Postcolonial Women in Three Plays by Tess Onwueme Kimi D

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Electronic Theses, Treatises and Dissertations The Graduate School

2008 Prodigal Daughters: Postcolonial Women in Three Plays by Tess Onwueme Kimi D. Johnson

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COLLEGE OF VISUAL ARTS, THEATRE, AND DANCE

PRODIGAL DAUGHTERS: POSTCOLONIAL WOMEN IN THREE PLAYS

BY TESS ONWUEME

KIMI D. JOHNSON

A Thesis submitted to the School of Theatre in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Arts

Degree Awarded: Spring Semester, 2008 The members of the Committee approve of the Thesis of Kimi D. Johnson defended on February 5, 2008.

______Mary Karen Dahl Professor Directing Thesis

______Carrie Sandahl Committee Member

______Natalya Baldyga Committee Member

The Office of Graduate Studies has verified and approved the above named committee members.

To my parents, George and Jeanne Johnson, for gifts beyond measure.

iii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

“Prodigal Daughters” would not have reached completion without the involvement of the women who have helped me begin my career as a scholar of theatre. I would like to acknowledge Laura Edmondson for the inspiration to begin this project, and Carrie Sandahl and Natalya Baldyga for their input and encouragement throughout. Above all, I would like to acknowledge and thank my advisor Mary Karen Dahl for her patience and perseverance. She has seen this thesis from conception to completion, and without her motivation and support it would not have met its full potential. Thank you, ladies.

iv TABLE OF CONTENTS

ABSTRACT ...... iv

INTRODUCTION ...... 1

1. THE BROKEN CALABASH: THE WOES OF GENERATIONAL MISCOMMUNICATION...... 21

2. PARABLES FOR A SEASON: DIVINELY APPOINTED POWER DYNAMICS ...... 37

3. THE REIGN OF WAZOBIA: CULTURAL SHIFTS AND REDISTRIBUTION OF POWER ...... 52

CONCLUSION ...... 71

BIBLIOGRAPHY ...... 74

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH ...... 78

v ABSTRACT Nigeria’s pre-colonial, British colonial and postcolonial history colors every aspect of its art and literature. The values and practices of the cultural groups that inhabit this country have been in flux since the beginning of the colonial wars in the mid-nineteenth century and continue to change in the light of the new theories and ideas that flood the country from both outside forces and its own people. In particular, colonization affected the customs and ideals of the Igbo people of Nigeria’s profitable Delta region. Tess Onwueme, a dramatist of Igbo extraction now based in the United States at Wayne State University, writes explicitly of the changes forced upon the Igbo people and their subsequent reaction to new ideas in their communities. Onwueme’s fictionalized accounts of the struggles of Igbo women in her dramatic work shed light on the changing perceptions of western feminisms, African womanisms, and female agency in “traditional” communities. Her stories problematize the idea of a united sisterhood for the promotion of world-wide feminism, and inspire us to reflect on our own agency in our communities. Through a close reading of Onwueme’s trio of plays, The Broken Calabash, Parables for A Season, and The Reign of Wazobia, I explore the effects of western education on Igbo communities and their inhabitants. How does education change how these women view their communities and their communities’ view of them? How has a shared colonial past become the catalyst for both sweeping change and stagnation? How is female agency employed and received in these communities? In my exploration of these questions, I hope to understand the impetus behind Onwueme’s heroines’ actions and explore female power in places of great cultural change

vi INTRODUCTION

Dr. Tess Osonye Onwueme (sometimes T. Akaeke Onwueme) is one of the more prolific Nigerian dramatists writing today. While many scholars admire her work for its concentration on women’s issues in the postcolonial state, this dramatist has intrigued me with her fascinating dramatic narratives on Igbo women and for her positionality as a Nigerian-born scholar in America. As a Delta-State (now Bendel State) native, Onwueme identifies as a part of the Igbo people. Many of her plays concentrate on Igbo women and their encounters with the conflict between Igbo cultural practices and Igbo women who have received an education in Nigerian schools based on the Western education model. In particular, Onwueme pays attention to the modern Nigerian woman’s struggle for acceptance in a conventional Igbo home. Onwueme states, “We live in a society where women have it very hard. Their lives are manipulated by others” (Onwueme 10). It seems as though Onwueme applies this statement to all women, whether Western or “Third World,” placing the playwright firmly within a feminist and womanist sphere of discourse. However, Onwueme concentrates on women from backgrounds similar to her own—each of the heroines in the three plays I study struggles to find the balance between contemporary ideals and desires and indigenous convention and practice. Onwueme herself is an Igbo woman educated in Nigerian schools (established by British colonizers), though she now lives and works in the United States. While women the world over have it very hard, the women of Onwueme’s plays encounter unique and poignant challenges. They face choices that will irrevocably alter their love lives, their political lives, and their freedoms. As American poet Daniela Gioseffi writes, “the protagonists of Dr. Tess Onwueme’s plays tend to be women who revolt against their misuse by an outdated and inhumane system” (Onwueme 10). More often than not, Onwueme’s women triumph over the odds, though this triumph usually comes at a heavy price. Although audience reactions to Onwueme’s work vary greatly, the plays address themes and conflicts that inspire discussions in which viewers can engage from a variety of perspectives. My research has led me to concentrate on the subtle warnings the plays provide against privileging a western set of ideals over those of the Igbo (or the opposite) in Onwueme’s work and the discussions that arise from this conflict. As Dr. Onwueme writes and produces her plays

in both the United States and in her country of birth (writertess.com), audience members in both the west and Africa view and enjoy her work. In this thesis, I explore how a trio of Tess Onwueme’s plays addresses the conflict between contemporary, educated Igbo women, and more traditional Igbo practices in a postcolonial setting. What happens when Igbo women educated outside their communities bring their new, western ideas home to roost? This conflict illustrates not just the issues of women in Nigeria, but the conflict of women, older ideas and traditions, and new systems of thought in countries the world over. Though there have always been generational disputes between youths and elders in this ever-changing community, I have chosen to focus on the tension that arises from the education of young, Igbo women and their clash with the rest of their more conventional community. Onwueme’s plays, The Broken Calabash, Parables for A Season, and the Reign of Wazobia each concentrate on contemporary, Western-educated Igbo women who come in conflict with the conventional values and cultural practices of their indigenous homes. In a close reading of these three plays, I will explore this conflict and discuss why it is a concern within these fictionalized communities. As an educated, western woman I find the conflicts that Onwueme introduces in her three texts particularly compelling. Because I am an audience member educated in African feminisms and postcolonial theory, I find myself in the interesting position of being able to analyze Onwueme’s work through the lens of the western audience member and as an academic. It is my hope that this positionality will enable me to deliver a nuanced interpretation of Onwueme’s trio of plays, informed by my scholarly research and by my position as a mixed-heritage woman with white privilege.

Nigeria and the Igbo In order to understand the unique challenges that Onwueme’s characters must face, it is necessary to have some background knowledge of Nigeria’s current state and the creation of that environment. The Federal Republic of Nigeria is a large country (approximately twice the size of Texas) located on the central Western coast of Africa. Most U.S. Citizens know Nigeria primarily for being an exporter of crude oil: it is the sixth largest exporter in the world (Library of Congress). Nigeria’s popularity in news vernacular stems secondarily from the frequent violence surrounding this oil production (news.bbc.co.uk). Four primary ethnic groups comprise the country’s population: the Igbo, the Hausa, the Yoruba, and the Fulani. There are also smaller

ethnic groups in the country, though they are often overlooked by the media. The indigenous groups govern themselves with guidance from the Nigerian state, and each has a distinctly different set of religious and cultural practices (uiowa.edu). In the past century and a half, Nigeria has weathered a number of major political shifts: Nigerian citizens promoted some of these shifts while outside forces (primarily colonists) imposed many others. Three major phases of Nigerian history pertain to my analysis of Onwueme’s plays: Nigeria as a pre-colonial (19th century), colonized (early 20th century), and postcolonial (mid-20th century) nation. In particular, I will examine the effects these power and paradigm shifts have had on the Igbo population of Nigeria. As a cultural group,1 the Igbo of pre-colonial Nigeria operated as a patriarchal society. Africanist Judith Van Allen observes that the rights, powers, and duties of men and women differed from each other, but the duties associated with both genders were equally important to the community’s ability to function. However, the men’s societal contributions were valued over women’s—men’s goods held higher market value and society believed that their achievements were more valuable. As a result, men held greater power and attained it with less opposition (Van Allan 165). British colonists changed more than the political structure when they colonized Nigeria; they shifted the ways women and men viewed each other and themselves. Colonization was the catalyst for changes in custom and attitude from a community based on semi-equality to one where colonists marginalized women entirely and placed male leaders in positions subordinate to newly created (and British controlled) leadership positions. The British downplayed women’s importance in the community by placing unproven members of the community, members who had yet to earn the respect of the community through successful business or the wisdom that comes with age, in positions of prestige in Igbo communities. These actions led to the flagrant abuse of women and men alike, with women bearing the brunt of the mistreatment. These unproven men quickly changed Igbo communities by restructuring the pre-colonial laws and customs of each village (165). In order to understand the tensions that create the conflict between western educated women and their indigenous villages, we must first analyze the historical past that influences the Igbo fear of western theory. Significant exchanges between the Igbo and the British in the pre-

1 Like the terms “tribe” and “race,” “cultural group” is a misnomer as traditions and practices can vary from community to community within a group of peoples. It is, however, the most appropriate phrase I have encountered to describe the peoples that comprise the Hausa, Igbo, and Yoruba.

colonial, colonial, and postcolonial past have contributed greatly to the present tension between Nigerian and western scholars.

Pre-Colonial (Pre-Twentieth Century) Although Nigeria was not officially colonized until the beginning of the twentieth century, the indigenous peoples (primarily Yoruba and Igbo) and the British colonists fought in colonial wars from the mid-nineteenth century on. Scholars recognize the beginnings of colonial influence at this time, though the British did not impose the reorganization of Igbo power structures and policies limiting the privileges and movement of the Igbo until official colonization in 1910. British influence was so extensive (and indigenous peoples’ influence so limited) that the naming of the land mass stems from the colonizer rather than the colonized. British reporter Flora Shaw, later the wife of colonial Governor-General Lord Frederick Lugard (onlinenigeria.com), named Nigeria for the river Niger which flows through the country to its prosperous Delta region. The indigenous peoples of Nigeria did not necessarily identify as Nigerian after Ms. Shaw christened it—for the most part, the peoples defined themselves by the cultural groups with whom they resided. The Nigerians divided their cultural groups into “Empires” (Igbo, Hausa, Yoruba), which they then divided further into kingdoms (Ohadike 24). Over time the inhabitants of the territory began to associate themselves with the British-imposed identity of “Nigerian,” unifying under one flag and under one name in 1960. The Igbo of Nigeria have long been a patriarchal people. Individual wealth and prestige usually comes from palm wine and palm oil, which are resources controlled by the male population. Palm kernel and other crops that earn far less money are considered women’s crops (Van Allen 168). The smaller income provides less prestige in a community that awards respect to those with substantial incomes or age and wisdom, thus this economic division helps to reinforce the patriarchal system. Before contact with British colonists, men performed all long- distance/high-profit trading while women performed only local and regional trading. The community granted titles and prestige to those they deemed worthy, though they awarded these privileges primarily to men with wealth, great oratorical skills, and significant standing in the community (usually due to community involvement and service). While women did take an active part in village assemblies, most scholars consider their power to be of a “quieter” sort (Ifeka-Moller 317). Igbo customs rarely awarded public political power to women (317). High-

powered males led the discussions at village meetings and invariably controlled all major decisions that would affect the community as a whole. “Meetings,” or mikiri (Van Allen 166), provided a separate political sphere for women alone. These women-only meetings took place in the marketplace, and any woman could participate in the discussions and decisions of these meetings. In a mikiri , women could decide to take action against an abusive husband on behalf of a woman, they could settle economic disputes on marketplace trade, or they could reprimand a troublesome woman for her behavior (165). As the social conventions of their community limited female power to the mikiri, Igbo women of pre-colonial Nigeria had to exert influence indirectly rather than in all-village meetings as males did. Igbo societies were well established patriarchal communities long before colonization. The Igbo community placed women on a lower social position than men, but they did have limited decision-making power in the marketplace (165). A family was physically and financially responsible for a woman until marriage,2 at which time the family passed that responsibility to the new husband. Upon his death, the woman’s in-laws returned her to a birth brother, where she became his responsibility (Amadiume 70). As the community did not believe women were true individuals, it is hard to imagine that women were free to negotiate the political culture of their community without the guidance of a husband. Cultural conventions in the nineteenth century labeled Igbo women as the inferior sex in this society. They controlled neither wealth nor power and were forced to observe cleanliness taboos and religious restrictions while men were exempted from most of these limiting rules. Despite these restrictions, Igbo women held significant power over hearth and home and had a quieter influence in political life. According to Van Allen, “As individuals, they participated in village meetings with men […]. Their real political power was based on the solidarity of women, as expressed in their own political institutions[…]; their market networks, their kinship groups, and their right to use strikes, boycotts and force to effect their decisions” (Van Allen 168). As Van Allen continues to explain, the roles of Igbo women were not based in

2 A family’s responsibility for its daughters/wives was not defined as actual ownership, as in the histories of many western societies. However, Igbo communities placed a monetary value on the female’s place in her household. A prospective husband had to reward the family monetarily for the bride’s loss. Likewise, if a husband was dissatisfied with his wife, he had every right to return her to her family (Amadiume, Male Daughters, p 70).

specialized governing groups; neither did males of the community3 validate or legitimize women’s power (166). Wealth, age, and persuasive speaking ability determined the level of a woman’s influence, but these traits also determined male power. The main difference here is that women’s power usually pertained to the domestic sphere or to women’s meetings (which controlled the women’s work in the marketplace), while men could exercise power over the community as a whole in public assembly (where major village decisions would take place). While there were no official rules forbidding a woman’s power in public assembly during this pre-colonial time, societal practices and beliefs ensured that women remained secondary to men in wealth (173). As a result, there are few documented cases of women in power in the public sphere of Igbo life. Women used mikiri as both economic/political councils and women’s support groups. It was here that a woman could make a complaint against her husband. Mikiri women would support a local woman if they believed in her cause. Through the process of “sitting on a man,”4 women could collectively shame a man into treating his wife in a different manner or into making restitution for wrong doing. The process of sitting on a man usually consisted of beating his house with sticks and singing rude, annoying songs through several nights and days, attracting attention to his offences and generally embarrassing him into capitulation (176). Women from many communities could rally to participate in a sitting. This collective of women could organize by local group or across greater distances with amazing results and is still in use in many Igbo communities (177). Women often called meetings to settle issues concerning spousal abuse, refusal to let a wife sell her wares at market, or a philandering husband. During colonial rule, women used the mikiri market network to organize across several communities and “sit on” the British colonists whose policies displeased them (175). The non-violent yet raucous strategies employed against the offending man (or organization of men) had a high rate of success: as a collective, women could generate enough power to achieve their own ends.

Colonial (1900-1960)

3 As an organized state legislature did not exist at this time, females could only appeal to males of each community as the highest governing power (Van Allen 166). 4 Van Allen describes “sitting on a man” as an organized protest. Women in the community would literally harass a man by gathering in his compound at night to dance and sing “scurrilous songs,” pound on his hut with pestles, or “roughing up” the offending male in order to extract an apology or force unacceptable behavior to cease (Van Allen 170).

The British officially declared Nigeria a colony in 1900, though they did not establish permanent physical colonies and a British political system until 1910. The colonizers who settled Nigeria were British military families with Victorian values. Nigerian scholars and the descendents of the colonized often accuse British colonizers of misunderstanding and misinterpreting the distribution of power and systems of government within Igbo communities in the early twentieth century. The colonists superimposed a form of representative British government over the systems already in place, the mikiri and village meetings I previously mentioned. They created public figureheads from young, malleable men in the Igbo community or coerced established leaders into becoming paid liaisons between the British colonizers and Igbo villagers. The British gave these men the title of “Warrant Chief” in exchange for their alliance with British District Officers. These men were the only link between colonizers and colonized (171). The British colonizers gave authority to these Warrant Chiefs, who then supplanted the wise men and women (known as Big Men and Big Women) of their villages. The indigenous Igbo people did not like or respect these representatives because the new chiefs had not earned power through traditional means. According to Van Allen, “It was a violation of Igbo concepts to have one man represent the village […] and more of a violation that he should give orders to everyone else. […] In some places Warrant Chiefs were lineage heads or wealthy men who were already leaders in the village. But in many places they were simply opportunistic young men” (172). The Igbo viewed the Warrant Chiefs as British agents at best, traitors to their people at worst. By circumventing the system and planting men who had not earned the right to leadership in powerful roles, the British District Officers alienated an already hostile, colonized group and disrupted their normal process of government. In many cases, they also placed a series of greedy, abusive young men in positions of power and allowed them to collect taxes or violate customs as they wished. Although men also suffered economic injustices at the hands of the Warrant Chiefs, women felt a more significant shift in power during the colonial period. Not only did the Warrant Chiefs sexually violate or forcibly marry these unwilling women, but these same chiefs taxed or stole from the women, whose means of producing a personal or household income was already limited by the sexual division of saleable goods (172). The women’s plight was further aggravated by the staunchly Victorian attitude of the British colonists toward the female sex and the subsequent refusal to intervene in women’s matters. Victorian ideas of gender roles labeled

women as lesser creatures, incapable of societal movement without the help of a male family member. The colonists thought Igbo females beneath their notice and disregarded the economic activities that were wholly controlled by the women’s mikiri network. The result of the British tendency to overlook Igbo women was a series of revolts and protests designed to remind the colonizers, however abruptly, of the presence of powerful women in Igbo communities. These revolts are commonly known as the “Women’s Wars.” The “Women’s Wars” began due to the lack of knowledge of Igbo customs of taxation and a disregard for the agency of women in society (Van Allen 166). The ill-informed colonists did not account for women’s voices in the matter of taxation, nor did they consider mobilization of these women a possibility. The women massed across many villages to create a crowd of hundreds, then proceeded to take on the British base of operations in the nearest town. They would beat against the building, sing lewd or rude songs, and generally make themselves a nuisance until the annoyed and confounded British officers conceded to some of the women’s demands. These protests were simply an expanded form of “sitting on a man,” and were the only way for the women to force the British to listen to their appeals. They could not turn to the new government because it did not recognize female agency—only a male could protest, and the British usually disregarded their protests as well. While these large, “irrational” female demonstrations helped to achieve some of the women’s goals (such as the assurance that Warrant Chiefs would not levy a new tax on women’s goods), the British brushed aside the protests as an anomaly and did not attribute the uprising to the mikiri network. The British colonizers held to this steadfast belief in female insignificance until Nigeria declared independence in 1960, never delving deeply into the process that lead to the women’s massive organization across great distances or their unified approach to “sitting on” the British authorities. Over the past forty years, scholars have retroactively gathered information on the customs and practices that gave the women jurisdiction (in the Igbo community) to protest on such a large scale.5 By 1933 the newly-created British offices of the Native Administration effectively replaced most of the functions of the village assembly (177). The colonizers expanded the roles of Warrant Chiefs. While the administration never officially restricted women from work in the British-led administration, they unofficially barred them from participating in the activities there.

