard post nicknamed the ‘House of Pain’ where he is accused of being Mau Mau, interrogated and beaten unconscious. One night to recover then he’s interrogated again, this time by Mr Howlands who applies pincers to his genitals. Njoroge screams in agony. For the first time Howlands reveals what it’s all about: Jacobo has been murdered. Apparently, they’ve interrogated his father who, under torture, confessed to being Mau Mau and killing Jacobo which is, of course, nonsense. A few days later Njoroge and his two mother are released.
p.119 Ngotho on the other hand is detained. What happened is Jacobo was murdered and the cops arrested Ngotho’s son, Kamau. it was then that Ngotho decided to sacrifice himself for his son by walking into the nearest police station and confessing to Jacobo’s murder. Ngotho has become, for Howlands, the symbol of everything ungrateful and blocking his will in this wretched country. Hence the fury with which he tortures him, day after day.
In some obscure way Njoroge is racked by the thought that it’s his relationship with Mwihaku which somehow brought all this tragedy down on his family.
p.122 Ngotho is allowed home. He has to be carried out of the homeguard post. His nose is split in two, he can’t move his legs, he can’t sit without pain (was he in fact castrated, as Howlands in a frenzy told Njoroge?)
Out of the night appears the prodigal son, the accusatory son, the genuine Mau Mau, Boro. There’s a melodramatic scene where Ngotho struggles to sit up and blesses his son, tells him to fight on, before falling back on the bed and expiring. Victorian melodrama.
p.126 Five months later Njoroge is 20 years old. He is working as a shop assistant in a dress shop owned by an Indian. It is a humiliating come-down after all his fancy talk of saving his family and his country. Turns out that Mr Howlands was murdered the same night Ngotho died. His brothers Boro and Kamau are facing murder charges.
p.127 Thiong’o describes Howlands’ last hours of anger and frustration against Ngotho and his entire family really, really badly. Boro bursts in and accuses him of stealing the land, killing many black people, raping women etc. Howlands says it is my land. Boro shoots him. it is all done very, very badly, with laughably thin psychology or insight.
p.130 Mwihaki’s perspective, how she had heard about her father’s murder from the head of her school, then returned home. Her mother, obviously, hates the Ngotho family and Mwihaki is understandably swayed by this but, despite everything, still wants to see Njoroge again.
Mwihaki and Njoroge meet on the hill where they’ve had so many conversations. Njoroge has been beaten down, all his hopes destroyed, the only reliable thing in his life has been Mwihaki and so now he tells her that he loves her. Good grief, this is bad:
‘Mwihaki, dear, I love you. Save me if you want. Without you I am lost.’ She wanted to sink in his arms and feel a man’s strength around her weak body.
Njoroge tells her that he wants to flee Kenya, go to Uganda maybe, but Mwihaki, like so many young women, says No, she has to stay near her mother who needs her. Njoroge experiences her refusal to leave with him as a massive disappointment and disillusion. He sees his last hope of escape, of starting anew somewhere else, disappear, stricken that ‘his last hope had vanished’ (p.134). Unfortunately, all these overwrought feelings came over as barely comprehensible twaddle, to me.
p.134 It is a very shallow book, an immature young man’s book. It’s overstuffed with themes but Thiong’o treats none of them adequately, with any depth. He makes this character of Njoroge bear all kinds of significances which the story, and its complete lack of psychological depth or acuity, just don’t justify.
Thus now, in the last few pages, the narrator makes a big deal of the fact that Njoroge has, at a stroke lost his faith in God, lost his hope for a better day, lost his naive belief that he could be the redeemer who saved his country. Once he thought he would save his country but now he works in a dress shop whose customers look at him sadly and whisper about his family tragedy behind their hands. He has plummeted from utopian heights to humiliating depths.
Which is why he goes out wandering along the endless road till he comes to a tree which has been familiar to him all his life and prepares a noose. He’s about to hang himself when he hears his mother Nyokabi’s voice calling. Like Mwihaki, filial duty overcomes him, he turns from the noose, greets his poor aged mother and returns home with him.
The last sentences describe how Njoroge’s conscience accuses him of being a coward and how the poor young man, completely broken in spirit, miserably agrees.
Thoughts
I see the political importance and consciousness-raising purpose of Weep Not, Child but I couldn’t warm to either the simple style or the even simpler level of thought.
The blurb says it’s a novel about the impact of the Mau Mau emergency on one family but, as my summary conveys, it’s a very skimpy summary, with few if any descriptions of Mau Mau members – Boro popping up for a page two or three times in the narrative is not an adequate treatment of this massive, long-lasting, nationwide rebellion. I suppose some killings, like the execution of Howlands, are described in some detail but, due to the very poor psychology of the scene, it made little or no impression on me. Instead, the story foregrounds the shallow but shrill family melodrama which I’ve summarised.
I think we’re meant to react to the poignancy and emotion of the story, especially the humiliation piled on humiliation of the once buoyant and optimistic Njoroge, at the end. But I’m afraid what came over to my cynical mind was how abjectly unprepared African nations were to manage themselves, if they were placing their hopes in the hands of simpletons and ignoramuses like Njoroge or Boro.
Maybe the situation obtaining in Kenya and Uganda and Nigeria at independence was entirely the fault of the British government, but this book, far more than an insight into the Mau Mau phenomenon (which it hardly gives at all) struck me as being an indictment of how naive, ignorant and unprepared for any form of self rule that generation of Africans was.
So I read it as a tragic story but for this reason and not at all for the reasons given in the narrative and which Thiong’o intended.
Credit
Weep Not, Child by Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o was first published in the Heinemann African Writers’ series in 1964. References are to the 1987 paperback edition.
He felt a strange crushing weight in his head. Change was hurtling toward him, bearing down on him, and there was nothing he could do to make it slow down.
(Ugwu, sensing the force of History, Half of a Yellow Sun, page 175)
“Abu m onye Biafra.” [‘I am a Biafran’]
(White man Richard Churchill bravely declaring loyalty to the new state of Biafra, p.181)
This is a big, slow, novelish novel about family and relationships. It’s 433 pages long in the Fourth Estate paperback edition, and the print is relatively small, so there’s a lot of text, it’s a hefty work. Let me say right at the start that I think it’s a magnificent and hugely enjoyable novel. And that part of this is down to the clarity of Adichie’s imagining of scenes and feelings, and the wonderfully clear and lucid prose she expresses them in. I am a huge Adichie fan.
Subject matter
I knew from the blurb, from the Amazon summary, from Adichie’s Wikipedia page and from various other sources that this is Adichie’s big novel about the Biafran war, also known as the Nigerian Civil War.
The Biafran war lasted two and a half years, from 6 July 1967 to 15 January 1970. It was an attempt by the Igbo people of south-east Nigeria, after generations of animosity against them had broken out into open massacres and pogroms during 1966, to seek safety in a homeland by seceding from the Nigerian Federation and setting up their own independent state, called Biafra. Nigeria didn’t want to see them go and immediately launched military action.
The conflict dragged on for two and a half years, partly because both sides started off under-manned, inexperienced and under-resourced. After a military stalemate was reached, Nigeria blockaded all entry points to Biafra triggering one of the great famines of modern times, in which up to 2 million civilians starved to death.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie is an Igbo i.e. a member of the ethnic group which suffered from the outbreaks of violence in 1966, then the war, and then the horrifying man-made famine. Adiche was born in 1977 i.e. seven years after the war ended. But, as she explains in the dedication to the book and in an interview included as an appendix, the death and destruction her people suffered during the terrible struggle cast a long shadow over her childhood, not least in the fact that both her grandfathers were killed in it.
