Purple Hibiscus

By Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

‘Aunty Ifeoma’s little garden next to the verandah of her flat in Nsukka began to lift the silence. Jaja’s defiance seemed to me now like Aunty Ifeoma’s experimental purple hibiscus: rare, fragrant with the undertones of freedom…But my memories did not start at Nsukka. They started before, when all the hibiscuses in our front yard were a startling red.’

The hibiscus plant grows in various bright colours, most commonly red. Known for its vibrancy, it is quite popular in tropical and subtropical regions. The novel’s namesake is a statement of change, a comment on the shift from a ‘startling,’ intense past, when life was filled to the brim with bold, saturated red anger, violence and loaded silence, and into the promise of light and airy lavender, a new, sweetly ‘fragrant’ future of freedom, healing, laughter and ease.

‘Purple Hibiscus’ follows the story of young Kambili, a 15 year old girl from Enugu, Nigeria. It is more than a novel, it is the unveiled truth behind spiritual abuse. It is navigating through pain and unlearning everything one has ever known when faced with newfound freedom.

Fear and Love

Through Kambili’s eyes, in subtle tones, Adichie articulates the intensely ambivalent relationship between a child and an abusive parent. Our protective instincts urge us to scream get away from him, but it is not so straightforward. Kambili and her older brother Jaja’s beginning battle between the love and fear they held in their hearts for their father reminded me of the psychological phenomenon explored in ‘The Truman Show’ – how we blindly accept the reality of the world with which we are presented. Although their father was a hyper-religious Christian, abusive and severely strict toward his whole family, to Kambili and Jaja, this was simply just how papa was.

He was a pillar of the community, highly respected by everyone, second to the priest! They led honourable, ‘pure’ lives in the name of God. Papa only did what was best for his family. Raised in fear, yes, but the love his children had for him was just as strong. He provided everything for them, taught them how to be good, devout Christians – they were lucky to have such a father. And so the cruel restrictions, the highly rigid schedule, and the extreme punishments were all overlooked. Kambili did not ever doubt her father’s love. And she had the added ‘daughter effect’ of being the only one who could bring out a certain slight softness in him; even while punishing her, there would be tears in his eyes, and that was all she saw of him. She was not capable of looking past his tears, despite the peeling skin on her feet from the boiling water he poured over her, despite her own loud cries in pain, she did not for a moment doubt that this was how it was supposed to be. 

Jaja was the first to become defiant, the first out of the two to challenge their father’s authority. Hitherto, neither felt they had the power to speak up, how could they disrespect their father like that? It was love and familiarity that clouded their ability to even recognise that they could push back – until Nsukka.  

Nsukka

Auntie Ifeoma’s three children lived entirely different lives to their privileged cousins. Kambili took a while to become accustomed to things she did not even realise she took for granted; like not flushing the toilet often to save water, drinking only powdered milk because real milk was too expensive, and rationing fuel as it wasn’t always readily available in Nsukka. Yet, soon it became apparent to Kambili, Auntie Ifeoma was far from poor. She was rich in laughter, her dinner table filled with lively discussion and deep connection. After Nsukka, Kambili finally began to feel the heaviness of the silent meals with papa back home. Her and Jaja always had full bellies after dinner, but they left that table every day starving. 

But after experiencing life away from papa, away from his control and oppression, a new light within them awakened; and then there was no going back.

‘I had smiled, run, laughed. My chest was filled with something like bath foam. Light. The lightness was so sweet I tasted it on my tongue, the sweetness of an overripe bright yellow cashew fruit.’

What an incredible impact it has on a child, to be in a nurturing, safe environment. The relief and ease that comes with laughter and smiles, the space to build one’s own values and beliefs, the confidence to speak up and fight back. To lead with love, not fear. 

In my opinion, Adichie gives a very satisfying ending. There was light at the end of the tunnel, and the freedom of bright, kind purple hibiscus, rare and fragrant, is deeply felt.