5 The mikiri system granted women the power to organize and protest. Women’s meetings were the center of women’s organized power in Igbo culture (Van Allen 168).

The colonizers’ views of the Igbo, filtered through the lens of staunch Victorian values, became more fixed as women disappeared from public life altogether.

Postcolonial (1960-Present) Although many Nigerians still think of Nigeria as a series of Empires, it has become a united nation (nigeriaembassyusa.org). Since it gained its independence in 1960, Nigeria has become a power both economically and politically, aiming to modernize and become a fully autonomous world power. Western Nigeria is now on the economic and political map due mostly to the large deposits of oil found in the Delta area in 1956. As a result, Nigeria is now the eleventh largest exporter of crude oil in the world (MBendi.co.za). This discovery paved the economic path for a series of governmental changes and constitutional reforms. Nigeria instituted these reforms to reorganize the economic and political structure of the country to suit its emerging status as a world power in fossil fuel and to more closely align its governmental procedures with western world powers (nigeriaembassyusa.org). This reorganization has also altered the systems of thought that were prevalent in both pre-colonial and colonial Nigeria, a change that is not necessarily welcome in indigenous communities opposed to change. Nigerian resistance to any idea perceived as neo-imperialist creates a theoretical battlefield. Western feminisms in particular have come under fire because they were created by and for western women. These feminisms both influence and clash with the indigenous ideas of the Igbo women of Nigeria, as Onwueme demonstrates in her three plays.

Onwueme and the Prodigal Daughters: I have focused my study on Tess Onwueme’s trio of plays consisting of The Broken Calabash, Parables for A Season, and The Reign of Wazobia. Though only two of the plays share character and continuous plot, each piece contains similar subject matter and a similar conflict—this conflict is between western education and a conventional society’s expectations of an Igbo woman. Scholarship on Nigerian feminisms, Postcolonial studies, gender identities in Africa, and Igbo traditions in Eastern Nigeria informs my analysis. Each chapter lays out the clash between women, postcolonial thought, education, and cultural conventions. All three of the plays open with a short summary of the play, continues with an identification of the main source of conflict in the piece, and explores that conflict. The pieces portray characters with

conflicting opinions and objectives that emerge as a result of the past oppressive forces of colonization and new, postcolonial threats of neo-imperialism. More particularly they addresses the effects of these events on young women in Igbo societies rooted in conventions that are a result of the merging of pre-colonial and colonial traditions. Their status as females educated in western institutions will be a central theme for analysis. I must first clarify the idea of convention within the Igbo community. The common definition of the term “tradition” does not suit the cultural practices of the Igbo, so I have chosen to use the word convention in its stead as “convention” does not bring to mind the same timeless and static position that “tradition” implies. Igbo cultural conventions have been shaped by the various political influences that the ethnic group has encountered during the colonial wars of the mid 19th century and since colonization in 1900. British colonists altered the original practices of the Igbo people in the early twentieth century. As a result, contemporary scholars know little about these traditions before their alteration.6 They do state that the rights which belonged to women in the pre-colonial society were taken away by the British colonizers and the newly- empowered, often younger, Igbo who the foreigners placed in positions of authority.7 Those reshaped conventions were further altered after liberation from Britain in 1960. Now, in the postcolonial age, conventions from pre-colonial and colonial Igbo society meld to form new practices. As Nigeria as a whole attempts to modernize and join the world economic and political arena, it struggles against theories and ideas that are seen as neo-imperialist. The Broken Calabash, Parables for A Season, and The Reign of Wazobia are representative of the struggle between the conventional and postcolonial, and illustrate both the great promise and great danger a western-educated female can pose to a community rooted in past practices.

Introduction to Onwueme’s Trio As all three of Onwueme’s texts are based in indigenous communities, I feel compelled to introduce the plays and the topics they address before introducing the theories through which I have read them. The ideas and customs in this trio of plays are foreign to most western audience members. An understanding of the conventions portrayed in these works is as necessary as knowledge of the colonial history is to recognizing the character’s need for subversion and

6 Anthropological study of the Igbo coincided with the colonial wars of the 19th century. 7 Please see the previous comments about Warrant Chiefs on page 8 of this introduction.

Onwueme’s bid for change in these fictional communities. The texts center on Igbo women who were raised close to the home, educated by western “outsiders,” and who feel the need to break the tension between their beliefs from childhood and beliefs from education with radical methods. However, the type of method and the form the defiance takes differs dramatically from text to text. Some of the rebellious acts (Ona and Anehe’s actions in Calabash and Parables respectively) are self-destructive and self-defeating by nature, while others (Wazobia’s proclamations) are empowering and progressive. In order to better understand these plays, I have rendered the plots of these plays into what appears to be a linear storyline, even though this is not how Onwueme originally constructed these plays. Events are not in a linear order, the overall structure of the plays is sometimes circular, and each piece incorporates dance sequences and rituals into the fabric of the story. One should note, however, that as a scholar analyzing works from cultures not my own I have discovered that there is a distinct danger in attempting to force non-linear play texts into a western, linear line of thought. This has, perhaps, been my greatest challenge in attempting to study these three works. I have found that my instinct is to compare these plays against those from the western tradition. This practice, however natural it may seem, has proved to be troublesome at best. I must remind myself that Onwueme does not adhere to Ibsen’s style of realism, and that as a result the storylines are distinctly unrealistic. While not wholly removed from the western tradition, Onwueme’s works have a flow and story that is unlike anything I have encountered. It is my constant challenge to analyze them through many lenses, and to remember that the experience of Onwueme’s women, while similar to my own, is not in fact mine.

The Broken Calabash The Broken Calabash is one of Onwueme’s first plays. The original production occurred in 1984 in Nigeria, as opposed to many of Onwueme’s other works, which were first performed in America. In this play, we witness a young woman living in the traditional Igbo caste system, using the Igegbe custom as a tool of resistance against an overbearing father. Igegbe is a practice in which, if the sole child of a family is female, she must either abstain from marriage or marry a woman. Anthropologist Ifi Amadiume describes it as a tactic for keeping land and wealth in a family, as wealth can only be passed from father to son. In order to continue the family line and

ensure a second, and male, heir for her father, the sole daughter may choose to do one of two things: she may conceive a child with the man of her choice, but abstain from marriage, or she may marry a woman who will then bear her father’s child. If she makes the latter choice is made, the newborn child (male or female) will become the father’s heir of the estate, duty bound to then produce heirs of his or her own to carry on the family name (Amadiume 32). The daughter is not freed from her marriage or from her family after providing such an heir. She remains in the family home for the rest of her days, forbidden from any action that may challenge the validity of the new heir’s status (such as marriage). The female protagonist of this piece is the only child of the village chief, and as such must abide by the Igegbe practice. Ona may be educated in the western tradition, but she is still bound by the laws and conventions of her Igbo culture. She therefore obeys her father’s command that she become an Igegbe, abjuring her lover (who later marries a friend). Shortly thereafter, Ona reveals that she is pregnant. She uses this pregnancy to gain revenge against her father and his “old-fashioned” customs, and accuses Cortuma of being the cause of her current condition (implying that he impregnated her). Her father must commit suicide in order to save his honor. Ona is left pregnant and fatherless, torn between the two worlds that made her a contemporary Igbo woman. Onwueme’s Calabash clearly illustrates the conflict between western influence through education and the more conventional values of an Igbo village. The final scene of the play shows Ona running between a family shrine and a Christian altar, set at opposite ends of stage. Ona is clearly torn by these opposing forces, and spends the entirety of the play attempting to satisfy both worlds while remaining true to her own goals and desires. The end result, Cortuma’s death, leaves many of the play’s conflicts unresolved. As a result, the piece serves as a warning against the dangers of refusing to listen and to compromise. Onwueme does not provide a solution to the family’s dilemma, but leaves the conflict very much intact.

Parables for A Season As the most metaphoric play of the trio, Parables for A Season opens with a central male figure, the King (Obi) of a small, contemporary Igbo community, explaining the reasons behind his abdication and withdrawal from the community. Obi Ogiso has failed to give the community a son who could become his heir and the future king. After his abdication, his wives debate what

will happen to their position as queens in the community and who the next ruler will be. They also discuss (somewhat jealously) what will happen if the very pregnant Bia, the youngest wife of the king, should give birth to a boy. Their hypothesizing quickly unravels into a series of plots, each woman grasping for power by allying with powerful men or by seeking power through other means. Anehe allies with a treacherous man, Iyase, and promises to bring him to power should he name her his queen (thus securing her own position). Bia gives birth to a son, whom Anehe attempts to kill. Zo leaves the community to return as “Wazobia,” saves Bia’s son, wins the regency, and thwarts Anehe’s plans for Iyase. As a patriarchal monarchy, this community denies women full equality. However, despite lacking the equal status with the men in this community, women are not entirely without influence and power. Anehe, Bia, and Zo each stands as a representative of the types of power available to women in this particular Igbo community. A woman may rise to power with a man, through birth of an heir, and rarely as the elected regent of the community (in Parables, this Igbo community elects a female regent upon a king’s death). Each path has its potential pitfalls, but each woman is successful in gaining some power in her own right. Anehe uses her influence on the Iyase to guarantee a position of authority when he usurps the regency. Bia’s power is primarily as a mother to the future king. Zo recognizes the power her education has given her, using the mythological beliefs of her community to inspire awe at her return as the potential regent Wazobia. Each woman serves as a reminder of a woman’s difficult position as both influential force and unequal partner in the community in which she lives. Most importantly, Zo (now Wazobia) uses an established system to gather socially supported power, subverting those who would use power for nefarious ends and gaining the ability to promote her own agenda. We watch her rise to power in Onwueme’s last piece of this dramatic trio, The Reign of Wazobia.

The Reign of Wazobia The Reign of Wazobia expands on some of the issues found in Parables by introducing a familiar, yet near-mythical heroine at its center. The piece is by far the most biased concerning women’s issues as they relate to the conventions of the Igbo community in which it is grounded. Wazobia follows the struggles of a regent queen, formerly Zo of Parables, who has been elected regent King by her community after the abdication of the previous monarch. Wazobia’s tale recounts her election to the position of regent and her struggles with both the men and women of

her Igbo community. Wazobia fights to implement some of the ideas (attained through western education) in her community, inciting near-riotous anger in the people of her community. However, by using her position as an elected monarch and the laws that support her position as ruler, Wazobia is able to subvert the conventional practices of her community and replace them with the womanist and feminist practices she has learned while away at school. Wazobia invites the women of Nigeria to fight for what she believes are basic human rights, not to be denied by common practice or superstition.

Review of Literature Most scholars focus primarily on Onwueme’s writing and dramaturgical style with particular emphasis on the postcolonial and feminist aspects of her work. Omofolabo Ajayi, Afam Ebeogu, Ngugi Wa Thiongo, and Eugene B. Redmond write about the conflict between Western thought and Igbo tradition in their own examinations of Onwueme’s works: it is upon these scholars’ studies that I base my own. Regarding such postcolonial stresses, Omofolabo Ajayi-Soyinka, a Nigerian-born scholar of women’s studies and gender issues in African literature (womensstudies.ku.edu), states that there is considerable resistance to traditional Western feminism in Nigerian societies. In her paper “Who Can Silence Her Drums? An Analysis of the Plays of Tess Onwueme,” Ajayi suggests that in the 1980s, when these three plays were written, feminism was “virtually taboo and seen as another form of colonial imperialism being promoted, this time not by their men but by Western women. For an African woman to subscribe to feminist ideals was considered an almost treasonable activity” (Ajayi 109). In short, Nigerians viewed feminism as a tool of Western neo-imperialism. Oyěwùmi Oyèónkệ argues that today non-Western Africanisms are more accepted in Africa, for they are theories suited to Africa and created by Africans (Oyèónkệ 1). Some western feminisms concentrate on promoting a strictly female agenda, focusing on female equality or superiority. African feminisms or “Africanisms” concentrate on equality for man and woman alike and the promotion of the general state rather than a single sex. Onwueme’s plays negotiate the conflict between these two differing points of view by presenting feminisms as extreme examples. I believe that the absence of Africanisms in her text draws attention to their usefulness in these Nigerian communities, for western feminisms blind Onwueme’s characters to the problems that the theories’ presence have wrought upon Igbos rooted in older conventions.

Nigerians must also address the difficult issue of using Western education as a tool for negotiating world economics and for developing new political systems in a way that best suits the country. This education creates a conflict that is prevalent in Onwueme’s trio of plays. We encounter three women who must work to circumvent two systems, one that actively pushes them to conform to Igbo social and religious practices, and the other that pushes them toward receiving an education based on the British model. In Onwueme’s plays we watch these women struggle to find a middle ground that is comfortable, if not happy. Africanist Afam Ebeogu’s article “Feminism and the Mediation of the Mythic in Three Plays by Tess A. Onwueme” explores the struggles and tensions between Black American feminism, other American feminisms, and Black African feminisms in Onwueme’s works. Ebeogu states that “Black African feminism, while reflecting a good many of the characteristics of the European and American varieties, tends to hold an independent posture based on the notion that the cultural background that gave rise to the subjugation of women in Africa is quite different” (Ebeogu 98). The cultural background to which Ebeogu refers includes both the pre- colonial traditions and altered colonial conventions that helped to shape the Igbo nation into what it is today. Black African feminism stands apart from Western feminisms for a number of reasons, but one of the most important is certainly due to the colonial influence of the British in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Ebeogu also explains Onwueme’s ability to address this conflict in her creative works: “Traditional political and socio-cultural institutions […] have built-in mechanisms for subverting their very effectiveness [. The] time has come for women to identify these traditions and institutional structures and use them to liberate themselves” (99). Here Ebeogu argues that Onwueme’s female characters are able to identify the grey areas or loopholes in these conventions and exploit then to their own advantage. This idea is the crux of each of the three plays I explore: how do Onwueme’s characters exploit loopholes in the rules that limit them in order to create new opportunities for change or gain? As an African-feminist, Oyèónkệ Oyěwùmi addresses the issues that are associated with both Western feminisms and African feminisms in her edited volume African Women and Feminism: Reflecting on the Politics of Sisterhood. Oyěwùmi and her contributors stress that homogenization and generalization are equally dangerous tools when used in postcolonial feminism. Oyěwùmi resists the idea of a common “sisterhood” of oppressed women. She explains that not all women have the same experience, and therefore do not suffer from the same

types of oppression, particularly in disparate nations. Her book encourages the scholar to look at African communities on an individual basis and to not allow Western mores to cloud their judgment when studying the social constructs of these societies (Oyèónkệ 5). Though she does not directly allude to issues in drama, she does spend considerable time talking about the cosmopolitan nature of Western literature on Africa and its inability to accurately reflect the desires and opinions of African authors and scholars. The book also provides invaluable information on attitudes toward such basic institutions as motherhood, marriage, and women’s development. The contributors present their views in a contemporary, conversational light that allows the scholar to understand the current trends and moods of African feminisms. This book’s contributors, like Onwueme or Ajayi, reside in or frequently return to the communities that they write about: African readers and scholars alike often criticize writers and scholars who move to Western countries and who do not return to their home lands to reestablish ties to their places of origin. Kenyan writer Ngugi Wa Thiongo also resists the idea of categorization and homogenization, and his article in Fawzia Afzal-Khan’s The Pre-Occupation with Postcolonial Studies focuses on the dangers that assumptions (based on categories) pose in literary analysis (Afzal-Khan 120). “One of the inherited traditions of Western education in the last four hundred years is that of putting things in compartments, resulting in an incapacity to see the links that bind various categories” (120). Wa Thiongo’s observations suggest significant perspectives for the student venturing into unfamiliar territory, and his warnings against Western assumptions serve to inspire caution in the historiographer and critic. As individuals, he stresses, we are connected to each other through beliefs, language, art, and literature (123). By categorizing, we invite preconceived generalizations about cultural groups, customs, and values to invade our interpretation of any piece of literature. While we cannot fully eradicate personal bias from any literary analysis, we can attempt to recognize and question those biases in order to not allow them to cloud new studies in unfamiliar territory. Neither can we impose Western ideas on African art. We must realize the Onwueme writes from the vantage point of an educated Igbo woman, but may not speak for the Igbo as a whole. The beliefs and values of the Igbo people differ from village to village, and those beliefs differ from those of other groups in Nigeria. Onwueme writes of her opinions concerning women and education, but her fictional accounts of the conflict between Western and Igbo mores must be reviewed with restraint. While her stories

are based on the very real conflict between colonial and postcolonial Nigerian ideas, these plays remain works of fiction representative of only the playwright’s individual experience. The theories that color Onwueme’s work have led me to identify a very provocative conflict within Onwueme’s work: the conflict between Western education and conventional standards in Igbo women. This dramatic trio allows the reader to see the influence of colonization in each piece and in each character, whether they are rebelling against formerly colonial institutions or working within their confines. Helen Gilbert and Joanne Tompkins’ text on postcolonial drama has proven useful in defining postcolonialism and the problems associated with employing that term with African drama. The term “postcolonial” gives the impression that the time of colonization is over (Gilbert 2). Nigerians are still feeling the effects of colonization, and it is these effects that have continued to inspire a fear of new ideas in smaller Nigerian communities such as Igbo villages. The audience member does not think to question the current struggle against the ideals and policies that were brought by the colonizers, ideas which cannot be fully purged from the culture as they have been woven into the fabric of the local politics and social culture. Neither does the reader take into account that the process of modernization in Nigeria brings the adaptation and adoption of many new ideas and theories, some of which may appear neo-imperialist as they are western in origin. Neo-imperialism, one of the most prominent fears of the antagonists of the three plays, is a term that is often directly aimed at western scholars and politicians. The contemporary theories and politics that emerge from the West are created from the Western point of view. By applying distinctly Western opinions to Africa, scholars threaten an academic imperialism that is suspect to contemporary Africans (Oyèónkệ 1). The ideas that the protagonists bring to their communities are treated with the same skepticism that many Nigerians give other western ideas. The characters in Onwueme’s text encounter their fears of western education and the unspoken threat it carries, and it is these fears that must be negotiated in order for the community to change. Gilbert and Tompkins describe postcolonial performance as identifiable by distinct markers that reflect both the colonizer and the colonized. I have found many of these markers prevalent in Onwueme’s work. The central female characters respond to the postcolonial state with “acts that respond to the experience of imperialism,” “acts performed for the continuation […] of the community” (12), “acts performed with the awareness of […] post-contact forms” (11), and “acts that interrogate the hegemony that underlies imperial representation” (11).