Adichie’s achievement is to cast this massive historical tragedy into fictional form on a very manageable scale. When I knew it was about a war, and realised how long and dense it is, I imagined it would be epic in size and tone, but it isn’t. It’s surprisingly domestic in scale and treatment.
In the first part, titled simply ‘The Early Sixties’, there is no hint of conflict or war and we are simply introduced to an extended group of Igbo families and friends, a few outsiders, a Brit or two, and watch them go about their everyday humdrum lives, worrying about work or relationships etc the stuff of everyday life. The aim is to get us thoroughly acclimatised to numerous normal peacetime existences. Only then do we go on to part two of the novel, titled ‘The Late Sixties’ at which point the characters, in their different ways, hear rumours about the coup (January 1966), the counter-coup (July 1966), the first massacres of Igbo civilians in the north and west of Nigeria, leading up to the declaration of an independent Biafra in May 1967.
I’m not sure whether to give the history of the war first, or the characters. Let’s do the war since it’s central to the narrative, then come back to the novel and the characters.
The Biafran War 1967 to 1970
Britain’s fault
The state called Nigeria was created by the British colonial authorities who, in creating it, yoked together over 300 tribal groups and peoples. The main ones were the semi-feudal and Muslim Hausa-Fulani in the north; the Yoruba in the southwest, also ruled by monarchs; and the Igbo in the south-east, arranged into autonomous, democratically organised communities.
The first coup, January 1966
Nigeria gained independence from Britain in 1960. In January 1966 a military coup (the ‘Coup of the Five Majors’) overthrew the democratically elected central government, the majors in question proclaiming that the country had had enough of corrupt and greedy politicians. The majors killed a number of leading politicians and army officers but failed to establish power themselves, instead creating a political vacuum. Into this stepped the head of the Nigerian army, Major General Johnson Aguiyi-Ironsi, made himself president of a military regime.
Northern elements within the military were unhappy with the coup, claiming it had been an ethnic power grab by Igbo officers (most of the majors were Igbo and most of the senior officers and politicians assassinated had been Northerners or Yoruba). They were further outraged that the majors who launched the coup were arrested but not brought to trial. The last straw was when Ironsi announced Unification Decree Number 34, which would have replaced the federation structure of Nigeria – under which the North enjoyed a disproportionate amount of power – with a more centralised system. This, also, was seen as an Igbo power grab.
The second coup, July 1966
So in July 1966 Northern officers launched a countercoup which saw the Ironsi and his senior officials killed. Through the media the Northern authorities encouraged the general population to seek out and kill Igbos wherever they could (in a premonition of the role played by government radio stations in the Rwanda genocide 30 years later).
Anti-Igbo pogroms, late summer 1966
The result was a wave of pogroms against Igbos throughout Nigeria, who were not only blamed for the original coup but had also been the targets of long-standing ethnic hatred for their independence and commercial success, a little like the Jews in Europe.
Comparison of the Igbo with the Jews
The comparison with the Jews was drawn by US Secretary of State Henry Kissinger, himself a Jew who escaped persecution in Nazi Germany and who compared the Igbo people to Jews in a memo written to U.S. President Richard Nixon, stating: ‘The Ibos are the wandering Jews of West Africa – gifted, aggressive, Westernized; at best envied and resented, but mostly despised by the mass of their neighbours in the Federation.’
It is also drawn by a character in this novel, admittedly the less-than-admirable Susan, representative of Western prejudices. She tells her boyfriend Richard:
“There are lots and lots of Igbo people here – well, they are everywhere really, aren’t they? Not that they didn’t have it coming to them, when you think about it, with their being so clannish and uppity and controlling the markets. Very Jewish, really.” (p.154)
Mass Igbo flight to Igboland
Up to 30,000 Igbo civilians were killed in massacres all across the country, crystallising the belief among their political leaders that they would never be safe in ‘Nigeria’ and led them to declare the breakaway state of Biafra in order to provide a permanent safe haven for Igbos fleeing from all other parts of Nigeria.
Declaration of Biafra
This new state was named Biafra and declared independent on 6 July 1967. This is the flag it adopted. According to the Flags online website the red bar represents the blood of the massacres in northern Nigeria, the black is for mourning the dead, the green is for prosperity, and the half of a yellow sun which the novel’s title refers to, represents the sun rising, as if on a new day and a new land and a new hope. (Olanna gives just this interpretation to the children in the refugee school, page 281.)
The flag of Biafra showing the half a yellow sun which the title of Adichie’s novel refers to
The phrase ‘half of a yellow sun’, describing the flag or the small version of it worn by soldiers, or copies of it sported by civilians, occurs 11 times in the text, though it seems more often, woven into the text like a musical leitmotif.
War, blockade and famine
The Nigerian army promptly attacked the forces of the new state and there was 6 months of bloody fighting with incursions into each other’s territory, but eventually led to a military stalemate. So the Nigerian government decided to starve the Biafrans out and imposed a blockade of all food and medicines. The blockade led to an entirely man-made famine in which up to 2 million civilians are estimated to have died.
Outside forces
After hesitating the UK government decided to back the Nigerian government, influenced by its commercial interests in the oil generated in areas controlled by Nigeria. Britain sent guns, ammunition and officers to train the Nigerian army. Like all wars, everybody thought it would be over by Christmas, nobody anticipated it turning into years of slog and then into the horrific suffering of the famine.
The British government which decided to back Nigeria was led by Harold Wilson. When women and children began to die of starvation, doctors filling in death certificates wrote under Cause of Death ‘Harold Wilson’. When more and more Biafran children fall sick with kwashiorkor (‘a form of malnutrition caused by protein deficiency in the diet, typically affecting young children in the tropics’) the locals rename it Harold Wilson disease (p.338). Wilson must have become deeply unhappy at being associated with what amounted to a genocide.
He and his cabinet thought that backing Nigeria was a humanitarian decision because it would bring the war to a swift end i.e. save lives. Nobody anticipated the stubbornness of Biafran resistance, how long the conflict would drag on, or that the British government’s decision would position them as backers of a genocide. (Wilson is mentioned five times in the text.)
Whatever Britain does, France can be counted on to do the opposite, so the government of General de Gaulle supported Biafra, supplying material and logistics and training. De Gaulle denounced the Nigerian government’s policy as a deliberate genocide.
The US government of Lyndon Johnson declared it was keeping a distance as Nigeria was a British sphere of influence, but in practice gave covert support to the Nigerian government, again influenced the importance of US business interests in the country. This was opposed by Republican presidential nominee Richard Nixon who throughout the presidential campaign of 1968 called for the US to support Biafra. However once in power in January 1969, Nixon found there was little he could do in practice apart from supporting the largely fruitless peace talks. Supporting Biafra would have alienated all the other African nations which were struggling with secessionist movements and also the Vietnam War was creating no end of geopolitical and domestic trouble, so best eave alone.
War’s end
The war ended with the Biafran government caving in and agreeing to be reintegrated into Nigeria. The Nigerian government made the concession of reorganising the country from four large monolithic regions into 12 more locally accountable states.
