Shayera Dark

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Freshwater|Akwaeke Emezi

Photo: Shayera Dark

Freshwater is interesting in unusual ways. It takes neat, impressive dips into the spiritual, exploring the inner workings of Ada, an ogbanje. The story is narrated by three spirits (multiple personalities?), with minimal input from their human host. “We” feature prominently in the early phases of her life, driving Ada to bursts of anger while restlessly awaiting their return to the other side.

“We did not mean to hurt the Ada but we had an oath and our brothersisters were pulling at us, shouting at us to come back,” they explain.   

Meanwhile, Ada resorts to cutting herself to appease them since gods generally demand a blood sacrifice.

In Igbo cosmology, ogbanje are children prone to die young only to come back again, and invariably plague their family with grief. Regarded as half-human, half-spirit, they’re cut at death to prevent their return, and those who do bear the scars. It’s on this foundation that Akwaeke Emezi’s autobiographical debut novel rests.

Ada walks the razor’s edge between life and the afterlife, swayed by the whims of her spirits. Following a traumatic event in her late teens, the aggressive and prurient Asughara takes over from We as protector of Ada’s fragile heart. Unlike We, who sulkily begrudge Yshwa (Yahweh) for barely lifting a finger to ameliorate Ada’s plight, Asughara fiercely fights off any interference from him.

Asughara manically treads the path of self-destruction, dragging her host from one sexual encounter to another until another ordeal leaves Ada lost and searching. A third calmer spirit manifests in the form of Saint Vincent, dressing Ada in masculine attires, binding her chest and using her mouth to “kiss women.”

With the gods pulling Ada in all directions to the brink of madness, she is compelled to take drastic measures to quell them.

Like the author, Ada is biracial, sports a large band tattoo on her lower arm, where razors and mirror shards once sliced skin, and undergoes breast reduction surgery in keeping with the ogbanje’s aversion to reproduction.

“How many times had Asughara allowed a wash of sperm into the Ada’s body?” gripe We. “Fertility was a pure and clear abomination to us.”  

Transcendent and sober, Freshwater examines the imbalances between flesh and spirit. It presents the battles waged in the unseen world for the corporeal and rejigs what it is to be human: spirits encased in flesh—or flesh embodying spirits?     

 

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