Over the span of three centuries, the Afro-British tradition has managed to establish itself as a distinguished voice in Britain's literary and cultural scene. While unearthing its first attempts at self-definition, this dissertation first engages with the slave tradition in the particular context of Eighteenth century Enlightenment England, and explores how its emergence initiated the re-inscription of the black race within humankind after years of exclusion. By adopting a feminist and cultural perspective, this essay spotlights the female contribution, it equally examines the extent to which the double discrimination of race and gender further complicates the female identity formation project. Significantly, Second Class Citizen, In The Ditch and Head Above Water stand as typical Afro-British texts that strongly resonate with earlier voices of the tradition, while promoting strategies of resistance and ultimately disturbing contructions of womanhood and female subjectivity. Through these narratives, Buchi Emecheta inscribes herself as a true heiress of an Afro-British female textuality inaugurated two centuries earlier by a pioneering figure as prestigious as Mary Prince. In its effort to uncover the identity politics informing this literary and discursive body, this study lays emphasis on the significance of generic choice to the Afro-British female self-telling via autobiography, while placing it within the much wider project of nation-telling.
CONTENTS
I. AUTOBIOGRAPHY: A FEMALE SELF-DEFINING MECHANISM
1.1. Women’s Autobiography: A Contribution to “Herstory”
1.2 Negotiating Identity:
II. Buchi Emecheta’s Autobiographical Fiction:
2.1. Second Class Citizen / In the Ditch: Identity in liminality
2.2. Writing as an Empowering Practice:
III. AUTOBIOGRAPHY AS POLITICAL COMMITMENT:
3.1 . Head Above Water or Self/Nation-Telling:
3.2. Writing as a Movement Beyond Gender Roles:
BIBLIOGRAPHY
PRIMARY SOURCES:
SECONDARY SOURCES:
WEBLIOGRAPHY
I. AUTOBIOGRAPHY: A FEMALE SELF-DEFINING MECHANISM
1.1. Women’s Autobiography: A Contribution to “Herstory”
The earliest writing of a people in the process of self-identification are often autobiographical in form. By such means people write themselves into history.190
The unprecedented academic interest in autobiography in the last three decades should, in fact, be interpreted against the concurrence of many disciplines. On the one hand, this renewed attention finds itself validated by the inclination in postcolonial studies to consider constructions of the self, in its relatedness to notions of displacement, identity and nationhood. Accordingly, autobiography becomes an enabling paradigm by virtue of which telling the nation can be done at the same time as telling the self. On the other hand, the feminist emphasis on the personal as a locus of identity, and its reclaiming of personal experience as a site of self-knowledge further contributes to the “rehabilitation” of autobiography as a genre.
The intersection of the postcolonial and feminist agendas reveals a shared concern for deconstructing the dynamics of exclusion underpinning Western thought. In realizing the importance of the categories of class, race, gender and even sexual orientation, the two enterprises’ engagement with a wide range of disciplines is problematized by their common challenge to classical boundaries and their promotion of a “disruptive interdisciplinarity”.191 Furthermore, the vital urge within feminist scholarship to explore issues of identity formation is definitely buttressed by a postcolonial theoretical arsenal, with clearly feminist sensibilities. Of great relevance to this debate is Frederic Jameson’s conceptualisation of third world literatures as “national allegories”192 which, in fact, casts these literatures within the project of nation-telling. Hence, individual experience becomes an allegory, a mirror for the community’s tribulations. Jameson’s metaphor finds itself echoed in Bhabha’s notion of nation and narration which he addressed thoroughly in his seminal work bearing the same name.
Thus, diasporic cultures emerged as a visible constituent of the international scene, and their literatures, while disclosing the deep contradictions of living in locations of power, attempted to disrupt the Western narrative while trying to establish new ones. Put differently, both Post-colonialism and feminism have the merit of revolutionizing “the study of autobiography, expanding its definition to include not just a literary genre or a body of texts but a practice that pervades many areas of our lives”.193 The feminist involvement with different literary genres, notably autobiography, is definitely complicated and enriched by the basic assumption that “the personal is political”:
Feminism offers a distinctive vantage point from which to view these concerns, highlighting the gendered constructions of self they typically assume, and the ethical and political consequences of such assumptions(…..) however, while feminism has posed a challenge to the genre of autobiography, feminism’s engagement with the genre has, in turn, contributed to a critical re-evaluation of its own long-standing concerns including subjectivity, knowledge and power, differences and collective identity.194
Consequently, the excavation of the past of slavery, and the reappraisal of autobiographies written by men and women slaves in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, for instance, can be inscribed within the wider feminist project of rehabilitating all marginal forms of expression, deemed “uncanonical” by the male-dominated white Western institutions. Therefore, autobiographies like Mary Prince’s recover all their importance in documenting the “herstory” of black British female writing. A “herstory” line, the demarcation of which a writer like Buchi Emecheta has, incessantly, contributed to shape.
