"The Revenant" (2015) is an intense, visceral experience that combines survival, revenge, and the brutal beauty of nature. Directed by Mexican filmmaker Alejandro González Iñárritu. The film highlights profound themes of human endurance and colonial exploitation. Watching Leonardo's films has always been a compelling experience for me—whether it's The Great Gatsby, The Departed, Killing of the Flower Moon, Shutter Island, or Inception. However, I missed one of his recent movies (and many other also), The Revenant, which I watched recently. The film won three prestigious awards in 2016 right after its release . In this blog, I will review the movie.
Released in 2015, At first, the movie may seem like just another action-packed film. However, as the narrative progresses, its depth becomes clear. Set in the snow-covered mountains of America during the winter, the cinematography by Emmanuel Lubezki captures the serene yet harsh beauty of the landscape. The awe-inspiring scenery makes the film feel authentic and, for those who love snow-covered mountains, a visual treat.
The central conflict of the film revolves around the tension between Native American tribes [Ree] and white settlers, who considered the natives as "savages" and sought to impose "civility" on them. The military crew exploited the natives, taking their land, animals, and even their wives, often resorting to mass murder. In reality, it is the white settlers who need to be "civilized" rather than the other way around. This issue of exploitation is not limited to America—it still persists in places like India, where tribal communities and their land are often exploited in the name of "development." The Naxalite–Maoist insurgency, oft-spoken issue by social activists like Arundhati Roy, is one such example, and the tribal people of Andaman and Nicobar are also facing similar struggles.
Historically, after the 'discovery' of the American continent, white settlers colonized the native tribes. The land that once belonged to indigenous people was taken from them, and their identity, traditions, and way of life were stripped away. Today, although life has significantly improved for many indigenous people through various government reservations, films like The Revenant are important in addressing the ongoing legacy of these issues.
The title of the movie, "Revenant," refers to one who comes back from the dead, and the story revolves around Hugh Glass, played by Leonardo DiCaprio. After being brutally attacked by a grizzly bear, Glass is left for dead by his crew, including Captain Andrew Henry (Domhnall Gleeson). Despite his severe injuries, Glass survives the bitter winter, enduring unimaginable pain and hardship. DiCaprio's portrayal of Hugh Glass is masterful, blending raw emotion with resilience. Tom Hardy, as the ruthless and cunning Fitzgerald, also delivers an outstanding performance.
In later part, the film becomes a revenge tragedy when Glass’s son is killed by Fitzgerald. What follows is a relentless pursuit of vengeance. While this theme of revenge is central to the plot, the film also teaches us about human survival instincts in the most extreme conditions. At times, it felt like watching Man vs. Wild, with Glass using every survival skill to stay alive in the wilderness. Thankfully, the film’s powerful performances and the stunning landscapes prevent the audience from feeling disconnected from the narrative.
The movie explores the raw cruelty of nature and the survival-of-the-fittest mentality. Fitzgerald, driven by the same though, abandons Glass to die. Later, the remaining crew members are scattered due to differences in survival strategies. Glass's journey involves extreme acts of survival, such as eating raw meat and using the skin of animals for warmth. These scenes emphasizes the brutal relationship between humans and nature, where survival often means killing animals for sustenance.
After enduring so much physical and emotional pain, including hallucinations of his dead wife and son, Glass finally reaches Fitzgerald to seek his revenge. However, the movie poignantly suggests that revenge, in the end, cannot undo the loss of his son. This adds to the film’s deeper insight on the futility of vengeance and the toll it takes.
The movie is about the primal instincts of human nature, survival, the brutality of nature, and the consequences of colonialism. Anyways, the movie is worth watching, especially if you're a fan of Leonardo DiCaprio and his acting.
Here you can check out the trailer...
Thank you...
{Note: I have utilized ChatGPT for the language and grammar enhancement}
I recently completed reading this book titled "When Breath Becomes Air". It was published posthumously in 2016 as a memoir written by Paul Kalanithi. Although I had read a few non-fictional works before, this book was an entirely new experience for me. Paul Kalanithi was an American neurosurgeon and writer, deeply interested in literature, mortality, and the meaning of life. He completed his master’s in English Literature at Stanford University before pursuing medical training.
This book offers an intimate glimpse into Paul’s most intense and personal moments with his wife, family, and friends. He was living a dream life until he was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer. The memoir stands as a testament to his passion for literature and his unwavering commitment to his patients and his duties as a doctor. The narrative is rich with intertextual references to various literary works that shaped Paul’s perspective on life and death. His love for reading was instilled in him by his mother during his childhood.
The title itself is compelling enough to draw readers in. Breathing is an essential and ceaseless act for human beings yet, in the face of death, it becomes nothing more than mere air. The book grapples with profound questions: Is it possible to find meaning and purpose in life when standing at the brink of death? When we know we have only a few months left, how do we make sense of our existence? This memoir offers an answer.
Paul describes his life as an intersection of biology, philosophy, literature, and mortality. He was obsessed with understanding the meaning of life, death, and the workings of the human brain, which is why he chose neurosurgery—a field where science and mortality constantly intertwine. The book is filled with medical terminology and disease names that can be difficult to pronounce, adding to its authenticity. Another key aspect of the memoir is its exploration of medical ethics and the doctor-patient relationship. Paul provides a detailed account of his journey from an undergraduate student to a neurosurgical resident, frequently called upon in emergency cases. The advice he once gave to his patients now applied to him, as he found himself on the other side, in the shoes of a patient.
