Things Fall Apart Chapter 16

When the missionaries first arrive in Mbanta Nwoye becomes mesmerized by their preaching. Nwoye, who has decided to take up the Christian life of the white men, declares to Obierika that he has disowned his father. It was previously established that Okonkwo and Nwoye have had a rather difficult relationship, but this forceful rejection seems to be a big step in the unravelling of Okonkwo's glory.

How is this rejection like Okonkwo's rejection of his own father?

Things Fall Apart Chapter 11

The story of the tortoise recounted by Ekwefi reveals that weakness is found in being selfish. In the story, Tortoise tricks the birds and places himself above the others. The birds, originally trusting Tortoise enough to appoint him as their speaker, become enraged when he devours the feast without them. Placing oneself before the community is looked down upon. In addition, the tortoise, a slow and methodical creature, is viewed as a symbol of wickedness. Perhaps then, wicked people are thought to be slow and methodical in the Ibo culture. These people pay the price, just as Tortoise does when his shell is broken.

How does this story tie into the actions of Ekwefi when Chielo, channeling Agbala, takes Ezinma?

One Day in the Life of Nate

By effort of hand, the door creaked open, ushering in the fluorescent light of the hallway. Perhaps it was time to wake up.

Nate shifted his head to the right of his flat pillow, hollowly acknowledging the deep red 6:30. Tentatively, as if still in dream, he placed each foot on the ground, only to be met with disappointment. Yes, it was real.

Stepping into the bathroom, slipping past the mirror, his pale hand would have reached for the bathtub faucet. He would have, had not the corner of a small envelope been peeking out behind the wall mirror, greeting the morning. Sneaking a look left and right, Nate tucked the envelope back inside, avoiding the reflective surface itself.

Although Nate refused to meet the mirror’s gaze, it seemed to be engaged in a deep staring contest. It glanced at the mess of deep brown hair, sitting awkwardly atop a head and then at the lips, currently molded into the slightest of frowns—what a familiar sight. It gently took notice of how the wide, permanently awe-struck eyes scurried across the room, hoping that the treasure remained hidden.

Nate, hearing his neighbor’s shower running through the thin walls, stepped into his inevitable shower.

He left the bathroom, clean and dazed, and his lanky body strolled out the lockless door into the hallway. His hair dripped the entire way to the medicine window.

“Good morning, Nate! How are you this morning? First name and last initial?”

He gave a slight nod to the first question and then added, “Nathan E.”

“Here you go.”

The disposable white container housed five pills, one for each of his problems. It was several less than he would have preferred. With one gulp, each of the capsules was dancing down his throat. He opened his mouth for inspection, moving his tongue back and forth until the nurse was decidedly pleased.

Leaving the window to the next patient, Nate sat down on the stained couch on the other side of the room. Off on a chair, Kara, a thin girl, no older than fifteen, mumbled a sleepy version of “Morning,” in his general direction and then turned over and closed her eyes. Nicole gave him a soft and somewhat sad smile, validating the fact that, yes, it was real.

Rhonda, the woman from the window, picked up her clipboard and announced, “Okay, I guess no one else is up for breakfast. Let’s go.”

She and Joe, another employee, escorted the trio down to the dining hall. There, Nate inhaled the artificial smell of morning. As with every morning, he ordered a plate of two pancakes, two scrambled eggs, three strips of bacon, a cinnamon roll, and a side of questionable hash browns. At the last minute, he grabbed a decaffeinated coffee—although he always pretended it contained caffeine—and then sat down at their designated table.

On the days that Joe worked, Nate often found it difficult to pay attention. The man was simply creepy by everyone’s standards. His face and awkward social skills placed him at a pedophile status. How the hospital had employed him for forty-odd years was beyond Nate as well as his peers.

He smiled, thinking of the numerous impressions he had come across since his arrival. Jennifer’s was by far the best. Jennifer was quite funny. She was the one who began referring to the hospital as the Asylum.

After twenty minutes of light conversation with the others, they left the cafeteria. It was usually only on the way back when Nate took notice of each locked door. There were so many. He only passed through three in order to get back to where he started.

In his room, the white-walled box that it was, he sat thinking. He often sat thinking in his room. It was almost quiet. The thin walls allowed him to hear a flurry of meltdowns and incessant giggles all day long. Right now, it was laughter. Frowning, he fell back asleep on top of his unmade bed.

The light seemed brighter when he next opened his eyes.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Joe’s low voice drawled. His eyes were alert behind his thick glasses and staring inquisitively at Nate’s head. The old man’s shaky hands carried a battered up clipboard, and his hand scribbled down a note or two.

Nate asked what he was supposed to be doing now.

