Citation: Owoyele, G.T. & Oladeji, F.O. (2025). Allusive Echoes: Intertextuality and Narrative Structure in Chimamanda Adichie’s Dream Count and Chika’s The Middle Daughter. Tasambo Journal of Language, Literature, and Culture, 4(2), 164-176. www.doi.org/10.36349/tjllc.2025.v04i02.018.
ALLUSIVE ECHOES:
INTERTEXTUALITY AND NARRATIVE STRUCTURE IN CHIMAMANDA ADICHIE’S DREAM COUNT
AND CHIKA’S THE MIDDLE DAUGHTER
Grace Temitope OWOYELE
Department of English, Faculty of Arts,
University of Ilorin, Ilorin, Nigeria.
owoyele.gt@unilorin.edu.ng
And
Felix Oluwabukola OLADEJI
Department of English, Faculty of Arts,
University of Ilorin, Ilorin, Nigeria.
oladejifelix94@gmail.com
Abstract
Contemporary
Nigerian fiction continues to engage deeply with themes of gender, migration,
and socio-political conflict, yet the structural role of allusion remains underexplored.
This paper aims to critically evaluate the role of historical, biblical and pop
culture allusions in Chimamanda Adichie's Dream Count and Chika Unigwe's The
Middle Daughter, arguing that allusion is not merely a literary embellishment
but a central organizing principle in the texts. The study adopts textual
analysis and draws on intertextuality theory to guide its interpretation. The
paper examines how both authors draw upon past literary, historical, and
cultural sources to create a multifaceted narrative. The findings demonstrate
how Adiche's Dream Count uses historical allusions to weave a narrative that
links past oppression to present realities, while Unigwe's The Middle Daughter
employs biblical allusions to critique religious fanaticism and moral
hypocrisy. These intertextual references are shown to shape plot development,
character portrayal, and thematic resonance. This paper concludes that
recognizing allusion as a central literary motif enhances the dialogic
relationship between texts and deepens our understanding of narrative structure
in contemporary Nigerian fiction.
Keywords: Allusion,
Intertextuality, Chimamanda Adichie, Chika Unigwe, Narrative Structure
Introduction
In
a bid to mirror and explore contemporary issues of social and cultural
relevance, modern Nigerian writers adopt diverse styles and techniques that
deviate from the traditional method of fiction writing. One notable innovation
in recent novels is the unconventional narrative structure through which
stories unfold and characters are developed. The act of narrative as presented
by Lutostański (2018) is an “expression or representation of consciousness and
experience” (p.92). In other words, the narrative structure of a literary text
is delineated through literary devices, characters, unconventional plot twists,
symbolic images, multiple narrative voices and techniques. For modern Nigerian
writers, the forms through which these experiences are reenacted in novels not
only follow the linear customary style of narration but also influence the ways
these fictions are formed (transmitted) and received by the readers. Amongst
the several literary elements adopted by contemporary writers, this paper
examines the complex interaction between allusion and the narrative structures
of Chimamanda Adiche’s Dream Count and Chika Unigwe’s The Middle
Daughter, as well as how allusion, as a significant concept in the theory
of intertextuality, enriches the art of narrative in the selected texts.
Allusion,
simply put, is an indirect reference to a person, place, event, or period.
While it is not a new concept, especially as a stylistic device, its role in
shaping contemporary narrative form warrants deeper exploration. Panasyuk
(2018) describes allusion as a “powerful tool of forming intertextual
relationships between various works of fiction, thus creating a continuum of
cultural events and values” (p.53). This highlights the relevance of allusion
in a literary work and how it connects the past with the present by reechoing
preceding cultures and personalities as modern-day experiences. As a thematic
focus and theoretical concept, the manifestation of allusion is categorized
into literary, biblical, religious, mythological, classical, historical and pop
culture allusions. However, for this paper, emphasis is placed on how literary,
religious, historical, and pop-culture allusions are employed by the writers to
portray socio-cultural issues of contemporary relevance, such as religious
conditioning, gender stereotypes, cultural pressures and mother-daughter
relationships.
Theoretical
framework
It
is widely believed that no writer writes in a vacuum and that no work of art
has a single independent meaning, as all texts are interrelated like human
experiences. The theory of intertextuality emerged as a theoretical method for
studying the connection between different works of literature and the meaning
created by them (Cambridge dictionary). Although, intertexuality in media texts
is foregrounded in the inclusion of texts from other semiotic systems such as
verbal descriptions of works of painting, music and other types of art
(Kryachkov 2023, p.71), it shifted to the study of literary textual writings
drawing on the critique of “Author-God” and the notion of the active audience
(Ott & Walter, 2000, p.429).
