Purple Hibiscus

“A love sip, he called it, because you shared the little things you loved with the people you loved […] The tea was always too hot, always burned my tongue.” 

Papa is usually quite stern with his children, so when he poignantly shares sips of tea with Kambili, she lovingly accepts his gift, despite its scalding heat. The heat indicates that even the “love” he gives his family is too harsh, implying that he cannot reciprocate unconditional love.

“Jaja’s defiance seems like Ifeoma’s experimental purple hibiscus: rare, fragrant with the undertones of freedom, a different kind of freedom from the one the crowds waving green leaves chanted at Government Square after the coup. A freedom to be, to do.” 

Jaja craves the rare freedom to be the man he wants to be and is thus compared to the equally rare purple hibiscus. He also identifies with the complex nature of the flower in its blend of two colors, red and blue, to create a new hue. The combination of two pure, or primary colors, also implies that mixing past ways with new ways will create a new and different future—ideals Jaja will embrace.

“The principal, Mother Lucy, wrote, ‘A brilliant, obedient student and a daughter to be proud of.’ But I knew Papa would not be proud […] I had come in second. I was stained by failure.” 

When Kambili does not make first girl in her class, she knows she has failed in Papa’s eyes. Regardless of how positively others see Kambili and how much credit she deserves for her achievements, Papa will only accept perfection, justifying said perfection as God’s way.

“Mud-and-thatch huts stood close to three-story houses that nestled behind ornate metal gates […] Naked and semi-naked children played with limp footballs […] Our house still took my breath away, the four-story white majesty of it, with the spurting fountain in front and the coconut trees flanking it on both sides.” 

This scene reveals the socioeconomic divide between Kambili’s privileged existence and that of most villagers, who are poor. Ironically, the villagers seem to live fuller lives than those in isolation, as exemplified by the abuse the family suffers at the hands of Papa.

“Papa gave them each ten naira from a wad of notes he pulled out of his hold-all. ‘Greet your parents, make sure you show them this money.’” 

Papa appears both generous and pretentious as a public figure, but privately he is stingy and cruel to his family, so his “gifts” arrive as hollow and do more to stroke Papa’s own ego than they do to show his family that he loves them.

“Sometimes life begins where marriage ends.” 

Aunty Ifeoma makes this statement after Mama tells her that every woman must have a husband and children. Mama cannot understand this attitude and blames Aunty Ifeoma’s viewpoint as “university talk,” indicating a rift between educated and uneducated women—those with strictly domestic outlooks as opposed to those with far broader knowledge of the world. Aunty Ifeoma emphasizes that women don’t need men to fulfill their lives or to provide for them.

“I watched every movement she made; I could not tear my ears away. It was the fearlessness about her, about the way she gestured as she spoke, the way she smiled.”

When Kambili first witnesses the force that is Aunty Ifeoma, she is awestruck. Never has she been around such an independent woman. Ifeoma is the antithesis of Mama: Mama displays meekness, subservience, and seriousness, while Aunty Ifeoma exudes strength, confidence, and cheerfulness. Aunty Ifeoma’s voice strikes Kambili most, as she cannot “tear her ears away” from the ideas that Aunty Ifeoma boldly professes.

“Eugene has to stop doing God’s job. God is big enough to do his own job. If God will judge our father for choosing to follow the way of our ancestors, then let God do the judging, not Eugene.”

Papa will not allow his father to enter his house because of Papa-Nnukwu’s religious beliefs, even though Papa-Nnukwu is dying. Consequently, Aunty Ifeoma is livid when she makes this emphatic statement to Mama. Christians are forewarned against judging others, and readers are well aware that Papa is highly judgmental. This attitude eventually erodes all his close relationships and directly leads to his untimely death.

“We said morning prayers […] a string of short prayers punctuated by        songs. Aunty Ifeoma prayed for the university, […] for Nigeria, and finally, she prayed that we might find peace and laughter today. […] I looked up to seek out Jaja’s face, to see if he, too, was bewildered that Aunty Ifeoma and her family prayed for, of all things, laughter.”

Aunty Ifeoma and her family believe laughter is an essential quality in life. Laughter provides joy amid strife and difficulty. It refreshes and heals the soul and is a shared experience, and often contagious. If laughter is lost, life is not worth living.

“Aunty Ifeoma prayed for Papa-Nnukwu. She asked God to stretch a healing hand over him […] She asked the Blessed Virgin to pray for him. She asked the angels to take charge of him […] When Papa prayed for Papa-Nnukwu, he asked only that God convert him and save him from the raging fires of hell.”

Kambili is taken aback at the blatant disparity between Aunty Ifeoma and Papa’s prayers for Papa-Nnukwu. Aunty Ifeoma’s prayers exemplify compassionate, caring, direct, and soulful concern for his well-being, while Papa’s prayers remain distant, condemnatory, illusive, and devoid of any feeling for his own father because of his beliefs. Kambili now realizes how different her own world is compared to the one in Nsukka.

“Then I heard Amaka’s sobbing. It was loud and throaty; she laughed the way she cried. She had not learned the art of silent crying; she had not needed to.”

Kambili notes how Amaka unapologetically releases her emotions. In this case, Papa-Nnukwu has just died, and Amaka is deeply affected by his passing, so she cries with abandon. Kambili also discerns the difference between the way she has learned to cry, which she deems “the art of silent crying,” in which one is forced to suppress genuine emotions and replace them with silence. This is in stark contrast to Amaka’s liberated expressions of emotion.

“Aunty Ifeoma’s eyes hardened—she was not looking at Amaka, she was looking at me. ‘O ginidi, Kambili, have you no mouth? Talk back to her!’ […] ‘So your voice can be this loud, Kambili,’ [Amaka] said.” 