Her now-famous declaration that, “I (she) write about the little happenings of everyday life. I see things though an African woman’s eyes. I chronicle the little happenings in the lives of the African women I know.”195 raises a number of questions : Is she deliberately situating her work within narratives of domesticity that is to say posing a challenge to the canon by choosing to be outside of it? Is this conscious writing about “the little happenings of everyday life”, apart from thwarting the expectations of the Western feminist agenda, an open depoliticization of her writing? . Marie Umeh argues that this focus on “the little happenings of everyday life” is not only political but also according to Bhabha, a characteristic of writing from a liminal perspective, since “ the scraps, patches, and rags of daily life must be repeatedly turned into the signs of a national culture”.[196 ] Within what Emecheta herself calls “personal nonsense”(Head Above Water:185) definitely lies a consciousness-raising project whereby her commitment to the realities of the African woman, her denunciation of the injustices inflicted on this latter, and her exploration of gender power relationships, all establish her as a “first-grade” writer (Head Above Water:157) like Baldwin, whom she fervently admires.
When asked in an interview with Oladipo Joseph Ogundele about how she conceives of her function as a writer, and if she sees herself as the holder of a mission, she says : “ Apart from telling stories, I don’t have a particular mission. I like to tell the world our part of the story while using the voices of women.”[197 ] Telling the world an alternative version to the official history shares in the postcolonial vocation to renarrativize history from the point of view of postcolonial subjects; it is a “writing back” which fundamentally resists being absorbed by the Western dominant discourse, since “history is of crucial importance in constructing a sense of identity” as Bill Ashcroft contends.[198 ]
The postcolonial task is, therefore, what Emecheta tacitly implies and what Ashcroft describes as “ not simply to contest the message of history; which has so often relegated the postcolonial world to a footnote in the march of progress, but also to engage the medium of narrativity itself, to re-inscribe the rhetoric.”[199 ] Having said that, it might also be tempting and rewarding to approach Emecheta’s autobiographical works as an instance of “counter-memory” to use Lipsitz’s term:
Counter-memory is a way of remembering and forgetting that starts with the local, the immediate, and the personal… counter-memory looks to the past for the hidden histories excluded from the dominant narratives. But unlike myths that seek to detach events and actions from the fabric of any longer history, counter-memory forces the revision of existing histories by supplying new perspectives about the past.[200 ]
I rather wish to extrapolate from Lipsitz’s definition certain ideas relevant to our purposes at the moment. If we agree that Emecheta’s autobiographical works rewrite her personal history along with the national history of her “people”, if we perceive her writing as an attempt to make sense of her personal experience against a whole set of values and assumptions, local, personal, and other, if we keep in sight the political dimension of the very act of excavating the past and its significance in supplanting an official version of history with an alternative one, finally if we believe that Emecheta’s autobiographical writing testifies to the collective experience of colonisation and expatriation, and its traumatic effects on subsequent generations, then, we can safely conjecture that her writings are “counter-memories” or “national allegories”, to borrow from Jameson. This, in turn, establishes an explicit correlation between the writings by Afro-British female slaves like May Prince, and Emecheta’s works, in the sense that both enterprises engage with autobiography, and prove to be “great adapters of the genre”.[201 ] Emecheta is definitely a post-slavery writer, and a ring in the chain of “herstory”.