A documentary
Of the documentaries I’ve watched about the Biafra war, this is the best.
Half of a Yellow Sun, the characters
There are nearly 60 named characters in the novel but the narrative revolves around four main ones, Ugwu, Odenigbo, Olanna and Richard.
Ugwu
The novel starts and ends with Ugwu, a 13-year-old boy from the rural village of Opi who his auntie, a cleaner, wangles him a much sought-after job as a ‘house boy’ or all-purpose servant and cook to a figure who is initially referred to only as ‘Master’, in fact Master is the first word of the novel. Dependent or clustered around Ugwu are secondary characters:
his aunt, a cleaner at the university, who got him the job
his sister, Anulika, who grows to maturity during the novel and plans to get married till the war intervenes
Ugwu’s mother who is ill and Ugwu’s Master kindly intervenes to help and find medical care
Nnesinachi, Ugwu’s first love from back in the village, who he has vivid fantasies about when he masturbates
Chinyere, servant of the house neighbouring his Master’s, who often slips out at night and sneaks into Ugwu’s quarters so they can make love, though she remains eerily passive and silent throughout the process
Some of the chapters end with a bold heading The Book: The World Was Silent When We Died. It took me a while to realise these were clips or summaries of chapters from a book one of the characters will later write about the war. They are short, half-page, potted summaries of key events or aspects of Nigeria’s history and provide a counterpoint to the mainstream narrative they’re tacked onto. For most of the narrative I assumed this was the book that Ugwu would become educated enough to write. Only on page 374 are we explicitly told that it is the book which Richard will write about the war. And then, it is only right at the end do we learn that, typically, Richard hasn’t written a page, whereas Ugwu has been writing unstoppable for months a book he intends to give the title ‘Narrative of the Life of a Country’ but which, we realise, will use Richard’s title.
Odenigbo
Ugwu’s Master speaks in such pukka, jolly-good-chap tones (‘Excellent, my good man!’) that I initially thought he was white. Only slowly did I realise it is an African man named Odenigbo, Professor of Mathematics at Nsukka University. (Nsukka is a town and a Local Government Area in Enugu State, Nigeria i.e. in tribal Igboland and in what would become Biafra.)
As a thoughtful intellectual, Odenigba sounds off about the issues of the day, espousing socialism against capitalism and defending the importance of against the Pan-Africanism or African nationalism very popular in the first flush of African independence (as espoused by, for example, Kwame Nkrumah of Ghana) – As Odenigbo yells from the stage of an independence rally, ‘We will lead Black Africa!’
A ‘stocky man’ (p.257), Odenigba hosts dinner or drinks parties attended by other figures from the university who chip into these conversations. As the novel progresses and the situation deteriorates their conversations and arguments about what is right and wrong, what ought to be done, form a kind of chorus to the political and historical events. They include:
Miss Adebayo, Yoruba professor at Nsukka University, who fancies Odenigbo so creates tension with his fiancée, Olanna (see below); but her Yoruba ethnicity leads Odenigbo to accuse her of complicity in the pogroms
Dr. Patel, Indian Professor at Nsukka University
Professor Lehman, white American Professor at Nsukka University, irritating nasal voice , same fair hair as Richard, generally criticised by Odenigbo
Professor Ezeka, lofty fastidious professor at Nsukka University; in the fourth part of the book he becomes Director of Mobilisation in the Biafran Army (p.286 ff.) and helps Olanna
Okeoma, good friend, a renowned poet, at one point called ‘the voice of our generation’ (the kiss of death!), sample poem page 175
Edna, Olanna’s neighbor in Nsukka, an African-American woman with characteristically strong opinions about race and gender
Odenigbo is regularly harangued by his Mama who dislikes Olanna and is openly rude to her when she visits.
Olanna Ozobia
Daughter of Chief Ozobia and lover of Odenigbo, attended university in Britain. Beautiful and graceful, her relationship with Odenigbo is described lovingly, as are their numerous bouts of making love. The sensitive boy Ugwu falls deeply in love with her, devoting himself to serving her, and anxiously watching the changing fortunes of her relationship with his Master.
Olanna has a twin sister, Kainene, who is her opposite in every respect, being twig-thin, unromantic and business-minded. Right at the start is a scene where Chief Ozobia ‘offers’ Olanna to an important businessman, Chief Okonji, to secure a deal, an early indication of the corruption and the patriarchal assumptions suffusing every aspect of Nigerian life, but quite quickly Olanna moves beyond her parents’ control to become an entirely free agent.
Because of her not-great relationship with her parents, Olanna gravitates more towards her Aunt Ifeka and Uncle Mbaezi who live in the northern Nigerian city of Kano.
Uncle Mbaezi, Olanna’s uncle, brother of Olanna’s mother, founder of the Igbo Union Grammar School
Aunty Ifeka, Uncle Mbaezi’s wife, source of comfort and advice to Olanna
Arize, Uncle Mbaezi and Aunty Ifeka’s daughter and so Olanna’s cousin, eager find a husband and get married
It is a traumatic moment for her (and the reader) when Olanna comes across their slaughtered corpses as the pogroms and massacres kick off about 150 pages into the narrative.
Olanna’s relationship with Odenigbo is slightly problematic in the sense that he had many lovers before her, and she is still good friends with her former lover, Mohammed, a handsome Hausa man. (In a fraught scene it is Mohammed who saves her life by making her put on a veil and driving her through the mobs of machete-wielding murderers and to safety in riot-torn Kano yelling his way through them in the Hausa language which identifies him as one of them, pages 146 to 148.)
When the second part of the novel opens she is the adoptive mother of Baby, Odenigbo’s daughter by a village girl, Amara, who he slept with while theoretically going out with Olanna. When Amara said she didn’t want the baby, Olanna agreed to her and Odenigbo adopting it. Baby’s real name is Chiamaka, which means ‘God is beautiful’. Kainene suggested it (p.254) but it is rarely used. In 1967, when independence is declared, Baby is 4 (p.169).
Olanna only reluctantly agrees to marry Odenigbo and only under pressure of the war and their flight as refugees (p.187).
Kainene Ozobia
Olanna’s twin sister but very different from Olanna. She is the strong independent practical woman praised by feminists, ‘Kainene with her sharp edges and her bitter tongue and her
supreme confidence’ (p.218).
Kainene lives in Port Harcourt in the south of Nigeria, near the coast, where she runs her father’s business. In a quotable quote her father tells a friend that she is ‘not just like a son, she is like two’, showing what I suppose we would now describe as misogyny, sexism and the patriarchy. Kainene has a functional, cold relationship with the wet and ineffectual British writer, Richard Churchill.
Richard Churchill
Wants to be a writer and has come to Nigeria to explore Igbo-Ukwu art, but it’s a running joke that he struggles to write his book, in fact he can’t even decide what it’s meant to be about. At the start he hooks up with ex-pat Susan Grenville-Pitts, who spends her time with other ex-pats and plays the role of casually denigrating the locals, making casually racist or demeaning remarks (‘These people never fight civilised wars, do they?’ p.182) which Richard slowly comes to hate.
All of which explains why Richard dumps Susan and throws in his lot with the beguilingly cold and functional Kainene who he meets at a party Susan’s taken him to. Richard moves to Nsukka where he teaches at the university and so enters the social circle of Odenigbo and Olanna, taking part in parties, dinners, conversations about politics, colonialism etc. (This must be in 1963 because in the year independence is declared he is described as having been there for four years, p.169.)
