When papa arrived in the Mercedes, Mama
packed our bags herself and put them in the car. Papa hugged Mama, holding her
close, and she rested her head on his chest. Papa had lost weight; usually,
mama’s small hands barely went round to his back, but this time her hands
rested on the small of his back. I did not notice the rashed on his face until
I came close to hug him. They were like tiny pimples, each with whitish pus at
the tips, and they covered the whole of his face, even his eyelids. His face
looked swollen, oily, discolored. I had intended to hug him and have him kiss
my forehead, but instead I stood there and stared at his face.
“I have a little allergy,” he said.
“Nothing serious.”
When he took me in his arms, I
closed my eyes as he kissed my forehead.
“We will see you soon,” Amaka
whispered before we hugged good-bye. She called me nwanne m nwanyi—my sister.
She stood outside the flat, waving, until I could no longer see her thorugh the
rear windscreen.
When Papa started the rosary as we
drove out of the compound, his voice was different, tired. I stared at the back
of his neck, which was not covered by the pimples, and it looked different,
too—smaller, with thinner folds of the skin.
I turned to Jaja. I wasnted our eyes
to meet, so I could tell him how much I had wanted to spend Easter in Nsukka,
how much I had wanted to attend Amaka’s confirmation and Father Amadi’s Pascal
Mass, how I had planned to sing with my voice raised. But Jaja glued his eyes
to the window, and except for muttering prayers, he was silent until we got to
Enugu.
The scent of fruits filled my nose
when Adamu opened our compound gates. It was as if the high walls locked in the
scent of the ripening cashews and mangoes and avocados. It nauseated me.
“See, the purple hibiscuses are
abouot to bloom,” Jaja said, as we got our of the car. He was pointing,
although I did not need him to. I could see the sleepy, oval-shape buds in the
front yard as they swayed in the evening breeze.
The next day was Palm Sunday, the
day Jaja did not go to communion, the day Papa threw his heavy missal across
the room and broke the figurines.
(252-253)
One of the
main reasons I chose this passage was because of the way it showed just how
much change has happened within the family. From the beginning, even Papa’s
appearance has changed. He has lost weight, and his face covered with pimples. But,
even more importantly, the relationships between the characters has shifted
drastically. Kambili no longer wants to even hug her own father now (albeit he
is covered in a pimply rash), while before she would obsess over pleasing him
with her actions and words. Kambili’s relationship with her cousin has also
changed, as there is now a mutual understanding of each other. Now, they are
sisters, as Amaka calls Kambili. Yet, I think the most significant change in
this passage is Jaja’s behavior, and the brother-sister relationship between
him and Kambili. Kambili repeatedly mentions the way she and her brother talk
with their eyes, that their relationship is so close that words are
unnecessary. But now, it is as though he is delibreatily avoiding Kambili’s
gaze, talking with her, as he stares out the window.
Something has also altered so deeply within Kambili that
this place she calls home, the familiar smells and images, make her sick. Looking
at the novel as a whole up until this point, I think all of what has happened
to Kambili—her experiences at her aunt’s house, her beatings, her attempts to
please everyone—have all been working together to reach this find moment of
intense change in her life. And, I think the rest of the novel will look at how
this change affects her.
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