Onwueme attempts to address each of these acts in her trio of works — the conflict of each piece centers on acts that are meant to improve the community, but the act itself is often altered by education received in Western-style schools. The resolution (or attempted resolution) of each of these conflicts often undermines oppressive colonial and patriarchal systems whose presence created the conflict in the first place. Gilbert and Tompkins state that an Aristotelian categorization of theatre is a dangerous tool that leads to othering and distancing from the material. They encourage a more fluid definition of terms about theatre and performance, but they most particularly discourage the scholarly tendency toward generalization of indigenous belief systems. This is reminiscent of Wa Thiongo’s earlier warnings against homogenization of ideas and cultural conventions. The scholar must be aware of his impulse to revert to Western ideas instead of the harder task of coming to terms with the living presence of others’ beliefs—a neo-imperialist act indeed. Onwueme’s text is aware of the conflict between the foreign beliefs, and her characters often engage with the very problem that Gilbert, Tompkins, and Wa Thiongo warn against. By attempting to bring the ideas and opinions acquired through Western education and a removed view of the Igbo into the community, Onwueme’s heroines are creating a situation that forces conflicting ideas to the surface: they demand to be addressed. Gilbert and Tompkins theorize that “Postcolonialism’s agenda, however, is more specifically political: to dismantle the hegemonic boundaries and the determinants that create unequal relations of power based on binary oppositions such as ‘us and them,’ ‘first world and third world,’ ‘white and black,’ ‘coloniser and colonized’” (3). There is a definite call to beware the pitfalls of both categorization and homogenization within postcolonial feminist work. By concentrating on the very specific nature of the community I have chosen to study, I hope to gain a more nuanced, if irrevocably incomplete, understanding of the source of the conflict in Onwueme’s plays. Change is inevitable, and these plays serve as a reminder of the dangers and wonders associated with change. Onwueme provides scenarios that could lead to disaster for these communities and the individuals involved in this conflict. These scenarios should inspire conversation about how to circumvent the dangers of these conflicts and to find the best solution for all.

Chapter Breakdown Introduction: Tess Onwueme, Drama, and Nigerian Feminism The introduction to this piece contains an outline of the three phases of colonization in Nigeria, background on Onwueme, summaries of the literature and scholarship on this subject, and a chapter breakdown.

Chapter 1: The Broken Calabash Here I will expand my summary of the play before delving into the role of Ona in subverting the traditions of Igegbe to satisfy her own agenda. I will detail the Igegbe tradition and its origins within the patriarchal Igbo society and incorporate aspects of Ona’s Western education and Cortuma’s traditional attitudes to emphasize the conflict of interest that leads to Cortuma’s eventual suicide. I will explore the topic of Ona’s Western education and views in relation to Cortuma’s more conventional expectations, and explore the conflict between these two sets of ideals. Why does tension arise from these two ideals, and why are the two parties so unable to understand each other’s view? What might Onwueme imply with Cortuma’s death and Ona’s subversion of the conventions that bind her?

Chapter 2: Parables for A Season Again, I will start with a summary of the play before moving on to the purpose of women’s presence in this piece. Onwueme has stated that one interpretation of Parables for A Season is as an “extended metaphor on the significant place and role of women as universal pillars for stability in times of socio-political stress and transition” (Onwueme 65). This play demonstrates the power women have to either stabilize or destabilize this patriarchal8 society in which they are supposed to have little power. I will examine the male characters’ use of women to gain their own ends, and the female characters’ attempts to either gain power or restructure their communities. I will also examine the relationships formed between women that help to stabilize an off-balance community and structures that award differing levels of authority to particular females – an issue that will also be explored in depth in my analysis of Wazobia.

8 Please see earlier discussion on patriarchy on page 4.

Chapter 3: The Reign of Wazobia Though this play is considered a sequel to Parables, I intend to focus on Wazobia’s new identity (rather than Zo’s identity from the previous play) as the source of conflict of the play. I will to focus primarily on Wazobia’s use of and disregard for the more harmful Igbo traditions and her work within the system to achieve her own ends. I will also spend time exploring the particular feminist issues that are prevalent in this play, and Wazobia’s use of traditional Igbo women’s means to bring change to her community.

Conclusion: Changing Communities and Identity In the conclusion, I revisit the conflict between the youthful, educated females of Igbo society and the more conventional mores that limit these women’s actions. How does one incorporate the ideas that have made other countries contemporary successes while still respecting the identities and beliefs of the older community? How can one promote change in a world that is anti-colonial? Most importantly, I will outline paths for future research into Onwueme’s work. How can women from different parts of the world work together despite or because of a shared history of colonialism?

CHAPTER 1 THE BROKEN CALABASH: THE WOES OF GENERATIONAL MISCOMMUNICATION

Tess Onwueme wrote the The Broken Calabash in the early 1980s, after which The National Theatre Iganmu in Lagos opened the premier production in 1984 (Onwueme 21). The show later made its U.S. debut at Wayne State University in Detroit. These two performances suggest that the piece speaks not only to the Nigerian audiences of its original performance, but to Western audiences as well. This is unsurprising as Onwueme has spent many years negotiating the mores of both Western and African feminisms. She has lived and worked in the United States since the mid 1980s while frequently visiting her home in Delta State, Nigeria, and her plays are based on childhood memories of her Igbo home. Onwueme’s work negotiates the value systems of both parts of the world. Africanist Mabel Evwierhoma calls Onwueme’s works “hybrid” as the dramatist and professor lives in America while writing of Africa (Evwierhoma 4). The Broken Calabash is an excellent example of Onwueme’s process of negotiating Western and African views. Though its protagonist does not necessarily succeed in these negotiations, the play does help audiences address the conflict between newer Western values and older Igbo cultural practices in a contemporary society through a coup d’état organized around the Igegbe custom (Ebeogu 100). The Broken Calabash concentrates on the presence of Western educational traditions in the Nigerian University system and how those traditions alter the life of a young, Igbo woman living with her non-Western parents. The play focuses on one women’s place within a community deeply rooted in its customs and her struggle to make choices informed by her own beliefs (acquired at university) while respecting the cultural practices of her parents. The conflict of the piece centers on family dynamics in a changing world. What I have found most interesting about this text is the portrayal of Ona as both grown Western woman and obedient Igbo child—she is torn between pleasing her parents and pleasing herself, and never seeks a compromise so that she may do both. Despite the fact that Ona has been exposed to contemporary philosophies (such as feminisms) and non-traditional trends (such as western fashion) through university, her education has not equipped Ona to understand or respect her father’s loyalty to and faith in the traditions he upholds. In turn, she is equally incapable of

articulating her beliefs and desires in a manner that will help her father, Cortuma, understand her desire to be a modern, if Westernized, woman. His hatred of any type of thought that may be construed as neo-imperialist has left him unwilling to hear to his daughter’s wishes and needs (or to understand why she feels them). This mutual misunderstanding of priorities and of their origins leads to the ultimate tragedy: rashly conceived vengeance gone horribly awry. This breakdown of communication is the direct result of two characters unable to look past their own philosophies. Such rigidity leads to Cortuma’s untimely death and contributes to the conversation on the influence of new ideas in areas rooted in cultural convention. For the sake of clarity, I have imposed a linear structure on The Broken Calabash’s plotline. Readers should remain aware that Onwueme’s plot is circular and melodic, and that the events described do not mirror western dramatic realism. Onwueme’s play is infused with ritual and dance, and the passage of time cannot be measured evenly. The Broken Calabash opens, as do all three of the plays of this trilogy, with an Igbo ritual. As African literary scholar Afam Ebeogu explains, the piece begins during the festival of Ine, a period of ritual cleansing before the new yam festival in this small Igbo village of Isah (Ebeogu 100). The village’s marriageable women assemble for this ritual cleansing to declare their maiden state and eligibility for matrimony (100). The town crier joyfully announces the festival’s commencement and a call to the maidens of the village to assemble in song. As a festival of purification, Ine is “dominated by verbal and non-verbal satirical practices, during which all members of the community who have been found morally wanting are brought to public ridicule” (100). It is at this festival that we first meet Ona, the heroine of our story and jewel of her father’s eye. Indeed, the literal translation of Ona’s name is Jewel, as noted in Onwueme’s character list. We see Ona only briefly in this colorful prologue, trailing behind her parents to watch the beginning of the festivities. The singing maidens beckon Ona to join them in their song by the river but Cortuma signals her to return to the house. This action denies Ona the rite of passage that is participation in the Ine festival, and thus symbolically denies her the status of becoming a marriageable maiden of the village. Cortuma and his wife Oliaku continue to watch the dancers as Ona obediently, if reluctantly, returns to their house. While we do not understand the dynamics behind Cortuma’s refusal at this point in the play, there is something unnerving about the Ona’s inability to join her fellow maidens in song: we understand that Cortuma wants Ona distanced from the rest of the community. Considering the purpose of the

Ine festival, Cortuma’s actions imply that Ona is not an average woman and therefore she will marry this year, despite being of age and from a prominent family.1 This raises one very important question: Why is Ona different? From this immersion in the Igbo culture the play launches into the first movement of the piece, a poignant mixture of Western and indigenous influence. We watch as Ona, forbidden from participating in the Ine festival with other marriageable maidens, sings along with American blues music to a cassette recording of a female singer (Onwueme 24). Her father’s living room is filled with well made but stodgy “headmaster furniture,” a crucifix, and a traditional Igbo family shrine (24). Each item is an indication of both the family’s prominent social status and of their mixed beliefs—the heavy furniture, though Western in style, is expensive; the crucifix and shrine are placed opposite one another in symbolic display of the tension between the two cultures. As the Ine celebration takes place outside, Ona is inside listening to an art form that is distinctly Western in style. The festive sounds outside the house clash with the soulful pain of the singer’s and Ona’s voices, reinforcing the Western/Igbo contrast and setting the tone for the conflict that will carry us through the rest of the play. Soon Ugo, Ona’s best friend from university, enters the scene. She fills the stage with adopted American slang and discussions of the luxuries of a contemporary and youthful lifestyle that is reminiscent of teenage girls all over the world. This lively discussion of boys and nights out dramatically contrasts to the mournful lyrics Ona was belting just moments before. During the conversation Ona reveals that she is in love with her boyfriend, Diaku, and that she frets over his loyalty. She explains to Ugo, with little success, that she has had recurring, ominous dreams that intensify this fear. Ugo brushes Ona’s fears aside, telling her that she has nothing to fear and that Ona’s dreams of hermaphroditic snails mean nothing. Ona thanks Ugo for this input as she leaves the room, but on her way out the door Ugo is mocked by the dancers of the Ine festival. She does not understand that these dancers are questioning her morals for she is not a citizen of Isah—Ona must explain that these are her people. The girls share a laugh at the amusing antics of the Isah dancers, and the girls part ways as the scene ends. The second movement explains the Idgebe custom, though it does not fully reveal Ona’s place in the custom or why she is considered Idgebe. Cortuma’s sister, Agador, mentions that Ona is not only an only child of marriageable age, but expected to adhere to the Idgebe custom

1 The play later reveals that Cortuma is a local chief and very wealthy (Onwueme 29).

because she is an only child who is female. The family members continue to allude to the Idgebe practice in metaphor, but these allusions are subtle—we must trust that this custom somehow means that Ona cannot marry. Cortuma and Agador also discuss possible loss of land and property at Cortuma’s death if he passes without a male heir. These two discussions are linked by the mention of Ona. Something about Ona’s birth has put her family in a risky financial situation. Ona immediately understands these veiled allusions and runs from the scene in horror, signaling that the fate of an Idgebe is not an enviable one. She clearly finds this conversation distasteful and distressing and leaves the room before the discussion is concluded. Cortuma clearly wants Ona to participate in this ancient custom, but he seems perturbed by Agador’s mention of Idgebe while Ona is in the room. In a roundabout fashion, Cortuma confirms that he intends for his daughter to become an Idgebe, but refrains from discussing the matter any further. It is clear that Ona’s opinion on the matter will not factor into his decision. After he sets aside the subject of Idgebe, Cortuma reveals his inherent distrust of the trappings of Christianity and “modern” ideas (such as women’s grooming or Western-style education). Cortuma’s abhorrence of Ona’s religious and social practices remains clear from this point on in the piece. He forbids her to attend confession, to straighten her hair, or to go out with Ugo. Cortuma displays contempt for the rituals of the church, asserting that the traditions of the Igbo are just as valuable. When Ona protests that she will not be able to receive communion, Cortuma tells her: “Don’t let it bother you. I brew the best palm wine in Isah, and we can buy biscuits, too […] White man’s communion? (spits with disgust)” (Onwueme 36). The representative nature of communion means nothing to Cortuma, but he will give his daughter bread and wine if it will allow him to keep her home from church. Though Cortuma once converted to Christianity in the hopes that a Christian God would allow his wife to conceive (36), it is obvious that his faith in that church has long since lapsed and that he no longer believes that his daughter’s faith in a Christian god will benefit his daughter. Movement three expands on Ona’s relationship with Diaku, which Ona and Ugo briefly discuss in the first movement. We witness Cortuma’s unusual suspicion of Diaku’s and Ona’s actions, his distrust of the Christian religion they study, and his obsessive desire to protect his daughter’s body. When the scene opens, Cortuma is chaperoning Diaku and Ona during “bible study” in his living room, obviously unable to trust the two alone. Diaku and Ona use a biblical style of verse to establish when Diaku will steal into Ona’s bed, and use the other advantages of

their education (rhetoric and French language skills) to confuse Cortuma so he does not understand their plans. While Cortuma doesn’t understand the message, he certainly knows that that romance is afoot. This blatant use of the skills provided by a Western education affirms Cortuma’s distrust of that institution. He is infuriated by his inability to decipher Ona and Diaku’s private code and his anger is intensified by catching Ona and Diaku in a passionate kiss. Diaku is asked to leave the house for the night and Cortuma asks Ona to promise not to suck another man’s tongue in the future (45). He forces Ona to rinse her mouth and sends her to bed. Movement four reveals the extent of Cortuma’s obsession with Ona. It begins with Ona stealthily walking through the darkened house at midnight to greet Diaku at the door. Ona leads Diaku to her bedchamber where the couple can be together undisturbed. Diaku worries that they will meet Ona’s father, but Ona assures Diaku that Cortuma is “fast asleep…in his own bedroom” (46). Once ensconced within Ona’s bedroom, Diaku informs Ona that he intends to put her “in the family way” (46) to silence Cortuma’s objections to their relationship and proclaims his love for her. A scream from Cortuma halts the couple’s fondling. Ona’s father emerges from his bedroom in a half-dreaming, half-waking state and lurches toward Ona’s bedroom muttering words that reveal his true feelings for Ona. He cries: Ona! Come. I am your father…I will confirm you—you with my own oil. Life-giving juice to anoint you. I, who gave you life. I can give you the cream and seed of life. Ona! Stop! Don’t go. Don’t do it, Do you doubt my power? ‘Dominus vomitus.’ Ona! Ona! My Jewel. (46) While we can understand Cortuma’s worry for his daughter’s virtue, his half-conscious babblings are distinctly sexual in nature. Cortuma’s actions confirm that his love for his daughter is not purely paternal. His dream state mutters speak of “the cream and seed of life” and “life-giving juice,” statements that are disturbing to the spectator. The Igbo do not condone incest, and such raving statements seem designed to shock the audience (Ebeogu 100). Diaku, who hid under Ona’s bed upon Cortuma’s entrance, recoils from his raving. While embarrassed and pensive, Ona is not surprised by her father’s outburst, but rather resigned. Oliaku appears in the doorway and leads Cortuma away from Ona’s room. She is not surprised by Cortuma’s outburst either, which indicates that this nocturnal behavior may be common in Cortuma’s household. Nevertheless, Cortuma’s appearance in Ona’s bedroom successfully interrupts Diaku’s amorous plans. He flees the house with hardly a word to his girlfriend.

Movement five focuses on Diaku’s marriage proposal to Ona and the ceremony that accompanies a marriage between two villages. Earlier Diaku seemed hesitant toward marriage; here he seems to wholeheartedly support it. Onwueme never explains this change in attitude toward marriage, though the audience may infer that this newfound enthusiasm may spring from a desire to remove Ona from her father’s obsessive attentions. Nevertheless, Diaku’s visit is official as he is supported by his father and others from his village. The proposal of marriage to Ona uses both Igbo and Western marriage customs, neatly mirroring Ona and Diaku’s positions as children of both worlds. The party brings the traditional ceremonial items used for an Igbo proposal: “a calabash of palm wine, a bottle of gin, and a head of tobacco sealed” (47). We also discover that Diaku has given Ona an engagement ring, which is not a traditional Igbo marriage custom. Regardless of these preparations, Cortuma rejects the proposal and disregards the careful preparations Diaku’s party has made in the name of tradition—traditions that Cortuma held so dear before. Until now, all the traditions of the Igbo were the epitome of what is good in Cortuma’s eye. Now, however, Diaku’s appeal to Cortuma’s obsession with tradition is an insult. Cortuma reacts poorly, but it is Agador who finally screams the word Idgebe. “Don’t you know that Ona is an Idegbe and that she cannot marry outside this family” she shouts at the marriage party (50). Though the custom is still not fully explained to spectators, Ona clearly understands the fate of an Idegbe and recoils in horror before fleeing the room in tears. Diaku and his father are equally shocked by this turn of events; though the practice of Idgebe is well known in Igbo society most families do not practice it, even if they are high ranking. Most families opt instead to allow their daughter to choose her own mate. Cortuma is enraged by Diaku’s proposal and rails against Diaku and his father, who had not considered that Cortuma’s family would practice Idgebe. In his rage, Cortuma smashes the calabash of palm wine that has been offered as part of the marriage negotiations between the tribes, shocking all in the room. The calabash of wine is both a symbol of prosperity and wisdom as palm wine is one of the staple goods that men sell to support the Igbo economy (Van Allen 172), and the calabash itself is supposed to be a vessel of wisdom and good fortune (Ebeogu 115). By offering a calabash of palm wine as part of a traditional marriage proposal ceremony, Diaku has followed the traditions of the Igbo. The wine is meant as a blessing for the marriage, and defiling that calabash of wine not only insults the marriage, but the bearers of the gift. Cortuma’s actions are more than poor manners—the broken calabash is a bad omen. As

Mabel Evweirhoma states, “according to Chidi Amuta this calabash is the play’s crucial symbol as it reflects the seeking of Ona’s hand in marriage by Diaku’s village. In his words the ‘breaking of the calabash reveals […] shattered aspiration and stability as well as the tradition which Cortuma strives so hard to defend.’” By smashing the calabash, Cortuma provokes comments of censure from the town crier and the dancers who represent members of the community. Cortuma has shown disrespect for the very traditions that he expects Ona to follow; he has also angered the neighboring community and the gods by breaking the ceremonial calabash of palm wine. In movement six, we finally receive a complete explanation of the reasons behind the rejection of the marriage proposal and Cortuma’s adherence to the Idgebe custom. At long last, Cortuma confirms Ona’s fate himself. “What this simply means is that you, my Ona, cannot marry outside this my family. You are an Igegbe! […] Yes, you can neither marry nor bear children for any other man” (54). This awkward phrasing gives me pause because it reinforces Cortuma’s implied inappropriate love for his only child—“any other man” implies that Ona will bear children for her father and her father alone. Thankfully, Ona’s mother, Oliaku, clarifies the duty with a more formal definition, stating that Ona has the “choice to bear children for your father alone or marry a wife who can help bear children to multiply the stock” (55). Ona’s response is drastically different from her former reaction (flight), and her ire is evident in her angry, appalled statements. Ona calls Idgebe “an obsolete tradition,” and wishes that this practice be “blown into oblivion by the storm heralding the new season” (56), implying that this is an outdated practice that should be replaced by more contemporary practices of engagement and marriage. Though her response to the proposed female marriage is understandable considering her attachment to Diaku, it also presents a rather significant dilemma. Ona seems unbothered by the fact that her refusal to become an Idegbe complicates matters for her parents, nor does she ask for more information on the custom. She is unwilling to compromise with her parents to solve her dilemma and does not stop to ask about her duties once a child is born. Her grief over the loss of Diaku, and indeed, the loss of an immediate marriage drives Ona into a state of rage that blinds her from exploring the issue as an educated female. Instead, she storms from the room and threatens the family with utter destruction. By movement seven, Ona’s world has spun out of control. The scene begins with Ona frantically clawing at her chest until a letter from Diaku arrives with the news that he and Ugo

(Ona’s best friend, last seen in movement two) have wed. Ona’s depression evaporates and becomes wild hysteria. She laments the loss of Diaku and Ugo, and decides that she will implicate her father in some sort of crime to exact revenge. The scene immediately shifts and we see Ona, apparently ill and mute, tended by her parents. They discover the cause of her illness: Ona is pregnant. When asked who the father of her child is, Ona does not name a man but replies that it is Cortuma’s fault that she is in this condition. “You, my father, are the cause,” she states for all to hear (Onwueme 59). The implication that Cortuma is the father of Ona’s child is too much to bear and he pleads with his daughter to retract her statement. Ona refuses to do so. Cortuma rushes from the room in shame, but his fate does not remain a mystery for long. The town crier delivers a short epilogue in which we learn that Cortuma has taken his own life. By doing so, he has ensured that he will not be buried and that his body will be placed in the “bad bush” (62). According to Igbo scholar Chima Korieh, the bad bush, a term synonymous with “evil forest,” is the place where abominations (or things unnatural to the Igboman) dwell. It is often a secluded patch of wilderness that is a distance away from the community (www.ub.uib.no). Being placed in the bad bush confirms the unacceptable nature of Cortuma’s suicide and his subsequent removal from communal memory. Ona has certainly had her revenge on her father, but seems confused by her role as his betrayer. The lights fade as Ona rushes from shrine to crucifix and back again while the crier’s words echo on stage.