The book features a foreword by Dr. Abraham Verghese and a heart-wrenching epilogue written by Paul’s wife, Lucy Kalanithi. Structurally, the memoir is divided into two parts, with the latter focusing more on Paul’s mental state after his diagnosis. He describes how treatments like chemotherapy made him physically weak, yet he remained mentally strong, preparing himself for the struggles ahead. It was in the midst of this conflict that he wrote this book, encapsulating both his life and his illness.
I believe that death is something we all fear, even if we deny it. As human beings, our fundamental instinct is to survive as long as possible. In the face of death, there comes a moment when we think of ourselves and our loved ones, and our imagined future with them—we want to live. For Paul, the birth of his daughter, Cady, gave him a renewed sense of purpose and a meaning to his life, even in the little time he had left.
"Paul faced each stage of his illness with grace—not with bravado or a misguided faith that he would ‘overcome’ or ‘beat’ cancer, but with an authenticity that allowed him to grieve the loss of the future he had planned and forge a new one."
This excerpt from the book reflects his resilience. He did not take a blind leap of faith but faced his reality fearlessly and vulnerably. In such moments of disaster we come to realize the importance of humans relationships and family. It was because of this Paul was able to live a little bit longer. Stories like this remind us that ‘death need not be proud’.
This blog is a response to a task assigned by Prof. Dilip Barad. In this post, I will share my perspective on the question, "What is literature?", reflect on how literature has influenced me, and present my own metaphor for literature.
What is Literature?
Literature, in its traditional sense, encompasses a wide range of written works, including novels, dramas, prose, and poetry. Initially, stories were passed down through oral traditions, ensuring their preservation for future generations. However, the invention of printing technology in Europe during the 15th century revolutionized the dissemination of knowledge, paving the way for the Enlightenment. From that point onward, literature evolved through the modern and postmodern periods, and today, we find ourselves in a technologically driven, "flat" world. In this new era, literature has acquired novel forms, with machines now capable of generating poetry and stories using AI technology. It was amidst this transformation that I first became familiar with literature.
Interestingly, I was not familiar with the term "literature" until I enrolled in a B.A. program. Even during my bachelor’s studies, I wasn’t particularly inclined toward literature and perceived it as merely stories about kings and queens. However, in the last semester of my degree, I found myself drawn to English literature and books. This fascination deepened during my master’s studies, especially after being introduced to cultural studies, critical theories, and absurd and existential philosophy.
Literature is often regarded as a way of understanding and living life. It exerts a gradual yet profound impact on individuals. In my case, studying and engaging with critical theories and philosophy has played a crucial role in shaping my worldview and understanding of how human society functions. I personally believe that studying and reading literary texts makes one more mature than those who do not engage with such works. At the same time, reading literature and watching quality films fosters empathy and kindness toward fellow human beings. It allows one to understand people and their ways of thinking. I think one of the most paramount values that literature teaches us is to be kind and helpful to everyone.
Moreover, literature serves as a guide, helping us avoid wrong decisions by offering a moral compass through the actions of its characters. From the virtuous paths of noble characters, we learn how to navigate the boat of our own lives, while flawed characters like Macbeth warn us against the perils of unchecked ambition and greed. Similarly, figures like Victor Frankenstein and Dr. Jekyll caution us against indulging in reckless scientific pursuits without considering their consequences. Jay Gatsby vividly illustrates the dangers of clinging to the past, teaching us to embrace the present rather than be consumed by unattainable dreams.
I have always been particularly fascinated by politics, authority, and the construct of human behavior. During my study of cultural studies and literary theories, I had the opportunity to explore the writings of Michel Foucault, Louis Althusser, Frederic Jameson, Frantz Fanon, and Jacques Derrida. Their views and philosophies on the world, the individual, and society changed my perspective, allowing me to see things in a different light. It has often been said that literature and politics go hand in hand. The connection between literature and politics is deeply rooted in history, where writers, poets, and playwrights have used their works as tools to challenge authority, inspire revolutions, or critique social and political systems. Anti-colonial and feminist literature are prime examples of this, along with works written against the dangers of totalitarianism by writers like George Orwell. The influence of European literature also led to the establishment of the Indian Renaissance and nationalist movements. These instances demonstrate that literature is a uniquely powerful medium capable of sparking the force of liberation within an individual's mind. Sadly, however, we have also witnessed the manipulation of literature by those in power, giving rise to propagandist literature. To read and understand literature is to develop a historical sense, and to view contemporary happenings through the lens of literature is an essential practice.
For me, literature is a complex entity that cannot be confined to a single definition. It is a liberating force that penetrates deeply into the mind, forever changing the individual and often leading them into isolation or solitude. This is my perspective on literature after completing my Master’s in English Language and Literature.
Hello, this blog is part of thinking activity on the African poems.
Q) Write a detailed note on post-colonialism with reference to “Piano and Drum”.
When at break of day at a riverside
I hear jungle drums telegraphing
the mystic rhythm, urgent, raw
like bleeding flesh, speaking of
primal youth and the beginning,
I see the panther ready to pounce,
the leopard snarling about to leap
and the hunters crouch with spears poised.
And my blood ripples, turns torrent,
topples the years and at once I’m
in my mother’s laps a suckling;
at once I’m walking simple
paths with no innovations
rugged, fashioned with the naked
warmth of hurrying feet and groping hearts
in green leaves and wild flowers pulsing.
Then I hear a wailing piano
solo speaking of complex ways
in tear- furrowed concerto;
of far away lands
and new horizons with
coaxing diminuendo, counterpoint,
crescendo, but lost in the labyrinth of its complexities, it ends in the
middle of a phrase at a daggerpoint
And I lost in the morning mist
of an age at a riverside keep
wandering in the mystic rhythm
of jungle drums and concerto.
