Accepting or Opposing The Status Quo: A Look at The Women Characters in Mariama Bâ’s So Long a Letter (1981) and Chimamanda Adichie’s Purple Hibiscus (2003)

CHAPTER 1.

INTRODUCTION

My Personal Experience

My personal experience with patriarchy in Africa has inspired my interest in the study of how African women oppose and/or accept the status quo of patriarchy. I come from a long line of strong African men and women who are opinionated, and I have seen most of their decisions be determined by their gender and patriarchy. My maternal grandmother gave birth to four children with my grandfather, but after her third child, my grandfather had an affair with another woman, and the two had a child through that relationship. My grandmother was very upset and wanted to end the marriage, but she was told by family and friends to stay with him regardless of his actions because women are not allowed to leave their families or husbands. “What would society say?” was the question she kept getting from family members. They told her that men were all naturally polygamous and that she just had to accept him. She stayed and had her fourth and last child with him. He, on the other hand, proceeded to have two more children outside of their marriage. Out of his seven children, three were from extramarital affairs. After he had his seventh child, my grandmother could not take it anymore and wanted to leave again, but her family told her to just “manage” the situation, that it was not all that serious. She worried about what could happen to her children if she left, as she was not financially capable of taking care of them without my grandfather’s support. Her life was restricted to having children with him while he could have extramarital affairs because men are allowed to do that since they are “polygamous by nature.” While she resisted the status quo, she did not have a way out because of her economic and even social situation. So, to an outsider, it might appear that she accepted the status quo because the society has been infected by colonial socio-religious norms .

My maternal grandmother, on the other hand, had a sister who refused to accept the societal dictates. As of the year 1989, that grandmother whom we call Big Mummy in my culture, was a divorcee and a single mother, a concept that was not common in Nigeria at that time. Her husband had cheated on her with his secretary, and soon after she found out, she left the marriage and started a new life with her two children, hence opposing the status quo that African women have to stay in such situations. She was shamed by society and other members of the family for her decision, but she stood her ground and made the decision for herself and by herself. Unlike my maternal grandmother, Big Mummy had some economic independence and could make a decision to leave her marriage.

These stories of my grandmother and my Big Mummy are similar, yet different in a way. While both women suffered under patriarchy in a similar manner, Big Mummy was able to make a decision that was best for her and her children without worrying about society because she had some financial freedom. My grandmother, on the other hand, did not have a choice, especially because of her economic situation.

I have also seen my mother make big family decisions based on the patriarchal society that we live in. In 2002, my mum had the opportunity to travel to England to further her education, but this opportunity meant she had to leave us, my father and my siblings, behind. My mother was open to the idea of leaving her young children behind, but my father was totally against it because he felt families should stick together and that a mother should not leave her children. My mother listened to my father and gave up her opportunity to further her education. She later informed me when I became an adult that the reason she did not leave was that the society did not condone leaving her children behind; a man was not considered capable of taking care of children all by himself.

Five years later, my father got a similar opportunity to leave the country, and without thinking twice, he accepted the offer and left us. Unlike my mother, he did not have any pressures from society. He did not have to worry about what the society thought because he did not think it was his responsibility to raise children; that role is assigned to women. In that culture, it is normal for fathers to leave their families for work while most women stay home and take care of the children. In his context, therefore, he did not think he was putting his career above his family, but rather doing what was very normal and acceptable in society.

My mother’s sister went through a similar encounter in 2010. She had just had her first child, when an opportunity came for her to go to the UK for further studies. She was hesitant about leaving her baby, not because she worried too much about what society would say, but because she was still breastfeeding and was scared to leave her baby behind. She was also afraid of missing out on most of his first activities. Unlike my father who was against my mother’s leaving, my aunt’s husband supported her and encouraged her to do something for herself. He understood that it was important for a woman who had just had a baby to do something for herself in order to avoid postpartum depression. He was willing to stay behind to help raise his child which is not common in that part of Africa, and he did not feel threatened by society or by the success which could result from my aunt getting a higher education. All these women in my family have different experiences and stories. They have all encountered the patriarchal status quo, but each has handled it in her own unique way.

Nigerian patriarchal society, like Catherine Oluyemo observes, means that men have all the financial capabilities and women depend on the men for financial assistance, but an argument like Oluyemo’s leaves a gap that is caused by such a singular approach. Most Nigerian men tend to not want their wives to be more successful than they are because they are afraid the women might learn to claim their rights. They fear that their wives or partners might start making more money and therefore not need them for financial support, which in turn could make these women bold enough to talk back at them. These men are threatened by this financial freedom because it means they could not be in control of both their wives and children. This, however, is not every Nigerian man’s story, so it could be wrong to have this story define every Nigerian man. My uncle, for instance, wanted that financial freedom for my aunt, so she could have something of her own that made her happy. In the end, my aunt did not go to the UK because she did not want to leave her baby behind, not, like my mother, because of her husband or the society’s expectation of her. My aunt had the freedom to choose for herself and she could own her decisions.

About six months later, after deciding to stay behind with her family, her husband got a similar opportunity to leave Nigeria, but this time around it was to leave to the U.S. My uncle decided he was going to make the same sacrifice his wife had made for the family, and he refused to take the offer. My aunt tried to convince him, but he too said that he was too scared of missing out on their child’s life. He told the company that he would only accept the offer if his wife and child were given an opportunity to accompany him. He was not willing to leave them behind. The company accepted his request, and the family all made the move together. My aunt’s marriage showed that not all Nigerian men are selfish and controlling. Not all Nigerian men want to fit into the patriarchal stereotype and culture, hence the importance of multiple stories, because a single story can lead to a misunderstanding that all Nigerian men are patriarchs and unsupportive.