Miscommunication in Isah The main source of conflict in this piece is the clash between Ona’s attitude toward the customs of her village and her father’s insistence that these conventions be observed. Both Ona and Cortuma refuse to seek a way to meld the older conventions with Ona’s new ideals. Ona loathes the very idea of the Igegbe custom and her restricted lifestyle. Cortuma insists that this custom be observed, but this eventually leads to Ona’s outright rebellion against her parents. Cortuma’s distrust of any change that is the direct result of colonization has contributed to Ona’s attitude, for as a modern Nigerian woman she places her faith in institutions that Cortuma does not want to understand. Because Ona trusts her Christian faith and her school education, she distrusts Cortuma’s motives, which are inspired by his faith in Igbo traditions. Cortuma’s distrust of his daughter, coupled with his obsessive love for her, leads to a breech in the line of communication between father and child. Ona cannot explain her Western ideals to her father,

for he is opposed to all things Western. Cortuma cannot explain his desire to remain faithful to the older customs of the Igbo because Ona has been “converted” to Western thought. He believes these customs are outdated tools of subjugation. As modern woman and traditional man, Ona and Cortuma seem fated to be at cross purposes: each speaks at the other, but is rarely heard. Neither party seeks a compromise. While Onwueme does not explain the Idgebe practice to spectators for the first half of the play, Ona is clearly aware of the custom and its demands. Her negative attitude to toward the custom is clear throughout the piece. She runs from the room each time someone alludes to the practice, as though her absence will make the possibility of becoming an Idegbe go away. However, it is clear that Ona knows that something is wrong—she has had a series of prophetic dreams that foreshadow her participation in Idegbe and more than one family member mentions the practice in passing. Ona’s foreboding dream about snails is the first subconscious signal that something is wrong. Ona states, “My mother also tells me that snails are evil—Uke. Snail signifies sacrifice” (Onwueme 29). When this disturbing dream fails to impress Ugo with Ona’s sense of foreboding, she looks the word up in her zoological dictionary. “Snail, of the mollusk family with shell, soft body, no limbs. Hermaphrodite […] You see the meaning,” states Ona, who looks expectantly at Ugo for confirmation of the ill omen (Onwueme 30). Ona is the snail, for she must assume the role of the hermaphrodite—both male and female—in order to save her family. As a more Westernized woman, Ugo does not believe in the traditional ill omens of the Igbo, and passes off the dream as just that—a dream. However, the definitions of the symbolic snail, one from indigenous belief and the other from University education, each reinforce Ona’s feelings of trepidation. Each is symbolic of Ona’s upcoming status as an Idgebe, for Ona will be used to promote the family line for another generation. In the very next scene, Ona is again confronted with Igegbe. Adagor, Ona’s paternal aunt, cries “Nnanyi, now the hen is cackling, it is time to keep it to roost, so it doesn’t drop the eggs on stone. Will Ona get her wife this holiday? And at this time of Ine, girls abound…” (29) The implication of this phrase is that Cortuma had best settle the matter of Ona’s marriage quickly so that his financial wealth is not taken away from him. Adagor obviously thinks this is the time to do so, as all of the marriageable women in Isah are being presented at the festival. Ona does not respond kindly to the suggestion as she disengages herself from her aunt, face aghast, and retreats into the house without waiting for confirmation of the statement from her father, who is also present (32).

There are no more allusions to the custom until Ona’s disastrous betrothal ceremony, but the disquiet surrounding Ona’s relationship with Diaku and her father does not dissipate. Despite past references to the custom, Ona seems genuinely surprised (and enraged) by the decision that she must become an Igegbe. She views the practice as barbaric, outdated, and sexist. The technical definition of Idegbe is never fully discussed in Onwueme’s play, but Mabel Evwierhoma has described in her work. The custom involves the offspring of a female only child. Ona must either conceive a child out of wedlock and present it as her father’s son,2 or marry a woman who will then bear the child of the daughter’s father (Evwierhoma 128). Either way, the birth of a male child will assure the lineage of the father’s house and any land will pass to his grandchild/son as it could not have been passed to a daughter (Banham 84). Ona’s reaction to her father’s revelation of her fate is immediate and frightening in its strength. “I see,” she cries, “You people have a very ambitious murder plan. You will not only slaughter me on the altar of your decadent tradition, but would also want another female head. I say to hell with your tradition. Homestead! Norm! All!” (Onwueme 54). This statement, shouted with a force and temper that Ona has not displayed before, is indicative of her opinion of the custom (as well as her own plight). Ona views the traditions of her parents as separate from her own, and therefore not traditions that she should be bound by. She views Idgebe as a relic, an outmoded custom to be studied or examined, not one to be practiced,3 and her rage is directed as much at the native, disused custom as at her parent’s choice to practice this custom. She rails against her lack of choice and her inability to fight against her family’s wishes and Isah’s support of their decision. Ona’s rage is compounded by the fact that her fiancé been cast from the house and denied the rites of a formal engagement, thus eliminating the possibility of marriage between Diaku and Ona. The Idgebe custom ties Ona to her father’s house for the foreseeable future.4 This does not suit Ona, whose Western education has trained her to think that she has the right to choose the mate of her choice. As Africanist Afam Ebeogu states, “Even if a girl decides not to marry but remain in her father’s household and raise children, as some modern self-reliant women are doing today, it should be her own choice and not the imposition of a ‘decadent tradition’” (Ebeogu 102). Ona abhors the fact that her happiness is to be

2 This is a common practice not associated with incest. The process is referred to as legal adultery (Evwierhoma 128). 3 It should be noted that Idgebe is still practiced in some Igbo communities today (Amadiume 35.) 4 According to Amadiume, after the Idgebe has fulfilled her duty, she is free to move from the house and marry, though her son must remain in the house as heir (37).

sacrificed for the good of the family without being given the choice to make that decision herself. Her self-sacrifice is forced upon her, which is not self-sacrifice at all. Cortuma’s distrust of any action associated with colonization is a foil to Ona’s dislike of the traditions of her indigenous community. He distrusts the university, Ona’s school friends, and the Christian faith in which she believes. His suspicion pushes Ona away from Cortuma, for he is unwilling to entertain any explanation Ona may give for liking the ideas that contradict Cortuma’s belief system. His objections to the trappings of colonization do not seem to be directed at the system itself, but rather on the effects the system has on his daughter’s lifestyle and choices. Cortuma objects to Ona’s adopted religion, Christianity.5 He spits with disgust at the very mention of Christianity, though he is a former convert as well, and rails against the priests “who wear long gowns like women” and who “bog you down with weights of rules and irrelevant doctrines” (36). Here Cortuma expresses a philosophy that mirrors many colonial Western perceptions of African cultures—Cortuma believes this alien religious culture is effeminate and superfluous. (37) The patriarchal Igbo society awards prestige and respect to males who prove their manhood in society, not to effeminate priests. Cortuma does not think highly of the Christian establishment and particularly resents the time that Ona gives to her religion, time that would normally be spent at home. Though the audience is privy to conversations that reveal Ona is not so much devout as desperate to get away from home, Cortuma believes his daughter’s faith and devotion are genuine—he is as perplexed by his daughter’s homage to her religion as Ona is perplexed by his more traditional beliefs. This resentment of the Ona’s religion is also visible in Cortuma’s distrust of Diaku and his bible study with Ona. Cortuma has no reason to trust Diaku—Diaku distracts Ona from her obligations to her family. However, Cortuma’s resentment intensifies when he witnesses Diaku’s ability to communicate with Ona in a biblical code that he cannot decipher. Diaku and Ona use biblical speech as a way of communicating messages to each other about future meetings, turning the language of the King James Bible into clandestine rendezvous instructions. Diaku states that “The Lord shall come like a thief in the middle of the night” (Onwueme 44). This quote from New Testament book of Thessalonians indicates that Diaku will call on Ona in the middle of the night. This simple yet innuendo laden form of speech naturally arouses

5 As the Christian religion Ona believes in includes catechism, priests, confession, and communion, Ona’s beliefs could be Catholic, Orthodox, or Protestant. Onwueme never stipulates which Christian belief system Ona subscribes to.

Cortuma’s suspicions. “So long as he doesn’t steal what belongs to me,” Cortuma cries in response. “You Christians and your Lord who forbids stealing and yet calls himself a thief. That’s how he taught you to steal people’s daughter’s virtues” (44). Cortuma is not fooled by this spiritual speech, and he disagrees with the principles that Christianity has brought to his village—he views the church as a source of corruption and a danger to his family, and Diaku as representative of this corruption. Cortuma’s distrust also extends to Ona’s modern apparel and appearance. While this may be normal parental dislike of contemporary hair and clothing styles, Cortuma’s dislike of Ona’s straightened hair and Ugo’s overtly-sexual clothing contribute to Cortuma’s alienation of his daughter. Cortuma seems confused by Ona’s desire to straighten her hair, stating that while he likes modernization, he does not like it “when you fry your hair to look like a rat that has fallen into oil. The beauty of plaited hair is indisputable to any man with nerves and veins inside him” (Onwueme 35). I find it odd that Cortuma encourages beautification of any kind, whether it be traditionally Igbo or Western. As Idgebe, Ona does not need to attract the attention of a mate— her fate is already sealed, whether she attracts a man or not. Likewise, Ona’s appearance makes no difference at all if she marries a female to bear an heir for Cortuma as such a match is not made out of love. Cortuma’s objections to Ona’s attire likely stem from the company she keeps, specifically her schoolmate Ugo. He unceremoniously chases Ugo from the house because she wears contemporary, sexual clothing—and because her sense of style influence Ona’s. He shouts at Ugo, “But you, how do you want to enter the church with your hair open, your back bare, and your lips as red as ulcer? […] You girls of nowadays must be taught to dress properly” (Onwueme 46). This public censure of Ugo’s clothing causes a rift between Ugo and Ona which Cortuma appreciates--he was not fond of Ugo or the changes he saw in Ona as a result of their friendship (42). Cortuma uses his prejudice against contemporary appearance to chase Ugo from his home and isolate Ona further from the influences which turn her from tradition. His obsession with doing things as they have always been done separates his daughter from the realities of a world that is changing around them. Little does he know that this isolation does not encourage Ona to conform, but rather does the opposite. Ona’s bitterness and loneliness lead her to seek revenge by the play’s end.

Revenge and Regret? Ona’s revenge is complete once she places the blame for her pregnant condition on her father, though she does not seem to anticipate or understand the ramifications of her accusation. Ona’s pregnancy is not scandalous in her Igbo society as it might be for an unwed woman in most western cultures. Her pregnancy is viewed as the result of “legalized adultery” (Evwierhoma 128) and considered necessary for the preservation of the family line. However, parent-child incest is not condoned by Igbo society any more than it would be in a Western community. Ona is well aware of this taboo, and she uses this aversion to besmirch her father’s name—without honor, Cortuma is nothing. Ona decides upon this course of action quickly, and in a mournful frenzy utters the following: “Yes, yes, my father has at last succeeded in ruining my life. But I will show him. Ona will show him pepper… Yes, yes, I am going to implicate him…Yes…Yes…The wheel must come right round…” (Onwueme 58). What Ona does not consider is that the head of the family is the controller of its wealth. Cortuma’s fate will affect the fate of the entire family. While Ona intended to obtain vengeance on her father, I do not believe she intended that revenge to lead to his death. During the epilogue announcement of Cortuma’s suicide, Ona rushes back and forth between altar and crucifix in confusion. Cortuma’s suicide seems to surprise Ona, rather than satisfy her thirst for vengeance—nowhere in her frantic mutterings does Ona mention killing her father or driving him to suicide. If anything, Ona’s earlier statement implies that she desires equal retribution—her father has ruined her life and taken away her future, so she will do the same to him. She does not seem to understand how very successful she will be in this endeavor, and how she might harm herself by doing so. Afam Ebeogu calls Ona’s revenge an author-organized coup d’état (102), but I find this statement problematic. True, Ona has wrested power from her father’s hands by implying that he has fathered her child, but she does not anticipate what that power shift will do to her family. The audience, largely unschooled in the cultural practices of the Igbo, sees only the immediate results. However, scholars of these practices know that by driving Cortuma to suicide, Ona has turned her mother into a widow, an unenviable state for any Igbo woman (Amadiume 83). A widow is given to the care of her husband’s brother after a year of ritual seclusion and mourning. Cortuma’s removal will not enable Oliaku to take control of the family’s wealth and power, but rather displace the women of the household into another’s care (83). Ona will be forced into a

year of mourning as well, and will have to live under an uncle’s care until her child is born (83). It is unclear whether or not a son would inherit her father’s household as it would pass to his brother in absence of an heir. Had Ona’s child been a son, and had it been born at the time of Cortuma’s death then that child would have been heir to Cortuma’s estate. However, Ona is still pregnant at the time of Cortuma’s suicide. His estate will pass not to his offspring, but to his nearest male relative—likely a brother. Ona’s quest for revenge has opened her family to extreme financial insecurity: they will be the wards of another for the foreseeable future. Furthermore, the manner of Cortuma’s death will cause the family to be ostracized in the Igbo community: suicide is not an acceptable path for a chief of the community. Cortuma’s body will not be buried or mourned properly (Onwueme 61). Furthermore, if the community observes Igbo widowhood customs, Ona’s family will lose their high status within the community (Amadiume 82). African literary theorist Chidi Amuta states that Ona’s actions are “a victory for modernity albeit a blood-stained victory, a way of illustrating the truism that socio-cultural change is inevitably a contradictory process” (Evwierhoma 6). According to Amuta, Ona’s success over her father’s seemingly outdated system of cultural practice is a viewed as a victory for modernity and for the progress of the contemporary Nigerian woman. However, the bloody nature of Ona’s success reinforces the idea that no progress can be made without violence and loss. Because Ona and her father fail to communicate with each other, Amuta argues that there is no non-violent resolution to this conflict. This is certainly a fact that proves true in Onwueme’s play, though the absence of a third option—a path of compromise—leaves room for doubt in Amuta’s theory that there can be no change without bloodshed. This absence prompts the spectator to ask why there was no discussion between Cortuma and Ona, and why they sought only to privilege their beliefs over the other’s rather than seek a solution to appease both parties. Neither Ona nor Cortuma consider communicating and compromising to rectify their situation. Ona in particular speaks of violence when alluding to her own fate as well as her parents’. In her vehement refusal to become an Igegbe, Ona threatens her parents with a storm: “Let the wind blow—let the shaky homestead be blown. Anything that cannot stand the force of change must be uprooted or be blown into oblivion by the storm heralding the new season” (Onwueme 56). Little does Ona know that the storm will uproot and blow her world apart. As

Evwierhoma states, “The storm [sic] which she speaks of ‘blows’ her between the crucifix and the shrine at the end of the play. […] In this play, the incompatibility of both values is greatly underscored with the idea of fate having a hand in people’s lives” (Evwierhoma 131). It is true that Ona spends her final moments on stage confusedly running from crucifix to ancestral altar and back again, but I find this act highly symbolic of Ona’s plight throughout the play. Should she honor her Christian ideals, taught to her by outsiders and unsupported by her family, or should she honor the traditions and beliefs of her ancestors whose ideas seem so outdated? The space between these two areas of the room represents Ona’s devotion to both sets of ideals, as they have each contributed to forming her character. Ona is a child of both worlds, but neither she nor her family knows how to unite the modern Christian woman with the traditional Igbo daughter. Ona’s duties tear at her because she cannot find a middle ground. Though Ona’s plight is pitiable, her struggle serves to establish the conflict that Onwueme explores in her trio of plays. The Broken Calabash establishes the conflict between older cultural practice and the new ideals flooding the Igbo from the Nigerian public education system. Specifically, she introduces the idea of western feminism in this play, though it is not as prominent as in her later works. Ona is the only truly feminist character in this piece, and she struggles to find the middle ground between her ideas and her family’s values at all times—she does not succeed in negotiating this struggle. Afam Ebeogu states that “Ona’s posture is defiant and characteristically feminist. To argue that she is callous is to argue in favor of a cultural system based on a myth of male superiority which robs the woman of the right to make her own conjugal choice.” While I agree that Ona’s reaction to the Idgebe custom is understandable considering her education and social network, I still find her actions lacking in the sympathy that might have allowed her to seek a compromise with her father. Ebeogu argues that the Idgebe custom exists solely for the assurance of a man’s obi (ancestral continuity), and that this custom must “essentially satisfy the ethic of a male-dominated culture” (Ebeogu 99). We cannot deny that Ona’s culture is very patriarchal. The societal constructs that allow Cortuma to implement the Idgebe custom are the same structures that make Isah a male-dominated community. Ona seeks to override the institutions that keep her community glued together, but she has no way of changing society as a whole. This is lack of the power to make effective change in a community as a female serves as a precursor to Onwueme’s later play, The Reign of Wazobia.