Post-Colonialism in Gabriel Okara’s Piano and Drums
Post-colonialism is a critical framework that examines the impact of colonial rule on formerly colonized societies, focusing on themes such as cultural identity, hybridity, neo-colonialism, and resistance. Gabriel Okara’s poem Piano and Drums is a profound reflection of the post-colonial struggle faced by Africans, as they grapple with the effects of Western influence on their indigenous traditions. Through the symbolic contrast between the drums (representing African heritage) and the piano (symbolizing Western civilization), Okara illustrates the cultural dissonance experienced in post-colonial societies.
Cultural Conflict and Identity Crisis
One of the central concerns of post-colonialism is the crisis of identity that arises when a colonized people are forced to adopt a foreign culture. In Piano and Drums, Okara presents this dilemma through the perspective of an individual caught between two worlds. The drums, associated with traditional African life, evoke a sense of simplicity, strength, and unity with nature. The poet describes the drumbeats as having a “mystic rhythm,” linking them to an ancestral past that is raw and uncorrupted. This represents pre-colonial Africa, where cultural identity was deeply rooted in traditions, communal living, and a harmonious relationship with nature.
In contrast, the piano represents Western modernity, bringing with it complexity, alienation, and a detachment from nature. The poet describes the piano’s sound as “wailing,” filled with musical terms like "diminuendo," "counterpoint," and "crescendo," which highlight its intricate yet confusing nature. This reflects the overwhelming and often disorienting experience of post-colonial subjects who find themselves struggling to adapt to Western ways of life while losing touch with their indigenous roots. The overwhelming sophistication of Western culture creates an identity crisis, leaving the speaker caught between nostalgia for the past and the uncertainty of the present.
Neo-Colonialism and Cultural Imperialism
Even after formal decolonization, many African nations continued to experience cultural and economic dependency on the West—a phenomenon known as neo-colonialism. In Piano and Drums, Okara subtly critiques this ongoing Western dominance. The piano, unlike the organic and natural drums, is an imported instrument that requires formal training to understand and play. This reflects how Western education, governance, and economic systems were imposed on African societies, replacing indigenous customs. The poet’s confusion in the final stanza, where he finds himself lost "in the middle of the mist," signifies the disorientation caused by this forced assimilation into a foreign culture.
Furthermore, the Western piano’s discord with the natural African drums highlights the failure of cultural hybridity to create a harmonious identity. Instead of a peaceful coexistence, the two cultures exist in tension, with the traditional ways being overshadowed by the imposed Western values. This is a common theme in post-colonial studies, where native customs and languages are either marginalized or replaced by colonial systems, leading to a loss of indigenous knowledge and self-determination.
The Nostalgia for a Lost African Identity
A recurring theme in post-colonial literature is nostalgia for the pre-colonial past, where indigenous cultures thrived without foreign intervention. In Piano and Drums, the poet’s longing for the drum’s simplicity reflects a deep yearning for a time before colonial intrusion. The imagery of "paths with no innovation" and hunting with "spears poised at the rhythm of the drums" paints a picture of Africa before Western influence—an era of self-sufficiency and cultural purity.
However, the presence of the piano disrupts this idealized vision. The poem suggests that once colonial influence takes hold, there is no returning to a purely traditional way of life. The speaker is no longer able to fully embrace the drums alone, as the Western piano has already become a part of his consciousness. This reflects the post-colonial reality that, despite efforts to reclaim indigenous identity, the influence of colonialism remains deeply ingrained in contemporary African societies.
Gabriel Okara’s Piano and Drums is a powerful post-colonial poem that encapsulates the struggles of identity, cultural conflict, and the lingering effects of colonial rule. Through the contrast between the traditional drums and the foreign piano, Okara presents the post-colonial subject’s dilemma—torn between a nostalgic longing for the past and the unavoidable reality of Westernization. The poem serves as a critique of neo-colonialism and cultural imperialism, while also acknowledging the difficulty of reconciling two vastly different worlds. In doing so, Piano and Drums becomes a poignant exploration of the post-colonial experience, making it a significant work in African literature.
Q) Write a critical note on “To the Negro American Soldiers”.
For Mercer Cook
I did not recognize you in prison under your
………..sad-colored uniform
I did not recognize you under the calabash helmet
………..without style
I did not recognize the whining sound of your
………..iron horses, who drink but do not eat.
And it is no longer the nobility of elephants, it is the
………..the barbaric weight of the prehistoric
………..monsters of the world.
Under your closed face, I did not recognize you.
I only touched the warmth of your brown hand,
………..I called myself “Afrika! ”
And I found once again the lost laughter, I hailed the ancient voices
………..and the roar of Congo waterfalls.
Brothers, I do not know whether you bombed the
………..cathedrals, the pride of Europe,
If you are the lightning of God’s hand that burned
………..Sodom and Gomorrah.
No, you are the messengers of his mercy, the
………..Spring after Winter.
To those who had forgotten how to laugh-only
………..smile obliquely
Who knew nothing but the savory flavor of
………..tears and the vexing stench of blood
You bring the Season of Peace and hope to
………..end of the delay.
And their night is filled with milky sweetness, the blue
………..fields of the sky are covered with flowers, silence sings
………..soothingly.
You bring them the sun. The air beats with whispers
………..liquids and crystalline chirping and beating
………..silky wings
The aerial cities are tepid with nests.
Through the streets joy streamed, the boys play with
………..their dreams
Men dance before of their machines and
………..surprised themselves singing.
Schoolgirls’s eyelids are rose petals, and
………..fruits ripen in the virgins’ breasts
And the women’s hips—Oh, sweetness—
………..grow generously heavy.
Black brothers, warriors whose mouths are flowers that
………..sing
—Oh! the delight to live after Winter—I salute you
………..like messengers of peace.
