Choosing Conscience: A review of Mawuli Adzei's 'The Jewel of Kabibi'

Title: The Jewel of Kabibi

Author: Mawuli Adzei

Date of publication: 2014
Publisher: Masterman Publishing Ltd

Pages: 272

International book number: 978-9988-1-9219-8

Reviewer: Edzordzi Agbozo

The famous physicist Albert Einstein opines that we should “never do anything against conscience even if the state demands it.” Conscience is the ultimate guide of man and when lost or exchanged for anything else, humans cease to be humans. The preservation of conscience in life’s sojourns is the ultimate mission that the major characters in The Jewel of Kabibi strive to fulfill.

The Jewel of Kabibi is Mawuli Adzei’s debut novel and concerns itself with negotiating Ghanaian life through the provocation of minds to such glaring but often unidentified issues as child prostitution, the problematic head-porter business in urban Ghana, socio-political and religious hypocrisy, the entanglement of the young in the hypnotic magnetism of material and financial fulfillment and the ultimate triumph of the few good people over the many evil ones. In the very end, the conscience of the good set the path for the liberation of the whole society by exposing the ruthless lords who for their aggrandizement stifle everyone else .

The economic gap between northern and southern Ghana may, to an extent, be attributed to human creation: a result of bad policies from colonial to independent eras. In this novel, the author reminds us of this fact; whipping up our conscience to look at the direction of vulnerable geographies. The main character, Salma (11 years old), escapes from a planned forced marriage between her and the affluent octogenarian Baba Askan. Tongka, Salma’s father, also gets to increase his financial fortunes from this marriage. Salma left northern Ghana to Accra (the national capital) with the hope of living a better life and fulfilling her dream of becoming a scholar. Accra, however, converted her from a young girl with dreams into a kayayo (Ghanaian expression for head-porter) and latter into a prostitute. 

Risky, another very significant character, is a product of illicit coitus between a minister of state and his housemaid. The powerless housemaid gets sacked by the powerful. Risky then grows up on the street to become a criminal. Abena, Risky’s mother, attempted to expose the evils of Danfo, the (dis)Honourable Minister of the Interior. She was killed by the minister to protect his image. Abena, though dead, has her conscience intact while the minister, despite his efforts to cover his crimes, was finally exposed by James Morgan. James Morgan is a journalist, a representation of the few good human beings who strived to choose conscience over anything else. In the end, he has to flee to preserve his life and liberate Salma from the spell of prostitution.

Being a debut novel, The Jewel of Kabibi, contributes significantly to literary dialogues on Ghanaian social life. The themes of the novel are worth contemplation. The issues in this novel have the capacity of replacing dawn broadcasts on radio and sermons on the pulpit, given that Ghanaians are ‘religious’ people. Even the way of disposing off excreta, the protean electricity supply, bleaching, lateness to work and corporal punishment in schools are questioned.

The Jewel of Kabibi defies chronological plot and rather weaves the narrative in an unexpected but organized manner. The brevity of the chapters is very apt. Each chapter reads like a short story in their own right. This characteristic is observed in all Mawuli Adzei’s novels and poetry; a style for which Veronique Tadjo of Ivory Coast is also very known. The masterful incorporation of cultural nuances and the simplicity of language are major strengths of this work. An astonishing observation is that, the author comes across as a feminist, giving exposure to major problems that women face. To advance a feminist theory, James Morgan who liberated Salma from prostitution and Risky, who ‘protected’ Salma from bad clients, are men just like the author himself. Sala and Bente, who introduced Salma into prostitution by having her raped, are women.  Adzei seem to suggest that men can be feminists (an echo of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie) and that not all women look out for the good of their kind.

A weakness of the work is the introductory chapter. This chapter describes a huge flood from the overflow of the Bagre dam, which destroyed many valuables. This may be intended to foreshadow the destruction of the personal lives of many major characters and at another level, the destruction of the whole social essence. The description is, however, very lengthy, covered the whole chapter and made biblical allusion to the flood of Noah’s time. Being an introductory chapter, readers may expect an action-oriented narrative rather than a descriptive one. An action-oriented narrative serves as an appetizer to the readers and brings them to terms with what to expect in the rest of the chapters. Again, the author left the reader in suspense with regards to Mr Danfo, the (dis)Honourable Interior Minister. When and how will the laws of Ghana make him pay for his crimes? This suspense may, however, be a literary device or suggest a possible sequel. Also, the paper quality of the novel is of low standard and not very attractive. The cover design, however, compensates for this with a fascinating art work and a splendid color combination.