As
a dominant theoretical construct in both literary and cultural studies, Van
Zoonen (2017) defined intertextuality as an “apt term which indicates that all
texts, whether written or spoken, whether formal or informal, whether artistic
or mundane, are in some ways related to each other” (p.1). In addition, Julia
Kristeva (1986), who originally coined the term “intertextuality,” explained
that “any text is a mosaic of quotations; any text is the absorption and
transformation of another” (p.37). Therefore, every text is a product of
dialogue and interaction (Van Zoonen, 2017, p.2). For instance, the theory of
intertextuality is grounded in the history of marginalization and female
oppression portrayed in the literary works of black women. Even Susan Ardnt in
her book African Women’s Literature, Orality and Intertextuality, began
with philosophical references to the words of Obioma Nnaemeka (1994) and Buchi
Emecheta (1986); “Can one claim reasonable knowledge of modern African Women
writers without taking a measured walk in their mother’s gardens” (Nnaemeka,
1994, p.137). Emecheta (1986) in the same vein, recounts the influence of
storytelling:
It was at home that I came across the real story tellers
... the story teller ... was al ways one’s mother. My Big Mother was my aunt
... We would sit for hours at her feet mesmerized by her trance like voice ...
It was a result of those visits to Ibuza, coupled with the enjoyment and
information those stories used to give us, that I determined when I grew older
that I was going to be a story teller, like my Big Mother. (pp.173-174)
Additionally,
in discussing the theory of intertextuality, Genette (1982) provided the five
categories of intertextuality as intertextuality proper, paratextuality,
metatextuality, hypertextuality and architextuality. However, this paper will
only draw its theoretical construct from ‘intertextuality proper’, simply
explained as the "co-presence" of two or more texts in a separate
text (Kryachkov, 2023, p. 65).
The
emergence of the theory in literary studies led to arguments on the purpose of
intertextuality. While some, like Jim Collins, argue that intertextuality is an
authorial practice, this paper aligns with theorists such as Fiske and Barthes,
who position the reader as a co-creator of meaning, especially in texts where
allusion invites interpretive engagement. According to John Fiske,
intertextuality is a postmodern sensibility shared by audiences, a reading
formation that conceives of texts as fragments in a larger web of textuality
(Fiske, 2010). He further explained that “the theory of intertextuality
proposes that any text is necessarily read in relationship to others and that a
range of textual knowledge is brought to bear upon it”(Fiske, 2002, p.108). In
other words, the use of intertextuality is the way the audience consciously
creates meaning by utilizing their vast knowledge of cultural codes learned
from other texts to read a particular text. Similarly, Barthes argues that “in
describing intertextuality, audiences not authors write (i.e. construct) texts”
(Ott& Walter, 2000,p. 431). Collins (1992), on the other hand, stated that
“intertextuality is not something audiences do but something authors do”
(p.325).
Moreover,
since intertextuality is a literary theory that studies how texts integrate
past historical and cultural events, this paper also looks into the relevance
of intertextuality in women’s writings. In fact, the study of women’s writings
and analyses shows that there are intertextual relations between African
women’s writers. The notion of intertextuality in women’s writing is grounded
in the history of marginalization, female oppression, and patriarchy, which
echoes in black women’s writings (Allen, 2020, p. 144). More so, the act of
evoking the constant concerns of gender subjugation and stereotype poses as an
“intertextual signal which connects the novel with the tradition of female
writing” (Lisowska, 2014, p. 21). In a larger frame, Ardnt comments thus:
It is indisputable that African women writers can find
narrative skills in the garden of their mothers which enrich their own literary
texts aesthetically, and which, in addition, africanize and decolonize the
genres used as well as the English language itself. For one thing, the authors
gather narrative devices which make oral narratives an artistic experience.
Among these are the integration of proverbs, songs and riddles, narration in
direct speech, the use of repetitions, digressions, ideophones, irony, satire,
symbolic praise names and first names as well as of similes, metaphors and
allegories which refer to the described world of real life. For another thing,
they borrow century-old structural elements of narratives, such as motifs,
subjects, standardized figures as well as conflict and figure constellations,
from oral literature. (p.9)
Ultimately,
intertextuality involves the generation of meaning and interpretation of texts
(Young & Lu, 2020) through strategies: direct quotation, allusion, parody,
pastiche, translation and plagiarism. This paper focuses on allusion as a
primary intertextual strategy that subtly reconfigures narrative structure. In
addition, Lange and Weigold (2011) describe “allusion as one of the textual
operations of the theory of intertextuality, which refers to the employment of
anterior texts in which the anterior text is still linguistically recognizable
in the posterior text but not morphologically identical with it” (p.25). Here,
allusion is explored not merely as a stylistic flourish but as a deliberate
narrative device that engages cultural memory, reader interpretation, and
feminist critique.