A Critical Note on “To the Negro American Soldiers” by Léopold Sédar Senghor
Léopold Sédar Senghor’s poem To the Negro American Soldiers is a poignant exploration of identity, racial solidarity, and the paradoxical role of Black soldiers fighting for colonial empires that historically oppressed them. Rooted in the Negritude movement, which Senghor championed, the poem pays tribute to the African American, West Indian, and Senegalese soldiers who served in World War II, many of whom were imprisoned while fighting for European colonial powers. The poem reflects on their sacrifices, their shared heritage, and their potential to bring peace to a war-torn world.
The poem begins with the poet’s initial inability to recognize these soldiers under their "sad-colored uniform" and "calabash helmet," symbolizing the erasure of their individual and cultural identities. Their traditional nobility, once embodied by the African warrior on elephant backs, has been replaced by the "barbaric weight of prehistoric monsters"—a metaphor for the modern war machines they are forced to operate. This transformation highlights the irony of their service: they are fighting a war for nations that have historically dehumanized them. Senghor’s imagery suggests that these Black soldiers, despite their bravery, remain nameless and faceless tools in the hands of imperial powers.
However, the poem gradually shifts in tone, moving from despair to hope. Senghor acknowledges their resilience and strength, calling them "messengers of his mercy" and "the Spring after Winter." This metaphor aligns with Negritude’s philosophy of Black identity as a force of renewal and healing. Senghor envisions these soldiers not as instruments of destruction but as harbingers of peace, capable of teaching the world "mercy in the face of brutalities." Through vibrant imagery, he paints a future where war gives way to harmony—children play freely, men dance, and women flourish in the warmth of a restored world.
A key aspect of the poem is its Biblical allusion to Sodom and Gomorrah, referencing divine destruction as a form of justice. Senghor does not explicitly condemn the actions of these soldiers but questions whether they were instruments of retribution or renewal. This duality reflects the larger postcolonial struggle: should Black people seek retribution for historical injustices, or should they strive for reconciliation and peace? The poem ultimately advocates for the latter, portraying African culture as a moral compass capable of guiding the world toward a more compassionate future.
Senghor’s use of repetition, particularly the phrase “I did not recognize you,” underscores the theme of alienation. These soldiers, despite their sacrifices, remain unrecognized by the societies they serve. However, when the poet finally touches one of them, he calls himself "Afrika!"—a moment of solidarity and rediscovery of shared identity. This moment signifies the Negritude movement’s goal of reclaiming Black pride and unity, despite the fragmentation imposed by colonial histories.
In conclusion, To the Negro American Soldiers is a deeply moving tribute to the resilience of Black soldiers and a broader commentary on the postcolonial condition. It exposes the contradictions of war, the ongoing struggle for recognition, and the hope that Black identity, rather than being erased, can become a source of renewal for the world. Senghor masterfully intertwines history, cultural memory, and poetic vision to craft a piece that resonates beyond its historical context, making it a timeless reflection on race, dignity, and the pursuit of peace.
Khan, Farah. “Leopold Sédar Senghor As A Negritude Poet.” International Journal of Research Publication and Reviews, vol. 5, no. 12, 2024. https://ijrpr.com/uploads/V5ISSUE12/IJRPR36453.pdf. Accessed 1 March 2025.
Hello, this blog is prepared in response to the thinking activity assigned by Megha ma'am on the African play 'A Dance of the Forest' by Wole Soyinka.
Wole Soyinka: A Literary Titan and Voice of Conscience
Wole Soyinka, born on July 13, 1934, in Abeokuta, Nigeria, is a towering figure in world literature, a fearless political activist, and the first African to be awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1986. A master storyteller, playwright, poet, novelist, and essayist, Soyinka’s works are a profound exploration of the human condition, steeped in the rich cultural traditions of his Yoruba heritage while addressing universal themes of power, corruption, freedom, and identity.
Soyinka’s journey began in the vibrant city of Abeokuta, where he was born into the Yoruba ethnic group. After completing his early education at Government College in Ibadan, he moved to England, graduating with a degree in English from the University of Leeds in 1958. During his time in England, he worked as a dramaturgist at the Royal Court Theatre in London, an experience that deeply influenced his theatrical career. Upon returning to Nigeria in 1960, Soyinka founded the theater group "The 1960 Masks" and later the "Orisun Theatre Company," where he produced and acted in his own plays. His debut play, "A Dance of the Forests" (1960), written for Nigeria’s independence celebrations, was a bold satire that challenged romanticized notions of the nation’s past and present, setting the tone for his career as a sharp critic of authoritarianism and societal ills.
Soyinka’s plays are a testament to his versatility and depth. From lighthearted comedies like "The Lion and the Jewel" (1959), which pokes fun at Westernized elites, to deeply philosophical works like "Death and the King’s Horseman" (1975), a tragic exploration of duty, culture, and mortality, Soyinka masterfully fuses Western dramatic techniques with Yoruba folklore and mythology. His satirical comedies, such as "The Trials of Brother Jero" (1960) and "Kongi’s Harvest" (1965), critique religious hypocrisy and political corruption, while his more serious plays, like "The Road" (1965) and "Madmen and Specialists" (1970), delve into the complexities of human existence and the abuse of power.
A fearless advocate for justice and democracy, Soyinka’s life has been marked by his unwavering commitment to these ideals. During Nigeria’s civil war (1967–1970), he was imprisoned for 22 months for advocating a ceasefire and criticizing the government. His harrowing experiences inspired "The Man Died: Prison Notes" (1972), a searing account of his ordeal, and "Poems from Prison" (1969), a collection of poignant verses that reflect his resilience and defiance. His activism extended beyond his writing, as he founded and led numerous political organizations, including the Democratic Front for a People’s Federation, and consistently used his voice to challenge corruption and authoritarianism in Nigeria and across Africa.