1.2 Negotiating Identity:
Women writers are beginning to construct an identity out of the recognition that women need to discover, and must fight for a sense of unified selfhood, a rational, coherent, effective identity. As male writers lament its demise, women writers have not yet experienced that subjectivity which will give them a sense of personal autonomy, continuous identity; a history and agency in the world.[202 ]
Because any discussion of identity is inherently essentializing, since it grapples with articulations of the self as something “essential-defining, necessary, representative, and totalitarian”[2 03], the attempt to define black subjectivity can hardly circumscribe the trap of essentialism. The danger of such a deterministic outlook is best described by Paul Gilroy :
Identity ceases to be an going process of self-making and social interaction. It becomes instead a thing to be possessed and displayed. (…)When identity refers to an indelible mark or code somehow written into the body of its carriers, otherness can only be a threat. Identity is latent destiny. Seen or unseen, on the surface of the body or buried in its cells, identity forever sets one group apart from others who lack the particular, chosen traits that become the basis of typology and comparative evaluation, no longer a site for the affirmation of subjectivity and autonomy, identity mutates. Its motion reveals a deep desire for mechanical solidarity, seriality, and hypersimilarity.[204 ]
The Postmodernist deconstruction of the notion of selfhood, as something stable and unconflictual, and the emphasis put on the fluidity and fragmentation of subjectivity have complicated, but at the same time, afforded new insights in debates about identity formation.
Unsurprisingly, the comparative belatedness of black-African women writers to join the debate over subject formation has problematized the way they have managed to represent themselves, in their urge to articulate subjectivities characterised by coherence and unity, to stand in the face of the historical distortion the female self has been subjected to. Indeed, it is between selfhood as a stable entity, on the one hand, and as a shifting protean concept, on the other hand, that black-African women writers have constructed their own sense of identity.
It is at this juncture, that a writer like Buchi Emecheta, engages with the debate from her particular position as a black-African woman in exile, and it is in a multicultural setting, like London, that she manages to chart the features of her diasporic identity. When asked in an interview with Reed W. Dasenbrock, if she thought she was becoming a more cosmopolitan person, she says:
I think I’ve become more international, because for the last ten years or more, I’ve spent about two or three months every year in America for example. And then in Nigeria. And of course I have travelled to a lot of places, Germany, Holland, France and elsewhere in Europe. You can’t have all these experiences without changing. They make you what you are.[205 ]
One might safely argue that it is not only between Africaness/ Nigerianess and Britishness that the process of Afro-British identity can be best understood, it should be rather viewed within the much broader scope of cross-cultural, transnational interconnectedness, where reductive notions of national and cultural origins are not all together dismissed, but placed within much more dynamic and conflictual visions of subjectivity. Significantly, Emecheta acknowledges affinities with Afro-American writers such as Toni Morrisson, Maya Angelou or Alice Walker more than with British or Nigerian ones. She maintains that it is within the Afro-American tradition that “the deep, the real deep thinkers “ can be identified, and that in their hands lies the future of black literature. She further explains that the kinship between herself and these writers is due to a common African consciousness of the importance of the past of slavery, as a reservoir of collective memory; the way Afro-American writers combine the “slave tongue” and their new consciousness has definitely, broached a reconsideration, and a re-evaluation of the significance of the slave literary tradition in modern debates over the identity of black Atlantic writers.[206 ] Relevant to this debate over identity is the much controversial language issue. Beyond doubt, raising questions about the significance of linguistic choice to female diasporic literary production invokes the deep conviction that language is a realm of power negotiation, with a constant concern for the (re)appropriation of the text as a locus of self-definition and representation. This view does not only present the linguistic arena as a province of competition between a plethora of voices, but also as a site of rehabilitation for the “subjected” peoples and cultures.
If it is true that a writer, like Buchi Emecheta, brackets off the issue as secondary, compared to her other concerns as a woman writer, she nonetheless joins in the raging debate among Anglophone African writers. Her contribution definitely places her along Chinua Achebe, who invites African writers to appropriate the language of the coloniser, instead of rejecting it. While being conscious of the power of English and its practicality as a literary medium, she still doesn’t consider it as her “emotional language”. Yet, if her loyalty goes to her native tongue, it fails to materialize in her literary works, apart from the use of a few Igbo words in some of her African works. As to her Afro-British texts, which are the focus of this study, one can safely argue that Emecheta’s fiction prioritizes her thematic concerns, while leaving a very limited margin for language experimentation. This triggers a number of objections as to what extent Emecheta’s linguistic choices transcribe her black African heritage, and most important, if her language manages to vehicle her sexual identity and her racial affiliation. In other words, is Emecheta’s linguistic medium genderless, raceless and colourless?. Such questions will be debated a little further while exploring the different layers of Emecheta’s Afro-British texts.
