35 pages • 1 hour read
Chimamanda Ngozi AdichieA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Though modern readers might know the colonial context of missionaries in Africa during the 19th century, their task to corrupt and erode the cultural identity of African citizens under the guise of the “redemption of black heathens” remained surreptitious upon their arrival (209). Initially, when the Holy Ghost Congregation settles near Nwamgba’s clan, they are seen as a means to acquire a type of power. As Ayaju explains to Nwamgba, “she wanted Azuka to learn the ways of these foreigners, since people ruled over others not because they were better people, but because they had better guns” (204). For Nwamgba, learning the language of foreigners will eventually allow Anikwenwa to acquire his inheritance. As a whole, therefore, the missionary school seems innocuous to the clan members, if a little odd for believing in a god “who had come to the world to die, and who had a son but no wife, and who was three but also one” (205).
As children like Azuka and Anikwenwa attend classes, however, they become ideal targets for the missionaries. First, they insist on baptizing the children, which requires “that Anikwenwa […] take an English name, because it was not possible to be baptized with a heathen name” (208). Though Nwamgba sees no danger in having her son renamed since “his name [is] Anikwenwa as far as she [is] concerned” (208), the loss of his Nigerian name is the first step in compromising the child’s connection to his community. Mgbeke later takes the name Agnes in the same fashion, and their daughter doesn’t have a Nigerian name at all until she claims the one her grandmother gave her for herself. Names are an important marker in the text and are a way to pass down, erase, impose, or reclaim a culture depending on who has the privilege of naming others.
After renaming, the corruption of cultural identity is furthered by the progressive adherence to the missionary school’s Christian principles and the cultivation of disdain for their community’s practices. The insistence on wearing clothes at school, for instance, is a complete reversal of the general acceptance of nakedness within the clan. Though Anikwenwa resists at first by taking “off his clothes even before they left the mission compound” (210), eventually he accepts them as they give him a sense of status among his age group. This detail highlights the way colonial ideas are often internalized by colonized people. Anikwenwa is at first encouraged by his peers’ recognition; he wants his fellow Nigerians to think highly of him. The school’s principles, however, are not just tolerated; Anikwenwa increasingly adopts them as his own when he deems his mother’s dressing style sinful since she does not cover her breasts (210). Similarly, he refuses to eat his mother’s food because “it was sacrificed to idols,” and he has to be forced into participating in his ima mmuo ceremony. Father Shanahan tells him the practice is a “heathen” custom that has to stop. Anikwenwa agrees and would have kept away were it not for his mother’s insistence. The rejection of a traditional coming-of-age spiritual ritual emphasizes the developing rift; though raised in this culture, Anikwenwa does not want to become a man in it.
When Anikwenwa becomes an adult, the corruption is complete. He becomes not only a model English-speaking Christian, but when he returns from his studies in Lagos, he also becomes a catechist. Through his work, he continues to propagate the missionary’s task of “black heathen redemption,” all the while dismissing his culture. He insists, for instance, on marrying “a good Christian wife” instead of following the community tradition of consulting “people to ask about the bride’s family” (212). He also refuses to have Mgbeke participate in any traditional marriage rites, including the confession ceremony, and he holds a church wedding that alienates his mother and community. Finally, he replicates his education for his own children, giving them English names and a Western education, creating a generational divide between his traditional past and colonized future. Effectively, Anikwenwa’s corrupted cultural identity fractures the family structure and renounces the cultural inheritance his mother wanted for him. While the consequences of this cultural corruption are long-lasting, Afamefuna shows that they are not necessarily permanent; with dedication and hard work, Indigenous cultures can be reclaimed.
In Nwamgba’s clan, women occupy the role of preserving and passing on familial legacies, while men often disrupt their continuation. At the helm of this role is Nwamgba, whose main goal after her husband’s death is to ensure that Anikwenwa receives his just inheritance: the land, titles, and spirit of his forefathers. Her investment in this heritage far surpasses her son’s, as exhibited when she explains that “the land from that palm tree to that plantain tree was theirs, that his grandfather had passed it on to his father. She told him the same things over and over, even though he looked bored and bewildered” (203-4). Though the narrative voice is limited to Nwamgba’s perspective, the narrator never takes much note of Anikwenwa’s perspective on his inheritance. The only reason he goes to school, learns English, and eventually submits the paperwork to obtain the legal title to his lands is because his mother makes him, and getting back his claim does not entice him to stay in the community.