Soyinka’s literary output is vast and varied, spanning plays, novels, poetry, and essays. His novels, such as "The Interpreters" (1965) and "Season of Anomy" (1973), explore the complexities of postcolonial African identity, while his poetry collections, including "Idanre, and Other Poems" (1967) and "Mandela’s Earth and Other Poems" (1988), showcase his mastery of language and lyrical expression. His critical works, like "Myth, Literature, and the African World" (1976), offer profound insights into the role of art and culture in society. In 1986, Soyinka was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature for his ability to “fashion the drama of existence” with poetic brilliance and cultural depth. His Nobel lecture, "This Past Must Address Its Present", remains a powerful call for accountability and justice.
Beyond his literary achievements, Soyinka is a global icon whose influence extends far beyond Nigeria. He has taught at prestigious universities worldwide, including Cambridge, Yale, and Harvard, and his works continue to inspire and provoke audiences across the globe. His latest novel, "Chronicles from the Land of the Happiest People on Earth" (2021), is a scathing satire on corruption and societal decay, proving that even in his late 80s, Soyinka remains a vital and incisive voice.
Wole Soyinka is not just a writer; he is a cultural icon, a moral compass, and a beacon of hope for those who believe in the power of art to transform society. His life and work are a testament to the enduring spirit of resistance, creativity, and humanity. As he once said, “The greatest threat to freedom is the absence of criticism,” and through his words and actions, Soyinka continues to challenge us to confront the truths of our world with courage and integrity.
A Dance of the Forest: An Overview
"A Dance of the Forests" is a play by Nigerian Nobel laureate Wole Soyinka, first performed in 1960 to celebrate Nigeria's independence. The play is a complex, allegorical work that critiques the glorification of the past and warns against repeating historical mistakes. It blends Yoruba mythology, symbolism, and ritual to explore themes of identity, history, and human folly. The story revolves around a gathering of living and dead characters summoned by the Forest Head (a god-like figure) to reenact a historical trial. The living, representing modern Nigeria, are confronted by their ancestors, who reveal the cyclical nature of human corruption, violence, and betrayal. The play challenges the romanticized view of the past, suggesting that both past and present are flawed. Through its rich symbolism and poetic language, "A Dance of the Forests" serves as a cautionary tale, urging societies to confront their imperfections rather than idealize history. It remains a seminal work in African literature, reflecting Soyinka's critique of postcolonial optimism and his call for self-awareness and accountability.
Q) Alternative Ending of A Dance of the Forests
The dance reaches its peak, but instead of renewal, the forest begins to decay. The trees bleed, their trunks splitting open to reveal writhing corpses from forgotten wars. The Dead Man and Dead Woman no longer ask to be remembered—they come to claim vengeance. Their eyes glow with a cold fire as they stretch out their hands, pulling the living into the depths of the earth.
Aroni, the limping messenger, steps forward, but his form begins to change. His limp disappears, his body growing taller, his skin darkening like burned wood. His voice, now deep and hollow, echoes through the clearing. “The cycle will not be broken by memory, but by destruction.”
The ground cracks open, and from the abyss rise warriors from ages past, their bodies torn and rotting. They drag Demoke, Rola, and the others into a nightmare of pain. Demoke screams as his carved totem comes alive, its wooden face twisted in agony. The spirits of those he wronged emerge from within, their voices whispering his sins as the totem wraps around him, swallowing him whole.
Rola staggers back, but the blood-red river surges forward, pulling her under. She fights, but there is no escape. The warriors laugh, their mouths dripping with decay, as they drag the rest of the living into the darkness.
The Forest Head stands still, watching the chaos unfold. The dance has ended, not in renewal, but in ruin. As the first light of dawn breaks, the land is silent. No birds sing. No voices remain. Only the wind moves through the empty forest, carrying the last whisper of the Forest Head:
"Perhaps it is better this way."
Then, like mist at sunrise, he fades into nothing. The world is left hollow—a graveyard where no future will rise.
Q) A Detailed Note on A Dance of the Forests by Wole Soyinka
Overview
Wole Soyinka’s A Dance of the Forests is one of the most significant plays in African literature, marking a critical moment in Nigeria’s history as it gained independence in 1960. Unlike the celebratory and hopeful narratives that were expected during this occasion, Soyinka offered a sharp critique of both the past and the emerging postcolonial elite. The play presents an intricate fusion of history, myth, Yoruba ritual, and political commentary, warning against the dangers of forgetting the past and repeating its mistakes. It is a deeply philosophical and allegorical work that explores themes such as the failures of independence, the cyclical nature of history, the responsibility of the artist, and the struggle between tradition and modernity. The play also questions the idealization of the past, suggesting that pre-colonial African societies were not without their own flaws. By engaging with both Yoruba cosmology and Western dramatic forms, Soyinka crafts a play that is both uniquely African and globally relevant.
The Challenge of Nigerian Independence
At the heart of the play is Soyinka’s critique of Nigerian independence, which he portrays as a moment not of true liberation but of self-deception. The three major living characters—Demoke, Rola, and Adenebi—symbolize different aspects of postcolonial Nigeria’s struggles. Demoke, a carver and artist, represents the intellectual and creative class who are burdened with both personal and societal guilt. Rola, once a high-class prostitute known as Madame Tortoise, embodies moral corruption and the self-serving nature of those who manipulate others for their own gain. Adenebi, the bureaucrat, personifies the inefficiency and hypocrisy of government officials who ignore their responsibilities and engage in corruption. These characters, though flawed, undergo a process of confrontation with their pasts, ultimately pointing toward the necessity of self-awareness and transformation. However, Soyinka does not present this process as simple or guaranteed—change is difficult, and history tends to repeat itself. The presence of the Dead Man and the Dead Woman, spirits from the past who have been summoned to participate in the independence celebrations, serves as a reminder that the past cannot be erased. Instead of glorious ancestors, the living are confronted with figures who represent betrayal, suffering, and injustice, forcing them to recognize the darker aspects of their own history.
