The significance of magical realism in the novels of Elechi Amadi

Abstract

In the novels The Concubine and The Great Ponds, Elechi Amadi, through the magical realist tradition, revisits the precolonial past of the Ikwerre (Nigeria) to showcase the cultural and intellectual sophistication of this society. As represented in Amadi’s writing, this was a well-structured society with its own credible social and cultural values that defined and explained their worldview, with nothing to envy in the West. In The Concubine, for example, the fates of the men (Emenike, Madume, and Ekwueme) who intend to marry Ihuoma can be explained naturally as well as supernaturally. In The Great Ponds, the novelist employs African mythology to critique the Western arrogance and egocentricity that plunged the world in the purposeless and wasteful war of 1914–18, as well as complicating character and meaning in this novel through the supernatural. Through the war over fishing rights in the Wagaba pond between Chiolu and Aliakoro, Amadi transposes some of the consequences of the First World War, such as the death and suffering that involved the Central and Allied Powers, into his narrative. Amadi’s magical realist fiction is a celebration of indigenous beliefs and culture, as well as a tool to explore character and history.

The terms magical realism, magic realism, or marvellous realism are especially challenging to define. Part of the difficulty in arriving at comprehensive definitions of these words is the perspective of the reader. Whereas some readers, particularly those familiar with the traditions or worldviews depicted in a particular text, might consider what is regarded as magical to be ontological and culturally relative, others who are unacquainted with such cultural representations would envision them as magical. By ontology, I mean that the supernatural constitutes part of a people’s worldview or sense of reality, which might be perceived as magical by those who do not share the cultural experience. In both The Concubine and The Great Ponds, Nigerian author Elechi Amadi (1934–2016), through the magical realist tradition, plumbs European prejudice that regards Africa as an unimaginative and mindless place. As Achille Mbembe pointedly observes, “Africa is never seen as possessing things and attributes properly part of ‘human nature’. Or, when it is, its things and attributes are generally of lesser value, little importance, and poor quality” (Mbembe, 2001: 1). Amadi’s fiction, therefore, represents a portrait of the Ikwerre people, a subgroup of the Igbo people from southeastern Nigeria, in their cultural splendour while also critiquing Europe for initiating a war that claimed millions of lives globally. Ikwerre is a well-organized society with a plausible belief system that is anchored in the supernatural, showing the interconnectedness between the physical and spiritual realms of the life of Amadi’s compatriots. The realm of the supernatural appears embedded in that of reality, resulting in ambiguity in his novels. Moreover, Amadi textualizes the culture of the Ikwerre people and foregrounds their religion and worldview as a credible alternative to those of the West. Concomitantly, by depicting in a magical realist paradigm the war between the villages of Chiolu and Aliakoro in The Great Ponds, Amadi not only decries the consequences of war by reimagining the First World War that pitted the Central Powers (Germany, Austria-Hungary, the Ottoman Empire, Bulgaria) against the Allied Powers (Britain, France, Russia, Italy, the USA), but he also demonstrates the power of magical realism as a tool to comment on character, conflict, and love. He appropriates the oral traditions of the Ikwerre people in order to appraise both African and Western culture, thought, and perceptions of life.

Amadi has not received as much critical attention as his contemporary, the late Chinua Achebe, even though both writers started writing at the same time, that is, the 1950s. Achebe is often credited with launching the modern African novel, and Amadi is perceived as reimagining magical realism in African fiction following Amos Tutuola’s seminal novel, The Palm-Wine Drinkard (1953). However, while Tutuola has often been faulted for his indulgence in a version of fantasy that undermines the believability of his narrative and also for his rather plain narrative style, Amadi is renowned for the ability to naturalize the supernatural. He presents readers with realistic portrayals of traditional African religion, divination, and mythology in a sophisticated, credible, and compelling manner that brings to the fore the seemingly contentious perceptions of reality in the African and European imaginary.

The history of magical realism is complicated and may be seen as spanning several decades, or over a century, depending on the perspective. The first period is traced to the Germany of the 1920s with Franz Roh (1890–1965) as the pioneering leader. In fact, Roh is credited for conceiving the term magical realism to describe a new form of post-expressionist painting. The second phase of magical realism, concerned essentially with blurring the boundary between magic and reality, is believed to have emerged in Central America in the 1940s, with the Cuban writer, Alejo Carpentier (1904–1980), coining “marvellous realism” to describe a concept that brings together various cultural systems and experiences in an extraordinary manner. Magical realism focused on critiquing the Western perception of reality in its third phase, and it is said to have started in 1955, in Latin America, with Gabriel García Márquez (1927–2014). In 1955, Angel Flores (1900–1992) is also believed to have used the expression “magical realism” in attempting to combine aspects of magic realism and marvellous realism.