II. Buchi Emecheta’s Autobiographical Fiction:
Buchi Emecheta stands today as the best female writer and novelist Nigeria has ever produced. Her worth and reach can well be gauged by the genuine critical acclaim her works have received, as well as by the popularity of her writings both in Africa and in the West. To this date, she is the most widely read African woman writer, and is considered as a pioneering figure in many ways. Her reputation as a major voice in female African literature is fundamentally due to the continuing influence of her writings on whole generations of African writers, in addition to the warfare she launched against the victimization of women, and for her struggle for the liberation and emancipation of women in Africa and elsewhere. This, perhaps, explains the tendency in literary criticism to read Emecheta’s works as feminist protest, while disregarding other equally important dimensions. If it is impossible, as Abioseh Michael Porter remarks: “ to suggest that in evaluating the works of a writer such as Emecheta (who in all her novels deals quite seriously with the role of women in various societies), one can avoid the feminist question”, it is something else, however, “to imply that this is the only aspect worth examining in her oeuvre”.[207 ] Emecheta’s career presents the particularity of sharing the experience of displacement with many of her fellow African writers, who crossed the borders of their national cultures and did “the voyage in” to the center. Standing today as a prominent diasporic figure, she is a heiress of the Black-British female tradition, a tradition inaugurated by Mary Prince nearly two centuries earlier. This section attempts to examine Emecheta’s autobiographical works in the light of the black autobiographical tradition, while exploring ways in which she (Emecheta) connects to early diasporic writers such as Mary Prince, within the wider focus of uncovering the identity politics informing Black-British subject formation.
In 1962, Buchi Emecheta leaves Nigeria to join her husband, a student in London.[208 ] Life in the metropole reveals to be a really trying experience for a young wife and mother relegated to the rank of “second-class citizen” both in her native and host countries. Living on the margins of the British society, sharing her life “in the Ditch” with all the outcasts of the system, Buchi realizes her triple bind as a poor black woman in the white man’s country. Her life struggle to keep her “head above water” has been something of a miracle as she acknowledges : “as for my survival for the past twenty years in England, from when I was a little over twenty, dragging four cold and dripping babies with me and pregnant with a fifth one- that is a miracle”. (Head Above Water,5)
2.1. Second Class Citizen / In the Ditch: Identity in liminality
The autobiographical novel is “any piece of fiction for which the reader may have reason to suspect, on the basis of what he guesses or thinks resemblances, that there is identity between the author and the protagonist, even though the author has chosen to deny, or at least not to affirm, that identity.[209 ]
In 1986, Emecheta publishes her autobiography Head Above Water in which she acknowledges that her first two novels In The Ditch (1972) and Second Class Citizen( 1974) are “over fifty percent autobiographical”(Head Above Water:62). By fixing the rate of veracity around fifty percent , Emecheta is making a “clever advertising gambit” to use Lejeune’s words, as she is toying with the reader’s guessing capacities in trying to distinguish the part of reality from that of fiction. That state of mind is eloquently described by Lejeune:
There is often a tendency for the reader to act like a detective; that is to look for breaches of the contract, whatever kind of contract it may be. This is what is responsible for the myth of the novel that is ‘truer’ than autobiography: we always believe what we think we have discovered from the text in spite of the author to be truer and deeper.[210 ]
By choosing a fictitious name, ‘Adah’, as her protagonist, Emecheta strategically situates her two works in the realm of fiction by virtue of what Lejeune calls “overt practice of non-identity”[211 ] which is part of the fictional contract, as opposed to the autobiographical contract, in purely autobiographical works. This is how Emecheta explains her choices :
Because the truths were too horrible and because I suspected that some cynics might not believe me, I decided to use the fictitious name of Adah, meaning “daughter”. Well, time proved that to be a vain hope. People could tell straightaway that Adah’s life was over fifty percent mine, but meanwhile I continued to wallow in my ignorance. I wrote the story of my life as if it were somebody else’s.(Head Above Water:62)