Intertextuality and
African Literature
Having established that intertextuality is an
instance whereby the several utterances taken from other texts are an
absorption of and reply to another text (Clayton & Rothstein, 1991, p. 29,
and Kehinde, 2003, p. 373). African critics not only situate African literature
in the “global literary trend of intertextuality” (Kehinde, 2003, p. 374) but
also highlight the interconnection between African literature and salient
tenets of the theory of intertextuality. In Jeyifo’s words, “there are
configurations and connections between works and writers within the different
literary genres.” (Jeyifo,1998, p.277). While in a larger context, Ogede (2011)
justifies the interconnection between African literature and intertextuality:
African
authors may be relatively late comers to the literary scene, but they are not
alone in the making of emulation of each other’s works as their compositional
pattern; as theorists of influence have long made known, intertextuality is a
universally accepted practice. This string of connections and configurations
between different works and various writers is technically referred to as
intertextuality in literature. (p.201)
Therefore, as intertextuality emphasizes that every
narrative and text is interrelated, the indigenous practice of African oral
literature is communally owned and passed down from one generation to the next.
This implies that just like in the theory, African authors do not play
Author-God or claim sole ownership of all the ideas, characters, narrative
style, and techniques portrayed in their literary works. Every African text
draws from the indigenous African oral traditions as well as socio-cultural
events and issues of contemporary relevance. In a detailed outline, Ayo Kehinde
(2003) in his paper titled “Intertextuality and the Contemporary African Novel”
explained the various ways through which contemporary African writers are
participating in the global literary trend of intertextuality. As well as how the theory of
intertextuality is not entirely alien to African literature despite its Euro-Western
origin (Kehinde, 2003, p. 374).
The
techniques and forms of genres in African literature have similar tenets to the
Western genres of literature. In fact, Nwachukwu-Agbada (2000) stated that “the
Nigerian novel is a synthesis of foreign and local elements in terms of
characterization, structure, theme and ideology” (p. 68). More so, the impacts
of globalization and multiculturalism in contemporary African society further
justify the significance of the theory of intertextuality in African literary
works. However, unlike the Western notion of intertextuality, African
intertextuality portrays “the historical circumstances of slavery, colonialism,
postcolonialism… and cultural hybridity” (Kehinde 2003, p.375). Hence, this
paper aims to depict the critical tenets of intertextuality in Adichie’s Dream Count and Unigwe’s The Middle Daughter as well as the contemporary
relevance of the theory in selected texts.
Historical
and Pop Culture Allusions in Chimamanda Adichie's Dream
Count (2025)
In Chimamanda Adichie's Dream Count, allusion
operates not merely as a referential device but as a disruptive force that
unsettles narrative expectations, challenges historical and reshapes the
reader's engagement with the text. In Dream Count, historical and pop culture
allusion fragments linear storytelling, as Adiche interweaves references to
historical figures, events, and cultural icons, constructing meaning through a
layered, non-linear narrative that blurs the boundaries between the past and
the present.
We met at a birthday dinner. My friend LaShawn said
people called him the Denzel Washington of academia and his art history classes
had long waiting lists, and starry students stalked his office hours. He didn't
look like Denzel, but of course Denzel was just a metaphor for men like him,
men of coiled beauty. I looked at him and gravity loosened and slipped. (p.18)
This
excerpt from Dream Count by Adichie is a rich example of allusion
functioning as a motif of disruptive narrative. By comparing Darnell to Denzel
Washington, the text does more than simply describe his physical appearance -
it invokes cultural memory, identity, and the burden of representation in Black
masculinity. The reference to Denzel Washington immediately evokes an image of
Black excellence, desirability, and cultural significance. Denzel is not just a
Hollywood star; he is an icon of Black masculinity, dignity and success. By
alluding to him, the narrative position of Darnell within this framework of
prestige and desirability shapes the reader's perception of him without
extensive description. The protagonist acknowledges that Darnell does not
physically resemble Denzel, reinforcing the idea that "Denzel" here
is symbolic. The phrase "just a metaphor for men like him, men of coiled
beauty" suggests that this is about more than looks - it is about an
archetype of Black male allure and confidence that exists in cultural
imagination. The allusion, therefore, functions to explore the social
construction of Black male desirability, showing how individuals are measured
against idealized standards.
The
reference disrupts the intimate moment between Chiamaka and Zikora by
introducing a broader cultural expectation. Rather than simply expressing
attraction to Darnell as an individual, the allusion embeds him within a
lineage of celebrated Black men. This accentuates the personal and the
collective, showing how cultural narratives shape personal relationships and
perceptions. The phrase "I looked at him and gravity loosened and
slipped" depicts an almost surreal, overpowering attraction. This moment
of desire is heightened by the allusion - Denzel Washington represents more
than just physical appeal; he embodies an ideal. This disruption here is not
only in narrative flow but also in how personal attraction is influenced by
myth-making and collective cultural admiration.
Nice shirt," Thompson said to Shannon. "This
old thing," Shannon said, looking down at her T-shirt, at this print of a
behatted Mary J. Blige, her face partially in shadow. "Is it me, or Is
Mary J, 's beauty not acknowledged enough? A subject worthy of inquiry,"
Thompson said. "What is it with your misogynistic obsession with beauty
today Shannon asked. "Why is it misogynistic?" Thompson replied.