For centuries, magical realism has inhered in African narratives, as seen in the diverse folktales that are predicated on the supernatural. These stories have an array of characters and plots drawn from the physical and spiritual worlds. Whereas what some people consider real denotes everyday experiences, the magical, as shall be discussed in the works of Amadi, is often grounded in mythology, folktales, and other forms of orality. These narratives generally serve an aetiological purpose and are used to castigate societal vices, as well as emphasize virtues. A salient example is Sundiata, an ancient epic of Mali that celebrates, through the use of the supernatural, the extraordinary deeds of its eponymous hero (Niane, 2006).

Whatever the origin of magical realism, it is now a thriving form in contemporary literature, with noticeable geographical differences in the ways this is represented and from what perspective. For instance, the West African brand of magical realism tends to be contemporaneous in its exploration of societal norms and the relationship between human beings and the spirit world. By contrast, the Caribbean version understandably seems to be preoccupied with the issue of slavery and the relationship between ex-slaves and ex-colonizers.

Magical realism, according to Maggie Ann Bowers, refers to fiction which brings “together the seemingly opposed perspectives of a pragmatic, practical and tangible approach to reality and an acceptance of magic and superstition into the context of the same novel” (2004: 3). Magical realism, again in Bowers’ words,

fuses two opposing aspects of the oxymoron (the magical and the realist) together to form one new perspective. Because it breaks down the distinction between the usually opposing terms of the magical and the realist, magical realism is often considered to be a disruptive narrative mode. (2004: 3–4)

Magical realism is suitable for exploring boundaries, be they political, ontological, or geographical. It involves the naturalization of the supernatural, the fusion or coexistence of possible worlds, spaces, and systems that would be conflicting in other types of fiction. It relies on the full acceptance by the reader of the veracity of the version of events in a story, no matter how different it may be from his or her opinions, or judgements.

Brenda Cooper, in her study Magical Realism in West African Fiction, argues that magical realism strives to capture the paradox of a unity of opposites; the form “contests polarities such as history versus magic, the pre-colonial past versus the post-industrial present and life versus death” (1998: 1). Cooper also suggests that magical realism thrives on transitions, the process of change, borders, and ambiguities. It could be seen as a fictional device of the supernatural, taken from a source that the writer presents from a realist and historical standpoint (Cooper, 1998: 15–16). The writer, according to Cooper, attempts to capture reality by depicting life as multidimensional, seen and unseen, rational and mysterious, visible and invisible. In this process, he or she walks a tightrope between capturing this reality and providing the exotic escape from reality arguably desired by a Western readership (Cooper, 1998: 32). Expressed differently, magical realism is an extension of realism in its concern with reality and its representation. The in-betweenness of magical realist texts encourages resistance to any uniform interpretation of issues in them, be they cultural, social, or political.

In magical realist works, “magic” could be associated with the supernatural, the mysterious, or even a strange occurrence that defies the logical principle of causality assumed to be the operational force in a work. In other words, “magic” represents, in the words of Bowers,

[any] extraordinary occurrence and particularly […] anything spiritual or unaccountable by rational science. The variety of magical occurrences in magic(al) realist writing includes ghosts, disappearances, miracles, extraordinary talents and strange atmospheres but does not include the magic as it is found in a magic show. (Bowers, 2004: 21–22)

It is important to note that an understanding of realism rests with the reader who “constructs the sense of reality from the narrative rather than the text revealing the author’s interpretation of reality to the reader” (Bowers, 2004: 22).

Indeed, magical realism works on the assumption of an extraordinary experience. Thus, realism is plausible not because of its true reflection of the real world, but because it is contrived from a real or familiar experience. To quote Stephen Hart and Wen-chin Ouyang, the “realism of the real is permeated by magic just as the world of the magical is underpinned by the real” (2005: 4). In other words, the magical in a story can be multidimensional, indicating layers of cultures, or civilizations. In fact, after reading a magical realist story, it may be difficult to determine the real from the magical, or to know where fact leaves off and fancy begins (Young and Holloman, 1984: 4). Because of the somehow seamless combination of the real and the magical, imaginary things are presented in a persuasive way. Magical realism incorporates the conventions of classical realism such as engaging plots and credible characters and even employs some of the devices that are associated with postmodernism like irony, parody, pastiche, and intertextuality. Thus, at best, magical realism contains a hybrid plot in that it yokes diverse elements and brings freshness to meaning, or reality.