The Cycle of History and the Role of Tradition
One of the most compelling aspects of A Dance of the Forests is its treatment of history and time. The play does not follow a linear narrative but instead moves between past and present, suggesting that history is cyclical. The second part of the play takes us back to the court of Mata Kharibu, where characters from the present appear as their past selves, revealing that the same patterns of greed, violence, and betrayal have been repeated across generations. Demoke, for instance, is not only a carver in the present but also a poet in the past, struggling with similar ethical dilemmas. Rola, as Madame Tortoise, displays the same manipulative and destructive tendencies that define her modern self. This doubling of characters emphasizes Soyinka’s point that historical progress is often an illusion—without self-reflection, societies risk making the same mistakes again and again. This technique also allows Soyinka to critique the idea that decolonization is simply a return to an idealized pre-colonial past. The past was not free of corruption and tyranny, as seen in the oppressive rule of Mata Kharibu. Instead, Soyinka suggests that both past and present must be examined critically in order to create a future that truly breaks from cycles of injustice.
The Role of the Artist in Society
Another major theme in the play is the role of the artist in society, which is explored through the character of Demoke. He is a carver who has created a totem pole for the festival but carries the guilt of having pushed his apprentice, Oremole, to his death. This act, driven by jealousy, frustration, and personal demons, symbolizes the internal conflicts of the artist. However, Demoke is also the character who undergoes the most significant transformation. By the end of the play, he takes on the burden of purification, climbing the totem pole in a symbolic act of expiation. This journey reflects Soyinka’s belief that the artist must engage with society, challenging corruption and exposing uncomfortable truths. The character of Forest Head, often interpreted as a stand-in for Soyinka himself, reinforces this theme. As an overseer of events, Forest Head expresses both frustration and persistence, acknowledging that human beings rarely learn from their mistakes but also recognizing the necessity of continuing the struggle for truth and justice.
Dramatic Structure and Techniques
The play’s structure is unconventional, rejecting the traditional three- or five-act format of Western drama. Instead, Soyinka employs a two-part structure that blends reality, history, myth, and ritual. The first part establishes the main characters and their moral dilemmas, while the second part delves into the past, revealing how history repeats itself. This structure reflects Yoruba storytelling traditions, where time is fluid and spiritual realities coexist with the physical world. Additionally, Soyinka integrates non-verbal elements such as dance, masquerade, and ritual to create a theatrical experience that goes beyond dialogue. The game of ampe, played by the Triplets and the Half-Child, serves as a symbolic struggle for fate and destiny. The climactic moment, in which Demoke climbs the totem pole while Eshuoro dances wildly, is a visual and spiritual representation of sacrifice, redemption, and the ongoing battle between destruction and creation. This emphasis on performance highlights the play’s roots in Yoruba festival traditions, where music, dance, and ritual are central to storytelling.
Postcolonial and Philosophical Dimensions
Soyinka’s approach to postcolonialism differs from other African writers. While he critiques colonialism, he does not frame it as the sole cause of Nigeria’s problems. Instead, he emphasizes the need for internal reckoning. This sets him apart from writers like Ngugi wa Thiong’o, who advocate for a complete rejection of colonial languages and frameworks. Soyinka, by contrast, chooses to write in English, not as a concession to colonialism but as a means of reaching a wider audience while integrating African traditions into a global literary space. His approach aligns more closely with Frantz Fanon’s vision of decolonization as a process of creating new identities and ways of thinking rather than merely reversing colonial hierarchies. However, Soyinka has also been accused of “nativism,” a term used by Edward Said to describe an overemphasis on indigenous traditions at the expense of historical specificity. While some critics argue that Soyinka’s reliance on myth distances his work from concrete political realities, others see it as a way of addressing universal human struggles within a uniquely African framework.
Western and Yoruba Influences
The play also incorporates Western influences, though in a way that subverts them. The choric speeches of the spirits resemble Greek tragedy, while the character of Forest Head has been compared to Prospero in The Tempest. However, unlike Shakespeare’s plays, A Dance of the Forests does not resolve its conflicts neatly. There is no clear triumph of good over evil, only a continued struggle. The play ends ambiguously, with Demoke and Rola changed but uncertain of their future, reflecting Soyinka’s belief that true transformation is an ongoing process.
Lastly, A Dance of the Forests remains a challenging and thought-provoking work, defying easy interpretation. By blending history, myth, ritual, and political critique, Soyinka crafts a play that forces audiences to confront uncomfortable truths about the past and the present. Its themes of self-examination, the dangers of power, and the role of art remain relevant not only for Nigeria but for societies worldwide. Through its complex structure, dynamic characters, and rich use of language and performance, the play continues to be a landmark of African theater and a powerful statement on the human condition.
Thank you...
References
Soyinka, Wole. A Dance of the Forests. Oxford University Press, 1963.
Hello, this thinking activity is based on the novel "Petals of Blood" (1977) written by Kenyan writer Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o. In this blog I will give answer to couple of questions based on the novel.
Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o
Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o, born in 1938 in Limuru, Kenya, emerged from humble beginnings as a member of the Agĩkũyũ ethnic group to become one of Africa's most influential writers and theorists. His early life was deeply impacted by British colonialism, which dispossessed his family of their land, and by Kenya's struggle for independence. Despite these challenges, he pursued education at Alliance High School and later at Makerere University in Uganda, where his literary career began to take shape.