The question should be: why isn't Mary J. Blige's talent acknowledged
enough?" Charlotte said. "Her talent is not in dispute. She's
beautiful, but it's obvious that music industry doesn't reward looks in certain
kinds of Black women," Thompson said. (p.31)
This
passage does not function as mere casual banter; rather, it is a site of
ideological tension, intellectual sparring, and cultural excavation. Through an
allusion to Mary J. Blige, Adichie fractures the narrative space, pulling the
reader into a debate on race, beauty, misogyny, and artistic recognition. The
dialogue between Thompson, Shannon, and Charlotte is not just about a T-shirt -
it is an interrogation of who gets seen, who gets celebrated, and who gets
sidelined in cultural history. Mary J. Blige is not referenced neutrally; she
is invoked as a question, as a challenge, as a disruption. Her name carries
weight beyond her music, tying into a historical pattern of Black female
artists being seen but not fully acknowledged. Thompson's observation that Mary
J.'s beauty is not acknowledged enough is a loaded statement, forcing an
interrogation of how beauty functions as currency in the music industry,
particularly for Black women. Shannon's immediate rejection- "What is it
with your misogynistic obsession with beauty today?" - signals an
ideological battle. For her, Thompson's statement is not about appreciation; it
is about reinforcing a patriarchal gaze that continually reduces women to their
appearance. Here, allusion does not function as passive nostalgia; it triggers
confrontation, forcing characters (and the reader) to grapple with the larger
discourse embedded in the reference.
This
exchange does something powerful; it fractures a singular reading of Mary. J
Blige, presenting multiple, conflicting interpretations; Thompson sees absence,
he recognizes that Blige's beauty has been overlooked and finds that worth
questioning, while Shannon sees erasure, she argues that the real conversation
should be about Blige's talent, not her beauty. Charlotte reframes the
conversation, she redirects the narrative energy from aesthetics to artistic
merit: "The question should be: Why isn't Mary J. Blige's talent
acknowledged enough?". At this moment, Adiche masterfully disrupts linear
storytelling, replacing a simple exchange with a layered intertextual
battleground. This conversation does not simply exist within the novel; it
echoes real-world debates on Black female representation in entertainment,
forcing the reader into a meta-dialogue with history itself. Thompson's final
assertion - "Her talent is not in dispute. She's beautiful, but it's
obvious the music industry doesn't reward looks in certain kinds of Black
women" functions as an allusive rupture. The phrase "certain kinds of
Black women" exposed the hierarchies of desirability and visibility in the
entertainment industry. This recalls a long lineage of dark-skinned Black women
whose beauty has been minimized or ignored, despite their immense cultural
contributions.
Somebody like Pope John Paul, I hope,"Zikora Said.
"Ha"! Omelogor said, a provocative mocking sound. "Pope John
Paul was lovely," Chia said. Chia was hazy Catholic Who sometimes didn't,
but Zikora knew she still retained the reticence about criticizing the church
they had all absorbed while growing up. "Pope John Paul was too much a
politician and a stage performer,"Omelogor said. (p.121)
In
this passage, Adichie crafts a moment of ideological friction through allusion
to Pope John Paul II, a figure who exists at the nexus of religion, politics,
and public performance. This reference is not merely a nostalgic name-drop; it
is a charged invocation that fractures the conversation into competing
interpretations. Each character engages with the allusion differently, exposing
layers of cultural conditioning, religious ambivalence, and the performative
nature of faith itself. The allusion functions as a disruptive narrative
device, forcing the reader to navigate the tensions embedded in religious
memory, skepticism and public spectacle.
Zikora's
invocation of Pope John Paul II seems aspirational, she positions him as a
moral archetype, someone to be compared to, perhaps emulated. Her phrasing, "Somebody
like Pope John Paul, I hope," accentuates that she sees the Pope as a
paragon of integrity, authority, perhaps even moral infallibility. Omelogor's
response, "Ha" is not just a dismissal; it is a provocative,
disruptive reaction. This simple mocking sound fractures the conversation,
signaling that the allusion to Pope John Paul II is not universally revered,
but contested. Chia occupies an ambivalent middle ground, reinforcing the
weight of cultural conditioning. She defends the Pope, not necessarily out of
conviction, but out of habit, nostalgia, and the religious reticence instilled
in her upbringing. Omelogor, however, delivers the final rapture: "Pope
John Paul was too much of a politician and a stage performer." This
statement violently deconstructs the idealized image of the Pope, reframing him
as a man of spectacle rather than spirit, of diplomacy rather than divinity.