Richard and Kainene’s relationship is a little tense not least because of her continuing affection for Major Madu, a lifelong friend of Kainene’s, who pops up from time to time to give us bulletins on the (generally worsening) military situation. (His perilous escape from the genocidaires during which he hides in a chicken house, pages 139 to 141.)
As the situation worsens Richard writes angry letters to the western press for their lazy coverage and racist stereotypes (‘what can you expect from such people?), pointing out that most of the ethnic hatred is the fault of Britain’s divide and rule tactics, but they are never published (p.166). He is a kind of epitome of ineffectualness.
He flies back in from London to Kano airport where he witnesses a squad of soldiers run in and shoot dead every Igbo they can find (pages 151 to 153).
Servants and class
There is a tremendous issue around class in these novels. it’s easy not to register the fact that both Adichie’s novels take place among the privileged bourgeoisie. It’s easy to overlook the way they casually talk about flying over to London on shopping sprees, buying new clothes and wigs (Olanna wears lots of wigs), enjoying fine European cuisine etc – living a high life undreamed of by the vast majority of the rural population.
Alice looked precise and petite in a neatly belted wool dress that Olanna imagined hanging in a London shop. Nothing like a Biafran woman in a forest market at dawn. (p.329)
There appear to be three classes:
the privileged, comfortably off, intellectual and business class which Adichie’s first two novels are mostly set amongst
the servant class
the nameless masses who live in rural poverty and ignorance in countless remote villages
If there is an urban proletariat we never meet it.
The most obvious divide is between urban masters and servants. All the lead characters – Odenigbo, Olanna, Kainene and Richard – have ‘houseboys’, sometimes along with cooks and gardeners. Old, wizened Jomo works as the gardener at both Richard’s house and Odenigbo’s house in Nsukka. Jomo maintains an entertaining feud with Harrison, Richard’s houseboy. Kainene has three stewards, the head one being Ikejide.
I read somewhere that it is a working definition of the bourgeoisie that they are at ease commanding their servants. Well, that’s true of the four characters I’ve just listed: they expect to have servants to order around and the servants know their place. Here’s Kainene in ruling class mode.
She stood up. ‘Ikejide!’ she called. ‘Come and clear this place.’ (p.256)
Just as abrupt and imperious as the white colonials were blamed for being. Just as rude as bourgeois Beatrice is to her servant, Agatha, in Anthills of the Savannah.
All the more remarkable, then, that the ‘intellectuals’ among them, chiefly Odenigbo, spout on about socialism and tribal unity – so much so that business-minded Kainene mockingly refers to Odenigbo as ‘the revolutionary’ – while all the time enforcing a strict and unquestioned class and caste divide, as unquestioned and unexamined as medieval serfdom was in its day.
As to the rural poor, the really low uneducated peasant poor, what any urbanite no matter how poor refers to as bush people, bush man, bush woman – they are represented by Amala, the poor peasant girl who Odenigbo’s mother arranges to get pregnant by Odenigbo (see below). She has no agency whatsoever, is just a passive pawn of her betters. When she is forced by Mama into Odenigbo’s room, she has no choice.
She never once looked at Odenigbo. What she must feel for him was an awed fear. Whether or not
Mama had told her to go to his room, she had not said no to Odenigbo because she had not even considered that she could say no. Odenigbo made a drunken pass and she submitted willingly and promptly. He was the master, he spoke English, he had a car. It was the way it should be. (p.250)
The future of a developing country lies with its masses, its general population. As in Purple Hibiscus, the mass of the Nigerian population remains largely invisible, while the narrative is dominated by the confident, educated black bourgeoisie agonising over every little detail of their privileged lives.
University setting
Connected to this is the way most of the main characters are well-educated intellectuals who have had a university education (often in England), the notable ones of which (Odenigbo, Olanna, Richard) have carried on in the university-intellectual-writer milieu. The exception is Ugwu the illiterate young houseboy but even he, during the course of the novel, is encouraged by his employer to attend school, read widely, and so becomes a well-educated intellectual and writer, like his Master before him.
Maybe this is partly because Adichie’s own parents were both academics so it’s a world of cocktail parties and dinner parties and educated conversation which she knew well. But it’s also a handy milieu in which to create characters who are thoughtful and articulate and so can comment on political and historical events. The obvious alternative milieu would be the media i.e. TV, radio and newspapers, but this is fraught by endless stressful deadlines and so less amenable as a fictional setting for characters to ponder and pontificate; academia is the world Adichie knows best.
In this academic setting it’s immediately reminiscent of Chinua Achebe’s final novel, Anthills of the Savannah, which has a predominantly university setting and features an academic and a writer.
Developments
The novel is so long and complicated I’m not going to attempt to summarise it in prose. Maybe I’ll do a kind of timeline of the key moments (below). Just to recap, the first 150 or so pages establish all the characters I’ve listed above, and then history kicks in, with the coup, the counter-coup, the pogroms and then the outbreak of war following in quick succession.
In one way it’s like the Irwin Allen disaster movies of my youth, which used to spend the first half an hour or so introducing you to 20 or so passengers on the SS Poseidon (The Poseidon Adventure) or attending the opening party at the top of the Glass Tower (Towering Inferno) or preparing to catch flights at Lincoln International Airport (Airport). Half an hour of humdrum people going about their humdrum lives and then BAM! catastrophe strikes and the characters and the reader are swept away in an accelerating crescendo of death and disaster. Same here.
But Adichie is such a good writer that even what I’ve called the ‘humdrum’ opening scenes are worth reading. I’ve become a huge fan, I’d read anything she’s written for the pure pleasure of her smooth lucid prose style. The organisational or architectonic skill in the novel is the way she presents the impact not of one disaster, but a whole series of critical events, as the country descends from coup into civil war and then horror famine, through the eyes of all these well-established characters. This is a brilliant, brilliant novel.
Page by page summary
p.123 First coup announced on the radio
Details of pogroms i.e. systematic massacres of Igbos on pages 138, 142, 144,
Pages 146 to 148, Mohammed smuggles terrified Olanna through the riot-torn streets of Kano and gets her onto the last train out of town. It’s on this train full of injured, weeping people that the mother shows her the head of her daughter in a calabash.
p.156 First talk of an independent nation called Biafra to be led by Colonel Ojokwu.
p.162 Odenigbo and Olanna attend an independence rally on the university campus, where people wave the new flag and listen to speeches. Odenigbo gets onstage and declares: “Biafra is born! We will lead Black Africa! We will live in security! Nobody will ever again attack us! Never again!” which turns out to be the diametric opposite of the truth. The tendency of all these intellectual conversations to be hugely wrong and misleading, leading to a general feeling that intellectual analysis and opinions are worthless.
p.168 Kainene and Richard listen to Biafra’s independence being declared on the radio.
p.170 Colonel Ojukwo visits the Nsukka campus where Richard and Olanna watch him speak, a very softly-spoken man.
p.177 Ugwu hears the radio announcement that the Nigerian government will launch a ‘police action’ to return Biafra to the Nigerian Federation.