I highly recommend The Jewel of Kabibi to every lover of good literature because it brings a new perspective to narratives about post-colonial Ghana, her people, history and culture in different ways and highlights basic socio-economic problems that needs to be addressed before Ghanaians start thinking of going into space.

Mawuli Adzei in his office at the University of Ghana

Mawuli Adzei is a British Chevening Fellow and senior lecturer at the Department of English, School of Languages, University of Ghana. His books include Testament of the Seasons (poetry) (2013), Taboo (novel) (2012), The Jewel of Kabibi (novel) (2011; re-published in 2014 by Masterman Publishing Ltd) and The Witch of Lagbati (novel) (2014; Masterman Publishing Ltd). 

Funeral for Hope

In every beginning is an end

In every end is a beginning

We shall keep our breath under our eyelids

We saw green trees melt into ashes

The mid-day rain washed memories

Damped them where rotten shadows

Once upon a pride, sold cleavages for praise;

On which face shall we smile

When the last offspring of hope

Was found, a skeleton, in a rubbish can

Behind our house of dreams

Where we erected flags to impregnate desire?

We shall lay his skeleton in state

For despair and stress to pay homage

We shall mummify it with ashes

And inter it among the daffodils in our backyard

Wait for moons to see it resurrect

For now, it will be shameful

To borrow someone’s face for funeral

Though ours is bereaved of tears

For now, we shall keep our breath

Under constant watch against thieves and cannibals

20.05.2015

Memory

Last evening I went on pilgrimage

To Moholt cemetery

I planted a flower on your name

Hoping your memory

Waters and petals it into

The beauty you denied our world

At sunbirth

And I recalled

How, one day,

You emitted hope from your smiles

Singing away all doubts and all pains

And your voice became the libation

In a gourd of sacrifice

The rhythm of your waist beads

That provoked warriors into battle dances

And the mountain you carry behind you

That teased away the celibate priest on the other street

Are all now but eaten by termites

I shall come this way again

With you firmly rooted

In the backyard of my memory

Shakti

Shakti; the clash of lightning, shining through the soul

Let people take away from me food and air

But if you are taken away

I start to die

Your lips my weakness

They shoot sunrays into my heart

And your hips put to shame

The Pacific Popcorn Flower,

Your eyes and the moon are twins

Your eyes magnetise than Jupiter’s magnetosphere

Like the hurricane

You destroy all beauties in your sight

What are rubies before you?

The clothing of a street beggar

The longest distance between us

Is the sound of our breath!

We are two hearts; Glued with the honey

Invade me with your lips

Stab me with your tongue

Pierce me with your fingers

And let my rod penetrate

The garden between your legs;

Leaving each other

Wanting more of every second,

And remain imprisoned until

Our stars lead us home

Symphony

Iquo, your symphony stormed my soul

In this flower-city of Trondheim

Your symphony came, Iquo, it came

It brought the dreams of elephant-children

Who now, kneel before the ant,

They starve; their meal-bowl shrinks.

Your symphony carried with her

The memory of corpses rotting from Ebola

The pain of our land raped off everything

The betrayal of family-heads; bargaining our blood for aid

And the grenades garnishing our door-posts

And the inevitability of our very near death

Symphonies are for a hopeful people

Can we also sing symphonies?

Iquo, must we?

Morning Call

What has the toddler done to be cursed with the drum?

What has the babbler done to be burdened with song?

Each night, in sleep, the voices come

begging to be heard at my court of song

and until I hear their plea, place them on my bed

curdle them with the pen

and lay them to rest in the arms of drums,

thy never rest.

Each night, each dream time, even lavatory time

I sing.

I, the grandson of Wosekpo mother of songs

I, with the jittery voice, son of Dzatugbui!

