Wisdom is a tree – A review of Tears of the Lonely by Ayo Oyeku

Whether Oyeku succeeds in this endeavour however remains for the readers to judge. But with this salvo, the author tells the story of Okiki, a boy born into the turbulent world of domestic strife and poverty, who has to find a way to greatness. Oyeku propels us back to the post independence era to recount […]

Whether Oyeku succeeds in this endeavour however remains for the readers to judge. But with this salvo, the author tells the story of Okiki, a boy born into the turbulent world of domestic strife and poverty, who has to find a way to greatness.

Oyeku propels us back to the post independence era to recount the tale of Okiki’s magic-laced struggle to escape the circumstances of his birth. His abusive father, Adigun, is a drunk and his poor and meek mother is epileptic. It is now left to Doja, Okiki’s older brother, to bring his brawn between his father and his mother. And as Doja has little brain to go with it, it is only a matter of time before tragedy happens. And in a village setting, scandals and rumours play a prominent role.

Oyeku strives to make his narration plush and verdant; verdant enough to bring a cashew tree to life. This mysterious talking tree brings snippets of fusty wisdom with which it guides Okiki through the vicissitudes of life.

Magical realism is a difficult genre of fiction to navigate and in taking it on, Oyeku shows a lot of guts, and in weaving his rich African setting so intricately into his plot, it brings him closer to Ben Okri than to Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

But whether this novel will set the literary scene alight is a different matter all together. It is a first novel and Oyeku’s aesthetic exuberance doesn’t quite come off. I absolutely love stories told with a flourish. Oyeku attempts this and in the process violates every basic rule of writing [use fewer objectives, show, don’t tell, and all the usuals]. Of course rules are meant to be broken, but in this case, it doesn’t pay off. Expressions such as these demonstrate the point:

“But his sanctimonious sanctity would not let him.” P8

“The senility of her senescence took toll on her trading process.” P6

“Amope threw a forceful glance at him. Contortion was written all over the innocent boy’s face.” P10.

And many more that glaringly demonstrates the author’s naiveté do great disservice to the work. If the manuscript had undergone some rigorous editing, it would have taken care of such problems and many more.

Another interesting feature of this novel is how it captures the chain reaction of domestic violence, which is a rather too common occurrence in our societies. The villagers are quite aware of the goings-on in Adigun’s compound but prefer to keep their distance, even when the battered wife’s screams reach their ears. This is a subtle social critique on the author’s part, of how society inadvertently condones, and in some cases encourages domestic violence.

Interestingly, Doja, who turns out to be the only protector of his mother from her husband’s angry fists, and had to physically threaten his father into allowing his younger brother, Okiki, attend school, turns out to be no different from his abusive father. Doja falls in love with the educated Jomi and when he moves in with her, treats her almost as badly as his father has been treating his mother. However, in his case, there is redemption. In this regards, Oyeku leaves a glimmer of hope in a dusky landscape.

But the author should have given more attention to details. How does he explain how a stark illiterate Doja, who had never attended any school in his life suddenly finds himself reading letters (from p81 onwards) or how there are air-conditioned banks in the 1960’s (where Doja later finds employment as a security man). How does he explain the constant and inexplicable shift in tense, from past tense, to present tense, to past participle all in the same sentence?

One aspect of the novel that pleases me, however, is the author’s attempt to weave the environment into his story. The cashew tree, perhaps, demonstrates the wisdom we learn from nature. And the fact that the tree was later cut down, demonstrates how man, in his misguided pursuit of greater things, inadvertently destroys even much greater things.

This can also be seen in Doja’s abuse of his lover Jomi, who loves him even though she is better placed in society than he is. Despite his professed love for her, Doja finds himself behaving quite like his father towards his woman.

This is also demonstrated in Kasali’s abuse of his wife Debisi, Okiki’s older sister. Kasali uses false pretence to marry his friend’s daughter, who he has been desiring for quite long, only to turn back and treat her like thrash.

But in the cutting down of the cashew tree, the author plants some words in the readers mind when he writes: “The village children all missed the cashew fruits, not the tree” p70.

As mundane as this sentence seems, for me it sums up many things; man’s total disregard for the essence of nature thriving around him, a son’s love for his mother, and an abusive husband’s attitude towards his wife.

If Oyeku grows as a writer, and I really hope he does, he will go on to write a fine novel someday, but Tears of the Lonely is not that novel, not yet.