The Conspiracy of Silence in Okey Ndibe’s Arrow of Arrow

By Isaac Attah Ogezi Writing like any other form of communication is a two-way traffic – between the writer and his reader. I prefer to call creative writing an intimate dialogue between the writer and his reader. It is a deliberate kind of writing where the writer exerts so much effort in the use of language to clothe his beautiful plots. As an entertainer, the writer is placed in a tricky situation like a stand-up comedian; he must at all times strive to hold his audience-reader spellbound or else suffer a humiliating boo in lieu of a standing ovation. Diverse as the society perceives who a writer is, to me he is first and foremost an entertainer albeit of the highbrow or elitist class since his audience in a Third World country like ours is the tiny literate class. After this primary function of a writer in his society, other appellations may follow such as a social reformer, critic, Marxist, etc., etc. A social critic, yes, but he must not relegate the entertainment value of his craft to mere social criticism or preachments otherwise his works become mere pamphlets gathering dust in the libraries. Creative writing is a serious dialogue the writer engages with his reader. It can only be memorable like a good poem only if it is entertaining. It is not the object of this article to discuss what makes a work of art entertaining. Suffice it to say that it is a conglomerate of several ingredients which space will not permit an extensive discourse. Of late, the present writer has had such an intimate dialogue with the novelist Okey Ndibe. It is entertaining, educative and memorable enough to deserve a retelling. I finished Ndibe’s Arrows of Rain within two nights. As I devoured it, my mind in its characteristically mischievous way, was busy fishing out novels that share some common ground with Ndibe’s in terms of thematic pre-occupation and plot. My lean harvest is two novels by his countrymen, which I shall briefly discuss. Cyprian Ekwensi’s Jagua Nana’s Daughter (1986) tells of Liza Nene Papadopoulous, a lawyer, who in spite of her attainment in life, feels unfulfilled. Who is her mother? This question haunts Liza like Banquo’s ghost. In a quest to find her mother, the story unfolds in the now famous Ekwensian unexpected twists and intrigues until she finally meets her biological mother Jagua Nana. Where we cannot fault the theme of this book, the plot is highly unrealistic to the point of ludicrousness. After the last page, the reader feels cheated for having been swindled by the writer and flings the book away. One wonders why a writer of Ekwensi’s class would condescend to write a shoddy work like this. A writer who is fondly called the great chronicler of city life. Indeed, Jagua Nana’s Daughter is a dismal failure as a novel, unworthy to be a sequel to the writer’s best-selling controversial Jagua Nana. Chukwuemeka Ike’s Conspiracy of Silence (2001) though published a year later after Ndibe’s Arrows of Rain (2000), the similarity of themes of these two novels calls for a comparison. The former centres on Dr. Nwanneka Ofuma, a Consultant Paediatrician who feels some emptiness in her life ever since the shattering discovery that the woman she calls mother is not really her true mother but her supposed Auntie Ukamaka! To worsen the situation, her mother refuses to unveil who her biological father is. The plot attains its climax when, after the death of her uncle Barrister James Ikenna Ofuma, the oppressive walls of silence finally crumble and the mother weepingly tells her of the fantastic story of incest she had with her late brother (Barrister James) which resulted in the conception of the major character. Like Odewale in Ola Romiti’s The Gods Are Not to Blame, Dr. Nnwanneka’s world is shattered and she flees abroad out of shame. Ike’s powerful theme in this novel is the crime the society commits by keeping silent in the face of barbaric traditions that encourage fatherlessness. He accuses the government and religious bodies for paying lip-service instead of open admonition. Unfortunately, his fervent messianic posture has always killed the artistry of his works. In every page of the book, he flaunts his readers with his theme like an obsequious servant trying to please his masters! The novel reads more of an essay that would grace a newspaper than a serious literary work of art. Unlike Ekwensi, Ike’s story is flawed with heavily clichéd English. It is a collection of worn-out idioms any lazy SSCE student of our secondary school would really cherish! Also, Ike disappoints his readers with the melodramatic way the story ends just like a discarded story Helon Habila would write for Hints magazine three years ago. It is a dismal failure like Ekwensi’s Jagua Nana’s Daughter. After laboriously going through these two bad novels, the reader’s spirits get uplifted when he encounters Ndibe’s Arrows of Rain. Told in racy and graceful prose, Ndibe’s first novel dwells also on the theme of silence and its concomitant effect. He tells us of a professional journalist Femi Adero who feels like an outcast since the disturbing discovery that the couple he calls parents are only his foster-parents. Then who are his parents? Like Odewale, he is hell-bent on unearthing this mystery surrounding his birth. The conspiracy of silence of his foster-parents is stifling and he has to look elsewhere for an answer. It does not matter if his background is shameful. Fate takes him to B. Beach on a New Year Day where a woman is drowned. The suspect is one mad man called Bukuru who is arraigned before a court on a multiple charge of murder, rape, etc. His trial arouses widespread interest which Femi fearlessly covers for his paper. This singular act of chivalry earns him an invitation to the prison by Bukuru. The reader knows later that it is the call of blood. Who says that blood is not thicker than water? Well, from here the