'Blessings' is a reminder that queer kids need better fathers

Blessings

4/5 stars

Chuckwuebuka Ibeh

Penguin

When it comes to African coming-of-age novels, the likes of Chimamanda Ngozi or NoViolet Bulawayo come to mind. In their respective debuts, they tackled difficult topics in the backdrop of modern society and the young adults who must shake off the yoke of their past lives. Which is exactly what Blessings by Chukwuebuka Ibeh does.

His maiden work is reminiscent of the visceral experiences of characters from K Sello Duiker or Arinze Ifeakandu’s imaginations. And, oh boy, does it get harrowing.

At face value, Ibeh pens a tale following a mother, Uzuoamaka, and her eldest son, Obiefuna, navigating his sexuality. Uzoamaka is the ideal wife, supportive to a flaw and mum in the face of conflicts that could upset the balance of power between her and her husband, Anozie.

This is especially tested when the latter witnesses a tender moment between their eldest son and the family “apprentice”, which gets Obiefuna a one-way ticket to a staunch Christian boarding school. While separated, we see the passivity of Uzoamaka and Obiefuna tested when they must navigate life without each other — particularly in the authoritarian leadership of the family’s patriarchal nightmare, Anozie.

While we never get a chapter dedicated to Anozie, we navigate the majority of his strict beliefs through the eyes of Uzoamaka. In those moments, we see how hell-bent he can be in not just enforcing his beliefs but manipulating someone like Obiefuna into acting out his will.

Blessings especially shines in this aspect, as Obiefuna’s innate talents are snuffed out due to his father feeling humiliated by his son’s effeminate faculties.

Mirroring the state of politics and religion in Nigeria, Anozie’s parenting style is the product of the world he grew up in, and what he subjects his children to. It rings true to the realities of growing up queer in a world that is inherently queerphobic.

The book is set in the late 2000s and yet it sometimes feels like an archaic time period — it’s a stark reminder of how far we’ve come as societies navigating young LGBTQIA+ people and how far we still have to go.

Like many tales of queer kids who receive little affection at home, Anozie’s horrific treatment of Obiefuna becomes the foundation for a life filled with a pattern of abuse. This is noticeable in Obiefuna’s school days with a senior student named Papillo. The student’s sexuality is never explicitly stated but Papillo’s lust for inflicting pain —and not the BDSM kind — on those weaker than him is heart-wrenching.

Ibeh’s bailiwick lies in packing these heavy emotions in the short chapters of the book and the ordeal Obiefuna goes through under Papillo is done so expertly that it could be a case study of abuse victims and how they excuse the misery they endure. These later manifest in his relationships with other queer friends and lovers where he oscillates between relatable and frustrating as he fumbles to build long-standing relationships.

While the book presents itself as a dance between mother and son, questioning love and nurture, it also presents the often difficult reality of how our upbringing plays a pivotal role in the mess we make as we grow older.

As a shadow constantly looming over Obiefuna’s life, it would have been great to get his father’s perspective rather than his mother’s. While she does help push the narrative, it often feels as if her excerpts — found diary notes — drag the story and make the book feel like it is longer than 250 pages. 

Ibeh’s roman-fleuve explores freedom, and it is hard not to ponder just what women and queer folk benefit living in a rigid patriarchy.