Just as she refused to think of the priests back home who
were trailed by sordid stories: the priest professor who lured teenage girls
into his bedroom and then locked the door, the campus chaplain who slapped Mass
servers and had a wife and kids. (p.123)
Adiche's
use of religious allusion in this excerpt above is not subtle, it is a
calculated act of defiance, a literary strategy that dismantles the illusion of
moral authority. By evoking the specter of corrupt priests and their hidden
abuses, she turns religious allusion into a weapon of narrative rupture,
forcing an unsettling confrontation between the sacred and the profane. This
excerpt does not merely depict moral contradiction; it exposes religious
institutions as enablers of patriarchal violence, suppressing their atrocities
under the weight of unquestioned reverence. The phrase "she refused to
think of" depicts the deliberate act of suppressing knowledge, a
reflection of how society collectively chooses to ignore religious corruption.
Adiche does not name the priests; instead, she lets them exist as shadowy
figures, their crimes known yet unspoken. This is an allusive trap; readers
familiar with Catholic abuse scandals will immediately fill in the blanks,
making the accusation more powerful through its absence. The reference to
priests luring teenage girls and secret families directly mirrors real-world
scandals that have shattered the Catholic Church's moral authority, from
Ireland to Nigeria, from the U.S to Latin America. By embedding these allusions
in Dream Count, Adichie is dismantling the idea of religious leaders as
untouchable figures. The mention of a "campus chaplain" specifically
targets institutions that prey on youth, highlighting how power dynamics
between clergy and vulnerable individuals enable unchecked exploitation.
Tantie Fanta said that a Guniean Fula man had been killed
in America. An immigrant in America. He was pulling out of his wallet when
policemen shot him forty times, leaving many bullets for one body. Terrible,
Saidou said. Tantie Fanta joked darkly that he was a Fula man, tightfisted, was
and was only trying to make sure they didn't take his money. Neither Saidounot
his uncle looked amused by the joke. Saidou said he had heard that many
American journalists were coming to Conakry to write about the case. "None
of them knew Guinea existed as a country until they killed this Amadou," Saidou's
uncle said. (p.182)
The
excerpt from Dream Count references
the real-life killing of Amadou Diallo, a Guinean immigrant shot 41 times by
New York police officers in 1999. This historical allusion functions as a
powerful tool for reinforcing oppression, illustrating how systemic violence
against marginalized communities is not an isolated event but a recurring
reality. By invoking Diallo's murder, Adichie accentuates the persistence of
racial injustice, demonstrating how historical oppression continues to shape
contemporary experiences. Saidou's uncle's remark - "None of them knew
Guinea existed as a country until they killed this Amadou" reveals the
selective recognition of African lives, reinforcing the idea that global
attention often arrives only in the wake of tragedy.
Furthermore,
the dark humor in Tantie Fanta's comment, met with discomfort rather than
amusement, depicts the psychological burden of oppression. This moment exposes
how marginalized individuals develop coping mechanisms, such as humor, to
process recurring violence. The novel, through such allusions, emphasizes the
inescapability of systemic oppression, showing that even personal conversations
cannot remain untouched by historical trauma. By embedding historical allusions
into personal narratives, Dream Count
not only recalls past injustices but actively demonstrates how oppression
endures across time and space. The novel's structure, disrupted by these
allusions, reinforces the overwhelming presence of racial violence, reminding
readers that historical injustices are not confined to history but persist in
contemporary realities. In this way, allusion becomes more than a literary
device, it becomes a mechanism for exposing, interrogating, and reinforcing the
oppressive forces that shape individual and collective identities.
The MINING TOWN was noise and dust. Kadiatou woke to the
unending rumble of machinery hackling and digging and extracting at the mine,
trucks driving away again. The dust astounded her, dust everywhere dust on
scavenging chickens, dust coating the hair of playing children. Her body
complained only a day in, thousands of tiny bumps erupting on her skin, on her
face, across her torso and legs. She coughed and sneezed all day, and she was
so itchy she longed to reach in and scratch at the center of her soul. Tests
trailed from her reddened eyes and her tongue a constant grittiness accrued.
(p.183)
The
depiction of a mining town in this excerpt reflects the brutal realities of
economic exploitation, reinforcing oppression as a recurring force in history.
Through allusion to real-world mining crises in Guinea, where industrialization
has displaced communities and eroded traditional ways of life, Adichie
accentuates how systemic oppression operates across generations. Kadiatou's suffering,
marked by relentless noise, invasive dust, and physical distress, mirrors the
lived experiences of those whose lands and livelihoods have been sacrificed for
resource extraction. Her bodily reaction - itching, sneezing, and tasting dust
- symbolizes the inescapable nature of this exploitation, illustrating how
oppression is not just external but deeply internalized.