p.178 Vincent Ikenna, the university registrar, interrupts a calm domestic scene in Odenigbo’s house to warn them that ‘the Federals’ are on the edge of Nsukka and advancing, so they must grab what they can and leave right now! They flee to Abba. (‘During the height of the Nigerian Civil War in 1967, the capital of Biafra was moved to Umuahia from Enugu. Aba was a very strategic Biafran city and was heavily bombed and air raided during the civil war.’)
p.180 Richard, staying in Port Harcourt with Kainene, she tells him to move in and gets her driver to drive him to Nsukka to get his stuff (clothes, manuscript of the never-finished book) but they’re turned back at the city perimeter by soldiers, so he returns to Harcourt to hunker down for the duration.
p.185 Olanna, Baby and Odenigbo move to Abba where he has a second home
p.188 Olanna’s parents arrive, telling her they’re going to flee the country and have bribed their way to having 4 airplane tickets. Will she come with them? She says no.
p.190 Olanna is summoned to her grandfather’s community in Umunnachi to testify to what she saw in Kano i.e. the dead bodies of Mbaezi, Ifeka and Arize; how Ifeka’s sister, Dozie, refused to believe it, hysterically calling Olanna a witch.
p. 191 Refugees stream through Abba force Odenigbo to accept that he and Olanna will also have to flee, to Umuahia. Odenigbo’s mother refuses to leave. His voice sounds increasingly strained as if he’s beginning to suspect Biafra will lose.
p.197 Odenigbo, Olanna, Baby and Ugwu arrive in Umuahia to rent a shabby, rundown shack from one Professor Achara. Odenigbo takes up his job with the Manpower Directorate. Olanna tells Ugwu that it is here she and Odenigbo will get married. In this new place they make new friends such as:
Special Julius, a canny army contractor
Professor Ekwenugo, member of the science group of the Biafran army (p.198)
While the educated bicker and argue about what’s going to happen (almost always getting it wrong) Ugwu concentrates on the material actuality of the here and now and falls in lust with a neighbouring young woman, Eberechi, transfixed by her ‘perfectly rounded buttocks’ (p.199).
p.202 Odenigbo and Olanna’s wedding is interrupted by an air raid.
p.204 Radio news announcement that Biafra has lost all the territorial gains it initially made, has been pushed back to its borders, and Nigeria now considers this a war.
Part Three. The Early Sixties (pages 209 to 258)
Oddly, a flashback to the pre-war setting. The book’s in four parts 1) The Early Sixties, 2) The Late Sixties 3) The Early Sixties, 4) The Late Sixties. You’d have expected it to progress in chronological order. So why does part three jump back in time like this? The answer appears to be, in order to clarify certain key moments in the characters’ lives which the first go around missed out.
For example, I’d been puzzled why the text kept referring to Ugwu’s not liking the period leading up to Baby’s birth, when Odenigbo and Olanna’s relationship became tense and formal. I kept worrying that I’d blinked or fallen asleep late at night and missed something. Turns out that here is where we get the full story. Olanna goes off somewhere, on holiday or work, leaving Odenigbo with his mother who has brought a village girl named Amala to help her, and Ugwu watches Mama prepare his food, rub ointments into Amala’s back and begins to suspect she (Mama) is a witch preparing some spell on his Master. If so, it’s a pretty simple spell, because Mama gets Odenigbo drunk on strong palm wine and slips Amala into his room with orders to sleep with him. Why? To ruin her son’s relationship with Olanna.
It works because Amala gets pregnant, insists on having it but handing it over to Mama, who tells Olanna about it, which leads to some pretty frosty months between her and Odenigbo. So this part of the novel, part three, is where we get the full backstory.
In a similar vein, Olanna’s mother tells her about her father’s mistress and infidelities. Distraught at Odenigbo’s betrayal Olanna goes to stay with her auntie in Kano. To her dismay her auntie says she had the same problem with her husband, Uncle Mbaezi, who had numerous affairs till Ifeka threatened to ‘cut off that snake between his legs.’
Men, eh. Why can’t they keep their willies in their trousers? It should have been men who wore chastity belts. As Auntie Ikefa tells Olanna: ‘Odenigbo has done what all men do and has inserted his penis in the first hole he could find when you were away.’ (p.226)
p.227 On the plane from Kano to Nsukka Olanna sits next to a man who spouts a load of anti-Igbo slurs and propaganda, until she reveals that she’s Igbo. He has the good manners to look ashamed.
p.228 Olanna takes all her stuff out of Odenigbo’s flat and moves back into her apartment. Becomes friends with her black American neighbour Edna Whaler.
p.229 Olanna goes to consult Father Damien (so she’s a Catholic; this has barely been mentioned) who gives her the unexpected but sound advice to forgive Odenigbo, not for his sake, but to stop the anger eating away at her.
p.231 Unfortunately, Odenigbo then shows up at her apartment to explain that not only did he sleep with Amala but she is now pregnant!
p.233 In revenge and on the spur of the moment, after meeting him in a supermarket, Olanna gets Richard drunk (on ‘good white Burgundy’) and then seduces him, back at her place stripping off, touching his groin etc. Soon after having sex, Richard passes out on the floor, waking the next morning with a bad hangover.
Like Ugwu’s references to the ill feeling before Baby’s arrival, this bit of backstory explains another mysterious element in the previous two parts, namely why Richard had been nervous and twitchy around Olanna. Richard’s main concern is that Olanna will never tell Kainene about this infidelity. Men. Women. Sex. Eternal folly.
p.235 The radio news announces that Winston Churchill has died (this dates it to 24 January 1965). Richard attends a memorial service with Susan the ex-pat bigot (always referring to the locals as ‘these people’). Susan tells him she’s had a fling with the husband of her best friend. Richard reflects that all ex-pats do is sleep with each other’s partners.
p.238 Worry about his master and mistress gives Ugwu diarrhea. Mama leaves but refuses to take Amala with her. Ugwu comes across poor simple village girl Amala among his pepper plants, doggedly eating them in the hope they will trigger a miscarriage. Ugwu witnesses Olanna returning for a visit which features her yelling abuse and accusations at Odenigbo, which leads to them disappearing into the bedroom for make-up sex. But then she drives away.
p.244 Olanna goes to see Richard and tells him not to tell Kainene. But then she goes to Odenigbo’s, has sex with him again, and tells him she slept with Richard. This is borderline soap opera now.
p.245 Her American neighbour Edna knocks on the door in floods of tears and needs comforting after news that racist whites have combed a black church in the Deep South and killed four little girls.
(This is puzzling because the notorious 16th Street Baptist Church bombing in Birmingham Alabama took place on 15 September 1963 i.e. a year and a half before Churchill’s death. Conclusion: Adichie plays fast and loose with historical dates for dramatic purposes. Incidentally, I’ve mentioned this racist terrorist atrocity before in connection with the work of surpassing beauty which jazz saxophonist composed to commemorate it.)
Here, Edna’s grief at real tragedy helps Olanna put things in perspective, realising that out of the tangled sex mess she and Odenigbo have created, she must actively choose happiness and a positive path. She will move back in with Odenigbo.
p.246 Olanna has more sex with Odenigbo (she gives him a blowjob while he sits at the dining room table). They are reconciled, sort of. Odenigbo met Richard in the street and told him not to visit his house any more. Olanna phones Kainene to see if her tone and attitude towards her have changed i.e. whether Richard’s told her. Turns out, no. Everyone has secrets. Soap opera, but stylishly done.
p.247 Mama sends a message that Amala has had a baby girl. Odenigbo and Olanna drive in uneasy silence to Enugu. Amala is shamed and humiliated and takes no part in the conversations. She doesn’t want the baby. Then it emerges that Mama won’t take it, either. She wanted a boy. At which point Olanna makes the snap decision to adopt it. As soon as she does it feels right. She and Odenigbo have been trying to have a baby for years and it won’t come. Here is a gift from God. Olanna surprises Odenigbo and mama but sticks by her decision. She phones sister Kainene, who approves.
p.253 In conversation with Odenigbo, Olanna affirms that she does believe in God.