Moreover, magical realism, as stated earlier, tends to be opposed to cultural imperialism and it can be reactionary in conception because of its retention of the element of difference from Western literature. For example, García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude (1970/1967), especially the episode of the workers’ revolt in which thousands of “natives” die, can be seen as a counter discourse to the West. Márquez employs a fantasy reflective of Latin American culture in order to subvert the Western perception of things, or even symbolize resistance to Western imperialism.

In Amadi’s magical realist fiction, the reader is always challenged to suspend disbelief in the events recounted in the story as the real and unreal interconnect, tearing down any barriers or space between both worlds, and problematizing the fate of the protagonists. The actions of Ihuoma, Wago, and Aliakoro, for example, seem to be activated by spirit beings. Amadi’s fiction also functions as a representation of history in that it celebrates traditional Ikwerre beliefs and culture against imperial oppression. In the process, his writing questions Western perception of reality; and equally, suggests a diversity of views within his own society with regard to the relation between the magical and the real — as noted, for example, in the doubt expressed by the sea man in The Concubine contracted by Ekwueme to help bind the Sea-King. Indeed, the Ikwerre sense of life, their hopes and frustrations, are inscribed within Amadi’s narrative.

Ikwerre representations of the supernatural, like those of most traditional societies of Africa, are evident in their long-established religion, cultural beliefs, mythology, divination, and their conception of the universe and the relationship between the living and the living dead. These different perceptions of the world reflect a traditional Ikwerre idea of the close relationship between the physical and the spiritual such that a break in the delicate balance between these spaces can cause confusion, or even death. Thus, the traditional Ikwerre worldview appears all-inclusive, embodying the living, the departed, and the unborn. The entire community, as Rose Ure Mezu states, “has a sensibility to the delicate balance between human society and natural forces in the universe — sometimes visible, sometimes invisible” (2006: 190). As a result, the traditional Ikwerre vision of life appears to have been shaped by its ethos, history, and belief-system. In other words, traditional religion has to do mainly, as Emmanuel Meziemadu Okoye argues, with the belief in local gods/goddesses, the offering of kola nuts to ancestors and guests, and the taking of oaths and titles (1987: 30). Traditional religion largely moderates the worldview of the Ikwerre and, according to Oladele Taiwo, this kind of religion in an African society

places great emphasis on supernatural agencies. […] He [the African] reconciles himself to these forces and treats them with reverence and dignity. He believes that his every action is guided and directed by spirits. (1967: 127)

Amadi’s two novels, The Concubine (1966) and The Great Ponds (1969), explore a tragic sequence of events as humans grapple with the issue of existence or probe their relationship with external forces. For its part, The Concubine is the story of Ihuoma, a village beauty who is trailed by a pattern of misfortune in her matrimonial life. Presented as charming, humble, honest, and gentle, Ihuoma is the envy of several men. After losing her first husband, Emenike, under strange circumstances, men such as Madume and Ekwueme, who admire and intend to wed her, experience mysterious deaths. While Ihuoma is unaware of the aura of fatality that appears to surround her, medicine people like Anyika and Agwoturumbe intimate that she is the wife of the extremely jealous Sea-King, who unleashes death upon any man who attempts to marry her.

Generally, as indicated earlier, Amadi employs the supernatural or magical realism in his fiction as a form of riposte to the European myth of Africa as a dark continent, a place where, in the European imaginary, nothing existed. Against this Eurocentric conception of Africa, he portrays the religious beliefs and worldview of the Ikwerre prior to the encounter with Europe. The Concubine, for instance, is set in a precolonial past, a period when traditional religion was highly regarded and had, among other attributions, reputed diviners who could handle the psychological problems within the community. This is represented as an Edenic past characterized by the integrity of individuals and values, unlike contemporary times with charlatans masquerading as diviners. Thus, in both The Concubine and The Great Ponds, Amadi demonstrates the power of magical realist fiction by using African oral traditions to comment on love, conflict, and culture. His novels adumbrate an alternative canon to Western literature that challenges the latter’s claim to operate on the principles of believability and realism.