One might argue that by having recourse to fiction and choosing to tell her story through a third- person narrative voice, Emecheta endorsed a certain authorial distance in her autobiographical works “ thinly disguised as fiction” to borrow from Davies.[212 ] This distance proves necessary in African women writing as Davies argues since: “self-revelation may offend the strong sense of decorum and propriety with respect to the family that suffuses African life.”.[213 ] Yet, amid African writers, Emecheta seems to be the most daring in revealing intimate truths about her personal life as well as about Nigerian traditions that enslave women, which probably explains why both ITD and SCC[214 ] have been so vehemently criticised by African critics for their outspoken attack on Igbo customs. A critic like Chikerwenye Ogunyemi thinks that SCC, for instance, is “aesthetically unsatisfying to a reader who comes from a culture where it is unethical to reveal the unpleasant details of a martial breakdown”.[215 ] Other critics have gone as far as to accuse Emecheta of betraying Africa through the negative image she gives of the African culture and society. Such conflicts, Boyce Davies observes “are bound to arise when a writer’s perception of ‘herstory’ comes into opposition with protective nationalism or racial pride”.[216 ] To be blunt, the incompatibility of Emecheta’s concerns as a writer with a nationalistic defence of her native culture translated in the explicit exposure in her creative works of her own oppression as a woman. Conscious of the dilemma of the personal versus the national in her writing, she says:
There are who think I have exaggerated in Second Class Citizen that I distorted reality. But the cruelty with which I was treated by both my husband and by English society is truthfully rendered in the book. Reality appears unbelievable the moment other people see it on paper. My husband wasn’t really a bad guy, but he wasn’t able to accept an independent woman . My writing began to develop only after I had left him. As I wrote in my book, he actually destroyed my first efforts to put my experiences on paper, my first attempt to stake out my terrain.[217 ]
Though published after her first novel ITD, SCC is considered by many critics as the best point of entry to understand Emecheta’s fictive world if we believe Katherine Frank’s assertion that : “ the best place to approach Emecheta’s fiction is neither her first nor her last book, but with Second-Class Citizen”.[218 ] Set in the London of the sixties, ITD ( 1972) and SCC (1974) feature among what is known as Emecheta’s “London novels”, and can be inscribed within the autobiographical inclination in the literature of the “Black Atlantic” and in diasporic writing in general. Christina Sizemore contends that by writing In The Ditch (1972), Second-Class Citizen (1974), Gwendolen (1989) and Kehinde (1994), Emecheta has introduced an innovation to the tradition of the Urban novel.[219 ] Marie Umeh corroborates this view when she argues that: “Adah (the protagonist) is ‘a true Londoner’ because she doesn’t ‘expect to be at home there’; for her , London is “ a contested cultural territory where the people must be thought in a double time”. Umeh further contends that Buchi’s London novels “chart the progression of Nigerian-British and Carribean-British heroines in opening up a new space for themselves, a new home ”.[220 ] This home erected on the space of liminality, where Buchi’s characters evolve and where she evolved, herself, as a diasporic subject, is certainly a site of marginality as it is a space of empowerment. It offers a distinguished perspective, one which Emecheta shares with all postcolonial writers. In this respect, Helen Tiffin observes that Black African writers “ have an advantage over white Canadian or Australian writers because they have a “metaphysics” or culture of their own to juxtapose against the British one”.[221 ]