His writing career evolved through distinct phases, beginning with his emergence in the 1960s alongside other prominent African writers like Chinua Achebe and Wole Soyinka. His early works, written in English, included "Weep Not, Child" (his first novel), "The River Between," and "A Grain of Wheat." These works established him as a significant voice in African literature, addressing themes of colonialism, cultural displacement, and the struggle for independence. However, the watershed moment in his career came after publishing "Petals of Blood" in 1977, when he made the radical decision to write primarily in his native Gĩkũyũ language.
The language question became central to both his literary practice and theoretical work. His decision to abandon English for his native language Gĩkũyũ was a political and cultural statement, thoroughly explored in his influential 1986 essay collection "Decolonising the Mind." This shift wasn't merely artistic but represented a deeper philosophical stance about the relationship between language, culture, and power in postcolonial Africa. His commitment to writing in Gĩkũyũ led to significant consequences, including his imprisonment in 1977 for the play "Ngaahika Ndenda" (I Will Marry When I Want). While imprisoned, he wrote his first Gĩkũyũ novel, "Caitaani mũtharaba-Inĩ" (Devil on the Cross), on toilet paper.
His political activism and critique of neo-colonial corruption in Kenya forced him into exile in 1982. He first lived in England before moving to the United States in 1989, where he continued his academic career at prestigious institutions including Yale University and the University of California, Irvine. Throughout his exile, he maintained his commitment to writing in Gĩkũyũ and translating his works into English afterward, despite the practical challenges this posed.
Today, in his mid-80s and despite health challenges, Ngũgĩ continues to be a powerful voice in postcolonial literature and theory. His work spans multiple genres like novels, plays, memoirs, and academic writings, all characterized by their incisive critique of colonialism and neo-colonialism. His true legacy lies in his unwavering commitment to African languages and literature, and his profound influence on postcolonial studies. His life's work represents not just literary achievement but a sustained argument for cultural decolonization through language, making him a crucial figure in both African and world literature.
Q) Write a detailed note on Fanonism and Constructive Violence in Petals of Blood.
Ngugi wa Thiong’o’s Petals of Blood is a profound exploration of the socio-political struggles that plagued Kenya after independence. While the country attained its formal freedom from British colonial rule in 1963, the neo-colonial systems that replaced the colonial administration perpetuated the same cycles of exploitation, inequality, and disenfranchisement. Through this narrative, Ngugi critiques the betrayal of the ideals of independence and presents constructive violence, infulenced by Frantz Fanon’s philosophy, as a necessary means to confront the systemic oppression of neo-colonialism.
Frantz Fanon, in his 1961 seminal work The Wretched of the Earth, describes decolonization as an inherently violent process. He asserts that violence is not merely destructive but also a "cleansing force" that liberates the colonized from their inferiority complex, instills confidence, and unites them in their struggle against oppression. Fanon argues that the native’s violence is proportionate to the structural and physical violence imposed by the colonial regime. This violence, according to Fanon, is a redemptive act, one that restores dignity to the oppressed and forges a path to genuine liberation.
Ngugi adopts and extends this Fanonian philosophy in Petals of Blood, using the struggles of post-independence Kenya as his backdrop. In this novel, he critiques the neo-colonial elites who, in collusion with global capitalist forces, perpetuate the exploitation of Kenya’s working class and peasantry. Ngugi's Kenya is one where the promises of independence are betrayed by the rise of corrupt politicians, capitalist profiteers, and international corporations, all of whom prioritize profit over people. Through the lives of his protagonists Munira, Abdullah, Wanja, and Karega, Ngugi vividly illustrates how systemic oppression manifests in personal struggles, often leaving violence as the only recourse for change. Kenya’s history of violence forms a significant context for the novel. The anti-colonial Mau Mau uprising of the 1950s, led by figures like Dedan Kimathi, was a grassroots armed struggle against British rule. This movement, driven largely by the Gikuyu peasantry, symbolized the resilience and determination of Kenya’s oppressed classes to reclaim their land and dignity. Although independence was achieved in 1963, the neo-colonial reality mirrored colonial exploitation, with power concentrated in the hands of a few elites. Ngugi draws on this history to argue that the fight for liberation does not end with independence but must continue against the internal forces of oppression.
The concept of constructive violence is intricately woven into the narrative of novel. Each protagonist embodies a different facet of resistance. Wanja, a strong and complex character, represents resilience in the face of societal betrayal and moral decay. Her act of killing Kimeria, a symbol of corruption and exploitation, is a personal liberation and a form of reclaiming agency. Fanon’s idea that violence restores an individual’s humanity is evident in Wanja’s transformation as she confronts the oppressive structures that have shaped her life.
In case with Abdullah, a former Mau Mau fighter, exemplifies the disillusionment of those who sacrificed everything for independence, only to be betrayed by the new Kenya. Crippled and marginalized, Abdullah’s act of violence against Kimeria is a poignant commentary on the failure of the post-independence state to honor its freedom fighters. His vengeance is not only personal but symbolic of the broader frustration of the oppressed. On the other hand Karega, a trade unionist and advocate for workers' rights, channels his resistance into collective action. Unlike Wanja and Abdullah, Karega believes in systemic change through unity and organized struggle rather than individual acts of violence. His character underscores the importance of solidarity among the oppressed to challenge the entrenched systems of exploitation. Munira, a teacher and a "man of God," grapples with his own moral and spiritual dilemmas. His decision to burn down the Sunshine Lodge, a symbol of moral and societal corruption, represents a radical break from passivity. Munira’s act of arson, while destructive, is framed as a purifying force, a metaphor for the cleansing of a decayed society.