Ihuoma’s character and the fate of the men that love and marry her are good examples of the traces of magical realism in The Concubine. According to Alfred Kiema, Ihuoma’s perfect nature and her difference from other characters suggest her “natural supernaturalism” (2008: 53). Her compelling beauty, exquisite manners, humility, and poise set her apart from other women in the novel. These are qualities that make some people believe that she is not worldly, but otherworldly; not natural, but supernatural. The image of Ihuoma that comes across throughout the story is that of a femme fatale, an archetypal figure of a woman whose irresistible beauty lures men to their death. Her grace and extraordinary virtues leave many people in Omokachi in awe. Even Anyika attests to her uniqueness: “There are few women like that in the world”. Anyika continues, “It is death to marry them and they leave behind a harrowing string of dead husbands. They are usually beautiful, very beautiful, but dogged by their invisible husbands of the spirit world” (Amadi, 1966: 255). ¹ Ihuoma is not conscious of her powers of attraction, an issue that is central to the tragic finality of the story: “These things are strange and almost funny. I certainly don’t feel like a daughter of the sea” (261).

Emenike, Ihuoma’s husband, is commonly believed to have died as a result of lock-chest that he sustained from a fight with Madume. Even as Ihuoma reflects on the circumstances of her husband’s death, which she herself attributes to hard labour on the farm, her mother, Okachi, argues that Emenike died because of the malevolence of people like Madume and Wolu. While it seems reasonable that Okachi makes this claim based on what she considers the feigned sympathy of Wolu, Madume’s wife, towards Ihuoma, a close look at the circumstances of Emenike’s death appear to point to superior forces as responsible for this calamity. When Emenike consults the shrine of Amadioha, the image that he sees on the face of Nwokekoro, the priest of this god, portends disaster for Emenike:

He gazed at the priest and immediately regretted that he had done so, for in the priest’s face he read mild reproach, pity, awe, power, wisdom, love, life and — yes, he was sure — death. He felt the cold grip of despair, and the hollow sensation which precedes a great calamity. (22)

It would seem that by an uncanny prescience, Nwokekoro is aware of Emenike’s incipient death, but he is unsure of its cause probably because, as Anyika admits, of the influence of the Sea-King that prevented the priest and other people from knowing the truth.

Shortly after the demise of Emenike, certain happenings inexorably point towards the death of Madume. First, when he walks into Ihuoma’s compound with the intention of seducing her, he cuts the nail of his big toe. After consulting Anyika, he is warned not to have any dealings with her: “They don’t want you to have anything to do with Ihuoma. They have been on the lookout for you” (74). At this juncture, Anyika is unable to explain what he means by “they”. What is certain to him is that, but for the talisman buried in Madume’s compound, several powerful spirits would have already killed him. However, being a big-eyed man, Madume, in attempting to harvest a plantain belonging to Ihuoma, is blinded by a spitting cobra. Subsequently, he commits suicide — due to frustration, or perhaps to the machination of the Sea-King. Here, Amadi conflates the worlds of reality and the supernatural in the sense that while Madume’s death can be convincingly attributed to suicide, it is also possible to question whether or not a mysterious force has triggered this tragedy. In this connection, Geoffrey Finch argues with regard to Amadi’s fiction that “the chief characters are engaged in a fierce struggle to control their destiny, a struggle which is seen as an attempt both to control their own emotional life and to face the existential mystery of life” (1975: 15). Thus Amadi, in recounting the fate of the men that attempt to marry Ihuoma, presents the reader with opposing explanations: either attributing the deaths of her suitors to accidents, or explaining their downfall to the handiwork of an all-powerful supernatural force in the form of the Sea-King.

Now enters Ekwueme into what one may call Ihuoma’s dreadful arena. Following the collapse of his marriage to Ahurole, Ekwueme desires to marry Ihuoma. After convincing his parents to accept his choice of wife, Ekwueme is surprised by Anyika’s misgivings about the likely success of the marriage. According to the dibia, Ihuoma is not intended for marriage because of the wrath of the Sea-King, who is jealously in love with her. Ihuoma, Anyika insists, belongs to the spirit world, but she took on human form against the wishes of her husband, the Sea-King. Anyika now unravels the mystery surrounding the deaths of Emenike and Madume:

Madume became blind through a spitting cobra and eventually hanged himself. Many thought his death was the result of an unfortunate accident, a just reward for his “big-eye.” I must say that I had the same views at the time. But it is now very clear. Madume’s real trouble began after he had assaulted Ihuoma while she was harvesting plantains. Added to this was the fact that he had a secret desire to make Ihuoma his lover or maybe marry her. All this was too much for the Sea-King and he himself assumed the form of a serpent and dealt with his rival. Just before Emenike died I detected some water spirits among the throng that eventually liquidated him. When Madume came to me for divination once I also stumbled on these water spirits. Somehow their connection with Ihuoma eluded me. The Sea-King himself probably confused me at the time. (254)