Joe answered, “Well, it’s twelve o’clock, so I’m just doin’ rounds. Unfortunately, though, it would seem that you missed lunch.” In a quieter, more eager voice, he added, “If you’d like, we saved you a tray on the unit.”

“No thanks, Joe.”

“Okay, suit yourself,” Joe chimed and then closed the door.

Nate wandered toward the bathroom, feeling around for the light switch. Instead of the normal four lights that flickered on, only three chose to work this time. There was a dim shadow hovering around the area of the sink and the mirror.

His pale fingers frantically felt around for the tiny pouch, his tiny savior. Double-checking the bathroom door to be closed, Nate breathed in the contents of the contraband envelope greedily. No, he mustn’t now.

It was time for school. Nate always attended. Nate always did well. Nate, as was expected, left for school time. “School” lasted from 12:30 until 3:30. Each patient was given a list of assignments to complete and then was tutored along the way. Nate rarely needed the extra tutoring. Today, his assignment was to read and reflect on a book of poetry. Not so strangely, all he could see was rows of powder created by the caesuras.

At least it was interesting. At least in his fantasies, reality was small chuckle, only there for a moment.

While running his fingers between the breaks, a firm “Ah-hem, Nathan,” brought him back. It was time for his daily appointment with Dr. Williams. Nate rose from his seat and silently followed the squat man to his office.

Dr. Williams, lacking far too much hair for Nate’s taste, cleared his throat again. It appeared that he thoroughly enjoyed doing that. He started asking questions. Nate wasn’t entirely paying attention. Today was not the day to open up. Today was simply not the day. Nate nodded along from time to time, all the while wondering, Why am I here?

The session went a tad bit too long for the both of them. Today was not the day, again.

Nate was plopped back into his room after the session. The sun was beginning to set, finally. Just a little longer until he could reach for the envelope behind the mirror.

For the first time all day, Nate saw the entire unit of patients. All ten of them were gathered, patiently—some not so patiently—waiting for dinner. Kara was giggling with Jennifer. Nicole was sitting on the floor. The others were talking loudly. Morgan, the youngest, was screaming. Three new escorts lined the ten of them up.

At least dessert was good. The one thing the hospital offered an array of was dessert. So many pies lined the inside of the refrigerator; it felt like an odd freedom. Nate took one, as he always did, and carried on to the same assigned table as this morning.

Dinner was always far noisier than breakfast. Breakfast was for the sane few of the bunch, Kara and Nate often joked. Nate, with his strange, broken-up humor, adored dinner. It was peaceful.

Following dinner, the ten bodies were brought to the gym to work out. Unlike the majority of the patients, Nate actually did work out. He could be gone. The pain in his muscles was routine, expected even.

After the gym, the daily routine felt less routine. He was allowed outside, on a small patio. Nicole was outside in a rocking chair, thoroughly enjoying the rewards of the back-and-forth motion. Nate sat next to her.

She was staring at the stars with a small deal of pain. Her brown hair was a mess, and her lips formed a short frown. Something about the sky seemed troubling. Her voice said, “It’s strange, don’t you think? How we’re in a bubble, encased by these mocking stars.”

“Yeah.”

In a hushed tone, she continued, “I mean, it’s so silly. It’s not like being locked up here makes me safe. I’ve been hurting myself for the past few weeks. No one’s caught on as far as I know.”

Somewhat taken aback, Nate thought for a moment. He then said with bizarre levity, “Yeah, me, too. This place is definitely not foolproof.”

“It’s still so surreal. I’ve been here for eight weeks. We’re here. It just seems like a joke. It doesn’t make sense.”

“No. No, it doesn’t.”

Sensing that they were being watched, Nate changed the subject to something lighter.

The two began to gossip about the incompetent staff and probably could have continued if they had not been called back inside.

Nate went up to the medicine window, greeted by an unfamiliar nurse. She politely asked, “First name, last initial?”

“Nathan E.”

“Here you go.”

Two more pills sat in the paper cup. It would never be enough, he knew.

Inside his room, Morgan’s meltdown bled through the walls. Screeching and crying, it would never end. He could never escape. It was tiresome.

Closing the bathroom door tightly, Nate pulled his secret from behind the mirror. The lights were now all functioning, just in time for his evening ritual. He laid out the tiny, yet powerful pills he brought with him weeks ago on the counter. Grabbing two, he swallowed them dry, hoping his sleep would be nicer tonight. (He knew it wouldn’t be.) He carefully tucked the envelope back behind the mirror, being sure that it was completely hidden.

There was something indescribably hilarious about his situation.

Nate smiled as he sighed deeply into his flat, lifeless pillow. An intruding hand turned off the lights, and its owner softly announced, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, dearest Asylum” (1661).