She was used to his gentle jibes about her social-service faith and she would have responded to say that she was not even sure she believed in a Christian God that could not be seen. But now, with a helpless human being lying in the cot, one so dependent on others that her very existence had to be proof of a higher goodness, things had changed. “I do believe,” she said. “I believe in a good God.” (p.253)
p.254 All this seems to be going well until Olanna’s next phone call to Kainene who angrily reveals that she knows that Olanna slept with Richard her (Kainene’s) boyfriend. Soap opera. Sex in the City.
p.255 It was Harrison, Richard’s servant, who let slip about Richard sleeping with Olanna, when Richard takes him along for a week-long stay with Kainene in Port Harcourt. Harrison didn’t know the details, just that he witnessed Odenigbo confronting Richard in the street and ranting and shouting at him (for sleeping with Olanna). When he mentions this while serving Richard and Kainene, the latter insists on knowing what it was all about, and Richard, feebly, confesses everything. Kainene is, as expected, coldly furious.
Part Four. The Late Sixties (pages 261 to 433)
Part four picks up exactly where part two left off to take us into the flashback of part three, namely with Odenigbo, Olanna, Ugwu and Baby living in a shabby shack in Umuahia, and recovering from the aftermath of the terrifying air attack on their wedding.
p.262 Baby gets a cold, Ugwu drives them to the hospital where Olanna speaks in her best English, holding herself erect like an educated lady, and thus gets seen ahead of peasant women who’ve been waiting since dawn. Power is everywhere. Dr Nwala apologises, the hospital is running out of medicine.
p.267 Olanna warns Odenigbo they are running out of money, even as all the prices in the market are galloping. She attends a relief centre along with primary teacher Mrs Muokelu, who is tough but limited and prejudiced. Baby will only eat dried egg from the centre, but they don’t always have it. Supplies are ambushed by soldiers. The queues of women desperate to feed their babies become rancorous.
The official in charge of the centre turns out to be a man whose mother Olanna comforted at an airport years ago when she, a simple country woman, was overwhelmed with anxiety in the arrivals lounge. Olanna held her hand till her grown-up son arrived. Now this son, Okoromadu, recognises her and slips her items of food.
p.272 When Okoromadu slips Olanna a tin of corned beef, soldiers see it and, on her walk home, surround and mug her, just for one tin. Starvation is coming.
More and more air raids. Olanna gets sick of grabbing Baby and running for the shelter. They say the Nigerians keep up the bombing to impress Harold Wilson into giving more war aid. The school where Olanna has been teaching, Akwakuma Primary School, takes a direct hit, though empty so almost no casualties.
p.285 Master and Special Julius say their forces will rebound and make ‘the vandals’, as they call the Nigerians or Federalists, pay. Professor Ekwenugu assures them his team are on the verge of creating a special Biafran superweapon. The primary school is turned into a refugee camp.
p.286 Professor Ezeka, a supercilious visitor in the old days in Nsukka has been made Director of Mobilisation, is driven around in a shiny Mercedes and has put on weight, looking sleek and well fed among the starving refugees.
p.287 Ugwu helps a mixed bunch of refugees repair the roof of the school, listening to their stories but mostly lusting after Eberechi.
Ugwu joins Olanna in giving lessons to the younger child refugees. He is immensely proud and copies Olanna’s bearing and pronunciation. These are clearly all steps from being a peasant houseboy to becoming an educated writer…
p.295 They all hear on the radio that Tanzania is the first country to recognise Biafra, which dates this moment to 13 April 1968.
p.300 News arrives that Odenigbo’s mother is dead, shot by the invaders in her town of Abba, which she refused to leave. Olanna is in tears but Odenigbo retreats inside himself, then insists he has to bury her himself and drives off towards enemy territory, leaving them all distraught.
p.304 Major Madu recruits Richard to write propaganda to be distributed to outlets abroad. They’ll believe him because he is white. Richard’s staying in Port Harcourt, at Kainene’s apartment, and is anxious about rumours that the Port is about to fall.
p.309 Richard visits Uli airstrip, Biafra’s surviving outlet to the world, to write a piece, and bumps into the remarkable Count von Rosen, who is flying bombing missions for Biafra.
p.315 Port Harcourt is attacked. Artillery shells blow out the windows in Kainene’s apartment. Their servants pack and hurry down to the car. Kainene’s steward Ikejide is decapitated by shrapnel. they hurriedly bury him, throw their bags in the back and drive out of the Port till they reach Orlu.
In Orlu Kainene throws herself into refugee work, helping with education and health, setting up workshops, ensuring regular visits from a doctor. The incident of the pregnant woman who spits in Dr Inyang’s face because she isn’t an Igbo i.e. is one of the minority ethnic groups.
Mama’s death breaks Odenigbo. He used to force himself to be optimistic. Now he’s given in. He leaves early for work and comes home late via the tavern where he gets drunk.
p.322 Their friend the former poet Okeoma comes to pay his respects. Back in peacetime he was a budding poet and ‘voice of his generation’. Now he is a hardened soldier who no longer writes poems.
p.325 The landlord kicks Odenigbo, Olanna and Ugwu out of the shack they’ve been living in so they’re forced to move to one room in a tenement with a bathroom and kitchen shared with eight other families. No electricity. They have to use kerosene lamps for light. New neighbours bad-tempered Mama Oji and desperate mother of a girl Baby likes playing with, Adanna.
Father Ambrose who makes a lot of noise with his open-air preaching but who everyone knows he is pretending to be a pastor to avoid the army.
p.328 Olanna meets Alice who plays the piano in her secret flat, is obviously educated, but avoids Olanna or anyone else. In Umahia she was tricked into having a relationship and then a baby by an army officer who it turned out, was married.
p.332 Odenigbo doggedly tells the other men in the block that they need to build a shelter and gets going with Ugwu, the others joining in. But in the evenings he is tired and unresponsive to Olanna’s kisses or caresses. He’s lost weight. He’s becoming a shell.
The children, namely Baby’s friend Adanna, start to get kwashiorkor, a form of malnutrition, widely called Harold Wilson’s disease. Olanna is amazed to receive a food package from Professor Ezeka. She gives some to Adanna’s mother.
Kainene pays a visit, coming from her base at Orlu. She’s brought a letter from their mother, now safely in England. She describes seeing her steward decapitated by shrapnel, obviously in shock. Brings her and Olanna closer.