Whereas Anikwenwa is indifferent (and later, seemingly dismissive) about his inheritance, his father, Obierika, and his cousins, Okafo and Okoye, threaten the family legacy at its core. In the case of the former, Obierika and his father do not ensure their family’s posterity because they consistently have just one child. With only one heir to their lands and titles, Obierika and his father leave their family vulnerable to eradication should anything befall their only child—as Nwamgba often fears after Obierika’s death. While Obierika is content with his wife and son, Nwamgba is invested in the family’s longevity, not only encouraging Obierika to take a second wife (as permitted by their customs) but also seeking out suitable matches. In the cousin’s case, their alleged murder of Obierika allows them to steal Anikwenwa and Nwamgba’s goods, lands, and titles for themselves. During Obierika’s funeral, they go so far as to take “his ivory tusk, claiming that the trappings of titles went to brothers” (203). Okafo and Okoye, however, are not Obierika’s brothers, nor are they cousins through the patriarchal line—they are matriarchal cousins only. By stealing the lands and titles and claiming them for themselves, therefore, the cousins effectively break the father-son inheritance cycle. Righting this wrong also falls to Nwamgba, first in seeking her community’s support and then sending her son to learn English and reclaim his inheritance.
It is never noted whether Anikwenwa invests time in his father’s lands; as soon as the titles are signed in his name, the reader never hears about what becomes of them. Instead, the narrative concentrates on Anikwenwa’s involvement in the congregation and his dedication to their doctrine over respecting his community’s rites and customs. His son, Peter, also does not have any affiliation with the ways of their clan, as he was sent to live with priests in Onicha as a teen and does not contain the spirit of his grandfather. In the end, Afamefuna inherits her grandfather’s spirit, keeps the true memory of her family alive, and stands resilient against her father and the missionaries’ teachings. Her choice to dedicate her career to illuminating and legitimizing her people’s history and culture reflects the text’s emphasis on matrilineal cultural preservation. This is symbolized in the last scene by her holding Nwamgba’s hand on her deathbed.
Given the socio-historical context of “The Headstrong Historian,” Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie demonstrates how colonialist powers like the missionaries use education as a tool to strip a society of its culture and dominate it from within. Obtaining foreign education through the missionaries in Onicha is seen as a means to acquire power and status. In Ayaju’s case, she perpetually strives to find a way to make up for her ancestry because “although she was respected and wealthy, she was still of slave descent, [and] her sons still barred from taking titles” (204). The clan does not offer a way to overcome her family’s history, but she believes that learning from the foreigners will ensure access to their guns and, perhaps more importantly, a sense of social security. But as Ayaju, Nwamgba, and presumably other parents from the clan register their children for perceived benefits, they do not take into account that the education taught to their children has a specific bias and purpose: to instill the notion of Western supremacy over African peoples and eradicate their native cultural identity.
Literature, be it oral or written, is a recurrent motif in the narrative that highlights this idea. The textbook given to Afamefuna when she is sent away to school, for instance, is one specifically written to dehumanize her community: “The Pacification of the Primitive Tribes of Southern Nigeria,” written “by an administrator from Worcestershire who had lived among them for seven years” (215). Its name alone implies Afamefuna’s clan is animalistic and uncivilized—one that requires a kind of taming by an external source and validates those who undertake such a task. Giving this book to the children of the people it decries is meant to push them to feel ashamed of their culture, though the notion is not immediate. As the narrative explains:
Grace […] would read about these savages, titillated by their curious and meaningless customs, not connecting them to herself until her teacher, Sister Maureen, told her she could not refer to the call-and-response her grandmother had taught her as poetry because primitive tribes did not have poetry (216).
The book operates to eradicate children’s attachment to their native identity and instill that shame by publishing an inaccurate rendition of tribes in Southern Nigeria and making it accessible both locally and abroad to perpetuate prejudice. Using the book as teaching material also lends it a sense of authority that children like Afamefuna are hard-pressed to deny or challenge. The historical account in this book fully subsumes and denies the true history, culture, art, and identity of these tribes, much like Sister Maureen with Nwamgba’s call-and-response poetry.
The result of such an education is seen in the example of Mr. Gboyega, “a chocolate-skinned Nigerian, educated in London, distinguished expert on the history of the British Empire” (216). Gboyega, the narrator explains, “resigned in disgust when the West African Examinations Council began talking of adding African history to the curriculum because he was appalled that African history would even be considered a subject” (216). Though a native-born Nigerian, Gboyega sees African history as devoid of value. Instead, he sees value in the British Empire’s history, one that, if correctly understood, explains how it exploited and oppressed his country and people. However, Adichie emphasizes that while education can be weaponized for colonialism’s sake, it can also be used to dismantle it—a fact Afamefuna implies when she publishes her book with an antithetical title to her old textbook: Pacifying with Bullets: A Reclaimed History of Nigeria.
By Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie