Social Realism: Analysis of Invisible Chapters by Maik Nwosu

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Introduction 

Maik Nwosu was editor of The Source news magazine in Lagos and now Assistant Professor of African literature in University of Colorado in Denver, USA. He is also a fellow of the Akademie Schloss Solitude in Stuttgart, Germany. His first poetry collection, Suns of Kush, won the Association of Nigerian Authors/(ANA) Cadbury Poetry Prize in 1995. His first novel, Invisible Chapters, was awarded the ANA Prose Prize in 1999.  In  his  review,  Odia  Ofeimun,  former  president  of the  ANA underscored  its presentation  of "a nuanced picture" that unveils  "the unchanging  ways  of  power  as  they  have  not  been  so  studiously presented since Wole Soyinka's Season of Anomy." Obi Nwakanma, arts editor of Sunday Vanguard at the time, had earlier noted: "No novel, not since Achebe's Anthills  of  the Savannah, has  created,  and with  such power, the mood of our post-colonial society. Maik Nwosu's novel has finally declared the arrival of the new generation, and the inexorable passing  of the  old."  Nwosu  has  also published  a  collection  of short stories,  Return  to  Algadez,  and  a  second  novel,  Alpha  Song.  As  a journalist, he has received both the Nigeria Media Merit Award for Arts Reporter of the Year and the Nigeria Media Merit Award for Journalist of the Year.


Plot Summary


“Maroko is the great Nigerian novel writing itself "says Prinzi, principal character in Invisible Chapters. The novel focuses not so much on the redefinition of the so-called great Nigerian novel, nor the writing of it (as the author would want to make the reader believe), as it does on the unearthing  of  a  particularly  significant  past  event.  There  are  two Marokos  in  the  novel:  the  old  and  new.  Beyond  these,  there  is  an historical Maroko, now a mere speck in the sands of time, which Nwosu has  appropriated  as  paradigm  for  his  reconstruction  of the  Nigerian socio-political experience. Once upon a time, Maroko was a bristling settlement of the poor and less privileged, a slum, a shantytown on the fringe of the Lagos lagoon. In spite of attendant vices and squalor, it was home to thousands of Nigeria's down-trodden who had drifted there in search of succour from a system that was increasingly riddled with vast inequalities and life-threatening contradictions. Nonetheless, wrapped in the warmth of their exciting but lowly world, the residents of Maroko were  oblivious  of the  anguish  their  existence  caused  their  rich  and influential neighbours living in nearby highbrow Ikoyi.


In writing about the city, they write about themselves, ourselves, our lives, our fears, and the politics of our land. Inasmuch as their effort is worth the trouble, it served the needs of the latter. They were at once the craftsmen, factory-hands, labourers, cooks, who the affluent exploited to beep their progress unhindered. Yet, looking down upon Maroko from the balconies  of their  enchanting mansions, with tell-tale  frowns  and wrinkled  nostrils,  these  high  and  mighty  could  not  help  but  wish Maroko's instant disappearance from the face of the earth. Their wish was soon granted through a military fiat. One morning, the residents of Maroko woke up to find impatient government bulldozers growling at their doors, a detachment of soldiers had been assigned with the express task of enforcing the quit order previously issued the residents by the Governor   of  Lagos   State.   His   Excellency's   excuse,   shallow   and controversial as it seemed, appeared hinged on the fact that Maroko was dangerously sinking below sea level and as a result, could no longer be regarded  as habitable.  But no  sooner had the bulldozers reduced the shantytown to rubble than the apportioning of choice parcels of the same land to the rich began in earnest. The dispossessed were thus left to their own devices, at the mercy of chance.


The foregoing analogy applies to Maik Nwosu's fictive Maroko. Here, hope is temporarily rekindled in the dispossessed with the promise of resettlement  in  a better  and healthier  environment.  Subsequently, the government  hurriedly  sets  up  a  Resettlement  Board  to  oversee  the fulfillment of this promise. But when the masses eventually arrive New Maroko,  they  discover,  to  their  consternation,  a  wasteland  of  sorts spotting a huge incinerator belching toxic fumes, as the dominant feature of the landscape. Maroko's story is in a very significant way, the story of Nigeria. The people involved in the tale are stereotypes drawn from real life.  The  wretched,  dispossessed  residents  are  representative  of  the wretched and misruled masses of Nigeria. The under-currents of lies, intrigues  and  conspiracies  that  act  to  annul  Maroko's  existence  are similar  to  the  factors  which  threaten  the  corporate  existence  of the country. In this novel, the masses are pitted in a vicious and continuous struggle  for  survival,  while  the  ruling  class,  through  its  fawning agencies, employs mythmaking as a tool to plough through to the heart of new Maroko. When this fails, it quickly resorts to victimization and repression of their (the masses') will.


Invisible Chapters in part seeks to trace out the psychological trauma suffered by resilient masses in their quests for a better deal from the ruling class. The plot unfolds in four segments or books. The first book concentrates on a significant event in the life of New Maroko serving as link  between  the  past  and  the  present.  The  second  book,  in  typical flashback  tradition,  affords  the  reader  a  glimpse  into  the  immediate circumstances  preceding  the  eviction  and  resultant  exodus  of people from old Maroko. The third and middle part of the story begins where the  first  part  ends  and  progresses  on  to  the  fourth  and  conclusive segment.  The  story is told in  a  compelling manner, with  appropriate symbols and signs which vary as the plot progresses. The author's pre- occupation with symbols is evident from on-set of the narrative. The Rastafarian record shop owner in New Maroko, Haile's unusual switch from  playing  protest  music  to  the  music  of  'pure  white  Christmas' signifies  an  invocation  of the neo-colonialist  spirit  at  a period when residents are still reminded of the sad events of their immediate past. Also, Prinzi's pre-occupation with the theory of opposites (pp5-8) sets the tone for the progress of events in New Maroko by hinting at the complementary nature of good and evil, with good enhancing evil and destruction existing possibly for the sake of reconstruction.


The story of Elo, Ka and Minitimma, which underlines the relationship between  materialism  and  discord,  is  also  a  fable  that  describes  a progressive condition of being. The sudden deaths of Ignatius, Madam Bonus and Goomsu evoke a mystique that ultimately results, first, in the March  to  old  Maroko  and,  second,  an  all-night  vigil  on  the  eve  of Christmas, which are both held in commemoration of the destruction and reconstruction of the settlement to appease "whatever spirits remain to be appeased". Kaabiyesi, the faceless patriarch of Crocodile Island and   apostle   of   "authority   stealing",   symbolically   prefigures   the enthronement of a ruling hegemony, while the Resettlement Board also symbolizes ineptitude in high places. The communion of the long tide and Kaita's bazaar, signify a battle for the soul of the masses between art,  morality  and  materialism.  Even, the  Prinzi-led  Maroko  left-wing find  expression  in  dances  and  rituals  which  are  symbols  depicting prevailing moods, and also acknowledging the transitory periods in the life of the settlement.

Thematically, Invisible Chapters is in more ways than one an indictment of the military and military governments. Thus, the military is cast in the image of a monster, an accomplice in the grand plot to beep masses of people perpetually subjugated. Soldiers thrive both on corrupt practices and outright intimidation of the defenseless masses they are supposed to protect. Military training, it seems, vests the average soldier with the license to unleash violence at will, with or without provocation. In as much as freedom becomes an impossible song under the Military, open dialogue  is  constantly  discouraged  among  the  people  and  dissenting voices are bridled with brutal force. Governor Raji Omo-ale's visit to Maroko in the days before the destruction of the settlement reveals the penchant of Nigerian military rulers for double-speak and insincerity in the discharge of their duties. Omo-ale does not only tell blatant lies and may  be  false  promises;  he  goes  on  to  polish  the  same  through  the government-owned media.


Perhaps  one  of  the  engaging  features  of  this  novel  is  the  endless discourse it spawns on the future of the Nigerian novel and its enduring place  in  literary  culture.  Aside  his  concern  for justice  and  fairness regarding Maroko, Prinzi appears to be absorbed in the task of charting a course for his art from a seeming void. In the process of brainstorming with  Ashibodi  and  Razabi,  issues  are  raised  and  discarded  while questions  are  as  bad.  The  "latitude  to  be"  becomes  a  fundamental principle upon which  all art and, of course, the great Nigerian novel must be anchored; it is the kernel of all human activity, the  spiritual responsibility of everyman to the next person, irrespective of class, tribe or creed. Thus, when this principle upturns or is disregarded, society loses its essence. Life its value, and art its substance. In the resurrection of Maroko from the ruins of the old to the new, lies a glimmer of hope. But this  is hope  soon transformed,  in  the  light  of fresh  and  incisive manipulations, into gloom. It is a recurrent and vicious cycle of gloom in  which  every  misfortune  becomes   an  opportunity  to  be  amply exploited (even the name of God is exploited for gain). And as soon as this happens, those affected are forced to recoil into their shells, stunned and full of questions.


Invisible Chapters has a mission to fulfill, which is to open readers up to some hard truths about the conditions of human life on the African side of the globe. It is illustrative of the 'insignificance' of life against the backdrop of constant devious schemes and man's inhumanity to fellow man. Coming therefore in the nick of time, as the cliché goes. Maik Nwosu  could  not  have  chosen  a  more  auspicious  moment  than  the present to impress a bold statement upon the cultural/political landscape of Nigeria.  History cannot be merely obliterated; hence  Maroko will forever  remain  an  epochal  landmark  in  the  convoluting  history  of Nigeria. There cannot be a better explanation for Nwosu's commitment to his tale which aims to unveil African social realism.

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