In the light of these events, it would be foolhardy, according to Anyika, for Ekwueme to contemplate marrying Ihuoma. In fact, Anyika describes the Sea-King as implacable, hence there is nothing that could be done to facilitate a successful union between Ekwueme and Ihuoma. It is up to the reader to reflect on Anyika’s revelations about the aura of fatality that seems to surround Ihuoma. Ekwueme, like any suspicious reader, seeks the advice of Agwoturumbe, another powerful diviner. He too, like Anyika, acknowledges the might of the Sea-King, but admits his ability to bind him:

In essence his divination was not much different from Anyika’s. In some parts there were astonishing details. But by far the most important difference in his divination was his assertion that he could bind the Sea-King and prevent him from doing any harm. (259)

Interestingly, just as the reader may, Ekwueme first expresses disbelief in the existence of a Sea-King. Later on, as preparations are underway to bind the Sea-King, he becomes fearful: “Suddenly Ekwueme felt he was fighting for his life, and a wave of desperation swept over him. All along he had tried not to believe Anyika’s divination” (272). Ultimately, Ekwueme is struck dead by Nwonna, Ihuoma’s son, as the latter attempts to kill a lizard, one of the sacrificial items requested by Agwoturumbe.

While it can be reasonably argued that Ekwueme dies from the arrow shot by Nwonna, it can also be posited that his death is not accidental. Like Emenike and Madume, Ekwueme’s death is apparently vindication of the might of the Sea-King and a warning to any potential suitor to Ihuoma. Whatever interpretation is given to the demise of Ekwueme, it is evident that Amadi again persuasively blurs the boundary between the natural and the supernatural in this particular episode. Moreover, while characters such as Anyika and Agwoturumbe insist on the existence of the Sea-King, others, for example the boatman that Ekwueme contracts to ferry both him and Agwoturumbe to the middle of the sea, doubt his existence. Amadi reveals himself as a child of two worlds or double consciousness, as representative of the predicament of those African writers “caught between two seemingly antithetical modes of understanding the world” (Ivker, 1972: 293). To this end, he presents in his fiction different perceptions of the supernatural, which demonstrate a duality of thought among his native Ikwerre people.

The Sea-King intervenes throughout the narrative; he is seemingly the unseen but powerful force manipulating human life and a string of deaths. Ihuoma, then, becomes the unconscious “tool of a man-killing god” (Osundare, 1980: 97). Her beauty, grace, and understanding become ploys to attract men to her, as the Sea-King apparently unleashes tragedy to anyone attempting to wed her. It would seem that events in The Concubine generally tilt towards a confrontation between humans and the Sea-King, and the latter seemingly confuses the former about his actions. Even when Anyika is finally aware of the interference of this supernatural force in human endeavours, he is unable to overcome this deity. Instead of acting themselves, human beings are apparently acted upon by the Sea-King. Thus, Amadi’s conflation of human and supernatural agencies as influencing events in his story is fascinating, opening up his narrative to multiple interpretations.

Through dibias such as Anyika and Agwoturumbe, Amadi emphasizes the role of traditional religion among the Ikwerre, who use mediums to intercede for them in times of difficulties. And these mediums are not ordinary people, but those considered to have an air of mystery. For example, even though Omokachi is a small community, nobody in The Concubine really knows Anyika’s place of origin: “No one quite knew where Anyika had come from” (7). Another traditional priest, Nwokekero, is unmarried, a situation that is unconventional given the medium’s wealth and the time during which the novel is set, a period when it was given for mature, wealthy men to not only wed one wife, but multiple wives.

In The Concubine, Amadi problematizes the fates of his characters. While the deaths of Emenike, Madume, and Ekwueme can be attributed to a lock-chest, suicide, and injury respectively, these misfortunes can also be ascribed to the Sea-King. It is this inability to definitively explain happenings in the story that situates Amadi’s work within the magical realist perspective. Or, as Jean-Pierre Durix puts it, ambiguity is central in magical realism as texts of this nature are preoccupied not with “the creation of imaginary beings or worlds, but the discovery of the mysterious relationship between man and his environment” (1998: 104).

Whereas practices like divination and the use of amulets for personal protection appear cultural and somehow within the daily experience of most traditional Ikwerre people, the issue of binding the Sea-King in order to have a successful marriage, as is the case of Ekwueme, seems extraordinary and verges on the magical. Nevertheless, Amadi’s vivid portrayal of this event, using incredible coincidences and suggestive details, places his novel within the magical realist spectrum by defining an alternative African epistemology which is antithetical to Western empiricism, as well as underscoring the plurality of thought within his society on the issue of the supernatural.