Ngugi's portrayal of violence in Petals of Blood is far from gratuitous, it is a thoughtful exploration of how resistance, in its various forms, is necessary for societal renewal. The novel suggests that constructive violence, whether physical or symbolic, is a tool for dismantling oppressive structures and creating a new social order. This aligns with Fanon’s view that violence is not merely a reaction to oppression but a transformative force that can lead to the birth of a new society. Petals of Blood serves as a powerful narrative of resistance against neo-colonial exploitation, deeply rooted in the philosophy of Fanonism. Through the struggles of its protagonists, the novel illustrates that constructive violence, though fraught with moral and ethical complexities, is often the only means to achieve true liberation.
Q) Write a note on the ideological orientation of Ngugi Wa Thiong’o’ Petals of Blood.
The novel is a profound critique of post-independence Kenya, where the promises of liberation from colonial rule have been undermined by internal corruption, economic inequality, and the continued influence of neocolonial powers. Published in 1977, the novel is ideologically rich, weaving together themes of postcolonialism, Fanonian Marxism, and cultural resistance to illuminate the socio-political struggles faced by the Kenyan people in the aftermath of British imperial rule.
Postcolonial Critique and Fanonian Marxism
Drawing on Frantz Fanon’s theories, Ngugi explores the lingering psychological and material effects of colonialism. Fanon’s assertion that decolonization must extend beyond political independence to encompass mental and social liberation is echoed in the struggles of Petals of Blood’s characters. The narrative unfolds in Ilmorog, a rural village that symbolizes Kenya’s traditional roots, now caught in the grip of modernization and economic exploitation. Through characters like Abdullah, a former Mau Mau fighter who has lost his leg in the rebellion, Ngugi underscores the disillusionment of those who sacrificed for independence only to see their vision of a just and equitable society betrayed. The novel’s focus on class disparities and the alienation of labor aligns with Marxist critiques, emphasizing that true freedom requires dismantling not only colonial structures but also the capitalist systems perpetuating inequality.
Neocolonial Betrayal
Ngugi sharply critiques Kenya’s post-independence elite, whom he portrays as complicit in maintaining the exploitative structures of colonialism. Figures like Nderi wa Riera, a populist politician turned corporate puppet, epitomize this betrayal. The novel highlights how the new ruling class, instead of empowering the masses, collaborates with foreign corporations to exploit Kenya’s resources and people. For example, Ilmorog’s traditional economy is disrupted when local resources, such as homemade liquor, are co-opted by foreign-owned breweries. These developments illustrate how neocolonialism manifests through economic dependence and cultural erosion, leaving ordinary citizens marginalized and disenfranchised.
Cultural Resistance and the Politics of Language
A critical component of Ngugi’s ideological orientation is his commitment to cultural revival. While Petals of Blood is written in English, Ngugi incorporates African linguistic elements to challenge the dominance of colonial languages. By blending English with African expressions and cultural references, he reclaims the language as a tool for anti-imperialist expression. This strategy of abrogation and appropriation undermines the colonial power structures embedded in language, emphasizing that language is not static but can be adapted to serve the needs of the oppressed. Ngugi’s use of terms like “Uhuru” (freedom) and other African expressions immerses readers in the cultural and historical realities of Kenya, fostering a sense of solidarity and identity.
Representation of Women and Gender Dynamics
Through the character of Wanja, Ngugi addresses the multifaceted oppression faced by women in a patriarchal and capitalist society. Wanja begins the novel as a victim of exploitation but evolves into a figure of resilience and agency. Her journey from being a barmaid to establishing her own brothel reflects both the moral ambiguities and the survival strategies required in a society that commodifies both women and labor. Wanja’s experiences serve as a microcosm of Kenya’s struggles, symbolizing the broader resistance against socio-economic and gender-based injustices. At the same time, her story critiques the patriarchal structures that equate political resistance and heroism with masculinity, offering a feminist lens to the postcolonial narrative.
Historical Memory and Resistance
Petals of Blood also functions as a reimagining of Kenyan history, emphasizing the importance of collective memory and resistance. Ngugi integrates African oral traditions, songs, and folklore into the narrative, offering a counter-history to the colonial and elite-dominated narratives of the past. The novel situates the Mau Mau rebellion within a broader continuum of African resistance, connecting it to global anti-imperialist struggles. Through this historical lens, Ngugi critiques the notion of independence as a completed project, instead framing it as an ongoing process requiring active engagement from the oppressed.
Ultimately, Petals of Blood is more than a literary work—it is a revolutionary manifesto that seeks to awaken national consciousness and inspire collective action. By exposing the failures of Kenya’s post-independence leadership and the continued exploitation of its people, Ngugi challenges readers to envision a future free from both colonial and neocolonial oppression. The novel’s blending of political, cultural, and personal struggles reflects Ngugi’s belief that literature is not merely a form of entertainment but a tool for societal transformation. His ideological commitment to socialism and the empowerment of ordinary people resonates throughout the text, making Petals of Blood a timeless exploration of liberation, resistance, and justice.
References
Amin, Tasnim. "Fanonism and Constructive Violence in Petals of Blood." International Journal of Scientific Research, vol. 6, no. 4, Apr. 2017. Accessed 15 February 2025.
Tasnim, Sumaiya. “Ideological Orientation of Ngugi Wa Thiong’o’s Petals of Blood.” International Journal of English, Literature and Social Science, vol. 4, no. 4, 2019. 10.22161/ijels.4427. Accessed 15 February 2025.
wa Thiong'o, Ngugi, and Ngũgĩ wa Thiongʼo. Petals of Blood. Edited by Chinua Achebe, Penguin Publishing Group, 2005.
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