Olanna pays Kainene a visit in Orlu in return. Harrison bows. All these people have servants. Kainene takes her to the refugee centre, introduces her to Father Marcel, shows her round (p.347). For the first time Olanna sees rooms full of dying people, women and babies with no fat, barely any flesh on their bodies, just skin and bone and huge vacant eyes.
p.350 Bored, Ugwu leaves the compound during the day and is promptly press-ganged by soldiers exactly as Olanna warned him countless times, and is tied by the wrists into a chain gang which is just being marched off when Olanna comes running up and bribes one of the soldiers to release him. Her fury knows no limit.
p.354 Ugwu suspects Master is having an affair with slight, secretive Alice. In fact, Odenigbo tells him that Professor Ekwenugo has been blown up along with some landmines he was delivering in a lorry. Ugwu is so upset he runs to the house of Eberechi, a girl his age with lovely round buttocks. They had argued when he saw her flirting with a soldier. Now, months later, all that seems trivial and she holds his hand while she cries.
One by one the central characters’ illusions and optimism are being crushed.
p.356 Ugwu and Eberechi have become an item, hanging out, holding hands. It’s returning from walking Eberechi home that Ugwu is caught by soldiers a second time, press-ganged and taken off to a miserable barracks along with other crying teenagers.
He finds an old copy of ‘Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, An American Slave: Written by Himself’ and starts scribbling a diary on the blank bits of the pages.
Ugwu meets fellow boy sldier High-Tech, barely 13 (p.363) but an old hand in the army, a fixer, someone who always snaffles extra rations, knows the sneaks and dodges. The name derives from his ability to slip ahead of the lines and reconnoitre territory which led one of his commanders to describe him as more useful than ‘any high-technology spying gadget’ (p.358).
p.361 We see Ugwu in action, in a trench at night waiting for the Nigerians soldiers to creep forward and detonating a mine which kills a clump of them whose boots and ammo they then loot. Ugwu becomes a star in his barracks, nicknamed ‘Target Destroyer’.
One night he and older soldiers commandeer a family’s car to drive to a bar. The soldiers show the same amoral violence and lack of respect as all African soldiers show in these stories and all the histories of Africa I’ve read. As the boy soldier in David Van Reybrouck’s Congo: the epic history of a people puts it: ‘When you’re a soldier, women are free. Everything is free.’ That is the vast, unquenchable appeal of picking up a gun and joining a militia.
So the soldiers beat the man unconscious, steal his car, drive to the nearest bar, drink heavily and then gang rape the barmaid. Why not, they have guns, who is going to interfere? They taunt Ugwu into joining them and he does, briskly and effectively fucking the girl as the others hold her down. African unity. Black consciousness. Negritude etc. Empty words.
Ugwu’s battlefront experiences become a blur of mud, explosions, bullets, the sight of men dying in a hundred different ways.
p.366 They hear on the radio that Umuahia, Biafra’s capital, has fallen, dating this to 22 April 1969.
p.367 In their next operation a mortar lands in his trench, mangling the captain next to Ugwu and sending him flying as he passes out. Is he dead?
p.368 Cut to Richard in his role as Biafra press person meeting two American journalists at the airport and driving them into town. They smell really bad but they’ve also brought their sensationalist racist views. They bridle at the starving children but are full of excuses and explanations such as there need be no starvation of Biafran leader Ojukwu agreed to open an aid corridor. That remark momentarily reminded me of the talk about trying to open corridors for humanitarian aid into Gaza, now, February 2024, almost 60 years after the Biafra war. The fundamentals of war never change.
p.372 Richard drives the American journalists to the airport at Uli to catch a night flight out. It is bombed to the journalists’ amazement. Biafran trucks bring gravel for workers to fill in the craters, and three relief planes land, and are hurriedly unloaded.
p.374 We are finally told that ‘The World Was Silent When We Died’ is the title of the book which Richard will write about the war, a fact repeated on page 396.
The impact on Olanna of Ugwu’s disappearance i.e. she’s distraught, Baby is upset. Kainene writes to say Major Madu has written to all commands to look out for and release Ugwu. Mam Oji warns Olanna that pretty little Alice sits with Odenigbo whenever Olanna is absent. Rumours abound. Everybody is blaming saboteurs. Odenigbo returns from the bar drunk on gin which deadens his mind.
p.381 Kainene arrives to tell her that Ugwu is dead. Major Madu had it from his commander whose forces suffered a massive attack and wipeout. Olanna is distraught, moves in a daze, is suddenly furious with Odenigbo’s descent into a drunken stupor.
p.383 A man arrives with a message for Alice that her entire extended family has been wiped out along with the entire population of Asaba, massacred by Nigerian soldiers.
p.385 Suddenly there is artillery fire on the edge of Umuahia, and everyone panics, packs their bags and flees. Odenigbo struggles to start the car they’ve kept all this time and they are some of the last people to drive out of the town, heading north to stay with Kainene.
Very tense reunion scene and then dinner, because Odenigbo hasn’t forgiven Richard for sleeping with Olanna and Kainene hasn’t forgiven Olanna for sleeping with Richard etc. When the men have gone to bed, Olanna bursts into tears, telling Kainene she hates this war and what it’s done to her husband. Kainene comforts her.
Time passes. Hunger at the camp Kainene runs grows worse. Olanna tries to teach the children but they’re too weak to pay attention, Babies with swollen bellies, woman covered in bites and sores. Two or three die every day and are buried in shallow graves.
p.391 News arrives that ‘the voice of a generation’, Okeoma, has been killed. Olanna screams and screams as the whole world seems to be snapping. That night she and Odenigbo make love, both of them crying.
p.393 Back to Ugwu who is, as I suspected, not dead at all. But he is in agony as soldiers carry him over their shoulders back to the hospital, which is overwhelmed with the wounded and dying. After days of pain and painkiller dreams he realises the priest from the old days back in Nsukka is talking to him and then, days later, Richard is there.
This is all nicely done. Instead of the news that Ugwu is alive coming to Odenigba and Olanna with their predictable reactions, we see everything entirely through his eyes, as he is lifted out of the dirty hospital bed, and into Richard’s car and driven to Olu, to be made much of by Master and Olanna and Baby, all hugging and kissing him. They share the best of their food and nurture Ugwu back to health, but he is a man now, blooded, and keeps aloof.
It is now that Ugwu starts to write compulsively, covering every scrap of paper he can find with everything he can remember. Maybe the much-referenced book, ‘The World Was Silent When We Died’ is by him after all. Its precise authorship becomes a narrative puzzle and tug, pulling us on through the last 30 or so pages of the text.
Kainene announces she is going to cross the front line to barter with Nigerian peasant women. Everyone’s doing it. At the same time Richard will go to Ahiara to beg for food from relief headquarters. They witness the camp women beating a man on the ground. it is an 18-year-old soldier who stole half grown crops from their fields. Total starvation.
Kainene doesn’t return the next day, as day traders ought to, or the next day or the next. Richard alternates between despair and panic. Olanna takes control. But they are all terrified. The days drag into weeks. In the middle of this, Ojukwu makes a radio broadcast announcing he is going abroad to seek peace. Cynics say he is jumping ship and abandoning Biafra.
p.411 A few days later the radio announces that the war is over, 15 January 1970. And very quickly it is. Hostilities cease and charities can immediately enter Biafra with emergency food supplies. It takes a few days for the roads to officially open and then Richard drives off to search for Kainene and Odenigbo, Olanna, Baby and Ugwu set off back to Abba (where Odenigbo kneels beside his mother’s shallow grave) and then on to Nsukka.
p.416 They are stopped at a roadblock where the bully Nigerian officer insults them for driving with Biafra number plates. He forces them to get out of the car and then orders them to join a gang of labourers carrying planks and cement over to a half-ruined house. When Odenigbo demurs, the officer slaps him hard in the face, and then a second time, so that Olanna intervenes and says they’ll do it and they spend half an hour labouring. In that time they watch him stop another car with Biafran plates, haul the driver out, rip off his glasses, force him to the floor and then viciously cane him on the back and buttocks.
