Skip to main content

Why I Think Jowhor Ile's 'And After Many Days' won the 2016 EPFL



Jowhor Ile's And After Many Days was recently announced as the winner of the Etisalat Prize for Literature, 2016. Frankly, if I hadn’t won this book in a giveaway much earlier, I probably wouldn’t have bought or read it till now. But that would have been my loss, because behind the simple, unassuming, yet beautiful cover lies a poignant theme-the effects of crude oil extraction on the minority tribes of the Niger Delta. Still one would still have to dig through the drudgery of the mundane and ordinary everyday life to get to this. Tip- the author does not arrive at the point until the middle of the story.

Set in Nigeria in the late ‘80s to the mid-2000s, And After Many Days covers themes of childhood, religion, family, loss, corruption, politics and injustice. The Utus are a modern, middle-class family based in Port Harcourt with strong ties to their hometown in the Niger Delta. Paul, the first son is dutiful, responsible and well-behaved. Ajie, the second son and third child, who is the narrator of this story is a belligerent, angry and rebellious, yet sensitive and brilliant child. The second child and only daughter, is the fiery and passionate Bibi. They are raised by strict, yet loving parents- Bendic, and Ma. These children live altogether normal, ordinary lives- boarding school, holiday trips to the village, short stays with friends and family, but tragedy strikes when Paul goes missing.

A subplot is the clash between the Ogibah Youth Forum and the elders of Ogibah on how to deal with Company, a crude oil extracting organisation that often pays off indigenes to surrender their lands for oil mining , and tries to make up for oil spillages by offering some of their children scholarships. The youth, having received bribes from Company, want the Ogibah people to let them build gas pipelines on their lands, damning the consequences. The elders, most of whom had been born before Company came, had welcomed them into their midsts and had seen the impact that oil pipelines caused, are not willing to make the same mistake again. The differences in opinion lead to violent clashes, in which the police force plays a great part.

The Police Force is portrayed as very corrupt; police officers being employed by individuals as hit men, cases being covered up to save face, brutality against the innocent- the force is a mess. Also for a moment, we see the destructive and powerful impact of a military dictatorship on a society, the cost of standing up for the truth in  an authoritarian regime as nine Ogoniland activists are executed unjustly.

These major themes, I believe, make Ile’s story too important to ignore. Oil spillage, corruption and police brutality- all these things are still very much a thorn our nation’s side. In the end, the common man suffers the consequences, regardless of whether he took part in committing the acts or not. One part of the book I will never forget is Bendic’s reply to Mr Ifenwa on the corruption of the nation’s leaders.

“I mean….the problem is obviously systemic, and resolving it will require more than the actions of one good man or removing people from positions. Its about developing processes, checks and balances, and organising ourselves in a good way”



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Introducing My Friend to Pomegranates

It was twenty-nine degrees Celsius  one night in the middle of August. My big fan,  the only reason why I’d been able to avoid buying an AC throughout that unbearably hot summer,   was blasting at its second-to-highest  setting.    I was sprawled  on my bed, watching Trevor Noah videos and ignoring my cramps, as well as my prior plans of going to bed at least a couple of hours before midnight that night. My friend, Grace knocked on the door. “Come in!” I answered. She opened the door slightly, holding a up a small pomegranate. ‘How do you eat this?’ We had gone grocery shopping together the previous weekend, and I'd spotted some pomegranates and picked up a few. ‘You have to try this!’, I'd excitedly told Grace, who had never had pomegranates before. I had only started eating them several months ago myself, and I had found them a more than suitable dietary companion in the cold winter months. I stood up and went to the door. ‘I’ll help you cut it.’ I took the fruit and we walke

Thank You for the Music: My ABBA Story

I must have been about eight years old the first time I heard ABBA. I remember the CD case cover, the black background of the graphic paper behind the plastic, the letters ABBA and Gold written in gold-ish color, so that one ‘B’ was turned the opposite way, resting its spine against the other B’s. I remember two small custom-made bedside wooden chests with single drawers in my parents' room, packed with CDs- ABBA, Michael Jackson, Celine Dion, Lucky Dube, Bob Marley, Westlife, Backstreet Boys and many others. There were movies too- Titanic, My Best Friend's Wedding, Prince of Egypt, The Lion King, Coming to America- some of the best of the eighties and nineties. Growing up, my father had music playing on a loop almost every evening, and certainly every weekend. Most of the tracks were classics, old school funk and RnB, lots of reggae. His room was, a sacred shrine of sorts to music- the lights would be off, but we heard the beats from anywhere in the house- boom ka, boom boom k

The Taste Of Cardamom Chai

Earlier in my adult life, I met a woman in her late thirties or early forties- I’ll call her Stella. I’d been looking for a cheap room for rent, being a post grad student on the tail end of my program, having recently moved out of a relatives home in search of a different living situation. I had found the listing online- the room looked pleasing enough; furnished, clean, well lit. Stella and I got along well on our first meeting. She seemed chill- too chill, like she really didn’t care if I took the place, but I could sense a slight hopefulness beneath it. She told me about the person who used to live there, how they kept on bringing kids over- kids who would just ignore Stella in the hallway. ‘How rude!’ I had exclaimed in agreement. Eventually I moved in. It was my first time living ‘on my own’ since I moved to the country, and although it was January and the temperatures were frigid, I was set afire with the excitement of independence. There were three rooms in the house- one belong