The supernatural continues to be a concern in Amadi’s second novel, The Great Ponds. The story examines the tragic consequences of war between the villages of Chiolu and Aliakoro over fishing rights in the Wagaba ponds. Although both belligerent villages experience wins and losses in this war, Amadi exposes its painful effects on the community and their environment. As shall be demonstrated later, the fight between the two ethnic groups in The Great Ponds allegorizes the First World War, recreating its causes and consequences as Europeans pulled Africans into a frenzy of violence on the global level.

Fought from 28 July 1914 to 11 November 1918, the First World War involved two opposing alliances. On the one hand were the Central Powers made up of Germany, Austria-Hungary, the Ottoman Empire, and Bulgaria, and, on the other hand, were the Allied Powers composed of Britain, France, Russia, Japan, the United States, and Italy. Following the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria in Sarajevo by Gavrilo Princip, a Serbian nationalist, Austria-Hungary invaded Serbia. Because of the network of alliances among European countries, Russia mobilized its forces in support of Serbia while Germany stood by Austria-Hungary. Ultimately, the remaining major powers in Europe and the rest of the world sided with one alliance or the other during the war. This war, like the one between Chiolu and Aliakoro, had profound effects on the health both of combatants and civilians: millions of people were killed, disabled, or starved to death by food shortages. In the same period, diseases such as typhus, malaria, and the flu pandemic exterminated millions of people — the global effects of which are felt within the world of Amadi’s narrative: “Wonjo, as the villages called the Great Influenza of 1918, was to claim a grand total of some twenty million lives all over the world” (Amadi, 1969: 217). ² It is principally these historical events that Amadi transposes in The Great Ponds, clothing this epochal moment in African folklore.

Olumba, one of the protagonists in The Great Ponds, insists on an inseparable connection between his warrior exploits and the gods. His military feats leave the reader in a quandary as to whether they are natural or supernatural. Olumba’s compound is mystically fortified, with shrines for various gods to whom he routinely offers sacrifices: “Rather I fear the gods on whom depend the results of any fight. But I have never failed to offer sacrifices to them” (3). His life journey, including even the birth of his son, appears tied to the apron strings of gods, whom he and his family constantly propitiate:

Olumba’s wives and children were bedecked with charms and amulets, his little son enjoying the greatest share. There were amulets for travelling, against poisoning, for social gatherings, against evil spirits by night, against mischievous imps by day, for growing big yams, for wrestling, for fishing and so on. These precautions proved useful because Olumba prospered under their influence. His misfortunes were few and far between, the greatest so far being the loss of his first son. (25)

Olumba’s actions and behaviour demonstrate his fetish mind, making us wonder where to draw the line between his accountability and the influence of the gods. Note what he tells Ikechi, who argues that Olumba’s robust physical appearance makes him invincible:

Never play with the gods, my son. They are powerful and should be respected. I would rather face a whole village in battle than have the weakest of the gods after me. At times I wish I were a dibia, for then I would be able to see the spirits myself, know their desires and minister to them promptly. (3)

As Olumba prepares to engage the fighters from the opposing village of Aliakoro, he straps an expensive amulet round his biceps, and his appearance and aura instil confidence in his war comrades. For their part, Olumba’s men rub some slimy lotion on their bodies, which is intended to make them slippery in the event of contact with Aliakoro warriors. The magic substance is also believed to enable Chiolu fighters to distinguish a friend from an enemy in darkness. Here, we notice how Amadi fuses the natural and supernatural worlds, allowing the reader to question the exploits of his protagonists.

On the other hand, Wago, the great warrior from Aliakoro, shares the same supernatural attributes as Olumba. There is the impression that both fighters are driven by mysterious forces. He rubs his head with an amulet worn round his neck, making him apparently impregnable to the arrows shot at him by the attackers from Chiolu. Both Olumba and Wago are seething with the desire to fight each other at the least provocation. It is only when the chiefs of Chiolu and Aliakoro perform a mystical ritual that peace is brought between the fuming warriors:

An egg, some kola and two leaves from a special tree were procured and placed in a wooden bowl. The bowl was waved round Olumba’s head three times while Diali muttered some incantations. This short ceremony released Olumba from his oath. The bowl was passed on to Okehi who subjected Wago the leopard-killer to the same treatment. (23)

While the truce between both warriors can be attributed to the initiative of the village chiefs, it is also plausible to explain it in terms of the ritual ceremony.