Each of Tess Onwueme’s plays searches for the middle ground that her female heroines so often cannot see. By exposing an audience to their mistakes, she opens up conversation about the inherent dangers of privileging one set of ideals over another instead of searching for compromise. Onwueme’s work The Broken Calabash presents a situation that we cannot influence or remedy—we must simply watch the situation disintegrate and remind ourselves that a divided view of these issues will often lead to extreme conflict. Like Ona, we have the power to subvert the forces that subjugate women: however, the failure of Ona should encourage us to find the grey area of compromise and to seek out non-violent resolutions to our own conflicts. Ona’s confusion and accidental overuse of her power is a reminder of our own potentially destructive power as women of the West, women of Africa, or women of any place in between.

CHAPTER 2 PARABLES FOR A SEASON: DIVINELY APPOINTED POWER DYNAMICS

Onwueme wrote Parables for A Season in 1991 in the United States rather than in her native Nigeria. The piece concentrates on power structures in the Igbo kingdom of Idu and its class-divided inhabitants. In the foreword of her text, Onwueme explains that the entire play is an “extended metaphor on the significant place and role of women as universal pillars of stability in times of socio-political stress and transition” (Onwueme 64). The socio-political transition emerges from Obi1 Ogiso’s abdication and the subsequent plots to gain power by manipulating the regent election process. The regent’s upcoming election divides the community by class and opinion, creating the central conflict of this piece. As a result, the piece becomes a densely woven tale of subterfuge, danger, and intrigue: three women of disparate ages and with very different motives discover their ability to promote change and to gain personal prestige. Anehe, Zo, and Bia promote change through their own cunning, both using the men around them and their own knowledge of their community to irrevocably alter their village. This piece, the second of Onwueme’s trio of plays, explores the cultural clash that Onwueme established between older, British ideas and new ideals in The Broken Calabash. Parables’ action takes place over only a few days time, and Onwueme compresses numerous events into five scenes, which she terms movements. Parables is an important precursor to Onwueme’s more popular work, The Reign of Wazobia. In contrast to The Broken Calabash and The Reign of Wazobia, the other two pieces in this trio, the female heroines are not always the focus of the piece. Rather, focus centers on the power these women wield to promote or thwart the agenda of the male antagonist of the piece, elitist Chief Iyase. These women greatly affect Iyase’s attempted political and religious coup, and their efforts provide a source of discussion on the theme of culture clash. Iyase’s arrogance toward the “termites,” or common workers, in his community is reminiscent of reports of colonist attitudes toward the Igbo during the age of British colonial rule in Nigeria. This attitude firmly establishes him as our antagonist by the end of the first movement. Onwueme uses Iyase to open a discussion about the colonial influence on the high-ranking and influential members of this society. We should also note that

1 Obi translates to King in Onwueme’s plays.

the title of the piece is very apt, as she creates three women to demonstrate methods of cleansing the remaining negative effects of colonialism, and divinely rewards the one woman whose actions are most appropriate.

Four Queens and a Landowner Onwueme has successfully fused religion, tradition, local and international politics, history, and mysticism together to form this beautifully complex piece. As with the other plays in this trio, a western spectator often has trouble following the plot without knowledge of Onwueme’s sources, so my first step is to identify and briefly describe these cultural practices. I have also attempted to condense the main points of the plot into a linear storyline that is at times unclear in such a poetic text. The piece opens with song and moves into a winding story told in a unique mixture of poem and verse. Though Onwueme never clarifies the period of the play, we know that it takes place after independence from Britain. The audience assumes that the play takes place in modern day (the late 1980s at the time of workshops and productions). As with all three of the plays I have studied, Parables for A Season opens with a prologue and community activity. This prologue serves to set the tone of the piece and introduces the village in the Idu kingdom in which this play is set. Onwueme’s stage directions state: “the tension is so thick, one can cut it. The air seems thick, foreboding, and pregnant” (66). The playwright presents us with a picture of a half-lit stage and a mansion surrounded by building materials. Slow drums beat to the tune of mournful flutes as the villagers of Idu slowly enter the stage, all walking in the same direction to the beat of the drum, headed toward the half- constructed and luxurious building at the heart of the village. The Town Crier beats a drum, and the community assembles, waiting for a message. The villagers hear a call for unity in what appear to be troubled times. The Crier asks, “Can a single grain fill a basket? [..] Can a single tree make a forest?” (Onwueme 67). Here the Crier subtly reminds the village that they must work as one in times of trouble, such as the approaching time of transition. They are to plant and reap, but more importantly they are to build a stronger community. The prologue ends with a horn blowing in a working rhythm and villagers taking up hoe and cutlass, moving together to finish the mansion’s construction. This opening is similar to the those of the other plays in this trio as it mixes spectacle, dance, music, and contextual information to issue a warning to the players on the stage and the members of the audience. A conflict approaches this village and

everyone in the theatre knows it. This prologue is brief and to the point, lacking the subtlety of the other prologues in the trio. It reminds the village that in times of crisis, a community must work as one to achieve a productive and profitable future. Obi (King) Ogiso introduces this crisis in the first movement after the opening ceremony. As the “termites of Idu” (69) or citizens of the Idu kingdom, begin work in earnest on the incomplete building, the Town Crier reiterates his message of community building—and the community literally builds! As they construct the mansion, the Town Crier initiates a call and response song. It is to this song that King Ogiso enters to make a shocking announcement to his queens and the gathered chiefs: he will abdicate the throne because he has not had a male heir to the throne (69). Ogiso’s self-imposed exile seems strange as he leaves four wives2 behind—one of whom is in the late stages of pregnancy. Ogiso argues that “many times, some plant that others may harvest” (70). Ogiso feels that it is time for someone else to rule the throne of Idu in his stead. His mind is set despite the protests of his wives and three daughters, but he tarries to answer the questions of his subjects. The king does not reassure the women, but tells them to preserve the work he has done as ruler and to prepare themselves for the transition ahead. Ogiso’s final parting words are a veiled warning for his attendants, queens, and daughters. He speaks of a storm that will challenge this “generation of the deaf who have eyes to see but cannot see beyond [their noses]” (77), implying that the queens must contend with Idu citizens who will seek to attain the throne and misuse the power it grants. Onwueme often uses the metaphor of a storm to address the subject of sweeping change. In this case, the storm will come in the form of a new regent and the changes she brings.3 It is this generation that must survive the storm and those who will work against the changes of the new regent. With only these words of warning, Ogiso leaves. The throne room empties and soon only the women are present. Ogiso’s queens remain behind as his followers trail after the king to say final farewells. Wa, Zo, Bia, and Anehe begin to discuss their lives as newly discarded queens. Through their conversation, we become aware of the tension between the four women. Zo and Bia’s loyalty to the former king is firmly pitted against Anehe and Wa’s opportunism. Anehe comes to the crux of the matter: the women should concentrate on gaining power in society while there is an opportunity to do so. While the women

2 Ogiso’s four queens are Wa, Zo, Bia, and Anehe. 3 We later learn that the regent of Idu must be a female. She is vested with all the powers of an acting ruler, but only holds the position for 3 seasons (Onwueme 121).

argue over what is right and necessary, Iyase, former advisor to the king and local chief, slips into the room unnoticed and observes the bickering queens. As Wa urges the women to unite to plan for the time ahead, Iyase interrupts. “And you think it’s the likes of you who can complete the task?” He shouts at the women “Get you gone! You less than females” (81-82). Iyase’s shouts suggest that, naturally, the task of ruling should fall to a man such as himself. However, as suddenly as Iyase shouts at the women, he recollects himself and becomes an obsequious, toadying man, thanking the women for making his ascension to the throne so effortless. Iyase sits down on the newly abandoned throne, and the women divide again. Anehe and Wa gravitate toward this new focus of power while Zo departs in anger and Bia stands silent. Iyase has drawn the line in the sand and the women have now chosen which side to champion. The second movement begins with the Town Crier announcing that the oracle has spoken and that an election will select a regent to sit as surrogate king on the throne. The Crier makes this announcement as the people of Idu gather to begin construction once more. We see that the community is not simply building a mansion, they are also building community through the village architecture project. The town crier places responsibility for the success of the kingdom on the people’s heads. “Builders and destroyers all at once,” he cries—for indeed, this is what a termite’s function is. The half-constructed mansion is representative of the new government that arrives with the new regent. Three termites, Ozoma, Adamawa, and Sotimo, pause in their work to have an extended conversation about the crier’s announcement and its implications. Their discussion reveals that a group within the community has substantial political support, but old ideas. They predict that this small group of corrupt individuals will take power by gaining the majority vote in the upcoming regent election through surreptitious means (85). The ceremony to which they refer is part religious selection, and part community election, leaving the opportunity for landowners to sway both religious and civic officials (85-86). This possibility worries the three workers, as this group of chiefs believes in “atavistic concepts of race and superiority” (85). As stated in the introduction to this thesis, during colonial rule, the British awarded power to undeserving and unproven male youths of the Igbo. These youths were notorious for their abuse of their rights as “government officials” and of the people that they governed (Van Allen 175). However, when the British appointed these young men, they created a new generation of royalty in Igbo communities. I believe that Iyase is of this royal blood for his ancestors ruled Idu before Nigeria declared independence and the village became a

democratic monarchy (88). Ogiso became a king by right of election after independence, but now that he has abdicated he cannot preside over the next election to ensure that the villagers democratically elect the new regent. If Iyase convinces the people that a ruler of royal blood should replace Ogiso, the regent election process will cease to function properly and the community will revert to the system of nobility that the British successfully altered in the early twentieth century. Iyase and Idehen interrupt the men’s rant against the dysfunctional democracy that now governs their community. These two men are representatives of the wealthy plotters discussed only moments earlier. The chiefs lecture the workers on their place in society and remind them that the wealthy own the land upon which the half-built mansion sits, and that the workers are therefore in their employ+. Iyase’s arrogance angers the workers and he states with no little pride, “Your sweat will always irrigate our land” (88). Iyase challenges the workers to best him in his plot to take the throne of Idu, and the workers agree to his challenge. As the election is only one day away, Iyase taunts the workers with their inability to alter the unbalanced and corrupt system. The movement ends ominously with the workers crying, “We shall see” (88). By the third movement, Iyase is swaggering with confidence as the heir-apparent to the Idu throne. The lights come up on him “looking with relish on the throne, the magnificence of the building and the surroundings” (89). Iyase views these things as his own property, much as he views the people of Idu as his personal servants. He speaks of the citizens who would be under his dominion as a platform, a ferry, and a carpet—they are objects for him to stand on, and which serve only to increase his power and grandeur. The joy of such potential wealth and power causes Iyase to start dancing. During this dance, the spectator learns more about the constitutional law of Idu:4 a woman must sit on the throne as regent, not a man. Iyase has decided to ignore the law and convince the community to elect a new King, rather than select a regent. Such an action would circumvent the woman-regent convention and allow the kingdom to elect a permanent male ruler. He believes that as a leading chief among his people and a man “with the royal blood of Idu” (90) running through his veins, he would be a favorite for such a position. The entrance of the former queen Anehe interrupts Iyase’s reverie, and while embarrassed and frightened by her discovery, but quickly recovers to enlist her aid. Anehe is

4 Onwueme’s mention of a constitution is odd here, as most Igbo communities do not have a Western-style, written constitution. Most communities operate on established traditions rather than by written legislation. However, this device allows Onwueme to explain the need for a female regent and Iyase’s desire to circumvent the law.

suspicious of Iyase and his presence in the throne room in the middle of the night, but Iyase quickly convinces her to disregard his unwelcome presence in favor of an offer of permanent power as his queen. After he makes this offer, Anehe helps Iyase in whatever way she can. She is quick to point out that all of Iyase’s plans could be foiled if Bia’s unborn child happens to be a boy.5 Iyase does not pause to consider this for he must hide when he hears Zo’s footsteps. She enters after hearing voices that seemed to be “deep in motive,” and seeks to find their source (94). She finds only Anehe and proceeds to confront her in the same way Anehe has just confronted Iyase. Anehe attempts to convince Zo that she is simply spearheading a movement aimed at protecting the mansion built in Ogiso’s name. Anehe’s story sounds false, but Zo has little time to express her disbelief or protest Iyase’s presence. Idehen and Wa enter the throne room after hearing the argument between Zo and Anehe. Idehen and Iyase attack Zo, binding and beating her until she loses consciousness. They remove her body from the stage, but what becomes of it is unclear. Moments later, Iyase and Idehen bind and beat the pregnant Bia with the help of Queen Wa, hoping to force Bia into early labor so that they might kill the child. The first part of their plan succeeds. Bia gives birth to a male child whom Anehe takes away with the intention of leaving the child on the side of the road to die of exposure. The three conspirators leave Bia to bleed to death on the floor of the throne room. Suddenly, an unscathed Zo re-enters with her mother (Old Termite) who is from “across the waters” (101). We are not sure how Zo has escaped her bonds, but the beating seems to have transformed Zo. She is now Wazobia, a young and supremely confidant woman. Zo explains to her mother that she wishes to cleanse this corrupt society. She asks, “How much longer must we cower in the face of evil? The air that is hot gives way for the air that is cool” (102). Here Zo refers to the wealthy and corrupt chiefs who will attempt to place Iyase on the throne and her fate as the woman who must thwart their plans. She vows to be the breath of fresh air that will save the community from such tyranny. While Zo is criticizing Idu, she finds Bia’s child beside the footpath (102). Her mother volunteers to care for the child, a task she relishes as her sons were taken away to a distant land as slaves long before (102). The Old Termite exits just as Bia enters the stage searching for the boy. Instead, she finds Zo who introduces herself as Wa-zo-bia, a name that includes the names of three of the four queens. We should note that this construction

5 Onwueme never fully explains the order of succession in this community, but we assume that a male child would reinforce the need for a regent as opposed to a new king.

encompasses the three youngest queens, none of whom directly chose to support Iyase’s plots.6 “Oh, Wazobia! That name chimes in my ears like…like…like a home call. Oh Zo—Wazobia! A stranger and yet a friend” (107). Here is the relief that the wronged Bia desires, and here is Wazobia’s first chance to begin her work as a pillar of female strength in her community. Wazobia explains the meaning of her name— “Come” in Hausa, Yoruba, and Igbo (Ajay 111) —and informs Bia that she has come “as a daughter of the kingdom and in obedience to the constitution, [she has] come to cast [her] lot” for the regency. Zo does not refer to her plans to become regent of Idu. She only speaks of exercising her right and duty to vote for the next person to rule the community. The fourth movement is a brief scene that brings us back to the plots of Idehen, Anehe, and Iyase. The scene opens with Iyase sprinting to the throne and preening in his position as heir-apparent (108). He speaks to himself and to the throne, caressing it as though it is a woman. Iyase does not touch the throne seductively, but he does anthropomorphize it, referring to the throne as a woman to be raped so that he might use it to achieve additional power (109). He continues this disturbing one-sided conversation until Anehe and Idehen enter and interrupt. Anehe and Idehen are both there to encourage Iyase to organize his words, for he must spin a crafty tale to convince the people of Idu that they have no need for a female regent (110). As Idehen goes out into the marketplace to prepare the people for Iyase’s speech, Anehe and Iyase embrace. Anehe wisely uses this moment to ask for assurance that Iyase will provide for her as his queen. She receives this assurance, but discovers that Iyase intends to discard Idehen after he has outlived his usefulness. Before Anehe can comment on this fact, Idehen re-enters and declares that it is time for the election and for Iyase to make his case (111). The final movement of this piece is set in the marketplace—the meeting place for all general assemblies in this community. Iyase, Idehen, and Anehe gather all the “sons and daughters of the soil”7 in a secret meeting before dawn. At this meeting, they make the people swear that they will cast their votes for Iyase. The land owners willingly make this vow in a dance-ceremony, and agree that any person who “divulges our secret or goes against us shall give his head as toll” (112). The worker citizens of Idu quickly fill the marketplace and we hear

6 While Wa stands with Anehe at the beginning of the play, she is passive throughout the rest of the action and never directly helps Iyase. Her passive stance and silent support of Anehe is diametrically opposed to Bia’s support of Zo. 7 Onwueme does not indicate who these “sons and daughters of the soil” are. However, as the meeting must be kept a secret from the “termites” of Idu, the spectator might assume that the sons of the soil are landowners like Iyase and Idehen.

several muttered discussions about the corrupt elections system. Iyase quickly quells these mutterings when he begins the speech he has been planning since the first movement of the play. However, three workers, Adamawa, Sotimo, and Ozimo (last seen in the second movement), drown out Iyase’s speech. They object to Iyase and his attitude toward working people in the marketplace for all to hear, and soon all the workers cry for Iyase to stop talking and for the vote to be waived for this election: they ask that the gods select the king (116). A ritual begins in which a child of the soil from the previous secret meeting before performs a ritual dance. Iyase hands the child the ceremonial calabash with a knowing smile, implying that he has somehow compromised this ceremony as well as the vote. At the end of her dance, the child throws the calabash in the air—it will land at the new King’s feet, signaling that the gods have chosen this person to rule. When the calabash lands at the feet of Zo (still Wazobia), rather than Iyase, the chiefs stare in amazement: this was not the plan. The workers proclaim their joy at the choice and place Zo on the throne. A lavish coronation dance begins, and workers bring gifts from nearby houses and place them at the new “king’s” feet. It is now that Zo unmasks herself to reveal that she is a former queen of Idu, though the name Wazobia shall remain hers (120). Zo/Wazobia does not waste time in exercising her new power, for she forces Iyase to kneel before her and wash her feet as she sits upon the throne. This act serves more to humiliate Iyase in front of the citizens of the village and to establish Wazobia’s place as ruler. The termite chiefs praise their new King8, but Zo ends the play by exclaiming, “No! I am woman! I carve my own path. Termites of Idu, a female leads you in the new dance step. Up! Lift your hands to the horizon. A woman leads” (121).