Allusion,
in this context, becomes a means of exposing historical patterns of economic
subjugation. The mining town's chaotic, uninhabitable environment does not
merely serve as a setting but as a testament to the cyclical nature of
exploitation, one that mirrors colonial extractive economies and their enduring
consequences. The novel's reference to Guinea's mining crisis extends beyond
the immediate struggles of Kadiatou, situating her suffering within broader
historical narratives where African resources and labor have been continuously
commodified at the expense of human dignity. By embedding allusions to real
economic displacements within Kadiatou's personal experience, Dream Count reinforces how oppression is
perpetuated through industrial and corporate interests. This moment is not just
about Kadiatou's discomfort but about a historical and systemic structure that
prioritizes profit over people, ensuring that exploitation remains a defining
reality for marginalized communities. Through such allusions, Adichie positions
economic oppression as an enduring force, making clear that the struggles of
the past continue to shape present realities.
EVERY YEAR, my father took us all to Portugal on holiday,
to Libson, and to Porto and then to Madeira, the only time he ever lavishly
spent money. He said it was to show his gratitude to Portugal for helping
Biafran during the war. (p.22)
The
excerpt alludes to the Biafran War (1967 - 1970), a defining moment in
Nigeria’s history marked by ethnic tensions, political struggle, and severe
humanitarian crises. The father's ritualistic vacations to Portugal, framed as
an act of gratitude for the country's support to Biafra, depict how historical
oppression extends beyond its immediate moment, shaping personal identities
across generations. However, this allusion does more than recall the war; it
reinforces oppression by revealing the enduring psychological and
sociopolitical effects of colonial and wartime dependencies. The father's
unwavering loyalty to Portugal, even in sports, demonstrates how oppression
manifests not just through direct violence but through lingering psychological
and ideological ties. His gratitude is paradoxical; rather than representing
true autonomy, it exposes the deep-seated impact of historical subjugation.
Portugal, a former colonial power, indirectly supported Biafra, but this
allegiance reflects a post-war dependency that mirrors broader neocolonial
structures where African nations and individuals remain tethered to former
imperial influences. In this way, the allusion reinforces how oppression
extends beyond material struggle into the realm of psychological conditioning,
where the oppressed continue to venerate their historical subjugators. By
integrating this allusion within a seemingly personal anecdote, Adichie
illustrates how historical oppression is not an isolated past event but an
active force shaping present realities. The reference to the Biafran War does
not serve merely as historical context; it exposes how the trauma of oppression
seeps into everyday life, dictating behaviors, loyalties, and even personal
rituals. Through this, Dream Count
emphasizes that oppression is not just something endured, it is something
inherited, internalized, and at times, unconsciously upheld.
This was the kind of evening when my father talked about
the Biafran war, and as he spoke he would seem to me like a blessed sorcerer,
summoning solid things from bare air. My brothers and I called it "Daddy's
Bank of British West Africa talk". "I started from zero after the
war, zero," he would say. "The Nigerian government stole my houses
and warehouses in Lagos, in Port Harcourt, in Kaduna. During the war, the banks
confiscated our business accounts, and after the war, the same banks refused to
give me loans. Every Igbo person got twenty pounds, twenty pounds, for all the
money they had before the war. All the money in my private accounts, the money
I made and the money I inherited, all gone. (p.45)
This
excerpt from Dream Count alludes to
the economic devastation suffered by the Igbo people after the Biafran War,
particularly the infamous "twenty pounds policy," which
systematically stripped Igbo citizens of their financial assets. The father's
recollection of losing his wealth, his properties seized, his accounts frozen,
and the post-war loans denied reflects this institutionalized oppression that
extended beyond the battlefield. However, this historical allusion does more
than evoke past injustices; it reinforces oppression by exposing how systemic
disenfranchisement persists across generations, shaping not only economic
realities but also psychological and familial dynamics. The phrase
"Daddy's Bank of British West Africa talk" depicts that this story is
part of a repeated ritual of remembrance, signaling how historical oppression
is embedded in everyday discourse. His storytelling, described as
"summoning solid things from bare air," reflects both the resilience
of memory and the difficulty of reconstructing a past that has been
deliberately erased. By evoking the post-war financial exclusion of the Igbo
people, Adichie accentuates how economic oppression is not just a singular
historical event but a lasting structure that continues to shape Igbo identity
and economic mobility. Furthermore, this passage depicts how oppression
functions cyclically, forcing individuals to relive and retell their suffering
as a means of survival. The father's inability to move beyond this trauma
suggests that historical oppression does not end with its immediate victims; it
is inherited by future generations. The allusion to the "twenty pounds
policy" reinforces a broader theme in Dream Count, that systemic
oppression is not just about what is lost materially but also about the lasting
psychological scars and intergenerational consequences that follow.
Biblical
Allusion in Chika Unigwe's
The Middle Daughter (2023)
Allusion
serves as a powerful tool for reinforcing oppression, recalling injustices
while exposing their continual influence on contemporary realities. In Chika
Unigwe's The Middle Daughter, biblical allusions invoke theological
narratives, which aid the author to demonstrate how oppression is not confined
to the past but persists across generations, shaping identities, social
structures, and lived experiences. Here, there is an exploration on how
allusion functions as a recurring motif in this novel, emphasizing its role in
reinforcing oppression and sustaining power imbalances.
