The First Woman by Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi Published by Oneworld, 1 October 2020
This excellent novel is the story of one girl’s journey of self-discovery, but also an exploration of the mythological origins of gender roles and the archaic structures of the patriarchy.
Kirabo is a young girl in rural Uganda who does not know who her birth mother is. She also suspects she may be a witch. To solve both these problems, she risks visiting Nsuuta, who the village considers to be involved in witchcraft herself and whose feud with Kirabo’s Grandmother is the stuff of local legend.
And thus begins Kirabo’s journey. She seeks her own truth, but finds she must go back to the very beginning of time and learn about how women have been mythologically and culturally structured, designed, sidelined, undermined and oppressed until reaching their present state. As Kirabo is enlightened, so too is the reader, to the fact that in the origin myths and folk tales enshrined in every culture, women have been diminished, distanced, treated as other.
This work is both an ode to and a warning of the power of stories. Humans have used stories to claim dominion for time immemorial. Dominion over beasts, over land, over each other and, also, for men, over women. We see that stories are necessary and essential, but also that it is important to tell and be able to tell one’s own story.
This is a book that had me underlining and highlighting often – which I think is a good sign; certainly, it is a sign that the book has a lot to say. The novel neither relies too heavily on its plot nor its message and themes, however, striking the right balance. The intrigue over Kirabo’s mother and the relationship between Nsuuta and Grandmother drive the plot and keep the pages turning, yet this book will be remembered for its powerful feminist content and its musings on themes of modernisation, colonialism and power structures in general.
The novel probes at the idea of progress and the relativity of material poverty. It examines the juxtaposition of rural and urban life, as various characters live between these vastly different worlds of city and village, which represent the new world and the old, western influence versus tradition. The new has its benefits but is shown to be superficial, dangerous and lacking in certain areas. The old has other kinds of abundances but also its share of problems, and is not romanticised. There is a recognisable sense, too, that the city is a space for young adults, and not for children or the elderly.
One of the myths that Kirabo learns is that women are said to come from the sea and therefore cannot own land as they are not of land. She is destined to remain almost constantly frustrated, however, that men continue striving to maintain women in their status as migrants on land.
While bold and hopeful, this work highlights the realities and delimited possibilities for girls such as Kirabo within patriarchal structures, which is to say, anywhere on Earth. Fatalistic moments show us that as enlightened and courageous as she is, and while she may have well-intentioned allies, there are ceilings she can’t pass and doors she cannot open. There is a key scene late on in the book where Kirabo attempts to take her destiny in her own hands to prevent the deification of her likely future husband by the women around him – as was the case with her father – and yet she comes up against a brick wall and is unable to solve the problem despite having been able to identify it.
This is linked to one of the hardest lessons Kirabo has to deal with. That of not judging how other women react to their situation, but instead recognising them as victims, even if unwitting ones, of the patriarchy and showing solidarity instead. To paraphrase Nsuuta, caged hens peck each other as the master is untouchable. This also has parallels with class struggle and anti-imperialist struggles, which are relevant here too as British rule and Idi Amin’s dictatorship lurk darkly behind the scenes of these pages. Internal divisions within the working class or a native population under colonial rule, like conflicts between women on certain issues, must be seen in this context. Divide and conquer has ever been a successful tactic and is built into any hierarchical system. It is telling that it is arguably conflict with other women – specifically her birth mother and best friend Giibwa – that causes Kirabo the most strife and yet neither situation would have arisen if anything approaching gender equality existed.
An important recurring theme, however, is that times are changing. Always and at all points in history, the times are changing. Perhaps slowly, perhaps with limited progress and perhaps not always in the right direction at all, but it is crucial to bear in mind the universal truth that change is the only constant. There is no beginning and end to change, no real before and after, no incorrect past and corrected present.
Despite the abundant politics and countless insightful comments on power, control and privilege, don’t mistake this book as being didactic. This is a fun novel and a real treat to read. Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi’s language is vivid, witty and original and Kirabo is a star of a character. Brilliant yet flawed, smart and impulsive, she easily draws our sympathy and the reader is deeply engaged in her story. Part Four of the novel casts the narrative eye back to when Nsuuta and Grandmother were young and is a great section, vital to the overall story and well placed, yet even while enjoying it, I was looking forward to seeing what Kirabo would do next.
There is a quote of Makumbi’s that I adore which is: ‘I don't write for a Western audience. If I can understand Shakespeare, you can understand me’. When I read that I knew I needed to read this book and I was not disappointed. I can understand her and I am richer for it.
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