Women with Power In 1975, feminist literary critic Cheri Register wrote about the need for positive female characters in literature, stating that “Although female readers need literary models to emulate, characters should not be idealized beyond plausibility. The demand for authenticity supersedes all other requirements” (Gilbert 121). Here Onwueme has provided three female characters that are flawed creatures, as vulnerable to their own desires as they are attached to ideas of community building. In Parables, three of Ogiso’s four queens hold three very different types of

8 It should be noted that Wazobia’s people refer to her as King, and that the selection ceremony Onwueme describes is for the election of a monarch, not a regent. This stance alters in the final play of the trio, in which Wazobia is a regent, not a true monarch.

power. Anehe, the eldest queen of Ogiso, holds the power of knowledge in the ways of her community and the respect that the Igbo award with age. Younger queen Bia claims the power for procreation, for she is pregnant with the possible heir to Ogiso’s throne. Zo, later Wazobia, has the power education and a desire to use it to help her people. None of these powers can be discounted or deemed less important than another type, for each is necessary to life in an Igbo village. While none of these powers is diametrically opposed to another, it is intriguing that Onwueme chooses to place these powers in three separate characters, not all three in one. As Helen Gilbert and Joanne Tompkins state in their theoretical work, the women who claim power in postcolonial dramas “are not superwomen who are above failure; nevertheless, the staged women who do succeed provide women in the audience with models for individual and collective action” (Gilbert 121). The ways Anehe, Bia, and Zo choose to exercise their power as females, as queens, and as members of the Idu community help to form the complex plot that is Parables for a Season and serve as examples of the various types of influence a woman can have in an Igbo society. For cross-cultural spectators, these women are also examples of the empowered Nigerian female. Spectators can learn from their mistakes and from their triumphs, as well as bear witness to the cultural struggles these women encounter in their Igbo communities. As I stated previously, Anehe’s power stems from her position as an older woman in the community and from her position as the first queen of Ogiso. Igbo culture links age, wisdom, and wealth, for these are the necessary components that make a Big Man or Big Woman (Van Allen 172). She is also wealthy, even as a former queen. As such, she is the person to turn to when the community needs to seek advice or take action. Anehe understands the structure of the kingdom well enough to share her expertise and increase her own standing in the community. In this case, Anehe is the person to turn to when Iyase wishes to take power. She is able to point out the potential flaws in Iyase’s plan for the kingdom, reminding him of Bia’s unborn child, his poor reputation with the workers, and his often careless words. Anehe becomes Iyase’s coach in the race for the throne not because she wishes to sit on the throne herself, but because she wishes to maintain her position as a respected queen in the community. Indeed, Iyase seems lost without Anehe to guide him and remind him of the steps necessary to succeed in his underhanded endeavor.

Anehe has no desire to take a more direct hold on the power of the kingdom through attaining the regency. While this lack of desire may seem puzzling to the western spectator, it fits perfectly with the actions associated with Anehe throughout the play. Anehe chooses her position not because she is afraid of power—indeed she seems capable of anything in the third movement—but because she does not want to lose the power she already holds. Anehe shrewdly recognizes that, as regent, she would rule temporarily. As the permanent queen of Obi Iyase, she would be able to steer the unstable chief with her wisdom and rule indirectly through his power. Anehe does not make the choice to become Iyase’s queen and help him attain a place in the community as ruler wantonly. She understands that this is a man who, while irrational and elitist, will turn to her time and time again for help during his reign. Anehe wishes to be the king’s right-hand woman, for this is a position that assures permanent power as opposed to the temporary power of a regent. We never learn whether Anehe wishes to improve her community or not, as we only see her desire to gain power, not her desire to wield it. Oddly, while Wa aids Anehe out of fear of the older woman, she does not remain a prominent or active character beyond the third movement. Her main purpose in the text seems to be as a follower of Anehe and as the namesake of the first part of Wazobia’s new identity. Bia’s character is the antithesis of Anehe’s brash high-handedness. While Anehe’s power is subtle (and at times surreptitious), Bia’s is quiet and one of the oldest recognized forms of power: Bia has the power of motherhood. More particularly, she could potentially bring the next ruler of Idu into this world. Gilbert and Tompkins state that “Onwueme’s plays recognize and respect the more traditional roles of women as mothers and nurturers but do not confine women to their reproductive functions” (122). While Anehe and Iyase define Bia by her pregnancy (and later attempt to kill her for it), Zo recognizes that Bia has value as both a former queen and female follower of the new regent. If indeed “the task of woman is to build—to create” (Onwueme 104), then Bia helps to build by both giving birth to an heir to the throne and by supporting Zo/Wazobia in her quest for change. Zo’s gift is perhaps the most obvious of all, for she is the only one of the three queens whose strength relies direct action. She does not need fertility or the ability to bear a male child, nor does she need to be the unseen power behind a male front. As such an individual, Zo quickly becomes the heroine of the piece, for she is the most altruistic and self-assured woman of the three queens. She returns to her community, albeit in disguise, with the sole intention of righting

the wrongs that others have committed there. She intends to rout the dissenting male chiefs in their plan to return the community to a system of control similar to that imposed by British colonists. The colonial status of the Idu kingdom was one where only a few, male members of the community controlled all power, wealth, and land. British colonists gave these unproven men their wealth and political power (Van Allen 168), and it appears that the chiefs of Idu are eager to recapture that bygone era. The Idu chiefs are intent on reviving the systems that originally placed them in positions of power—British governmental structure served them well before, and it will serve them well again. The fact that Zo has recognized the corruption in her society and the danger of Iyase’s rule proves that she is an observant and aware woman. The fact that she wants to help her community by eliminating such corruption shows that she believes she has the skills and knowledge to do so. Onwueme implies that Zo’s place in her society is divinely appointed, and that as such she must lead her people in a new direction, away from corrupt officials and outdated modes of thought. Zo serves a secondary purpose as a source of inspiration to other women. Zo’s mother is the Old Termite from across the sea (Onwueme 101), returned from America to help her daughter in her quest to save the village from Iyase’s tyranny. Zo is the daughter of a common woman with no wealth or prestige in the community. She is also an educated queen of Idu, a position of considerable wealth and power. Zo also inspires Bia with her self-assured attitude toward her rights and duty as a former queen of Idu. Zo’s monarchy comes as a reward gifted by the gods for her upright nature and desire to do good in her community. All the same, Zo recognizes her position in the community, both as ruler and as woman. She ends the piece with the proclamation that it is she, a woman, who rules Idu. A woman will bring change to this unsettled community. No mention is made of Bia’s son, rescued from the side of the road just pages earlier. This omission and Zo’s proclamation indicate that sweeping changes will cross the land and that the male heir is no longer the focus of socio-political life in Idu. Scholar of African-American and multicultural literature Eugene Redmond states that this play “suggest[s] a rearrangement of the world so as to strip it of male hegemony, class oppression, indifference to youth, [and] blind deference to elders.” Onwueme creates Zo to attain this lofty goal. As an educated woman and a ruler, Zo is able to think for herself rather than blithely listening to her peers or to her elders. By removing the threat of a male tyrant, forcing him to submit to her will, and omitting any mention of Bia’s child, Zo has stripped her

community of male hegemony and established herself as the superior figure in that society. Likewise, Iyase’s demotion from heir apparent and Wazobia’s ascension to power have reversed the very caste system that Iyase would have tried to reinforce. Zo forces the wealthy Iyase to bow in deference and wash her termite-born feet (Onwueme 120). The tables have turned, and now the self-made woman sits upon the throne and has power over the unruly, landowning chiefs of Idu. The entire community is now paying homage to a young female rather than Iyase and Anehe. The workers no longer follow the instructions of their elders. “Zo’s triumphant movement into the play’s future performs a history for Igbo women located specifically in the post-contact days of slave-trading; yet this history/parable is equally resonant for twentieth-century Nigerian women whom the play exhorts to ‘carve [their] own path’” (Gilbert 121). We mark Zo’s reign because of her references to the historic colonial past and the resurgence of those imperialist, elitist ideas in her community. These ideas create true fear in the hearts of the Idu termites represented in this play, and it is these ideas (embodied in Iyase) that Zo intends to eradicate. In Parables for A Season, Zo seeks to destroy postcolonial biases by “transcending Eurocentric negations of the people’s culture” (www.africa.upenn.edu), and thus the people themselves. This negation is most obvious in Iyase and Idehen’s attitude toward the people of this Idu village, their wealth and land holdings, and their exalted position within the community. Zo ascends to the throne of her community as a well-informed woman with great ideas in her head and a desire to improve the lives of her people. Onwueme continues the story of her regency, struggles, and successes in The Reign of Wazobia.

Postcolonial Conflict Eugene Redmond states, “As an African-Nigerian-Igbo-woman-feminist-artist, Onwueme in her life and history has been, at least on one level, configured by colonialism, tribalism, imperialism, racism, sexism, stereotype, and classicism” (Onwueme 16). As Onwueme’s work draws on her position as a Nigerian woman working on Western soil and conflicting desires to express views from both homes, it is no surprise that all of these elements are prevalent in her plays on women, postcolonialism, and human rights. We know that Onwueme “writes in pursuit of social reconstruction” (www.africa.upenn.edu) for she has stated that she considers writing “a dialogue between the writer and the society. People create social conditions and people can change social conditions for the better” (Onwueme 11). Onwueme’s plays are a vehicle for

promoting social change in her Igbo communities and in the west, for they inform the spectator about the culture clash in Igbo villages and draws attention to the inequalities in any society in which they may be performed. Although the plays focus on Igbo women from western Nigeria, their message calls for audiences to fight for the changes they feel are necessary in their communities. Onwueme’s plays focus on what she believes most important in her communities—the ability to consider and implement change in “traditional” communities, though the content of her plays acknowledges that this process is rarely simple. Onwueme writes characters that are both aware of the beliefs of their communities and yet still open to change through progress. While her characters consistently try to unseat tradition, they never fully succeed in doing so, indicating that Onwueme recognizes that such a process cannot be instantaneous. However, if colonialism is both “the universal evolutionary progress of modernization [and] a particular strategy or experiment in domination and exploitation” (Pels 163), how do Onwueme’s characters implement change without destroying the identities their Igbo communities have worked so hard to construct? Zo’s mother, the Old Termite, also represents the discomfort that appears when characters threaten the community with colonial ideals. Onwueme’s stage directions inform us that the Old Termite has come home to Idu from across the sea—a reference to either the North American or British shores where Nigerian slaves arrived so many decades ago. As the play has no set time and as the Old Termite’s exact age and origins remain unknown, we can accept this with little question. When Zo and her mother find Bia’s newborn child abandoned on the footpath, the fears of slavery and abduction rise to the surface again: “A black male child costly as a gem, and I who longed for one since I lost my twins to the slave raiders,” she cries! Iyase’s abuse of the male, Igbo child is particularly offensive to Zo’s mother because of past British atrocities. Eugene Redmond believes that “the culturally centered position of the black male child and the ominous historical threat to his survival” causes the fears of colonial rule to resurface. Iyase and Anehe have now committed crimes akin to those committed by British rulers in years past. Spectators may learn that there is a constant fear of re-colonization places great stress on the interpretation of new ideas in these communities. Perhaps we also begin to understand the resistance and fear of Iyase’s domineering ways, inspired by the colonizers of the British Empire in the early part of the twentieth century.

Conclusion Helen Gilbert and Joanne Tompkins discuss Onwueme’s Parables as both an allegorical and a semi-historical text. There are some women who managed to rise to power within Igbo society in both colonial and postcolonial times (Evwierhoma 38), though they are few and far between. Dramatizing stories that invoke the tales of those near-mythical and nameless women serves as a reminder that society creates male hegemony, and it is not an age-old tradition that cannot change. As Onwueme’s play only hints at the possible reinstatement of colonial rules, the spectator finds meaning in the resistance Iyase encounters when attempting to seize the monarchy. Dramatising women as history’s central figures can be particularly subversive in cultures which have always reserved for male elders both the power and prerogative of public action. Likewise, theatre that contests the myth of women’s compliance with patriarchal authority focuses attention on reviewing and renewing debate about women’s roles within postcolonial cultures. (Gilbert 121) Onwueme’s use of women as her central and most powerful characters helps to invigorate the conversation on women’s roles and, indeed, women’s rights in contemporary Igbo communities. They also serve as a point of focus in Western discussions of oppression: this piece asks us to question the rights women hold in all countries and to ask if an oppressor is denying us our basic human rights. Onwueme’s work serves to highlight male hegemony in Western culture as effectively as it does in Nigeria. Africanist Xaviere Gauthier states that “Women are in fact caught in a very real contradiction. Throughout the course of history, they have been mute, and it is doubtless by virtue of the mutism that men have been able to speak and write. As long as women remain silent, they will be outside the historical process” (Evwierhoma 11). The most important goal of Onwueme’s work is to affirm the presence of powerful women who can effect change in her plays. Gilbert and Tompkins mention that “Onwueme’s work restores a sense of autonomy and political agency to Nigerian women who are usually portrayed as either dutiful or disobedient wives, if at all” (Gilbert 121). Anehe, Zo, and Bia are representative of the ways in which a woman can create change within her traditional community, even though the conventions of this community restrict the movements of females. However, these women represent something more, as they are the gatekeepers for progress within their communities. How will Zo use her newfound power, and will she be able to garner

the support of her fellow women as she has done with Bia? Though there are holes in the continuity between Parables and our final play, Wazobia, I am intrigued to see how Zo uses her status to change her community and how that community receives those attempts.

CHAPTER 3 THE REIGN OF WAZOBIA: CULTURAL SHIFTS AND REDISTRIBUTION OF POWER

Tess Onwueme wrote The Reign of Wazobia in 1988, and though the Ibadan Press in Africa was first to publish the piece the first recorded performances took place in 1991 at Smith College in Massachusetts. Academic and professional theatres in the northeastern United States produced the piece soon after this initial performance (www.writertess.com). The appeal of this Nigerian play to American playgoers and directors is indicative of Tess Onwueme’s versatility in writing style. Her plays may focus on the very African themes of postcolonial reconstruction and the contemporary Igbo woman, but they speak to audiences on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean with universal queries on power and the nature of societal change. In particular, Wazobia is appealing to diverse audiences because of its portrayal of the trope of the newly empowered female. This third play in Onwueme’s trio is intriguing because it reverses the cultural clash that the author has spent the previous two plays establishing and exploring. As the story of Wazobia unfolds, the central character remains steadfast in her desire to liberate the women of her village from an unfair and patriarchal system. However, this process of liberation serves to reveal many of the inherent problems that the villagers encounter when engaging with Wazobia’s new ideas. Scholars of postcolonial dramatic theory often comment on Onwueme’s work and its portrayal of both the postcolonial and colonial fears of the Igbo people she so often writes about. Of particular note is Onwueme’s engagement with the idea of gender, a traditional Igbo society, and the conflicts that arise between women educated in western style and men whose ideas stem from a shared colonial past. Awam Amkpa, a Nigerian scholar of African feminist theatre, writes that Onwueme’s portrayal of postcolonial Nigeria’s “crisis over gender exposes the often insidious marriage of anticolonial nationalism with male supremacy” (Amkpa 71). The idea that anticolonial nationalism and male supremacy are linked makes me question what will happen to that nationalism if power dynamics are reorganized. Or does Onwueme write of a community that is living in the colonial past, a society where women are less powerful than their male counterparts, customs restricting their movement within Igbo society? Anthropologist Ifi Amadiume states that the Igbo women are one of the most well- researched social groups within Nigeria (Amadiume 20). Anthropologists who study Nigeria

research systems of inheritance, politics, mothering, mourning, and distribution of power amongst the women of this patriarchal society and paint a picture of a functional female community, despite an obvious difference in the opportunities and choices available to Igbo men and women. Anthropological representations of Igbo women often portray them as hard- working, home-centered women who are militant only when those outside their community threaten their conventional (socially created) women’s rights (30). Onwueme’s portrayal of Igbo women is slightly different, though this is not surprising considering the fact that her knowledge of this indigenous population is filtered through the lens of a former resident, not of a purely western scholar. In the text The Reign of Wazobia, she interprets the women of the Anioma kingdom1 through the eyes of both a character who is native Igbo and an educated Nigerian woman, an advantage which allows her work to appeal to audiences in Africa and the West. While the tale of Wazobia is fictional, the conflict Onwueme creates through her title character provides an intriguing peek into the world of the Igbo woman, showcasing both the problems women encounter in this society and what they may do to overcome them. Wazobia is the most produced play of the three in this thesis project for a number of reasons. African writer Eugene Redmond notes that, among other subjects, Onwueme embraces discussion on both postcolonial subject matter and criticism of the outdated cultural practices in many Nigerian communities in her plays (Redmond 14-16). Onwueme does not rely on a previous knowledge of the British repression of Igbo communities to convey her point, but rather relies on the obvious oppression of her female characters to demonstrate the repercussions of British colonization in contemporary Igbo society. She does not, however, seek to discount the influence that these women have in this society, for they are not without some power. Writer Eugene Redmond states that “the women in this trilogy are all ascending. Involved women. Evolved women. Evolving women. African women with themselves, their men, their children, their families, their neighbors” (17). Onwueme pays homage to women on many levels in both The Broken Calabash and Parables for a Season. In The Reign of Wazobia, she demonstrates how one woman effectively wrests power from her male counterparts and puts it to use,

1 As Igbo scholar Don Ohadike explains in his book Anioma: A Social History of the Western Igbo People, the Anioma Kingdom is a phrase that refers to the Western Igbo of Nigeria. The term was chosen by the Igbo of this area and its literal translation is “those who live on the good and prosperous land.” Nigerians began to use this term in the 1970’s, when the Western Igbo people (termed such by British colonizers in the late nineteenth century) sought to replace the British term with one of their own choosing. The term Anioma comes from the phrase ndi Anioma (Ohadike 2).

attempting to improve her community for both women and men. By portraying Wazobia as a divinely appointed female monarch in a post traditionally occupied by a male, Onwueme demonstrates the ability of one extraordinary woman to make a difference on the socio-political level in her community. This woman’s efforts, however, do not stand uncontested and are problematized within the text itself. I seek to engage with both Wazobia’s political decisions within her community and the issues that emerge from her legislation. Wazobia is an unconventional ruler for she is a woman educated according to Western standards, not unlike Onwueme herself (Onwueme 123). In the precursor to this play, Parables for A Season, Wazobia is awarded the position of surrogate-king or regent,2 traditionally held by a female for a period of three seasons,3 through a religious ritual intended to find the correct ruler. The results of this ritual were approved and upheld by the less-privileged (non-Chieftain) members of the community (Onwueme 118). Wazobia uses her new position and her advanced education in an attempt to improve matters for men and women alike in her community, though women will benefit more immediately than men. What I have found most interesting about this particular piece is Onwueme’s engagement with the conflict created by Wazobia’s western- inspired reforms and the more conventional Igbo community in which she attempts to implement changes. In this chapter I will explore Wazobia’s royal decrees for the community and its reaction, her participation and involvement in the community’s changes, and the position from which Wazobia implements these changes. The play’s opening image is a discordant dance that represents an elemental power struggle between old and new, male and female “power.” The play’s prologue portrays palpable tension between the opposing forces that create the main conflict of this play.