Unfortunately, the truce between both bellicose villages of Chiolu and Aliakoro is temporary, because each does not want to share the privileges of the fishing pond, and both villages are greedy and aggressive. The breakdown of the ceasefire may also indicate the limitations of the ritual. There is an escalation in war rhetoric in both villages and conciliation seems impossible. The villages again resort to the supernatural, as elaborate sacrifices are made with the intention to influence the outcome of the war: “Charms for fighting were brought out, dusted and strengthened by the appropriate rituals” (26).

As war rages on between Chiolu and Aliakoro, the latter — in analogy with the Allied and Central Powers of Europe — seeks assistance from neighbouring villages. Many people lose their lives, and even women and children are taken as hostages. The war, like previous wars between both villages, takes a disastrous turn, as noted by Eze Diali, Chief of Chiolu: “Some years ago our two villages fought a bitter battle over the Pond of Wagaba. My father was killed in it. My senior brother was taken prisoner and sold to the Rikwos across the rivers and we never heard of him again” (20). The war puts extreme stress on the people of both villages to the extent that “[w]omen were heavily escorted to the farms. Children only played in the reception halls and under the noses of their parents at that” (79). To compound matters, both villages plunder each other and undertake fatal, nocturnal raids, making existence a nightmare. Amadi adds with regard to the war that: “It was a long war, a bitter war, a war of attrition. Negotiations seemed impossible” (84).

All attempts to resolve the conflict peacefully, including interventions from the Ezes (Chiefs) of the Erekwi clan, are in vain. Again, both villages return to divination in order to determine the rightful owner of the Wagaba pond. For their part, Chiolu, through their representative Olumba, swears by Ogbunabali, the dreadful god believed to kill mostly in the night. Accordingly, if Olumba is still alive within six months, it means that the Wagaba pond belongs to Chiolu. However, if he dies within this period, it is taken that Aliakoro is the rightful owner of the disputed pond. Meanwhile, Olumba is instructed by the Chief of Chiolu not to undertake any physical activity that can put his life in harm’s way. At the same time, Chiolu is wary of the possibility of Aliakoro supernaturally hurting Olumba. This episode demonstrates Amadi’s fusion of natural and supernatural causation with regard to the conflict between Chiolu and Aliakoro and, more importantly, the different interpretations that readers can give to events in his story.

It does not take long for Chiolu to be informed by the dibia Anwuanwu that Aliakoro has employed a powerful medicine man to induce Olumba to embrace activities that would put his life in danger. As Olumba waits for six months to elapse, he is psychologically tormented, apparently because the god to whom he has gambled his life does not have shrines in Chiolu. He has to count on other gods like Ojukwu and Amadioha for his protection. Even with this safeguard in place, he is restless because supernatural beings are mysterious and unpredictable. Such gods/goddesses can be “invisible, elusive, woven into the fabric of time and space” (146).

Mysteriously, many people in Chiolu, including the Chief, elders, Olumba’s children, and wife, start experiencing excruciating headache and fever: “Only a handful of compounds had no sick persons. No one seemed to know the cure. People merely threw in all the medicines they had and hoped for the best” (182). One woman who has lost her only boy to disease admonishes the god Ogbunabali: “What has snatched away my beloved child, my only child, my handsome child? Is it Ogbunabali? It must be Ogbunabali” (183).

For their part, the village of Aliakoro is also experiencing a similar kind of tragedy as Chiolu. According to Wezume, one of the emissaries of Chiolu to Aliakoro, before “they reached Okehi’s compound they saw four new graves” (186). Unfortunately, both villages are unwilling to reach a compromise that would end their suffering, mainly because of their arrogance. One dibia, Achichi, advises that the only way to stop the calamity is for the entire clan to come together and perform a sacrifice: “The gods are angry with the whole of the Erekwi clan. No individual sacrifices will do. The whole clan must get together to avert further loss of life” (170). However, like the situation among the Central and Allied Powers of Europe, which lacked a forum such as the League of Nations to potentially defuse political tensions, the different crises and suspicions within the clan make it impossible to agree on a sacrifice.