Kambili has difficulty speaking because she stutters and cannot correctly form the words she wants to express, a frustrating and embarrassing reality. Her fear of Papa’s disapproval deters her speech as well. Speech is free and encouraged at Aunty Ifeoma’s, but Kambili remains reticent. Only when Aunty Ifeoma, the strong female who serves as Kambili’s role model, pushes her does Kambili finally find her voice and use it freely.

“‘See how your cousin sits quiet and watches?’ Father Amadi asked, gesturing to me. ‘She does not waste her energy in picking never-ending arguments. But there is a lot going on in her mind, I can tell.’”

Kambili uses her newfound voice sparingly, but Father Amadi senses that her mind is active. He admires her ability to witness and analyze the world around her, a strength she proves to readers with her acute observations throughout the novel.

“Didn’t he know that I did not want him to leave, ever? […] 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.”

Kambili’s senses are alive when around Father Amadi; she smells his cologne, notices his smooth skin, hears his melodious voice, and tastes the sweet lightness she feels inside when she yearns to tell him what is in her heart. Her feelings for him have matured and are “overripe fruit,” meaning it is past time for her to open up to him. However, Father Amadi knows how Kambili feels, and verbalizing those emotions would be futile, as he has no choice but to ultimately live a life separate from her.

“‘Papa-Nnukwu is alive,’ Jaja said in English, with authority, as if doing so would make his words come true. The same tone God must have used when He said, ‘Let there be Light.’”

Jaja recognizes Papa-Nnukwu’s spiritual worth and that his “heathen” beliefs are enough to bring him life after death. This idea contrasts Papa’s belief that his father will be eternally doomed if he is not religiously converted. Jaja makes this statement with such authority, Kambili cannot help but notice his wise and omniscient manner.

“Mama was at the door when we drove into our compound. Her face was swollen and the area around her right eye was the black-purple shade of an overripe avocado. She was smiling.” 

Upon their return home, Kambili and Jaja notice that Mama has endured yet another beating. The “black-purple” color represents Papa’s black heart, while the purple and purple represents the power that Papa is fighting against. The overripe fruit indicates it is past time for Papa to pay for his sins against his family, and Mama is smiling because her children are returning home. They are her refuge and chief reason for living.

“Papa’s prayer before dinner was longer than usual: he asked God to cleanse his children, to remove whatever spirit it was that made them lie to him about being in the same house as a heathen.” 

Papa is still in denial and blames everyone but himself for his own sins. Instead of condemning Papa-Nnukwu, he should accept him unconditionally. His impossible expectations force Kambili and Jaja to “lie” about something they don’t believe is a sin. Papa needs cleansing, not his children.

“I wanted to tell Mama that it did feel different to be back, that our living room had too much empty space, too much wasted marble floor […] Our ceilings were too high. Our furniture was lifeless.” 

Kambili’s house isolates individuals separated by space and walls, whereas the limited space in Aunty Ifeoma’s home brings people together and allows them to interact and coexist in harmony with each other. Kambili’s house and its trappings correspond to the characters’ empty souls and spiritual glumness.

“He laughed and said he believed they could jump higher than they could […] It was what Aunty Ifeoma did to my cousins, I realized then, […] in what she expected of them […] believing they would scale the rod. And they did. It was different for Jaja and me. We did not scale the rod because we believed we could, we scaled it because we were terrified that we couldn’t.”

Kambili’s awareness grows as she realizes Father Amadi and Aunty Ifeoma both instill confidence in youth through love, which motivates the children to achieve whatever they attempt. Aunty Ifeoma expects her children to believe in themselves; this is not based on an external force that expects perfection, as Papa would.

“I smiled. I had never felt the companionship I felt sitting next to her, listening to her Fela and Onyeka cassettes on the tiny tape-player-radio […] I had never felt the comfortable silence we shared.”

Eventually, Amaka fully accepts Kambili, and their relationship becomes symbiotic, and even affectionate and sisterly. She introduces Kambili to popular culture through music, a pleasure they share without having to talk. Kambili embraces this level of “comfortable silence” with a kindred soul who functions as something akin to a spiritual guide to Kambili.

“I did want to talk to Papa, to hear his voice, to tell him what I had eaten and what I had prayed about so that he would approve […] And yet, I did not want to talk to him; I wanted to leave with Father Amadi, or with Aunty Ifeoma, and never come back.” 

Kambili fears Papa and craves his approval through much of the novel. Psychologically, she is still conditioned to this type of response when talking to her father, but emotionally and spiritually, she has changed and recognizes her intuition telling her what she knows is truth—she will have no freedom until she breaks from Papa completely.

“‘They did an autopsy’, she said. ‘They have found the poison in your father’s body […] I started putting the poison in his tea before I came to Nsukka. Sisi got it for me; her uncle is a powerful witch doctor.’” 

Given that Mama has endured so many years of horrific physical, emotional, psychological, and spiritual abuse, her actions make sense. In an act of silent revenge, she maintains her subservient demeanor as she poisons Papa’s tea. She depends on “pagan practices” to do the deed, symbolizing her refusal to completely adopt Papa’s ways. 

“Nsukka could free something deep inside your belly that would rise up to your throat and come out as a freedom song. As laughter.” 

Kambili reflects on her time in Nsukka, noting how its restorative qualities plumb the depths of the human experience to reveal liberty and joy. This special place is filled with folklore, natural beauty, healing power, education, art, and music. Nsukka is especially significant because it’s where Kambili and Jaja flower and find themselves.