Wazobia, the Woman King The Reign of Wazobia is written in a prologue and six dance movements, which introduce the audience to the conflict of the piece, take the audience through Wazobia’s ascension to the community’s throne, then show the changes Wazobia enforces within her community and the subsequent plots against her regime. The piece begins three seasons after the end of Parables for

2 Onwueme uses both the terms surrogate-king and regent to describe Wazobia’s new position (136). 3 We do not know what constitutes a “season” in Onwueme’s play. This may be a physical change in weather, a year, or a period of planting and harvesting.

a Season at the termination of Wazobia’s regency. King Wazobia4 is the focal point of the stage, and during this wordless prologue she leads the women of Anioma in a dance around the village on stage. The women dance around their ruler in the nude as a symbolic sign of fealty to their king. A masquerade interrupts the women with a backward dance, entrancing the women surrounding Wazobia into following its strange antics. 5 This male force6 is physically threatening in his movements, though he never touches any of the women on stage. The tension becomes palpable as Wazobia, leader of the dancing women, contends with the opposing male power and his backward dance. Finally, the backward movements cease and the masquerade leaves the circle, shooting Wazobia a warning glance upon its departure. From these simple stage directions, the text indicates a struggle between the male and female forces on the stage. However, these male and female forces are not the only conflict on this stage. The backward dance of the masquerade is representative of this village’s ties to the past, and it is those very ties that exclude women from participating fully in the masquerade’s antics. The dancer’s presence demonstrates male power and male inclusion in the ritualistic life of the Igbo, and it the dancer’s presence that introduces the secondary, yet equally important, conflict of the piece—the conflict between cultural convention and the progressive change that Wazobia brings to the community. As the masquerade exits, the women turn to face the more physical threat of the angered male opposition: the men of their community have come to see King Wazobia, clothed in the regalia of war. The women form a half-circle around Wazobia in a stance of protection. The women, save Wazobia, are naked. I argue that this is not an objectified display of female flesh, but a bold statement to the male force they seek to fight. Their naked dance is not a display of grief, as the time for mourning Ogiso is three seasons past.7 Rather, these women are standing naked before Wazobia in protest of approaching violence. Their nudity is representative of the frailty of the human form and the value of human life, a value that Wazobia reinforces in her warlike speech. More importantly, their nudity in this context is a matter of choice (whereas

4 It should be noted that Wazobia is a female in male regalia. 5 A masquerade is a dancer dressed in traditional mask costume. This mask does not resemble the masks of Western dramatic traditions for it covers the entire body with strips of colorful cloth that spin out as the dancer performs. The facial part of this mask is carved from wood. The masquerade is representative of the spirits of dead ancestors and is a highly trained male dancer. This dance is both a communication with and representation of the spirits of the dead (www.amnh.org). 6 Masquerades cannot be performed by females—this is a male only religious practice (www.amnh.org). 7 As I will discuss in the next section of this paper, the female ritual of the naked dance in the community marketplace is a part of the final funeral rites for a dead husband. All the wives of the deceased male must participate to demonstrate their innocence in his death (Amadiume 30).

ritual mourning nudity is not). Wazobia’s women are prepared to engage in combat for the newly introduced rights that Wazobia bestows in the flashback scenes to follow. The women dance in a moon shape, a traditional symbol of femininity in Eastern and Western societies including Igbo (Egudu 21). This reinforces their presence as a female power both through this shape and their nakedness, for their ritualistic dance is of their own creation, not one forced upon them by patriarchic custom. Amkpa states that this shape “represents a provocative semiotic subversion of patriarchy. An army of female bodies, objectified for ages as things of sex, transform themselves into political statements against the kingdom’s conventional structure of male privilege” (Amkpa 62). The bared women are a striking contrast to the clothed men who enter the scene: the naked and weaponless women face a contingent of men armed with spears. Wordlessly, we are introduced to the dichotomy of male violence and female non-violence that pervades Onwueme’s play. The lights fade on the face-off between Wazobia’s women and the men who object to her rule. The first movement does not center on Wazobia’s feelings as much as her explanation of the situation that the community is in. This exposition reveals that Wazobia has been placed on the throne after the death of the well-loved ruler of the kingdom of Anioma. The loss of Obi Ogiso has left the community grief-stricken, but it has also left the people disunited and quarrelsome. The most contentious subjects are the widows of the now-deceased ruler. The only apparent point of agreement is that Wazobia is a controversial choice for ruler because of her status in the community, her education, and her place as a woman. She has been divinely placed on the throne of Anioma as temporary regent, a position that the majority of her community originally supported in Parables (Onwueme 119). As the first movement progresses, a livid Wazobia reveals that her rule has been contested because of the decisions she has made while acting in the name of the king. Here we see that the disquiet of her reign is wearing on the ruler—Wazobia’s moods are mercurial as she waivers between trepidation and temper. We witness a ruler who has yet to come to terms with the meaning and extent of her power, unable to decide if divine appointment gives her the right to continue to rule past the traditional regency period of three years. While a female must hold power during the temporary regent position, a king of Anioma must be male. Wazobia must shatter this tradition in order to ensure that her decrees as regent are observed. Wazobia debates the wisdom of remaining on the throne, infuriated that her reign is questioned because of her sex. She cries, “I, Wazobia am the

masquerade” (Onwueme 131). By exclaiming that she is the masquerade, Wazobia has named herself the traditional male dancer of spiritual communion and wisdom —a prestigious religious position that cannot be held by a woman. It is from this declaration of unorthodox power and her desire to retain it that we begin our flashbacks into Wazobia’s rise to power and the controversy that followed. As the movements progress, we find that both men and women express their doubts about Wazobia’s competency not solely because of her age or gender (though these are contributing factors to her subjects’ doubt), but primarily because of her lineage and education. While some of the members of the community find Wazobia’s powerful presence objectionable, she is more universally resisted for her lack of wealth and status in the community before her rise to power. Wazobia is the daughter of one of the poorest women in the community and has been well- educated in Western-style schools established by the British colonists in the early twentieth century (Van Allen 166). Wealth and involvement in the community are the two main markers of status and prestige in the Igbo community; both lead to the creation of the “big man” or “big women,” usually the elders of a community with considerable sway over community decisions (167). The lack of both of these attributes works against Wazobia and her ascent to her current position of power. The fact that Wazobia obtained her education outside of the community over a period of years immediately sets her apart from the people of Anioma and the prominent men and women who control many aspects of its political and social structure. The gods chose Wazobia for the position of regent, an event in which the villagers rejoiced in Parables for A Season. However, one direct result of her reign is that she no longer has the respect or the blessing of half of her people. The most vocal of these dissenters are these “big men and women” of Anioma, respected members of the community whose wisdom has been proven with time and commitment to their fellows. The Anioma people confirm their doubts when Wazobia immediately turns the community on its ear by imposing a series of edicts: she forbids spousal abuse, removes the requirement for women’s public, naked dances as a part of funeral rites, and declares that the kingdom will provide an education to all villagers, male or female (Onwueme 131). Men and women alike are opposed to these strange decrees for they did not expect a disquieting reign from this regent, but rather a quiet period of rule before a male leader takes the throne (130). Nevertheless, Wazobia sways the opinions of the women and a few men, one person at a time.

She encourages her women to stand in non-violent protest against ill treatment and in support of Wazobia’s continued reign at the end of her three-year regent period. The women rally and the play closes as it began, with the image of a swaying circle of women protecting their female King by choice, not command (185). The audience is left with a burning question: what could have inspired the men of Anioma to take arms against their women, and why are the women so intent upon their resistance? Why is the village at war?

Female Power in Anioma As Gilbert and Thompkins indicate in their text Postcolonial Drama, Wazobia and her followers are not “super women who are above failure; nevertheless the staged women who do succeed provide women in the audience with models for individual and collective action” (121). Wazobia’s measures within the text are not fully successful. The play ends on a note of unfinished conflict. At the end of the play, the community stands divided — women poised for passive resistance, men poised for violence — as the lights fade on the world of the play. As an audience, we do not know if Wazobia maintains her place as king or if she is unceremoniously deposed and supplanted with one of the male plotters who seeks to usurp the throne. I do not believe that Wazobia’s success in her ventures is the central focus of Onwueme’s discussion of the conflict. Whether Wazobia wins or loses, whether her decrees are upheld or overturned, the play has fulfilled its duty by sparking interest in the injustices which Wazobia and her woman fight against. As Gilbert and Thompkins state, “theatre that contests the myth of women’s compliance with patriarchal authority focuses attention on reviewing and renewing debate about women’s roles within postcolonial cultures” (121). Here Onwueme has succeeded in providing an impetus for both discussion and action, whether it is in a Nigerian society or a Western one. Wazobia’s success or failure pales when we consider the purpose of the work as a whole. As Gilbert writes, “Dramatising women as history’s central figures can be particularly subversive in cultures which have always reserved for male elders both the power and prerogative of public action” (120). By placing a female character in the position of powerful heroine, Onwueme has subverted the very system that seeks to repress Wazobia. Calling attention to the unequal status of women in conventional Igbo communities has allowed Onwueme to call attention to the seemingly superior and often repressive role of men in these small communities. Though Wazobia is not entirely successful in her efforts to change the

Anioma kingdom, her existence as a female ruler encourages us to reflect on power structures in our own societies. We must ask what we can do to change our communities for the better. What most intrigues me about Wazobia is her approach to change in her community. Rather than slowly introducing new customs, Wazobia has chosen to modify women’s rights within her community quickly and without an adjustment period for her subjects. Wazobia never attempts to compromise or integrate her new laws slowly—she simply declares that the former customs of her community are nullified and that her word is now the law. Movements two through six are flash backs that lead us to the warlike conclusion of the play. In these movements, we see that Wazobia never introduces a plan for progressive reform or allows her people to debate the appropriateness of these proclamations for this particular community. Wazobia’s royal deeds are disruptive as they create abrupt change in a community preconditioned to oppose dramatic cultural shifts. This causes her subjects to resist her new laws as a whole rather than listen to the reason behind each proclamation as an individual decision and to weigh its value in their particular society. To the western audience, Wazobia’s desire to create a culture of equality in Anioma is understandable, even admirable. However, we must understand that Wazobia’s position comes with a responsibility toward her people. If she is to achieve her goals, so she must remind herself of this responsibility. In philosopher Kwame Anthony Appiah’s Cosmopolitanism, he describes the “two strands that intertwine [to form] the notion of cosmopolitanism” (Appiah xv). The first strand is an obligation to others, obligations that extend beyond family or nation, and the second strand is value of human life and “the practices and beliefs that lend them significance” (xv). It is here that Wazobia fails in her goal to create a contemporary society within her Igbo community. While she recognizes and strives to fulfill her obligations to her fellow women, she often disregards the customs and practices that have helped make them who they are and have helped make Wazobia who she is. By disregarding these customs, disrespecting the ideas that they represent, Wazobia has enabled the male populace to strike back at her royal decrees. She has driven fear into the hearts of many, for the traditions she seeks to obliterate, while often unjust, are the foundations of daily life in this community. Wazobia’s actions inspire the reader or the audience to ask why her decrees could possibly fail, and how such conflict could have been avoided. What lessons can we take away from Wazobia to use in our own struggles against injustice or repression?

The Conflict The Reign of Wazobia calls together the women of Anioma as well as the women of Nigeria, as shown through the composition of Wazobia’s name. The play focuses on Wazobia’s proclamations for her kingdom, proclamations that are consistent with some of the most standard principles of second-wave feminisms (www.cwluherstory.com), namely the abolition of spousal abuse, the promotion of female education, and the de-objectification of women. Wazobia also introduces goals from African womanisms, namely the equality of men and women, educational and economic progress for the villages, and a society where all contribute to the well-being of the community (Evwierhoma 4). What intrigues me about this piece is Wazobia’s use of the conventions that place her upon the throne of the recently deceased King to achieve her own ends. As a woman educated in a Western-style school, Wazobia is able to use these conventions and local customs to gain footing for her own agenda. She continues to use the power these conventions award her to disregard these very conventions that awarded her power in the first place. Wazobia does not literally call women to bear arms, but rather seeks to enlighten the women about the feminist and womanist issues the play confronts through logical public discourse on the subject. Women turn to Wazobia because she is not attempting to wage physical war against her community, but rather to enrich the lives of all of those under her temporary dominion. Even Wazobia’s name invites the women of Nigeria to join her in the crusade against feminine repression: Wa, Zo, and Bia literally mean “Come” in the three primary languages of Nigeria, which are Hausa, Yoruba and Igbo (Ajayi 111). Wazobia has invited all women of Nigeria to fight for what she believes are basic human rights, not to be denied by convention, superstition, or common practices. The above mentioned conflict between Wazobia’s desire to change her community and the seemingly conventional ideas8 of the native Igbo people are of particular interest to me because of its roots in Nigeria’s history of British imperialism and the cultural practices that emerged from colonization. Wazobia’s reign in her community is consistently complicated by the older models of cultural practice that she cannot supplant without force. Her new position as regent is disconcerting to this community not just because of her gender but because she is

8 By the phrase “seemingly conventional” I refer to British alterations of cultural practice during the colonial and post-colonial era, specifically women’s loss of their marketplace rights and the forced adherence to Victorian standards of female behavior. The British colonizers altered many of the customs of the Igbo several times over; therefore the current customs bear little resemblance to the traditions they claim to represent.

attempting to change the cultural conventions it has followed for years. Her presence endangers the current Igbo way of life with yet another threat of colonization through Western neo- imperialist education. Wazobia embodies yet another threat of unwanted change. Though Nigerian and Anioman, has become a representative of Western imperialism and influence as much as she remains representative of the modern Nigerian woman. She is “Oyibo,” a turncoat who left the community and has now returned in an attempt to rule its people (144). Wazobia cannot operate solely as a woman of Anioma for she is now a part of the greater community of Western educational ideals and Western political principles. It is this uncomfortable duality that makes Wazobia’s power so difficult to wield with success. Her position as a woman of multiple cultures creates the conflict between conventional Igbo practices and Wazobia’s “high-falutin” ideas about women’s equality (Onwueme 143). As stated in the introduction to this project, the idea of cultural convention is a central part of my analysis of this play. I refer to the practices of the Igbo community as conventional rather than “traditional” because the idea of tradition is, in itself, a construct of past British colonization. Igbo cultural conventions are a mixture of pre-colonial traditions and colonial influence on those same practices. Practices that were evolving in the nineteenth century were irrevocably altered by British colonists in the twentieth century. Women’s power, which was subordinate to men’s power even before colonization, was changed by Victorian ideas of femininity and women’s roles in a society. Igbo women’s rights, such as running the household, right to engage in commerce, and the right to earn an untaxed income were systematically stripped and replaced with the Victorian image of the quiet and acquiescing life-mate of the middle-class British home. In a postcolonial age, practices from pre-colonial and colonial Igbo society have been melded into a series of new conventions that are neither wholly traditional nor wholly superimposed on the fabric of Igbo society. Women’s authority, already insufficient, was passed to newly appointed members of the Igbo community who reported directly to their British oppressors (Van Allen 167). Recovery from these injustices is far from complete, as the memory of the British-appointed leaders’ injustices has not faded from collective memory. Now as Nigeria attempts to contemporize and join the world economic and political arena, it must still struggle against theories and ideas that are viewed as neo-imperialist for fear of further bastardization of their conventions and traditions.

In the introduction to this project, I wrote that in an Igbo society contemporary ideas such as the feminist movement are disliked not for their content, but for their association with Western ideology and therefore Western imperialism. As I stated in the introduction to this project, Omofolabo Ajayi-Soyinka, a Nigerian-born scholar of women’s studies and gender issues in African literature (www.womensstudies.ku.edu), states that there is considerable resistance to conventional Western feminism in Nigerian societies. Such actions are akin to renouncing the more conventional ideas of one’s home and becoming a product and promoter of the West itself. If this is the case, how do we address ideas of feminisms and womanisms in a society set against any form of neo-imperialism or further alteration of its cultural conventions? Ama Ata Aidoo, a Ghanaian playwright and novelist who also concentrates on women’s histories, “has criticized European feminists for becoming a new wave of imperialists eager to invade the African continent brandishing a particular political doctrine while remaining blissfully ignorant of the culture, history, and needs of individual groups of African women” (Gilbert 118). Onwueme does not explicitly say whether she intends Wazobia to be a product of these neo-imperialists, but the play text is vague enough that the reader may infer that Wazobia has not taken her village’s beliefs fully into account. Even though Wazobia’s edicts promote the advancement of the community as a whole, a desire that is more womanist than feminist, her changes seem ill- timed for they directly interfere with significant rituals in a time of community transition and political unrest. The Omu, the wisest woman of the kingdom, implies that this is a time9 to adhere to the conventions that have seen the kingdom through difficult times before. I argue that Tess Onwueme strives to encourage change as articulated by feminists and womanists while still respecting the integrity of Igbo values and practices as the community develops. The Reign of Wazobia blends this respect for cultural convention with the demonstration of modernization of the ethnic group in a way that allows the audience to see what moderation could do for the kingdom. Wazobia is a woman who attempts to use the tools she has been given, through education and a period of distance from her community,10 to improve the way of life for the women in her kingdom. She exploits the very system that limits her women to liberate them. Wazobia speaks with royal authority (an authority that was granted by the gods), calls community meetings to discuss the changes she implements, and conducts herself as a

9 Onwueme does not indicate when each movement takes place, but as movement two takes place at the beginning of the flashback, we assume that this conversation takes place at the beginning of Wazobia’s reign. 10 This period of distance is the time Wazobia spent away from Anioma and in school.

male11 in order to achieve her ends. Wazobia crushes her opposition with the logic of her arguments and with the structural force of the customs that back them. As the village created the laws and customs, they are hard pressed to refute Wazobia’s use of these customs, even if she is subverting them through their use. The king uses the feminist ideals in tandem with socially- granted power to support her radical edicts. Wazobia’s initial actions, while considered out of place and unconventional by her subjects, are not abusive in nature: she does not seek to harm her people in her rule, but rather to use the power and her knowledge of other world conventions to help her people modernize while maintaining their identity. Even when the reader realizes that Wazobia does not intend to relinquish her power at the end of her three season regency, Onwueme implies that Wazobia will continue to use her power to improve her community and to ensure that her changes are not allowed to disappear. Wazobia’s three primary decrees are intended to change her village for the better, even if these decrees require significant adjustment in the community. Wazobia genuinely believes that her edicts will improve the quality of life for women, and therefore Igbo society as a whole.