If I were the pastor; Ephraim said, 'that car would have
been mine!' But the pastor did not need a new car He already had one. Some kind
of jeep which he taxed every member for, for an entire year, to buy for him
because "the lord said so'. When he heard that there had been mutterings
of discontent amongst some of the members of the church he had taken to the
pulpit to remind everyone that 'Pastors, Men of God, are not to be touched.
Touch not my anointed, says the lord!' And then he had listed ten pastors of
other churches, counting off on his fingers - Okotie, T.B. Joshua, Oyakhilome,
Fireman, and he went - who had luxury cars. (p.117)
Chika
Unigwe's The Middle Daughter employs biblical allusion not as a means of
reinforcing religious faith but as a subversive tool that exposes the
hypocrisy, materialism, and manipulation of Nigerian religious institutions. In
this passage, the pastor's invocation of "Touch not my anointed"
(Psalm, 105, 15) does not function as a spiritual decree but as a shield
against accountability. This weaponization of biblical allusion serves as a
motif of disruptive narrative, unsettling the traditional notion of pastoral
authority and questioning the unchecked power of religious figures in Nigerian
society. The phrase "Touch not my anointed" is a well-known biblical
reference used to denote divine protection over God's chosen servants. However,
in this context, it is not about spiritual anointing but rather a calculated
move to silence dissent and deflect criticism. The Pastor twists scripture into
a self-serving command, transforming biblical allusion into a manipulative
device. Instead of a humble servant of God, he becomes a man who equates
criticism with blasphemy, insulating himself from scrutiny. By juxtaposing the
original intent of the verse with its exploitative use, Unigwe disrupts
conventional religious narratives, exposing the moral errors within Nigerian
Pentecostalism.
The
passage further subverts religious ideals by highlighting the pastor's
obsession with wealth, symbolized by luxury cars. The listing of famous
Nigerian pastors (Okotie, T. B. Joshua, Oyakhilome, and Fireman) functions as
an allusive indictment of the Nigerian prosperity gospel movement, where wealth
is equated with divine favor. The comparison between the pastor's fundraising
efforts and his lavish lifestyle mirrors real-world criticisms of Nigerian
megachurch leaders, who preach sacrifice while living in excess. This disrupts
the structural expectations of religious narratives, where pastors are
traditionally depicted as moral guides. Instead, they become symbols of
exploitation and unchecked power. The pastor's defense, justifying his wealth
by pointing to other pastors who also own luxury cars, turns religious
authority into a mere contest of material accumulation.
The
satire here is biting: rather than embodying moral or spiritual leadership, the
pastor is a businessman using God as a marketing strategy. This undermines the
structure of religious discourse, forcing the reader to question whether faith,
in this context, is a sincere pursuit or merely a means of social control.
Readers familiar with biblical teachings might expect a different application
of "Touch not my anointed" - perhaps one that speaks to spiritual
protection rather than a defense against criticism. By twisting this allusion
into a self-preservation tactic, Unigwe creates a moment of cognitive
dissonance, where the expected moral clarity is replaced with stark irony.
Not just one! Fireman has five Hummers! Each of them
yellow because yellow is his favorite colour! Okotie has a Rolls-Royce!
Oyakhilome has his own private jet. T. B. Joshua wines and dines with
presidents all over the world... Is our God a poor God?' he asked. A resounding
'No' shook the walls of the Ark. 'Clap for our God.' A strong applause broke
out. 'Our God is not a poor God, and his representative on earth must not be
poor. Do I get an amen? 'Amen!'. (p.117)
This
passage further exposes the commercialization of faith by linking biblical
prosperity teachings to modern Pentecostal excess. The pastor's words, "Is
our God a poor God?", echo a common prosperity gospel argument, where
God's supposed wealth justifies the extravagance of religious leaders. The
question "Is our God a poor God?" is an allusion to prosperity gospel
teachings, which claim that material wealth is a reflection of divine favor.
This directly contradicts traditional biblical teachings on humility and
service, yet the congregation's loud affirmation ("Amen") reveals how
deeply ingrained this ideology is. The call and response structure mimics
religious revivalist traditions, but instead of spiritual renewal, it
reinforces materialism as a divine right. By turning this biblical allusion
into a rhetorical device of control, Unigwe subverts religious expectation and
exposes the performative nature of faith.
The
applause and communal response ("clap for our God") transform worship
into a spectacle, where faith is measured by public displays of affirmation
rather than genuine belief. The list of wealthy pastors (Fireman's five yellow
Hummers, Okotie's Rolls-Royce, Oyakhilome's Private Jet) reinforces the idea
that spiritual leadership is now synonymous with personal wealth. The reference
to T. B. Joshua "wining and dining with presidents" places him within
a global network of power, blurring the lines between spiritual leadership and
political influence. By weaponizing religious allusion, Unigwe depicts how
biblical language is manipulated to serve personal ambition rather than
communal upliftment.