This, rather than all the guff about African nationalism and pan-Africanism and Black Consciousness and Black Pride spouted by Odenigbo and Kwame Nkrumah and countless other intellectuals, was to be the symbol of independent African nations, a furious soldier thrashing a helpless civilian at a roadblock, repeated in countries across the continent to this day. The climax of Achebe’s last novel, Anthills of the Savannah, is the book’s clever, articulate, intellectual protagonist being shot dead at point-blank range by a drunken soldier.
p.418 They arrive back on the campus at Nsukka to find their lovely house long ago ransacked then abandoned to the harmattan dust and the wild grass. Soldiers had carefully defecated in every room (as they do in William Boyd’s description of a war-ransacked home in An Ice-Cream War, as they do in the vandalised house left abandoned for a while by David Lurie in J.M. Coetzee’s novel, Disgrace – it is the standard vandal calling card).
Ugwu goes to visit his family. His mother died of illness during the war. His sister was gang raped and beaten. The pretty girl in the village he fantasised about has had a baby by a Hausa soldier. Everything has changed.
One day they are having dinner when soldiers burst in, force them to lie face down on the floor, search the house, threaten them with guns, then eat the still-hot dinner, belching, before leaving with some final threats. The wanton behaviour of security forces in any totalitarian state.
Richard drives to Kainene’s old house in Port Harcourt. it has a new owner who threatens to set her dog on him. He drives across to Lagos to visit Kainene’s mother and father who are back from London, who have had to spend all their money buying their old house back. Major Madu is there. Suddenly, after a civilised lunch, Richard is seized with longing to know whether Madu slept with Kainene. When he refuses to answer, Richard feebly slaps his face at which Madu, the soldier, punches Richard straight in the face, knocking him to the ground.
Food parcels arrive from abroad. Baby recovers her natural colour and hair. They’ve lost all their money and have to start anew. They search every hospital and mortuary, they put out ads and posters, they consult a witch doctor. But Kainene never returns.
The Book: The World Was Silent When We Died
Eight little bits of text tacked onto the end of some of the chapters, these amount to key moments from Nigeria’s history. At first I thought they were written by Ugwu. Then Richard came up with the title and claimed to be writing it. But, characteristically, he failed to write a word whereas Ugwu was seized with unquenchable urge to write, and so it is Ugwu’s book after all.
1. As prologue to Ugwu’s book the story of the woman fleeing Kano bearing a beautifully carved calabash bowl which contains the head of her lovely daughter, beheaded by northern killers (p.82). This incident is described in more detail on page 149 where it is Olanna sitting next to her on a train fleeing the killers, who shows what is in her bowl. The trauma leads Olanna to suffer psychosomatic illness and, for a while, not be able to walk. (And then Ugwu, after all his traumas, and entering his non-stop writing phase, gets her to relive and describe it in as much detail as she can, page 410.)
2. British soldier-merchant Taubman Goldie and his role in creation of a north and south Nigerian protectorate. The British preferred Northerners who practiced Islam and obeyed emirs and sheiks the British found easy to control and tax, compared to Yoruba or Igbo in the south, who lived in more fragmented communities and were harder to manage. (p.115)
3. How the constitutional arrangements at independence favoured the North, how the South didn’t think it mattered because soon everyone would have white jobs and wealth, how ‘At Independence in 1960, Nigeria was a collection of fragments held in a fragile clasp.’ (p.155)
4. Nigeria at independence didn’t have an ‘economy’, it had a bundle of raw materials and resources which the British exploited. Nigerian politicians had to create an interlocking economy from scratch and dismally failed for all kinds of reasons, including utopian fantasies, incompetence and corruption. (p.204)
5. How Nigeria used starvation as a weapon, making it an international issue, galvanising aid charities, becoming an issue in the US presidential election, a warning parents in the western world used to cajole their recalcitrant children into finishing their meals (as my mum did to me). (p.237)
6. He blames Britain for inspiring a conspiracy of silence over Biafra and briefly lists the attitudes of the other powers i.e. France, America, Russia and China. But this claim, like the whole title of Ugwu’s book, seems clearly wrong. Far from being hushed up, Biafra dominated the headlines for two and a half years. There were widespread protests around the western world. Harold Wilson’s government was routinely denounced. Journalists like Frederick Forsyth and Don McCullin kept pictures of Biafra on newspaper and magazine front pages throughout the war. It became a leading issue in the US presidential election. This worldwide media blizzard was so much the exact opposite of ‘The World Was Silent When We Died’ that the naming of these sections is genuinely incomprehensible. The world was yelling its head off about Biafra! (p.258)
7. He writes a poem to serve as epilogue to his book (p.375).
8. Ugwu writes the dedication of his book last. For Master, my good man.
Last thoughts
I’ve read in several summaries that the novel opens and closes with Ugwu, which is sort of true, but the first word is Master and the almost last word is Master. So it opens and closes with Ugwu in relation to his master and you can interpret that as you please, as an image of servitude or of loyalty, of subjugation or apprenticeship. The novel has shown us how long and complex their relationship has been.
The loss of Kainene right at the very end leaves a note of desolation and loss appropriate in a novel about a devastating war. Yet in other ways I wasn’t sure it was devastating enough. There’s something floaty, calm and mellifluous about Adichie’s attitude and prose style and I wondered whether, in the end, her buoyancy, the supreme confidence of her style, doesn’t at some subtle level militate against all the horrors she describes.
Lastly, there is somehow not enough about the famine. There is one scene where Richard takes the American journalists to see starving babies, and also moments when Olanna and Kainene see the starving mothers and children in the camp Kainene runs. And we are told that the household of Odeigbo, Olanna, Baby and Ugwu run very low on food. And yet, as I said above, you never really feel this. Adichie’s style is never harrowed. Her style always feels well fed.
Lots of other books about wars or famines, about the Holocaust or the Rwanda genocide, have left me feeling gutted and traumatised. This book, although it does give descriptions which ought to be upsetting, just didn’t leave me feeling like that, didn’t leave me feeling grief stricken enough.
And something similar for the final collapse of the Biafran cause. It occurs as part of the day-to-day flow of events, and then the characters are on to the next worry, driving home, cleaning up their derelict houses, visiting family and so on. Nowhere is there a really powerful description of what it felt like to have lost, to be the losers in a harrowing traumatic conflict. Maybe there should have been a postscript describing the characters’ afterlives, somehow conveying the long-term psychological impact of having ventured all on a great political movement and being completely crushed.
Credit
Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie was published by 4th Estate Book 2006. References are to the 2007 Harper Perennial paperback edition.
Related links
Surprisingly for a contemporary novel, the entire text is available online:
The Outsider: My Life in Intrigue by Frederick Forsyth (2015) contains a chapter describing Forsyth’s journalistic coverage of the Biafran War; intriguingly, in an interview Adichie revealed that the idea of the Richard Churchill character was inspired by Forsyth, not the details of his personality but just the idea of a white man who becomes a fierce defender of Biafra, as Forsyth did
Books & Boots 