Three Decrees Wazobia’s first decree, just after the late King’s death, is that her women will not dance naked at the funeral rites of the late King, the signal of the end of their mourning period. The Omu explains, “It is our tradition that women who survive funeral rituals dance in the marketplace as final mark of their innocence regarding their husband’s death. A woman who dies mourning is unclean and must be left to rot in the evil forest” (Onwueme 143). Here the Omu refers to the ritual that is customary in funeral rites observed by the Igbo of this community. The dancing ritual was preceded by a ritual cleansing of the widows, who were forced to live in semi-squalor and seclusion during the one-year mourning period, according to Igbo scholar Ifi Amadiume. During this period, a widowed woman could not wash properly, wear comfortable clothing, or support herself by selling wares at market (Amadiume 82). At the end of the mourning period and after a ritual cleansing the widow’s brother-in-law becomes responsible for her welfare. In this play, Wazobia takes responsibility for the widows who must

11 Though Wazobia is still physically a woman she has assumed a role that is by definition male by self-appointing herself as a full ruler. As a king, Wazobia’s gender cannot be anything but male, for by law a female cannot rule Anioma. This is a matter of some amusement to Wazobia’s dissenters, and they mockingly call her male throughout the play.

then dance naked before the community to prove that they have survived the mourning period and are not complicit in late Obi Ogiso’s death. Wazobia believes she is saving her women from public judgment and objectification by forbidding this ritual exhibition. She proclaims, “My women will not dance naked in public to appease the eyes of a wrathful populace. This is no era for dancing to entertain lustful eyes” (Onwueme 143). While she may seek to protect the widowed queens of Obi Ogiso from public humiliation, Wazobia also disregards the justification for this dance. She forgets that if the women don’t dance, they will be bound by further cultural conventions upon their death.12 When Wazobia is reminded of this fact, she brushes the idea off as nothing more than a superstition (Onwueme 143). Wazobia does not dwell on the consequences of this action, and turns instead to convincing the women of Anioma that these beliefs are mere superstitions. While some may protest that Wazobia is impeding her community’s ability to practice its own conventions, she is also taking into account the unfair nature of this ritual to women. Though the naked, public dance is only the final stage of the mourning period, it is representative of the mourning period as a whole, a period which the Igbo commonly view as punishment of the female sex (Amadiume 82). I believe that Wazobia wishes to eradicate this convention not only because her women are objectified and exhibited for all eyes to see, but because the mourning ritual is based on the assumption that a woman is somehow responsible for her husband’s death. Men are not forced to observe a mourning ritual. They may remarry soon after death, are not “unclean” or forced into seclusion, and may continue to own businesses and earn a living (82). The community does not view the man with ill-will after the death of a wife, but does view the woman with “wrathful” eyes (Onwueme 143). A widow suffers great injustice and silent accusations during the year of her mourning. Wazobia’s desire to do away with this convention is understandable considering her educational background. There is no community reaction to Wazobia’s proclamation because it is made in the privacy of the throne room with only newly widowed queens in attendance. However, the Omu reacts as representative of those who are older and more grounded in convention. She calls Wazobia “Oyibo,” a Nigerian term derived from pidgin describing one who has left his or her community and returned--an expatriate who condescends to return home and who still claims to

12 If a woman dies before she dances to prove her innocence in the manner of her husband’s death, she cannot receive proper burial rites and her spirit will be doomed to remain on earth for all eternity. Her people assume that her death is the result of her guilt (Amadiume 34).

be a part of her people (www.oyibosonline.com ). The use of the term Oyibo indicates that the community has noticed and resented Wazobia’s absence from Anioma. As such, Wazobia is now more closely associated with Western systems of belief among her own people. The Omu is scandalized by Wazobia’s ideas and blatant disregard for her advice and objections. By taking an active role in the progress of her community and using her status of King as law-maker,13 Wazobia has successfully maneuvered around the Omu’s objections and backed her new decrees with the conventions which the Omu is trying to uphold. These two women’s goals for the community are quite similar and will eventually help them to unite on this political front. As a member of the younger generation, Wazobia is not as bent on maintaining convention as the older Omu: she speaks of making change happen and taking an active part in altering her community (Onwueme 144). The Omu speaks of willing the hand of the clock to remain still and maintaining the status quo — a goal which is diametrically opposed to Wazobia’s. While Wazobia seeks radical change, Omu, who has lived long enough to see enough change forced upon her people and to know of its consequences, seeks stability in Anioma. Each woman seeks what is best for the community. Wazobia brings her experience as an outsider while Omu speaks as an elder of the village. These women must work together to ensure that both sets of ideals are honored, as each woman is equally interested in the welfare of the community but lacking the knowledge and experience of the other. Wazobia’s actions may be altruistic, but she fails to take into account the reaction of her people and the women whom she protects. Only Ogiso’s widows hear Wazobia’s first decree. For the most part these women respond favorably to the proclamation, though it is unclear whether this is because they agree with Wazobia or simply wish to please her, considering the suppliant position of most of the women upon Wazobia’s entrance and opening remarks (142). The Omu’s objections are out of concern for the conventions of her people and for the safety of the women involved. Failure to dance in the marketplace and prove their innocence could lead to spiritual turmoil in the afterlife. While her concerns may be outdated, the Omu’s fears are founded in a deep belief in the conventions of the community and fear of what this brisk change will bring for the women involved (144). The foundation of her argument is that this is the wrong time to implement changes, and that Wazobia is not considering the consequences of

13 As other characters call Wazobia “King” throughout the play and as Wazobia has all the power of a King, Onwueme implies that the regency of Anioma bestows the regent with the powers of a monarch.

doing so (143). Though Wazobia is working for her community, she is moving her people forward by privileging one idea over the other. The other members of her community view this as another form of colonization because these are ideas that she discovered and developed while away at a Western-styled school. I argue that the outdated ideas of the community are equally colonial because the villagers have not had the opportunity to embrace new ideas, only the opportunity to adapt to ideas forced upon them by outsiders with no understanding of Igbo culture. While reprimanding a wife-beater, Onwueme shouts to a crowd that “For centuries men have rule…misruled us” (150), referring to the centuries of misrule under both indigenous men and the British-appointed community leaders who further subjugated women. A woman’s right to protest abuse in her household was just one of the powers stripped by colonial rule (Van Allen 170). Wazobia’s second decree is to abolish spousal abuse in her community. Here she again uses convention to fend off an incensed and abusive husband who is chasing his battered and bruised wife: the wife (who remains nameless) is able to claim sanctuary in the presence of the King. Wazobia rushes to the woman’s defense and immediately summons all of Anioma (a considerable geographic area) to a meeting in the square the next day. It is there that Wazobia abolishes abuse once and for all, proclaiming that a man should not have to pound a woman like a mortar pounds fufu,14 and that they are equal partners in the community (Onwueme 153). As equal partners, a man does not have the right to beat his wife any more than a wife should be able to beat her husband. This is a new and progressive idea for a society so deeply rooted in its patriarchal past. Wazobia’s third proclamation follows the first in theme: she promotes female education, declaring that all will have the right to an education from schools built within the community. “We all, man, woman, child, must be schooled. […] Schools will be built to tutor women and bring out the best of their potentials, to sharpen their awareness” (153). Wazobia stresses that all will have access to schooling within the community, which will enrich the community as a whole. Here Wazobia implements the African womanist idea of promoting education for all, therefore providing more opportunities for the advancement of the community as a whole.

14 Fufu is a staple of the Igbo diet. It is most commonly made of yams, and is a starchy material that resembles mashed potato. The process of making fufu requires grinding with mortar and pestle over a long period of time (www.congocookbook.com).

Subsequent proclamations of equal right in both property ownership and representation in rulership are dependent upon the education of the women of the Anioma kingdom. It is clear from these two proclamations that Wazobia intends men and women to live together as equals in this kingdom. She proclaims, “Henceforth the symbol of our kingdom shall be the palm tree which from top to bottom has all and produces all: from leaves, to thatch, to shade, to brown. From fruit, to wine, to oil, to kernel…” (154). This is not a coincidental choice for a symbol, as the palm is the most important resource in Nigerian society—palm oil and palm wine are mandatory in ritual ceremony, and men and women alike sell the parts and products of the palm to fund their households (Van Allen 168). Here Wazobia has transformed her kingdom into a community where all are equal producers with equal respect. Naturally, there are men in the crowd who object to Wazobia’s high-handed measures. Two of the most powerful men in the community, Idehen and Iyasa, begin to plot against Wazobia in order to stop her from making more changes to their community. However, with the double proclamation Wazobia gains the trust of the women in the kingdom, including the wise and influential Omu. “With or without men, [the women will] make meaning out of [their lives]” (Onwueme 164). Wazobia does not want war with men, but for women to stand on equal footing with them and to have meaningful, enriched lives. Interestingly enough, Wazobia herself is unable to reap the rewards of her hard-earned success. As King, Wazobia has been redefined. She exists in a state of uncertain gender throughout the entire play, physically female but male in function and position. The purpose behind re-gendering the regent monarch is not known, nor do we understand the reason for such the reassignment of gender. Omofolabo Ajayi-Soyinka has suggested that this re-gendering process may either be a political ploy to show the ineptitude of women to rule or a way to give women a taste of power without fear of them taking a permanent position in political life (Ajayi 114), though she states the scholars do not know the origins of this tradition in Igbo communities. In Parables for A Season, the Anioma people observe this tradition to avoid angering the gods, who will not allow a woman to rule outright (Onwueme 110). Regardless, Wazobia is hereafter referred to as King, not Queen as that title is reserved for her wives. At the beginning of the second movement of the piece, Onwueme’s stage directions indicate that “Wazobia inherits all the royal regalia of the late king, and from now on she can appear in public only in these royal outfits. On no occasion should she be dressed any longer as a woman”

(Onwueme 141). Wazobia’s place as regent means that she is renamed as male, though this is not to say the transition is unnoticed.15 Men consistently correct themselves, belatedly exchanging the word she for he in a deliberate attempt to embarrass the monarch (Onwueme 155). Indeed, it seems that Wazobia is the most conscious of this change, for she is the only character in the text to consistently refer to herself as male or kingly. I argue that this gender change serves to distance Wazobia from her actions as monarch. Movement four’s proclamations pertaining to spousal abuse, education, and funerary rituals will not apply to Wazobia or her family (144). Wazobia’s abusive father is no longer in the picture and makes no appearance in the story other than a brief mention of his abusive ways. It is Wazobia’s father who is accused of pounding his wife as a mortar pounds fufu (138). Wazobia’s poverty-stricken mother must live in exile for the duration of the reign, after which Wazobia must also go into exile. In the third movement, Queen Wa explains that custom dictates that a king must have “neither mother nor father. If any parent lives, he or she must go on some kind of exile. It’s no news that a king’s parents must give way” (138). Without familial presence in the community, Wazobia’s proclamations do not serve her immediate family or herself. The distance between Wazobia and her decrees allows the audience to believe that Wazobia is not acting selfishly or to gain additional power, but because she truly wants to liberate her fellow women from some of the many inequalities that have existed since before colonization. This is not a simple school girl applying her lessons to life, but an impassioned woman working toward a better life for her community. The conflict that arises from Wazobia’s changes is linked directly to the patriarchal system that repressed both Wazobia and her mother, but by providing the women of Anioma with what she did not have as a child Wazobia does not directly serve herself. As altruistic as her intent may be, Wazobia’s reign is endangered because she attempts to change both the colonial and pre-colonial conventions that have forced women into an inferior position in the community, and she attempts these changes too quickly. By forcing change so quickly and with so little warning, Wazobia has upset the day-to-day operations of this Igbo village as well as the special rituals observed in times of crisis or grief. Wazobia poses a threat because her proclamations will change the way of life in her community. Her proclamations will radically redistribute power, shifting the culture from one

15 One should note that as King, Wazobia does not hold the sexual rights of the typical Igbo husband—her wives are such in name only.

that deeply privileges men over women to one in which women are the equals of men. This shift will undo the current power structure, stripping power from those who fought to gain it after decolonization. What Wazobia fails to do is introduce her proclamations in a gradual manner, allowing both the men and women of her community to adjust to and embrace the ideas. The three primary decrees, adjustment of funerary rites, eradication of spousal abuse, and education of females are somewhat foreign concepts to the Anioman people. Wazobia does not explain that these changes will create a more equal society or that they will improve community productivity and harmony. Because Wazobia fails to justify her actions to her people, she cannot explain that her changes are necessary and important; rather, they appear to be the whim of a ruler who has overstepped her rights as a new leader. Wazobia’s decrees seem to make no sense to Idehen, Iyase and the other dissenters, who find her edicts both inappropriate and ridiculous. Iyase quips, “Perhaps this morning, our king has taken a shot of gin too many. It may be necessary for him…” (149). Though Iyase actively covets Wazobia’s position in society, his comments draw others to his aid in opposing her rule. Wazobia’s vision for a better future, a kingdom filled with “human beings with potentials waiting to be actualized for the benefit of this kingdom” (149), is not shared by all. Because her ideas are perceived as foreign, her subject’s reactions tend to be doubtful at best, scathing at worst (149). Wazobia, like many leaders, chooses to rule by unexplained decree. This is reminiscent of both the British-appointed leaders of the colonial years and of the brutish leaders that followed for a time afterward. Oddly, Wazobia’s distance has not allowed her to take into account the reactions of her people and their perception of her royal decrees. Wazobia’s position as both regent and representative of the Western-influenced world has placed her in a tenuous position that creates the conflict that carries us through the play. Onwueme’s text is an extreme example of the repercussions of implementing change quickly, for Wazobia has reinforced the Anioma men’s fears that Western ideals and cultural change threaten and damage their identities within the community and strip them of personal power. When I read it carefully, I believe that The Reign of Wazobia is hyperbole. Wazobia’s extreme reign calls the audience to awareness. The place serves as a warning against the violent privileging of one set of ideals over another. Wazobia rules her community with the best of intentions and near disastrous results. The play ends with men and women ready to shed blood to support their beliefs (new and old) and unable to peacefully find a path for both sets of ideas

to coexist. We do not know if the community ever resolves its conflict, or if Anioma settles its differences though physical violence. We know only that Wazobia’s best attempts to inspire change in her community bring her people to the brink of warfare. We leave Wazobia and her people as we found them, opposing sides poised for war. The spectator must choose an ending for the piece, contemplate whether Wazobia’s choices for her people are feasible for her kingdom, and analyze whether a radical redistribution of power could create such animosity in any society.

CONCLUSION

As I find my time with Prodigal Daughters coming to a close, I have come to the conclusion that I cannot in such a short project fully understand Onwueme’s women or their communities. I began my research into The Broken Calabash, Parables for A Season, and The Reign of Wazobia with very little understanding of Africa, Nigeria, or the Igbo. I have broadened my knowledge of the customs of the Igbo and the history of Nigeria by reading the research of others, not through personal experience. As a western woman, I feel as though I only know half of the story: these women have stories that I do not yet understand. In my introduction I felt the need to examine the historical background of Nigeria, particularly during the years of British colonialism and the country’s subsequent independence from imperial rule. I focused my attentions primarily on women’s struggles during this time, but found that the troubles of women could not be separated from those of Nigerian men. I was forced to reevaluate what it meant to live under colonial rule as an Igbo man or woman, and found that the stories that Onwueme presents in her trio of plays suddenly went much deeper than I’d originally thought. I revised my original topic of Onwueme’s plays as a “feminist call to arms” and found myself instead studying the conflict between education, women, and fears of imperialism that have never faded. Feminist, womanist, postcolonial, and critical works informed my reading and interpretation of Onwueme’s three plays. The Broken Calabash introduced the conflict of the play, but also introduced me to one of the lesser practiced traditions of the Igbo culture; the Idgebe practice. While this tradition is central to the plot of the play, I found myself more drawn to the conflict between father and daughter. Miscommunication between generations proved to be the enemy of Cortuma and Ona in this particular piece, dividing the father-daughter duo and rendering them incapable of coming to an understanding on the matter of Ona’s fate as an Idgebe. As in all three of Onwueme’s plays, the miscommunication was not resolved. Rather, Ona’s desire to subvert the customs that suppress her results in rash statement and the death of her father. Parables for A Season continued the story of the educated Igbo woman, though Ona’s individual story remains firmly bound within Calabash. Parables introduced me to Anehe, Zo, and Bia, three women who are representative of the different paths to female power within a traditional Igbo society. I was surprised at how very apt the play’s title was, for divine

intervention did indeed reward the woman whose actions could be considered most moral. Wazobia created herself from the women who surrounded her and became a symbolic figure of a united Nigeria, taking power to promote the welfare of her community. The Reign of Wazobia is perhaps the most interesting of the three plays I studied as it included many characters from Parables. I expected a continuation of Wazobia’s story and was not disappointed. While the storylines are incongruous and some of the plot points do not match, as a whole the play shows Wazobia as an admirable leader, but a human one. Divinely appointed or not, Wazobia makes mistakes during her reign. Her actions serve as an example to both eastern and western audiences that change does not come easily. It is just as easy to destroy a society as it is to improve it. Once again, Onwueme left us wondering how the community would fare. I have learned a great deal from my time with Onwueme’s women. I believe that my research on the traditions of Igbo society and the historical background of colonial Nigeria have better informed me about the challenges the Igbo encounter every time they try to change their communities. I also believe that my close examination of these three works has served to complicate my understanding of the link between culture and history. My ideas of tradition now allow for the fact that custom is not static, but ever changing. The very amorphous nature of cultural practice makes me question appeals to tradition in almost any context, whether it be in a Nigerian community or in an American suburb. In particular, this project has opened up questions about scholarly or theoretical approaches to work by individuals from cultures not my own. As a mixed-heritage, American woman I find that I am able to relate in some small part to the struggles that Onwueme’s characters encounter. I sympathize with the desire to rail against the alteration of traditions, especially when those practices provide emotional security to those who practice them. However, as I am a product of changing viewpoints I find that I also sympathize with Onwueme’s heroines, most particularly Wazobia. Future research on this material may concentrate on the tradition of re-gendering a female monarch. Why is a female unable to hold power in her society; why is Wazobia re-gendered? Wazobia’s status as a male gendered, female sexed character within the play raises interesting questions about maleness in power. How does Wazobia perform this maleness, and how does it aide in her in the goal of changing her community? How does operating as a male challenge

Wazobia in her position as King, and how can we link this gender performance to the power performances of non-fictional female leaders in contemporary society? Is Wazobia representative of the trend toward masculinity in the woman-leader, or is this phenomenon found solely in the female Igbo regent? I hope to extend my research into this trio of plays by Onwueme by continuing my exploration of Nigerian and Igbo cultural practices. Such work will be informed by the knowledge of native literary scholars, anthropologists, and sociologists whose experiences may enlighten this western reader about the views of another culture. It is with some regret that I leave Tess Onwueme’s prodigal daughters. I relish the thought of returning to them again as a better informed western woman than I was when I began this project. It is also my hope that these women will continue to whisper their secrets from the pages of these inspired plays, and that their battles will continue to inspire me to examine my own cultural and political experiences.

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BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

Kimi D. Johnson grew up in San Antonio, Texas and attended college in her home town at Trinity University. She earned her BA in 2005 and it was her work at Trinity that sparked Kimi’s interest in pursuing a graduate degree in theatre studies. She attended Florida State University to continue her education in the Fall of 2005. Kimi is currently completing her requirements for her MA in Theatre Studies and is teaching theatre and debate at Clara Driscoll Middle School in San Antonio. In the Fall of 2008 she will begin work on her PhD in Theatre Historiography and Criticism at the University of Minnesota.