While Chiolu is anxiously awaiting the verdict of the god in regard to the contested fishing pond, their warrior Olumba is attacked by his archrival Wago of Aliakoro. The latter eventually commits suicide in the Wagaba pond because of the defeat of his village. His death, according to Chief Diali of Chiolu, augurs disaster: “It would be an abomination to fish in a pond in which someone committed suicide” (217). Thus, Wago’s suicide negates the purpose of the war between Chiolu and Aliakoro, underscoring the purposelessness of the conflict in the first place. To imagine the number of lives lost, the destruction of property, and the animosity fanned between both villages puts in perspective, at the macro level, the rationale of the First World War. Amadi, through the Chiolu–Aliakoro conflict, metaphorically reimagines the causes and consequences of the First World War by demonstrating the extent of the human and physical waste brought about by a war that was nurtured by ego and fuelled by suspicion and hate.

In a sense, Amadi predicates magical realism on certain traditional Ikwerre beliefs: humans need intermediaries in the forms of diviners, rituals, and other spirit beings. This awareness is derived from the belief that the lives of the living are influenced by what happens in the spirit world. For example, in The Concubine, the actions and fates of Ihuoma, Madume, and Ekwueme appear to be remotely guided by supernatural beings like the Sea-King while, in The Great Ponds, the welfare of the villages of Chiolu and Aliakoro seems to be influenced by supernatural forces. And these foreign elements in the forms of gods, rituals, and divinations apparently intervene in the action to reward and punish people. This leads to the understanding that problems in Amadi’s world are perceived to stem from the unstable relationships between individuals or communities and the supernatural world. In addition, his incorporation of the supernatural in his art makes it dense, adumbrating meaning, and projecting characterization. Through the supernatural, Amadi projects important traits of his protagonists, such as beauty and anxiety in Ihuoma and Ekwueme respectively in The Concubine, and bravery in Olumba and Wago in The Great Ponds. These character attributes appear to be influenced by the Sea-King, gods, and rituals.

By exploring the culture of his Ikwerre compatriots of southeastern Nigeria and highlighting its literary wealth, Amadi demonstrates how any ethnicity can positively influence global culture. His reimagining of his native culture constitutes a rebuttal to Eurocentric critics like Adrian Roscoe, who once said that if Africa must avoid the fate of the South Sea Islanders, the Australian Aborigines, or the American Indians with apparently moribund cultures, it must embrace the European worldview (1971: 1). He deftly dismisses Roscoe’s critical stance by presenting a plausible narrative that is grounded in the culture of his native Ikwerre people. Through a magical realist frame, Amadi rewrites the precolonial past of the Ikwerre in Nigeria to showcase the cultural and intellectual sophistication of this society before the advent of colonization. In his fiction, it is presented as a well-structured society with its own credible social and cultural values that defined and explained Ikwerre people’s worldview in all of its complexity and variety.

At the same time, the novelist, through the Ikwerre cultural template, comments on the political, economic, and social ramifications of the First World War, a conflict that ramped up suspicion and decimated millions of people across the world. In other words, embedded in the magical realist style that defines Amadi’s narrative is a two-pronged critique of Western cultural arrogance and of the ethnocentric and egocentric tendencies that have polarized the world into what can now be referred to as NATO, on the one hand, and Russia and its allies, on the other. It would seem that many people nowadays have overlooked, or played down, the tragic consequences of war.

Amadi is not recreating an elusive or idealized past; he is semiotizing it to mediate the present. Even though The Great Ponds was published almost 50 years ago, the story still speaks to contemporary Africa. His narrative enjoins Africans to rethink the idea of turning the continent into a battleground of death, destruction, and violence, as evident in the genocides in Rwanda and Burundi in 1994, and the horrors perpetuated by terrorist groups like Al-Shabaab in East Africa, and Boko Haram in Central and West Africa.

Magical realist fiction, like Amadi’s, is unique as a genre, in its composition, and as a way of interrogating reality by bringing to the fore the seemingly conflictual perceptions of reality in Western and non-Western thought. As shown in Amadi’s two novels, his view of magical realism reflects what Ato Quayson says about it as a literary mode that “challenges the Western tradition of realism, positing instead an alternative universe in which fantastical elements are placed side by side with the real in a process of establishing equivalence between them” (2009: 160). In this study, I have demonstrated how the magical realist text is essentially a collage of seeming opposites like life and death, or historical reality and “magic”. Granted that a magical realist text basically represents history, it also celebrates, as Amadi’s oeuvre, indigenous beliefs and cultures, a people’s sense of life, and their hopes and frustrations. His art attests to what Dean Irvine avers with regard to the magic realist text, namely, that it enters into a dialogue with colonial and precolonial history and mythology (2003: 131). In this regard, Amadi uses the device of magic realism to question Western perception of things and its dominant culture by showcasing a compelling African paradigm.