Arrows of Rain published by Heinemann in the year 2000, is Okey Ndibe's first novel. Having read it, one is inclined to agree with Ekwueme Mike Thelwell that Arrows of Rain is 'an ambitious and brave first novel...(that) could jump start the moral political mission of serious African literature begun so well by Ousmane, Ngugi, and the immortal Achebe.' It deals with the degeneration of a contemporary African Nation, Madia, and the betrayal of its people by a corrupt political dictatorship.
Ndibe uses investigative journalistic and memoir techniques to closely examine and expose the disintegration of values and ethos in both public and private life; and how the lack of moral vision is leading the post-independent African society and its people at a hurtling pace towards destruction. The corruption, decadence and violence Ndibe vividly depicts in this novel are reminiscent of earlier writings by other African writers. A Man of the People and Anthills of the Savannah by Achebe, The Interpreters and The Man Died (prison memoirs) by Soyinka, The Beautyful Ones Are Not Yet Born by Armah, Petals of Blood by Ngugi and Dangerous Love by Ben Okri, are few such examples. To his credit, Ndibe is able to tackle this 'old' theme in African literature with refreshing insight and a unique approach, which lend his novel a contemporary application to the African experience.
Ndibe also demonstrates a skillful handling of not only his subject matter, but also the manner and technique in which it is conveyed and delivered. Listen to Ogugua's grandmother speaking to him shortly after the death of his father: 'Your father spoke to you before he went on his journey. You did not hear him. Do you know why? Because young men of today have lost the things of old. You no longer hear the language of things not said with words. 'Your father did not follow death like a lame man. He first wanted to know that you can stand in the world like a man. You must always remember that you come from a line of speakers. Your grandfather was the town crier for all of Amawbia. Your own father...went to the whiteman's country and learned to become a new kind of voice, one that was heard far beyond Amawbia. Now you, a child of yesterday, have joined the line. You have begun to do what your father did and his father before him. What you scratch on paper can go and give a headache to a big man... 'Don't fear any man, but fear lying. Remember this: a story that must be told never forgives silence. Speech is the mouths's debt to a story...' (97) In this passage we can clearly see the rhythm and structure of the original native language captured in the English rendition of the old woman's speech. Her character is one of the best realized in the novel, even though we met her in just a couple of pages. However, I quoted this passage for yet another and more significant reason. I believe it holds the master key to our understanding of the central message of Arrows of Rain. Ogugua's grandmother is renown for her clairvoyance, she has foreseen the death of her own husband and has warned him not to climb a certain palm tree to tap wine. He ignores her entreaties and falls to his death. The sections I italicized from the passage above are sounding a similar warning to her grandson. It was as though she could foresee his future.
The tragedy of Ogugua is that of a man who succumbs to fear and allows himself to be driven into silence. One rainy Saturday, in February! (such rain could only portend bad news, since the planting season in Madia starts in late May) Ogugua finds his lover, a prostitute named Emilia, brutally hacked to death by Major Isa Palat Bello in a fit of rage and jealousy. Several months earlier the same Bello, has raped and mutilated the same prostitute, and instead of exposing him, Ogugua chooses to remain silent out fear of the ruthless young army officer, who is also the son of an emir (a traditional ruling dynasty). A few years later, the same Isa Palat Bello emerges at the head of a military coup that has toppled the corrupt government of Prime Minister Askia Amin, as the new leader of Madia! Out of fear for his life, Ogugua goes into hiding, abandoning his career as a journalist. It is significant to note that, for twenty years in which General Bello waxes stronger and his stranglehold on the national life of the people of Madia becomes tighter and more repressive, Ogugua increasingly looses his identity, drifting and eking a living on the beaches of Langa. He ceases to be Ogugua, the name his late mother has given him, 'the wiper of tears.' People have come to consider him mad, and is known only as Bukuru (one who is learned or educated.) His refusal to acknowledge his birth name, is not just out of self-preservation any longer. Indeed, he realizes that his silence is tantamount to death; for a journalist who has chosen not to speak up has betrayed his calling. He has become nothing, in the real sense of it. He has betrayed his lineage, his profession, his lover, his son, and above all, he has betrayed his responsibility to the nation.
Ironically, he is arrested and charged with the rape and murder of a prostitute by some overzealous detectives at the opening of the novel. During his trial, in which he is identified as Mr. X -the significance of this is not lost to the reader- he tries to speak up accusing His Excellency, the Head of State, of a crime twenty years ago but is denounced as insane. Ndibe uses Bukuru's wrongful arrest and trial to satirize the law enforcement agency and the judicial system in Madia. Actually, the dead prostitute and several others found on the beaches of Langa have been raped by soldiers, members of a vice task force, mandated by General Bello to rid the city of prostitution. The detectives make no attempt to investigate these crimes, and are only eager to find a scapegoat, in an 'insane man' who dares to besmear the 'good name' of the Head of State.
While in detention, still awaiting trial, Bukuru decides to write his story. He sends his memoir to a promising young journalist, Femi Adero, the primary narrator of the novel, and who coincidentally is very likely the wounded son Bukuru has abandoned several years ago in the embrace of his dead mother. When Femi confronts him asking: "Could you be my father?" Bukuru cannot give him an answer. Finally, he realizes the futility of his belated action. He has hoped to find redemption in having his story finally told; however the complex web of events that have unfolded soon overwhelms him, transcending his individual predicament. In a suicide note he leaves Femi, he writes:
I know I am a man who ran away from duty and love. A man who must point a finger at fear and say: this is what drove me to do what I did, the dreadful god in whose name I slayed my voice. My grandmother was right: stories never forgive silence. My silence has no hope of redemption. It is too late in the day for me to look for grand insights... I know - as a man accused of rapes and murders I didn't commit - that a voiceless man is as good as dead. (248) Aware of the atrocities perpetrated by numerous leaders on the continent, Ndibe believes that speaking up against such should be a primary mission. This is especially true of those whose duty it is to inform the populace, those with the means and ability of reaching others, through the media, the information network and the literary world. In Arrows of Rain, Ndibe has taken a bold and courageous first step in that direction.