story unfolds in a breathtaking speed and the reader is shocked to realize that Ogugua alias Bukuru, one-time journalist, is Femi’s cowardly father. Apart from the skilful handling of the story, the use of contrast makes the work a masterpiece. The father Ogugua (Bukuru) is a class-conscious man who is afraid of declaring his love for a prostitute like Iyese nor is he bold enough to identify himself as the father of her child Femi. His love for his integrity and pride is more pronounced when he goes to her place in the night only to discover her dead – brutally murdered. The selfish man in him makes him sneak away and pretends shock when he is later intimated of her death by Violet. The reader feels disappointed in him again when he could not go after her killer. All he does as a coward is to scurry into hiding when he hears that her killer Major Palat Bello is the new Head of State of Madia. His neurotic fear further graduates to a state of madness. His son Femi contrasts sharply with him in everything so much that the shame of discovery leads the father to kill himself like Elesin when his son Olunde offers himself to die in place of his father in Soyinka’s Death and the King’s Horseman (1975). It is also a political novel but the political theme is played to the background with such a consummate skill that only an expert like Ndibe could attempt successfully. In the whole range of African fiction, the only novel that can be compared to Arrows of Rain in terms of the complex handling of plot is Ngugi wa Thiongo’s Petals of Blood. After going through these two great novels, the reader pauses to wonder at the beauty of imagination. His is left with only one conclusion, to wit, that the two writers are great thinkers, for only great thinkers can weave such marvelous stories without leaving any strands unstitched. However, like any other great novel, Ndibe’s novel is not without its Achilles’ heels. For example, the treatment of Iyese alias Emilia in the hands of Major Isa Palat Bello is too exaggerated to be believed. No reader can be convinced that a man could sleep with a woman after stabbing her vagina with a dagger! (p. 166) Haba, Ndibe, which kin’ countrey dis thin’ fit happen, eh? Ndibe carries this exaggeration to the trial of Bukuru at the early chapters of the book. In fact, the entire trial is a farce and the major weakness in the work. It shows the writer’s little acquaintance with the criminal justice system of not only Africa but the world legal system! Of course, writers have the license to tamper with realities to suit their creative endeavours but it must be kept to the minimum if they must be taken seriously by their readers. Who ever hears of a person standing trial for a capital offence such as murder being allowed to defend himself? As if that is not enough, the lawyers in the trial scene raise unnecessary objections! The last straw in this exaggeration is the unprofessional conduct of Justice Kayode when Bukuru claims that General Isa Palat Bello once raped Iyese. (p.39). In sustaining the objection of the junior prosecutor, the Judge brings down “his gavel with deafening force” and says “Order! I rule the accused in contempt!” (p.39). A person who is standing trial for murder can never be cited for contempt. The worst a judge can do in such a circumstance if the accused is not fit and proper to be tried is to be remanded at the prison. Anything contrary to this is tantamount to the judge descending into the arena of conflicts, which is a good ground for appeal. Not even during Abacha’s despotism could there be judges like Justice Kayode in Ndibe’s novel. If his portrayal of Justice Kayode is for the purpose of satire, then it fails lamentably. It is important to note that court scenes have always fascinated novelists from time immemorial. Unfortunately, only a negligible few take their time to really research into the inner workings of the law like Isidore Okepwho’s The Last Duty, Sidney Sheldon’s Rage of Angels and The Other Side of Midnight, John Grisham’s legal thrillers and even a school boys’ play like D. Olu Olugoke’s The Incorruptible Judge which succeed where Ndibe’s Arrows of Rain and Wale Okediran’s Dreams Die at Twilight fail woefully. It is suggested that before a novelist attempts to write a paragraph on a specialized field such as law or medicine, he should try as much as possible to research or consult experts in the field who may be willing to share their knowledge. The third apparent lacuna in Ndibe’s novel is the narrative style. Where one cannot fault the highly poetic language employed, one wonders why Bukuru’s narrative style and Femi’s, the narrator, are the same. There is no gainsaying the fact that writing is like fingerprints and no two persons can write or speak the same. Apart from the usual hints by the writer to signpost where another narrator takes over from the other, the linguistic level of the two narrators are virtually the same. The only writer again who seems conscious of the need to make each character in a work of fiction speak in a unique style in Nigerian fiction is Isidore Okepwho in his The Last Duty, already quoted above. In defence of Ndibe, one can say that this failure is common to most novelists who seem to be writers in a hurry! In both Okediran’s Dreams Die at Twilight and Ike’s Conspiracy of Silence, no character has distinct speech patterns. They all speak the English of the writer! Could it be that only our playwrights can execute this seemingly difficult art of dialogue? Perhaps. Despite these few flaws, Ndibe is a very powerful voice among the new generation of Nigerian writers. His first novel Arrows of Rain paves the way for the new direction of modern Nigerian fiction. One regrets that copies of this beautiful book are not available in our bookshops. For Ndibe is a unique stylist who deserves not only to be read for pleasure but studied at our various universities and polytechnics.