The titular apparatus of SCC, to use Genette’s terminology, apart from introducing the reader into the world of “liminality” where evolve the character of Adah together with all the failures of the system, is above all a vehement criticism of the politics of exclusion at work in the British society. The criticism is even more significant, when it is effected through a female vantage point which complicates understandings of the dynamics of cultural “othering” on the basis of race, class and gender. Adah, as the prototype of the African diasporic woman, is the ‘other’ in many respects, since she is doubly relegated to second-classness, both by her husband and by the host society. Through the mutually supportive discourses of sexism and racism, Adah is victim of a double prejudice denying her humanity and agency. By deliberately choosing to name her book Second-Class Citizen, Emecheta is wittingly appropriating the feminist ‘jargon’ in discussing the condition of African women in exile, despite her well-known stance towards feminism. Thus, the second-classness of Adah is definitely complicated by her status as a black African woman. It is in SCC, that the readers get acquainted with Adah, the protagonist, first as an eight-year old child in the Nigerian city of Lagos, a girl child already aware of the predicament of being a female in a society favouring males : “She was a girl who had arrived when everyone was expecting and predicting a boy. So, since she was such a disappointment to her parents, to her immediate family, to her tribe, nobody thought of recording her birth. She was so insignificant.” (SCC: 1)
Learning to accommodate very early to gender discrimination, the eight-year old girl learns at the same time to resist a marginalizing system which casts a negative eye on the education of girls. Adah’s determination to go to school, like her brother ‘Boy’, drives her to transgress the rigid rules of her community, and ultimately, convinces her parents of her right to education. Emecheta describes in a very funny scene how Adah’s mother is accused of child neglect by the police, after Adah has decided to attend one of Mr Cole’s classes at Ladi Lak school without her family consent :
There was a big hullabaloo going on. Pa had been called from work, Ma was with the police being charged with child neglect, and the child that had caused all the fuss was little Adah, staring at all of them, afraid and yet triumphant. They took Ma to the police station and forced her to drink a big bowl of gari with water. Gari is a tasteless sort of flour made from cassava. When cooked and eaten with soup, it is delicious. But when uncooked, the watered type Ma was forced to drink, it became a torture, purgatorial, in fact.(SCC : 6/7)
The same determination will motivate Adah much later in her life to leave Nigeria for Britain to join her husband Francis, but above all to go to “the land of her dreams”, the name of which she still said in “a whisper”. This anglophilia, to borrow from Jago Morrison,[222 ] she inherited from her father, himself, who held the coloniser’s land in great awe:
[...]
190 Oyekan Owomoyela, A History of Twentieth-Century African Literatures ( Lincoln,University of Nebraska Press, 1993), 315.
191 Tess Cosslett, Celia Jury, Penny Summerfield, Feminism and Autobiography: Texts, Theories, Methods ( London: Routledge,2000) , 1.
192 Aijaz Ahmed, Jameson’s Rhetoric of Otherness and the ‘National Allegory’ ( Social Text, n17, 1987), 3-25.
193 Feminism and Autobiography, 1.
194 ibid, 2.
195 Quoted in Marie Umeh, Emerging Perspectives on Buchi Emecheta ( Trenton Africa World Press, 1996), 369.
196 ibid, 370.
197 Marie Umeh, 449.
198 Bill Ashcroft, Postcolonial Transformation ( New York : Routledge,2001), 92.
199 ibid, 92.
200 Feminism and Autobiography, 175.
201 Feminism and Autobiography, 175.
202 ibid, 6.
203 Kevin Everod Quashie, Black Women, Identity and Cultural Theory: Unbecoming the Subject ( New Brunswick, Rutgers University Press, 2004), 2.
204 Paul Gilroy, Between Camps : Nations, Cultures and The Allure of Race ( London : Routledge,2004), 103/104.
205 Feroza, Jusawalla &Reed Way Dasenbrock, Interviews with Writers of the Postcolonial World ( London, University Press of Mississipi,1992 ),, 97.
206 ibid, 99.
207 Quoted by Marie Umeh, 267.
208 Katherine Fishburn, Reading Buchi Emecheta : Cross-Cultural Conversations ( Westport, Greenwood Press CT,1999), 62.
209 Philippe Lejeune, « The Autobiographical Contract, French Literary Theory : A Reader( Ed. Tzvetan Todorov, Trans. R. Carter, Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1982) 201.
210 ibid, 203.
211 Philipe Lejeune, 203.
212 Quoted by Oyekan Owomoyela, 230.
213 ibid, 230.
214 Henceforth reference to these novels will be abbreviated as follows : Second-Class Citizen (SCC), In The Ditch (ITD), and Head Above Water (HAW).
215 Quoted by Oyekan Owomoyella, 213.
216 Cited by Oyekan Owomoyella, 321.
217 ibid, 321.
218 Marie Umeh, 274/275.
219 ibid, 367.
220 Marie Umeh, 297.
221 Quoted by Marie Umeh, 297.
222 Jago Morrisson, Contemporary Fiction ( New York, Routledge, 2003),192.
- Arbeit zitieren
- Hind Essafir (Autor:in), 2019, Female Diasporic Identity Formation. A Reading of Buchi Emecheta’s Afro-British Texts, München, GRIN Verlag, https://www.grin.com/document/1117250
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