He quoted Bible passages denouncing the devil and reeled
off names of prophets before him who had been tempted. Remember King David and
Uriah's wife? He asked, his breath warm and rancid. In Corinthians 1, the Bible
says, "No temptation has seized you except what is common to man."
And God is faithful; He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear.
But when you are tempted, He will also provide a way out so that you can stand
up under it. Nani, the Devil shall not prevail. (p. 64)
In
The Middle Daughter, Ephraim's invocation of biblical scripture after
forcefully raping Nani exemplifies the manipulation of religious allusion as a
tool of reinforcing oppression. By referencing King David and Uriah's wife
(Bathsheba) and 1 Corinthians 10:13, Ephraim distorts religious doctrine to
justify his violent act, placing himself in the lineage of biblical figures who
have succumbed to temptation. This deliberate misuse of scripture accentuates
how religious allusion is weaponized to rationalize abuse, shift blame, and
silence victims, transforming faith, which should offer refuge, into an
instrument of subjugation. Ephraim's self-comparison to biblical prophets not
only downplays the severity of his crime but also frames Nani's suffering as an
inevitable, even divinely sanctioned, trial. By stating "No temptation has
seized you except what is common to man," he suggests that his act is not
extraordinary but part of a broader, unavoidable human struggle. This
misappropriation of religious allusion reinforces a dangerous patriarchal logic
where male transgressions are excused under the guise of spiritual warfare,
while female suffering is accepted to be endured as a test of faith.
In the broader context of The Middle
Daughter, this moment reflects a recurring theme in which religious
allusion is used to sustain systemic oppression. The biblical reference does
not merely add depth to Ephraim's character; it actively contributes to the
novel's structural composition by embedding oppression within a discourse that
should provide moral guidance. This aligns with the novel's fragmented
storytelling, where oppression does not exist as a singular event but is
reinforced through cyclical patterns of abuse, silence, and distorted religious
teachings. Ultimately, Unigwe's use of biblical allusion in this passage
illustrates how historical and religious can be used to sustain oppression.
Just as allusion in the novel reinforces broader systems of control, whether
through patriarchal traditions, migration struggles, or colonial histories,
Ephraim's invocation of scripture demonstrates how oppressive forces manipulate
even sacred texts to serve their ends.
Comparative
Insights: Historical vs. Biblical Allusions and Their Narrative Impact
Adichie’s
Dream Count and Unigwe’s The Middle Daughter both employ
intertextual allusions, but they do so with markedly different cultural
reservoirs and narrative consequences. Adichie leans heavily on historical and
pop culture allusions, repurposing Nigeria’s political past and icons of
popular resistance to challenge prevailing state narratives. Her use of
historical figures and references serves to disrupt the silence around
post-civil war traumas and assert the agency of marginalized voices, particularly
those of women. In contrast, Unigwe’s biblical allusions do not merely quote
scripture - they interrogate the weaponization of religious texts. The Bible,
in The Middle Daughter, becomes a site of both comfort and control,
simultaneously reflecting the depth of the protagonist’s oppression and the
social systems that enable it.
While
both authors use allusions to expose systemic injustice, their methods and
effects differ. Intertextual practice operates with a subversive tone: her pop
culture references invite the reader to question the accuracy of national
memory and the heroism often attributed to political figures. Unigwe, however,
uses biblical allusion with irony and solemnity, underlining the hypocrisy of
patriarchal and religious institutions. This contrast reveals a key thematic
difference: Dream Count deconstructs history, whereas The Middle
Daughter critiques domestic and spiritual subjugation under the guise of
religion.
The
comparative strength of both texts lies in how their allusions contribute to
the broader discourse of postcolonial literature. Adichie’s historical
intertextuality reclaims silenced narratives, while Unigwe’s biblical
intertextuality calls attention to the enduring consequences of colonial
religious indoctrination. Together, these texts demonstrate how African women
writers appropriate and transform intertextual strategies not only to reflect
lived realities but also to suggest paths toward liberation. Their narrative
tactics resonate with readers confronting the intertwined oppressions of state
power, religious authority, and gendered violence, ultimately challenging the
reader to envision a more just future.
Conclusion
This
paper has explored the role of allusion in reinforcing oppression and shaping
the fragmented narrative structures of Chimamanda Adichie's Dream Count and
Chika Unigwe's The Middle Daughter. The analysis has demonstrated how
historical, pop culture and biblical allusions expose systemic injustices, from
colonial exploitation and war-induced economic dispossession to religious
manipulation. Both novels use intertextual references to disrupt linear
storytelling, mirroring the fractured realities of oppression and displacement.
By centering these allusions, Adiche and Unigwe accentuate the enduring impact
of historical trauma while challenging dominant narratives of power and
survival. These works contribute to a broader discourse on memory, oppression,
and resistance, demonstrating how allusion functions as a fundamental literary
device in shaping contemporary African fiction.
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