9.31 AM. 11.9.14

I kill my enemies in my writing: Writing Process Blog Tour, 2014

I run away from a General Science class in SogakofeSenior High School. I found myself admitted into a program where the subjects scared me: physics was a monster and elective mathematics was a viper, chemistry was manageable and biology was good (of course, it is a reading subject). In my infant wisdom, I left to a literature class (against the rules of the school). I was found several times and returned to the science class but the more I was found, the more I was motivated to run back to the arts class. In the end I became a General Art student (after proving to be a better arts embryo). In the art class, prose was my friend, drama was my playmate but poetry became a dreaded obstacle to overcome. So I gave it more attention than all other genres, then the epiphany came: I discovered more beauty in poetry than any other genre. Before then, I wrote poems in my mother tongue, Ewe, so I translated them into English, following the styles I encountered in the poems I studied. My teachers read them and … that is how I became a “writer”.

I apologize for my delay in continuing the conversation. I should have posted this on Monday, May 5, 2014. I am in a self-imposed exile which comes to all of us in one way or the other and I am writing exams at the moment so I need to battle with time these days.

The main motive of the blog tour is to share writers’ experiences through their response to four questions. Each writer who shares their thoughts tasks three other writers to continue the dialogue so as to continue an unbreakable chain. My good brother-in-song Fiifi Abaidoo handed over the baton to me, and I am delighted to be part of this series. In what follows, I answer the four questions.

What am I working on?

I am working on so many things: myself, my thesis, my poems, my single-hood, my madness, my anger, my ... I am working on my old poems, trying to take out the "juvenility" in them. I have put a collection together as a manuscript and I am hopeful to publish it as soon as the cedi decides to stop falling like rain. I am also working on some academic papers, one of which was publish last week in a US journal. Again I am working on a deeper understanding of cultural aesthetics especially in traditional art; and my grandmother (a songster herself) is leading me in that esoteric sojourn. I am also working on getting more TRUE friends, especially writers (since the more you interact with a writer, the better you become in your own art). In the end, I aim at becoming a deep writer and scholar with philosophical and academic output in almost all genres in the arts.

How does my work differ from others in genre?

I have not read many writers inasmuch as I wish I could so I cannot tell how different my work is from others. However, I try as much as possible to be myself with a quintessential voice. I try to put my emotions into my works so that even if it is not performed, the necessary effects can manifest. My traditional Ewe background has a lot of impact on my work but that does not make me comparable to the great Ewe writers of glory (Akpalu, Amarttoe, Awoonor, Anyidoho, Azasu, Wosornu, Mawugbe, Adzei, Deh, Akpabli among others). In a nutshell, I try to be pedantic with my muse and since all writers have different gods-of-song, I think my work will be different too. The themes in my work are however linked to all humanistic woes and histories.

Why do I write what I write?

Writing is my own response to awakening consciousness. Most of my works are products of anger and madness at a system, person, philosophy, institution. Simply put, I write when I am angry and mad. After writing, the anger and madness reduces and I become sane again. Writing then is a therapeutic method for me. I kill my enemies in my writing so that I don’t physically manifest my anger. My anger is usually instigated by news, speeches, books, history (of all humanity) and individual behavior. I hope to correct thoughts and systems. I hope to re-create humanity. I hope to make people think. I hope to make people cry and become happy that they did.  I hope to entertain too (if and when I can). I hope to bring out the beauty hidden in arts and philosophies.

How does my writing process work?

A thought becomes a metaphor, then a word, then a phrase and then a sentence… coupled with symbols, aphorisms and anything at all. The thought is like a seizure and until I pour the thought out, I become enslaved in the inner self and uncomfortable. Sometimes, the thought becomes a traditional song which I keep singing until it gets written. After writing, I leave the work to rest, then I come back to bath, comb and give it a make-up until it takes the shape of an angry beautiful monster. I take a deep sigh. I rest my head (and sometimes, my heart.)

Now that my work is done, I implore the artistic spirit of the following friends and partners-in-song, to go into the divining room and continue the dialogue:

Edzordzi Agbozo with Nana Asaase 

Nana Asaase (Philip Boakye Dua Oyinka) is a poet, writer and literary coach. His twitter handle is: @AsaaseNana

Edzordzi Agbozo with Offeibea Awuku

Offeibea Awuku, a poet and writer. Her facebook link is: http://facebook.com/nana.o.awuku

Edzordzi Agbozo with Chief Moomen

Chief Moomen is a poet, writer, tv producer, radio show host. His twitter handle is @ChiefMoomen